#3. one in london. slightly more helpful but still a flight away

[frecht]

got such a strong craving for this one restaurant that i nearly posted its name an doxxed myself

[sunsburns]

naked in manhattan

pairing: tashi duncan x fem!reader / implied art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you’re just hours away from a flight that will change your career forever—one that will take you to london, england, for the 2012 olympics, a milestone you never thought you’d reach. thrilled yet trembling with nerves, you find yourself at the hotel bar, celebrating alone. it does not help when you run into art donaldson and… his wife?

—or: you and tashi rekindle an old flame

word count: 6.9k

contains: SMUT 18+, smut with a lot of plot, semi-public sex (a gym at the middle of the night so idk if that counts), mid-challengers movie (a year after the atlanta scene with tashi and patrick), angst with no comfort, fingering, homewrecking, cheating but also not cheating but also a worse third thing, no use of y/n, old situationship best described in terms of “casual” by chappell roan (iykyk), art is lowkey a shit starter

author’s note: so i finished this a while back and added it to my queue and did not realize i put it for july instead of june so LOL MY BAD. this is kinda like a prequel to “good luck, babe!” but you don't need to read that to get this. alsoooo thank you for all the love and feedback in “good luck, babe!” i’ve read every single message and tried to reply to all of them! you guys are so sweet and inspired me to write more! thank you thank you <3 i hope you enjoy this one!

Manhattan, New York City, 2012

"I hope you're planning on getting laid tonight."

Your drink is cold, the ice cubes clinking against the glass as you swirl the straw absentmindedly. The dim lighting of the hotel bar casts a warm, golden glow over everything, making the polished wood of the bar counter gleam. Around you, the murmur of conversations, bursts of laughter, and the occasional clinking of glasses create a lively yet intimate ambiance. You glance at the TV mounted in the corner, where a muted sports channel displays highlights from a basketball game.

You try not to snort into your drink at the words of Patrick Zweig on the other end of the call. You push your phone closer to your ear, unable to bite back the grin spreading across your face.

"Are you serious?" you ask.

"What?" Patrick's tone is mockingly innocent, full of playful mischief.

"I thought you called to say something a little more... I don't know, sincere? Heartwarming?"

He lets out a loud, boisterous laugh that you can practically feel through the phone. In the background, you hear the faint sounds of a city—honking cars, distant chatter, and the occasional bark of a dog. The noise fades slightly as Patrick likely moves to a quieter spot, and you can almost picture him getting in his car in some other state—you think he's in Arizona.

"The only kind of warming I wanna hear about is cockwarming," he retorts, his voice dripping with mock seriousness.

You make a face, "You're disgusting."

"I mean it," he insists, still laughing. "I'm actually so jealous of you right now. You qualified for the Olympics, for fuck's sake! How's your mom doing? Did she have a heart attack? Did she call you already? I hope she packed you some condoms. There's gonna be such a wide variety. Literally every country in the world."

"Shut the fuck up, Patrick."

Your mother did call, her voice crackling with emotion over the phone just before Patrick rang you. She told you how proud she is of you, how she can't wait to watch you play and tell everyone she knows that her daughter is an Olympic tennis player. A gold medalist, maybe.

Her words echo in your mind, filling you with a warmth that battles the nerves simmering beneath the surface.

You take a sip of your drink, savouring the blend of fruity and bitter flavours, a welcome distraction from the whirlwind of thoughts. You try not to spill it on your Ralph Lauren sweater, custom-made, just for the Olympics, with your name stitched on the arm.

Around you, the hotel bar is alive with the buzz of other athletes celebrating with their teams. The fellowship is appreciable as laughter and cheers fill the air. But for some single athletes, like yourself, it's a different story. You feel as if you're in high school all over again, too awkward to make friends, hoping someone braver than you will come by and say hello first.

"You better not be sitting at the bar alone, drinking that orange juice you like."

"A sangria isn't just juice, you dick," you retort, rolling your eyes.

"You're such a loser."

You do feel a little bit like a loser, sitting alone at the bar, but you know you shouldn't. You're hours away from your flight to London where you'll have the chance to play tennis in the Olympics. This is all you've ever wanted since you were a child, all you've been working for—sweat, blood, and tears. You can't even remember a time when you've dreamt of something other than this.

Tennis has always been your escape, your sanctuary. You remember those early days when you played with second-hand rackets and makeshift nets, the local court becoming your second home.

And then there was Patrick, your closest… friend(?) and fiercest rival. His encouragement, his competition, and his company kept you grounded and motivated. When the going got tough, the dream felt too distant, and all of it made you feel far too guilty as if you had stolen someone else's life, Patrick was there to reassure you that you deserved it just as much as the next. Without him, you likely would have walked away from the sport you love.

"I can't believe you made it to the Olympics before me," Patrick's voice pulls you back to the present, a mix of envy and pride lacing his words. You can almost see the playful smirk on his face, a familiar expression that often surfaced during your countless matches together.

"I wish you were here, Pat." Your voice softens, the longing evident. It was hard to track down Patrick Zweig, especially while he was constantly on the move, hopping from state to state, playing as many challengers as he could sign up for, each match a stepping stone toward his dream of winning the US Open. And you think he will. You've played against him enough times to know he's better than you at hitting a ball with a racket.

There were nights when you'd both crash in a shabby motel or back at your place after a gruelling day on the court, strategizing and critiquing each other's play styles (sometimes in more than just tennis). His tenacity was a beacon for you, pushing you to strive harder and to reach further.

His voice softens, becoming more earnest. "Yeah, me too. I'll try to get tickets for one of your games in London. If not, I'll catch up with your mom and watch it with her. Is your dad still in the picture?"

You roll your eyes, a reflex to his familiar teasing. "Oh, my god."

"I'm just asking," he chuckles. "Listen, I'm gonna let you go, 'cause I've got a date tonight. But call me when you land."

"Oh, yeah, okay." You try not to let the disappointment seep into your voice, but it's hard. It's not like you and Patrick were together, at least not publicly, at least not in the sense that you couldn't see other people. But even as you tell yourself that, a knot tightens in your chest.

It feels a bit teenageish, you think, messing around with friends and acting like it means nothing just to avoid making things awkward. Yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were leaving something unsaid, something unacknowledged. Patrick was one of the few people in your life who kept you on your toes and made you feel good—truly good.

Now, the idea of him with someone else, going on dates while you chase your dreams, feels like a betrayal you can't quite articulate. But what right do you have to feel that way? You never made things official, never dared to cross that line.

You never bothered to search for love outside of tennis.

"Have fun on your date," you manage to say. It comes out more brittle than you'd hoped. "Talk to you later."

"Bye!" he says, oblivious to the turmoil in your heart. His voice is light and carefree, and why wouldn't it be?

You end the call and set your phone down on the bar with a bit more force than intended, the hollow thud echoing your frustration. The bartender glances your way and you try to flash him an honest smile before ordering another drink. The TV overhead flickers, switching from basketball highlights to a recap of the latest tennis matches. You watch the screen without really seeing it.

The bar is still lively, yet you feel an overwhelming sense of solitude. You can't help but feel like you're stuck in limbo—caught between your dreams and the reality of your personal life.

You take a deep breath and a long sip of the rest of your first drink, the cool liquid doing little to ease the heat of frustration building inside you. You tell yourself you should be happy, grateful even. But right now, all you can think about is Patrick, and how much easier it would be if he were here with you.

But he's not. And maybe he never will be.

Maybe no one will.

Maybe you will die alone, your tennis racket as your only companion.

"This seat taken?" A familiar voice breaks through your thoughts.

You turn, startled, "No-" you start, but then the blur of blonde hair comes to focus and you're stumbling over your words, "Art? What- what are you doing here?"

"Oh," he smiles, a shy faint red blush already growing on his pale skin. He sits beside you, almost hesitantly, "Just stopping by the city. I saw you and thought I'd say hi."

"Hi." You return his smile, albeit a bit warily.

It's been years since you last spoke to Art properly, though your paths have crossed a few times. You've seen him in magazines, TV, and brief passings usually at major tournaments—Wimbledon, the Australian Open, the US Open. Each time, there were shy smiles and waves from across the room, lingering eyes, and awkward conversations where mutual friends tried to reintroduce you as if you hadn't once known each other

Art looks different every time you see him. His hair, now a little shorter than you remember, still maintains that boyish shagginess. There's a darker tan on his skin, evidence of his time spent under the sun. Some days he has a brighter smile, other days, it's a smile that never reaches his eyes.

As he sits there, you can't help but think of how golden his hair used to look whenever he wore his old Stanford hat, the one he used to pull low over his eyes during your college days. The memory makes you aware that you're staring, maybe a little too long. But he's looking at you too, his blue eyes trailing from one end of your face to the other, as if trying to memorize it all, capturing a photograph of who you are now.

A warmth spreads through you under his gaze, and when he finally looks away, you turn too, tapping at your empty glass, pretending to seem interested in the way the ice has started to melt.

But your eyes betray you, slowly trailing back to him. You watch the way he sits, the way he calls over the bartender and orders himself a glass of water. You try not to notice the deep timbre his voice has gained over the years, and how it resonates in the noisy bar. He looks at you, then the empty seat on your other side, and finally scans the room anxiously, as if he's searching for someone or something.

"He's not here," you finally say, breaking the silence that has grown too heavy. "If that's what you're wondering."

He nods, trying to act nonchalant but failing miserably. "What city is he in now?"

"Vegas, I think."

He makes a face and rests his chin on his hand. "There's no challengers in Vegas this month."

"Then he's just visiting. I don't know." The truth is, you don't want to talk about Patrick right now. Especially not with Art. Not after the way they ended things. You watch Art shrug, and the bartender sets your drink in front of you. You take a grateful sip, savouring the blend of flavours. Art holds his glass carefully, and the two of you sit in strained silence for a moment, the noise of the bar fading into the background.

You can't help but ask, "What are you doing here? In Manhattan?"

"I have an interview tomorrow. For the New York Times," Art says, leaning back slightly. He seems a little surprised as if he expected you to sit there without acknowledging him for the whole night. It makes you wonder what he thinks of you. "They're doing a piece on my career, the highs, the lows... the beginning and stuff."

You study his face, trying to gauge his emotions. You know what it's like to be interviewed, to have a team of people making you look your best for photos and another team crafting answers to help you maintain your reputation. It’s exhausting and thrilling all at once. "Congrats, I'm happy for you."

"Thank you. If anything, I should be congratulating you. Olympics? That's huge..." He continues talking, his lips moving, but you’re barely registering the words. For the first time that night, he seems genuinely enthusiastic, a faint spark in his eyes as he talks about you, about London, gesturing with his hand in excitement.

That's when you notice it. The gold around his finger. It glimmers under the warm lights of the bar, catching your eye like a beacon. You can't stop staring at it even after he's done talking.

"Oh, yeah. It's great." The words feel hollow as they leave your mouth. You struggle to find the right response, not wanting to be rude. "You're married?"

His face falls, and he looks down at his hand resting on his lap. "Oh, yeah, yeah. We, uh..." He scratches the back of his head, his eyes darting up to meet yours briefly before looking away. He seems nervous, like he's bracing for your reaction, worried to tell you, as if you weren’t supposed to know at all. "We got married last year. We kept pushing the date for a while because we were... we were busy... and stuff just kept getting in the way."

"We...?"

"Tashi."

"Tashi," you echo, the name tasting foreign and bitter on your tongue. "You're married? You married each other?"

He nods, "Yeah, we've been engaged for a few years now. You haven't heard?"

You feel a lump form in your throat. "No, uh. My coach tries to keep me away from certain news... my mom suggested it. So I don't get uh, distracted."

This is exactly the kind of situation your team has been trying to avoid.

The reality of his words sinks in, and you feel a sharp pang of something—loss, regret, maybe even jealousy. The air around you feels thicker and harder to breathe. Each word he says feels like another brick being laid on your chest, pressing down, making it harder to stay composed.

"Oh. Yeah, that makes sense."

You force a smile, but it's a fragile thing, threatening to shatter at any moment. "That's... that's great, Art. I'm happy for you. Really. How was... how was the wedding?" Your mind races with thoughts of broken promises and missed opportunities. You imagine Tashi in her wedding dress; you know she looked beautiful. The image stabs at you, and you wince.

"It was beautiful. Both our families came in, and we kept it traditional, in a church. It was..." He pauses, watching you before adding, "It was a small ceremony. Private. Just family."

His words twist the knife deeper. Tashi's family used to see you as such. "No, yeah, I get it. Wouldn't want any trouble at the wedding. I'm happy for you. I'm happy for the both of you." You turn to the bartender, desperate to keep your voice steady. "Hey, can I get another drink? Something stronger?"

Patrick was right; your stupid orange juice won't get you through the night.

Art watches you with concern, his brow furrowing. "How many of those have you had?"

You laugh, but it sounds hollow even to your ears. "Not enough."

"Does your coach know you're drinking?"

"Does yours know you're talking to me?"

Art leans back, his posture stiffening. He turns to his drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass as he takes another sip. The silence that follows is thick and uncomfortable. You watch as he processes your words, his expression shifting from defensiveness to something more pained. You instantly feel a pang of guilt, realizing you've struck a nerve.

You've heard all about Tashi's coaching with Art. Whispers in the locker rooms during tournaments, hushed conversations about how she's pushing him until he cracks. You never wanted to believe it, never wanted to think that Tashi, of all people, would be the one to break him down.

"She calls you Ace, you know."

You make a face at the name. A journalist had written an article about you a few years ago when you won your first US Open, nicknaming you Ace since your serves were almost impossible to hit. The nickname stuck, plastered across headlines, magazine covers, and merchandise. People even bet on you becoming the youngest tennis player with the most aces in history before the season ended. You were only off by a dozen.

"Does she?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, unaffected.

"You do have a killer serve."

You scoff, shaking your head. "Killer." The word feels bitter on your tongue. "Tashi used to hit those back at me like it was nothing."

Art nods, taking another sip of his drink before pausing to look at you. "Only 'cause she knows you."

"Knew," you correct him.

The silence stretches again, heavier this time. You're about to say something, anything to break it, when Art speaks again, his voice softer, more earnest.

"I miss you."

What. The. Fuck.

"I do," he insists, leaning forward, his eyes searching yours. "I miss hanging out with you. I miss playing with you. Watching your games live and not recorded on my TV."

"Art, c'mon." You feel the dread crawling up your throat, wishing you had left the bar sooner. Every word he says seems to pull you deeper into a past you've been trying to escape. Art has done nothing but throw you off your game all night.

"I miss you outside of tennis, too," he continues, his voice tinged with regret. "I miss our late-night walks, studying in the library. You remember those?"

"Of course I do."

"Tashi misses you, too," he says, and you can tell he's crossing a line, testing your patience. You can feel the corner of your mouth twitch, your eyes unable to meet his. "She tells me every night. She's always keeping up with your stats, watching all of your games, rewatching your old ones. She makes notes for you, how you could improve. She wants to coach you."

"Art, stop it," you finally snap, turning to face him. The night feels ruined, any semblance of peace shattered. Was this all some elaborate scheme against you? After all these years, is this how they repay you? Out of spite? Is that what it is, a way to get back at you because you somehow got it all, and Tashi's taking whatever she can scrape off from Art?

"I don't want her to coach me. And I highly doubt she wants to coach me either."

"I booked the hotel," he says suddenly, his voice softer, more sincere. "She doesn't know you're here. And I really think it will be good for you two to talk." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small piece of paper, placing it carefully on the bar in front of you. "Here's our room number. I'll be out tonight with some friends, so the room is yours till late. Just, don't kill each other or break anything if you fight."

"I'm not going—"

"She really does miss you," he interrupts, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you might understand, might relent.

You stare at the piece of paper, feeling its presence like a burning brand. Art stands up, hesitating for a moment as if he wants to say more but thinks better of it. "I mean it. Think about it," he murmurs before turning and walking away, his footsteps echoing in the hollow space of your mind.

You watch him go, each step he takes pulling at the threads of your carefully constructed facade. As he nears the entrance, your eyes follow him instinctively, and that's when you see her. Tashi. She's standing there, with her bags looking around with a familiar intensity, her eyes scanning the room until they lock onto yours.

You feel sick.

Meeting Art was a pleasant surprise; he makes your heart race and your cheeks burn. But Tashi makes your heart stop and your brain shut off.

She looks different—older, more mature, hair straight and cut to a mid-length but also a lighter colour—but still heartbreakingly familiar. Her eyes widen slightly as she recognizes you.

She opens her mouth as if to say something when Art stands next to her, pressing a kiss to her temple, but no words come out.

Your heart hammers in your chest.

The weight of her gaze is too much. You're the first to look away. You stand up abruptly, nearly knocking over your drink in the process. "Excuse me," you mutter to the bartender, slapping a couple of bucks on the counter. Your voice feels distant, and detached, as if it belongs to someone else.

You push through the crowd, your mind a chaotic whirl of emotions. You need air. You need space.

As you reach the elevator, you can feel Tashi's eyes still on you. But you keep moving, your footsteps quickening with each step. You need to focus on tennis. That's the only thing that's never let you down.

Tashi had once picked tennis over you, and now it was your turn to do the same.

You reach your room and close the door behind you, leaning against it as you finally let out the breath you've been holding. The walls seem to close in on you, and you slide down to the floor.

You need to remember why you're here. For the game. For the dream. And that has to be enough.

Only one problem.

You can't sleep.

Hours later, you find yourself in the hotel gym, the quiet hum of the machines the only sound in the stillness of the night. Your mind is racing, a chaotic swirl of thoughts and emotions you can't control. Desperate for an outlet, you hop on a treadmill and start running, hoping to exhaust yourself into some semblance of peace.

Anything is better than sitting in the hotel lobby, scouring the internet on the public computer for any proof of Art and Tashi's marriage while drinking wine straight from the bottle.

Art was right, it was a small wedding. There were almost no photos of it caught by the paparazzi, only articles upon articles talking about it, magazine covers and everything. God, how could you have missed this? How out of the loop were you?

There was only one photo posted, and it was from Tashi's Facebook and Instagram from less than a year ago; a picture of just her hand holding onto Art's, where you can see her wedding ring. There was no caption. But the photo had millions of likes.

You wonder if Patrick knew. He probably did. He stalks her account religiously and only recently started to tone it down. And then there's you, who had her blocked on everything since your last argument.

The music playing in your ears drowns out the world around you, a heavy beat pulsing as you hum along. Your eyes fixate on the rising numbers on the treadmill screen, sometimes glancing out the window at the city skyline, other times catching your silhouette in the glass reflection.

Sweat makes your clothes cling to you like a second skin, rolling down your spine in rivulets. You're still a little tipsy from your drinks, the taste lingering in your cheeks, but you think you're sober enough that a few more miles will drain it all out.

Art's words are burned into your mind. The wedding you were never invited to, how he suddenly wants to be friends again. You can see where he's coming from; tennis is lonely. You're lonely. You press the button to go faster, your legs burning as you push yourself harder, trying to escape the thoughts that chase you.

You don't hear the door click open, and it takes a few seconds for you to spot the reflection of someone walking behind you in the window's reflection, rolling out a pink yoga mat. But they don't step onto it, they don't move, and even worse, you catch their eye in the reflection.

Fuck.

It's Tashi Duncan.

Your heart lurches in your chest. You quickly look away, panic setting in. You turn your music up higher and make the treadmill run faster, the machine whirring louder in response. Your pulse races, not just from the exertion, but from the presence of the one person you can't bear to face right now.

In the corner of your eye, you see her approach you. When you hear her call out your name between songs, you pretend you can't hear her. You pretend to be captivated by the sight of the city at night, pretend that you're lost in the music as P!nk's voice blares into your ears, cursing out one of her old lovers.

You wonder how long you can keep the act up.

Tashi moves with a determination that you've always admired and feared. She walks around your treadmill, eyes locked onto you with a fierce intensity. Without hesitation, she reaches down and unplugs the machine from the wall, forcing it to power down abruptly.

Not long enough.

"What the fuck?" You huff, yanking out your earbuds. "What's your fucking problem?"

"You're my problem," she says, her voice steady, unyielding as she rolls her eyes.

"I haven't said a word to you."

"And that's my problem. I'm talking to you," Her gaze bores into yours, refusing to be ignored. You can see the resolve in her eyes, the same decisiveness that made her a force to be reckoned with on the court.

"I'm busy," you snap, and your breath comes in ragged gasps, both from the exertion and the emotional storm raging inside you. You feel trapped, cornered by the very person you’ve been trying to avoid.

You bite your tongue, stepping off the treadmill and walking around her when she steps in front of you. You make a straight line for your bag, watching her from the mirrors as she follows you closely.

"Can you listen?" It's more of a demand than an ask, "I just... Art told me what he did. He's a little shit, I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. You have other shit to worry about."

You're taking long chugs from your water, staring at her without saying a word. Part of it is because you have nothing to say to her, and another is because you're afraid that if you speak, she'll see through you.

Tashi's eyes roam over you, lingering on your shorts and the way the wires from your earbuds snake from your iPod, under your tank, and peek out from under your sports bra. Her gaze is both appraising and filled with something unresolved between you. When you don't respond, she sighs. "You look great, by the way. On the court. You've changed your approach. You're vicious."

The compliment stings more than it soothes. You still don't say anything, letting the silence stretch between you like a chasm.

"...Or maybe you've always been. I haven't seen you in a long time. So a lot could've changed, I don't know."

You lower your bottle, swallowing the water. It feels cold as it runs down your throat, a stark contrast to the heat of your rising anger. You can't help the way your eyes drop to her hand when you pull your hair down from its ponytail. The sight of the ring on her finger feels like a punch to the gut.

She notices.

"We didn't want you to find out this way."

Your eyes snap up to hers. "And how was I supposed to find out?"

Tashi looks taken aback for a moment, her confident façade faltering. She takes a deep breath, as if bracing herself. "I don't know. Maybe we should've told you. Should've invited you. But I thought... I thought it would be easier for you if you didn't know. I didn't want to hurt you more than I already had."

Your laugh is bitter, devoid of any real amusement. "Easier?

"Look," Tashi begins, her voice tinged with a hint of impatience, "I'm not a fan of the way I ended things. But I think that keeping a grudge for this long is embarrassing. We were teenagers."

"You're right," you concede with a bitter chuckle, "it is embarrassing. But you know what's even more embarrassing?" Your voice rises, fueled by a mixture of frustration and hurt. "Having your husband come to me and tell me how much he misses me. And how you miss me. But you don't have the guts to tell me that yourself, do you? Do you miss me, Tashi?"

"Of course I miss you," she scoffs, her tone defensive. "You were my best friend. My serving partner. We played and won doubles together."

"Is that all I was to you?"

"Was there supposed to be anything more?"

There it is, the moment you've been dreading, the confrontation you've been avoiding. You can feel the familiar ache in your chest, "You know I fucking loved you, Tashi," you admit. "And yeah, whatever, everyone loved you. No one could get enough of Tashi Duncan. But you know damn well I loved you for more than just that."

"Loved?" She steps closer, her eyes searching yours. "You don't love me anymore?"

"No," you tell her. "I don't. I dropped out of your groupie a while ago."

"What do you love, then?" Her voice is almost a whisper, the distance between you closing.

"I love tennis," you confess, your gaze never leaving hers. "I love winning. Turns out I'm great at both. And I love that too. And people love me. That's more than you could ever give me. Or Art."

"Even Patrick?" The mention of his name is a sharp jab; she's trying to get under your skin.

"I don't know, you tell me." You're taunting her. And you love the way she falters for a split second. "You saw him at the Open last year, didn't you?"

The air drifting between you is almost palpable, shrinking smaller and smaller like it’s terrified of being trapped between you. "Listen," she says, her voice dropping lower, "I just came here to tie some loose ends. For Art's sake. He says It'll be good for me."

"Okay," you reply, seizing the opportunity to turn the conversation in your favour. Hook, line and sinker. "Is there anything else you want to get off your chest?"

Hook.

Tashi's eyes narrow slightly, but she takes the bait, her expression shifting to one of determination. "You raise your arm too high when you serve. You're gonna dislocate your shoulder one day."

"I bet you're waiting for the day I do."

"I can make you the best."

"Am I not already?"

Line.

"You're one of the best at most. But not the best. I'd be surprised if you bring back bronze. You're too short-tempered for silver. Let me coach you. I'll make sure you bring back gold."

"I don't need you," you say, the words catching in your throat.

"We both know you do," she whispers, her breath warm against your lips.

And sinker.

In that moment, everything else fades away, leaving only the two of you suspended in time. The words hang in the air, a silent challenge. You can feel the heat radiating from her, the closeness almost unbearable.

Without another thought, your lips crash together in a desperate kiss, a release of all the pent-up tension and longing that has simmered between you for far too long.

It's a whirlwind of heat and passion, each touch igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume everything in its path. Her hands are in your hair, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, your body pressed against hers with a fierce urgency.

The kiss deepens a symphony of desire and desperation, all the words you couldn't say pouring into it with a fervour that borders on reckless abandon. You can feel yourself start to become absorbed into the bubble that is Tashi Duncan, it sucks you in, and it scares you, makes you feel as if you're sinking into the bottom of the ocean.

She grips the back of your neck, hard enough that her nails dig into the skin. Tashi waits for your gasp, and when you do, she pushes her tongue into your mouth, past your teeth until it collides with your own.

You're moaning, groaning into her mouth with the way she shoves you until your back hits the mirror behind you. You're arching into her at the way she fucking smiles against your lips at your reaction.

It's pathetic. You're pathetic. Almost in the same way Art is. You know it. She knows it. But in your defence, it's been a while since you've been kissed, it's been a while since someone's touched you this way, with heat and flavour. You're a little dizzy from it, cheeks flaring with embarrassment.

Tashi sucks your tongue into her mouth and you buck your hips against the thigh she's pressed between your legs.

There's a sweetness that lingers when she bites your lip, you wonder if she's wearing lipgloss, maybe chapstick. You hope she can't tell you've been drinking, that talking to Art made you spiral, that you've been bluffing since the moment she walked into the gym. Since the night she packed her things and told you she was leaving Stanford, her scholarship has no use since she can't play anymore.

When her hands run down your neck to your waist, gliding over the sweat on your skin, you can feel the cold touch of her wedding ring. It's frigid, making you shiver when Tashi starts to lick up the column of your throat. You almost feel bad about how wet you've become.

"Tashi..." you huff, her hands found their way to the base of your ass, guiding you to rock faster against her, only making you whine. Her grasp is tight, wanting. She pulls at your hips, slowly, dragging your crotch closer to hers and then pushing you back down on her leg. She repeats the motion a few times, rolling her own hips up into you a little more with each motion, and soon your muscles start to work so you can grind down onto her.

Tashi rewards you with a quiet moan—oh, you want her to do that again, you're going to make her do that again, louder and louder—and then, with a touch so light you could cry, she traces one hand over your hipbones and down to your pussy.

You can feel your stomach nearly drop, "You're married, Tashi."

She pulls away just to laugh at you. One finger traces your slit through your shorts, and you hear yourself moan. She raises her brows, a challenging look in her eyes, "Are you jealous?"

You try to scoff, but the cold glass of the mirror behind you squeaks when you shift. Even just this feather-light pressure through two layers of fabric, and every nerve ending in your body sets alight at once.

"What would Art say?" You try to say, your hair falling over your face as you try to collect some kind of morality. If you were caught, you can already imagine the headlines and the stories people would write about you. "What would he do if he found us right now?"

"I don't know," Tashi hums, leaning closer. She pretends to think as if the answer isn't obvious, teasing you a little when she gets close enough to kiss you but doesn't. "He'd probably ask to join."

You can't stop the way that thought alone makes you melt. You remember the jokes Patrick used to make back when you were in college, of you and Tashi being his wet dreams. You can almost imagine, how he would moan at everything, want everything, his whiney moans too similar to the ones he makes when he's on the court.

Tashi rubs gently at your pussy a few more times like she's exploring you, and then suddenly she taps right where your clit is. You cry out, and she sighs against your mouth. "You're so wet. You like it when I touch you?"

"Yeah, please... touch me." You nod. And in your head, you're telling yourself you only like it because you haven't been with anyone since Patrick left for his tour.

Tashi kisses you again, and it's a tangle of teeth and hands and smiles kept hidden, as you slip your fingertips beneath her shirt she starts to fumble with your waistband, and you're both angry and resentful and incredibly destructive, but it doesn’t matter yet.

Her fingers are clumsily slipping into your underwear and then she's there, her fingers are brushing right against your clit—you're so wet that her fingers brush right through your folds, gliding like silk, and by the time she reaches your hole, two fingers easily sink in right to the knuckle.

Tashi leaves you gasping and she teases you for it. "So sensitive," she taunts against your lips, pressing her thumb against your clit so she can see you squirm, pumping her fingers at an urgent pace to hear you moan. "So needy."

With each movement, she scissors her fingers a little, spreading you wider every time, and she starts to mouth at your neck with hot, wet kisses. "Do you like that, yeah? Am I making you feel good? I am, aren't I? I'm exactly what you need. C'mon say you want me. Tell me you need me, Ace."

"Maybe—" You're breathless, and the nickname has you tugging at her hair again, "Shit, I saw the way you made Art. He... oh god... he wouldn't be half the athlete without you. I also... I also wouldn't want to ruin my shoulder... while—while serving."

"I'm not talking about tennis."

For a moment, you worry that you've fallen for a trap, that you've said too much. You're vulnerable, a little drunk on lust and wine, and Tashi isn't stupid to not catch your sapphic crush on her since the two of you became friends, an old high school love that's never really disappeared, from slumber party kisses and how you've gawked at her, at her husband and even her ex-boyfriend.

"C'mon, Tash, you're always talking about tennis."

"Not this time."

You barely catch onto what she says. Your body feels like it's going through the most intense orgasm of your life, especially now that she's given up on pumping her fingers in favour of curling them in rapid beats against your g-spot, but you know that you're not even coming yet: you're close, though, judging by the way the room is spinning around you, and the pressure building in the pit of your stomach—"I think I'm close... oh, I don't—fuck—keep touching me like that."

She bites your neck until you say her name. You pull her hair until she moans. Her touch is blistering against your skin. She says your name in a breathy drawl like she's pleading with you, humouring you, wanting to take everything from you.

"Keep going, please, please don't stop," you all but shout, and Tashi continues the massaging movement right up on your g-spot: the positioning of her hand means the heel of her palm is dragging over your clit, and your hips are frantically grinding up into her hand—you're gonna come, the world feels like it's crashing down around you.

Every muscle in your body tenses up and through it all you hear Tashi whispering, come on, that's it, I've got you, come on, come on, and then you're coming—

Distantly, you can feel her fingers continue their movements inside of you, unrelenting—and the other hand keeps a firm grip on your hips, grounding you onto her lap—but other than that, all you know is the pleasure slamming into each nerve in your body, one by one and then all at once. A hot sting against your skin that reminds you of the sun whenever you're on the tennis court, deep into the game you've turned into the love of your life.

It can't have possibly been this long since the last time you've gotten laid, right?

Then, suddenly, you're back in reality. Tashi is heaving for breath against your shoulder and her fingers are back to a slow, steady pumping, in and out of your swollen pussy. "You're so pretty, you know that? No tennis talk."

You lean your head back against the mirror, a slow grin forming on your lips, "You don't think I'm pretty when I play."

"I think you're hot when you play."

You peek a glance at Tashi, meeting her eyes as she watches you, watching the way you catch your breath, skin shining against the fluorescent lights of the gym, similar to how you shine on the court. Yeah, you're a sight for sore fucking eyes.

Tashi takes slow, taunting steps back and away from you, and then she brings her fingers to her mouth and sucks, moaning around the digits, and through hazy eyes, you can see the most fucked-out look on her face just at the taste of your cum.

She licks her fingers clean—you feel your pussy clench down again at the sight—before opening her eyes, fixing you with an intense stare, and panting, "I'll be in my room," she rolls up her pink mat (which she never used) and picks up her bag, "I'm sure you know the number. I'm hoping you can return the favour and touch me or something. You know, before you leave in the morning."

tags 🏷️: @begoniaespresso / @sceletaflores / @too-deviant / @wolflover384 / @sevikasblackgf / @supercutszns / @diorrfairy / @24kmar / @apolloscastellan

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[the-nerdiest-insanity]

Home Is With You

Also on Ao3

Day 3 of the Dead Boy Detectives Pride Month Prompts- "I miss home"

Three days after returning from Port Townsend, a new case sent the trio out of the country again. The boys barely had a chance to start accommodating the office, and Crystal hadn’t even figured out where she would want to stay in London yet. Someone from Crystal’s past, currently residing in Ireland, needed their assistance. Apparently, old Crystal threw around information on her powers as freely as her parents’ money.

A painful hour and a half flight later, the agency had landed in Dublin. Crystal was attempting to calm the boys down the whole time, telling them it would be a quick and easy case. Edwin was making it well known that he still objected to traveling the long way even though the other two clearly saw how fascinated he was with air travel every time. Oddly, Charles was pacing both the airport and the plane like a caged animal the whole time. He brushed off both Crystal and Edwin’s advances in conversation, constantly keeping his head on a swivel. 

Crystal’s friend, Emily, picked them up from the airport while debriefing them on the current status of the case. Emily recently moved into a new apartment, and it appeared to be haunted. Objects of hers disappearing, banging in the night, things moving through the air on their own, etcetera. Crystal shot the boys a few looks, attempting to tell them, “See? Easy.” Edwin still appeared annoyed, and Charles agitated.

The drive was short, and they were swiftly at Emily’s door. As she was about to turn the handle, she turned back to Crystal, saying, “Be careful walking around in there.” Her eyes drifted passed Crystal’s shoulder to look at the boys. “All of you.”

Charles instinctively reached an arm in front of Edwin while reaching one toward the back of Crystal’s jacket. “Crystal, wait–”

Emily opened the door, and a black cat scrambled out through everyone’s legs. The agency members all jumped back while Emily sighed, “Tinks, what did we discuss about scaring new people?”

The cat squinted at their owner and meowed indignantly. 

“They’re here to stop whoever or whatever is messing with us, so play nice,” Emily replied.

Tinks glanced over the newcomers, their gaze lingering momentarily on Edwin. Charles stepped slightly in front of the other ghost. Seemly satiated, Tinks trotted back into the apartment.

“Sorry about her,” Emily said, now moving in as well, “She’s very territorial, especially with everything strange going on.”

The detectives lingered outside the door, staring in. They could see a sitting room on the left with a connected kitchen and a short hallway on the right leading likely to Emily’s bedroom or whatever other rooms she had. In the bit of the kitchen they could see, there were herbs hanging to dry with a bookshelf separating it from the living room. A couple of the books had copies on the agency’s shelves.

Charles gently grabbed Crystal’s arm and led her a couple more steps away from the door. “You didn’t tell us your friend knew about the supernatural.”

Crystal looked just as stunned and confused. “I didn’t know! She wasn’t this invested in it the last time I saw her.” She glanced around the still-empty complex hallway and stepped closer to whisper, “The last time I saw her was three years ago when I made out with her girlfriend after she told me she thought I was hot. I wasn’t exactly keeping tabs on her lifestyle choices after that.”

“Did you really lead us to a different country yet again to help someone who, this time, actively dislikes you, last you knew?” Edwin butted in, having overheard.

“I’m trying to be a better person,” Crystal defended. “In case you forgot, and part of that is trying to help people I hurt and fix our broken relationships.”

“Alright,” Charles broke the two up harshly. “Let’s just get the information we need and get out of here. I don’t like the feel of this place.”

“Are you three going to come in or just keep whispering about me at my door?” Emily asked.

Edwin and Crystal both huffed. “Let us begin our investigation,” Edwin declared before finally entering the house.

…

Three hours later, they were getting nowhere. None of the strange phenomena occurred, and physically searching the place came up empty. It was getting dark, so Crystal politely declined Emily’s spare bedroom in favor of going to the hotel she’d booked.

Crystal threw down her small bag and flopped onto the bed. “Don’t wake me until 9 or there’s a fire,” she mumbled into a pillow, knowing the boys would get the gist.

Edwin sat down on the couch, flipping through his notes to see if he might have missed any possible leads. Emily clearly can see ghosts and communicate with supernatural creatures, so why can’t she see what’s in her apartment? Unless they were using some form of cloaking, but he’d need something more specific. “Charles, do you have…” Edwin trailed off as he looked up at his partner. Charles was pacing again. His brow was furrowed as his hands were opening and clenching at his sides. “Are you alright, Charles?” Edwin asked instead.

Charles stopped and plastered on a smile. He opened his mouth before letting his face fall and rethinking his words. “I just…” He fidgeted with his jacket’s zipper. “It’s been a lot lately, yeah?” He began slowly pacing once more. “I mean, Post Townsend was a whole thing itself, then we barely get a moment’s peace at the office before being shuffled off to another country again. Plus, we got Charlie and Crystal, and we’ve still got no idea what Jenny’s doing. We went to Hell, got tortured, and lost Niko and…” He stopped pacing, grunting in frustration.

Edwin stood, trying to figure out how to help when Charles continued, “Don’t get me wrong, Crystal and everyone, they’re aces, but I just miss us, you know? It was so much easier.” Charles stopped and turned to stare Edwin down. He was breathing heavily looking on the verge of tears. “I miss home,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

Before Edwin had a chance to wonder what Charles’s parents had to do with this, he was being enveloped in a hug. Oh. That kind of home.

Carefully, Edwin reciprocated, holding tightly as Charles hiccupped sobs onto his shoulder. As the tears slowly died out, Edwin gently and firmly said, “Home will always be right here. I’m not leaving, and you certainly won’t let anything take me away.” Charles huffed out a weak laugh. “We’ll be back at the agency very soon, and I will talk to both Crystal and the Night Nurse about not taking any long-distance cases for a year.”

Charles sniffled and pulled away just enough to look at Edwin as he said, “You don’t have to do that, mate. It’s fine.”

Edwin squeezed his shoulder, refusing to let go until the other did. “No, it’s not. I don’t like these types of cases either, and we shouldn’t have to push ourselves. We didn’t for thirty years and shouldn’t change now for others.”

Charles’s eyes fluttered over Edwin’s face, making him want to look away. Softly, Charles brought their heads together. “Never change, Edwin Payne,” he whispered.

“Nor you, Charles Rowland.:

[mr-m-murdock]

Hey! I’m not sure if your requests are open or not and if they aren’t, (or if you just don’t want to write it), feel free to ignore this. Can I get 7, 8, 37, and 58 for OPF?

~Btw, you are such a talented writer and I am in love with this series <3

ivory tower

| natasha x fem!reader | prompts from this list | only pretty faces

warnings: child assassins

a/n: NICE

Scotland is engulfed in snow when you next look out of the plane window. The runway, almost invisible against the grey of the ground and the sky and the sweep of Edinburgh, looms ominously. You tuck your book away and touch the back of your head against the headrest.

Natalia will be there. It's a fact you haven't allowed yourself to dwell on the whole flight: hell, you haven't thought about it since you were choosing which suitcase to bring. Even just that single thought of her invades your mind like a storm. It has ever since you met her: but that's how everyone reacts. That's just the effect she has on people.

It's calculated and purposeful. She knows exactly what she's doing and she executes her effect with grace and ease. She's a paradox in and of herself.

And it's nothing to do with you. So you might as well stop thinking about her.

The flight attendant offers to help you with your suitcase as you approach the door, and you briefly entertain dropping it wheels down onto her foot.

"No, thank you," you say sweetly. A light Serbian accent, easy as breathing. She smiles back at you.

The air is cruelly cold the second you step out of the safety of the cabin. You've endured far worse weather. No sleet, but wind ruffles the furs around your shoulders and you pull your scarf up before it can get to your hair. You descend the plane's steps with grace, as a lady of standing would.

You're supposed to be twenty three, and rich. You're pretty sure you stand somewhere between sixteen and nineteen in actuality, but it doesn't matter, and it never has.

They've sent you a limousine to the airport and it glides up to the taxi rank like a panther under the threatening grey sky. Instantly, the chauffeur leaps from his seat and takes your suitcase from you, ushering you into the back of the car with his other hand.

The interior is luxurious. One of the more enjoyable missions: perhaps your handler was having fun spending her money. You slide the partition up and settle yourself into the seat, listening to the growl of the engine.

Not listening to the slightly too-quick thump of your heart. Not thinking about Natalia Romanov.

The hotel is expensive, too: five storeys of white stone and tall glass windows, and the interior carpeted in deep lush red. You think, briefly, about the colour of Natalia's hair. Of course she would choose this place, self-obsessed as she is. Her sense of humour. She's everywhere you look.

The handrail in the elevator is gilded wood. You tip the porter a hundred Scottish pounds when you take your case from him and he doesn't even blink as he folds it away into his pocket.

You knock on the white wood of room 45C with your gloves still on. Natalia leaves you standing there for a full minute before she opens the door, a wide smile on her face. She's in slacks and a blouse, her blazer discarded carelessly on the expansive bed behind her.

"Katya, darling," she says, in perfect, clipped West London English, and she seizes you by the elbows and kisses you on both cheeks. Then she drags you inside, endowing you with an onslaught of chatter and you barely have time to snag the handle of your case and drag it in with you before she shuts the door.

She lets you go and turns, arms out, still grinning but sleeker this time, not excited but pleased with herself. Persona dripping away.

"You're enjoying this," you tell her, switching to Russian. You begin to tug your gloves off.

"Aren't you?" She reaches out and brushes at the fur on your coat. "You look like you own half the oil in Russia."

"For this week," you reply haughtily, "I do."

"You're too good," Natalia says, still with that insufferable smile on her face. "Oh, come on." You raise an eyebrow at her. "Have some fun. For once."

"I'm here for business — not pleasure." You turn away to sit at the vanity and begin to rearrange your hair. Natalia slinks up beside you and bends to rest her chin on your shoulder. She surveys you in the mirror. Tilts her head this way and that. She seems, beneath her makeup, as young and brilliant as she really is, innocent and excited to be playing a glamorous older woman.

She's projecting what she wants to project.

Or maybe you can see right through her like no one else can.

"Your lipstick is smudged," she observes. You meet her eyes in the reflection, her contact lenses dark brown and solemn.

You bristle. "No it isn't."

"Let me fix it for you." Without waiting for an answer, she circles the chair and settles herself in your lap, like a cat on a pillow. You stiffen and look past her, refusing to meet her eye.

She can play games, but that doesn't mean you have to join in.

With an intense look of concentration on her face, Natalia leans forward and wipes her thumb gently under your bottom lip. You fixate on the twists of her braid in the mirror.

"All done," she says, looping her arms around your neck, elbows balancing on your shoulders. You finally look at her.

"Good," you say. "Get off."

A cool eyebrow is raised, undermined by the sly little smile on her face. "So you don't want me to kiss you?" She's so close you can feel her warm breaths on your nose, one after the other.

You'd be lying if you denied. Not that lying has ever, ever bothered you. But you just hold her gaze, and hold it, and hold it, like you're down seven feet of water and fighting the ocean to see who'll live the longest without air. And you break. "No," you say. "I don't." You must have leant closer without realising, because a coil of red hair is brushing your forehead and her skin is centimetres from yours. Her arms slide further forwards.

"I think you do," she teases. "We've kissed before, sweetheart. Didn't you like it?"

For missions. You've kissed for covers. And neither of you ever pressed it further.

What makes Edinburgh so different?

You narrow your eyes at her, determined to last longer. The weight of her arms and the curve of her lips in your peripheral is making this game hard. But she wouldn't have started it if she didn't find it fun in some way: and you know exactly which way that is.

You tilt your head. "You just can't help yourself, can you?" The words slide past with a bite in them.

Natalia looks at you, eyelids lowered, face blank. "I beg your pardon?" she says, in English, in that impeccable accent. You touch the side of her nose with hers, and neither of you pull back.

"Why don't you just tell me what you want, instead of tricking me into it?" you ask.

"But it's so much more fun this way," Natalia replies. Her voice is quiet now, dampened by the thrumming tension.

"So you do want to kiss me," you say, triumphant in your effort to turn the game around. Like swallowing a bubble and feeling it reappear in your lungs.

Natalia doesn't answer for a long time. The board is hers now. She can talk with all the bravado in the world, or she can kiss you. She can skip backwards out of the way, or she can kiss you.

She moves forward - she doesn't have to move far - and she does kiss you. A gentle, slow press, insistent. Her arms tighten at your neck.

It's like every time before. Your heart swallows itself with a skip. Your hands are on her thighs before you can stop yourself. And when she pulls away you try to follow her.

"Beat you at your own game," you whisper. And then you realise - this was her endgame. You walked into it like a dog at heel. She wanted to kiss you, and not only did she get what she wanted, she got you to want it, too.

"But you didn't win," she says. She's smiling. Your lips are burning. This is what you've been not thinking about: Natalia in your face, on your lap, touching you almost all over. This is what you wanted all along, too.

Maybe you should let her think she's won.

"Kiss me again," you say. You brush your nose against hers, content to let her lean in to you. "But don't stop this time."

requests | masterlist

taglist: @when-wolves-howl @fayhar  @maggieromanov  @transbi-spidey @romanoffscottage @blackxwidowsxwife @lizlil @screechcat @maddess @mellxa @haeva @diaryoflife @natashasilverfox @vicmc624  @strangegardentaco  @phantomvael @lorsstar1st @blckrwidow @ima-gi--na-tion @paryl @picnicmic   @smalls-words @lainjupi  @d1s0nym @meimei-a @the-v01d @kqmui @s1ut4nat @btay3115  @idkjustliving2 @lokisjuicyass @mmmmokdok  @thorya22 @olicity-boo @iliketozoneout

[lightsoutletsgo]

hii, idk if you write for felipe drugovich since you didn't specify it in your post but if you do, can i request a fic with him and singer!reader or actress!reader where he takes him on her first race weekend? thank you in advance<3

la vie en rose pairing: felipe drugovich x singer!reader (I'm imagining the reader as a member of little mix because I love those girls but you can imagine whatever band or group you want!) warnings: cheese, fluffy fluff, bad writing word count: 2.1k ahhhh thank you so much for this request!! I loved writing it! ik I kinda strayed from the request a bit but I hope you still enjoy it <33 look how boyfriend he looks I'm- 😭

“Princesa?” Felipe softly smiled down at your dozing form from where he sat with his back up against the headboard of the bed as you whined and buried your face further into your pillow, refusing to accept that you couldn’t stay in your warm, cosy dream world any longer.  “Bebê?” You sighed as you stretched, eyes still remaining shut. You heard Felipe chuckle from next to you, “You look like a little kitten” You huffed indignantly as you felt one of Felipe’s hands gently stroke your face that lay on the pillow next to him. “Come on meu anjo… you gonna open your eyes for me?” He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek as you whined once more, “Let me see those beautiful eyes baby…” You sighed softly before cracking your eyes open, taking a minute to adjust to the bright morning sunlight filling the hotel room. You rubbed your eyes sleepily as you yawned and Felipe felt his heart clench at how cute you looked, your eyes opened fully and you couldn’t help the dopey smile that immediately stretched across your face as the first thing you looked at was your boyfriend. “There you go, there’s my pretty girl.” You felt your cheeks get warm as Felipe stared back at you, the same cheesy grin plastered across his face. 

Mornings like this were rare. It was bad enough that Felipe’s schedule was unpredictable and intense, given the chaos of the F2 season, but your schedule was just as bad. Whilst you loved your job and you knew you and your bandmates were incredibly lucky, touring the world and recording new albums and all the media responsibilities that came with that left very little time in your schedule to spend with friends, family or your boyfriend. There were times however, where the stars - and your calendars, aligned, and your tour dates matched up with the F2 season. 

This was one of those once-in-a-blue-moon weekends. Barcelona. You’d arrived the night before, exhausted, having just finished 3 shows in 2 days and then been whisked away to the airport for a flight to Spain. You’d never been more relieved to see the entrance to a hotel and after a slightly tearful (though he’d never admit it) reunion, you’d spent some time with Felipe, the adrenaline of performing and travelling keeping you awake before you couldn’t fight it anymore and you’d fallen asleep in his arms for the best sleep you’d had in a long time. Video and voice calls were great for on the road but nothing compared to him actually holding you. 

“How was the last city’s show Amor?” You gave him a soft smile once more as you nodded, “It’s been okay, we decided to change the set a little at the last few shows but it seemed to click well last night!” Felipe smiled as he stroked your arm gently. As much as he hated being apart from you, he had your job to thank for the two of you meeting. Your band had been asked to perform at a live event in London and you’d - quite literally, crashed into him backstage. He didn’t know who you were at that point. All he knew was that looking at you made him feel like he was in a fucking Disney movie. Or La La Land. Or a cheesy 90’s romcom. Complete with a shiny halo round your head and  cartoon birds singing in the background and a dramatic, moving orchestral score playing in the background. It wasn’t until he heard Clem fangirling over you in the distance that he’d been snapped back to reality and introduced himself. He thanked his lucky stars that he’d been too distracted trying to find a coffee machine that day that he’d bumped into you, even if he never got his coffee, he’d gotten your number and that was far better. From there it was a whirlwind of virtual dates on opposite sides of the world, you eating breakfast as your day started and him eating dinner as he got ready to wind down for the day as you shared your days and the latest news, it was stolen kisses in his car, Sunday pancakes at his apartment and makeshift movie nights in the recording studio during off season, it was him standing in the wings of your band’s show before you’d gone public, smiling to himself as he watched you perform love songs he knew were about him and only him. 

He was pulled from his reverie by your next sentence, “I was thinking I’d come to the race today.” He sat upright a little more and you yelped as he jolted you a little, “Sorry! Sorry!” He pulled you into his side and kissed the top of your head, “I just got a little excited for a second.” You giggled, grabbing the hand of the arm that was around you and linking your fingers together, smiling at the way his fingers interlocked with yours so perfectly, “You really mean it?” You nodded, “Mhmm! I mean, people know we’re together now and you’ve been to so many of my performances, it’s only right that I come to support you too!” Felipe smiled before he looked concerned, “Shouldn’t you rest though Princesa? Your show is tomorrow and I don’t want you getting sick or injured.” You smiled at him fondly as your hand came up to stroke his cheek, “I’ll be okay, besides, I’d only be watching it on TV if I stayed here! So why not just go and watch it live?” He laughed at your reply before gently booping your nose, “First one to the shower gets playlist privileges!” Before he was up and racing across the hotel room. You spluttered from your spot on the bed, “That’s hardly fair! I wasn’t ready!” You raced after him, “Drugovich you are such a cheat!” 

——————————

You giggled as Felipe nervously stuttered while introducing you to some of the drivers you hadn’t met yet. These giggles only got louder as the men you were introduced to gaped like goldfish when they realised who you were. “I won’t lie to you mate, I didn’t even know you could get a girlfriend…” Marcus joked good-naturedly as Felipe rolled his eyes, “You’re just jealous.” “Bro it’s Y/N. Who wouldn’t be?” A voice behind you made you turn round. “Hi Clem,” you smiled at the Frenchman who immediately swooped in to give you a hug, “Hey! Ines told me to tell you she loved the merch you sent!” You clapped your hands excitedly, “Oh good! Yeah the tour merch this time round is definitely my favourite we’ve ever had!” “How long is the tour this time round?” Dennis asked you, “Oh it’s a long one this time, we’re almost doing a world tour…” The conversation faded into the background as Felipe stared at you proudly. You looked immaculate, sporting a cute outfit from your favourite designer brand who’d jumped at the opportunity to dress you for the weekend. The colour was the perfect tone to make your eyes and hair colour pop and the shape and cut had him almost ready to get on his knees and worship your body right there and then. “Felipe?” You gently shook his arm, sensing he’d zoned out. He blinked a few times and inhaled deeply as he realised the two of you were now stood in the paddock outside catering alone “Hmm?” “I should probably go and find a good spot to hide away now, “Why?” “Why what?” “Why hide away?” Felipe grabbed your hand, thumb soothingly tracing shapes across the back of it as you looked down at your intertwined hands for a second before looking up at him. “I don’t want to distract from you. This is your time to shine. I don’t want to take away from your hard work and results.” Felipe smiled back at you, leaning in to quickly press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, making you gasp as you heard camera shutters behind you. “You won’t distract Amor, people will just see that I have the prettiest cheerleader ever.” You rolled your eyes with a giggle, “Fine then” As you headed through the paddock, you took no notice of the cameras or paparazzi shouting your name. You weren’t here as Y/N Y/L/N from your band, instead, you were here as Y/N Y/L/N the girlfriend of Felipe. You smiled to yourself, watching your locked hands swinging gently between the two of you. You made absent-minded conversation as you walked, occasionally stopping to take pictures with fans of him and you. While you had no time for the paparazzi, you always had time for your fans.

———————— “Well you can come again!” One of the engineers yelled to you, making you giggle as you turned back to watch your boyfriend step up onto the podium. “Definitely! Please come again!” Another one pleaded making you giggle as tears welled up in your eyes and you quickly pulled out your phone to snap some pictures of Felipe, uploading one to your instagram story before shrieking and giggling as you felt champagne spray down onto you and the team below as Felipe shared the victory celebrations with everyone. 

Heading towards his personal space you couldn’t help but laugh as he came barrelling through the door, “Princesa!” His hands were cupping your face and his lips were pressed to yours immediately. You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face and the two of you took a break from kissing as your smiles got too wide. He gently nuzzled his nose against yours, relishing in the moment before kissing you once more. “We should celebrate! I heard Clem and Marcus saying-“ “No.” You pulled back to look at him. “No?” He nodded, “Your show is tomorrow and you need rest, besides, there’s nothing I’d want more than to celebrate in our hotel room. You, me, room service, Netflix and clean sheets. “But-“ “No buts! Butts are for sitting!” He said winking as he mimicked what you said whenever he tried to argue with you, you sighed, shaking your head with a smile, “I just feel bad… You should be out celebrating with your friends, your team…” He moved closer once more, holding your face as he kissed your forehead, “Don’t feel bad bebê, I want to do this. Besides, I need to get my rest if I’m gonna perform every single routine in the audience tomorrow.” Your head tipped back with a laugh, knowing he wasn’t joking about his commitment to the dance routines. “If you’re sure…” “I’m sure” 

————————————

“Buenes noches Barcelona!” You waved to the audience with a smile as you rose up in the middle of the stage from a platform underneath for your solo section. “Are you having a good time so far?” 

You arranged yourself on the stool the stagehands had placed at the front and adjusted the mic on the stand before starting to strum your guitar softly, checking the tuning. “So this next song is actually a cover,” you waited for the screams to die down a little before continuing, “as you guys know, I have my amazing boyfriend here tonight! So this song is one I’m dedicating to him. Our relationship hasn’t always been easy but he’s always there for me and from the day we met this song is exactly how he’s made me feel. I’m so thankful and lucky to have him and I hope he feels that through this song.” Your gaze traveled to the box where Felipe sat with some friends, you couldn’t see him but you knew he was smiling at you. Beginning to strum the introduction to the song, you could see your fans getting out their phones and turning on their flashlights as they realised it was a slower song. You smiled and closed your eyes as you started singing, “Hold me close and hold me fast

The magic spell you cast

This is ‘La vie en rose’

When you kiss me, heaven sighs

And though I close my eyes

I see ‘La vie en rose’

When you press me to your heart

I'm in a world apart

A world where roses bloom

And when you speak, angels sing from above

Everyday words seem to turn into love songs

Give your heart and soul to me

And life will always be

‘La vie en rose’”

It wouldn’t be until later on when you had finished the show that you checked your phone and saw a post notification from Felipe, a picture of you on stage, eyes closed and a blissful smile on your face as you sang the song dedicated to him with the caption, “You have my heart and soul Amor” And if you also got tagged in a video by multiple people that a fan had taken of Felipe crying during your solo… Well… You were definitely saving that one to your camera roll for the wedding speech… 

[littlemisslipbalm]

I live in the neighbourhood

When Y/N moved to Hampstead she was unaware of the implications the decision would have on the course of the rest of her life.

or

Harry is Y/N’s eccentric neighbour who sweeps her up in the whirlwind that is his life

this gif bc its maybe my favorite clip of him EVER holy fuck - this is the harry of my dreams this is the harry of i live in the neighbourhood

HEY YALL it’s been a minute and I missed yall so much and I’m just about to be on break so maybe i’ll be back to posting writing regularly but with school its so hard and I think I’ve been working on this for months so yeah <3 lol PLS PLS PLS leave me feedback and reblogs and that stuff bc otherwise my writing just feels...empty and you have no idea the smile i get when even just the tags say like “god this was everything” it can be anything honestly but it keeps my passion up. Thank you again and hope you enjoy.

Word Count: ~10k | Warnings: swearing probably? no smut (yet), rich and famous harry - mentions of Taylor Swif 

-

She considered herself an average young woman in her mid twenties. She liked screaming Taylor Swift and Megan Thee Stallion songs alone in her car and thrifting on weekends. She hated cable because of commercials and when doordash didn’t deliver all of her order. She had asthma when she worked out or the air quality was bad. She had dumb celebrity crushes that her friends and her still laughed over with every new instagram post. She had hopes and dreams she had yet to achieve and she had past trauma that many would never know about, especially at first glance.

Sure, she was successful. She would admit that. How else would she be able to afford even the modest little house she had found in Hampstead? She had studied international business in college and hopped on a plane to London the first chance she got. After a few years of a more than decent paycheck and an advantageous stimulus check from her kind parents, she was able to move out of her starter flat into the suburbs. The definitive push for the move was two-fold. Her parents wanted her to take her dog and her apartment complex was strict on no pets. Then her promotion at work - which included a pay raise - made it hard to wave off taking full ownership of her childhood ten-pound best friend.

So with life happening as it usually does, Y/N first found herself scouring Zillow, then touring homes in the area, and finally standing outside a three bedroom, two bath, two-story cream house in Hampstead. Her house.

The little moving truck she had rented sat beside her as she stared at her future. The realtor had told her they would be there in ten minutes. For the next ten minutes all Y/N had to do was keep herself from combusting, or worse, sobbing.

She felt overwhelmed already. Renting a flat in London was one way to describe herself as independent. Owning a home in Hampstead seemed like a whole new level of adulthood she wasn’t sure if she was prepared for.

After taking a few deep breaths to ground herself, Y/N walked up to the gate that kept her front yard narrowly separated from the sidewalk. She lifted one hand from beneath the box she clutched tightly to her chest to push past the iron-rod gateway. The garden was cute, a little bland, and she thought to herself that maybe she’d develop some gardening skills now that she had her own front yard. The thought made her smile a little, refraining from laughing aloud while on her lonesome, since she had never taken interest in gardening before. But this house. This house. It was a new beginning. It was a fucking unwritten journal. Blank film. Unknown territory. She could be anyone in this house.

She gently placed the cardboard box on the first step up to the front door. There was no porch, but she couldn’t complain. It was gorgeous and she was lucky to get it at the price she did. The house was cream with dark blue accents and a grey shingled roof. Lots of windows. It was classic and it was hers.

After the realtor came with her keys and made sure everything seemed alright, Y/N’s couple of friends, Amélie and Daniel, arrived with their cars filled with items she had needed picking up from various stores. They helped her move her stuff into the house. Thankfully it was already half furnished, meaning she didn’t have to go out and buy beds or couches or any of those big items that are both expensive and a hassle to deal with.

By the time the evening had rolled around, everything was in the house and it actually seemed semi put together. Y/N looked around, sweat apparent on her face and hands on her hips, proud of what she had accomplished. The nerves from earlier had been drowned by pride.

-

The next day, she woke up from her first night in the house. It felt like a dream even though she was sure she was awake.  

She had to navigate her way to the airport today to pick up her dog from his long flight and then mainly settle into the house. Her house sat on Sherwood Avenue, one of the many streets in Hampstead. It’s neighboring houses were much larger. The ones directly next to and across from her weren’t drastically bigger but what she had yet to learn was that next to the house across from her there were two houses that had been joined together by their slightly eccentric owner. A man who would be the match that ignited the flame that was the rest of her life.

This unknown fact quickly became known after Y/N’s first few weeks in her new neighbourhood. The eccentric - more so absurdly rich - neighbor who conjoined the houses was Harry Styles.

The first time they crossed paths she wasn’t even aware of it. It was the day she moved in. He had been out for his usual morning run and was rounding the corner when she had pulled up in her moving van. Once inside his home, he snoopily watched on as his neighbour began to move in. He hadn’t taken note of much about her, just that she was new and that she had a nice pair of jeans on that day.

The second time, Y/N was convinced she needed to get her eyes checked because there was no way that she had just seen Harry Styles key himself into the house across the way from her. There was no way that she had moved into the same area as him, let alone the same street. It seemed far more plausible that she needed a psych evaluation or a strong glasses prescription.

But the third instance of them crossing paths, she was proven wrong. She was on her way back from the neighbourhood park when she saw a guy jogging towards her. With a yellow beanie and a black Columbia sweatshirt paired with running shorts and shoes, he was hard to ignore running straight towards her. The iconic curls, strong jawline, and soft green eyes were dead giveaways this time. After making brief eye contact as their paths literally crossed, she felt herself make a little face of odd interest. Her head quirked and her eyes narrowed, lips pursed with slight confusion. That was definitely him.

After that, she found herself seeing Harry around the neighbourhood a relatively good amount. She’d see him at the park, at the coffee shop, on their street, and more. They didn’t speak. She really didn’t think he would want to be bothered by his neighbours and she certainly wasn’t willing to test the theory. They sometimes gave a small smile of acknowledgement but nothing really friendly. Just ‘you exist and I know that’.

-

Fridays are Y/N’s favorite day. It’s the beginning of the weekend, she never has to go into work and it’s simply a nice day. People are happier, they smile brighter and it just seems like the world is a little better than usual.

Friday was especially amazing today because her childhood best friend, Cate, was arriving at London Heathrow in the evening. Y/N had begged Cate to fly out to see the new house in person and Cate had finally found the time to run away to England for a week.

She shut her front door carefully behind her and placed her headphones in her ears. Rori, that little terrier, who had made a similar flight to see Y/N’s place not too long ago, scampered out the door with her and jumped happily at her legs as she fiddled with her phone. Her coat ruffles around her disturbed from the morning air. It’s blanket-like fabric that consisted of a deep blue backdrop with felt giraffes sewn on it, kept her warm while she walked. With her mind racing with weekend plans and ideas for her and Cate to do both in Hampstead and the city, she crossed the street like usual and began to walk with her dog to the coffee shop for her morning tea.

Unlike usual, she fumbled just as she was putting her phone in her pocket and bumped into something large and definitely not sedentary.

“I’m so sorry!” She blushed and moved backwards from the man who had just been shutting his own front gate to head somewhere.

“S’alright. No harm, no foul.” He looks down at her and her dog. Rori seems excited by the stranger and sniffs him eagerly. A single paw prodding at the man’s long leg.

She grimaces, hearing the voice and stepping back allows her to fully recognize who she had just bumped into. Her neighbour. The runner. Harry Styles.

“Sorry.” She mutters again as Rori continues to prod at Harry’s leg.

She tries to coax Rori away, but Harry simply smiles and leans down to the small dog.

“Hi there buddy,” he coos and rubs the top of the fluffy dogs head, in between his pointy ears, “What’s your name?”

“Rori.” She states easily, Harry’s eyes flickering to her smoothly. Rori makes a smile babbling noise that sounds a bit like a tiny roar - hence the name - and Harry chuckles to himself.

“He’s really adorable,” he finally says and straightens up from his admiring of the dog.

The grimace becomes more of a smile on her face and she mumbles a “Thank You”.

As her neighbour - who hasn’t introduced himself (which wasn’t necessary, but still) or bothered to ask for her introduction - seems to be about to say something new when his phone begins to vibrate obnoxiously. He twitches, his large hands immediately going to his pockets for the important device. He checks the message and looks back at her face.

“Sorry, I have to run...um,” he’s not sure what to say. He really does have to go, but he doesn’t even know his neighbour’s name. He’ll have to make sure to get it at some point in the near future. Especially now that he’s acquainted with her dog.

“No worries,” she smiles completely this time, relieved for the whole interaction to be over. She felt like she was going to explode with each passing moment. In the presence of a legendary musician, c’mon, who wouldn’t be freaking out. All she could think about was how Harry Styles now knew her dog’s name. What the fuck!

-

Upon arriving at the airport, she waited patiently for Cate to walk out of the customs area.

When she did, the two young women began jumping up and down excitedly, Y/N squealing only slightly. They hugged and began chattering intensely, catching up on lost time that generally occurs when you live an ocean apart.  

Finally, one comment rings through the constant back and forth and Cate stops.

“Wait, what did you just say,” she questions as they begin walking to catch an uber back to Hampstead.

“I think my house might be haunted?” Y/N’s voice raising because she’s unsure if that’s what Cate was talking about.

“No, no, the thing after that. I think I must’ve misheard you.”

“Harry Styles is my neighbour?” Y/N’s brows raise as she looks over at her best friend, curious to know what she will say.

“Yes! Explain. Now!”

“It’s not really a big deal. It’s a nice neighbourhood, it makes sense that celebrities of his caliber want to live there.”

“That is not explaining. You have to introduce us!”

As they climb into their uber and settle in for the short ride back to Hampstead, Y/N sighs and tells Cate everything she knows.

“We’ve only just spoken today and I’ve been here for a couple weeks. He lives across the street and down one, I guess. I just see him around, it’s not like he knows who I am. He didn’t even get my name today, just Rori’s.” She laughs lightly, still finding it funny that Harry knows her dog’s name.

Cate nods, leaning in slightly to her best friend, hardly able to contain her awestruckness from the story and baffledness at Y/N’s calmness. “So, like, when do I get to meet him?”

“Girl, I don’t fucking know. Never, if you’re going to act wild. I don’t want the neighbourhood to think I’m not chill.”

“Sometimes…” Cate starts and leans away from Y/N jokingly, “I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

They both smile, bumping elbows silently. The song on the radio fading in louder as their words die out.

-

The next day, Y/N took Cate to the local park. It was expansive and connected to the football fields that local teams would play at. The park section was a luscious green that was maintained with copious amounts of watering by the township.

She and Cate settled on a patch of grass near a slender tree that would offer some shade if the sun’s rays became too harsh. The quilt they sat on was something her grandmother had made her when she was maybe 8 years old, meaning it was torn in places and completely worn in a different shade of pink than it had been initially.

They set up their picnic and played music, enjoying the sunny day. Something rare and fleeting as the fall began to creep up on Hampstead.

They eat and catch up on life for about an hour. Basking in the sunlight, Y/N had laid on her back and was staring up at the clouds passing along the sky. Cate was carefully watching their surroundings, simply taking in her friend’s new home, but possibly for another reason too.

“Hey, isn’t that…” Cate trails off, trying to subtly nod in the direction of an approaching figure.

Y/N sits up, her hands holding her up from behind her. Her hair fails in front of her shoulders slightly and it’s a little disheveled from being mused in the grass. She looks discreetly in the direction of Cate’s nodding and then looks at her friend and rolls her eyes.

“Yes, but don’t say anything, he might not even notice me and I’m certainly not calling out to him.”

‘Illicit Affairs’ by Taylor Swift is playing off her speaker and as she’s about to change it, Cate turns it up slightly. They share a glare with one another before trying to act casual again, even though both of their eyes kept flickering to the man who seemed to be continuing closer and closer to their set up.

It became clear that Harry was approaching them after all and Y/N tried to carry on an unbothered conversation with Cate, which was hard with the constant nudging of Cate’s foot on her shin.

He stops a mere foot away from their blanket, beaming at the two young women lounging on the ground. He makes an attempt at a casual wave, his large hand splaying his fingers quickly, before opening his mouth to speak.

Cate beats him to the punch. “Hello there!”

“Erm, hi!” He says nicely to her and then looks at Y/N.

“No Rori today?” He inquires.

“No,” she smiles, slightly blushing at the fact that he remembered her and her dog. “He’s napping.”

“Ah, I see,” He pauses, “I feel like I need to apologize.” He continues.

“For what?” She questions and Cate watches on anxiously, mesmerized by Harry and dying to see what happens next.

“I ran off before I could even ask for your name or introduce myself. It was terribly rude.”

“Oh,” she can’t stop smiling, “It’s nothing to apologize for, I’m sure you’re busy. Besides I had to get my day started, otherwise I would’ve been late picking her up.” She points to Cate who smiles sheepishly, still internally screaming over the fact that her friend is able to talk so easily to a celebrity.

Harry nods and looks at Cate again, “Just visiting I take it then?”

She nods quickly, words escaping her. Y/N chuckles under her breath and swoops in to save her friend any embarrassment. “Cate’s my best friend and she’s been kind enough to take time out of her extremely busy life to come look at my new house.”

He hums, still standing a respectful distance from their set-up. “Nice to meet you, Cate,” he says very kindly. Then he laughs, but in a way that is like he’s beside himself. The two women both quirk their heads at him. Y/N squints her eyes slightly, trying to understand the guy she is talking to and connecting him with the man that is all over the news all of the time for his musical genius.

“Now I know your dog and best friend’s names but still not yours. At this point, I’m begging you to tell me.”

They all laugh and Y/N feels nervous for the first time since Harry had walked up.

“You first,” she smiles slyly.

His eyes widen slightly in surprise, but then go back to normal. Harry was very smart, she likely knew his name, but one, she was trying to be funny and two, she was also trying to be courteous. He preferred to introduce himself rather than just be told who he is, even if people already knew. It allowed him to maintain some normalcy.

“‘M Harry,” He says with a smile.

“Alright.” She says and then remains quiet.

Harry’s lips quirk up in a faint smile, amused at her expression.

“I thought it was a ‘show me yours and I’ll show you mine’ type of situation or was I mistaken?” He finally asks when she remains silent still.

The two young women laugh and Y/N bites the inside of her cheek, both feeling flustered and completely in control at the same time.

“You weren’t mistaken, I was just thinking.” Then she pauses again and Cate thinks Harry is about to combust and Harry thinks he’s going to as well with all the anticipation that has been built up over his neighbor’s name, even though he was pretty sure he’d heard it in passing at one point or another but had forgotten quickly afterwards.

“It’s Y/N.”

Harry releases a facetious sigh of relief, “Oh thank god! Finally!” His words quickly turn into an infectious laugh that is paired with a shining smile and she feels like she’s swooning right then and there. The control has gone out the window and she’s taken with her neighbor. He’s wonderful in that moment and she forgets about Cate or the park or anything. It’s just Harry and how it seems like he’s smiling just for her.

“Now that I’ve gotten your name,” he smiles pointedly at her after his laughter has faded away. The smile doesn’t leave his face though, his eyes still crinkled, his dimples still showing.

She nods, encouraging him to continue. Cate feels like she’s watching a movie unfold in front of her and she wishes she could record the entire interaction.

“I can finally ask you, Y/N, where did you get that fabulous coat I saw you wearing yesterday?”

She twitches further upright, eyes bringing themselves directly inline with Harry’s gaze. “Oh,” she inhales, “The giraffe one, yeah?”

He nods.

“I got it from a Goodwill years ago. It’s some vintage company that used to only make sleepwear. I looked up the tag one time and it doesn’t exist anymore. Super cool, though. Wish I could buy more.”

“Yeah,” Harry says eagerly, even taking a step towards the women, “It was so intriguing. Maybe, if you didn’t mind of course -” he falters, losing his courage for a moment, “you could bring it over and my stylist could check it out. I would love something similar and I’m sure he could figure it out.”

She shrugs. It wasn’t crazy, especially not for Harry - she assumed. She was certain he often found things he liked but there was only one of them so he would just order his own. She couldn’t help the pride that was swelling inside her though it that moment. Harry Styles liking her jacket so much he asked where it was from and then wanting his stylist to look at it. She’d jump for joy when she was in the safety of her private home later tonight with Cate.

“One condition,” she says and Harry’s brows quirk amusedly at her.

“You are a very tit for tat person,” he muses.

“Fair’s fair,” she shrugs again and then looks around her quickly, “It’s simple so don’t get too worked up over it, buddy.”

He laughs slightly again and tries to figure out what she’s looking for. When she extends a scratched up, sticker-covered point and shoot film camera he smiles.

“Can you take a picture of Cate and I? It’s always just the two of us so we never have anyone to take pictures of us together.”

Harry grins at this and her sincere face. Cate is a little taken aback, because while it’s technically true, it’s not entirely factual. They have plenty of film pictures of them - maybe not recently though. And she wasn’t going to question Y/N right now. It seemed like she knew what she was doing.

Harry takes the camera and begins to look through the viewfinder. The women scoot closer together and Cate wraps her arm around Y/N’s shoulder. She leans in to press her cheek against her best friend. They smile up at the camera and Harry crouches slightly to get a better angle.

“Alright,” he mumbles, “Ready?...Cheese!”

Their smiles stay hung on their face as they listen for the click and when the faint sound befalls their ears, Cate laughs and Y/N pulls away. She reaches forward for the camera, her hand easily brushing Harry’s large one.

Their smiles meet each other and Cate can’t help but notice how they grow as the two of them look at one another.

“Thank you,” Y/N says sweetly and pulls back to retake her seat on the blanket.

Harry straightens up, his grin falling back into that signature smirk. “No problem.”

“So-” He begins but she cuts him off.

“Well, I’m sure I’ll see you around, yeah?”

He clears his throat, feeling thrown off. “Yeah, sure. I guess next time I see you we can talk about when a good time would be for your jacket to come over?”

His voice raises at the end of his question a little more than usual, he’s trying to get her to bite, but she doesn’t seem like someone who is easily thrown off. He is trying to read her and she’s been completely cool the entire time. It’s intriguing. Even more so than the jacket, even though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it, it wasn’t really his focus when he walked across the park to her and Cate.

“Yep! It was nice finally meeting you Harry.”

He feels the cue to walk off and says his farewells. As he walks off, back on course to his intended destination, his head is filled with questions. Most important of them being when he would see her again.

Cate and Y/N watch him walk towards the football fields. They see him meet with a group of men and it seems like they’re there to practice or play a game. Y/N couldn’t be sure.

“He likes you!” Cate finally bursts out.

Y/N rolls her eyes, “Stop trying to make me take the piss. That’s a fucking lie and you know it.”

“It’s not! He likes you and you obviously like him, I mean, but we been knew.”

“Having a crush on the famous Harry Styles when you’re 17 is different than me liking my neighbour Harry.”

“But you like him don’t you? He’s even better than he was when he was 19. Now he’s all grown up and established and more your style anyway.”

“Shut up! He could hear you.”

“He really couldn't, he's yards away, you’re just paranoid.” Cate continues to tease and ridicule her best friend over Harry and Y/N is just about ready to up and leave, but she also can’t help but laugh it off.

“I’m literally gonna kick you out if you keep talking,” Y/N says between laughs and the women feel like they’re back in high school losing their minds over the stupidest joke ever.

“Okay, fine. But all I have to say is I will hold this over you when you end up together.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, whatever. Just be prepared to wait forever because I can promise you Harry Styles and I are never ending up together.”

--

Two Weeks Later

Y/N walked to her door after hearing the doorbell ring and opened it to find her neighbour standing with his arm raised ready to knock.

“Hey, Harry,” She greeted easily, but not entirely sure why he was here.

They hadn’t really seen each other since their official meeting in the park. It hadn’t bothered her and it hadn’t really bothered Harry either. It seemed like they both had extremely busy lives that they didn’t plan on throwing out the window because they had said they would meet up at some point. She liked that.

Harry had come over because he finally had a break in his schedule and was hoping to talk about the jacket and anything else really. He was interested in getting to know her and he didn’t care to hide it.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go get a coffee or something?” He asked, leaning himself against her door frame now.

Her eyebrows raise and her eyes widen a little bit, not completely sure she heard him correctly.

“Right now?!” She asked incredulously.

She was wearing an oversized grey sweatshirt and black bike shorts that peaked out from underneath the sweatshirt hem. One of her socks was shoved around her ankle while the other was pulled up flat to touch the base of her calf. She didn’t think she was looking the most presentable at the moment. She had been basking in her day off by simply laying on the couch watching hours of Netflix.

He nods, his smile growing on his face. Her flustered expression only made him happier. She was always so nonchalant with him, he wanted to see her a little more antsy.

“Unless you’re busy,” he adds seriously, not wanting to bother her, just wanting to spend time with her.

“No, no. I’m not...I’m not busy. I just wasn’t expecting any plans where I would be required to go out in public. Let me just...um, come inside and then give me five minutes.”

“Sure,” Harry smiles again as he steps into her home.

Her smile is sheepish and much less genuine then the one Harry holds on his face as he takes in her abode. She tells him to make himself comfortable and then runs to her room to try and possibly fix her state in under five minutes.

She tears around her room, heaving off the frumpy sweatshirt and grabbing a long sleeve striped v-neck top she had hanging out half out of her hamper, a sign known to her that while it was clean enough to wear, if she happened to do laundry she should wash it. Slipping it over her head, she walks to her dresser and leans over to open the bottom drawer and unfolds a pair of dark wash oversized jeans. There’s no holes in them and she throws them on the bed so that she can slip out of her current pants. Next, onto the socks, she swaps out the current ones for a fresh black pair and finds her tortoise print boots to flick on. As she just about runs into her en suite bathroom, she zips the two boots up between steps. A quick comb through her hair, deodorant, two spritz of perfume, her eyelash curler and mascara and she’s running back to where Harry is waiting in her living room.

He blinks surprisedly at her promptness, usually giving people more time then what they say they need. She had indeed gotten ready in five minutes. He thought she looked breathtaking. And she felt like she was at a lack for breath in any case.

“It’s a bit cold out,” he glances to the window.

“Isn’t it always?” She smiles, finally catching her breath.

He chuckles and then nods, a smile appearing on his face as he feels a warmth in his chest at her wit.

“Ready?” He checks in.

She nods, grabbing a coat she kept hung by the door.

“Just the coffee shop down the way?” She inquires as they exit the house and she locks the door behind her.

Harry hums, waiting down a step for her to turn around and walk beside him. It was so strange to her, this felt all too normal with him. Like he was just a friend who had come to pick her up for coffee, her neighbor, nothing more.

“Did you hear the new season of the Crown is coming out soon?” Harry asks as they walk shoulder to shoulder (technically since her shoulder wasn’t in line with his).

“Really?” She looks at him, “I love that show!”

“Me too,” He looks at her and smiles happily.

“That’s amazing,” she breathes mostly to herself, half about the show and half about how Harry watches television and that he watches one of her favorite shows.

There’s silence. The brisk air pricking their cheeks as they walk down their street. Their puffs of breath create a slight mist of white ahead of them and then quickly dissipates.

Her eyes flit up to Harry’s chiseled jaw and face and she watches him as his eyes carefully and meaningfully take in his surroundings. Was it her turn to take a stab at conversation? It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence but she just wasn’t sure what was going on.

“You play football right?” She says finally as they turn onto the next street that would bring them closer to the café they both frequented.

She remembered seeing him there on several occasions. The tips he left were always overly generous, which she assumed you could do when you were exorbitantly rich. He always smiled when he ordered and knew the baristas by name. His order rarely differed and she hated to admit but she knew his two regulars. His actual “regular” was a 12 ounce black coffee, dark roast, no cream and no sugar. The other, his “I’ll actually have”, was a 16 ounce iced green tea, no cream and no sugar.

She couldn’t help that she was observant and that when ‘H’ was called at the bar she looked at what was pushed out, patiently waiting for him to come snatch it up with a smile and nod to the workers before he left. Sometimes he’d even smile at her over the lid of his drink as he exited the establishment. It was warm and inviting and she felt good about the twinkle in his eye that never seemed to waver no matter the day.

Now they were going there together and she’d have to pretend like she’d never noticed what he got as a drink.

He responds to her question with another glance at her and a simple “yes”. His hands shove into his pockets and one side of his pink lips quirk up. He continues, “I’m on a local team with some mates. We’re in a little competition with our league. The final match is coming up this Sunday actually...You should come.”

He says it so casually it almost doesn’t catch her off guard. Harry inviting her to his football game, maybe this was going to be her life now. Going to her neighbours football match. Going to Harry Styles’ football match.

“Sunday…” She sounds out, choosing to look out into the distance instead of at him. “What time?”

“Eight.”

“P.M. right?” She responds quickly, worried since she never wakes up that early and rarely before 10 a.m. on the weekends for that matter.

“Of course,” he chuckles.

They’ve come upon the café and he’s quick to grab the handle to open the door and let her go before him. She can’t stop the blush and smile that spread on her face as she ducks her head into the warm and cozy shop. Men had opened doors for her before and she really thought of herself as a strong woman who didn’t need a man for anything, but something about Harry’s action felt especially, and specifically, chivalrous. Why, she had no idea.

Neither of them stop to look at the menu. They were regulars and they both knew that about each other as well. He gestures for her to go first and she mutters her thanks before turning to the patiently waiting barista. She orders and is about to hand over her card when Harry suavely steps in and says, “Don’t worry about it. I invited you with me, I’ll pay.”

It was both completely unexpected and expected at the same time. Knowing she’d never win this fight, she thanked him again, glanced at the man taking her order and then stepped aside. Harry orders his own drink and then pays for both. Today he leaves double the amount he usually leaves for tip, she assumes since it’s two drinks he was paying for.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know?” She says quietly to him once they’re in a corner of the café waiting for their drinks.

He stands slightly slumped against the wall, closer to her height right now. He only shrugs, his good natured smile not once leaving his face since he entered this place.

“I wanted to,” he said simply right as the drinks were ready since it wasn’t particularly busy on this random Friday afternoon.

They glance outside and see that it’s begun to drizzle while they’ve been inside. She sighs, having hoped to walk around a little after being inside all day.

Instead, they sit at the corner table in the café, across from each other. She moves on from the paying thing, knowing it was simply how this guy probably operated most of his life.

He got a black coffee today, the cold and rain likely contributing to that choice.

As one pop song fades out, slightly under the sound of the coffee machines, she’s about to tell Harry she’s pretty sure she can make his final football match when ‘Cardigan’ fades in. It’s the second time a Taylor Swift song has been playing while she’s been in the presence of Harry and they were conversing. She tries to ignore one of her favorite songs at the moment. Harry doesn’t seem to pay much mind to it. His foot is tapping against his other, but it’s been tapping like that since they sat down.

“I think I could probably make it to your game,” she says finally after a pause and a sip of her own drink.

Harry grins at the response and launches into how great it will be if they win and how happy everyone will be. She smiles along and doesn’t notice the slight head swaying to the song that she’s begun.

“Fan of Taylor?” Harry inquires and Y/N’s face drops, eyes widening cartoonishly.

She stutters, a nervous laugh leaving her mouth before she can actually say something. How does she respond about liking Taylor Swift to a man who counts her as an ex. She’s at a loss.

“Yeah, uh,” she finally starts.

Harry watches her curiously, obviously noticing her discomfort as his question.

“I used to not really consider myself a fan. I don’t really follow her just because I don’t really follow...um...musicians,” she chokes out the last word realizing Harry fits that category. “But, after folklore, I don’t know, this album really spoke to me. I also really like Lover and...uh” she pauses again, sticking on 1989, an album she has argued with her friends about how it’s basically a tell all of the man before her and Taylor’s relationship.

He nods, hoping she’ll continue. He wanted to get to know her and he kind of liked seeing her squirm. “1989?” He finally supplies.

Her blush isn’t able to be covered this time. If her hair didn’t fall in front of her ears she was sure they’d be flushed with blood.

Then she draws out of her own self stress and looks at the smooth man before her and grows calm. He was amazing at winding her up and she didn’t want to seem like some young, impressionable fangirl to him. So, she squared her shoulders and straightened up in her chair.

“Yes, it was pop perfection as one of my college friends liked to say. I’d always listen to it at the gym.” Then she pauses, taking a measured breath, gaining her confidence back. Her eyes meet his, “Is there any songs off it that you particularly enjoy, Mr. Styles.”

He chuckles, mostly because of her emphasis on ‘Style’.

“Shake it off?” He asks.

“Oh fuck off!” She laughs and he joins in with her.

When they catch their breaths from laughing, they simultaneously take sips of their drinks and settle their eyes back on one another. Exes and songs written about oneself weren’t exactly the topics Harry had in mind for the coffee outing he had asked Y/N out on, but talks of exes had never been this funny with anyone else. He was grateful for her playfulness, her demeanor.

“Can I ask you something personal?” She asks quietly and seriously.

“I think we’re past that question, love,” he responds.

“Yeah, I guess,” she pauses and just about whispers, “Pretty much all of them are about you right?”

He shrugs again, his felt coat rustling around his seat. “We never really talked about every single song.”

She leans forward at the ‘we’ Harry is using about himself and Taylor Swift.

“But when I listen to the songs, I hear us in just about every one but a few.”

“Wow,” she breathes and sips her drink. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lived through something that intense and then someone commemorated in a masterpiece.”

“Do you have a favorite on that album?” He asks, moving on from her revelation.

“I love ‘I know places’, it has a cool sound. But I also really love ‘Wonderland’. They both have kind of dark sounds, yet it still is like what you have is so special that the bad bits are worth it. I don’t know, it just seems like a tv show. I don’t think my life could ever be that crazy or dramatic.” She doesn’t notice her use of ‘you’ because she had meant it as a form of analyzing the song theoretically as she had done hundreds of times with her friends,  but this time the ‘you’ is literally the ‘you’ the song is talking about.

“Love can turn anyone’s life chaotic.” Harry muses.

The green eye’s that flashed at Taylor throughout that album look at Y/N from across the table and she feels a flip in her stomach at his tone.

Maybe he notices her mild discomfort, maybe that’s just who he is. But after a beat, Harry’s onto the next topic on his mind. He launches into how he’s just returned from Scotland for a shoot for something so undercover he can’t even divulge to her, much to his dismay. She’s taken aback since she didn’t consider her someone Harry would divulge any of his private matters to, but it seemed like he already considered her a confidant. Just not for that. He wants it to be a surprise.

She smiles and listens attentively. She wonders as he goes on about his interesting yet absurdly lavish life whether he even knows what regular life is like anymore. Or if he’d even enjoy it if he experienced it.

Sure, coffee and football were plenty part of regular life . But the football league was something novel to Harry. He had just gotten to do it and he was thrilled by its normalcy.

She regarded him carefully, unsure what the next step was in this budding friendship. Was it dangerous to get involved with someone’s life which seemed to be filled with whirlwind rigor and constant change.

She liked her chaos, don’t get her wrong. She felt like she often was the odd one out in life. Always thinking differently than the ones around her. She often was the one to suggest spontaneous late night trips around town or exploration of an abandoned building known for spooky stories. She liked inviting friends over for themed parties for no specific occasions and she liked taking film pictures of friends like they were models even though it was only for her and her memories. She thought of herself as silly and fun, but what Harry described as his chaotic fun actually was regimented tight schedules of constant travel and work. Interesting experiences came out of that constant travel and work, but didn’t seem like something she necessarily wanted to get herself wrapped up in.

After coffee, they leave the café and it’s pouring now. Instead of going home, Harry insists on walking her to her place. She relents, realizing, once again, that Harry wasn’t someone who took ‘no’ for an answer. She then invites him in because it’s the polite thing to do. And Harry being Harry accepts.

“Want a dry sweatshirt while you wait?” She asks as she slips off her wet shoes and jacket in the entryway. Harry follows suit, his knit sweater being pelted with rain for the last eight minutes left him feeling cold and shivery.

He nods as he toes off his shoes and ventures back to the living room she had him wait in a few hours ago.

“Here,” She says as she tosses a grey sweatshirt in his direction. She believes it's her one from earlier, an innocuous pullover with ‘London’ in collegiate lettering on the front. He catches it as she rounds the corner to turn up the heater.

Her mistake was being so careless to not look at the sweatshirt before handing it over to her neighbor. Anyone else, maybe they wouldn’t have questioned it. But Harry, how could he not.

“What’s this?”

“A sweatshirt,” she doesn’t spare him a glance on the coach as she fiddles with the thermostat.

“It’s one of my sweatshirts,” Harry says and she can hear the smile on his face.

“That’s impossible, I’ve never borrowed-” Her brows had raised at what he said but now her words fall short.

He didn’t mean one of his personal sweatshirts that she possibly borrowed if they were better friends. No. He meant his merchandise.

“It was a gift,” she sighs as she turns to face him. He’s now wearing the sweatshirt proudly and grinning up at her smugly.

She rolls her eyes when he gives her a knowing smile.

“I didn’t know that it was the one I was handing you. Honest!”

“I thought you didn’t “keep up” with musicians,” Harry says playfully, his fingers making quotes appropriately.

“I don’t.” Her tone is serious as she plops on the couch beside Harry.

“I enjoy your music from time to time. Is that a crime?!” She finally exclaims when she can’t handle Harry’s knowing smirk.

“No it’s not, you could have just told me you were a fan!” She tries to stop him and protest that she wouldn’t consider herself a fan, but he continues, “I still would have wanted to have been friends.You’re one of the liveliest neighbors I’ve got. Everyone else on the street is rather dull.”

She chuckles, remembering finding out quickly that the street wasn’t a lively bunch.  

“I just wouldn’t say I’m a fan,” she presses and sits across from him.

He continues smiling like he knows the truth.

“I don’t think you’ve met an average person in awhile, Harry.” She finally says after they sat in silence for a few minutes because they were both too stubborn to be the first to talk.

“I would hardly call you average if that’s what you’re implying, Y/N.” He nods her way and he shifts on her plush couch, his legs adjusting themselves on their own accord. “And I know plenty of average people,” he adds huffily.

“I normally wouldn’t either, but compared to who you seem to surround yourself, I very much am. And that’s not meant to be a jab at anyone involved.”

His right hand sneaks up to his head to scratch at the base of a particularly perfect curl. His eyes squint a bit as his mind processes her claim.

“What are you trying to say exactly?”

“I’m just curious to see if you’d actually like me in your life. It seems like you want to be friends with me and that’s great, but realistically I don’t know how much I would fit into it.”

Harry scoffs, “That’s literally bullshit, just relax. I’m so chill you won’t even know what to do with me.”

Now it’s her turn to scoff. “Chill?!” She asks incredulously. Harry nods with a seriousness she hadn’t seen before.

“When’s the next time you’re flying off to another country for work?”

Harry pauses, “Um...the day after the final match. I’m beginning to film a movie, so I’ll be there for a month.”

“Busy bee,” she muses and they both chuckle.

There’s something about the somber look Harry is giving her. His eyes twinkled in the coffee shop and with playful winks she was excited to be in his presence. But after she mentions when his next trip is, he seems saddened. There’s skepticism behind his eyes and maybe he doesn’t like being challenged about who he is from other people, especially those who are new in his life.

But that’s who Y/N is, she’s straightforward and doesn’t lie to someone. If Harry was now her friend, she was going to tell it like it is to him. That personality trait she worried wouldn’t make her long for his world.

“So the cardigan? Do you have it here?” Harry changes the subject, clearly not wanting to actually consider a realistic friendship together instead just charging ahead with no hesitation. Whatever happened they would deal with it as it came. Maybe she should just go with the flow, let herself be swept up into his madness. Maybe it would be easier than fighting it.

“No.”

“Oh?”

“I do, I was joking. Where else would it be?” Her tone is light, trying to get back the shine she had seen Harry exhibit before it had vanished.

Maybe that was Harry’s effect on people. He was vibrant and like an Elton John song. You never wanted that shine to go away, never wanted the song to end. Never wanted him to stop shining his light on you. She felt this happening in just a few hours with him. When he was happy so was she and when he wasn’t entirely shining she wanted to do whatever she could to get it back.

A smile curls on his face and his green eyes narrow slightly. He’s trying to figure her out, know what she’s all about.

“Do you want to go and grab it?” His voice sweetening, almost like a tease. Maybe he means to bite his lip, maybe he doesn’t, but the effect on her is nonetheless earthshaking.

She pops up and smiles back, happy to have made him happy. As she walks out of the room to go get the cardigan that had started this all, her head tilts and she furrows her brow wondering why she felt such a sense of pride just for making him happy.

Would this man cause her to finally put someone else’s wishes ahead of hers?

-

“Are you on your way?”

She listens to Harry’s slightly worried voice crackle over the speaker of her phone as she shuts her door with the hand not holding her phone to her ear. His voice is raspy and muffled. She assumes it’s from the cold air of London at night and the scarf he is likely got wrapped around his neck.

“Yes! Jeez, I’m on my way. Walking over right now.”

It’s the final match for Harry’s football team and if they win the game then they get a trophy and it’s all Harry has been talking about since they got coffee and she handed over her cardigan.

Harry huffed an “alright” on the other side of the line and she called a “see you soon” before hanging up.

He was both eager for Y/N to come and possibly meet some of his teammates and a few of his close friends who he had invited and for her to arrive so that she wasn’t walking out late at night alone. He hadn’t known her for long, but he felt a certain protectiveness over her. She was relatively alone here, only two friends at work that she had mentioned and everyone else lived far away. She said she didn’t mind it, but Harry had a hard time understanding it since he surrounded himself with his friends as much as he could and was constantly either traveling or having them travel to see him.

He had even contemplated inviting her to come to Los Angeles with him for a month, but knew she would remind him of her ever important job that she couldn’t just randomly take a month off.

He’d have to ask her what exactly she did because every time he tried to remember, it always slipped his mind.

When her figure came into sight below the fluorescent lights, he breathed a sigh of relief. A grin spread on his face as she beamed at him and waved a bit. He didn’t understand how she couldn’t see how special she was. Every time he saw her he felt himself straighten up and feel a bubbling in his chest. Her smile was infectious and the way her eyes glittered when she looked away quickly and then returned eye contact made him want to stay in her presence forever.

“You made it!” Harry said and scooped her up in his arms, not realizing just how happy he was to see her, swinging her around in a half circle.

She laughs in surprise, but appreciates the warmth Harry’s hug offers her. She’s not quite sure they had ever touched each other before this moment beside shoulder brushes and hand touches. Nothing so...purposeful.

“I made it,” she confirms and pats him on his broad shoulders.

Questions in her mind raced as she questioned whether it was normal for friendships to happen like this. She knew in college friendships could happen this quickly. And that’s when it dawned on her, she really hadn’t made a new friend since college and that was why everything with Harry was so odd to her. She had forgotten what new friendship was. She needed to stop questioning everything and just live in the moment with a person she really liked being with.

Harry’s hands move from her waist and one stays to lead her forward so he can introduce her to some of his mates, as he had promised.

She felt at home in that moment. His hand on the small of her back, his heat radiating off of him and her hair swept behind her ears and her cheek pressed to his shoulder staring up at him sweetly.

She meets Charlotte, a member of Harry’s band who lives in London, her boyfriend, Mitch (who had just happened to find himself in Hampstead this weekend), Ben, and a few more people she couldn’t remember all the names of.

Harry’s team wins the game and Y/N’s not sure if she’s ever seen someone so happy to win an adult league football match. There wasn’t any official trophy except the one Harry had made himself and said he would even give to the other team if they won. It was engraved with the words “The World’s Greatest Football Team of Stars Ever. October 22, 2020”. It doesn’t even make sense but she’d been holding it for the entire night as he played.

He goes down the line of his friends who have been watching and gives them all jubilant kisses on the lips. When he reaches Y/N she holds out the trophy and he grins and gives her a kiss on the cheek. His lips are surprisingly soft and his scratchy stubble tickles her and she swiftly pulls back, a smile on her face and blush on her cheeks nonetheless.

Charlotte and Mitch share a look between the two of them and Ben’s eyes narrow slightly at the interaction. His eyes narrow just as they had when Harry had strutted over to the group with Y/N before the game. He had happily named everyone and she had shaken all of their hands with a warm smile on her lips. Ben had regarded her warily and she had shaken it off as the chill of the night air. But there it was again, not quite trusting of the neighbour girl Harry had just randomly befriended a few days ago.

The team and the friends of the team decide they deserve to celebrate this win, mostly at the request of Harry.

Y/N tries to find a time to leave, to return to her place so she can prepare for her day at work tomorrow. But no excuses will be heard from Harry and she has a hard time saying no to his sparkling eyes and gorgeous grin that she’s growing far too accustomed to.

She’s ushered down to the closest pub with the rest of them and finds herself chatting with Charlotte’s boyfriend. He’s the most...normal. She’s not sure how to explain it, but he doesn’t seem to be regarding her as different, unlike every other one of Harry’s friends. They were all perfectly nice and cordial with her, but she just felt like she wasn’t a part of their group, their world and she didn’t know how to explain it.

Charlotte and Mitch are rather nice too, but they’re more reserved with her. They’re musicians, like Harry, and they somewhat have that air of awareness around them that Harry sometimes gets. She thinks it’s from the fame, having to constantly be wary of who is around you, what everyone is doing, what is happening next. She doesn’t mind it, it’s just not something she’s used to.

She wishes she could just throw back some drinks and she could allow herself to be more...well just be more. More of a presence, more of herself, but she has a job she has to get to bright and early. Tomorrow was Monday and for her that meant work. So she sips a beer that Harry insisted be on his tab and she makes small talk with Charlotte’s boyfriend about how he’s been helping her produce her first EP. Charlotte occasionally pops in when she hears her name, but mostly is conversing with Mitch over something silly. Y/N knows because they keep laughing.  

Harry is going around to just about everyone in the party and she watches as he happily talks with every one of his friends. He’s ecstatic and she wonders if she’s ever experienced happiness like he has.

At midnight she attempts to make a French exit, as her mother always called it, and slip away with little to no farewells, but Harry spots her before she can.

“You’re leaving already?” Harry asks loudly, the euphoria of winning his silly little game and drinking a fair amount of pints has him at his peak boisterity.

“I have work tomorrow,” she says warily, slumping slightly from the weight of Harry’s arm slinging around her shoulder.

He turns serious and straightens up slightly, his green eyes looking especially dark in the pubs dim lighting as they look her dead in the eye. “Let me walk you home.”

“I can get home by myself,” she laughs, shrugging off his hold. “Plus, the host can’t leave his own celebration.” She gestures to everyone else happily celebrating on a Sunday, somehow not bothered by the beginning of the average week.

He steps closer, his brow furrowing for the first time that night. One of his large hands raises to his tousled hair and he runs it through the tresses. He even nibbles at his lower lip as he contemplates his decision. Then quickly and suddenly, he makes up his mind,

“No, I’ll escort you. Can’t have my neighbour walk home this late alone. I’ll just leave my card with Mitch. He’ll settle up the tab.” He smiles at his perfect plan and she grimaces feeling slightly embarrassed that he would leave his friends to walk her home. “Won’t you Mitch?” Harry calls as he grabs his coat from the wall next to the door. Mitch simply nods and Harry yells his farewells, Y/N waves meekly.

“That was...interesting,” she mulls over her words as they walk through the cold night air outside of the pub.

“Amazing, right?” Harry speaks over her less enthusiastic voice.

“You have a lot of friends,” she mused, trying to sound less disheartened than she had in her last statement.

Harry only hums and shivers slightly from the cold. His breath comes clearly out in puffs in the cold night air. Y/N’s is muffled by her scarf wrapped tightly up to her chin. She’s tucked his face as far into it as possible but her nose won’t stop from freezing as they walk.

Her hand goes up to it and she rests her palm to the tip of it. The motion grabs Harry’s attention and he looks directly at her curiously.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m freezing,” she muffles out, “This helps my cold nose not be so..cold.”

He chuckles and wraps his arm around her shoulder and she easily folds into him, welcoming any warmth right now.

After another moment of silence and them enjoying each other’s warmth and slight smell of whatever perfumes they had chosen earlier that night as well as beer and wood of the pub, Harry nuzzles his head above hers and then asks her something.

“Was that overwhelming for you?”

She’s quiet, thankful his eyes can’t reach hers right now. He was too powerful with those things.

“I, um, a little. I just...I just realized today that I haven’t made a new friend since college outside of work and it was overwhelming just hanging out with you. So all of your friends as well, yeah, it was a bit much for me.”

Harry looks out at the empty street ahead of them and sighs in realization. In his excitement, he hadn’t accounted how she might have felt tonight until just now. He wanted to kick himself for not thinking of her feelings, but other’s feelings slipped his mind so easily sometimes.

They round their street corner and she nuzzles back into his side.

“I’m sorry, love.” He rubs at her outer arm, “I didn’t think about it like that. I was just so excited for my plan to come together. Maybe next time, it’ll just be a couple of them rather than so many?”

“Sure,” she says quickly, wanting to make him happy, knowing how much he cared about his friends. “I feel like we need to hang out more with just you before I osmos into your friend group though if I’m being honest.”

“Well that can definitely be arranged,” he says and reluctantly lets go of her body. They’ve arrived at her door.

“I also want to see the inside of your house at some point.” She tugs at one of his hands before it can disappear into his warm coat pocket. “Houses,” she corrects.

“That can also be arranged,” Harry smiles with his lips closed. Pink lips and rosy cheeks extra bright from the cold. He plays with her fingers as the two stand close to one another, happy for the alone time and chalking the proximity up to heat sharing.

“You leave tomorrow right?” She finally asks.

His head falls and he sighs.

“Yeah…”

“It’s just a month,” she smiles, trying to stop Harry from being so dramatic. Especially when there was no logical reason for him to be so upset over not seeing his neighbour - she keeps telling herself.

“Are you sure you can’t quit your job and just fly out with me?” He pleads.

She throws her head back in laughter and shifts closer to him, her front porch light illuminating and shadowing every perfect place on Harry’s gorgeous face.

“Not even a chance.”

“That is a shame,” he takes an experimental step closer and she feels his breath fan across her cheeks at his last word.

She wrinkles his nose at the smell of his last beer, even though coming from him it was endearing.

Just as she feels him being to shift his head closer, she steps forward and gives him a tight hug.

“Goodnight Harry,” she whispers into his ear, “Safe travels.”

Then she’s stepping back and swiftly unlocking her door. She moves it slowly so as to not wake Rori and then Harry’s left alone and dumbfounded on her doorstep.

He definitely preferred being with her alone, but now he didn’t even have that chance until next month. And nonetheless she had just sidestepped his kiss with such ease he’s not even sure if he meant to kiss her. It had felt right, but why? Because it was cold and picture perfect? Or because he was enchanted by her and liked her as more than a new friend?

She slumps in her kitchen and fixes an Emergen-C to stave off the chill of the night and any germs that might have been lurking around the pub. She hopes when she walks to her bedroom she can check the front porch and see that Harry has gone home because she would hate to turn the light off on him.

How could he have expected her to kiss him just then? They’ve only just met each other a few weeks ago? And he’s Harry Styles and she just lives in the neighbourhood. What the actual fuck had happened to her life?

[tobesolonely]

it’s not christmas ‘til you come home

a/n: hello!! please enjoy this piece from my dad!harry universe! (u dont have to read any of them for it to make sense, but it would be cool if u did! loosely based on it’s not christmas ‘til you come home by norah jones <3 hope you enjoy! thank u to @harryysstyless​ for beta reading for me!! happy holidays everyone :)

warnings: SMUT, a bit of angst <3 word count: ~5.1k 

my ko-fi! thank you :)

December 23rd, 2:00 PM

For as long as you and Harry have been in a relationship, you’ve never not spent a Christmas together. 

Before expanding your family, you and he used to hop from party to party every Christmas Eve. Both of you would be absolutely trashed by the time Harry’s driver would drop you off at his house in the early hours of the morning. You’d sleep in until approximately noon, willing your hangovers to go away before finally making it down the stairs and into the kitchen to prepare two steaming cups of coffee. The two of you would then make your way into the living room and exchange gifts (where Harry always went way over the budget you’d set). 

Once you had your first child, Allison, your yearly tradition of party hopping and getting so drunk you could hardly put one foot in front of the other was no more. Instead, you and Harry opted for calm nights in, watching Christmas movies and drinking hot cocoa until she eventually grew tired and got carried up to bed. You would wait an hour or so before springing into action, playing Santa and setting out all of the gifts she asked for and then some. Harry never forgot to take a big bite out of the cookie and carrot left out for Santa and his reindeer.

This tradition stayed the same once your second baby, Oliver, was born. Even though he was too young to know what was going on, Harry was still excited to spoil him rotten this year as it was his first Christmas. However, given the current state of the world, you were afraid Harry would not be here for the first time ever.

“Mumma, when’s daddy coming home?” your six-year-old, Ally, asked for what had to be the seventh time that afternoon. “I made him a drawing for his gift ‘nd I can’t wait for him to see it!”

“Let me see what you drew for Daddy, love bug,” you say cheerily, purposefully glossing over her question. Ally proudly holds her drawing up next to her face. She looks up at you with wide eyes, awaiting a compliment from you. 

“That’s gorgeous, bug! Daddy’s gonna love it,” you inform her. “Maybe you can stick a lil’ bow on it and set it under the tree for him, hmm?” 

“Good idea, Mumma!” Ally runs to the box where you kept all the supplies for gift wrapping, digging around for a pink bow to stick on the corner of her drawing.

While she’s preoccupied with finding the perfect bow to place on her drawing for Harry, you take a quick glance at your phone. He still hadn’t gotten back to you since last night’s quick conversation when he very briefly mentioned he didn’t know if he’d be able to make it home.

He was filming in Los Angeles. You shared your uncertainties about him going before he departed but in the end, this was an opportunity you didn’t want him to miss out on. You read the Los Angeles Times free articles on your phone daily, keeping track of the state of the pandemic in Southern California. You knew it was much worse there than it was at home in London. You feared what you were afraid of was sadly bound to happen— Harry may get stuck in LA.

You didn’t want to say anything to your curious daughter because communication with him had been so sparse. You didn’t know anything for certain yet. But what were you supposed to think? You knew flying nationally wasn’t a good idea at the moment, never mind internationally.

“Hey bug, d’ya think you can watch your brother for a moment? Mumma’s gotta go make a phone call.” 

You hear your daughter let out a slightly irritated sigh. “I suppose I can, Mumma.” Ally responds with a voice laced with exasperation. You chuckle slightly under your breath at your overly dramatic (much like her dad) six-year-old and head into the kitchen, quickly dialing your husband’s familiar number.

“Hello?” 

You let out a sigh of relief upon hearing Harry’s low, hoarse voice. 

“Hi, honey. Just checkin’ in to see how things are going…” you hear shuffling on his end. “It’s December 23rd, you know.”

“I know, love.”

“Did I wake you?”

“Six in tha’ mornin’ here.”

“I’m sorry, H. S’just Allison keeps on askin’ when you’ll be home and ‘m just so worried you won’t make it home on time and you’ll miss Oliver’s first Christmas—“

“Darling,” Harry interrupts your anxiety-fueled ramble. “‘M gonna make it home. Have I ever not been there when I said I would?” 

“No,” you say quietly. “I’m just worried, Harry. I hear traveling is going to get very strict because they’re trying to prevent people from going anywhere for Christmas…”

“Fine, then I’ll get my own plane with jus’ me and a pilot. Wear a mask the entire time and whatnot. Yanno I can make that happen if it’s necessary, pet.” 

Harry’s calm demeanor about the whole situation brings you a bit of peace. Perhaps you were catastrophizing something that wasn’t as big of a deal as you thought it was a mere two minutes ago. If he wasn’t worried about not making it home, you didn’t see any reason to stress about it— not for one second longer.

“Okay then,” you reply, still a bit wary of his travel plans. “What shall I tell your daughter? She’s drivin’ me up the walls asking where you are every twenty minutes.”

Your husband lets out a breathy laugh, causing you to giggle along with him. “Tell her not to eat up all the Christmas cookies before I get a taste of one.”

December 24th, 8:45 AM

Part of you was hoping you’d wake up on Christmas Eve and Harry would be tucked into bed next to you, plump lips parted, the sound of his snores the only noise in the room. However, you were a rational woman, if nothing else. You knew he wouldn’t be by your side when you woke up. 

You make your way down the hall and peek inside your son’s room. He was fast asleep, plump thumb in his mouth. You smile at your sleeping baby and gently close the door behind you, deciding to let him sleep in a bit longer before waking him up to feed him. 

Next, you walk to your daughter's room, gently pushing open the door in case she was still sleeping. Instead, you find her sat at her desk, deeply focused on what appeared to be another drawing. 

“Good morning, lovebug,” you greet your daughter in a sing-songy voice. “You’re up early. What are you working on?”

“Makin’ a letter for Santa,” she replies, not bothering to look up from what she was doing. 

“A letter for Santa?” You start racking your brain for anything you and Harry could’ve possibly forgotten to get for Ally, but you finished your Christmas shopping for your children way back in November.

“Yes,” she answers matter-of-factly. “‘M askin’ him to make sure my Daddy is home by tonight so we can eat cookies together and watch Toy Story, Mumma.” 

“I’m sure Santa will make that happen for you,” you reassure her. “You’ve been a very good girl this year, been so helpful with Olly and doin’ so well in school. The least Santa can do is get you whatever you want.” You see her smile as she digs around in her crayon box.

“Can we wait ‘til Daddy gets home to make Santa’s cookies, Mumma?”

“Sure we can, bug,” Ally claps her hands together excitedly, bouncing around in her tiny chair. “Gonna go make some pancakes, does that sound yummy?”

“Can we have chocolate chip pancakes please?”

“Are you askin’ me that because your dad isn’t here to throw a fit about it?” You give her a knowing smile, causing her to giggle.

“Maaaaybe…” Your daughter turns to face you, swinging her legs back and forth.

“If I make your chocolate chip pancakes, you can’t tell your dad. Deal?” You hold up your pinky. Ally gets up and runs to you and you bend down slightly so she can link her finger with yours.

“I pinky promise, Mumma!”

“Our little secret, yeah?” she nods. “Keep an ear out for your brother for me, bug. I’ll be downstairs.”

December 24th, 3:00 PM

“Love? ‘M afraid I got some bad news...”

As soon as Harry’s voice comes through on the other line, you can tell whatever news he’s about to share with you won’t be what you’re wanting to hear.

“What is it?”

It’s silent for what feels like entirely too long. You get up from your position on the couch next to Ally, telling her you’ll be right back. After breakfast, she convinced you to watch Toy Story with her, which quickly turned into a whole Disney movie marathon.

“Not so sure I’ll be able to make it home.”

You’re not sure if it’s his calm tone that bothers you, the fact that you didn’t want him to go to Los Angeles in the first place, or simply the fact that you and your children missed him terribly and haven’t seen him in nearly a month–– but your mood changes from relaxed to undeniably outraged in three seconds flat.

“You’re kidding.” Your tone is sharp, venomous. Harry once again takes a moment before responding, knowing that the current tone of your voice means he’d best proceed with caution.

“‘M not, love. I woke up early and everything to try and get this sorted out, it’s 7 AM so I was gonna try and catch an early flight––”

“I told you I didn’t want you going to LA,” you cut him off, voice rising slightly. “You knew how bad the pandemic was getting there. I told you this would happen.”

“What do you suppose I do then, Y/N?” His tone is becoming equally as sharp. “Y’want me to tell ‘em, “Sorry, I don’t give a fuck about the travel restrictions. My wife wants me home so let's make it happen!” ‘S that what you want me to do?”

“Don’t be a smartass, Harry,” you spit. “I’ll give the phone to your daughter and you can tell her you won’t be home in time for Christmas, then.”

“Y/N…” his tone is calm again. Fearful. “Don’t make me do that.”

“She woke up early to write a letter to Santa to tell him she wants you home by tonight, Harry,” your tone softens as well. “Even Olly has been asking for you. Swear his new favorite word is ‘dada’.” He laughs at this as do you, and the shared tension that was present just minutes ago dissipates. 

“Just… lemme try a few more things before I tell her, yeah?”

“Harry, it’s already three here,” you gently remind him. “Even if you do make it home today, she’ll be asleep by the time you’re home. I think you just need to tell her.”

Your husband sighs, knowing you were undeniably correct. “Alright. Give Allison the phone, please.”

December 24th, 8 PM

“Almost time for you to head to bed soon, yeah Allybug?” Your daughter lets out a loud sigh in response, not shifting her gaze from the television to you. Ever since Harry told her he wouldn’t be home in time to eat cookies with her, she’s hardly said a word. She’s never experienced a Christmas Eve without her father so understandably, she was missing him tonight.

You shift Olly, who was falling asleep nursing on your lap, into a different position so you could face your daughter directly. From your new position, you can see just how tired she looks. 

“‘M not sleepy, Mumma. Gonna stay up and wait for Daddy,” she informs you of her new plans. “When Daddy is home that’s when it’s time for bed.”

“Ally, remember what Daddy told you on the phone earlier? Santa won’t come unless you go to sleep.”

“I don’t wanna sleep,” she’s quickly starting to grow upset. “Not until Daddy tucks me in!”

You purse your lips, not wanting to argue with your headstrong daughter when your son was so close to drifting off into his nightly milk coma. Turning your attention back to the movie that was quietly playing on the television, you decide to drop it for now and try again later.

December 24th, 9:05 PM

Not more than an hour later, Olly is upstairs in his crib fast asleep whilst Ally is still laying on the floor in front of the Christmas tree, fighting sleep. She was determined to stay up until her father walked through the front door, and you knew getting her to agree to go to bed was going to be a battle and a half.

“You’re not ready to go to bed yet, Ally?” Her eyes fly open once she hears you addressing her.

“Not yet, Mumma. ‘M not sleepy yet.” Her words are a little slurred due to the exhausted state she was in. You hum in response.

“Could’ve sworn your eyes just shut for a minute there,” you pause for a second to see if she’ll look your way. “Must’ve just been my old lady eyes playin’ tricks on me, y’think?”

“I wasn’t sleeping!” She immediately defends herself, frown lines indenting her forehead. “Can we drink more hot chocolate?”

You knew if you wanted your daughter to fall asleep within the hour, another sugar rush wasn’t the best idea. You instead offer her a hot cup of sleepytime tea and she excitedly agrees once you tell her it’s her father’s favorite type of tea to drink at bedtime. You place her down on the kitchen counter while you fill the kettle and wait for it to whistle.

“What are you looking forward to the most from Santa, bug?” 

Her eyes light up at your question. “Well, I really want a new bike! ‘Member Mumma? How I asked him for a pink bike? And I also want a cool swing set! Since we haven’t been able to go to the park in so long,” her smile falters and she looks down at her dangling feet. “I want Daddy to come home the mostest, though.”

Your heart feels like it’s going to break in two upon hearing your daughter admit that Harry being home would be the greatest gift of all. “So do I, lovebug. He’ll be here in the mornin’ to watch you and your brother open all the gifts Santa got you though, don’t you worry.”

For everyone’s sake, you hoped that was true.

December 24th, 11:50 PM

Sleep wasn’t coming easy. 

You finally got your daughter to bed at around ten o’clock and waited thirty minutes before laying out your children’s gifts. It took much longer than it usually did considering you had to do it all on your own. Harry was usually the one to quickly assemble the larger toys while you laid everything out around the living room. 

Despite it taking longer than desired, you were proud that you got it all done without waking your children up. Consequently, that meant you were now left all alone with your thoughts considering you had no more tasks to occupy yourself with. 

You kept contemplating calling Harry, but you weren’t sure if he was busy on set or not. Surely he was immersing himself in work to distract himself from the fact he would not be spending Christmas with his family. 

Deciding you may need a cup of the sleepytime tea you offered Allison earlier, you quietly get out of bed and open your door, sock-clad feet padding softly against the wooden floors. It’s unnervingly silent in your home–– the tea kettle coming to a boil being the only source of noise. You keep unlocking and re-locking your phone, finally deciding to call your husband to see how he’s spending his day. It goes to automatic voicemail.

You assume the reason for this must be that he’s busy filming on set and set your phone down with a sigh, standing on your tiptoes to retrieve a mug from the cabinet. You mutter a slew of curse words under your breath intended for Harry who always puts the mugs up far too high even though you tell him not to.

Right as you begin pouring the now boiling water into your teacup, the faint jingling of your front door causes you to startle so badly that you nearly drop the kettle on the ground. You try to think back to everything Harry ever told you to do in the event of an intruder but your mind goes blank from fright. Deciding to use the scalding water as your weapon, you slowly creep towards the door, your only plan being to fling the water on whoever it was as soon as they got the door open. As soon as you hear the lock click, you flick the lid open that covers the spout and draw your arm back.

“Shit––”

“Harry?”

Your husband jumps slightly, his eyes blinking rapidly in an effort to adjust to the dark living room. You reach beside him and quickly turn on the light, shakily letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. He looks exhausted, his hair is an absolute mess, and his eyes are red from sleep deprivation–– but he’s home. You set the tea kettle down on the coffee table and fling yourself into his arms, breathing in the scent of the man you haven’t seen in a month. He drops his bags at his feet so he can properly embrace you, pulling you into him.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” he presses a kiss to the top of your head and stays like that for a moment saying nothing, just breathing you in. “Missed ya so fuckin’ much.

“How? I thought…” you trail off. “You said that they said…”

Harry laughs quietly. “Remember what I told ya? I said to ‘em, ‘Don’t give a fuck about your travel restrictions! M’wife wants me home.’” You laugh at him, knowing he was far too kind to talk to anyone that way. 

“Yeah, okay,” you reply sarcastically. You pull him in for another hug, placing wet kisses along his jawline. “I’m so happy you’re home. The kids are gonna be over the moon, especially Allison.” Harry hums, surveying the room.

“Looks like you did a good job in here, Mrs. Claus. See ya even assembled some toys all by yourself,” he quirks an eyebrow. “Were you jus’ pretendin’ not to know how to do it all these years so I’d be stuck with all the hard labor?”

“Maybe.”

He pulls you back into him, tickling your sides. “My sneaky girl,” he bends down so his lips are level with your neck and sucks gently, causing you to let out a quiet moan. You see his eyes land on the tea kettle that was sitting forgotten on the coffee table. “Making a cuppa? Can I have one? ‘M freezin’.”

“I can think of something else we can do to get you warmed up,” you reach for his hands, interlocking his fingers with yours. “If you know what I’m gettin’ at.”

“Hmm…” Harry releases one of his hands from your grip and taps at his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “Not too sure I can say I know what you’re sayin’. Maybe you should just tell me?”

You frown. “You’re really gonna make me say it, huh?”

“Y’know I’d give you the entire world if you asked me for it. All you gotta do is tell me what you want from me and it’s yours–– ‘m sure you’ve known that since the first day we met, though.” Harry takes a step back, crossing his arms across his chest. Even in his thick winter coat, you can see the way his biceps flex, and it makes you even more feral for him.

“Fine,” you say quietly, feeling yourself start to grow shy under his intense gaze. “I’m kinda... in the mood.” You say it so softly that it would most likely be inaudible to Harry if he wasn’t standing mere inches away from you. Harry throws his head back in laughter and you quickly shush him, not wanting any of your children to wake up.

“In the mood? C’mon, pet,” he uncrosses his arms and reaches for one of your hands. “Tha’s not tellin’ me what you want from me. Tell me exactly what you want, lovie.”

“You know what I want, H,” you tell him with a hint of annoyance in your voice. “It’s been a month. Yanno I want you to fuck me, why are you makin’ me say it?”

Harry gives you a shit-eating grin. “You jus’ said it. I didn’t make you say anything.”

You roll your eyes at his immaturity, already in the process of lifting your nightshirt (one of his old t-shirts that’s become just a little too tight on him) over your head. “Are we gonna get to it or not? Because if not, I’ll just go back to makin’ myself some tea and call it a night––”

Harry takes half a step towards you and reaches up to cup your face, colliding his lips with yours. His lips are a little chapped and taste of his favorite rose lip balm. You feel your body relaxing into the kiss, knees going weak as he walks you back onto the couch.

“You’ve been eatin’ up all the sugar cookies, haven’t you? Can taste it on ya. Thought those were for Santa,” he’s pulled away from you to examine your face. “A bit naughty of you, wouldn’t ya say?”

“Please stop referring to yourself as Santa when we’re about to have sex, Harry.”

“You’re not bein’ very kind to the person that’s about to go down on you, are you?” He sucks harshly on the valley between your breasts, wanting to be sure a deep-colored bruise will appear on your skin later. “That’s okay. It is Christmas, after all. ‘M in a giving mood.”

“Stop talking and get to it then.”

Harry slides off the couch and onto his knees in between your legs, gently kissing your thighs. “Cute pair of undies–– s’like you knew I was comin’ home tonight.” Before you can respond Harry’s fingers are tugging at the waistband of your underwear, eager to get them off of you. He presses light kisses to your core, mumbling about how much he missed the smell of you and how sweet you tasted. 

One hand is resting across your stomach while the other one is in between your folds, spreading you open. You try squeezing your thighs around his head, overwhelmed by the feeling of your husband’s lips around your clit after being away from him for so long, but he removes his hand from your stomach and pushes your thighs back apart.

“Feels so good,” you’re breathless, tangling your fingers in Harry’s hair as his hollowed cheeks begin to suck more roughly on your clit. “Missed you so much. Missed this–– us.” 

Harry pauses momentarily to look up at you. “I know, angel. God, do I know.” He attaches his lips back on you, swirling his tongue around your clit as you  choke back your moans. The hand that is holding you open moves down to toy at your slit as he wordlessly checks to see if you’re okay with his fingers being in you. 

“Please,” you say softly, encouraging his next move. He spits on his index and pointer finger before slowly sliding both of them in you, immediately curling them up. “Oh, Harry. Fuckin’ love when you do tha’...”

“Know you do,” His response is curt, simple. He’s focused on the task at hand–– getting you off. He uses the hand that’s lying across your stomach to rub tight circles on your clit, sensing you’re nearing your orgasm from the way you’re starting to clench around him. “Such a good girl fo’ me, darlin’. Gonna make a mess on my fingers in a second, aren’t you?”

You nod as you try to control your breathing and the loudness of your moans. The last thing you wanted was for your daughter to come down to inspect the source of the noise. “Fuck, Harry.” 

“Come on, darlin’,” he gently pinches your clit, causing your body to jolt at the sensation. “Gimme a good one. A lil’ welcome back gift for me, hmm?” 

Your hips are bucking up to the rhythm of his fingers slipping in and out of you as your orgasm quickly approaches. “Har, I’m close…” it comes out sounding more like a warning than a statement. He moves the two fingers he has inside of you in a back and forth motion, coaxing your first orgasm out of you.

“Tha’s my girl,” he whispers, not stopping his movements even as your back arches as your first orgasm rolls over you like a giant wave. “Givin’ me a good one jus’ like I knew you would. Jus’ like you always do. M’ sweet girl.” As you’re starting to still, Harry pulls his fingers out of you and holds them up to your mouth, instructing you to suck them clean. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows so you can properly lean in to steal a kiss from him and notice a rather sizable tent has formed in his pants. Harry gives you a sheepish grin as he palms himself, hissing from the feel of his palm against his cock.

“Want me to do somethin’ about that?” You scoot over on the couch and pat the spot next to you, signaling for your husband to sit beside you. He lifts himself from his seated position, stretching his legs out a bit before plopping down beside you.

“Are you offerin’ me a blowie?”

“I mean, yeah?”

“Can we skip that an’ you can jus’ ride me instead? Think I’d quite like that.”

“Oh you would, would ya?”

Harry nods and unzips his pants, taking himself out. He licks his hand and gives himself a few pumps. “Still on birth control, I’m assuming?”

You roll your eyes as you move to straddle him. “Only been gone for a month, Harry. Of course ‘m still on it, you goof.”

“Can never be too careful. I don’t think now’s a good time for another lil’ one, do you? Think we should at least celebrate Oliver’s first birthday before we try for another one.” His hands are on his hips as he lines you up over his cock, helping you slowly sink down. You missed the burn of him which was even more intense than it usually was considering it’s been a while since he’s taken you.

“I think you’re right,” you reply. You rest your head on his shoulder while you adjust to the size of him, needing to take a moment to yourself before attempting to move. After a short adjustment period you begin rolling your hips, grinding against him in a way that was also bringing pleasure to your clit, still swollen and sensitive from your last orgasm.

Harry’s eyes are fixated on the way your breasts bounce in front of him, the way your stomach slightly jiggles each time you crash back down onto him. His lips are caught in between his teeth; you’re hoping he doesn’t break any skin so you don’t have to hear him whine about how badly the bruise hurts him later.

“Ridin’ me like your life depends on it,” Harry mutters. “Fuckin’ love takin’ you like this, angel. So fuckin’ deep.”

You simply hum in agreement, brain far too foggy to form a coherent sentence. Harry notices your movements starting to become smaller, lazier, so he puts his hands on your hips and decides to take over. He’s thrusting up into you like you’ll up and run away from him if he doesn’t give it his all. He cups your face with one hand and gently guides you towards him, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your lips.

“Fuck, H,” your eyes are squeezed shut and your wrap your arms around his neck, feeling your second orgasm quickly approaching. “Rub my clit please, almost there.”

Harry’s fingers immediately come down to rub at your slick nub, not faltering his relentless pace in the slightest. “Clench around me again, lovie,” his voice is higher than usual, whiny, and you know your husband is just as close as you are. “Love when you do tha’, jus’ need you to do it one more time.”

You do as he wishes once more, knowing once he cums you’ll be directly behind him. Harry lets out a string of expletives as he releases inside of you, pulling you tightly against his chest as he rides out his orgasm. You continue riding him, not slowly down as you chase your own release next.

“Harry,” you’re in a trance-like state, chanting his name over and over as you bring yourself over the edge. “Harry, fuck!”

“That’s my good girl,” he says quietly, rubbing your back as you rest your head on his shoulder while you catch your breath. You feel him beginning to soften inside of you so you lift yourself off and lay back on the couch, legs still shaking. It’s quiet for a couple of minutes as the two of you reveal in the afterglow of your orgasms, Harry gently running his fingers along your leg.

“Round two in the shower?”

December 25th, 6:42 AM

“Mumma! Santa came and he left lots of toys–– Daddy?”

Harry lets out a dramatic “oof!” as Ally jumps onto him, pulling the covers back. Her eyes are wide and she giggles are Harry pulls her into one of his infamous bear hugs, placing kisses all over his face.

“Mornin’, love bug! What’re you doin’ up so early?”

“It’s Christmas, Daddy! Santa came!” she sits back on her feet, a confused look on her face. “Did Santa bring you on his sleigh last night after me ‘n Olly went to bed?”

“Y’know what? He told me to keep it a secret, but he did,” Allison gasps in response to his news as she processes it, placing a little hand over her mouth. Harry sits up and gets out of bed, scooping her up in the process. “How ‘bout we go make Mum a cuppa before we see what Santa got for you and Olly? Tha’ sound good? Let’s let them sleep for a while longer, hmm?”

As you hear them exit the room you take a second to reflect on how lucky you are to spend another Christmas with you beautiful family before drifting back off into a deep, albeit short, sleep.

[supernovafics]

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇

pairing: tom holland x fem!reader

summary: in which tom is your ex-boyfriend and a night in vegas for your mutual friend’s birthday leads to a surprising drunk confession

warnings: explicit language, drunkenness, so much angst, (italicized means flashback)

word count: 2.9k

author’s note: first time ever posting any kind of writing on here but i’m actually very proud of this so i hope you all enjoy! things gets berry berry angsty and sad in this so i’m sorry in advance </3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Against your many drunken protests, the night was coming to an end. You did not want to leave the club you were in along with Zendaya and the friends she invited, so you pouted at the girl, knowing that since this whole Vegas trip had been for her birthday, she would be able to make everyone stay.

“Come on, Z. We should all have a couple more drinks,” You told her, words coming out slightly slurred, showing how inebriated you were.

“No way, Y/N. I think you’ve had enough drinks for the night,” Zendaya responded, and instead of verbally responding to her, you simply pouted again.

You felt upset that you had to leave, but the tiniest part of you that was sober knew you would thank her in the morning for making you do so.

Zendaya turned her attention to Tom, who was sitting at the table that the group of friends had been occupying for most of the night. “Tom, since you and Y/N are staying at the same hotel, can you make sure she gets back to her room okay?”

Tom turned his gaze away from his phone and nodded at Zendaya’s request. He looked at where you were now standing by the bar, animatedly talking and laughing with Jacob and Harrison. Seeing how happy you looked with them reminded Tom of the situation the two of you were in.

For the past two days of this Vegas trip, you both had barely spoken any words to each other. This avoidance wasn’t necessarily purposeful, it was just something that happened, and it honestly made sense. With the way things ended between you two, there was bound to be some lingering awkward tension, especially since this was the first time you guys had been in the same vicinity of each other since the breakup, which happened a little over six months ago.

Neither of you hated the other, but you definitely weren’t going to initiate anything more than some simple small talk.

However, tonight was much different than the past two days in Vegas had been. You were drunk, and anytime you were in this intoxicated state, you became overly friendly and a little too honest, a mixture that almost always led to some type of disaster.

• • •

The beginning of the elevator ride up to your floor was fairly quiet until you started drunkenly rambling to Tom, acting as if there wasn’t any awkward tension between the two of you. It was mainly because the drunk version of you gave zero fucks about the awkwardness that had been lingering for so long.

“We should’ve stayed for just one more drink. It would have been really fun,” You said to him, grinning widely as you leaned back against the wall of the elevator. Tom was standing right next to you. He had been like this the entire way to the hotel just in case you tripped or anything else; he had seen you drunk enough times before to know some of your usual mannerisms.

“You’re already pretty drunk, though,” Tom responded, chuckling lightly.

Even though his words were true, you still gasped, offended. “No, I’m not!”

Once again, Tom laughed, and the sound made your heart simultaneously flutter and ache.

His laugh was your favorite thing about him, not only the soft and happy sound of it but the way his mouth turned up in a wide smile as he did so too. And hearing that oh-so-familiar laugh right then made you realize that this was the first time you’ve heard it in a while, and it also made you desperately want to listen to it again.

“I still love your laugh so much,” You told him, knowing you would not have said that if you were any hint of sober.

As the words spilled from your lips, you noticed the corner of Tom’s mouth perk up the tiniest bit in a smile. “And this honesty is how I know you’re very drunk right now.”

You rolled your eyes, and a full smile took over your features. “I didn’t see you drink at all tonight.”

Tom simply shrugged. “Wasn’t really in the mood.”

The grey elevator doors then opened up to the nineteenth floor before you could say anything in response to Tom’s statement. Both you and he exited the elevator, and you began walking in the direction of your hotel room. That was until you noticed that none of the numbers was the one for your room, and instead of the room numbers on the doors decreasing to the one that was yours, they were actually increasing.

“Wait, fuck. We’re going the wrong way.” You quickly turned around and started walking in the opposite direction. The abrupt action caused you to trip over absolutely nothing but your own feet. Tom attempted to reach for you, but you hit the ground before he could even get the chance to grab your arm.

“Shit, you okay, Y/N?” Tom asked as he knelt down next to you.

You nodded at his question as you laughed a bit and sat up on the carpeted floor, crossing your legs under you. “I’m okay. Can we actually sit here for a sec? The floor is pretty comfortable.”

Tom smiled amusingly at your drunken actions and proceeded to sit down across from you on the carpeted floor of the hallway.

It was quiet for a few moments, and things mainly consisted of you silently admiring his face and him attempting to decipher what you were thinking.

“How are you and Lily?” You asked him. The question randomly came to mind, and before you could stop it from coming out of your mouth, it was blurted.

To say Tom was confused about your words would be an understatement. He hadn’t posted anything about his new relationship yet since it was still slightly recently, and he was nowhere near ready to do so. When you two were together, it took over ten months until you both decided to “go public” with your relationship.

“We’re good,” He answered after his brief moment of confusion. “I didn’t even know that you know about Lily and me.”

Your shoulders lifted in a simple shrug. “I was talking to Harrison about a month ago, and he accidentally mentioned it.”

That conversation was something you remembered all too well. Specifically, the bittersweetness you felt when Harrison told you that Tom was with someone new. You knew that it was a good thing, and overall you were happy for him, but you couldn’t help but feel the tiniest twinge of sadness, knowing that Tom being in a new relationship meant that things were truly over for the two of you.

The thought made you feel a thousand times more upset than you knew you would’ve felt if you were sober. And it also made you feel like an idiot because you were the one who ended things all those months ago, so you shouldn’t be feeling sad at all. But if you considered the circumstances which made you end things, your emotions entirely made sense.

“Hey, are you okay?” Tom was quick to notice how upset you looked, and his voice was full of concern.

God, now you absolutely hated the fact that you were drunk. It made the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes feel uncontrollable.

You ultimately swallowed back the tears and sad thoughts, letting your drunken mind roam to a place that was much less depressing. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I just— Nevermind. Hey, do you remember that time we went to Disney and became completely obsessed with the churros? I swear we both had like five that day.”

You had no idea how your mind brought you to thinking about and bringing up that story, especially because it was something you hadn’t thought about in forever. But the memory always made you laugh, just as you were doing right then.

Tom laughed too as he nodded his head. “That feels like it happened so long ago, but yeah, I remember that. Honestly, I’d go back to Disneyland just for the churros.”

The more you thought about that memory, the more you missed those times with Tom. It made you wonder if he missed that as well. Does he miss me too?

Even though you were drunk, your brain was smart enough not to ask that question. However, it was sadly not smart enough to stop you from saying the next thing you said.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Once again, a confused expression took over Tom’s features. He had no idea where you were going with your question, but he still nodded his head, quite curious about what you were going to tell him. “Sure,” He said along with the nod.

You leaned a tad bit closer toward Tom and dropped your voice to a whisper. “Sometimes I wish that I didn’t lie to you at the airport by saying I wouldn’t do the same for you, which was basically me saying that I didn't love you. Because I really did love you.”

Your softly spoken words lingered in the air between you and Tom for many moments after they fell from your lips.

If you somehow remembered what you just told him in the morning, the smallest part of you that was sober knew that you would completely regret the confession you made.

However, you were unsure if you’d regret the confession more than the actual lie you had told Tom all those months ago; because that was something that the deepest part of you regretted every day.

• • •

The next time you two would see each other was very uncertain. Tom was getting on a plane to London, which was what led you to drive him to LAX, and it was a flight that you would’ve taken with him if there weren’t some things you needed to handle in Los Angeles for the next week.

You were both pretty good at making set plans on when you would see each other next, especially considering how busy your schedules could always be. But, this time was much different. A photography job was going to be taking you to New Zealand for the next six months, and Tom was going to start filming a new movie in Canada in a couple of weeks. It felt like your lives were moving in two completely different directions.

You had known that fact for a long time, but you loved him so much that you always pushed away all of those doubts and worries that would flood your mind.

The past week was when you finally decided to stop. You couldn’t halt the thoughts that took over your brain, and quite frankly, you didn’t want to. Mainly because of how much sense they made. Both of your respective careers were exponentially growing, with your nature photography becoming more recognized and Tom receiving more acting jobs. And those facts were something that you knew would only continuously draw the two of you farther and farther apart.

“So, I’ll see you soon?” Tom’s questioning words pulled you out of your thoughts, and you turned to look at him as he began gathering his things from your car, knowing that the drop-off point you had to park in front of didn’t allow for too long goodbyes.

You were quiet for a few moments, having absolutely no idea how you wanted to word your next statement. Tom looked over at you with curious and hopeful eyes, and that expression made what you knew you had to say feel a million times harder.

“I don’t know,” You finally said, the words coming out soft and almost too quiet, but Tom was still able to hear them.

His eyebrows furrowed in immediate confusion, and he stopped his actions of attempting to make sure everything was in his carry-on backpack. “What do you mean?”

“Next week I’m going to New Zealand for six months, and you’re going to film in Canada. And then after that, there are probably just gonna be more jobs that will push us further away from each other. Our lives are moving in two completely different directions, Tom.” Your words came out rushed, but that didn’t change how true they were.

“We know how to make things work, though. We just had to do a long period of long-distance a few months ago when I had to be in France for a month, and you were here, and we made it through that,” Tom told you, and there was that hopeful look again, making your heart lurch the longer you looked at him.

You pulled your eyes away from him and turned your attention downward for a brief moment. “Yes, we did, but it was still so hard, and we both knew it. And even then, we at least had a set date when we knew we would see each other again. Right now, we have absolutely no clue, and it’s just going to continue to get harder.”

Tom wanted to rebuttal your statement, but he didn’t know the exact thing to say right then, so instead, he opted for the dreaded question, “So what does that mean for us?”

A beat of silence went by before you answered him with, “I think we both know what that means.”

“Just say it, Y/N,” Tom said, and you could already see the hurt that was brimming behind his features. It made you hate the fact that you'd become able to read him so well. You turned your gaze away from him and instead focused your eyes on the Nevada license plate of the car that was in front of you.

This was it. There was nothing more you could do to tread around the words that had to be said.

“I think it would be best if we broke up.”

Silence prevailed in the small space of your car for what felt like hours but was actually just barely a minute. A car honking from behind you put an end to the quiet, and you finally turned to look at Tom.

“You should go. You’re gonna miss your flight.” The fact that you were still processing the last words that you just said to Tom made your voice sound distant and quiet.

Tom was quick to shake his head. “I don’t care about the flight right now. You can not expect me to give up on us so easily, Y/N.”

You didn’t know what to respond to him with, so instead, you just gave him the smallest shrug.

“I love you. We can figure everything out and make it all work,” Tom told you. “If there are times where I need to give up an acting job to make sure that we’re not away from each other for months at a time, then I’ll do it. I really don’t need to take on every role that is offered to me, and I won’t if that means I don’t have to lose you.”

You knew exactly how true those words were, and that was what scared you. In a heartbeat, Tom would give up any acting job if that meant he would get to spend more time with you, and you would do the exact same for him. However, you knew that that was not a good thing. You had always been someone that thought about things long-term, and you knew that regret would eventually spur from both ends if the two of you continuously did that, and that regret would lead to resentment. That was exactly what you did not want to happen.

Once again, you were quiet, not responding to his words with anything, so Tom took that as his cue to continue on, saying something that almost mimicked your previous thoughts. “I know you’d do the same for me too, Y/N. We love each other so much.”

You did love Tom so much, sometimes maybe even too much. And you also knew that he loved you the same amount too; it was a fact that was easily confirmed from the current pleading look in his eyes. However, as much as it hurt, you knew exactly what you needed to do.

“No,” You said with the slightest shake of your head. You took a shallow breath and disconnected your eyes from Tom’s before you finished off your sentence. “I wouldn’t do the same for you.”

There was no need to look at Tom to gather his reaction to your words because you had a strong feeling what it was. Hurt and heartbreak. And that was something that you really did not want to see.

The sound of a car honking again behind you broke the growing silence again, and Tom took that as his cue to finally exit your car. He said nothing to you as he slung his bookbag over his shoulder, grabbed his suitcase from the backseat, and then headed into the airport.

You had just told him something that was a complete and utter lie, and as much as you wanted to chase after him and tell him that your statement had been just that, you didn’t. As you watched his figure become smaller and smaller as he continued inside the expansive airport, you noticed that he did not turn to look back at you once. That was what let you know that the damage was done.

Your heart hurt like hell right then, a completely self-inflicted wound, but you knew that in the long run, your actions would prove to be the right thing. The pain from it all would ease up eventually.

• • •

Tom had absolutely no idea what to say in response to your confession. He was beyond confused and had no idea if you were even telling the truth; he honestly hoped that you weren’t.

That day at the airport was fucking heartbreaking for him, and if it actually had all been just a lie, he wouldn’t know how to feel.

Before he could utter any type of response to your previous words, your drunken mind moved to a completely different place, disregarding everything that had come out of your mouth less than a minute ago.

“I’m really tired,” You said and stood up from the cross-legged position you were in on the floor so that you could start heading to your hotel room.

Tom wordlessly followed suit, and less than a minute later, the two of you were standing in front of your door. You pulled your key card from your pocket and managed to unlock the door after receiving some help from Tom. Using the card was something that had already been slightly difficult to do sober, so adding your drunkenness to the table did not make it any easier.

When the door was opened, you began to step inside the room, but you stopped when you decided to pull Tom in for a hug. He felt completely awkward and tense at the action, but that was something that you didn’t at all notice due to your inebriated state.

“Goodnight, Tommy,” You said to him once you pulled back from the embrace. The nickname you used to always call him, slipping out way too easily.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Tom responded, forcing out a small smile. His mind was still completely stuck on your drunk confession, and he knew that he would be thinking about it all night.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know your thoughts! <33

[imaginedisish]

Devil’s Advocate (Tenet) Neil x Reader

Chapter 2: I’ll Try Anything Once

A/N: Hi guys! So this sort of feels like a filler chapter, but I hope you still all enjoy it :) And ps...this chapter is based on I’ll Try Anything Once by Julian Casablancas (it’s derived from one of the Strokes’ demos I think)

Summary: You and Neil land in London to some majorly unfortunate circumstances that are too overwhelming for you to handle, but Neil is done letting you get hurt. 

Warnings: Death, guns, gunshot wounds, explosions, violence/murder (implied more or less), cursing, minor angst maybe, and yay fluff!

Word Count: 4,191

“Hey,” A voice whispers softly; the familiar sound encourages you to lift your eyelids. “(Y/N), we’re about to land,” The voice whispers again as you feel yourself slowly rocking back and forth. You groggily open your eyes. 

The cabin of the plane is dark except for a few scattered overhead reading lights. You notice that your head is still resting against Neil’s chest as his warm hold envelopes you, keeping you pressed tightly against him. A tickle twitches in your stomach as you feel the plane drop down closer to the ground. The tickle quickly turns to terror as you remember where you’re headed. You feel your heart rapidly beat in your chest. You take a deep breath, hoping to suppress your paralyzing fears of being back out in the field. 

Neil’s calming voice grounds you. “Are you alright?” He asks, his arms tightening around you. The airplane drops some more, causing the tickle in your stomach to continue. 

“I’m not sure,” You respond honestly as you try and swallow your fear in your throat. Of course, it doesn’t work. The airplane drops again, and you pull slightly away from Neil to look out the window. Lights twinkle below you, and you can see Heathrow Airport in the near distance. 

The seat creaks a bit as Neil moves closer to you. His cheek brushes up against yours as he peers out the window. His closeness was comforting. 

Neil sighs. “I know you don’t want to be here, (Y/N),” Neil says as his right arm wraps around your shoulders again, stealing your attention away from the lights of the towns below.  “But it’s going to be okay. We’ll get in, get what we need, get rid of who we don’t, and get out.” He shoots a smirk in your direction.

The plane grows even closer to the ground but the tickles disappear, and nausea fills your stomach. “I think I’m going to be sick,” You complain. Anxiety courses through your veins, worsening your current state. 

Neil, with his arm still around your shoulders, shakes his head and pulls you away from the window. “You’re not throwing up here,” He says, chuckling a bit. “Or I’ll be doubled over with you.” You find yourself laughing too, but it’s no surprise. That’s simply what Neil does to you. He makes everything seem like it could be…

Okay. 

You were too wrapped up in thoughts of Neil to notice when the wheels of the plane came crashing on the ground. The sound of skid marks screeching against the tarmac gave way for the anxiety to settle back down into your stomach. You shudder, imagining all the things that could go wrong. All the stupid little things that could go horribly, horribly wrong.

You watch as everyone begins to stand up from their seats, walking out into the aisle and grabbing their things from the overhead compartments. Neil gives you a final squeeze before letting go and following suit with the rest of the people on the plane. You look back out the window for a second, contemplating whether or not being in Tenet is worth it at all. There’s so much danger, so much death, so much fear. 

And my own father is the enemy, You think. 

“Are you ready, love?” Neil calls, breaking you out of your thoughts. 

You shrug and stand up from the seat, hunching over ever so slightly as to not smack your head against the ceiling. “I don’t think I’ll ever be, so I might as well just jump without looking, right?” 

Neil smiles sadly, almost as if to apologize. “Then I’ll be ready for you, and I’ll catch you when you fall.” 

Your heart flutters in your chest at his reassurance, despite the sardonic nature of your comment. “Neil I-,” You say, carefully stepping out into the aisle. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

“Don’t thank me,” Neil starts, seemingly minimizing his ability to change your entire mood. “This is what friends are for.”

Right, friends. 

Neil guides you out of the plane and onto the bridge. After a short walk, you enter the airport. 

It’s a ghost town. Some people are sleeping, slumped over in uncomfortable, stiff chairs waiting for their flight. You had forgotten that the time had changed. You look down at your phone to see that your New York time zone has already been switched to London’s. 

3:56 AM

It only takes a few shuffles out to the main concourse for you to recognize how exhausted you are in spite of your ability to sleep on the plane. After all, that had been the most sleep you had gotten since the…accident. 

You and Neil walk in silence for a while. It isn’t an awkward silence. It’s the comfortable, relaxing kind. It’s the kind of silence shared by two people who don’t need to talk to share how much they enjoy the other’s company. You take in all the shops and food stores as an attempt to keep yourself distracted from the terror of the mission. 

You step onto an escalator, and your attention finally lands on Neil’s face. You had studied it a million times, as odd as that sounds, but you couldn’t help it. You liked looking at him. You liked getting confirmation that he was in fact real and was in fact with you. 

“Hey,” You finally speak up. “Aren’t we in your hometown now?”

You watch as Neil’s cheeks lift and the corners of his mouth turn up. “Yeah,” He says back. “I guess we are.” His eyes rest on yours for a second before they flicker down to your lips. It catches you off guard, but the moment is gone just as soon as it begins as you’re forced to step off the escalator. You enter the baggage claim area and head straight towards the exit of the airport. 

Conveniently waiting outside the doors is a black town car. You look to Neil, making sure it’s the right one. Neil nods, silently confirming that this is a part of the plan. You open the door and plop onto the seat. You hear Neil open and close the trunk before he takes his spot next to you in the car. 

“We live in a twilight world,” Neil says. But there’s no answer. 

You clear your throat nervously, reaching underneath your black, baggy, menswear dress pants, clutching onto the small revolver tied against your calf. “He said, we live in a twilight world.” 

There’s no answer again. You take the revolver out, aiming it at the man. You look over at Neil and notice that his shirt is undone; he had already taken his gun out. He always kept it under his shirt, attached to his chest. He hunches over, slowly moving towards the man through the center console. 

The man’s hat is titled over his forehead. Neil takes it off. 

Neil parts his lips. “Fuck,” His voice is shallow. “He’s dead. He’s got a bullet in the center of his forehead,” There’s a panic in Neil’s voice.  He looks up to the windshield, and you follow his gaze. There’s no point of entry, no shattered glass. 

“So someone else has already been here,” You remark. Neil’s eyes widen as he moves the man’s shirt over a bit. 

That’s when the light beeping noise starts. 

“SHIT!” Neil screams. “Get out of the car! NOW!” He opens the door on your side of the car and practically shoves you out. You stumble, barely able to catch your balance when your feet hit the ground. Neil sprints to the trunk, opening it up and grabbing the luggage. 

You follow behind him, tugging on his arm, trying to pull him away. “The luggage, really?” You shout in disbelief. 

Neil secures both bags in his right hand, and grabs your wrist with his left. You both break out into a sprint. “We need to take cover,” Neil says in between breaths, his eyes frantically searching around the taxi area. “Do you see-,”

BOOM!

“FUCK!” Neil yells, practically tripping over his feet as the concrete vibrates violently below. He catches his balance just before he can face plant into the ground.

The car explodes behind you. The heat of the flames radiate on your back. You don’t dare look behind you; you keep running. 

You and Neil finally reach a parking lot, and stop for a break.

“What the hell was that?” You whisper, angrily grabbing Neil by the collar and bringing him in between two minivans for cover, just in case anyone had followed you or was planning to attack. 

Neil grabs your waist in return, brining you even closer to him. Your breath hitches in your throat as you realize how close you are to him. “They must know we’re here,” Neil says. His eyes are still wide and his breathing is still heavy. 

“And the suitcases?” You question with heavy concern, and even frustration, in your voice. “Do you not have firefighters come into your elementary schools in England? Do you not get taught that stuff can be replaced and human beings can’t be?” Your whisper turns into more of an angry shout. 

Neil shakes his head in disapproval. “There are explosives in my suitcase, (Y/N). If they detonated we would be dead,” He says, panic still evident in his voice, and a bit of anger as well. 

You nod, loosening your grip on his collar. “I’m sorry I just,” You pause, knowing full well what had just come over you. “I just didn’t want anything to happen to you, that’s all.” You feel your eyes becoming glossy. This was the very thing you were afraid of. You were almost blown to bits, and worse than that, Neil could’ve died. The mission was already failing, and it hadn’t even truly started yet.

You shut your eyes tightly, and a few tears roll down your cheeks.

Neil swallows hard, his arms still resting on your waist. “No, I’m sorry. You didn’t know. I shouldn’t have jumped down your throat like that.” Neil pulls you into an embrace. 

“It’s okay,” You mumble quietly into his chest.

You let him hold you in silence for a few moments. You needed to process things. You needed to ground yourself. You needed this second with Neil. 

You feel yourself dozing off a bit in Neil’s arms. Visions of a bed with a plush comforter and satin sheets play over in your head. It had to be almost 4:30 in the morning at this point. 

“How are we going to get to the hotel?” You ask, longing for a good night’s sleep. “And what if they know what hotel we’re staying in?”

Neil pulls apart from you and reaches into his pocket to grab his phone. “I’ll call TP and figure out what we’re supposed to do.” Neil types in his passcode, presses on the screen a few times, and lifts his phone up to his ear. 

You look up into the night sky to distract yourself. The stars twinkle lightly, but there’s too much light pollution to get a good look. The cold wind nips at you roughly. You turn to face Neil. He’s pacing back and forth about twenty feet away from you. You try and tune into what he’s saying.

“They fucking know we’re here, what am I supposed to do?” The frustration in his voice is clear. He waits for a response. 

“Yeah, she’s alright I guess, but you shouldn’t have forced her out into the field this early,” He pauses again. “No I don’t care that you’re the boss, she wasn’t ready when she left this afternoon and she definitely isn’t ready now!”

Silence, and then another sentence. “No, I’m not letting my feelings get in the way, that’s not what this is.”

Feelings? 

“I mean of course it’s because I care about her, you know how I feel…” He trails off, and walks a bit farther away from you. What he says next, you can’t hear.

After a few seconds, he starts to walk back, still keeping a bit of a distance. “Alright, we’ll head over there now,” Neil looks up at you and winks, confirming that there’s some sort of plan set in place. 

Neil turns his back to you. “And I swear to God,” He whispers, thinking you can’t hear him, “If she dies, I’m going to kill you.” 

A shiver rolls down your spine at his words. You knew Neil cared about you, but you didn’t know he would threaten TP for you, even if it was just a sarcastic threat.

But this wasn’t a joke.  

“Yeah okay. Thanks,” Neil says finally. “Talk to you later.” He takes the phone away from his ear and presses the red button to hang up. He walks back over to you. You’re still overwhelmed by what Neil had said on the phone, but you push those thoughts to the back of your head.

You yawn listlessly. “So what’s going to happen?” You ask, ready to crash to the ground in exhaustion. 

Neil smiles. He picks up the luggage in his right hand again, and points to the other side of the parking lot. You notice a separate lot filled with rental cars. “TP put in a favor and we’re getting our own car. Looks like you’ll have to deal with my driving.” 

You can’t help but smile back at him. You didn’t mind Neil’s driving at all, to be honest. You felt safe when Neil drove. But then again, you felt safe with Neil no matter what he did. 

“It’s just on the other side of the lot,” Neil reassures. You roll your eyes at the thought of more walking, but you figured it may be a good time to talk about what you had just heard Neil say on the phone. 

Before you can think of something to say, Neil loops his left arm around your waist. His fingers settle on the exposed skin underneath your oversized blazer. Your nerves tingle underneath his touch, and any thoughts you had before disappear from your mind. 

After a few seconds, you force yourself to think back to the phone call. “Neil? Can I ask you something?” 

“Anything,” Neil says back, smiling down at you. 

“The phone call you just had, with TP,” You pause, trying to find the right words.

Neil shakes his head. “Whatever you heard, don’t worry about it, please. I know what I’m doing,” He pauses and pulls you closer to him. "You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be alright. ” You’re not entirely content with his answer, but it’s enough for now. 

After a five minute walk, you finally reach the rental lot. Neil walks over to the man inside of the tiny cube shaped building. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but a set of keys are exchanged, and Neil motions for you to follow him. You begrudgingly pick up your pace to catch up with him.

“What kind of car is it?” You ask. Neil presses the panic button once, and the headlights of a black, Porsche 911 flash across your face. 

You go to get into the car, approaching the door on your left hand side, forgetting you’re now in Europe. Neil smirks at you, grabs your hand, and brings you to the other side of the car. He sets the luggage down on the ground, and opens your door, letting you slip inside. Normally, you would have a cheeky response to Neil opening the door for you, but you were too tired now. Neil grabs the luggage, and walks around the other side of the car. He opens his door and puts the luggage in the back seat. 

Neil puts the key into the ignition and starts the car. He takes out his phone, and through your blurry vision, you watch as he slides his finger around. 

“What are you doing?” You ask. Your voice is barely above a whisper and it’s filled with tiredness. “Just drive,” You order sarcastically, nudging Neil with your elbow.  Your sarcasm melts away when you remember the gravity of the situation. “What if they’re already here? What if they’re looking for us?” 

Neil puts his phone in the cupholder, and rests his hand on your thigh. “I’m just setting up the GPS and choosing some music, love,” Neil says. “Take a deep breath. TP just arranged for us to stay at a different hotel, and he has eyes and ears everywhere. We’ll be alright.”

Ten decisions shape your life,

You’ll be aware of 5 about,

7 ways to go to school,

Either you’re noticed or left out.

“I love this song,” You say, struggling to keep your eyes open. 

“I know,” Neil says. “Try to sleep, I’ll wake you up when we get there.” His voice is calming, and you almost do as he says, but you remember where you are. You wanted to look at the city. You wanted to see it before all the chaos began. You had been to London plenty of times before, but leaving the United States still excited you, even though you were rarely there at all anymore.

When I said "I can see me in your eyes,”

You said "I can see you in my pants,”

That's not just friendship that's romance too.

You like music we can dance to.

The highway goes on for a while, looking reminiscent of highways in America. Grass and trees line the black concrete. There’s no light save for a few street lamps. Each time you start to doze off, you force yourself to wake up. The feeling of Neil’s thumb drawing circles on your thigh doesn’t make it too hard. 

Sit me down,

Shut me up,

I'll calm down,

And I'll get along with you.

The trees melt into industrial areas. Car dealerships, stores, apartments, hotels. And finally, after a few more minutes, you’ve hit Central London. The lights are bright and the buildings are beautiful. 

Don't don't don't don't it's not safe no more,

I've got to see you one more time.

Neil pulls into a parking garage and finds an open spot. “We’re here,” He says, squeezing your thigh lightly. 

You unbuckle your seat belt, carefully open the door, and slide out of the car. Neil grabs the two duffle bags and gets out after you. You head inside the hotel, and Neil checks in. He grabs the keycard and ushers you into the elevator. 

The second you enter the lift, worry fills Neil’s face. His brows furrow and he shuts his eyes as he lets his head hit the wall behind him. 

“Neil?” You ask. “What’s going on?” Maybe it was the jet lag, or maybe it was the exhaustion, but you feel more confident than usual. You step towards him and grab his hands in yours.

Neil takes a deep breath. “I’m so sorry we’re here,” He says, his eyes still closed, as if he’s too guilty to face you. “I didn’t want to do the mission yet. I really wanted to wait. I know you aren’t ready yet. I just-,” 

You wrap your arms around Neil, and hold him tightly against your body. “I’ll be alright Neil, I promise.” His arms wrap around your body in response. You pull away from him slightly, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. You look up into his eyes, down to his lips, and back into his eyes again. Neil brings his face closer to yours, so close that you can feel his breath against your lips. 

“(Y/N), I need to-,” 

The conversation is interrupted by the dinging of the elevator and the giggles of a drunken couple as they step inside. 

The woman speaks up. “Sssorry for interrupting, loves,” She slurs, cackling a bit. Her boyfriend joins in and cackles with her. Neil politely smiles and nods. He picks up the luggage yet again with one hand, grabbing your wrist with the other. He pulls you outside the elevator and into the hallway. 

Your heart is still beating wildly in your chest. “Neil, you had something you needed to say?”

But the moment is over. He shakes his head. “We can talk about it some other time, I don’t want to overwhelm you. Enough has happened tonight.” Your heart sinks in your chest. Neil swallows, glancing back over towards the elevator. “And those people seemed off. We should really get inside the room.” You nod, agreeing, and allow Neil to take hold of your hand and guide you down the hall to the suite.  

You finally approach the room. 

505. 

“This is us,” Neil says, setting the luggage on the ground to swipe the keycard. The door unlocks, and Neil press down on the handle. You enter the dully lit room, and immediately flop onto the king bed. Neil smirks at you from the doorway. 

He walks inside, and you sigh in relief. “This is so nice,” You murmur, sliding your black converse off your feet. You push yourself further onto the bed so that your head rests on a pillow. 

“We should probably shower,” Neil says, crossing the room. He places the duffle bags on the desk by the window. He takes his suit jacket off. 

You chuckle. “What, like, together?” You erupt into laughter. There was something about being so unbelievably tired and jet lagged that made you a completely different person. It was like being drunk. 

Neil shakes his head and smiles widely. “If that’s what you want,” He retorts.

Oh? Is he flirting with me? He can’t be.

“I-I think I’m t-too tired for a shower a-at all,” You stutter, not sure what else to say. 

“Me too,” Neil says. He begins to undo the buttons of his white dress shirt one by one. Suddenly, his chest is completely exposed. You feel heat rising to your cheeks. 

He undoes his belt, unzips his fly, and steps out of his trousers. He’s only wearing his boxers now. You had seen him like this a million times, but it still caught you by surprise. He walks over to the other side of the bed, grabs a pillow, and drops it on the ground. He grabs the throw blanket at the edge of the bed and drops it on the ground as well.

You furrow your brows, confused by his actions. “What are you doing?” You ask. 

Neil’s blue gaze meets yours. “Setting up camp,” He jokes, sending a smile your way.

You breathe deeply, still riding out on the confidence that being sleep deprived gave you. “Why don’t you sleep in the bed with me?” 

Neil inhales sharply. “I don’t want to bother you. You’re exhausted.”

“I think I’d sleep better if you were with me, actually.” You let the words come right out, no regrets. “You make me feel safe, Neil,” You confess. 

Neil smiles and bends down, grabbing the pillow and the blanket, placing them back on the bed. He lifts the covers and slides in. You get underneath the covers too. You don’t realize how close you are to Neil until you turn onto your side to face him. 

“I’m glad I make you feel safe, (Y/N),” Neil finally responds. Your heart feels like it might burst. You and Neil had shared a bed in the past, but you had only ever been this close inside of one a handful of times before. “You have no idea how much I care about you.”

“You have no idea how much I care about you, Neil,” You say. 

Neil pushes himself up a bit, and presses a kiss against your forehead. You’re stunned. “Goodnight, (Y/N),” Neil says, and he reaches over to turn off the lamp next to his nightstand. The room goes pitch black. 

“Goodnight, Neil,” You say. Neil turns over to the other side and you do the same. You stay like that for a few minutes, before tossing and turning a few times. Seconds ago you were comfortable, and now you weren’t. 

As you laid alone in your thoughts, your anxieties all began to flood back to you. How the fuck am I going to do this? How is this mission going to turn out? This is going to be absolutely impossible. What if something happens to Neil? Your mind races with thoughts. You turn a few more times before you feel a hand on your waist. 

“I thought you were exhausted,” Neil snickers. 

“I am but-,”

Neil cuts you off. “But that doesn’t stop your mind from racing?” 

You turn around to face him. “Unfortunately, no.”

Neil wraps his arms around you, and pulls you into his bare chest. “Is this okay?” He asks. 

“Y-yes,” You stutter, pressing your face into the center of his chest. 

And finally, for the first night in over a month, you were able to sleep, nightmare free. 

So why not try it all,

If you only remember it once?

Sit me down,

Shut me up,

I'll calm down,

And I'll get along with you.

>>>>>Chapter 3

[loverdrew]

Come Back...Be Here | t.h

Synopsis: I guess you’re in London today, and I don’t want to need you this way. (Based off Taylor Swifts song ‘Come Back...Be Here’)

Warnings: a few curse words

----

What did I do....

What the fuck did I just do...

The ringing from the phone was close enough to me so I could hear it, but not enough to where the phone touched my skin. I don’t think I could handle hearing his voice that close to me again, that close to my skin.

“Hello?” His soft British voice spoke up.

“Uh h-hey...Tom...” I scrunched my eyes and scratched the back of my neck, my cheeks becoming hot instantly.

“Hey Y/N its uh...it’s been a while.”

“Yea, about three months now. I heard you’re in London?” I leaned against my living room wall, overlooking the London skyline, flickering lights beginning to line the sidewalks as the sun set.

“I am, for the week. I’m out here visiting my mum and pop while I’m on break from filming.” 

“That’s really sweet to hear, I’m sure they’re happy you’re home.” Silence grew for a second, before Tom spoke again.

“Y/N...darling, can we please talk about what happened the last time we saw each other?” He pleaded. I sighed, and rubbed my hand over my forehead.

“Tom it’s all in the past-”

“It’s not for me. I can’t even close my eyes without seeing you like that, crying and heartbroken over something I did. I don’t want to remember you like that. I don’t want to miss you like this.” I could tell he was pacing by the sounds over the phone, it was something he did when he was in distress.

And this is when the feeling sinks in. The last day I ever saw Tom was the day before he was scheduled for an early flight to Atlanta, to film the third Spider-man movie. It still was his biggest accomplishment. I never wanted to ruin that for him. One word led to another, as tensions ran high, and words were misconstrued. All I remember is telling him I never wanted to talk to him again. He left right after that, and I didn’t chase after him.

“You live a completely different life than I do. You’re movie trailers, lights and cameras and adoring fans everywhere you go. I’m a 9-5 job, struggling to pay bills, regular human walking down the street kind of person. Our lives just don’t click.” I tried to explain, but to him it wasn’t good enough.

“I was willing to work with that, hell I still am. I wanted you more than I’ve ever wanted anything else in my life regardless of how different my life is to yours.”

“But being Spider-man is everything to you. I wasn’t about to get in the way of your dreams, no matter how lonely I felt.” A few tears slipped my eyes. Of course I don’t blame him for how long he was gone, but it wasn’t easy on me either. I guess I just loved him so much I didn’t think of how strong you have to be, to be a part of a relationship like that. “The planes, the taxi cabs, the busy streets, they never brought you back to me. I can’t help but wish you took me with you...”

Toms breath became heavy, realizing the severity of the situation and the one thing he never considered. He never asked me to go with him, anywhere.

“And I told myself, over and over again ‘don’t get attached, he could be gone at any minute’...and then it happened. You got the call for Spider-man 3 and when you told me you’d be gone for 9 months I just...my heart broke.” I could hear him start to cry, finally hearing my side of things, instead of the fighting we use to do. “Time and time again you never asked me to go anywhere with you whether it was interviews, photoshoots, auditions. I was always in the background. And then that stupid plane took you away for the last time.”

“Why didn’t you go after me that night?” He asked in a low husky voice.

“I didn’t think you wanted me to...”

“I’m so stupid. If I had known what I know now I never would’ve been so nonchalant about everything. Despite everything, Y/N I want you a part of this life, my life. Of course I want Spider-man, and any other movies or opportunities that come my way but I want you there experiencing it with me. You may feel like you don’t understand this life but every time I talked to you about my day I swear, it made me feel like you were talking to me ‘Tom Holland’ the person, not just me ‘Tom Holland - the famous actor’. You get it more than you think you do.” 

He continued on with his rant.

“Y/N, I am willing to try and make this work again. Please, come back, be here with me.”

“Now you’re just saying that.” I fought back, sometimes my stubborness got the best of me.

“No it’s something I want so badly. My favorite person watching me do my favorite thing in the world. It doesn’t get any more perfect than that.” 

I imagined it. Atlanta, on set, holding Tom’s boiling cup of tea while he wears his Spidey suit doing back flips off of walls. Meeting the wonderful friends and coworkers we has there, all finally knowing who you are and what you mean to him. Falling asleep next to him every night, and waking up next to him every morning. It was everything I had wanted and fantasized about since meeting him. Physically being with him every day and not having to worry about the next time I would see or talk to him, but simply hear the words ‘I’m on my way home’. 

“Why don’t you meet me at Craig’s down the block. We can talk about it more there.” I slightly smiled, thinking of seeing him again.

Our whole week after that one night at the bakery led to extraordinary bliss between us two. It felt nice to see his lovely family again, and then we were on our way to Atlanta, together. This was all going to be new to me, but my heart was filled with happiness that Tom came back, that he is here with me.

[cherryrogers]

➸ call me baby {3/3}

BROOKLYN

pairing: bucky barnes x reader | biker au

warnings: Swearing, smoking.

word count: 8k

synopsis: Returning to Brooklyn for the summer after a year of travelling from city to city, you hadn’t expected to find your best friend, Peggy Carter, hopelessly in love with a biker. And when she decided to introduce you to the rest of his club, you hadn’t expected to fall for one either. That was until you met one with pretty eyes and a habit of calling you baby.

series masterlist

a/n: jfc,,, i can’t believe i’ve finally finished writing this lmao i’m sorry it took so long my dudes. thank you to everyone who has shown support for this fic, and i hope you all enjoy the final part !!💛

“I’m going to miss having you around, _____. It’s been nice having another girl here who isn’t afraid to put a shitty customer in their place.” Wanda smiled, handing you a white envelope with your final salary enclosed inside.

Folding the envelope and tucking it into your jean pocket, you chuckled heartily. “I think you and your pistol will do just fine without me. Thanks for having me here for the summer, Wan. I wouldn’t even be leaving if it wasn’t for this job.”

Her grin widened as she pulled you into a warm hug. “There’ll always be a job here for you — summer, winter, any time you need it.”

After you’d said one final thanks and goodbye to Wanda, you exited the bar doors for the last time and crossed the sidewalk to where Peggy was waiting in her car for you. In a matter of hours, you’d be spending the night in Brooklyn one last time, and your summer would be over.

Initially, you were expecting a couple of months solely spent with your best friend. Lounging on shimmering sandy beaches, drinking wine and laughing till dusk in your backyard, listening to her harp on about her dreamy new boyfriend while you rambled about all the places you’d visited. You couldn’t have imagined it to be more different than it was. Sure, you had done all of that with Peggy, but she wasn’t the only one that’d shaped your summer. Following the motorcycle ride at five in the morning with a certain biker, you’d only grown more attached to each other. He couldn’t ever keep his hands off you, and you couldn’t ever bring yourself to leave the clubhouse after a day spent with him. If the rest of the club ever caught on to yours and Bucky’s affair, then they never mentioned it. You were sure that was because of Peggy. She knew it was better to leave you be, considering Bucky was the first person you’d opened your heart to in a long time.

Some days were spent simply in his bedroom, wearing nothing but a pair of underwear under his silk sheets, constantly switching between telling one another about your lives, your childhoods, passions, fears, and stripping out of your little clothing and letting yourselves completely give into each other. Some days were spent wandering the streets of Brooklyn hand in hand, Bucky showing you all the alleys and parks he’d found Steve attempting to fight guys twice the size of him, you pointing out the diners and stores you used to drag Peggy to on the weekends in high school. Every day was spent getting to know one another though, and every day spent with Bucky was never a day wasted. The only down side to every moment your were with him was that they’d only add up to it hurting even more when you inevitably left, and that time was arriving very soon.

Peggy drove you home from the bar to collect your packed backpack and suitcase before bringing you down to the clubhouse for the rest of the night. She teased you about going soft since you’d gotten close to Bucky, wanting to spend your last night with your summer love as she called him. The girl received an unimpressed glare for the comment, but what she said wasn’t exactly untrue. If you’d told yourself a year ago that your summer in Brooklyn would find you all starry-eyed for a biker you’d only just met in June, you would’ve likely pushed aside any plan to return to the place at all. Peggy would forced your ass back to Brooklyn, of course; perhaps there would’ve always been something that led you back to your hometown, to him. Christ, you were getting soft.

There was a crease between your brows as you retrieved the envelope of cash from your pocket and gently ripped it open in your lap. It felt a little... thicker than it usually was — more than what you normally earned from a week’s worth of work. As your eyes met the wad of green bills inside, they widened in shock. Yep, definitely more than your usual salary. Way more to just be a mistake on Wanda’s part.

The large sum of cash even caught Peggy’s eye from her place in the driver’s seat. “Wanda must’ve really taken a liking to you. Perhaps doubling your salary is a plea to make you stay.”

A breathless laugh escaped your lips as you ran your thumb over the edges of the bills. “If it is, that girl knows exactly what she’s doing. Maybe travelling isn’t my true calling after all.”

While they was a playfulness to your tone, you couldn’t help but notice the brunette’s smile falter at your words. Peggy was like you in a way; she wasn’t soft, often being as upfront and stubborn as you were. However, she didn’t like opening up to people about herself all that much. Not that you were necessarily thriving in that department either, but when it came to Steve, she’d said it’d took her a while to even mention her brother’s passing to him. He hadn’t known she even had a brother before Peggy brought it up a long while after they’d began dating. Peggy possessed a lot of self confidence, and she had every right to do so. Being vulnerable and open just tended to put her at unease, and when you caught her acting a little off, it took some gentle coaxing to get her to open up.

“Are you okay?” You offered her a comforting smile, to which she didn’t quite return.

“Peachy,” She replied half-heartedly, hands tightening on the steering wheel. Glancing briefly at you, she spotted the crinkle in your brows and your pursed lips. Seeing as you never took your eyes off her, she sighed. “What is it?”

“Peggy, I don’t know how long it’s gonna be before I see you again. If something’s up, please tell me.”

Her tongue hesitantly ran across her bottom lip, fingers readjusting on the steering wheel. “It’s nothing, really. It’s just... I didn’t realise how much I’d missed having you here. I know it’s selfish, but I’d be lying if I said I was excited to see you off tomorrow.”

You shuffled in your seat, turning to face your friend more directly. “It’s not selfish, Pegs. Of course you don’t want me to go, I’m the shining light of your life—”

“_____...”

“Sorry, I know I’m annoying. Can’t help it,” You apologised, internally cursing yourself out. One serious conversation. You can have one serious conversation, come on. “I mean it, though; I don’t think it’s selfish. If you were jetting off to London tomorrow, I’d feel the same— oh, red light!”

The car came to an abrupt stop in front of the traffic lights, your seatbelt pressing tightly against you chest. Before you could reprimand your friend and tell her that putting you in hospital isn’t a viable way to stop you from leaving, she was turning to you with a surprised stare.

“You’re going to London? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I mean, I actually just made the decision five minutes ago, but yeah, I’m going to London.”

Peggy let out a disbelieving laugh. “You haven’t even booked your flight yet?”

“I didn’t even have the money to go an hour ago!” You exclaimed. “But with all this cash from Wanda, I think I’ll be able to make it there. I’ve been travelling the US for a year now, Pegs. I wanna go somewhere new. Somewhere fresh, the land of milky tea and buttery crumpets. I can go to the Queens house—”

“You have a lot of nerve saying all of this to someone who was born in England.” She glared softly, pressing her foot down on the gas when the green light appeared.

An amused smile crept onto your lips. “Hm, I will need someone to Facetime twenty four-seven to tell me all the places I need to visit, preferably English and born in London...”

“So you’ll talk to me solely because my nationality is of use to you?”

You rolled your eyes. “I might miss you a little bit too.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s hard being without you too, you know,” You spoke more seriously, catching Peggy slightly off guard. “Travelling is great and all, but some days I do wake up in my motel room and wish I was back home, spending the day with my best friend.”

While her eyes were still focused on the road, a warm smile was clearly pulling at the brunette’s lips. “Just... don’t stay away for too long this time, okay?”

“You’ll see me again before next summer, I promise.”

“Hm, I’m going to need that in writing.”

“I’ll even record a video for you; I’ll buy a tripod, get some good lighting, one of those fluffy microphones—”

Peggy cut you off with a hearty chuckle, dark, conditioned curls bouncing as she shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’m actually going to miss your ability to make a joke out of everything.”

You scoffed, placing a hand on your chest in mock shock. “Christ, now that is something that needs to be in writing. I’m hiring us a lawyer, he can draw us both up contracts.”

“Dont forget to book your flight first.” Peggy chimed in.

“Right, I have a lot of things I need to do today. Bucky’s gonna have to give me a minute before he can have me to himself... and I’ll need to lend his computer.”

As your gaze averted to the passing by buildings out of the car window, Peggy grinned contentedly to herself. She could see exactly why you’d been the one Bucky had really fallen for, though she couldn’t help but wonder how he’d handle your departure to a whole other continent.

However, you’d promised you were coming back soon, and there wasn’t a doubt in Peggy’s mind that he’d be counting down the hours once you stepped onto your flight.

* * *

“London, huh?” Bucky’s voice caught your attention as he entered the office, a beer bottle in each hand.

As you confirmed the booking of your flight for the next morning, you swirled around in the cushioned desk chair, taking one of the bottles once the man had approached you. “Did Peggy spill the beans already?”

“Heard her talkin’ to Steve in the garage,” He pressed his own bottle to his lips, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Doesn’t seem like five minutes since you first arrived, when you came into the backyard in those little black and white shorts.”

Standing up, you shot him an eye roll. “I’m sure that’s all you can remember from that day, perv.”

“What do you remember then?”

You hummed, leaning into Bucky as you let his arms envelop your waist. “I remember wondering why everyone was wearing leather jackets in eighty degree weather. Oh, and that I thought you were a dick.”

The biker didn’t seem offended in the slightest at your statement, only grinning and pulling you closer. “Hm, and what about the day at the carnival? Wasn’t that a good day?”

“No, I had to endure you flirting with those girls in front of us in the drop tower line. I was almost sick before we even got on the ride.”

“Oh, that?” He let out a laugh, cheeks faintly tinting pink. “I was only trying to make you a little jealous. Seems like it worked.”

You scoffed. “It did not work,” It definitely had worked.

“You liked when I held your hand on the ride though, didn’t you?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You know what? Fine. I did,” You admitted, eliciting a smug smile from Bucky. “But I’m only admitting that ‘cause I’m leaving tomorrow. Don’t think I’m going soft on you.”

He ran his tongue along his lower lip, leaning closer to speak against your lips. “Wouldn’t be stupid enough to dream of it.”

Smiling in satisfaction, you moved an inch closer and let his lips meet yours, a warm feeling emerging in your chest. The kiss remained gentle as your fingers pushed some of his hair away from his face, before you pulled back reluctantly to breathe. Blue eyes pierced into yours after fluttering open almost hazily.

“Would it be stupid to ask you to stay?” Bucky asked quietly, though he knew the answer already.

A weak nod and an empathetic smile; you pecked the corner of his lips before stepping back completely as if you suddenly felt you’d been standing too close. Bucky had never seen you holding your tongue, but that seemed to be what you were doing as you put some distance between the two of you.

There was an uncomfortable silence, the warmth from your body dissipated and replaced with an aching coldness. Perhaps telling yourself all summer that you could worry about yours and Bucky’s future at the end of August was a terribly bad idea, because now it was hitting you — maybe there’s wasn’t a future for the two of you at all.

“I’ll wait for you, you know.” The biker’s voice broke the quiet, the words slicing through you.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, Bucky. I don’t think I can ask you to do that.” You breathed, meeting his eyes hesitantly.

“You’re not asking me to, I want to,” He stated, worrying his teeth over his bottom lip. “Unless... that’s not what you really want?”

Truthfully, the idea of Bucky seeing anyone else once you’d left made your stomach turn. In an ideal world, you’d like it if he was just yours. Only yours, because you guaranteed that there wasn’t anybody else that could make you feel the way that he did. But you couldn’t force him to wait for a girl that strayed away from their hometown for longer than they stayed, no matter how much it’d end up hurting you.

“It wouldn’t be fair, Bucky, to either of us. We can’t really be together when I’m only gonna come back for the holidays—”

“Was this just a summer thing to you?” He questioned, a mix of regret and frustration flashing in his eyes. He knew he shouldn’t have asked that, but some part of him was oddly curious to.

Your previously calm expression turned sour as you furrowed your brows and scoffed. “You’re—you’re kidding, right? Did you just— of course it wasn’t just a summer thing to me, you asshole.”

Admittedly, it hurt that he’d even had the nerve to think that. You’d asked him if you shouldn’t have started something together that inevitably was going to end and he said he didn’t regret it. While being together could technically only last for the summer months, it wasn’t just a fling. There were feelings there that you weren’t going to be able to shake off, memories that were going to be carved into your mind forever. Did he seriously think that it was all just temporary on your part?

“Then would staying really be so bad?” Bucky retorted. What he was saying was only making you angrier, but he couldn’t help but be honest. Perhaps it just hadn’t hit him that you were really leaving in less than twenty four hours until that very moment, and everything that left him mouth was coming from a deep place of, well, sadness.

You shook your head in disbelief. “You’re being selfish.”

“Aren’t I allowed to be? We’ve spent a whole summer together and this time tomorrow you’re gonna be thousands of miles away from here—”

“And you don’t think I’ll be hurt either?” You intervened, cocking a brow. “You think I’ll be skipping through the airport utterly thrilled to be leaving you?”

Bucky was silent, too silent for too long. You scoffed, ignoring the way he was biting down in his cheek and the faint glossiness of his eyes in your annoyance. “You knew I was gonna have to leave eventually, Bucky. If you knew weren’t going to be able to accept that... then you never should’ve asked me to stay that night.”

That night; no further explanation was needed to identify which of the many nights spent together you were talking about. It was that night when you fell inexplicably hard for Bucky, when you decided that you might never have the chance to fall in the way you’d fallen for him ever again and that you’d only regret not staying the night. Not letting him strip you of your clothes and shed his own, not letting him make love to you, not letting him wake up to you admiring his every feature. If he knew he wouldn’t be able to let you go so easily, then having you stay that night was purely unwise of him.

When Bucky didn’t you respond one again after a few moments, you sighed deeply, crossing your arms over your chest. Though your expression had softened, your tone was still rather cold. “It’s never been just a fling with you, and if after all the damn time we’ve been spending together you thought there was a chance I might’ve thought that, then maybe you don’t feel the way I thought you felt about me at all.”

The biker’s features fell as he watched you chew your bottom lip and stalk towards the door — doubting his feelings for you was the last thing he wanted you to do. He let his boot collide with the bottom of his desk in frustration as you shut the office door behind you.

He hadn’t meant to start a dispute. It was your last god damn night in Brooklyn, of course he didn’t want to spend it receiving the cold shoulder from you. You’d probably gone out and found the rest of the guys, perhaps even went to drag Peggy aside to tell her how much of a dick he’d just been, which he’d understand. He had a feeling you wouldn’t do that though; instead you’d go out and pretend everything was fine because you wouldn’t dare let anyone know that he’d managed to hurt your feelings — always so stubborn.

Relationships were not Bucky’s forte. It’s not like he’d ever been looking for one; he was still young, he had still wanted to have fun for a little while before finally settling down like his mother had been bugging him to since he’d moved out. While he wasn’t the type to sleep with a girl and never call them again, he wasn’t exactly the type to, well... sleep with a girl and do anything else with them. He hated the talking stages of a relationship, despised them with all his being. Everyone he knew insisted that he had to get through them to actually have a deeper relationship with someone, but he really just couldn’t will himself to do it. So when there didn’t seem to be a weird talking stage with you, he was pretty happy about it.

It wasn’t like he was forcing himself to try and develop a connection with you, he’d hardly been interested in dating anyone when you’d first arrived. But then it all happened so naturally and now look at the two of you — well, you were mad at him and he was standing in the office alone like an idiot.

He knew better than to follow you outside and try to play friendly with you in front of everyone else. Giving you and himself a bit of time to cool off and think, Bucky took a shower upstairs in his bathroom. The longer the hot water pelted his skin, the more he felt like an asshole for what he’d said to you. He couldn’t just ask you to stay for him, that was wrong for a start. That was definitely selfish. Accusing you of thinking it was just a fling too? Christ, what was he thinking? He didn’t actually think that you thought of him as a fling, he just stupidly asked that in the heat of the moment when he was frustrated that you one hundred percent didn’t want to stay.

Maybe he ought to get out of the shower before he steamed up the whole clubhouse and make things right.

As Bucky neared the bottom of the staircase after putting on some clothes and towel-drying his hair, he bumped into Steve, who seemed to be heading towards the living room.

“Hey, Buck. We’re starting a movie soon. _____’s just finishin’ her cigarette out back; you two joining us?”

Bucky plastered on a smile, shaking his head. Perhaps he sounded selfish, but watching a movie with everyone wasn’t exactly the way he wanted to spend his last night with you. “I don’t think so, man. Another night.”

“Suit yourself.” The blond patted his friend’s shoulder before allowing him to scoot past him and head outside.

The sky was a deep blue, the sparse, grey clouds almost bleeding into the dark hue as the stars began to peek through the dusky blanket. A single garden lamp lit up the area, just about showing your figure sitting on the picnic bench that’d never been replaced since they’d moved into the clubhouse. Between your parted lips rested the remains of a cigarette, smoke twirling through the slight breeze that’d picked up once the sun went down.

You didn’t flinch as Bucky slid onto the bench next to you, and he couldn’t help but let his mind wander back to when the two of you had met. At that time, he was sat in your spot exhaling clouds of smoke, not knowing who you were when you first walked outside. Fast forward to now and you were exactly where he was all those weeks ago, except now he wasn’t sure what he was going to do without you.

“You mind if I take a drag of that?” He spoke up suddenly, suppressing a smile at the way you paused in your actions.

While you didn’t offer him the stick between your fingers, your loosened grip on it silently gave Bucky the permission to pluck it out of your hand into his own, which he did. After taking a long drag of the cigarette, he stubbed it out on the ashtray to his right before turning his attention to you.

“I know we aren’t a summer fling to you. I- I know how you feel about me, because I feel the same way.”

Bucky felt himself relax a little as you faced him, no longer staring off into the night. A slight frown pulled at your lips; he didn’t like the sight. “If I was going to stay for anything, or anyone, it’d be you, you know.”

Not sure what to say, the biker only gave you a nod of acknowledgment, taken aback by the statement. He wasn’t sure whether it was a compliment or something he shouldn’t be happy with.

“There’s a difference between me wanting to stay and wanting to be with you,” You bit down on your bottom lip. “I don’t wanna stay, but if you asked me... if you asked me to stay again to be with you, I probably wouldn’t get on my flight tomorrow.”

Breath hitching, Bucky narrowed his eyes. “You’d stay if I asked you to again?”

The look in your eyes was enough of an answer. If he asked you to stay, you’d say yes. Yes to waking up beside him during the colder fall mornings. Yes to motorcycle rides to anywhere and everywhere. Yes to never having to worry about how much time you have left together, because you’d stayed; you weren’t leaving Brooklyn anymore.

Saying yes to that however, would mean saying goodbye London, to travelling. Exploring different cultures, trying new food, experiencing a part of the world you never thought you could reach as a child. No more reading in motel rooms until midnight. No more tours around cities with a camera wrapped around your neck. No more living the life you’d been dreaming of since you’d barely started middle school — you weren’t ready to let go of that just yet, and Bucky didn’t have to read your mind to know that.

“I’m not gonna ask you to stay again,” He declared, prompting you to raise a brow. “I’m not gonna be a jackass and make you stay if that’s not what you wanna do.”

To his joy, your frown slowly curled into a soft smile. “I know your heart’s in the right place, Buck. That you weren’t trying to start an argument. And— and I can’t stop you from waiting for me if that’s what you wanna do. I’ll be back at some point, but I just don’t want you to put your life on hold for me, you know?”

“I wouldn’t be puttin’ it on hold. I wasn’t planning on finding someone I— I liked so much ever, really. I don’t know if it’ll happen again,”

Your heart — it was going to explode. Who knew you’d ever meet someone that had the power to make you feel so... disgustingly lovesick.

“...unless you happen to take a liking to a London boy while you’re there...?”

You chuckled, a warm sound amid the cool night. “London, Paris, Berlin... none of those boys will ever come close to the one I have in Brooklyn.”

A wide grin spread across the biker’s lips. “Who’s the sap now, huh?”

With a playful eye roll, you couldn’t help but place your hand on Bucky’s jaw, caressing it with your thumb as you leaned in and captured his lips.

He reacted immediately, putting a hand on your outer thigh to pull you closer to his side.

Wherever you were in the world, you’d always have Bucky in Brooklyn — he hoped that you didn’t doubt that.

* * *

Too many mornings spent lazing in Bucky’s bed meant that reality hadn’t yet set in after a few minutes of being awake. It was so natural at this point, to wake up and feel the warmth of him next to you, to have your legs tangled with his and to feel his nose grazing against the back of your neck.

Turning around in his arms, you leaned in and laid a kiss on his nose, smirking at the way he scrunched it in response before pinching at your bare hip. You smacked his hand away before settling your head back against the pillow, gazing at him through your lashes.

“Have I ever told you beautiful you are?” You asked without a second thought.

Heat evidently pooled in Bucky’s cheeks, and you rested a hand on the side of his face before he could roll himself over to hide his embarrassment.

“I’m serious.” You pressed.

“I know,” He grinned, voice raspy with sleep; he knew you never lied to him, you were as honest as they got. “And no, you haven’t told me.”

“Well, now I have. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

“Shut up.”

“Never.”

Bucky sighed, tracing a hand down the curve of your back. He could keep you there forever, laying so close to him and calling him beautiful. If someone would’ve told him at the start of the summer that this was where he’d be by the end of it, he would’ve laughed in their face. “Where’d that come from, huh? You’re being scarily nice.”

“I’m trying to be sentimental, jerk.”

“Oh, right,” He smirked. “Just like last night when you told me to fuck—”

You interrupted him with a finger pressed to his lips. “I think that was pretty sentimental in its own way, actually.”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky kissed your fingertip gently. He had a feeling you were being a little softer than usual since the circumstances of the day were different. You weren’t sure when your next moment like this would be, if there ever would be one. Truthfully, there was an ache in his heart that was caused by that thought too. He sighed, almost sadly. “What time’s your flight?”

“Eleven.”

“Well, I think that leaves us enough time for me to show you how beautiful I think you are...” He trailed his hand lower down your spine and followed the curve of your ass.

You smirked, glancing over your shoulder to the small clock sat on the bedside table. It was nearly nine. There was just over an hour until you had to be at the airport...

“Thirty minutes, then we have to get up. Peggy will be up and banging on the door for us otherwise.”

“More than enough time, baby.”

That was a lie, however. It wasn’t nearly enough time, because once the two of you finally pried yourselves out from underneath the sheets, it hit you that that was the last time in a long time that you’d wake up in Bucky’s bed. The last time you’d be able to have him so close to you. It made you wonder what life would’ve been like if you met him before you first left to travel. If you’d fallen for him that hard so long ago, would you even have left Brooklyn in the first place?

You both took your time getting dressed, you tossing on a tank top and some leggings from your packed suitcase while Bucky put on his signature biker attire. He smugly asked if he could keep a pair of your underwear as a memoir; you told him to go fuck himself before planting a kiss on his lips. It was amazing how quickly he could switch between acting like a dick and being a sweetheart. You’d miss that, admittedly.

Everyone was eating breakfast in the kitchen when the two of you made it downstairs, the sound of your suitcase thumping against the steps signalling your presence. It was rare that you and Bucky ever saw the morning outside of his bedroom in the clubhouse, and that was proved by the raised brows and mock gasps you recieved when you entered into the room. You rested the suitcase against the doorframe as Bucky strided towards the counter, clearly eyeing the half-full pack of cigarettes placed on there.

As he reached for them, Steve looked up from his bacon and eggs, a frown pulling at his lips. “Hey, you can’t just smoke and call it breakfast.”

“I haven’t had breakfast for months,” The brunet snorted. “Don’t think it matters that much.”

“Have some coffee at least?” Steve pushed.

Cocking his brow, Bucky glanced over to you in hope of you having his back. It wasn’t like you’d had breakfast since before summer either, but you weren’t going to let the guy smoke for breakfast. Not when everyone else had a hot meal and the scent alone was making your mouth water.

“How about we get something at the airport?” You offered, strolling over to the seat next to Peggy and sitting down.

“You’re not going the airport so soon, are you?” She asked, sipping her coffee.

“Well, my flight leaves in two hours—”

The brunette almost choked on her coffee, prompting Steve to gently pat her back as she recovered. “Two hours? Oh my— why are you sitting down? We need to go—”

“Would you calm down?” You chuckled, placing a hand on Peggy’s forearm as she started to rise from her seat. She was right, though. You were cutting it very short by still being at the clubhouse when you wanted to grab some breakfast too. You moved your gaze to Bucky. “I mean, maybe we should go now...”

While he looked reluctant to nod, Bucky did so anyway, grabbing the keys to his motorcycle from his designated hook on the the wall next to the light switch.

“Hey genius, how am I gonna put my suitcase on your bike?” You furrowed your brows, grinning as the realisation hit him.

“Uh...”

“Bucky can take you on his bike,” The blond perked up, standing next to his girlfriend. “Peg and I can take the jeep with your suitcase.”

Looking to your best friend for permission, you smiled when she gave you a sure nod. She knew how much it would mean to you if your were able to ride with Bucky one more time. “Go on, we’ll be right behind you.”

After thanking her, you grabbed your suitcase and said your goodbyes to those sitting around the table. Though you didn’t speak to them as much as you’d wished you had, you’d still miss them. You all shared the same sense of humour, having a laugh with them was easy when you spent the day with the group, even when you were all simply lazing around the clubhouse. You gave each of them a quick hug, rolling your eyes when Clint told you to ‘have a right good time in London’ with a horrible English accent.

Bucky lead you out of the house, handing you a helmet and kissing the crown of your head quickly before climbing onto the bike. He didn’t say anything as you got on behind him, enveloping his waist and comfortably setting your chin on his shoulder. With every passing moment, you could tell that he wasn’t looking forward to finally waving you off at the airport. Usually when he was getting grumpy, you’d make a stupid comment about it and it seemed to cheer him up; it didn’t feel right to do so in this instance.

So as the the bike roared to life, you turned to look at the clubhouse. The place where you’d spent the majority of your summer, where you’d met everyone, where you’d met Bucky, where you’d kissed him for the first time, done other things for the first time. It’d become another home to you in a way, like a place you’d always be welcome back to. You hoped you’d always be welcome there anyway, even after being gone for months on end once you stepped onto your flight.

It’d barely taken thirty minutes to get to JFK Airport, Peggy’s jeep only a few cars behind you as you wound through the streets of New York. Bucky noticed when you didn’t start cussing out the bad drivers that were practically skimming the side of his bike like always, your head never leaving its place against his back. It was unlike you, but he didn’t mind. Perhaps like him you were just savouring the moment, the last ride you’d have for a while. Christ, Bucky had never felt so many emotions at once. He didn’t know whether to fall to his knees and beg you not to forget him or to kiss you passionately and tell you he’d be waiting for your return. To maintain his dignity, he decided against the former option.

Almost too fast for your liking, you arrived just outside of the entrance, climbing off the motorcycle reluctantly and spying the jeep just coming to park behind you. It wouldn’t be able to stay parked there for long, and you felt an ache in your chest as you saw Peggy stepping out of her car, Steve not far behind her pulling your suitcase along.

He handed it to you with a smile which you returned as you took it from him. Setting it beside you, you let out a sad chuckle upon realising how glazed over Peggy’s eyes were.

“I’m not about to cry, before you say anything,” She stated, plastering on a grin. “It’s just allergies.”

“Allergies my ass,” You smirked, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around her neck, grinning into her shoulder as she hugged you back tightly. You spoke again, this time more quietly next to her ear. “I love you, okay? And I won’t hesitate to fly back here and beat Steve’s ass if he does anything, I swear.”

Truthfully, you didn’t think Steve was capable of hurting a fly, never mind the smartest, kindest, most gorgeous woman you knew. However, Jay-Z was capable of cheating on Beyoncé — Beyoncé, so being a little sceptical of any man you met wasn’t unreasonable, in your opinion.

“I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” She chuckled. “You just focus on looking after yourself, alright?”

“Right,” You responded. “And... you’ll keep an eye on Bucky for me, won’t you?”

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Bucky, or that you wanted a daily report of what he was up to while you were gone. You just wanted to know that he was going to be okay. Being apart would be hard on both of you, but you’d been doing the ‘being alone’ thing for over a year now, and you had a feeling that there was more to how he felt about you leaving than he was letting on. Even when he said he wasn’t going to ask you to stay again, you still felt like he wasn’t as okay with the situation as he was acting to be.

“Of course I will, Steve too,” The brunette assured you, giving you a final squeeze before beginning to pull back. “I love you too,” She sighed, returning to her place stood next to Steve. “Right, you know where you’re going after you arrive, yes? If not, you can call me and I’ll give you directions to the motel. If you’re hungry I know there’s a takeaway place just outside of the airport—”

“Pegs, I’ll be fine. I’m going to London, not Narnia.”

“Just— just be safe, okay?”

“Can’t make any promises.”

“_____—”

“I’m kidding! How about you learn to take a joke while I’m gone, huh?”

You smiled as Peggy rolled her eyes in amusement. Perhaps she wouldn’t be as amused if she knew about what happened with Brock Rumlow at the bar. You decided you’d tell her in London when you were in a whole other continent, otherwise she might not have let you leave in fear that you’d be getting into more trouble at English bars with assholes like Brock. Even if you did, Peggy knew you weren’t soft, you could handle yourself. She just worried that you were a little too unafraid of confrontation.

Turning to Bucky and picking your suitcase back up, you have him a slight tug on his hand. “We should probably go for breakfast now, I’ll be boarding soon.”

He nodded, offering to take your suitcase and rolling his eyes when you made a comment about him being ‘such a gentlemen’. You gave the blond a quick hug, warning him to take care of Peggy and grinning as he teased you about being more like her mother than her best friend, before saying a final goodbye to the two of them, giving your friend’s hand a final squeeze and turning away to head into the airport.

There was just over an hour until you had to be on the plane, so you and Bucky decided to head into cafe near the entrance and get a proper breakfast. Two steaming black coffees sat opposite each other on the small booth in the corner you were sat at, complimenting the stacks of pancakes dripping in syrup and sugar that you’d impulsively ordered and that Bucky had insisted on paying for, saying that you should save all your cash for exploring London.

“I’ll probably come back for Christmas.” You said in repsonse to him asking how long you’d be travelling for this time, stuffing a sliced bit of pancake into your mouth.

Bucky furrowed his brows. “Really? You’re not staying away until summer again?”

You cocked your brow, looking at him in the corner of your eye. “Why, do you want me to?”

“Course not,” He smirked, reaching out to swipe a drop of syrup from your lip with his thumb. “I hope that means you’re getting me a Christmas present then.”

A chuckle left your lips. “My return will be your Christmas present, how about that?”

The biker scoffed. “Okay... getting to kiss me when you get back will be your present then.”

“Eh... can’t you think of something better?”

He glared at you playfully, though you felt a little bad making the joke. You knew from the argument the night before that he wasn’t still one hundred percent okay with you leaving. Comfortingly, you placed a hand above his knee over his dark jeans.

“In all seriousness, though— I shouldn’t have told you not to wait for me to come back. If that’s what you really want, I can’t stop you from waiting for me. In fact, just seeing you again will be the best thing I’ll get on Christmas; I know it. Well, unless someone gets me some rollerblades. I always wanted them as a kid but my mom refused since I have issues with ‘being careful’—”

Bucky’s laugh cut you off, rolling his eyes at your attempt at covering up your sappy words with sarcasm. He could definitely understand why you never got rollerskates, however — you did have a tendency to be a little reckless. God knows what you were like as a kid.

“I’d have to agree with her on that one,” He smiled, sipping his coffee. “You have been punched in the face more times than the average person. You never told me about the other time you got punched, actually.”

A chuckle fell from your lips. “You remember me mentioning that?”

“Uh-huh.”

You sighed melodramatically. “I guess we have some time to kill — fine. So I was, surprise-surprise, in some random bar in Chicago...”

The hour you had left before your flight finished soon after you’d told Bucky enough stories from your travels to last him in your absence, and before you knew it, you’d reached the flight terminal.

There was an invisible force tugging at your heartstrings. While you were bubbling with excitement to get on your flight, to explore a whole new place outside of what you’ve always known, you hadn’t anticipated how hard it would be to leave what you did know behind. The thought of depending on somebody else, allowing yourself to let their feelings come into play with your decisions, had practically disgusted you only a few months ago. But with Bucky, it only felt wrong to cast his feelings aside.

The biker noticed the change in your demeanour as you neared the terminal, and a smile crept onto his lips. “C’mon, _____ — don’t tell me you’re gonna pussy out on leaving now.”

“Shut up,” You scoffed, elbowing his ribs. “I’m just... thinking.”

“About what?”

It took you a moment to come up with an answer. “About how everything has changed, and how everything is going to keep changing.”

You turned to look at Bucky, whose brows were furrowed. The corners of your lips upturned. “Bucky, nothing in my life is consistent. I’ve always liked travelling because where I am changes all the time, and I never feel stuck anywhere; I always feel free. And with you, I don’t feel stuck either. I want you to be a constant in my life, no matter where I am in the world or whatever else changes in it. I always wanted to get out of Brooklyn ‘cause it never felt like where I was supposed to be forever, but now I know that you’re here... well, maybe Brooklyn is where I’m supposed to end up...”

“...and I swear to God if you call me a sap for that—”

To your delight, you’re not teased for the most heartfelt thing you’d ever said to him, or anyone for that matter, but cut off with a intense kiss. Savouring the feeling, you placed a hand on the back of Bucky’s neck, letting yourself melt into him for one last time that summer. You’d found that Bucky wasn’t necessarily vocal in expressing his feelings, but that didn’t matter. The way he kissed you said more than a thousand words ever could.

After reluctantly pulling away from the kiss, Bucky didn’t let you go just yet. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and held you to his chest, an affectionate action that he didn’t necessarily do so often. Nevertheless, you leaned into him and let your arms encircle his waist, your cheek resting comfortably against his shoulder. This wasn’t the last time you’d be so close to him, you had to keep reminding yourself of that. But you’d never felt so hesitant to leave someone behind since you’d left Peggy the first time you left New York. You found your way back to her, though, and you were sure you’d do the same with Bucky.

“On second thought, I’d be fine if you pussied out of leaving now...” He spoke into your ear, making you chuckle against his chest.

“I’m no wuss, Bucky Barnes,” You moved back from his embrace, patting his jacket. “You’ll see me again soon, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

The feminine voice over the intercom informing you that your direct flight to London was departing soon cut your final moments with Bucky short, enabling the both of you to let out a disheartened sigh.

You leaned forward once more, pressing a soft but fleeting kiss to his lips, before giving his hand a squeeze. “Stay out of trouble, will you? At least until I get back?”

“I think I should be the one tellin’ you that,” Bucky laughed, his eyes taking in the curve of your nose and your cheekbones, the colour of your eyes and the softness of your lips; the features he’d had the luxury of waking up to every day for the past two months. Not that he could ever forget how beautiful you are, but he’d be a fool not to take advantage of looking at you properly in the flesh for the last time for a while. “Running away from a fight isn’t a bad thing, you know.”

“Practise what you preach, pal — does that mean you won’t be socking Brock Rumlow in the face next time you run into him?”

“...touché.”

A grin graced your lips as you clasped your fingers around the handle of your suitcase. “Mhm, that’s what I thought. Now, I’ve gotta get going. There might be a fight waiting for me on the plane already — a forty-five year old lady named ‘Karen’ that’s upset she didn’t get the window seat, perhaps?”

“Well, I can’t keep you waiting, can I?” Bucky stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, watching as you began to walk in the opposite direction to him, the opposite direction to the summer you’d forever hold dear to your heart.

The smile on your face widened, your last words to him falling from your lips before you turned around and headed towards the next part of your journey, which would eventually, hopefully, lead you back to him in the end.

“I’ll see you when I’m back home.”

Home. Where you belonged. Where you’d circle back to when you’d travelled across the world and back. With him, in Brooklyn.

“See you when you’re back home, baby.”

There was a time when you didn’t believe in love. When you thought that those who did were only fooling themselves, and when you once told your best friend that you’d never fall in love. Maybe you’d proved yourself wrong with Bucky.

The reason you’d always told yourself that love wasn’t real was because you never knew what it was, how it felt. However, if it felt like gliding through a sunlit sky with all the time in the world to spare, with all the space around you to explore; if it felt like finding home in more than just four walls and a roof, but in two bright blue eyes and a soul just as carefree as yours (...and a worn out leather jacket...), then maybe you had fallen in love with Bucky.

Perhaps when you returned home, you’d let him know.

-

@dark-academics-and-florals @thefallenbibliophilequote @kimvmarvel @broco8 @domolovee @barnestruck @igotkatiepowers

[littledrummeraussie]

At Christmas All The Roads Lead Home | part 1

Christmas morning finds Ashton and Y/N reminiscing about their very first holiday together – with both of their flights cancelled the strangers make the hasty decision to rent a room until they can leave for their own destinations. The pair soon finds out that there’s much more than they’ve bargained for when there’s only one bed in their hotel room. story masterlist. | masterlist. word count: 4492 words tags/warnings: past: missed flights. some swearing. slow burn flirting. room sharing. “there’s only one bed”. & present: dad!Ashton. fem!mom!reader. married fluff with kids and a dog. Christmas morning cuteness. tooth rotting fluff. nostalgia.

Ashton wasn’t sure what woke him so early in the morning – it definitely wasn’t Tyler bouncing on the bed with Bailey hot on his heels, barking from the door because he knew he wasn’t allowed in the master bedroom. And it wasn’t Henry either because he would have been already up if he heard his younger son crying for one of you. He found that the house was dark and quiet, and that his back was cold even though the sheets were wrapped around his body the way he liked them. He squinted an eye at the clock on his nightstand, the green digits showing 4.38 AM, slowly ticking towards Christmas morning.

He reached backwards, fingers looking for the body that was never too far away, wanting to wrap his arm around his lover and go back to sleep. But the bed was empty, the sheets almost cold where he grasped them, and he sleepily turned around, furrowing his eyebrows. Propping himself up on his elbow Ashton looked around the room, searching for any sign where you could be, and when finding none he kicked off his blankets, reaching for his discarded shirt on the floor to look for you.

There were no sounds coming from the closet or the bathroom so he checked the guest bedroom where he usually found you curled up in bed with the boys and Bailey for an afternoon nap. A smile pulled at his lips as he saw his sons sleeping soundly in the big bed with the dog keeping them company, guarding their dreams. Ashton still remembered the day he brought home the puppy as a gift to you, just a month before finding out that you were pregnant with Tyler. For a while he wasn’t sure that keeping the dog was a good idea, especially as he grew bigger by the day and with Tyler’s due date drawing closer he needed to realize that he was scared how Bailey would react to the new addition to the family.

But Bailey was in love with his new little owner from the moment you brought him home from the hospital, and the two of them were inseparable to the point that you let go of all the previously set rules and let him climb up on the sofa to curl around the little boy while he slept. When Henry was born you let Tyler introduce his brother and the dog to each other, ready for every possible outcome, and happily finding out that Bailey loved the new baby just as much as he loved Tyler.

Ashton stepped closer, tucking the sheets back around his sons, lightly chuckling as Bailey snored next to the sleeping boys. Tyler begged you to let them all sleep together in the guest bedroom since it was Christmas and neither of you could say no to him as he hugged the dog’s neck, both of them giving you puppy eyes and an all too familiar pout that Ashton was sure was your genetics. Henry fell asleep during the first five minutes of your bedtime story, and Tyler wasn’t far behind as he clutched his favourite stuffed animal with Bailey snuggled behind him. With the boys sleeping it was time to put all the presents under the tree and stuff the stockings you hung over the fireplace, both of you giggling as you shared the cookie and milk left for Santa. You fell asleep the moment your head hit the pillow, and Ashton buried his face in your hair, mumbling one last ‘I love you’ before closing his eyes.

He made his way back to the hallway and down the stairs, ready to look for you in the living room or the kitchen. The lights were already up on the Christmas tree in the corner of the room, and another smile pulled at his lips as he finally found you snuggled up in front of the window, a big fluffy blanket wrapped around your legs with an empty mug sitting on your lap. When you heard his footsteps you looked up at Ashton, smiling back at him as he leaned closer, pressing a kiss on your cheek.

“There you are,” his voice was slightly scratchy, still heavy with sleep, and he nuzzled his nose against your skin, smearing a kiss on your lips. “Was scared Santa took you because I was a naughty boy this year.”

“I like a naughty boy,” you giggled, kissing his pouty lips, fingers tangling into the hair at the back of his head. “Just wanted a little peace and quiet before the boys wake up. I love them, but they are little firecrackers.”

“Wonder where they’ve got it from,” Ashton grinned, knocking his forehead against yours. “Can I join you?”

“Only if you bring me more hot chocolate,” you tapped a finger against your empty mug, making Ashton chuckle.

“Of course, hot mama,” he blew a raspberry on your cheek before going to the kitchen, your giggles making his heart skip a beat.

He busied himself with making hot chocolate for the both of you, his eyes meeting yours every now and then, sharing smiles and winks as he put an extra dose of marshmallows into your mug and a little more whipped cream than necessary on top of his own – after all, it was Christmas. You held onto both mugs as he settled behind you, legs bracketing you in, pulling another blanket around his shoulders as you snuggled up together. Ashton rested his chin on top of your head, taking small sips of his drink as he held you close, enjoying the quiet moment he got to spend with you.

“Remember London?” Ashton asked, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, knowing all too well that you could never forget about London.

“I kinda miss the snow, you know,” you tilted your head back onto his shoulder, looking up at him. “Makes me wish the kids could have a white Christmas.”

“I think we could take a trip next year. Maybe not London, but definitely somewhere where there is snow.”

“Yeah, I would like that,” you reached for his free hand, fingers tangling together in your lap, and you felt Ashton’s ring knock against your own, making you smile.

“I would miss a thousand flights for you,” he whispered against your temple, pressing a kiss onto your hairline while squeezing your hand.

“We both know you did not miss your flight, Ash,” you gave him a cheeky smile while tapping his nose, making him scrunch up his face in a giggle. “But I appreciate it nonetheless.”

“Thank God for snowstorms, right?”

*****

“You’ve got to be shitting me!”

Your eyes lifted from the book you were reading, trying to kill your time while you waited for news about your delayed flight. The terminal was packed with confused and irritated people, all of them wanting to get real information why the planes weren’t landing or taking off. The guy sitting from across you mumbled another curse as he listened to the woman talking on the loudspeaker, announcing that the flight to Sydney will be delayed for another two hours or so. He ran his fingers through his hair as he tapped his phone, rapidly texting someone before pocketing it again, legs bouncing nervously. You knew the feeling all too well – your plane back to Los Angeles has been delayed three times already, and deep down you were ready to spend the night at the terminal, curled up in a plastic chair; you already knew you won’t make it back home on time.

Another 30 minutes passed before the announcements finally came – one after the other flights got cancelled because of a snowstorm hitting London. The crew worked hard to at least help the planes land, but you caught word that there won’t be any take offs for the next few days. You still held onto the little bit of hope you had that your trip back home will happen; they did not say anything about cancelling your flight yet. Your handsome stranger wasn’t so lucky – as they started listing off another set of cancelled flights he realized that the one to Sydney won’t be taking off, making him kick his chair as he scrambled for his phone again.

He paced the floor in front of you as he called one person after the other, quickly going to the front desk for more information before coming back and continuing his phone calls. You kept an eye on his things while you’ve read just to be sure he doesn’t come back to missing bags and another misfortune to deal with. A series of colourful curses caught your attention as he plopped down in a chair, pushing the button on his phone and trying to make it work, and you were sure he was seconds away from throwing it to the floor.

“You wanna borrow mine?” you found yourself asking, and his head snapped up, blinking at you. “Or if you need a charger I can give you one.”

“Uhm– yeah. A charger would be great, thanks,” he closed his fingers around the phone before standing up and stepping to you, and you reached into your bag to hand it to him. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” you gave him a smile, nodding to the wall behind you. “You can plug it in here. I don’t mind.”

He mumbled another quick ‘thank you’ before plugging in his phone, and as he waited for it to switch back on he brought over his bags, settling down next to you. Another set of phone calls were made, apologies spilling out of him as he tried to let everyone know that he will be a few days late, don’t worry about him, he will figure this out, he just won’t be home for Christmas.

“Still hoping that plane will take you to Sydney?” you rested your head back against the wall when he finished yet another call. “Or are you planning on set up camp here for the next 3 days?”

“You don’t seem like someone who plans on leaving either. So where’s gonna be your tent?” he quirked an eyebrow at you, making you chuckle.

“They did not cancel my flight. Yet,” you added, knowing that it was a possibility that you have to spend the next few days here.

There was static coming from the loudspeaker again, making everyone turn quiet as the woman from before announced that unfortunately the weather was so bad that all flights got cancelled for the next few days. You looked back at your stranger who gave you a knowing look, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“What did you say? I couldn’t hear you over all of this.”

“That my name is Y/N.”

“Ashton,” he held out his hand and you shook it, both of you holding onto the other just a little longer than it was necessary. “Should we set up camp now?”

*****

“Whose clever idea was it to rent a room and share it?” you scooped a melted marshmallow onto your spoon, holding it up to Ashton’s mouth.

“Probably mine,” he mumbled around the sticky sweetness, licking the rest off the spoon. “Not that you objected.”

“I really didn’t want to sleep at the airport,” the confession wasn’t anything new, but still to this day it made you blush. “I just wanted a shower and a few hours of sleep.”

“And you ended up with a bed full of me,” grinning Ashton pressed a series of kisses along your cheek, nuzzling close to you and rubbing his scruffy chin against your skin, making you laugh. “Shh, don’t wake the kids!”

*****

“Are you sure about it?”

“It’s not like planes are going to magically take off just because we’re stubborn and wait here.”

There was much less commotion now that people started to accept the fact that the snowstorm over London was no joke and that all flights were cancelled. You’ve spent another two hours sitting in your chairs with Ashton, talking about whatever came to mind as you waited for things to calm down, contemplating your options. He offered to buy you a warm drink and both of you moved to the Starbucks that was mostly empty now, your little corner secluded and quiet in the place that never seemed to stop.

He was scrolling through his phone for a long time before finally looking up at you, and you rubbed your eyes, trying to stay awake. Your plans originally included a long nap on the plane, followed by another 12 hours of rest to sleep off your jetlag. Cancelled plane rides and being stuck in London wasn’t on your list, yet here you were, drinking hot chocolate with a stranger who was just as lost as you were.

“I’ve found a hotel room nearby,” Ashton announced, pushing his foot against yours under the table. “We could split and stay until we can both travel home.”

“You don’t even know me,” you rested your chin in your hand, playing with your empty paper cup. “I don’t know you. Sharing a room sounds like a crazy idea.”

“What I know is that you’re about to fall asleep right at this table, and that I don’t plan on staying here for 3 days if I can help it. I also don’t plan on leaving you here since you were really nice to me and I could use the company,” Ashton shrugged his shoulder, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. “And… it’s Christmas. No one should be alone.”

“So you don’t think I’m a crazy fan trying to take advantage of you?” you raised an eyebrow at him, smiling and kicking your foot against his, making him huff out a laugh.

“Geez, you’re so weird,” he shook his head. “You couldn’t even remember the band’s name even after I’ve told you it five times. Five times, Y/N!”

“You’ve also told me it was 500 Years of Winter and made me listen to a song that was called Pizza.”

“That look on your face was priceless,” his smile was wide, making dimples appear on his cheeks, and you needed to remind yourself to start breathing again.

“Are you sure about it?” you stirred the conversation back to the topic, biting your bottom lip. “Do you really want to share a room with me?”

“It’s not like planes are going to magically take off just because we’re stubborn and wait here,” he took both empty cups to throw them away, holding his hand out to you in invitation. “So – are you coming?”

“You know… I could really use a shower,” you slipped your hand in his, letting him help you up.

Something caught both of your attention, eyes meeting before slowly looking up above you, finding a mistletoe hanging from the ceiling, placed perfectly over the table you’ve shared. His eyes were hazel with green and gold flecks, and you’ve realized you were staring at him for longer than you should have. Ashton’s lips were slightly parted, teeth sinking into the bottom one before quickly licking over it, another blush colouring his cheeks. A moment passed, and you both let out an awkward chuckle, stepping away from the table, mumbling about silly holiday traditions. But it was too late – the spark was already there.

*****

“I really wanted to kiss you under the mistletoe,” Ashton wrapped both arms around you, and you burrowed against his chest, head resting over his heart.

“I wanted you to kiss me,” you pressed your lips against his throat, following the line of his shirt to the back of his neck, turning so you could straddle his thighs. “I remember getting lost in your eyes.”

Your fingers played with the short curls at the nape of his neck, foreheads knocked together as you stared into each other’s eyes. Ashton tilted his head forward, brushing his lips against yours in an almost kiss, tongue poking out to lick the corner of your mouth. You both giggled and Ashton curled his palms around your jaw, pulling you in for a real kiss, one that took both your breaths away.

“I wonder if you would have tasted like this back then,” he mumbled against your lips, voice full of longing and nostalgia.

“You’ve bought me a hot chocolate, so I would like to think so,” you pecked his nose, brushing the stray curls back from his forehead. “I wonder if you’ve looked for mistletoes after our missed chance.”

“I was ready to drag you under one for a kiss,” Ashton squeezed your hips, pulling you even closer to himself. “But I guess we didn’t need one in the end.”

*****

“Hey, I’ve called ahead to reserve a room for two,” Ashton lightly tapped his fingers against the counter, smiling at the girl behind the desk. “Under Fletcher Irwin.”

The lobby was heavily decorated with Christmas ornaments and sparkly garlands, and you could see a tall Christmas tree behind a set of glass double doors, probably leading to the other side of the hotel and the restaurant. You felt slightly overwhelmed by the place and the fact that you’re gonna spend the next few days here with a man you barely know, but you’ve tried to tell yourself that this was an unexpected emergency case, and anything was better than sleeping at the airport. Ashton said something and the girl giggled before looking at you, a knowing smile spreading across her face as she handed the keys to him, wishing the both of you a pleasant stay at the hotel.

Ashton stepped back next to you to grab both of your heavy bags and suitcases, ushering you towards the elevator. The ride up to the 7th floor was quickly over, and you dragged your stuff to the room at the end, ready to drop for the night. Ashton opened the door for you, letting you go in first.

“They’re sending up some dinner in half an hour,” he said as he closed the door, locking it behind his back. “In case you’re hungry.”

“If I can stay up that long then I’m sure gonna appreciate it,” you nodded, giving him a small smile.

“Come, let’s settle down and then you can shower first,” he tugged off his jacket, moving behind you to help you with your own coat. “Here, let me help you.”

“You’re way too nice to me,” you chuckled, giving him a pointed look. “I’m onto you.”

“My Mom taught me manners,” he rolled his eyes with a chuckle of his own, hanging up your coats before kicking off his shoes. “It’s just who I am.”

“I’m sure she’s proud of you,” there was a bashful smile on his face as he rubbed the back of his neck, and to take the attention off of him he nodded towards the bedroom. “Let’s check that out, shall we?”

You turned around and stepped into the dark room, fingers fumbling for the light switch. When you’ve found it you flicked it on, making the room light up. You felt a blush heat your cheeks as your eyes looked around the room, biting your lip in the process.

“Uhm– Ashton?”

“Yeah? What’s that?” he stepped next to you and you saw the moment realization hit him as well.

“There’s only one bed.”

*****

“Do you think we were set up?” your forehead rested on his shoulder, fingers drawing over the lines on his palm, and you felt Ash push his cheek against the top of your head, humming slightly.

“You still think the girl at the front desk did it?” his other hand settled on your waist, drawing the same patterns on your skin.

“Maybe,” you chuckled, tangling your fingers together. “Maybe not. But I do remember you asking for separate beds. Twice.”

“I did tell you I was okay with sleeping on the couch,” Ashton moved so he could pull your interlocked hands to his lips, kissing over your knuckles and your ring. “More than two times.”

“I just didn’t think it would be fair, you know?” you still played with his fingers, giving him a pout. “You offered me that we could share a room, so making you sleep on the couch after that… no, I couldn’t do it.”

“Y/N…” Ashton nudged his nose against yours, tilting your chin up to press his lips to your lips, whispering against them. “Thank you for not letting me sleep on the couch.”

*****

There were phone calls made down to the front desk, but it was clear that they couldn’t do anything about the situation – all the other rooms were full already. You pulled your legs under yourself on the couch, hugging a pillow to your chest as Ashton asked once again if they were sure, but as he finished the call you knew he did not succeed.

“Look, it’s… it’s fine,” you’ve tried to break the sudden tension between you two, not wanting to spend the next few days awkwardly stepping around each other. “The bed’s big enough, I’m sure we can figure this out.”

“No, look, I– I’ve promised you your own bed, and I’m gonna keep my promise,” Ashton ran his fingers through his hair, giving you a forced smile. “I’m just gonna sleep on the couch. I’ve done it a hundred times before, it’s nothing new.”

“I’m not sure I like this idea,” Ashton quirked an eyebrow at you, and you shrugged your shoulder. “My Mom also taught me manners and told me to share what I have with those who have less than me.”

“Trust me, it’s no trouble at all,” he shook his head, standing up when there was a knock on the door. “It’s probably our dinner, I’ll go get it.”

While you ate your food you’ve tried a few more times to make Ashton change his mind, but he brushed off your offers even though you could sense a small crack in his armour when you gave him a pout. He made a joke about how you should stop with the puppy dog eyes, and you were quickly back to teasing each other like the discussion about your sleeping arrangements didn’t happen at all.

An hour later you were out of the bathroom, freshly showered and feeling like a brand new person. Ashton was lounging on the couch, getting used to his bed for the next few days; he gave you a smile when you passed him, eyes lingering on your form just a second too long before going back to his phone. You pretended that you did not just blush under his gaze as you pulled the robe tightly around your body.

“I think I’m gonna go to bed now,” you leaned against the doorframe as he looked up at you again. “I see you’ve already taken your side of the bed to the couch.”

“I promise you I’ll be fine,” he chuckled, sitting up. “Stop worrying about me.”

“Are you really sure…?”

“I’m sure, trust me.”

“Alright,” you held his gaze for a few seconds before dropping it to the floor. “Good night, Ashton.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

You could feel his eyes on your back as you closed the door, almost turning back around to ask him one more time. You heard as he was moving around in the small living room, probably setting up his makeshift bed before going to the bathroom to shower. With the blanket pulled up to your chin you listened to Ashton’s sounds, letting them slowly lull you to sleep.

But your rest didn’t last long as you found your eyes opening in an hour or two, trying to work out where you really were. Then it all came back to you – the delayed and cancelled flights, your handsome stranger and how he bought you coffee and offered you to stay in a hotel room together. How there was only one bed and how Ashton promised you that he was absolutely okay with sleeping out on the couch. You could hear a slight bit of moving coming from the living room, quiet snores breaking the silence around you. Another moment passed and you slipped out of bed, opening the door and looking out into the next room.

Ashton was sprawled out on the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, a leg hanging off to the side as he slept. It didn’t look comfortable at all, and without thinking twice about it you slowly moved to the couch, crouching down next to him on the floor. You felt your heart beating in your ears, your throat working around silent words as you tried to speak them. A finger brushed against his forearm, stroking over tattoos you didn’t know were there, and he moved his arm above his head, burrowing against his pillow.

“Ashton,” your voice was only a whisper, knuckles lightly running down his arm again, slowly moving to his forehead to brush the hair back from his face. He hummed in his sleep, leaning into your touch before his eyes fluttered open.

“What’s wrong?” he furrowed his eyebrows, rubbing his eyes to wake up a bit more.

“No, nothing, I just– just come to bed, please,” your hands fell into your lap, nervously playing with the hem of your shirt as Ashton propped himself up on his elbow.

“I’ve thought we were over this,” his fingers ran through his hair, a confused expression on his face.

“I know and I’m sorry, but please understand that my conscious won’t let me sleep until you’re out here on the couch,” you were well-aware of the pout on your lips, the one that seemed to work on Ashton, and he let out a sigh. “The bed is big enough for two. We can sleep on the two ends, I really don’t mind.”

“Only because my back is killing me,” he finally sat up, moving his neck and shoulders to work out some kinks in it. “Alright, lead the way.”

He pulled the blanket around his shoulders while you grabbed the pillows from the couch, shuffling back to the bedroom with Ashton following you. You moved your bedding to the far side of the bed, piling his pillows onto his side before sliding back under your sheets. Ashton climbed up next to you, quickly finding a comfortable position for himself as he buried his face in his pillow.

“Will you be able to sleep now?” he yawned, smacking his lips as he burrowed into his blankets.

“Mmhh, yeah. Good night, Ashton,” you turned so your back was facing him, and you heard him do the same.

“Night-night,” he whispered, probably already falling back to sleep, and you closed your eyes, trying to do the same. He shuffled around a bit, lightly jolting the mattress until he settled down then a moment later you heard him mumbling. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for not letting me sleep on the couch.”

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

» part 1 » part 2 » part 3 » part 4

taglist.

@mymindwide @loveroflrh @sadistmichael @notinthesameguey @babylonashton @talkfastromance4 @dead-and-golden @fuckyeah5sostakemehome @karajaynetoday  @myfavfanficsever @myloverboyash @suchalonelysunflower @sexgodashton @rebelwith0utacause @creampiecashton @irwinkitten @allthestarsandthemoon @castaway-cashton @spicycal @wontlastimokwiththat @luckyduckydoo @sunshineeashton @2fangirl4u @talkfastdrummer @pastelbabygirl19 @istantommoandtpwk @perfectlieirwin @thesweetness-irwin-archive @c-a-l-m-hood @youngblood199456 @tiannaxox2 @caffeinecalum

[angryschnauzer]

Superior Specimen - Chapter 3

Summary: One night when you are following the Archaeology tag on instagram you stumbled across a fun looking dig… and an even more interesting Paleontologist who soon follows you back. Over the following weeks you start chatting and a friendship soon grows.

Relationship: AU Henry Cavill x Female Reader (No race or body shape mentioned)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, 

Warnings: Slow Burn, NSFW, 18+, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Drunken Piggy Back Rides, Oral Sex (Female Recieving)

I do not operate a tag list, but please follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications, as you will then be notified whenever i post something new.

I don’t have a masterlist, but all my works are on AO3, link here. Usually i post oneshots to Tumblr and AO3, and multichapters exclusively to AO3, but as this is my first henry story and its going to be a short series, i’ll post to both places.

Superior Specimen – Chapter 3

 True to your word, it had been one drink and one drink only; you knew your limits and no matter how handsome the man buying the drink, you stuck to your own rules. Watching as he paid the bill before he slipped his hand around yours and you walked into the late evening;

“Can I give you a ride home?”

 “Mmm a ride would be nice, Sir...” 

 You smirked but your drunken bravado was ruined as you stumbled on a kerbstone. Scrunching your eyes shut you expected the painful crunch as you hit the ground, only for a pair of strong arms to catch you. Looking up into Henry’s eyes you smiled as he lifted you to your feet with ease;

 “I was going to say if you keep calling me Sir you’ll be in trouble, but you seem to be in enough trouble without my help” 

 “I’m fine! I had four drinks!”

 “All doubles?”

 “Yep!” you hiccupped as you stepped, only for your ankle to wobble, and again you found yourself in Henry’s arms.

 “It’s piggyback time”

 “No!”

 “Either its piggyback or I’ll throw you over my shoulder, your choice”

 “Ok… piggyback ride it is then”

 Soon you were standing on a nearby bench, Henry crouched slightly in front of you;

 “I can’t believe I’m doing this” you muttered as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and hopped on, his large hands gripping onto your thighs.

 “Princess, I have to admit when I’ve thought about you riding me whilst I grip onto your thighs, this isn’t what I had in mind either…” he grinned over his shoulder.

 Sure you got a few stares as he carried you, but the feeling of being bounced up and down as he held you tight was actually very comforting. As you waited at a traffic light for the pedestrian crossing to go green for him to walk across he quietly spoke;

 “Not far now, I’m parked in the multi-storey over there”

 -

 Henry drove a top of the range Audi SUV, and as he made his way slowly through the hot London night his hand strayed to your knee, gently rubbing the skin on your inner thigh as he casually asked your questions about you, answering yours about him, but as the drive went on your concentration waivered, your body thrumming with lust as his hand had crept higher. Just as his little finger had brushed against the soaked cotton of your underwear, he swung the Audi into the numbered space outside your building;

 “Home Princess”

 With a groan you slumped into your seat, before Henry’s hand gently cupped the back of your head and his mouth was on yours, his kiss deep and powerful before pulling away whilst leaving you wanting more;

 “Do you need help getting to your door?”

 “Umm, I’ll be *hic* fine, you don’t want to…?”

 “Oh I do, but you’re drunk… and I haven’t bought you dinner yet”

 “Gotcha” you drunk winked at him which made him laugh, before you grabbed the door handle and went to exit the car… only it wasn’t the handle, and as you shifted in your seat you bonked your head directly into the window; “Ow FUCK!”

 “Aww come here”

 Henry wrapped his arms around your head, pressing kisses to the top of it before letting you go and stepping out of the car, circling around and opening your door for you;

 “You’re a hazard to your own health, so I shall be escorting you all the way to your front door, M’lady” he laughed kindly.

 When you fucked up the code for the door, you curled into Henry’s chest as you told him and his sober fingers punched the number in, the electronic click of the lock releasing registering in your brain, before he swept you into his arms as you told him your Flat number and carried you up four flights of stairs. Setting you on your feet at your door you swayed as you fished your keys from your bag, getting them caught on all manner of things, before you sighed and muttered that there was a spare key under the pot plant that stood next to your front door. Henry stooped down and got it and again Henry’s sober finger skills came into use as he unlocked your door and helped you inside.

 Closing the door, you leant against the wall as he moved around your kitchen, plucking a glass from the counter and filling it with water, before crossing the room and handing it to you;

 “Drink… you need to rehydrate yourself otherwise your hangover will be awful tomorrow”

 “Yes Sir”

 Sipping the water in front of him you slowly drained the glass before he took it from you and refilled it, before setting it on the counter. Taking you into his arms he smiled;

 “Drink that before you go to bed” he lowered his mouth to yours and kissed you, gentler than before, but his tongue was a work of art and it soon had you pressing yourself against him.

 “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

 “Oh Princess, I want to stay, but I won’t. Not with you this drunk” 

 “Ooow…” you moan like a brat; “But I’m horny, even if I unashamedly beg you to fuck me?”

 He chuckled;

 “Nope, I won’t be fucking you tonight Princess, I can sort the horny out though…”

 You watched with your jaw agape as he fluidly got to his knees in front of you, gently grasping your hips as he pushed you back against the wall of your kitchen and started to slowly edge your skirt up your legs until it was bunched around your waist. Carefully he pulled your soaked underwear down your legs and helped you step out of them, before he grasped one knee and lifted it over his shoulder. Your eyes were trained on his the whole time, pale flashes in the summer twilight as he leant forwards and he swiped his tongue through your folds. He shuffled forwards and you struggled to stand on the tips of your toes on your other leg, and you let out a quiet squeak as he easily lifted your leg until it was over his other shoulder, his hands splayed across your ass to support you as he started to lick and suck at you with earnest. 

 Your fingers found their way to his hair, tangling them in the dark chestnut brown strands as he started to fuck you with his tongue, the long muscle massaging your inner walls as his nose rubbed against your clit. The harder you squirmed the tighter he held you, and soon you could feel your legs start to tremble as you clamped them around his head, your whole body shaking with need as you moaned out his name so beautifully. 

 The room was hot, the air heavy with lust and the sounds of his tongue and mouth working so hard towards orgasm, and when the levy finally broke you cried out his name surrounded by curses, your body shaking so hard you were thankful he could hold you up as otherwise you surely would have tumbled to the floor. When the stimulation was all too much you tugged on his hair and called out his name, your voice hoarse and your throat dry;

 “Henry… please, stop…”

 He let out a chuckle as he gently set your feet on the floor before standing, steadying you as you swayed a little;

 “Do you feel better now?”

 “Yes Sir” you drunkenly muttered, your eyelids heavy and a smile plastered across your face.

 Holding your face gently in his palms he pressed a light kiss to your lips;

 “Have your water then get to bed Princess”

 “Yes Henry”

 You watched as he left, winking as he shut the door behind him, and you did as he told you, minutes later falling face first into bed, still fully clothed apart from your panties that were decorating your kitchen floor.

Chapter 4 >>>

[littlemisslipbalm]

I live in the neighbourhood - Part 3

What happened to the cycling classes after work and the occasional drinks with coworkers? Now it was flying to Italy to vacation for the December holidays with Harry and his family and friends.

Ok part 3!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and the final part of ilitn i believe! let me know what you think! plssss! Not proofread, but your support means the most and it means the world to see your thoughts, literally anything about it, and this little harry I always have to remember that’s the simp your honor ^ right there! anyway happy reading!

Read Part 1 | 2

Word Count: 10.9k | Warnings: swearing, smut! (finally) - oral (m+f receiving, dirty talk, choking? i can’t remember ngl there might not be, sloppy sex, outdoors by the pooldeck just btw, christmas, idk but hopefully nothing I missed, feelings! happy ending (possibly rushed 

-

“You’re really flying to Italy and then traipsing around the Italian countryside for three weeks with Harry and his family? I cannot believe you’re leaving me behind.”

“You’re gonna kill me for saying this, but he had said I could invite a friend or two if I wanted. But I thought it’d be weird with his family so you literally can’t be mad at me!”

“Fine. I’ll move past it, but how did you move past the whole panic attack? Like you barely spoke to him for a month and then he’s on your doorstep and you’re kissing and agreeing to a Roman Holiday?”

“It’s Harry,” she sighs, laying down on her couch. “How could I not, I got scared because he was gone, but once he was back, nothing else mattered.”

“I guess,” Cate mumbles.

“Oof, sorry Cate I have another call, I’ve got to go…”

By the time she tries to pick up the other line has gone to a message and she’s left to listen to her boss over a voicemail:

“Hey Y/N, I know your holidays have just begun, but I wanted to inform you that you’ll be getting a new client in the new year. Big artist! Anyway, just wanted to inform you that I’ll be emailing over some of their paperwork. Feel free to ignore it until the new year! Have a nice trip.”

She sighs. “Interesting...but will definitely be waiting for the new year to even think about work,” she says to herself.

She throws her phone to the side. Tired of all the phone tag and messages she had begun to have to deal with as the Holiday season dawned more and more upon her. She had more important things to think about. Most important being the suitcase laid out before her and the flight she was bound to be taking in less than 24 hours. This time, she wouldn’t be picking Harry up from the airport. No, this time they were flying out of London Heathrow together.

Together together? She wasn’t sure. The kiss on her doorstep and plea of Italian holiday meant a lot to her, but did it scream committed relationship? She had no idea when it came to Harry. Maybe it was better not to ask and just wait until he told her. Wondering had gotten her in a pit last time and she never wanted to feel the way she had over the last month while he had been gone.

She sleeps in her bed for one last night before leaving for a month. Harry had managed to convince the airline to allow Rori to ride with them in first class, so she wouldn’t have to leave her dog in a kennel or with friends during the holidays. She was grateful for that and she just didn’t understand how she had gotten so lucky as to have someone like Harry in her life.

They fly first class and while Harry had secured her ticket last minute, she insisted that he take her money to pay for the ticket. She was determined to not lose herself in this process. She would happily go along with Harry’s crazy life as long as she maintained her constitution. And paying for her own ticket was one of her ways of doing that.

The flight is short, a quick jaunt compared to the arduous trips across the Atlantic, both her and Harry were quite used to from their work and family lives. He smiles at her throughout the journey, coming across the aisle often to check on her and pet Rori. He would make little jokes that wouldn’t make anyone else laugh but them and he would grab the airpod she would take out and play whatever she had been listening to and offer a dance. His little dances were so sweet, if strange and awkward in the small flight cabin.

She wore grey marbled leggings and a matching thick strapped tank top beneath a nondescript hoodie. Harry’s dressed quite nice for traveling, she presumes in case he’s papped. Linen trousers, a collared coat, and some beaded necklaces he had taken to wearing over the last few months - each month seemed to add on another necklace, but she wasn’t counting.

He had reminded her to bring large sunglasses for the airport.

He had said “I don’t care if we’re seen together, but it’s more for your comfort. I hate when my friend’s lives are put on display for the whole world. You’re not the one who signed up for this.”

She had been appreciative and grabbed her largest pair of sunglasses because truthfully she didn’t want to be seen with Harry. She didn’t want the whole world knowing her or her business, it wasn’t who she was. No, not at all. So when they step off the plane and head to baggage claim after customs, she feels aware of her surroundings in a way she never has been. It reminds her of the way Jeff, Charlotte, and Mitch had conducted themselves in the bar that one time. Extremely alert. Watching people’s eye movements and considering whether they recognized her companion. She trails behind him a fair amount, three paces at least. Harry glances back every few moments, checking in to make sure she’s still with him as they move through the bustling airport.

They make it to baggage claim with no stops, but sadly Harry’s luggage seems to give him away. That or just his presence, he was a 6 foot tall and extremely broad man who gave off this energy that couldn’t help but turn eyes. And all it took was one of those eyes to recognize the fluff of hair, the olive-y skin, the peaking bird tattoos and colorful necklaces to alert the world of just where he was.

He doesn’t get stopped for any pictures, but she feels the number of eyes on him grow. She also watches as Harry doesn’t shrink from the growing attention. If anything, it simply makes him move quicker, but only slightly. He glances at her once to see her hood up and big green glasses covering up half her face. Rori has left his carrier and is covering the other half as she pushes a cart in front of her. He makes a nondescript nod and then sets off towards the exit, she follows behind easily.

By the time they’re in the car that was waiting to drive them to Harry’s villa, he’s gotten buzzed by Jeff just to check-in since a few photos have been uploaded of him at the airport. People were so fast. She shook her head in disbelief as she looked up Harry Styles on twitter and saw the scene she had just been apart of minutes ago on her screen now. She’s unrecognizable in the photos she happens to appear in and to everyone else she looks like another traveler instead of Harry’s companion or whatever she was to him. Instead of his friend.

Harry calls Jeff as they’re driven to his lovely sprawling home near Lake Como. He informs him they’re fine - he is quick to ensure that Y/N is well after asking her himself once they had gotten into the confines of the small car. She thinks it’s sweet especially because she was sure that Jeff really was more focused on Harry and his well-being since he was both his friend and his client while she was just an extra. The two men talk about the flight and customs and what Jeff will be doing with his holiday since he had turned down Harry’s invitation to come out to Italy as well. This leaves her to stare out the window at the passing scenery. She and Rori are completely content with this as they watch the tranquil life around them as they pass by little forests and towns over cobblestoned ground.

The colors seem brighter throughout Italy compared to the sad and gloomy winter of London. The dreary scape traded for something far more picturesque. Italy growing ever more beautiful the closer they drive to Harry’s home. Everything was so radiant, from the sun shining above her head to the little dew drops still pooled on the perfectly green leaves of plants she knew not the names of.

The car pulls up to the long driveway to Harry’s place which he insisted was just a house, but she knew better. The driveway felt like half a mile of perfect cobblestones, seemingly handpicked to make the smoothest drive. Outside the house sat a gorgeous little convertible that was in between steel and cream and sparkled in the sun. The top was currently up, but she could tell the interior was just as nice as the exterior. Harry had a thing for cars and she suspected that no matter where he was, he managed to keep his cars in perfect condition.

The house was breathtaking due to its simultaneous simplicity and intricacy. It’s coloring was variations of cream and gold and some terra cotta. But it sprawled into the hillside behind it and wrapped around the nature to the side of it and the pool to the back right of it. There also was a little separate shed like thing that also seemed to be a residence. Harry insisted it was just an extra bedroom, but it looked like almost another house to her.

As she stepped out of the car, she thought that she might get lost in that house if she was left to wander around it by herself. A feeling she feared to get accustomed to.

The door of the house was a dark green that seemed oddly familiar to her as she walked through it. And when Harry looked back to make sure she had gotten in the house alright she recognized it. His door somehow matched the color of his eyes in dark lighting. A green that was timeless and ancient at the same time. A green that was unnerving yet inviting. A green that was Harry. She never thought she had a favorite color, but in that moment she was sure it was his eyes.

Harry calls her name and she realizes he’s been saying it for awhile.

“Sorry?”

He smiles fondly at her confused face and leans towards her as if he might kiss her. She stops breathing in that moment, wanting more than anything for that to be his next move. His chest brushes against hers, his warmth invading her space. His face is a mere milimeter from hers and she can count every speck of stubble on his jaw. But his lips don’t brush gently over hers in a way that she knew was addicting. Instead, his strong hand reaches past her and shuts the entrancing green door gently.

His eyes flicker back to her face when he pulls back, taking a single step backwards to allow for a comfortable space between them. Still close, but not like he’s about to embrace her expecting frame and kiss her.

“I asked if you wanted a tour of the house? Or if you just wanted me to pick your room.” His eyes are crinkled at the corner, a smile on his face even though his mouth is hung open in a lingering question.

She blinks her eyes and twitches her head to glance around the rest of her surroundings. Rori had run off the moment they had gotten in the door. The hallway Harry and she found themselves was narrow and simple, a single painting right behind Harry’s head was the sole decoration and a tapestry style rug beneath their feet. She nods after a moment, feeling all her words caught somewhere in her throat for no reason at all.

“Good,” he nods and gives her a funny look, trying to understand her quiet demeanor. “Just drop your stuff here for now,” he adds.

His hand encircles her wrist, as it had grown accustomed to, to lead her through the house. She bites her lower lip to muffle the little giggle that somehow escapes her as he tugs her playfully down and through the house.

He goes on about almost every piece of art and trinket he has hung and placed throughout the house. Each thing has its story and Harry waxes eloquent on every single one. He shows her each room in the house and then leads her outside through the single door of the master bedroom on the second floor. The door takes them onto a small balcony that overlooks the center of the estate which included the pool and then a garden to the left of the converted poolhouse - what Harry insisted it be called when Y/N had told him it was a mini house.

His hand has traveled down to intertwine with hers as the tour had drawn on. So as he leads her down the little spiral staircase to the ground floor, she hums at the warmth his thumb rubs into her skin ever so softly. His eyes flicker to her face and hold her gaze for a moment as he watches her descend the last two stairs.

She smiles at him, her cheeks rosy from the air outside. They walk between the garden and the pool to reach the “converted pool house” and she stops for a moment to dance her fingers through the perfectly clean pool water - he must have had a housekeeper who came by recently to open everything up and clean it all.

“This is truly amazing, Harry,” she sighs as she stares out at the entire house from the single stone upstep to the little cottage. It gave her a view of the entire place besides the front of the house. It was gorgeous.

Harry nods, tucking his head to his chest slightly, possibly feeling a little bashful. Behind the successful man that stood before her was a young boy with a dream that had made this possible and he never forgot that.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely and unlocks the door of the cottage, a similar green is painted on this door as well.

She goes ahead of him at his request and he watches her fingers on the green paint, caressing it softly, each finger never wishing to leave it as they slowly depart its surface. This place is just a microcosm of the house they had just been. A kitchenette, a living area, a bedroom, and a full bath - including a freestanding tub.

She all but runs around the place, fingers running over the countless spines of books that Harry mindlessly chose to store there in ceiling high bookshelves and eyes taking in prints of personal photography he had been too nervous to store anywhere but here. There were larger poster sized prints as well as smaller ones, all black and white, of different scenes on the walls of the living area. Some were portraits of loved ones, others were landscapes of cities and countryside alike, and some were of past lovers with their hair swept behind them as they looked back at Harry in some beautiful place. She smiled at these obviously film photographs and turned to Harry after a moment, almost mirroring the people in the more personal pictures.

“When’s the last time you used your camera?” She asks.

Harry’s figure is perched in the door, his body slightly slumped on the frame while he rolls his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger. He hums, thinking back to the last time he took out his camera.

“Last tour...I think. I got film back with Camille in it and I just didn’t feel like putting more in it after that,” he rasps out and clears his throat at the end, clearly unnerved by the topic.

“Well, these are beautiful, you have a smart eye for catching precious moments,” she smiles softly, understanding Harry’s apprehension.

“Thanks,” his voice still a bit deeper than usual, “I still use my Super8 pretty regularly when I’m doing things for work. Like when I shoot music videos, I usually bring it along to get my own footage for later.”

She only nods and watches him enter the room, moving closer to her to gaze at the images more up close as well.

“I like to have something to remember it by. Just in case, someday,” he starts and sighs, eyes trained on the wall of memories, “My mind isn’t what it once was.”

She watches him delicately place his hand on the couch behind them to brace himself and she notices the slight fear in his face as he says it. She blinks at the scene in front of her. A man in an amazing moment in his life fearful that it might all disappear from his vision someday. A horrible thought that seems to plague him more often than one would expect.

She nudges closer to him immediately. Her shoulder brushes his arm as she presses her head to his own shoulder and stays there firmly.

“Thank you,” she whispers and his head drops down to look at her face now radiating warmth against him. “For sharing this with me.”

His hand on the couch moves to wrap around her shoulders and pull her closer. Instinctively, she wraps her arms around his waist and he rests his head atop of hers. He stays silent but places a chaste kiss in her hair. She squeezes harder, telling him everything is alright and all he had to be with her was himself.

He switches his gaze between the girl wrapped up in him and the pictures of the rest of his life in front of him and he takes it all in. He feels safe, a comfort he was hard pressed to find with his life always on the move. The bustling change felt eons away while he was wrapped up in her. She was constant and kind. Understanding. She took him as he was, no expectations. That realization has him melting further into her, his head dropping down to her shoulder and nosing into her hair. His hands cusping at the back of her neck and the small of her back. And he presses firmly yet gently.

They stand there, swaying slightly to an unknown tune that played only in their private world of just them two.

A branch sways too and breaks them out of their reverie when it taps against the French doors that lead out to somewhere else in Harry’s estate.

“I think I’d like to stay here, if that’s alright,” she says, pulling back from him only slightly.

His hands migrate from their embrace around her back and neck and slide to her hip and her shoulder separately. Her hands both rest on his chest and she feels his consistent heartbeat that she had been listening to for the last few minutes against her ear.

His eyes sparkle at her suggestion. “Really? There’s plenty of spots in the main house,” he rushes.

“No, I love this place,” she glances around once more, soaking in the cozy room that housed Harry’s art. “Plus, your family will be here tomorrow and you should all be together under one roof for the holidays. I know how rare that can be.”

He nods in agreement and twists a tendril of her hair around one of his fingers slowly. She doesn’t notice until he makes an experimental and playful tug on it. Her lips purse at the feeling and her eyes narrow.

“You’re an evil little thing under all those layers of niceties and kind words, Mr. Styles,” she says as she pulls away from him.

Now that it was decided on where she would be staying for the next few weeks, she wanted to get her things settled and take a shower possibly. She also needed to check in on Rori and see what he had gotten up to while they had been wandering.

Harry laughs, filled with an unmatched glee as he follows her out of the cottage and back into the main house, “I can show you evil if that’s what you want, dove. I’ll give you anything you want.”

And while she knows he’s saying this in jest, she knows he’s also telling the truth. He’d give her just about anything she wanted, all she had to do was ask.

-

After settling the house a bit, finding where Rori wanted to sleep - he chose inside the main house, and some showers, she and Harry both felt refreshed.

She walked out of the front door of the cottage and crossed to the French doors at the middle point of the house. They had them open to get fresh air in the house and she walked right through and into the kitchen where she found Harry and her dog happily perched on the countertop.

Rori batted at Harry’s hands and nuzzled into his scratches as Harry cradled him to his chest. It was criminally sweet and she knocked on the door frame to pull Harry’s attention away from her furry friend.

“You look nice,” Harry smiles.

She glances down at her outfit; a cashmere olive colored sweater and high waisted cream corduroys along with her sneakers of choice. She thought it was casual, but she appreciated the compliment nonetheless. She murmurs a thanks and a quick “you too”, she didn’t even need to look at what he was wearing, he always looked good. Her head tilts to rest on the door frame as well, her eyes trained on Harry’s face.

“Do you want to go for a drive?” He inquires as he places Rori back on the ground.

The dog scampers to her side for a moment before running off to do his own thing. Her lips quirk up on the sides and her eyes narrow slightly. He’s looking at her with a quiet confidence set in his jaw that she doesn’t quite understand.

His smile makes her bite her lip, slightly unnerved by the energy he was giving off. Maybe it was because they were completely alone - not something new to them since that’s how they interacted almost solely, but something about being in Italy seemed to have shifted the dynamic. Something in the water or whatever that saying was.

“Do I get to drive?” She stands from her leaning position and crosses in front of him.

His laugh comes out quickly and heartily. “No chance, dove.”

She groans and pushes at his shoulder.

“Trust me, you’ll like it better. Can just enjoy the scenery, don’t have to focus on the road.”

He wraps a hand around her waist and then scoots her towards the door that would lead them out of the house. She giggles at the contact and she feels him watching her. It felt nice, felt simply theirs.

He drove her down the driveway and onto a country road until it merged into a road by the lake. He brought the top down so the wind rushed around them, blustering about as he drove at a quick yet somehow leisurely pace. She glanced at the scenery and took a few pictures, but something else kept demanding her attention.

Harry. He was a quiet kind of handsome in this moment. It wasn’t in your face, it was just how each curve of his skin seemed perfectly placed. Every pore was clear and every mole had a reason. His tattoos peeking from his collar and shirt sleeves were that perfect inky black that remained smooth. It was consistent, the way his hair fell over his forehead and he would smooth it back without even thinking. His eyes were focused and bright, yet slightly stormier than normal. It was beautiful. He was beautiful. And she wondered what she had done to be beside him at that moment. Wondered what it was that she had done to be cared for by Harry.

His hand on her leg brings her out of her mind once again. His looks always seemed to get her lost in thought. He was just that special. No one else had ever caused any similar reaction. His fingers splay on her thigh, no rings on them today. He rubs his thumb back and forth softly and she leans closer to him to whisper in his ear. They were completely alone, but it felt like something even the wind didn’t deserve to hear.

He tilts his head to her, eyes flickering to her movement for a moment and then back to the road. His hand on her thigh slips upwards with how she moves.

“I’m the most lucky girl in the world,” she says, her lips brushing the shell of his ear as she says the words.

She pulls back and stares at him, her hand going down to her thigh to play with his lovingly. He looks at her again and sees her serious expression. This causes him to pull over on the side of the road by the water. He rubs at her thigh again with his thumb and she shifts in her seat.

“And why’s that?” His voice low as he asks and shifts the car into park.

“Because I’m here, with you. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything in this world.”

He hums in response and licks at his lips when her sweater happens to fall off her shoulder. She notices the slip, but doesn’t bother to fix it since she also saw how Harry’s eyes danced over the newly exposed skin.

“I wouldn’t trade this either” the words dance slowly off the tip of his tongue. His accent fuller as he says the last word. “Let’s walk around,” Harry suggests when he sees her eyes flicker between his and his lips.

They explore the grassy area that lives just before the dip of the water at Harry’s request. He guides her along with his hand entwined with hers. Her eyes stay on only him still, the scenery unable to compare to the beauty of him that she was just fully realizing how bad she wanted to be enveloped in. His profile is illuminated by the sun shining above them and she swears he’s sparkling under the light.

The fear of what they were and all of the things that came along with labels were the furthest away thoughts. The man who had been the quirky neighbour had transformed into the man she was pretty sure she was in love with. Too afraid to say those three words, she decided the best thing she could do was to show rather than tell.

“Harry,” she calls and he stops his wandering, turning to face her instead.

A hand reaches up to trace over his strong cheekbone and caresses down the side of his face and cradles his slightly stubbled jaw. Her thumb rubs over the place where his dimple often showed up. He sighs into her touch and says her name back. His voice fails him as he gazes down at her, everything he means to say dies in his throat, for once at a loss for words.

She purses her lips and reaches up to connect their lips, having missed his sweet lips touch. They were meant to press against hers. Harry seems to forget how to breathe, her initiating the kiss between them, something foreign to him, but not unwelcome. He leans down to make it easier on her and she glows in his reciprocation. His hand shifts to cradle the back of her head as the kiss continues. Their lips dance, brushing back and forth, tongues slightly licking into one another’s mouths ever so delicately, playfully even.

A specific clash of teeth as the kiss continues leads to a breathless laugh from her as Harry presses himself closer to her. His other hand pressing her waist safely into him. She happily obliges, sinking one hand to rest over his backside which makes him smile.

“Naughty,” he mumbles against her brightening lips, eyebrows bobbing over his closed eyes.

She laughs now, her head tilting up for a moment, eyes opening to look at his face, yet up so close it's just his eyes and upper cheeks. His eyes are extra large from this angle and the grey green they had been dancing between had merged into a darkening seafoam green that was rather rare for them. She wanted to take an inventory of every color his eyes managed to be, but she was sure the list would never end.

“You like it,” she quips back, a peck sneaked at the corner of his mouth. That little love touch leads to more minutes of making out. Her supple and soft chest against his strong one, hands roaming the other’s body searching for purchase. Soft sighs and gentle moans leave Harry’s mouth when she nibbles at his ear and leaves loving kisses to his neck and collarbone. She makes similar sounds when he laves his tongue over the hollow of her neck and mouths happily on her neck.

The sight of them is two lovers enthralled in each other’s mouths and bodies in a meadow beside a lake. The sounds of nature are only overtaken by their happiness with each other.

When he ruts his hips against her body and she writhes against him with eagerness previously not seen, Harry realizes just how in public they are and he pulls away. A whine of discontent falling from her lips before she can control herself.

“We should…” He falters again, staring down at his neighbour he had begun to want more than anything else in the world, “Should head back.”

“Right,” she nods curtly.

Hands falling back to her sides, but Harry grabs one of them and intertwine their fingers as they had them before. She smiles so wide her eyes crinkle at the corners and he can’t help himself to peck at the left side of her temple.

They drive back to the house and Harry suggests a dip in the pool which Y/N agrees to easily. Something to cool them off from the heavy makeout session they had partaken in down by the water.

“Everyone else is arriving tomorrow,” Harry says after he surfaces from his expert dive into the deep end. He treads water lightly and drifts towards her.

She’s floating on her back a little ways from him. Her hair was shimmery all wet again and the  skin of her face glowed with tiny droplets. Her eyes were closed as she moved her hands back and forth through the comfortable water.

She feels his eyes on her, burning into her, waiting for a response. She peaks open one eye and looks at him. His cheeks pinken quickly from the slight embarrassment of being caught, but he doesn’t look away.

“It’s going to be really fun, Harry,” she rights herself and swims closer to him causing him to smile happily. “I’m really happy to be here.”

“It won’t be just us anymore,” he says, swimming backwards and creating a slight chase for her as she follows after him.

She narrows her eyes at his tactics, but still follows as he swims to the edge of the pool where they could both stand.

“Nope, but we’re gonna really get the holiday spirit flowing. Family dinners and games, shopping for gifts...this really is one of my favorite times of the season,” she smiles back at him and puts her hand against the edge of the pool, her chest emerging from beneath the cooling water.

Droplets roll down her chest, racing down her body and in between her cleavage. Harry’s eyes follow the water droplets disappearing beneath her bright red tied bikini top. He gets distracted when the air pebbles her nippls beneath the thin wet fabric, his tongue darts out to wet his lips at the sight. The round of her breast was especially full in the thin fabric. He had never seen this much of her despite their friendship lasting for many months now. It was...mouthwatering and his eyes stayed trained on her breasts as they rhythmically moved up and down with her breathing. It was like a spell.

That he was brought out of when a splash of water flicks at his face. She gives him an obvious look saying she had caught him staring and then she rolls her eyes at his smirk obviously not embarrassed by his latest fixation.

“We won’t be alone like this,” he steps closer to her, his own chest running with water droplets. His hair messy and wet atop his head as he pushes it off his forehead. “Possibly at all for the next three weeks,” he continues and hears her breath catch as he moves even closer. His body hovers a moment away from hers as he stares down at her. His nose almost brushes hers as he starts to lean down. She stays almost completely still. Her head moves though to allow Harry access to where his mouth seems to be headed, the side of her neck.

“After today,” he whispers before smudging an open mouthed kiss just below her ear.

A small gasp escapes her at his hot breath and a searing kiss against her chilled skin. She feels his smirk on her skin as he continues down her neck, leaving spongy eager kisses down the column.

“Well, I don’t think that’s a problem,” she tries to remain composure, feeling the burn inside of her pitch back up. The fire had dulled from the kissing by the lake once they had swam, but here he was pressing into her once again. Suddenly more eager and forward than he had ever been. Her breathing is hard to regulate with his expert hands running along her naked sides below the water and his legs backing her into the edge of the pool while his lips make love to her neck.

“Oh?” Harry hums, moving a hand up to fiddle with a strap of her top, the wet nylon twisting easily and then he lets it snap back softly. Her arousal only grows from the tiny smack. “Not a problem, eh?” His lips travel down between her breasts and she gasps in anticipation.

“Won’t be able to make you feel this good anytime you want,” he breathes and then ghosts over her covered pebbled nipple.

“You’re a tease, Harry,” she grips at his shoulders that are hunched to allow him to kiss on her. Her eyes having the perfect view of his curved neck and spine, the skin an expanse of clear perfect flesh, no tattoos in sight from this angle. The little curls at the nape of his neck trickling with spare droplets as he sucks on her own skin.

“Hmm…” his lips travel back up to the underside of her jaw causing her to tilt her head back and her stimulated chest to press into Harry’s. A chuckle passes against her skin as he feels her two points press into him.

Then, suddenly, he pulls back and grips at the back of her head to make her look at him. His eyes are deep and dark as the day starts to wear on, the sun beginning to set off in the distance.

“Maybe I need to demonstrate just what you’ll be missing out on?” He tilts his head at his suggestion and the glimmer in his eyes shows that he knows exactly what he has to say to get his friend - and soon to be lover - riled up.

Her chest heaves once, longing for the warm touch of Harry’s lips again. “What are you getting at?”

“Wanna make you feel so good you’re begging me to call my family up and tell them to not bother coming because we won’t be leaving your bed for the next few weeks.”

A breathless laugh leaves her, in disbelief, but also in wanton need. Her desire for him grew tenfold in the last ten minutes. His last sentence leaves her itching with longing. For his touch as he promised it.

“Give me the best you got then,” she challenges, her conviction never wavering despite her needy state.

That little sentence is what sets Harry’s eyes ablaze and has him gripping her waist and picking her up and setting her on the edge of the pool.

A quick press of his lips against hers and a “wait here” before he’s pulling himself from the water and shuffling to grab one of the towels he had laid out. She watches him curiously, confused why he had just promised to ravage her but was pausing to towel off.

He comes back with the towel and lays it behind her.

“Harry, what are -”

A finger presses to her swollen lips as his other hand goes to her shoulder and lays her back.

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

She nods, eyes wide and glassy as she stares up at him kneeling over her, his body between her bent knees. He leans down to press another kiss to her lips and then begins his decent.

“Gonna make you feel so fucking good, sweetheart,” he whispers.

Down her throat that he had happily been sucking on. His lips ghost over her still hard nipples and his hot breath has her arching off the ground immediately. A whine leaving her lips when he mouths between her two breasts in the valley just above the tie of suit. His fingers dance around on her skin, playing with her swimsuit fabric and she wants to scream at him to just untie it and really touch her, but she refrains. He continues his assault down her body. His hands grip at her knees when his lips travel below her navel. Her breaths have grown more strained as he’s gotten closer and closer to her heat. The cold wet fabric that covered her was a poor substitute to what she wanted to rub against her.

“Please,” she begs in a sigh as Harry’s lips skip where she wants him, instead traveling to her upper inner thigh.

He spreads her legs wider with his arms and her back arches further, her body just about fully on display for Harry. His eyes flicker up to her face that was staring right back down at him, watching his every move.

The cheeky bottoms left little to the imagination and the ties on the sides were so enticing Harry’s fingers smoothed up her thighs and began to toy with them. His face now hovering over her clothed center. His breath fanning the flames of her arousal just below the cherry fabric.

“See,” he smirks, eyes back on her face, “I haven’t even touched you yet, but you’re already begging.

“You’re an ass,” she grits out, trying to not be bothered by how easily he has gotten her in this position.

He clicks his tongue and tugs experimentally at one of the bottoms ties, “S’not a very nice thing to say to the man who’s about to stick his tongue in ya’?”

She gasps and slaps at his right shoulder at his crudeness. “You’re dirty!”

“And you’re wet,” he says confidently, smirking up from between her legs.

His fingers finally tug the ties undone and pull the fabric away from her center. The red bikini bottom falls limply to the ground and Harry’s eyes train on her glistening mound. Wet with the pool water as well as her arousal. To add to the cool air ghosting over her newly exposed skin, Harry blows his own breath over her. She writhes at the sensation, she bites at her lip to hold back any possible moans.

He glances at her face again and settles one arm to be wrapped around her leg and pressing down on her left hip. His other hand snakes between his face and her body and lightly drags between her folds. She bucks her body again, completely in need of some friction after all of the build up and teasing of today. Every nerve down there was electrified at the possibility of Harry finally touching her like this.

His finger pulls back and a string of arousal clings to him, a testament to the filthy thoughts she had about her neighbour. Thoughts she had pushed away for so long until recently. Thoughts she only indulged in in the dead of night, when she was exhausted but her mind insisted on wandering to the green sharp eyes that might stare at her if he ever were to delve into her depths. Her hands would travel to where he was now and rub out a triumphant shake of her thighs and heaving chest all in hopes that maybe he would bring her to that euphoria himself one day. Well that day was today.

He filthily takes that finger into his mouth and grins.  “So wet,” he corrects.

His eyes disappear from view as he launches into his work. His drying curls flop over his forehead and tickle at her lower stomach slightly. He flattens his tongue and licks a strong stripe between her folds. The wet from her weeping hole spreads to her lips and around her clit as his finishes the lick with a little swirl. He uses his free hand to spread apart her lips a little more and takes the new angle to suck on the little puffy nub that is already throbbing. She gasps audibly when he pulls off of it with a squelching sound.

“Fuck,” he sighs and goes back to eating her out, happily pressing his tongue into her.

His hand on her hip travels to grope at one of her breasts and he deftly pulls at the top’s tie and grips onto her skin underneath the fabric. The strong grip mixed with his expert work between her thighs has her moaning loudly and her body writhing as he builds her up.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he rasps, thumb on her nipple flicking happily back and forth. “Scream it out,” he says into her quivering center, “Nobody around to hear you, be as loud as you want.”

She moans louder at his words, her hands gripping harder into his hair. The thought of this scene turns her on even more. In all honesty, if someone did hear them she’d kind of like it. If someone walked in and saw her stretched out next to the pool with their wet bodies writhing against each other in pleasure. Harry’s head buried between her thighs making her feel better than she ever has, her breasts falling out of their top as he massages them harshly.

“Taste so sweet,” he groans, lapping at her tight hole, the muscle contracting against his tongue’s invasion.

She liked how messy he got with it, not that she really had much coherent thoughts in this moment. But his hot tongue swiping up and down and back and forth over her glistening lips and sucking on her clit left her breathless. Her juices and his saliva were making a mess of her thighs and the towel below her. When Harry felt her getting closer he’d back off and pay attention to another part of her and then go back to sucking and nipping perfectly into her.

She was eventually stuttering out, “I’m going to cum, Harry.” Breathing becoming uneven as she was about to tip over the edge. He nods, sucking harder at her clit one last time before taking his tongue and pushing it in and out of her hole, one of his thumbs traveling to rub over her clit in quick succession.  

“Cum for me, dove,” he mumbles quickly before going back to making her feel good.

She grips her own nipple now with one hand and Harry’s hair with the other, her hips pushing up into Harry’s face over and over again. And then she’s hitting her climax and tipping over the edge, a moan ripping from her throat and freezing on her face as Harry eats her out through it. His tongue licking over her quivering pussy. His thumb rubbing comforting circles around her clit until she stopped shaking. Her breathing slowing down, eyes fluttering open eventually. They lazily stare at the man below her who’s lips and chin are slick with her juices as he grins up at her.

“Do you want me to call my mum now or wait until you’re fully back on earth,” he says slyly and kisses the inside of her thigh once more. Eyes lovingly staying on her pleasured out face.

“Seriously talking about your mom while you’re still between my thighs,” she breathes out, completely in disbelief. Harry and her had never gone that far before and it was life changing. He had been right, even if she didn’t want to admit it, she wasn’t sure if she could go three weeks without that again.

He sits up and begins to gently pull back on her swim bottoms and tie them back up. She lays there watching him work.

“How about now?” He asks with a smirk, moving to sit beside her and help her sit up when her bottoms have been readjusted. The fabric against her newly sensitive area was definitely interesting, but she couldn’t care with Harry beside her. She ties off her top on her own, even though Harry gestured that he could do it.

“Shut up,” she laughs and takes a hand to caress at his cheek.

He nuzzles into her touch.

“You forget I’m staying in the cottage...separate from everyone else,” she winks at him.

“Think they’ll still be able to hear ya’ from in there, dove. You’re a loud one,” he bites the inside of his cheek as he teases her.

She huffs and drops her hand, “I was gonna return the favor, but now I don’t think so.”

It’s Harry’s turn to laugh and reach out to her face, he pulls her face close to his, bringing her eyes level with his. “I’m just teasing. Plus, you don’t need to return the favor, I’ve been wanting to do that for ages.”

A laugh bubbles from her lips at the thought of Harry wanting her as much as she wanted him and she pecks at his lips. She grimaces only a little, tasting herself on him still.

“We’ll just have to be sneaky,” she pulls back and rests her forehead against his.

“Yeah,” Harry breaths out. His breath hitches when he feels her hand begin to trail down his chest and fiddle with the hem of his shorts. Her eyes are trained on his, expressionless like she wasn’t beginning to palm his hardened length over his sticky swim shorts.

“I told you,” he musters, “You don’t have to.”

“But,” she rasps, finally. “I want to,” she licks her lips with determination, “Want to make you feel good, too.”

He hums as her soft fingers go back up to the hem of his shorts and he helps her pull them down as he gives a nod of approval to her watching eyes.

Her eyes widen when his length is finally revealed and its bright red tip stands tall and strong against Harry’s stomach, placing itself slightly just below one of the ferns. Harry watches her lick at her hand and then places it between his thighs, her body positioned right next to him. On her knees, she makes an experimental first pump, seeing how his body responded. Her eyes mainly watch his face and an open mouthed smirk twitches onto his face when he notices her gaze. She pumps him again, twisting her wrist this time and swiping at the precum leaking from his tip. A groan leaves Harry’s mouth at that and his stomach flexes, the skin beneath his many tattoos hardening.

“Feel good?” She inquires.

“Great,” he breathes out as she leans forward on her knees and attaches her mouth over his head.

She slowly moves her head down and attempts to fit his entire length into her mouth, but despite her best efforts, she can’t quite get her throat to open up for his entirety yet. After holding him there for a moment, his head scratching at the back of her throat, she pulls off. Heaving a sigh and continuing to work him with her hand, her now glassy eyes look at him. Saliva gathers at her mouth and Harry can’t help himself but reach one of his hands from behind him to her lips. He swipes at it and presses the wet to her lips which she sucks at eagerly, a whine hidden beneath the action.

When his hand pulls away she says, “You’re quite girthy.”

“Girthy?” He sputters, both at the funny comment but also that she’s said it while still jacking him off.

“Mhmm,” she nods seriously, “Couldn’t get you all in.”

“That’s alright,” he starts, but falters on a specifically masterful tug. She grins, knowing what she's doing to him. “You seem to excel, no matter the setbacks.”

“I’ll get it eventually,” she begins to speed up her strokes, “Just need a bit of practice.”

Then her lips are pressing back onto Harry’s prick. She sucks solely at his head and Harry moans out as he gets more sensitive. Then she slides down further and bops her head vigorously. She wants Harry to come undone for her just like she had for him. Make him feel like she had moments ago. And within a few more minutes of enthusiastic sucking and pumping of her hands, even some fondling of his balls which Harry had been extremely receptive to, she has him stuttering beneath her.

One hand gripping at her hair, while the other keeps him upright, Harry’s head is thrown back on his shoulders as he tries to keep his eyes open and trained on the girl taking him so well down her lovely little throat.

“I’m almost there, sweetheart,” he pants, his hips bucking up once as he begins to lose control.

This only spurs her forward, spit drooling down his cock every time she pulls back from his slightly. Her ass is high in the air now as she arches over his length, trying to get him to unload.

“Taking me so well,” Harry praises. “Fuck,” he exclaims at another squeeze of his balls.

She swirls her tongue around his runny head and then hollows her cheeks and sucks on him with everything she’s got. This has Harry cursing and repeating her name, his load spurting into her mouth as she stays still. His chest now covered in beads of sweat as he tries to catch his breath after tipping over the edge himself. His eyes are trained on her. She keeps her lips diligently around his cock, wanting to swallow everything he’s just expended. When he’s done, she pulls back and sits on her legs, swallowing quickly and staring at Harry as she does it.

His eyes bug at the sight. She was the hottest woman in the world and she’d just sucked him off so well that he’s pretty sure he saw stars. Then she made eye contact as she swallowed his cum with her pretty little bikini barely covering her anymore, as she seemed to shift slightly uncomfortable in her drying bottoms. God, he was fucked.

“Shit,” he says, still trying to catch his breath. “You’re an absolute angel.”

-

Harry’s family arrives the next day and the pair have a hard time keeping their hands off of each other. She doesn’t know why they decide to start this little game where they pretend like they don’t want to jump each other’s bones each minute of the day. But as the days go by, they maintain to his family and chosen family that they are only neighbours who became friends. Anne gives a knowing look to Gemma every so often and Gemma’s boyfriend whispers in her ear sometimes, but for the most part they buy it.

No one notices that some nights Harry’s or Y/N’s beds are vacant sometimes. They don’t see him descend his spiral staircase at midnight or see her scamper next to the pool and slip into her cottage in the wee hours of the morning.

In the nights, it’s Harry’s soft lips pressed against her hot skin, panting praise and leaving little bite marks that can’t be seen with clothes on. Her lips mouth at his shoulder when fills her up and she exhales a breath that feels like she’s been waiting to let go for her entire life. They make each other feel good and they don’t talk about it but the secrecy of it makes it all the more enticing.

At least that’s what she thinks. Harry had been completely ready to tell his family about him and Y/N, at least that things were new between them, but when she introduced herself to his mum and Gemma she had said she was a friend. Harry had gulped, his adam’s apple bobbing hard, taking in the change of direction and agreeing with Y/N immediately. “Just a friend” he confirmed with a nod of his head and glance at her. She had smiled wide and given a hug to the other most important women in his life like she’d known them forever.

He didn’t understand why she wanted it this way, but his objections would be forgotten when night fell and she’d do the things he’d only dreamt of. Her breathy whimpers and pliant body would all but wipe his mind of any other thoughts but her and then he had no complaints, just a wish for the night to never end.

Y/N doesn’t even tell Cate when she calls her a week into the trip. It’s just something she wants to keep to herself and Harry. Their own private world.

It’s Christmas Eve when that bubble pops. The Champagne has been flowing for hours non stop - well only stopping when a different drink is in their hands, whether that be red or white wine or a mixed drink Harry has decided to concoct.

In the big Italian house, he’s free of prying eyes and he’s able to truly spend quality time with his loved ones. They have fancy dinners at private restaurants, go on gorgeous hikes, swim, and relax. They have a good time with playing holiday games, which they do most nights when they stay in.

Tonight’s the first night that Harry and Y/N haven’t ended up on the same team. He fears that most times he cheats it by swapping a paper or two, but tonight the alcohol has fizzed his brain and he forgot. This shouldn’t be a problem, not really. Except that everyone in the house has learned over the past week and a half that besides being perfectly matched in almost everything else, Harry and her are both equally and extremely competitive. Being on the same team has both advantages and avoids squabbles like the one the house has found themselves in at half past 11.

Harry’s arguing that his team got the last question before the buzzer went off, but she won’t back down. She is sure that Gemma had said the correct answer, but after the timer had run out. Everyone else was too sauced to care, but Harry and her were adamant and passionate about game play. As the argument heats up, Anne gives Gemma another one of those looks.

Y/N has stood up and crossed the short distance to Harry. She’s a breath away from him and he puffs up his chest, his eyes dark and serious as he’s ready to fight for this win all night.

“The time was out,” she says simply, but her eyes are beginning to glower.

“No. It was not.” He states back.

His eyes narrow at her as she stares right back at him.

“Was too.”

“Was not.”

They go back and forth, rapid fire as the alcohol in their veins flows straight to their mind and hearts.

“Children please!” Gemma exclaims,  finally growing tired of the bickering. “It’s Christmas. Harry show some spirit and let your guest have the final say.”

They think she’s done but then adds, “Or else she might never want to come back here.”

Harry exhales harshly through his nose as his gaze flickers to his older sister and listens to her scolding. Handing over the timer to Y/N, which had been what kept them from moving on, he turns on his heel and walks out of the room.

“Oh gosh,” Y/N says after a moment, her frazzled mind processing that Harry’s leaving has something to do with her. A hand goes to her lips for a moment, a ghost of his warm breath still there, but gone too soon.

“I’ll...I’ll be right back,” she confirms and exits the room, following Harry’s footsteps.

She finds him on his front porch step, his breath misting in the cold air, much like it would back in London when they’d walk the neighbourhood streets together.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she says, placing a hand on his left shoulder to really get his attention.

He turns from looking out at the clear night sky, his nose and cheeks already pinkened from the night breeze. His eyes are still dark out here, but there’s no malice or anger behind them. His lips tilt up on one side for a forgiving half smile, but there’s also some pain mixed in there.

“You wouldn’t not come back, right?” He asks helplessly, his smile faltering.

She swallows, taken aback by the question, both unsure of where it came from but also how exactly her drunk brain was supposed to respond with the double negatives.

“I’d come back next Christmas and the Christmas after that, Harry,” she whispers, “If you wanted me to of course.”

“Of course I’d want you to. I want you, sweetheart. All the time.” His voice isn’t slurred, but it’s raspy, a slight dry mouth from all the alcohol consumed tonight.

“Okay,” she confirms, “Then I’ll come back.”

They stand on the porch silently for a few minutes, eyes on one another, but no movement towards anything. It’s not a profound moment for their hazy minds, despite the meaning behind their words. It’s not quite clicking for them, but maybe tomorrow when they wake up with massive headaches it will register.

“I really am sorry,” she repeats when she sees little goosebumps begin to prick at his skin.

He had forgotten a jacket. And while his drunk blanket makes him immune to the feelings, her brain still registers that she doesn’t want him to get sick.

“S’alright. For what it’s worth, I was being a little childish. So, m’sorry too.” He says sincerely, maybe a little slurring of words slipping in.

He reaches a hand out of his pocket to touch at her upper arm. She can feel his warmth from beneath her thin long sleeve. They smile at one another and turn to reenter the house, feeling the giggly tide of alcohol wash over them again. Euphoria on their mind rather than family game malice.

Just as they’re about to open the door to the house. The two of them at the precipice of a house, a place they often find themselves, Gemma swings it open face and with little care for its heaviness. She glances between her brother and his “friend”  and then up to the top of the door.

The top of the door? Why was she looking at the top of the door? Mistletoe.

“Mistletoe!” Gemma exclaims, pointing between the two of them. “You’re beneath the mistletoe, go on!”

Harry shakes his head in protest, falling onto the sword of friendship again. But then Y/N is grabbing at the back of Harry’s neck and pressing her lips to his. It’s a little sloppy, but Harry can’t help but enjoy the taste of her against him. They slot together like they usually do, but this time his sister is watching them, which is a little odd, but his muddled mind quickly forgets that fact. Her tongue is the deciding factor as it licks into his mouth and he licks back, pulling her closer by the waist. They get lost in the kiss and only pull apart when they hear a cough.

Gemma is now accompanied by the rest of the household watching them in disbelief. Everyone’s eyebrows are raised and even Rori is standing with the group, confused that the humans didn’t know they were doing this.

“Erm…” Harry has no idea what to say, shifting to face his family more fully.

Y/N blushes and shrinks into Harry’s chest, feeling like a teenager caught in the closet with her crush.

“That’s not how friend’s kiss one another,” someone murmurs.

There’s a few “I knew it”s mixed in as well with the rest of the chatter.

“Well…” She finally musters and throws a hand out to her side in a ta-da motion,

“Happy Christmas!”

-

After the revelation on Christmas Eve, everyone won’t stop teasing Harry and Y/N. The two laugh it off but something always nags at the back of their head. What they were to the other person. The status of this relationship. This friendship that had taken a turn to something else entirely.

It’s another Eve of a holiday when Harry finally musters up the courage to ask her directly. They learned from Christmas day that they couldn’t drink as much as they once did for multiple reasons. So on New Year’s Eve, they both choose to only consume a couple glasses of Champagne.

It starts with “Can we talk about us?” right after midnight. Right after Harry’s just started the New Year with her lips on his. She hears his question and takes it in, her stomach twisting with nerves and possibly excitement as well, and nods.

They slink off to his bedroom, but not for the activity everyone else was certain they were engaging in.

He sits them on the edge of the bed, both her hands clasped in one of his. He’s been quiet all day, she just realizes as he stays silent another moment longer.

“I love you,” he says in his dimly lit room.

Her jaw drops slightly, not quite expecting those three words yet.

“You don’t, don’t have to say anything yet. I just wanted you to know that,” he continues. “And that I want to be with you.”

“Harry,” she starts, breathless at his words.

“No,” he stops her again, “I felt something draw me to you the day you moved in across from me on Sherwood, like I was meant to know you or something.  Then I met you and you made me feel so comfortable, all I wanted to do was be with you and that month when you didn’t really talk to me...dove, those weeks were wretched. But when I came back, it was like nothing happened and I was so happy because I couldn’t fathom life going back to the way it was before you. When we kissed, I felt overjoyed, I was so happy that you liked me like that because every time you called me friend...felt like a knife in me. I don’t want to be just your friend,” he pauses to say her name again, “I don’t want to be just your lover, I want to be your boyfriend or whatever they call it now - If you’ll have me.”

He takes a deep breath and blinks away the little well up of water that had grown in his eyes. He had forgotten to blink for a moment he realized.

His stare had been intense as he’d confessed all of his feelings to her, but she didn’t feel intimidated, his gaze had warmed her with its sincerity. It had strengthened his confession.

She sighed, her own eyes not as strong as his, unable to hold his gaze as she herself said her own confession.

His hand rests between them on the bed, steadying himself upright with it. She places her own hand over it and their fingers slightly intertwine. She feels him begin to fiddle with her fingers like usual. Like normal.

“Thank you,” she starts, “Of course I’ll have you. All the time, Harry.”  She repeats his words from Christmas Eve back to him.

He starts to interject, the rambling thing, but she tugs at his pointer finger and he takes it as a sign to be quiet.

“I want to be your partner, too. I want it all with you, lover,” she gazes at him now, his free hand reaching up to caress her cheek in that moment. “Want it all,” she repeats in a whisper before he’s kissing her again.

Kissing her and kissing her. Over and over again. Because she was his. And he was hers. And it was a happy beginning. A happy new year and a happy new beginning of a relationship that was bound in friendship, born out of proximity, and nurtured by two kindred souls.

And it all started with her parents making her take her dog. Harry really needed to thank that dog for being the best wing man to ever run around on four legs.

-

Who knows who that new client of Y/N’s might be...

[deliquescentnightmare]

Easy Come Easy Go~ CH 2

~A degree in not taking anyone's bullshit~

As they walked towards the house, the group was approached by a blue-clad man.

“Anderson, here we are again, '' Sherlock said sarcastically.

“This is a crime scene. I don’t want it contaminated. Are we clear?”

“Quite clear, and is your wife away for long?”

“Don’t pretend you worked that out. Someone told you that,”

“My deodorant?”

“It’s for men,”

“Of course it’s for men, I’m wearing it,”

“So is sergeant Donovan,” Sherlock proclaimed dramatically and Delila sighed, rolling her eyes, “Phew, and I think it just vaporised, may I go in?”

“Now, whatever you’re trying to imply,”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m sure Sally came ‘round for a nice little chat and just happened to stay over,'' Sherlock brushed by them, pausing at the top of the stairs to look down his nose as Anderson, face barely hiding his triumphant joy, “And I’m assuming she scrubbed your floors going by the state of her knees,”

“I-“ Donovan and Anderson were both rendered speecess by this. Sherlock vanished inside and John sidled past them, clearly feeling the secondhand embarrassment of the encounter, limp extremely pronounced as he struggled up the stoop. Delila glided past the adulterous duo, amusement clear on her face as she followed the two men inside. They’d gone further into the hallway and Delila took her time to take in the surroundings, and she could hear them talking in the hallway.

“Who’s this?” Lestrade’s voice floated down the hallway.

“He’s with me,”

“Yeah but who is he?”

“I said he’s with me,”

“Is this a bad time, boys?” She asked from where she leaned in the doorway, eyebrows raised.

“Ye- Delila?!?!? What on earth are you doing here?” Lestrade looked as if he’d seen a ghost- mildly panicked and extremely confused.

“Ah, hello again,” the tallest of the group remarked as he turned to look at his blonde companion again.

“But… You’re not due until the 16th!!’” Lestrade exclaimed

“Doctor Watson, what is today’s date?” Delila asked the blonde, turning to him as well.

“February 17th,”

“…oh,” Lestrade looked sheepishly to the side, “I- uh..”

“Missed picking me up from my flight? Missed most of my calls? Left me alone in a city I didn’t know?” Delila asked amusedly before crossing the room to kiss him on the cheek, “Apology accepted. Now, onto the other reason I’m here. Do you need some help?”

“...We might, actually. Um, Sherlock, this is-“

“Your daughter, Delila Lestrade. Yes I am aware. Now, where are we?”

“Upstairs. Delila, you can tag along. Do you have gloves in that little bag of yours?”

“Always,”

“Wait, does she even have jurisdiction here?” John asked.

“Well, do you?” She remarked, not looking at him as they climbed the stairs.

“Erm, I don’t think so,”

“I can give you guys 2 minutes,”

“May need longer,”

“The name’s Jennifer Wilson, according to the credit cards. We’re running them now for contact details. Hasn’t been here long, some kids found her.”

“Did she have anything with her? She looks to be dressed for travel, and rain. Umbrella or a purse maybe?” Delila asked, taking in her surroundings as they came to the top of the stairs.

“Not much, she had her wallet, and an umbrella in her pocket,”

“That’s odd….” Delila murmured. They fell silent, and Delila reached into her small blue purse to retrieve a pair of black latex gloves. She pulled them on, sanitised her hands, and then watched as Sherlock started to inspect the body. It was silent for a long minute.

“Shut up,”

“I- uh nobody said anything!”

“You were thinking, it’s annoying,” Sherlock remarked and Delila scoffed in amusement. He looked up and narrowed his eyes, brows slightly furrowed.

“Something funny?”

“Nothing, you’re just… different than I expected,”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re peculiar, can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing yet,” Delila replied, not breaking eye contact. He huffed and reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and typing away at it.

“Well, what have you got?”

“Not much,”

“She’s German, rache, German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us-” Sherlock shut the door before Anderson could finish.

“Yes, thank you for your input,”

“So she’s German?”

“You’re kidding,” Delila gave her father a deadpan look.

“What?”

“Of course she’s not German.” She replied with a sigh.

“She is from out of town though. Planned to stay in London for one night before returning home to Cardiff. So far so obvious,”

“Sorry, obvious?”

“But the message-” Lestrade insisted.

“Dr. Watson, what do you think?”

“Of the message?” John asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.

“Of the body, you’re a medical man,”

“What? No! I’ve got a whole team outside,” Lestrade broke in.

“They won’t work with me,”

“I’m breaking every rule letting you in here,”

“Yes, because you need me,” Sherlock leveled Lestrade with a serious stare and the latter let out a disgruntled sigh.

“You’re right. I do. God help me,” he admitted after a moment.

“Well I’m not quite god, but you did bring me along for this reason, no?”

“Oh... uh-yeah. Sherlock, Delila has a degree in forensic science,”

“I’d be happy to offer my expertise, Mr Holmes,”

“I suppose you’ll do, Miss Lestrade,” Sherlock replied dismissively.

“Doctor, actually. I didn’t waste away amongst the religious southern zealots at Duke university for nothing,” Delila approached the body and set to work.

“Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes,” Lestrade disappeared and John leaned closer to his companion.

“Well what am I doing here?” John whispered.

“You were supposed to be helping helping me make a point,”

“I’m supposed to be helping you pay rent,”

“Well this is more fun,”

“Fun? There’s a woman lying dead!”

“Perfectly astute observation, Dr. Watson,” Delila remarked, peeling off her gloves, “But there’s more to it than that. Asphyxiation, fell unconscious and choked to death on her own puke… Likely one of those suicides that the Yard’s been investigating, based on the timing and the fact that there are no outward signs of drugs or alcohol. Citrus smell around the mouth is exceptionally strong, likely going to be stronger when her stomach is opened,” Delila pushed her glasses up on her nose, “I’ve got more to say, but I’ll leave the rest to Mr. Holmes and his- what did it say on the website again..? Oh yes- deductions,”

“Alright. What’ve you got?” Lestrade asked before the smartass brunette could comment.

“The victim is in her late 30’s, a professional person going by her clothes, something in the media going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Married for at least 10 years but not happily, she had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married,”

“Are you just making this up?”

“Her wedding ring, dad. Her jewelry is clean but her wedding ring is dirty and beaten. She cleans everything but the ring, so obviously it doesn’t mean much to her-” Delila explained, “Or...uh it didn’t mean much to her,”

“Not just that. The inside of her ring is clean. It’s regularly removed but not for polishing. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. Look at her nails, she doesn’t work with her hands. So what or who does she take it off for? Certainly not one lover, she’d never be able to sustain the illusion of being single for that long. Simple really,”

“That’s brilliant!”

“Agreed, Dr. Watson,” Delila tilted her head to the side, “The fact that you can perceive all of that in a matter of minutes. Have you officially tested your IQ or-?”

“Delila, focus!” Lestrade snapped and Delila flushed slightly.

“Sorry, continue,” She said sheepishly, looking away, balling up her gloves and putting them in her purse.

“You said she’s from Cardiff,”

“It’s obvious isn’t it?”

“Not to me..”

“It has to do with her jacket, yes? Like I said earlier? She’s dressed for travel. It’s wet along the underside of the collar and along the back. I’ve been around London all day just wandering and there hasn’t been a drop of rain.”

“You’re not as dumb as everyone else. Yes. Her coat is still wet so she can’t have travelled more than 2-3 hours. Because the inside of her collar is dry it means she’s turned it up against the wind. Strong wind that had to be over 15 kilometers per hour, otherwise she would’ve used her umbrella. Strong wind, heavy rains, 2-3 hour travel time. Cardiff. Simple,”

“That’s fantastic!”

“Do you realise you say that out loud?”

“Sorry I’ll shut up,”

“No.. it’s fine,”

“Cardiff… Media. Shouldn’t she have a suitcase? She seems fashion forward,” Delila asked

“Overnight bag maybe?” John suggested.

“Suitcase, yes she had one. Where is it then? What have you done with it?”

“How do you know she had a case?”

“Small splash marks along the heel and calf, small bag going by the spread. Wouldn’t get this pattern any other way.”

“Well, hate to break it to you but there isn’t a case,”

“Say that again?”

“There wasn’t a case, sherlock. There was never any case,”

“Suitcase! Has anyone seen a suitcase?!? Was there a suitcase in this house?!?”

“Sherlock there wasn’t any case!”

“They take the poison themselves, they chew, swallow the pills themselves. Clear signs- even you lot couldn’t miss them!”

“Yeah thanks, and?”

“....Murder?”

“Don’t know how just yet, but they’re killings. All of them, serial killings. We’ve got ourselves a serial killer; god I love those, always something to look forward to. Serial killers are hard though, you have to wait for them to make a mistake,”

“We can’t just wait!”

“We’re done waiting. Don’t you see? Houston we have a mistake,”

“What mistake?”

“Her case! Where is her case? Did she eat it?”

“Oh. Someone else was here, took her luggage. That means the killer had to have driven her here! Forgot they had it?”

“-oh! OH! Phone to Cardiff, find out who Jennifer Wilson’s family and friends were! Find Rachel!”

“What mistake?”

“Pink!”

“Well, isn’t that clever?”

“What is?”

“They’re abductions, obviously,”

“Obviously,” Anderson sneered, “Great, another one,”

“Shut up, Anderson,” Lestrade snapped and Anderson gave an offended look to the Detective Inspector. John stared after them for a long moment after the two men disappeared.

“Don’t get yourself all worked up over him, John. Shall we?” She gestured down the stairs.

“I guess we shall,”

“Would you happen to want to grab a cup of coffee or something? I don’t drink, so that’s the best I can offer you,”

“That sounds nice, actually,”

“Was he your ride?”

“Well, a cab was my ride, but he’s the one who called it,” John replied and Delila laughed. As they left the building a voice called out.

“He’s gone,”

“Sherlock Holmes?”

“Yeah, he just took off, he does that,”

“Likely he’s not coming back then?”

“Doesn’t look like it,”

“Right… erm-”

“Well, we’re in Brixton, yeah? Any idea where we could hail a taxi?”

“Try the main road,”

“Thanks,” Delila held the tape up and john ducked underneath.

“But you’re not his friend. He doesn’t have friends,” Donovan said to John, “So who are you?”

“Nobody, I’m nobody. I- uh- I just met him,”

“I assume the same goes for you, whoever you are?” she asked Delila.

“I’d say it’s none of your business, but obviously you have something to say so go ahead”

“Just a bit of advice, you both. Stay away from that guy,”

“Why, exactly?”

“You know why he’s here?”

“It’s his job?”

“He’s not paid or anythin’. He likes it, he gets off on it, The weirder the crime, the more he gets off,”

“Says the officer in the homicide division,”

“-as I was saying. Be careful, because one day showing up just won’t be enough for him. One day we’ll be standing ‘round a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one who put it there,”

“You’re telling us this, why?”

“Because he’s a psychopath, and psychopaths get bored,”

“Bravo. Stunning psychoanalysis, Sergeant,”

“Excuse me?”

“Bit of advice for you too, Sally. Stick to the dead people. Obviously the living ones are too complex for you to wrap your head around,”

“Delila! You’re- um- still here?”

“Yes, sorry. I was suffering through your Sergeant’s cookie-cutter judgements,”

“...Right. Do try to be nice to my officers, Delila. They’re the best I’ve got,”

“You could do better. Anyways, I’m going out for coffee with Dr Watson. Call me if you need me. Or actually, just remember to actually call me period.”

“I will, I promise. Donovan, come on,”

“Coming,”

“So then, coffee?”

“I think I saw a small café on Baker street. I know the owner,”

“I have zero idea where baker street is, but lead the way,”

[writingithink]

Tangled Timelines Chapter 3 Rated: T Chapter Word Count: 5,010 Chapter Summary: The Doctor and Rose try to track down some ghosts. Notes: Hey look! It's an update!! Hopefully they'll be happening more regularly now. I'm semi doing NaNoWriMo, and by that I mean that I'm attempting to write 50,000 words this month spread across any project (including this one). I'm starting to find my groove with this fic, so *fingers crossed*

As always, many hugs and thanks for @hey-there-juliet , my lovely beta. && all mistakes are mine.

READ IT ON AO3 [copy/paste link]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26686090/chapters/67268401

<-- Ch2

Ch 4 -->

As soon as he entered his ship, the Doctor collapsed onto the jumpseat and stared blankly at the time rotor for a few moments. And then he glared at it.

“I somehow manage to happen upon the exact coordinates for the beginning of an invasion, and for some reason you’ve put me smack dab in the middle of it?!”

The answering hum was … frustrated.

He furrowed his brows, frowning. It would be exceedingly bad, incredibly bad, astonishingly bad bad bad if something else was influencing the TARDIS. The Doctor sprang to his feet and immediately sonicked open the grating, taking a moment to place a temporary barrier around his panic before he could worry Rose.

Back at the flat, she was having tea with her mother. She’d only just managed to get Jackie to stop complaining about his apparent need to ‘make everything about aliens’, and they were now talking about the wedding. Apparently she’d found a baker who said they’d make up cake samples that all somehow incorporated bananas. Best news he’d heard (well, technically) all day, and he couldn’t properly appreciate the sentiment when he desperately needed to check his ship and parse out exactly what he was going to do about these ‘ghosts’.

First things first, he needed to make sure that the TARDIS was physically fine. That she was healthy. And actually, it wasn’t so bad. There were some minor repairs he should take care of before they next left Earth, but nothing he couldn’t leave until after they’d saved the planet. The Doctor pulled himself out from under the console and bounced over to the navigational matrix, pulling a screen with him as he went.

His mouth dropped as he looked at the recording of their last flight path. A time track seemed to just- just pop into existence, pushing them months away. His ship had immediately landed due to the unexpected error. It literally looked like a glitch in the Vortex - but there were no such thing as glitches in the Time Vortex. A whole dimension doesn’t glitch - not without some outside force acting on it.

And any outside force meddling with time was even more dangerous than whatever these ‘ghosts’ were.

One bloody thing at a time, though.

The Doctor pushed himself away from the console and began pacing.

Ghosts ghosts ghosts ghosts ghosts.

Not really ghosts. Getting stronger from the psychic energy of the entire human race. Incredibly unpleasant when one walks through you - really do feel dead. Worse than dead. Likely nothing good, and all over the world.

But they appear in shifts. There’s shifts.

So someone had to be in charge of that. Probably multiple someones. But still, there would be a central location connected to them, giving them whatever help they need to press themselves onto the Earth from wherever they really are. To do that, all around the world, they would have to have an incredibly strong signal.

An incredibly strong, traceable signal.

“Alright then!”

Headfirst into danger was just what it was going to have to be.

The Doctor sonicked open a different panel and began rummaging around for the equipment he’d need. It wasn’t long before he heard the TARDIS' door open.

“According to the paper,” his wife announced, “they’ve elected a ghost as MP for Leeds. Now tell me about this plan you’re tryin’ so hard to keep secret.”

He popped out of the grating with a backpack full of equipment.

“Who you gonna call?” he joked.

“Ghostbusters!” Rose laughed, more amused by the voice he was using than his shockingly similar looking technology.

“I ain’t afraid of no ghosts,” the Doctor finished with a little jig before dashing out of the TARDIS.

“My mum’s on her way down,” she informed him as he looked around the playground for the best area to set up the cones. Actually, should do nicely right where they were.

“Oh?” He turned on his heel and went back into their ship, pleased that she’d seen fit to set out the rest of the equipment they would need. “Let’s get these outside.”

“Doctor,” his bondmate huffed, even as she took a cone. I don’t think we should tell her yet. About the lifespan thing. Not until after we’ve gotten rid of the ghosts. Like, way after. Next trip back.

That’s fine, he agreed as he sat down his roll of wire and cone and began plugging everything in.

“We’ll still have to stay for awhile, though. Because we said we would.”

The Doctor paused what he was doing, dramatically raising his eyes skyward. It was quite a nice day, really. You’d think, with London having nice weather for once, that he’d be able to enjoy it. He opened his mouth, planning to vocalize his many complaints, but as soon as he turned back towards Rose, he saw Jackie walking up.

After the ghosts, yes. Sometime during this trip, though, please . 

He wasn’t ashamed to beg. Well … a little ashamed.

“Why’d you park all the way over here?” Jackie asked as he began plugging the wires into the cone Rose had placed.

“Got tired of the alley. Bit dingy,” he quipped. It was a lie, but better than telling his mother-in-law that not only had the flight gone wrong time-wise, but also slightly by location.

His wife shot him a worried look as she caught the thought.

Later, he promised, rushing back into the TARDIS for the final cone. He would worry about all of that later - they had important things to do.

“When’s the next shift?” he asked as he sat the cone down.

“Quarter to,” Jackie answered, “but don’t go causing trouble. What’s that lot do?”

“Triangulates their point of origin.”

“I don’t suppose it’s the Gelth?” Rose asked, visions of their spectral forms playing across their bond for a moment.

“Nah,” the Doctor responded, and she quickly shrugged off the idea. “They were just coming through one little rift. This lot are transposing themselves over the whole planet. Like tracing paper.”

With the final cone plugged in, he ran over to make sure they were all in the proper position.

“You’re always doing this,” Jackie complained. “Reducing it to science. Why can’t it be real? Just think of it, though. All the people we’ve lost. Our families coming back home. Don’t you think it’s beautiful?”

He paused to give his mother-in-law an honest answer. 

“I think it’s horrific.” 

And then the Doctor bounced back into motion, unrolling the cable that would connect the triangulation devices to the TARDIS console. They were on a time crunch, after all. “Rose, give us a hand, love.”

His bondmate sighed before following him into the ship.

She’s so upset.

The Doctor remained silent, aware that the thought wasn’t really meant for him and even more aware that there wasn’t anything he could say that would help. He plugged in the cable and turned to Rose, aware that her mother had followed them inside. This is how they could help.

“As soon as the cones activate,” he explained quickly, pointing to the monitor, “if that line goes red, press that button there. If it doesn’t stop,” he continued, reaching into his jacket to pull out the sonic screwdriver, “setting 15-B. Hold it against the port, eight seconds and stop.”

“15-B, eight seconds,” she confirmed.

“If it goes into the blue, activate the deep scan on the left.”

“Uhm … oh!” His wife leaned over the console, which he found much more provocative than the situation really called for. “This button there?”

“Hmm close.”

And he’d really, sincerely intended to send her a mental image of the correct button, but some wires must have gotten crossed there. Instead what he sent was a memory of their return to the TARDIS right after the Rhibelini festival. Eh. Oops?

“That one?” Rose smirked, pointing to another button that was definitely not close, while sending some very, uhm, creative suggestions that, unfortunately, weren’t actually feasible.

“Eehh, now you’ve just killed us,” the Doctor told her with a theatrical grimace.

With the button, or- ?

They both laughed, but only for a moment.

“Er, that one.” She confidently pointed to the correct button, telepathically informing him that she knew the whole time.

“Yeah!” he smiled before turning to Jackie. “Now, what’ve we got? Two minutes to go?”

Jackie looked down at her watch, and the Doctor was glad that she didn’t realize that he was just trying to make her feel needed. That he was a Time Lord and didn’t need her help to check the time. Because his wife had to be right - there’s no way her mum actually enjoys the act of doing laundry. She enjoys being a mum.

You like her, Rose teased over the bond.

Shush.

He gave her a peck on the cheek before exiting the ship to do the final prep work on the triangulation cones. It was go time. The Doctor raced around, calibrating each one.

“What’s the line doing?” he shouted through the door.

“It’s alright,” came his wife’s answering shout, though she really didn’t need to with his superior hearing. She could whisper and he’d be able to hear her from this short of a distance. “It’s holding!”

“You even look like him,” Jackie said to Rose, and he could hear her just fine. Not that he understood what that was supposed to mean.

“How do you mean? I suppose I do, yeah,” his wife responded, sounding pleased, though he still didn’t know what it meant. Rose didn’t look at all like him. What a strange thing to say. He tried to refocus on the triangulation equipment.

“You’ve changed so much,” Jackie sighed. “All grown up and married to an alien, living in a spaceship.”

The Doctor almost said something to Rose about her mother acknowledging that they were, in fact, already married, but then caught himself. If she didn’t already know that he was eavesdropping, no need to make it obvious. Not that it would matter either way. He wasn’t going to stuff cotton in his ears just because the humans in his life couldn’t be bothered to remember all of his biological differences.

“For the better,” his wife replied with confidence. “We have an amazing life, and we’re in love.”

“I suppose. It’s just barmy. Seeing you two like this in this box of his. Makes it hard to pretend everything’s even a little normal.”

He wondered what exactly Jackie imagined their life was like when they weren’t around. Things had actually gotten shockingly domestic lately, though it would still probably be too alien for his mother-in-law.

“Mum, I used to work in a shop.”

“I’ve worked in shops. What’s wrong with that?”

“No, I didn’t mean that,” Rose sighed.

Once again the Doctor made himself refocus on the task at hand, all the while hoping that they weren’t about to have a row.

“I know what you meant. What happens when I’m gone?”

“Don’t talk like that,” Rose ordered, distress flooding their connection, making it nearly impossible for him to pay attention to the cones.

How exactly was he supposed to save the Earth with these working conditions?

There was a smug voice in his head, with a distinct Northern accent, very pleased to point out how they were right about avoiding domestics.

“No, but really. When I’m dead and buried, you won’t have any reason to come back home. What happens then?” Jackie asked her.

“I don’t know,” Rose mumbled, as she tried and failed to imagine their future life without her mother in it.

The Doctor frowned, realizing that he couldn’t quite picture it either.

“Do you think you’ll ever settle down?” her mother continued.

Their connection was now awash with all sorts of negative emotions, and he could tell that his bondmate was near tears, which was completely unacceptable. He turned away from the cones, ready to march back on board before stopping himself.

“The Doctor never will, so I can’t,” Rose told her. “Wouldn’t want to. We’ll just keep traveling.”

“And you’ll keep on changing. And in forty years time, fifty, there’ll be this woman, this strange woman, walking through the marketplace on some planet a billion miles from Earth. But she’s not Rose Tyler. Not anymore. She’s not even human.”

Their bond somehow managed to pulse mauve.

It’s going to be okay, love, he tried to comfort her, fighting to send soothing, positive thoughts over their connection just as he finished up the calibrations. A distraction, that’s what she needed! It was certainly what he needed.

“Here we go!” he shouted.

“The scanner’s working!” Rose called out. “It says Delta-One-Six!”

“Come on then, you beauty!” the Doctor laughed, firmly resolved on drowning out all of the pain present in their shared mental space with adrenaline fueled glee. After all, he had always wanted to use these cones - they were state of the art!

He watched with wide eyes as the cones connected, immediately trapping one of the so-called ‘ghosts’ within their quasi-electric field. And then he reached into his pocket, carefully blocking their bond as he pulled out and put on a pair of 3D glasses - this was the part of his speculations that he really would rather not worry his bondmate with. At least, not yet. Not until he absolutely had to.

The ghost … thing he’d just trapped was absolutely riddled with Void particles. Completely covered, blurry head to blurry toe. Blimey.

The Doctor knelt down, adjusting the controls in order to get a more accurate read. If he was lucky, he would be able to figure out which parallel world these creatures were trying to come from. Likely a parallel Earth, but which one?

It began writhing, though nothing about the triangulation device should cause a living thing pain.

“Don’t like that much, do you?” he couldn’t help commenting. “Who are you? Where are you coming from? Woah!” He jumped back as the ‘ghost’ attempted to break out of the containment field. “That’s more like it! Not so friendly now, are you?”

He looked on as the creature faded away and the cones deactivated. While some more time would have been helpful, the Doctor had enough information to get started. After quickly picking up all of the cones, he ran back inside. Once he’d dumped them all out of the way, he raced up to the console, shrugging out of his coat and tossing it onto the railing.

“I said so!” he exclaimed. “Those ghosts have been forced into existence from one specific point, and I can track down the source. Allons-y!”

With that, he slammed the dematerialization lever, the coordinates having been inputted by the triangulation device. So handy! Finally got to use it.

The TARDIS shook violently.

Well, maybe he could make some improvements ... if he ever got the chance to use it again. The Doctor sprung to his feet and stabilized the flight.

Things seemed abnormally silent in the console room and over their bond. He was uncertain as to why, but still gave over to his natural inclination to fill the silence.

“I like that,” he told his wife as he moved around the console. “Allons-y. I should say allons-y more often. Allons-y. Watch out, Rose Tyler. Allons-y. And then, it would be really brilliant if I met someone called Alonso, because then I could say, ‘Allons-y Alonso’ every time.” He finally reached Rose and wrapped his arms around her before pausing. “You’re staring at me.”

“My mum’s still on board,” she whispered, squeezing his arms.

The Doctor looked up to see Jackie Tyler sitting on one of the platforms.

It was terrifying.

“If we end up on Mars, I’m going to kill you.”

Absolutely, bone-chillingly terrifying.

Stop being a drama queen, his bondmate chastised.

Oh, the domestics of it all! Worse than living in a house! Traveling with his mother-in-law?!

You’ll be fine, it’s hardly traveling . We’re in the same city, in the same time, Rose reassured him, rolling her eyes before giving him a proper hug.

What was he supposed to do now, though?! Bring Jackie with them? Leave her in the TARDIS? It would likely be dangerous wherever they ended up, invasion and all. The alternative was having her stay in their home to snoop around and get up to who knows what. There was no winning!

“Welcome aboard, Jackie!” he said with a wave, his smile showing a bit too much teeth.

“Where exactly are we going, anyway?” her mother asked.

“Come down, mum. You can watch the landing on the view screen with us,” Rose encouraged, releasing him so that she could meet her halfway. “We’re gonna land at wherever they’re controlling the ghosts. Are you fine to stay on board? There’s a pool, you could have a nice swim. Or watch telly in the media room. We’ll be back before you know it.”

“I’m just supposed to hang out in this weird ship of his while you’re off trying to get yourselves killed?”

“We do stuff like this all the time,” the Doctor piped in, trying to reassure her. “Only this time you’re on the TARDIS instead of at home in your flat. Which, really, is much better, when you think about it. Best ship in the Universe.”

Jackie still didn’t look thrilled as they all gathered around the view screen. She looked even less thrilled as they watched the TARDIS land in a hanger before immediately being surrounded by armed gunmen.

“Oh, well, there goes the advantage of surprise,” he sighed. “Still, cuts to the chase.”

Now he was going to have to deal with soldiers. Really, every time he thought that the day couldn’t possibly get worse. The Doctor turned to his mother-in-law as he made his way around the console.

“Jackie, stay inside. Doors shut. They can’t get in.”

“I’m not staying here! Take me home!”

“It’s too late for that,” he told her. “Shouldn’t have come aboard if you didn’t fancy a trip.”

“I was kidnapped!”

He rolled his eyes, deciding not to dignify that with a response as he took Rose’s hand. She pulled him to a stop before they reached the door.

“Doctor, they’ve got guns.”

The Doctor mentally reminded his wife that they’d been surrounded by much, much worse. Daleks couldn’t help but come to mind. 21 st century Earth guns were really the least of his concerns at the moment. Jackie Tyler accidentally breaking his precious timeship was more of a worry than guns. Whatever these creatures had planned, definitely more of a worry than guns.

“And we haven’t,” he delightfully informed her. “Which makes us the better people, don’t you think? They can shoot us dead, but the moral high ground is ours.”

With that, he tugged her out of the TARDIS behind him and closed the door as casually as he could manage.

Honestly, with all of the emergency programs he had installed, why couldn’t he have made one to deal with this scenario? A program that would immediately take Jackie home and then bring the TARDIS right back - now that would be nifty.

 They barely had a chance to look around before the soldiers surrounding them cocked their guns. He and Rose quickly raised their hands to prove they were unarmed.

Y’know what this reminds me of?, his wife casually asked across their connection.

What?

Utah, 2012.

The Doctor’s eyes swept the area as much as he could without moving his head. He could see her point.

Do you think they’d fire if I knocked on wood right now?, he asked her, just as a blonde woman in a suit rushed into the hanger.

“Oh! Oh, how marvelous!” she exclaimed, clapping.

I think she may’ve gone ‘round the bend, Rose laughed in his head as she fought back a confused smile.

The soldiers slowly began to lower their weapons as they joined in on the … clapping? Really, why were they clapping?

“Oh, very good. Superb. Happy day!”

Really, the Doctor felt inclined to agree with his bondmate on this one. Still, now that guns weren’t being pointed at them he was inclined to just go with it.

“Uhm, thanks. Nice to meet you,” he greeted. “I’m the Doctor, and this is my-”

Probably not the time to introduce me as your wife.

“- this is Rose.”

“Hello,” his wife waved with a wide grin that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Oh, I should say! Hurray!”

And there they went again with the clapping. Honestly, what the bloody hell was going on?

Think you’ve got more fans, Rose teased.

“You- you’ve heard of me, then?”

Really, where had his ship landed them?

“Well of course we have,” the overly enthusiastic woman replied. “And I have to say, if it wasn’t for you, none of us would be here! The Doctor and the TARDIS.” 

Everyone started clapping yet again. He was starting to get used to it, actually. It was kind of nice.

“And his companion, of course,” the woman continued.

Okay, not as nice. Then again, Rose was the one who didn’t want him to say she was his wife. Which was probably the smart thing to do, mid-invasion, but still. Just … didn’t feel right. As it was, she had had to cover her mouth with her hands in order to keep herself from laughing - out loud. Their bond was awash with her amusement. The Doctor found himself fighting the urge himself as he tried to politely make them stop.

“And- and- and you are?” he asked as the noise died down.

“Oh, plenty of time for that,” she evaded. Huh.

I think she thinks she’s the boss of you, his bondmate informed him.

She also thinks that I’m the boss ofyou, the Doctor couldn’t help but point out.

Bless.

“Aaaaaaanyway lead on, allons-y. Will there be nibbles?”

He fought the urge to take Rose’s hand as they followed the woman away from the TARDIS, surrounded by armed guards, stuffing his fists into his pockets. A moment later she tugged on his sleeve. The Doctor glanced over, taking out his hand when she rolled her eyes. Their fingers slotted together, perfect fit, as always.

We’ve been holding hands since the moment we met, she mentally chastised. Memories played across their bond.

She certainly wasn’t wrong.

Sorry, he told her, squeezing her hand. Not sure how to pretend to not be married, I guess.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Rose smirk.

Well, I took off my ring. Think all we’ve got to do now is not say it outright.

Before he could properly respond, something on the tip of his tongue (or whatever the telepathic equivalent of that idiom might be) about how he could do a much better job than that, the mystery woman started talking.

“It was only a matter of time until you found us, and at last you’ve made it,” she said. “I’d like to welcome you, Doctor. Welcome to Torchwood.”

With that, she flung open the doors and they entered a massive warehouse. A massive warehouse that was full of alien technology. And since this definitely wasn’t UNIT, this was very, very not good.

Blimey , he told his wife, you’re right. This really is frighteningly similar to that bunker in Utah.

Gonna nip over to that crate and knock on wood?, Rose asked, only partially teasing.

He really was considering it, actually, but … (he peeked behind him at the armed soldiers following uncomfortably close) better not. Instead he focused on the spacecraft in front of them.

“That’s a Jathar Sunglider,” he realized.

“Came down to Earth off the Shetland Islands ten years ago,” the woman explained.

“What, did it crash?”

“No, we shot it down,” she stated. “It violated our airspace. Then we stripped it bare.” 

Oh, this was really not good. The Doctor tried to sense the timelines, but they were all still so jumbled and wrong that he couldn’t make out the consequences of it, this technology that Earth really shouldn’t have right now. Not yet.

“The weapon that destroyed the Sycorax on Christmas day?” the woman continued with pride, “That was us. Now, if you’d like to come with me.”

That’s what Harriet said, Rose realized, replaying the memory over the bond, Torchwood. I didn’t even think about it, though.

No, me either, he agreed as they were led further into the warehouse. Why hadn’t he noticed anything off before? He should have felt it. On Christmas, maybe not - he’d just regenerated. But apparently this organization has been active for at least a decade, if not longer.

“The Torchwood Institute has a motto - ‘If it’s alien, it’s ours’,” their ‘captor’ slash ‘tour guide’ explained. “Anything that comes from the sky, we strip it down and we use it for the good of the British Empire.”

“Excuse me, the what?” Rose interrupted.

“The British Empire,” the woman repeated, turning around and looking his bondmate up and down, sizing her up.

“There hasn’t been a British Empire in ages,” Rose informed her, and she wasn’t wrong.

“We’ll see,” their hostess replied, a little too condescending for his liking. “Ah, excuse me,” she continued as a soldier handed her a particle gun?! “Now if you wouldn’t mind. Do you recognize this, Doctor?”

“That’s a particle gun.”

Now that he was here, now that this had his full attention, the Doctor could feel the strain on the timelines. This whole building was a threat to the entire causal nexus. His wife held his hand tighter when he showed her just a smidge of it over their connection.

“Good, isn’t it?” the woman smiled, unaware of the impending disaster that he wasn’t yet sure how to fix. “Took us eight years to get it to work.”

“It’s the 21st century,” he calmly tried to explain. “You can’t have particle guns.”

“We must defend our border against the alien,” she replied, as if that somehow gave them a free pass.

The Doctor didn’t know what to say to that, which apparently was fine, as their guide wasn’t really paying attention anyway as she handed back the gun.

“Thank you, Sebastian, isn’t it?”

I think it’s best if we just, you know, let her talk, he told Rose, studiously not looking directly at her - and really, there was a lot to take in, the warehouse was packed with advanced tech. Much too advanced.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Think she’ll give us an evil monologue?

Well, I don’t think she’s evil, he admitted. I think she’s … some sort of, I don’t know, business woman? I think she truly believes that what they’re doing here is good . Which makes them even more dangerous.

It would also make stopping them even more difficult.

“Thank you, Sebastian.”

He refocused as she turned back to them.

“I think it’s very important to know everyone by name,” she said. “Torchwood is a very modern organization. People skills. That’s what it’s all about these days. I’m a people person.”

Well that’s … nice?, Rose commented across the bond as she gave the woman a very forced grin.

“Have you got anyone called Alonso?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“No, I don’t think so. Is that important?”

Eh, oh well. It was kind of nice, though, having her asking a question for once.

“No, I suppose not,” the Doctor replied, just as he noticed a crate of Magnaclamps. He’d always wanted some, hadn’t gotten around to it, though. “What was your name?”

“Yvonne,” she told them (finally). “Yvonne Hartman.”

He let go of his wife’s hand, giving into the urge to inspect a clamp.

“Ah, yes,” Yvonne said with a smile. “Now, we’re very fond of these. The Magnaclamp. Found in a spaceship buried at the base of Mount Snowdon. Attach this to an object and it cancels the mass,” she explained, as if he didn’t already know. “I could use it to lift two tonnes of weight with a single hand. That’s an imperial ton, by the way. Torchwood refuses to go metric.”

Of course they do, Rose scoffed over the bond. British Empire, I mean really.

“Well, that’s handy,” is what she said aloud as he tossed the clamp back into the crate, wandering away to try to get a better idea of all of the other alien technology they’d managed to scavenge, commandeer or steal. His wife wandered in the opposite direction, giving him a second set of eyes even if she didn’t know what everything was. It really was a devastating amount, and the Doctor had to assume that this wasn’t all of it.

Really, it was about time they got back on track.

“So, what about the ghosts?” he asked.

“Ah, yes, the ghosts. They’re, er, what you might call a side effect,” Yvonne admitted.

“Of what?”

“All in good time, Doctor. There is an itinerary, trust me.”

Ugh, of all the things to add to this no-good-very-bad-day, he was stuck on a tour. With an itinerary.

It was his personal hell, really.

And to make it even worse, there went the TARDIS on the back of a lorry.

“An itinerary?” Rose scoffed. “And what are you lot doing with the TARDIS?!” My mum’s in there!

Oh, seriously?! He’d just managed to forget that they’d left Jackie Tyler unsupervised on the ship. Really, truly, worst day ever.

Seriously? Could you just grow up and get some perspective?, his wife snarled over their connection.

“If it’s alien, it’s ours,” Yvonne replied confidently.

“You’ll never get inside it,” he told her with just as much confidence, if not more.

“Hmm, et cetera.”

Once she turned away, they both glanced back at their ship to see Rose’s mum peek out through the doors - which he distinctly remembered telling her to keep shut.

Really, why did no one ever listen? He didn’t understand it.

With a sigh, and all of his unflattering thoughts about his mother-in-law safely behind a barrier, the Doctor turned away to continue their ‘tour’. At least the ghosts were on the itinerary. So this day had to turn ‘round at some point … right?