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harrysddtittys · 3 years ago

Note

Could you maybe write something where Harry is a single father to maybe a girl. And just write how he’d deal with her terrible twos. Like from morning to night or something like that? 🥺

wow i finally got a requestttt!!! here you go! I know nothing about young children, so i don’t even know if this is an accurate description of a 2 y/o lol. but i hope you like it <33

Warnings: fluffff, dadrry, most likely some typos :)

Masterlist ❣︎ Requests

Piece of work

“Oh my God, Lani.” Harry groaned, groggily, as he was pulled out of his sleep by his daughter sitting on his back and yelling “Daddy, wake up!” in an playful voice. As much as he tries to pretend to not to like being woken up so obnoxiously every morning, they both know he loves for the first thing he hears every day to be his little girl yelling in his ear.

He lays there for a couple more minutes, wanting to sleep for a little bit longer, but gives up when he realizes she’s not going to be quiet until he gets up. “Okay, okay. I’m awake. Calm down.”

When he says that, she immediately gets off his back so that he can sit up, sitting next to him. He looks over at her. She’s wearing a random shirt of her’s that she doesn’t really wear other than to sleep, and her pull-up that she wears to prevent wetting the bed at night, and she has a head full of curly, unruly hair. He just smiles, so in awe of the fact he helped create something so beautiful.

Fatherhood was by far the best thing that ever happened to Harry. The second he looked his little girl, Alani in the eyes, he instantly felt the connection. He loves her with his entire being. But she can definitely be a lot to handle

She turned two not even three months ago. Harry Honestly thought the “terrible two’s” stage was a myth. Boy, was he wrong. The tantrums hit like lightning. Not only is she in her terrible two’s, but she’s naturally very stubborn, and sassy. She definitely got that from him. He swears she’s a 13 year old in a 2 year olds body.

“G’morning, bug.” He says, sitting up slowly because of the stiff joints from not moving much all night. “Good morning, daddy!” She squeals excitedly. Once he’s fully sat up, Alani jumps on him, throwing her tiny arms around him, causing Harry to chuckle. She gets so excited when he wakes up for the day.

He wraps his arms around her and squeeze her lightly, but grunting as if he’s squeezing her as tight as he can, making her giggle. “Did you sleep good?” He questions, quietly. “Yeah.” She mumbles, feeling so content where she is, like in her dad’s arms is the best place in the world. “V’got some things to do today. Y’wanna go run some errands with daddy?” This causes her to pull away from him with with wide eyes, nodding eagerly. The biggest smile spreads across Harry’s features. “Yeah?” Which she responds to by nodding again.

“Then we gotta get ready, bub. Y’hungry?” He asks to which she responds with a simple “Yes.” “Alright let’s go eat.” When he says that, Alani gets down off the bed, before sprinting out of his room, and toward the kitchen full speed. “Stop running!” He slightly scolds, hearing her tiny feet padding down the hallway at a much slower speed than before.

He always gets so nervous when she’s running around, but especially when she’s running in the house. She’s so wild and crazy, yet so clumsy. Constantly falling, and running into things. She rarely actually gets hurt. Most of the time she moves on from it like nothing happened. But it scares the absolute shit out of Harry every time.

When he enters the kitchen, he sees Alani standing next to the counter. As soon as he’s in her line of vision she starts pointing to the box of cinnamon toast crunch. “Daddy, this?” with pleading eyes. Harry just laughs. He doesn’t let her eat those than often for breakfast, because of how sweet they are, choosing to fix something on the healthier side for them to eat instead. But today he figured it wouldn’t hurt to let her have a little bowl of it before the day starts.

He goes over to the little girl who is still aggressively pointing at the box of cereal, ending down to pick her up. “Alright, alright. Hold you’re horses, will you?” He coos softly. He gently sits her down on at the kitchen table before returning back over to the counter. He opens the cabinet, pulling out a small bowl. When he’s finished making her cereal, he grabs her one of her baby spoons before serving it to her. “Thank you!” she says loudly. “You’re welcome, princess.” he chuckles.

Harry doesn’t like cinnamon toast crunch, it’s way to sweet for him. He decides he’ll just pop a bagel in the toaster and call it a day.

* * *

Once they’ve finished breakfast, they got completely ready for the day, and we’re soon ready to head out. Harry turns around to look at his daughter. She’s dressed in a denim dress, with a white t-shirt underneath, and white tennis shoes. Her hair’s brushed up into two sleek pigtails, which he’d become a pro at over the past couple years. Harry decided on a white t-shirt with a gray pair of pants. “Y’ready t’go, love?” he asked, feeling around his pockets to make sure he had everything. “Mhm!”

once they’re out to the car, Harry straps Alani into her car seat in the back, peppering kisses all over her tiny face once she’s all buckled in. “Daddy!” She squeals. Giggling, he closes the door, and goes around to the drivers side, getting in and powering the car on. “Alright, let’s roll.” he sighs, turning around to back out of the driveway.

They needed to stop at the grocery store, just to stock up on some things they needed around the house. So that’s where they were headed to now.

“Daddy, look! Red!” Alani exclaimed, pointing at the red car that was next to them. “Yes, that is red, baby, good job!” Harry beams. “Y’so smart.”

They continue driving toward their local grocery. Harry looks into his rear view mirror to check in Alani, and catches her staring at him. She’s always staring at him. It seems to be her favorite thing to do. He pulls the silliest face he could think of, causing her to burst into laughter. Harry laughs right along with her. Her laugh is so contagious. “Do it again!” She giggles. Harry happily obliges, pulling the goofy face once more, causing her angelic little laugh to engulf his ears.

After a little while of driving, they finally reached their destination, pulling into the grocery store parking lot. Alani watches her dad get out of the car, patiently waiting for him to make his way around to her side to get her out of the car. Soon enough, he does, taking her out of her cars seat and carrying her on his hip as the go into the store.

* * *

“Daddy, Daddy! Can I have that?” Alani asks loudly, pointing to something. “Shhh, you have to use your inside voice, darling.” Harry reminds her gently. He looks over to where she was pointing and not to his surprise, he sees a doll on the shelf. He’s grown to hate telling her no, but they didn’t come for toys, and she has more than enough at home already. “No, my love. Not today.” Her face immediately dropped. “But… but please?” She whines, her lip quivering. Harry hates that she’s disappointed but he knows he can’t give in. “No, baby. You don’t have to cry. Just not today, okay?” he says gently.

That doesn’t help, considering her whimpers are quickly turning into loud wails, and he knows the meltdown is coming. “Lani, it’s okay. You have plenty of toys at home to play with.” he try’s to reason but it doesn’t stop the tears that are slowly rolling down her face, and the loud, attention drawing cries. People were starting to look, and Harry was starting to get frustrated, but she was only 2. He knew she was still learning how to deal with her emotions. But when your kid is having a complete meltdown, and screaming in the middle of a store over a doll, that’s definitely a bit annoying.

Harry leans down to be face to face with her in her, who’s seated in the cart. “Alani, I know you’re upset, but you’re not going to scream.” He says softly, but slightly sternly. She looks at her dad, still crying but visibly calming down. Harry waits for her whines to die down completely before asking her “Are we okay now? Can we keep shopping?” to which she responds to with a nod.

After picking up just a few more essentials, they’re in line, waiting to check out. Harry looks down at Alani, realizing she’s been pretty silent ever since she stopped crying. He sees her with the all too familiar scowl on her face, with a pout of her lips. “Why are you looking so evil, bub?” Harry asked, with a gentle shake of his head. She doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t need to because he already knows she’s mad at him for refusing to buy her a doll.

He just rolls his eyes and try’s not to laugh. She really is something else. But he knows that she’s genuinely mad at him and him not taking her seriously will set her off again.

Eventually, they make their way up to the front of the line to check out, and soon enough their heading back out to the car. Harry looks at her, as he’s loading all the groceries into the trunk of his car to see that she still has the same mean look on her face. “Y’gonna stay mad at daddy all day, huh?” He teases her solely for his own enjoyment, knowing she’s much to busy trying to have an attitude to laugh at anything he says. She nods silently, still refusing to speak to him. Harry can’t help but laugh at that, knowing that wasn’t true in the slightest. “Y’have to learn t’take ‘no’ for an answer, baby love.” He sighs.

When they’re in the car in the way home, Harry looks at her in the mirror, pulling some silly faces like he was doing earlier. She sees him, and while she was still trying to hold her angry face, he can see the smile tugging at her lips. He doesn’t stop until her scowl is completely replaced by a smile, her beautiful laugh ringing through his ears, making his heart flutter with joy.

“Ahhh, I thought you were mad!” Harry laughs, causing her to laugh along with him, knowing she failed her attempt at holding a grudge on him. “Are we gonna be friends again?” Harry asks jokingly. “Yeah, we’re friends again!” Alani states matter of factly, causing Harry to chuckle.

This child really was a little piece of work, but he loves her nonetheless.

“Good.”

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stuckwith-harry · 3 years ago

Text

cried out to you alone

“It becomes a part of who you are”, Harry says, some sort of clarity coming to him. “Death, I mean. Grief. It doesn’t have to swallow you whole, but there is a little bit of it in every part of you.”

Impossible, is the only thing Harry can stand to think. That there is still sunlight in the world after everything.

Still, it pours out over the Burrow’s kitchen table in bright, luminous yellow, warming the veined wood. Harry and the Weasleys watch it creep over the tabletop, sitting elbow-to-elbow. Molly and Arthur are touching shoulders and brushing through hair as they pass around steaming mugs of tea, as they pour milk and stir in spoonfuls of sugar, the bags under their eyes swollen and purple like figs.

When Harry tries to open his mouth, to offer help, Molly quickly shakes her head at him; pleading. Like she wouldn’t know what else to do with herself.

So Harry stays, cramped between George and Ginny, and lets her place her palm on his back as she places his tea in front of him. Through the open window, a sweet-smelling breeze comes pouring in, the smell of warm soil and flowers and summer rapidly approaching, which seems impossible, too.

Tomorrow morning, they’re going to get out of bed and make breakfast. They’re going to feed the chicken in the yard, do the dishes and read the newspaper. Still, the sun is going to come up.

For a moment, he catches Ron’s gaze; Ron, whose face is oddly contorted and whose eyes are glassy and bright red. Harry can’t bear the sight of it: he stares at the old mug in his hands, examining the faded red dots, hand-painted. Anything that soothes.

Poppies, he realises. On the inside, near a chip at the rim, he can make out the small letters spelling out Ottery St. Catchpole, and below that, half-drowning in sweet tea: Flea Market, 1988.

A memory, then. One he wasn’t a part of, but one he can envision, anyway, the bright red summer day, the bustling and shuffling of the little village, the shrieking of children, strawberry ice cream rapidly melting and dripping on bare knees; a younger, happier Ron –

The scraping of a chair yanks him back, as Ginny abruptly gets to her feet and walks out without a word. No one tries to stop her, and the small, pathetic sound of her bedroom door closing from atop the stairs sounds down to them as though she slammed it.

After that, only silence. No pots stir in the kitchen sink, no footsteps thunder from several floors above, and no chatter, no yelling, no laughter holds the walls of the house together. No explosions sound from the twins’ room.

Death is an awfully quiet affair.

One by one, as the stripes on the tabletop grow long and orange, the Weasleys crawl into their hiding places. Harry knows he’s intruding, so he wanders outside, following the soft clucking of the chicken pecking away at the dirt behind their wooden fence, the only things alive and making a sound.

The solitude is a relief: he has never wished to flee the walls of the Burrow so desperately, only stayed long enough to change out of the black funeral robes and into an old Quidditch jumper. Then he pushed Ron’s bedroom door open far enough to slip out and disappear, and mercifully, Ron didn’t try to stop him, either.

The jumper is Ron’s, technically. It feels like being held, Gryffindor red and worn and entirely too large for Harry. Somehow that only makes him feel worse.

The Weasleys did not hesitate to take him home with them after the battle, because that was their way. They put up the old camp bed in Ron’s violently orange bedroom like they always had, and Ron silently handed him a pile of hand-me-downs so Harry would have something to wear other than the clothes that still reeked of the tent, of sweat and of blood.

Harry props his elbows up on the weathered fence and buries his face in the soft sleeves, breathing deeply. For a while, he simply listens as the hens, who do not know or care about anything, cluck away happily, as the urge to slip under the invisibility cloak, to disappear and never make a sound again, keeps on rushing over him.

“Hi.”

His heart jumps painfully into his throat at the quiet greeting and the sound of footsteps on dry grass that preceded it, and when he turns around to face it, he’s looking at Ginny. She’s changed out of her black dress robes, too, back into worn-out denim dungarees and a striped t-shirt. Scarlet and yellow. Her hair has come out of the braid from earlier and falls wildly to her collarbones again, no longer to her belly button, like it used to.

“I couldn’t stand the silence anymore”, she says, voice oddly throaty.

Harry wants to say, you don’t have to explain, but before he can, she pushes out: “And then I was in my room and it was just as fucking quiet, and I just – I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

She looks older, Harry thinks wildly. He hasn’t let himself look at her, not really, doesn’t even know why, just that he’s been avoiding her most of all. Ever since May 2nd, the quiet between them has stretched and stretched over miles and oceans and continents of wasteland. Harry knows it’s his fault, that he should say something, but he has no words, no words at all.

The first morning after the battle, when he came stumbling into the common room and found her there, they just held each other, and he had no words then, either. There was sunlight there, too, he remembers suddenly, poking through the shattered windows and lighting up every particle of dust floating around the empty room.

“Can we go somewhere else?”, she asks, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Anywhere else?”

Harry nods, mouth dry. For a moment, her eyes seem to linger on him, but then she turns away without another word, and he follows her lead without question or objection. They don’t speak again until they reach the old broomshed, and Ginny suddenly turns to look at him again, face unreadable.

“Any chance you wanna go for a fly?”

“Wh-What?”

She shrugs. “Do you?”

It’s a strange time capsule, the shed. Ginny pushes the wooden door open and sends flurries of dust into the air, catching sunlight; Harry, who is standing behind her, catches a glimpse of Arthur’s old Muggle trinkets and the old brooms lined up against the wall. Ron and Ginny’s are closest to the door; the twins’ brooms are up on a shelf opposite the square window.

For a moment, Ginny is perfectly still, and Harry knows she is looking at them, too. Then she reaches for her broom and silently pushes past him. Harry grabs Ron’s and closes the door of the shed behind him, and together they wander away from the Burrow, over the hills that surround it, where wild poppies are peeking through the unkempt grass and weeds.

Harry thinks he knows where she’s going: their makeshift Quidditch pitch hidden between gnarly old trees from summers long lost, where they used to chuck apples and tennis balls at each other, during all those afternoons spent playing Quidditch two against two.

Tall, sweet-smelling yarrow brushes along their bare shins as they walk, and pink clover, the soft heads bending back to the earth under the weight of bumblebees passing by, thick dandelion leaves spread all across the ground amidst the weeds; and everywhere poppies, peeking through the tall grass, the paper-thin petals fluttering in the breeze.

Tucked behind another hill, Harry remembers, a few minutes on foot further north, is the lake where they whiled away happier summer afternoons than this. The image comes to his mind in bright, sunny colours, Ginny’s wide, toothy grin as she sneaks up on Ron, the thundering splash and Hermione’s piercing shriek, and Ron, emerging, spluttering and yelling, his sopping hair plastered to his face.

But that was centuries ago, and their full-bellied laughter seems miles and countries away already. Here, only silence. Harry wants to ask, are you okay?, or say, it’s going to be alright, but what good would it do?

The poppies are early: they’re not supposed to bloom for another month. There’s no end to them, no matter how far they walk, a sea of red stretching out all over the soft hills. Harry can’t tear his eyes away until the first beech trees they used to climb, black pines and yews throw cool shadows over their heads.

Strange, that it looks the same. The leaves up above their heads rustle softly as they mount their brooms, and Ginny shoots into the air, a quiet cannon. For the better part of an hour, they zoom in circles through the rapidly cooling air, chucking an old Quaffle back and forth at each other. Ginny’s throws are hard and unrelenting: they’re not keeping score, but she’s playing like it’s the last game of the season, like the House Cup depends on it, so Harry lets her exhaust herself. By the time they sink back to the ground, the sky over the meadow is dotted in shades of pink and red.

Ginny hits the ground with such force her knees buckle under the impact and hit the dry grass. Harry gasps, but she is already getting up again, brushing off the dirt without comment.

They find a spot at the outer edge of the pitch and slump into the tall grass with their backs leaning against an oak tree, where they can see the sunset falling on the soft hills and the Burrow in the distance, bright red like poppies. Ginny’s hands are uselessly holding her ribs, her warm eyes staring off into nothing.

“Feel any better?”, Harry asks after a while.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

She shifts next to him, tucking her scraped knees to her chest. They look like she’s spent all summer climbing trees and rolling down the grassy hills around the Burrow and crashing her broomstick into her brothers in a spectacular grab for the Quaffle.

“At least I feel a little less like I was buried with him”, she mutters.

I’m sorry, Harry wants to say, but that seems useless, too.

“I wanted to leave, too”, he says finally. “It was so quiet in there.”

“I hate it”, Ginny says softly. “It doesn’t feel anything like home when it’s like this.”

“I’m sorry”, he says despite himself, for what feels like the thousandth time since everything. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Ginny's brows furrow slightly, as if to say, yes, you should. “If you weren’t, I’d still be shut up in my room right now. Going mad, probably.”

After a short pause, she adds: “I wouldn’t know who to talk to.”

It strikes Harry like lightning: she was looking for him.

She looks over at him as though searching for something. Her brown eyes glow golden in the warm light, like honey, her whole face painted in reds and oranges and pinks.

“How do you do it?”, she asks finally, voice quiet, but steady, as the soft breeze continues to rush through the trees. “How do you lose everyone you’ve lost – and go on living? How do you live with the dead?”

Harry looks at her, the way she sits cross-legged and hunched over in the grass next to him, arms hugged to herself, and it sinks in, what she’s searching for, what she’s asking of him.

“It’s not the same”, he says softly.

She scoffs quietly. “How is that not the same?”

Harry looks around their hiding place. Maybe it’s the creaking of old branches around them, almost a murmur, the smell of the trees, that brings them back: his parents in the Forbidden Forest, walking towards him, Sirius’ bright grin, Dumbledore at King’s Cross Station.

The thought of them cuts through him, every beat of his heart sharp and stinging as they remain dead and he does not.

“Your speech”, he says finally, and watches her jaw clench. “I couldn’t have said anything like that about my parents – or Sirius …”

“I can’t believe I wrote him a fucking eulogy”, Ginny mutters, staring at the weeds to her feet, the patches of moss creeping across the earth under the wild, entangled grass. “It makes it feel so fucking final.”

“You did really well”, Harry says. “It was beautiful.”

She merely shrugs, and he doesn’t blame her.

“I’m glad I got to say something, I think”, she says after another stretch of silence. “But, Merlin, he was walking and talking and making jokes just a week ago, and now he’s six feet underground and I’ve written a double-sided page on how sorely he’ll be missed.”

She wipes her nose on the back of her sleeve.

“Up until today, I really thought he might jump up and laugh it off and make fun of us for falling for it.”

You made it feel like that today, he wants to say, but doesn’t.

“I’m so sorry, Ginny.”

She read it out with a completely steady voice, both fists clutching the slip of paper in her hand. She did not bother to find a silver lining this time, or to look for meaning at all; but every word seemed to bring Fred back to life a little, even earning a few teary chuckles from the other Weasleys. Every anecdote and every prank she recounted was a testament to the fact that Fred Weasley had been alive, that he had mattered, that he had left an impact on her, on all of them.

“You know my Mum had brothers”, Ginny says suddenly, looking over at Harry’s hands. “Fabian and Gideon Prewett.”

She points, and Harry realises what she’s really looking at: Fabian Prewett’s battered old watch on his arm.

“They died in the first war. Bill, Charlie and Percy say they remember them a little, but the rest of us just grew up hearing stories.”

She picks at the shallow wound on her knee, where droplets of bright red blood have pushed to the surface through the cracks in her freckled skin. “It’s why Fred and George are named after them. A little bit, anyway – you know, Fred and George … Fabian and Gideon … Mum was pregnant when they died.”

Harry swallows. “I didn’t know.”

Ginny smiles sadly. “I liked the idea that they got to live on in the twins a little. I never thought to ask Fred and George how they felt about it, actually. I can’t imagine … how Mum feels.”

Harry watches her wrap her arms around her legs, watches the strawberry blond hairs on her shins stand on end as the air cools around them. She looks tired, but her eyes are dry.

“I never made that connection”, he says softly.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you”, she says. “It seemed important.”

Even over the rustling of the trees, the chirping and creaking all around them, he can hear her clearly, her voice steady, unwavering.

“Do you miss him?”

“Yes.”

She looks around at him. “Do you not miss your parents?”

“I don’t know how”, Harry mutters. “Your speech … it was full of memories.”

She doesn’t respond, understanding silently. Then: “What about Sirius?”

Harry shrugs. “He never really got to be my godfather, did he? Not the way he was supposed to, anyway … there wasn’t time. And I don’t remember when my parents were alive – I’ve never known anything else.”

He looks at her, the way she’s quietly watching. “I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you were hoping to hear.”

Ginny dismisses it with a half-hearted gesture, lost in thoughts somewhere else.

“Do you think grieving someone is the same thing as missing them, then?”

“No … do you?”

She seems to consider it for a moment, then shakes her head.

“I just – I just want to talk to him and tell him what’s going on, and I think about how long it’s been since I’ve talked to him and how much I wish he were here and how I’m not gonna get to talk to him –”

She pauses mid-sentence, as though looking for words, and doesn’t find any.

“And then I think about the fact that he’s dead. That his life is over. And that I helped bury him today. And they’re both – awful, but it’s different, I guess.”

Harry nods, more to himself than to Ginny this time.

“And now, I just – I need to know what to do. So it doesn’t swallow me whole.”

Harry is still watching them walk towards him before his inner eye, his parents in the Forbidden Forest, his mother’s hungry face.

“I forget, sometimes”, he says. “For a moment, I think I forget they’re gone. Or I’m – I don’t know, distracted, and I’m not thinking about it – it slips away, and then it hits me again.”

Ginny’s teeth dig into her bottom lip. “I … honestly can’t fathom it right now.”

Harry looks over at her, the way she sits next to him, curled into herself, her hands still uselessly holding her ribs. Like it is physically hurting her.

“I dunno. Maybe forgetting is the wrong word. But when it happens, it always feels like it’s happening to someone else, like I am someone else.”

Ginny watches him intently as he stumbles to the end of his sentence: it feels pathetic already, having said it out loud like that.

“Like you are who you would’ve been if they hadn’t died?”, she asks, in that quietly remarkable way of hers, where she doesn’t treat him like something delicate, but she doesn’t ask for more than he can give, either.

“Yeah, I reckon. But I don’t recognise him at all.”

Ginny hums in understanding. She leans back against the bark of the tree and pulls her knees to herself again. “You would’ve been happier, anyway.”

Harry turns away at that, suddenly not trusting himself to speak.

“I know it doesn’t make sense or anything –”

“No, it does, Harry.”

“I mean, I know they couldn’t have lived. Everything would have to be different. We probably wouldn’t be here.”

Ginny sits in silence for a while.

“Do you ever wonder?”, she asks finally. “What you would’ve been like?”

“I guess … more like them. In ways I can recognise, anyway.”

He gestures helplessly at nothing, and Ginny takes that as a sign to push no further.

“I don’t recognise Ginny a week ago, either”, he hears her say, and the muffled sound of her voice tells him she’s wiping her nose on her sleeve again. “Every time something terrible happened, I guess I didn’t. It’s like remembering an old friend. One whose address you lost or something.”

“Cheery”, Ginny says in a hollow voice.

“It gets less all-consuming”, he says softly.

“Good”, she mutters. “Right now it’s pretty fucking all-consuming. It’s there when I wake up in the morning, and it’s – in my tea, and on all my clothes, and it’s in everyone I talk to and everything I say.”

Harry stares at the sky overhead, the red rapidly paling. Still, there is that whispering in the treetops, the feeling of being transported back into the Forbidden Forest. Still, his parents, reaching out for him.

“I’m sorry”, he says truthfully. “That’s all I’ve got.”

Ginny shakes her head. “It’s all I needed.”

He watches her tug at a poppy near her feet, struck by how long he’s managed to stay away from her, when her company is so comforting. The resolution comes to him all on its own, that he’s going to tell her everything. The Forbidden Forest. King’s Cross Station.

“Do you want to head back yet?”

Ginny looks at him, and she seems calmer somehow. For the first time since they got here, she doesn’t seem to be searching for anything – just looking.

“In a little while”, she says.

Harry looks back at her, really looks at her, and for a long time, neither of them speak, having arrived at some quiet understanding. Still, there’s a murmur in the trees around them, but they pay it no mind, and they don’t turn to look.

#i never posted it in obnoxious long text post form so :-)#here we are.#hinny #hp #fanfiction #cried out

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duskholland · 4 years ago

Text

The Fame Game (Part Nine) - Tom Holland

Summary ↠ Breaking up is hard. But breaking up with your fake boyfriend, with whom you’ve fallen irrevocably and painfully in love with? It’s almost impossible.

Warnings ↠ Angst, Y/N’s being stubborn but can we blame her? Cursing and crying. All the good stuff.

Word count ↠ 5.2k

A/N ↠ This part? Emotional rollercoaster and a half. We’re almost at the end of the story, though! :((( Only part ten and the epilogue to go, and I am not okay. Crazy crazy crazy. Anyway, buckle in and enjoy part nine :)

NINE: Expiration Date (Y)

It’s raining in London. Tracks of grey, miserable water stream down the dirty window, obscuring the view of the city beyond. Your fingers are cold as you hold a mug of stale tea, the liquid pale and long-past its best. You’d poured it an hour ago, intending to throw it back and pull yourself out of your stupor, but you’d failed.

Today is the end of your relationship with Tom - the expiration date, as your team likes to call it. In a move of obscene pathetic fallacy, the weather curled across London seems to emanate your innermost thoughts. It’s cloudy and grey, darkness settled across the sky. In the distance, the clouds grow blacker, and a part of you wonders if it’ll thunder later.

You feel a tear slip from one of your eyes, and the warm line traces down your cheek as you sniffle. With slow movements, you finally put down the mug, crossing your arms over your chest as you continue to stare out of the window, vacantly. You’re in your London flat, your belongings in boxes around you. With the conclusion of a final filming project comes the end of your lease, and when you leave London tonight on a plane, you leave behind your flat, your job, and your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend.

Your fake boyfriend, who sometimes acts like your real boyfriend, but has made it all too clear that he is only, only, only your fake boyfriend.

A scowl springs out across your face, and your fingers curl into fists at your sides.

You thought you’d been hurt by Tom before. For years, you’ve felt anger towards him - resentment, irritation, burning frustration. You’ve cursed him out on countless occasions, publicly denounced him, and watched on as he’s returned every move you’ve made against him with equal ferocity. At almost every given opportunity, Tom has launched blow after blow at you, but you’d taken it. You had accepted that that was just your relationship - that sometimes two people don’t get along, and sometimes they thrive off irritating the other. His insults didn’t touch you - not really, not like this. They’d riled you up and they’d made you seethe, but they were just insults - just empty, irritating insults, which you’d returned with a smile on your face. But now…

For the first time, Tom Holland has actually broken your heart.

It’s painful when you think about him, as you cast your mind back to your last day together. You’d been so excited, so hopeful, when you’d turned up at his place in LA, and as he’d laid you down and you’d held one another, you’d felt the love you have for him grow. Each time he’d kissed you, you felt your love deepen. Each pass of his hands over your skin made your heart race, your mind shake. You’d been waiting on the right time to open your mouth, say the three golden words, and then propose giving your relationship a real shot, only for Tom to jump the gun and tell you that he, in fact, loved you.

To have Tom stand opposite you and tell you that he loves you - only to immediately follow it up with a retraction - has shattered you. You can’t stop thinking about the moment that you’d let yourself believe, for one brief, shocking second, that Tom reciprocated your love - that Tom had softened out, and grown to love you, too. His words had knocked you off-guard, but fuck, if they weren’t the sweetest three words you’d ever heard. You’d been fully prepared to drop everything and jump into his arms, only for him to add--

“No… Wait, no.”

You are upset. You are so fucking angry. You are a whirlwind of tears and clenched fists and stiff jaws. The more you contemplate it, the hollower you feel. You have never known heartbreak as pronounced as this.

You hate the power that you’ve given Tom. Hate that you’d walked straight into this, eyes open. You can’t even blame it on blind infatuation, because you’d been aware at every moment how dangerous your budding feelings were, just you’d chosen to ignore the warning signals, too distracted by Tom’s easy smile and his kisses. You hate that you let him break your heart, hate that he’s emerged from this unscathed when you feel the weakest you’ve ever been.

But above all, you hate that you don’t hate him. It would be so easy to slip back into old habits, to return to that blind, festering hatred that used to roar through your veins at the mere mention of his name. You can’t return to that, and every time you try to drum up some anger towards Tom, you’re instead reminded of how nice, and funny, and sweet he can be.

You release a shaky breath. It’s your expiration date, today. All that’s left of your relationship is a visit to Tom’s house to collect your things, and a few pap photographs of you leaving his place, in pieces. There’s no doubt in your mind that the paparazzi will find it convincing: you’ve been a mess for days, your tears will be real. You’re full of apprehension and rattled nerves about seeing him again, about walking back into his house knowing it’ll be the last time and having to act like he hasn’t reached into your chest and ripped out your heart.

You are an actor, to your core, but your role within this relationship has been your hardest performance to date - and you have the sinking suspicion that not even you can pull off the denouement.

The paparazzi are already outside Tom’s as you walk down his front path, raindrops bouncing off your jacket. The flashes from their cameras illuminate the garden, and your eyes hurt as the light glints off the collection of small garden gnomes Harrison and Tom keep in front of their house. You’re quick to drum your knuckles on the front door, tugging on the chords of your hood and trying to shy away from the yelling journalists.

After what feels an eternity, the door is opened. Tom stares out at you, eyes widening as he takes in the pouring rain.

“Shit, it’s wet today, isn’t it?” He mutters, quickly moving aside. You hurry into the house, sighing contentedly as the warmth envelops you. You kick off your shoes, but your fingers are frozen solid and you can’t quite tug the zip of your coat. “Do you need help?”

You glance up, seeing Tom eyeing your shivering fingers as you try and fail to release the slippery zip. “Yeah,” you mutter, quickly glancing away. It’s not your intention to stay long, but you’re not so inconsiderate that you’d traipse through Tom’s entire house in a dripping jacket.

You stay very still as Tom steps forward, one of his hands holding the bottom of your jacket as the other goes up to the zip. His tongue slips out between his teeth, and a deep crease appears between his eyebrows as he grasps the zip and carefully tugs it down. A smile splits over his face, and you sigh as the coat releases.

“There you go.” Tom doesn’t stop there, though. He goes so far as to help you wiggle out of the jacket, and even hangs it up on the peg for you. The same peg you’d used when you’d stayed with him a few months ago. Your peg. “So.” Tom rocks back on his feet, looking at you through narrowed eyes. “Why haven’t you been answering my texts?”

You clear your throat, crossing your arms over your chest. “What?”

“Y/N.” Tom steps a little closer, his eyes wide with hurt. “My calls, too. I really needed to talk to you.”

“Sorry,” you fib. You’re not sorry, not even one bit. Every time you’d watched your phone go through to answerphone, you’d felt a little stronger. “I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Oh, you know. Stuff.”

Tom frowns at you. “Well, I needed to talk to you.”

“Yeah, you said that.” You clear your throat, shaking out your arms as you try to lighten the air between you. You hadn’t meant to come into your last encounter with Tom with so much hostility on your shoulders, but being so close to him again makes your chest ache. “Sorry,” you mutter. “What did you want to talk about?”

Tom nods his head. “Well, it’s… It’s complicated.” Now he’s hesitant, with reluctance clinging to his features. You feel irritation stir inside as you watch him fluster. All you want to do is get this over and done with, so you can leave his house before you start crying again. You don’t want to drag this out.

“Well, can we talk about it as I pack my things?” You ask, your voice clipping a little at the edges.

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” Tom moves out of the way, letting you into the main body of the house. “What do they want us to do, again?”

You bite your lip as you see the photograph that hangs from the wall in the hallway. It’s new, and it shows you, Harrison and Tom, laying out together on one of their sofas. You remember the night well: Harry had taken the picture, teased Tom for the way he’d got you wrapped up in his arms and refused to let go for the duration of the scary film you were all watching. On your other side is Harrison, glaring at you and Tom, mock outrage on his face. It was a good night - near the end of your trip to London, back when things were better.

“Did they send you a box?” You say, voice vacant. You can’t stop looking at the photo, at the way Tom has his face buried in your neck. You look so happy. “They want me to put all my stuff in a box. Apparently, paps just need to see me leaving with all of my things, and then they’ll get the picture.”

“Pretty simple, then?” Tom drops down to his knees, beginning to rummage in the cupboard under the stairs until he procures a big red box. “This is the one they sent.” He passes it up to you. “Will that be big enough?”

“Yeah. I only have a few things here, I think.”

“Cool. Do you want to start upstairs?”

“Why not.”

You feel awkward as you slowly climb the staircase. The air between you is unsettled, and you can tell Tom’s hurt that you’re clearly less than enthused to be here. Part of you wants to soothe him, but the other part wants to run, run, run.

“Harrison not here?” You ask as you walk past his empty bedroom. You enter their spare room, which you’d been crashing in back when you’d stayed, and quickly start pulling out the odd book and bottle you’d left. Management had instructed you to leave a few things back when you’d left, and now you understand why.

“Nah, Liverpool,” Tom says. “It’s just me.” He sits on the edge of the bed, watching as you quickly pile everything into your box. “Look, Y/N, can we please talk?”

“I’m listening.”

“No, no.” Tom stands up, and you freeze as he reaches out for your arm. The second his warm fingers touch your skin, a lump comes to your throat. “I need to- we need to talk.” You stay completely still, closing your eyes as you feel him slide his hand up your arm. His palm rests on your shoulder, weighted and familiar, and the contact makes your heart pang.

“What do you want to talk about, Tom?” You ask, voice hoarse. You keep your eyes shut. The scent of his cologne is so familiar it brings back the tightness in your chest. You aren’t sure if you’re so upset because this is the last time you’ll be together, or if it has more to do with the fact that you can’t look at Tom without being reminded that he doesn’t love you.

“Come and sit down. I can make tea.”

You suck in a deep breath. “You know that I’m walking out of your house in ten minutes and probably never coming back again, yeah?” You mutter. “What’s so important that it deserves a cup of tea?”

Tom only chuckles, not seeming to mind the bitterness of your voice. “I’ll tell you. Over tea.” He squeezes your shoulder, and you finally open your eyes. Your vision swims with tears, but if he notices it, he doesn’t comment on it. “You can pack your stuff up here, and I’ll meet you in the living room. Okay?”

You nod. “Alright.”

You try to delay your conversation for as long as possible, which takes you on a short trip into Tom’s bedroom. In your defence, you don’t mean to snoop - you did, in fact, leave your favourite book on his desk - but you do also take the opportunity to have a little look around.

On Tom’s windowsill is a line of very dead plants, their leaves shrivelled and broken. You roll your eyes as you peer into the empty watering can, chuckling softly. Typical. On his desk is a pile of scripts, dog-eared and stained with the round marks of spilt tea, and crumpled clothes hang everywhere, shoved over various armrests and laying in heaps on the floor. Tom’s entire room is organised chaos.

What catches your eye, though, is the large shelf hammered into the wall. You’ve been in Tom’s room before, hell, you’d spent your last night in London in his bed, but you’d never taken the time to look up and examine this shelf. Settled in the middle of it, gathering dust, is Tom’s BAFTA. You sigh, and instinctively, you reach up and take it.

It’s heavy in your hands. You’ve felt it before, but you’d forgotten the weight of the blue glass trophy. When you’d last touched it, it’d been on the night of the show, and Tom had thrust it into your hands mockingly, making some flippant comment about it being a mark of his success. You’d immediately tossed it back at him, almost dropping it in the process, and shut him down with a snide remark.

Now, you run your thumbs over the award. The curves are smooth beneath your fingertips. You blink a few times, and two tears splash out onto the thing. As you rub them away, you take a deep, shuddering breath.

Pull yourself together, Y/N.

You swallow, and when you release a deep exhalation, you feel steadier. The award goes back to the shelf, and you pick up your box. Just ten more minutes. One conversation, one cup of tea, and ten more minutes. Then you can leave him behind.

How much can change in ten minutes, anyway?

There’s something melancholic about the way you find yourself sitting on Tom’s sofa, facing him again. You’re in the same position that you were in back when you’d customised your shoes together, before everything had gone to shit: you, leaning up against one armrest, Tom against the other, both of you with your legs outstretched and meeting in the middle. Tessa has staked her claim sitting on your feet, and as you sip nervously at your tea, you keep your eyes on her.

“So.” Tom’s fidgeting. If he’s not drumming his fingers over the ceramic of his mug, he’s picking at the strap of his watch. “I need to talk to you.”

You wince a smile. “Yeah, you keep saying that.” You take a sip of your tea. It’s still hot, and it burns the tip of your tongue, but part of you wants to down the whole thing just so you can leave. Being so close to him makes your chest sting.

Tom takes a deep breath. “I said something really stupid the last time we were together. I was… I was just going to leave it, but then I realised that doing that would be even more stupid,” he starts. Immediately, you feel yourself bristle. You can’t have this conversation again.

“We don’t need to talk about it, Tom,” you mutter. “What’s the point? I’m leaving soon.”

“Which is exactly why we need to talk about it, love.” Tom’s eyes are wide, a hint of desperation swirling in them. He sets his tea down on the coffee table and sits up straighter. “I didn’t mean it.”

You sigh, rubbing at your forehead as you feel another stab of pain in your chest. He’s really twisting the knife, now.

“I know,” you remind him. “You’ve already told me that you didn’t mean it.”

“No, no.” Tom shakes his head, running a hand through his curls. “No.” He’s visibly anxious, but you’re too perplexed to consider offering him any comfort. “I mean… I said I didn’t love you. Well, I said I loved you, and then I took it back.”

You release a sound somewhere between a whimper and a groan, and it brings on a fresh set of tears. “Yes, I remember, Tom.”

“Well, I was wrong.”

Very slowly, you look up at him. You put down the tea and bring your knees to your chest, staring at him through hard eyes.

“What?” You say, voice dull.

“I was wrong. I shouldn’t have taken it back.” “Tom.” You’re exasperated and confused. “What are you trying to say?”

“I love you, Y/N. I’m in love with you.”

Your eyebrows pull together. “What?”

“I love you.” Tom’s lips quirk into a soft, warm smile. “And- And I know you probably don’t feel the same way, and you probably don’t want to hear it, but I had to tell you before you leave. You have to know how I actually feel.” He sits forward, and his foot nudges your knee. “I love you. I’m sorry for being a dick, I just… I panicked, I guess.”

Your brain feels like it’s running slow, wading miles behind the rest of you. You’ve spent so many days coming to terms with the fact that Tom doesn’t love you that the evidence for the contrary isn’t sinking in.

“What- but you said that you didn’t love me?” You puzzle.

“I was wrong.”

You look at him. You look at him long and hard. Your eyes dissect the soft smile on Tom’s lips, the eagerness in his eyes, and the blush on his cheeks.

You don’t believe him.

“How can you get something like that wrong?” You ask him, frazzled. “Tom, I- I don’t know if I can trust anything that you say.”

Tom raises an eyebrow. “So you want it to be true?”

“What? Shut up, this isn’t about me.” You have a lump in your throat. “Tom, this is- this is about you, not knowing how you feel.”

“But I do know how I feel. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you-”

“Stop.”

You can’t take it. With every repetition, it feels like Tom’s rubbing it in your face.

“Y/N?”

You stand up from the sofa, displacing Tessa who whimpers in response.

“You’re so cruel, Tom.”

Tom scrambles to his feet too, hopping as he regains his balance. He stands in front of you. “What? What do you mean?” His eyes are wide with hurt. “I’m being honest, Y/N. How is it cruel to love you?”

Tears form in your eyes.

“You don’t get to take it back. You… First, you said that you loved me. Do you… Do you know how happy that made me?” You screw your hands into fists, voice hoarse. “I thought, for a second, that you loved me. I really, really did. I thought that we could end this stupid thing and just be happy. But then, you turn around, and you take it back. You’re not allowed to take back a declaration of love, Tom. Do you know how- how crushing that was?”

“-But-”

“No, I’m talking.” The end of your nose tingles, and you reach up to brush the wetness from your cheeks. “You… You broke my heart, Tom. Because I-” You break off, and you meet his eyes. You speak directly to him. You finally bare your soul. “I love you, Tom. I fell in love with you, and so for you to turn around and take it back-” You break off, waving a hand through the air. “It broke my heart.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice is raw, and you watch as Tom rubs at his eyes. “I didn’t know, Y/N.”

“How am I supposed to believe you?” You look at the floor, vision blurry. “How am I supposed to believe that you aren’t going to turn around in two minutes and take it back again?” You rub at your arms. “Why do you get all of the power?”

Tom steps closer, but you just move away. “Y/N, please. I don’t want to hurt you. I would never, ever want to hurt you. I was confused, but I know now more than ever how I feel about you.”

“But you have hurt me, Tom,” you say, finally looking back at him. “Our entire relationship has been us hurting each other. Why should it be any different now?”

Tom clasps his hands together, his cheeks red and ruddy. “We both know it’s different now.”

“Is it?” You release a dim laugh. “Because I feel, just now, exactly as horrible as I used to feel when we’d argue, Tom. All we’ve ever done is hurt.”

“That’s the past.” Tom’s voice is picking up now, growing in strength. When he looks at you, you see his jaw flexing. “I’m sorry for the ways I’ve acted, Y/N, but I can’t change it now. All I can tell you is that you’ll be making a bad decision if you walk out of the door.”

“I have to.” It’s too much to process - too much to think about when Tom’s looking at you so desperately. This morning you’d woken up expecting an awkward visit and then a plane ride far, far away from him. This revelation upends all of that.

“No, you don’t.” Finally, you let Tom take your hands. He runs his thumbs over the back of your palms and you whimper. “Stay. Stay here with me. Fuck PR, fuck the paps. We can be together. We can love each other.” He smiles again, softly. “Let me love you. Please.”

It’s very tempting. As Tom holds your hands tightly and stares into your eyes, you want so desperately to cave. You want to throw yourself into his arms and tell him that you love him, that yes, yes, of course you’ll stay with him. But you think back to all the tears that you’ve shed, and you look at his face, and you’re reminded of the night at the BAFTAs when he’d thrust his polished trophy into your face and bragged about it. You think about all of the times he’s made moves against you and tried to trip you up. You think about your last day together, and how easily he’d retracted his statement.

How can he stand here in front of you, and ask you to forget about all of that so easily?

“I can’t.”

You step away from Tom and instead grab your big red box. You walk quickly into the hallway, your eyes full of hot tears. He follows.

“Yes, you can.”

You sit on the stairs and start lacing up your shoes, staring at Tom angrily.

“I can’t.” Your fingers shake as you tie your laces. “I have a flight. I have a life in LA that I need to get back to. This was never part of the plan, Tom. You’re my fake boyfriend. You aren’t supposed to be my real boyfriend.”

“But you love me.” Tom’s blocking your way, his biceps bulging from his black t-shirt as he stands in front of you desperately. “You told me. You said that you love me, Y/N, and I’m telling you that I love you too.”

“Love isn’t always enough, Tom.” It hurts to look at him, to think about how easily and foolishly he’s handled your heart. “Let me go.”

“Love can be enough.” It’s his final attempt; you can see it in his eyes. “Don’t let us end like this, Y/N. Please.” He takes your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips. His mouth moves over your skin, dropping kisses to your cold skin.

You feel trapped. You know the car is waiting outside, and it’s all come on too fast, too soon.

“Tom,” you say. You pull your hand from his grasp. “Let me go.”

Tom steps aside. He finally slumps against the wall, pressing his head into his hands. “Is this what you really want?” His voice is raw, broken, and his eyes are red.

You tug your soaking jacket from the peg on the wall as you shrug haplessly. “You can’t drop these feelings on me ten minutes before I’m out the door and expect me to change my life for you.” You look at him. “It isn’t fair.”

“Fine.” Tom stands up straighter. “You should take off your hoodie, then. It’s mine. Wouldn’t be the best impression of the paparazzi to be seen wearing my clothes, would it?”

You drop your jacket to the floor and start shuffling out of the pink hoodie. It’s an oversized fit, and it comes off easily, but you chuckle bitterly. Tom’s taken everything from you - your heart, your sanity - even the very clothes from your back. What more could he possibly want to take?

“There.” You shove it into his hands and angrily pull on your coat. The sleeves are cold and damp against your skin, making you shiver. “Happy now?”

Tom looks down at the jumper. “No,” he says, voice soft. His eyes are round again, widening further as you reach for the front door. “Y/N, please.”

Your fingers linger on the doorknob, cold to touch. You hesitate. When you glance back at Tom, your resolve crumbles. As frustrated and bemused as you are, you love him. You love him, and he’s your best friend, and you’re leaving him.

“Tom,” you whimper. You step away from the door, dodging the box, and fold into his arms, crying with your face on his shoulder. Tom’s arms wrap around your back and he pulls you in tightly. “I’m sorry.” You aren’t sure what you’re apologising for - your departure, your broken heart, your tears staining his shirt. You just know you are so overcome with every emotion that it’s overflowing now, leaving your mouth in ugly sobs.

“Shh.” Tom rolls a hand over your back, patting in large circles. Your jacket crinkles at the action, and you think you can feel his chest shake. “It’s okay.”

You stay in his arms, your face buried in his neck until you stop crying. Even then, you feel clogged up and weakened. He’s so warm - his embrace strong, and comfortable. You feel protected, and when you step back, you feel your heart break again.

“I’m sorry, Tom.” You wipe at your eyes and pick up the red box. Tom’s face falls in response. “I just… I need time. I’m not- I’m not saying that we can never be together, I just… I can’t stay just now. It’s too fresh, I don’t...”

“It’s okay.” Tom steps forward. One of his hands goes to the doorknob, the other rests on your shoulder. He’s near to you - so near that you can see the flecks of pain in his eyes and the freckles on his face. His gaze flickers down to your lips. “I can wait.”

You lean in and kiss him, softly. His lips taste of salty peppermint.

“I… I’ll see you later.” You want to say it, want to tell him so desperately that you love him, but the words choke in the back of your throat.

Tom just smiles, the action not stretching to his eyes. He tilts his head towards the door. “Are you ready?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

Tom looks at the box in your hands and reaches up. He tugs up the hood of your jacket and tucks your hair into it carefully. “Safe flight, darling.”

“Thank you.”

He opens the door and steps aside, and then you’re on your own.

London Heathrow Terminal 5 is very empty. You’re sitting alone in the back corner of the waiting room, hood drawn around your face, sunglasses resting heavily over your nose. You haven’t been able to stop shaking since you left Tom’s house. Feeling numb through bag drop, security, and duty-free, it’s a miracle you’ve made it to your gate on time.

You close your eyes, and you see him. You open your eyes, and you expect to see him. He’s everywhere.

Is this what you really want..?

It plays on loop, lilted in his voice. Is this what you really want? To be sat alone, crying in Heathrow airport, when Tom is waiting back at home, finally willing to take you into his arms?

You sniff as you wipe at your eyes, furiously trying to stem the flow of tears. It had all happened so quickly; it felt almost unfair.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, and you’re grateful for the distraction.

Tom <3: Have a safe flight. I’m sorry for being such a dick. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I love you. I love you and I’ll wait for you. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to figure it out. I love you. Xxxxxxxxxx

You put the phone down, sucking in a deep breath. Your eyes fall to your feet. You notice, for the first time, that you’re wearing your special personalised Converse.

With shaking hands, you pull off your sunglasses and stare at your feet. The ink has run a little, obscured by the pouring London rain, but you can still make out some of the shapes Tom had drawn over them, all those weeks ago. A love heart, a flower, a couple holding hands. The lump in your throat grows bigger.

Is this what you really want..?

“Now boarding, Flight BA0269, London Heathrow to LAX. We now invite our platinum club to board.”

You sigh. You stand up and pull your backpack over your shoulders. You look back at your feet.

The love heart is wobbly and uneven, and you remember the look of concentration on Tom’s face as he’d tried his best to doodle over your shoes. The room had been so warm, back then. Just the two of you, together, finding comfort in one another’s company. It’d been simple, and you can remember looking up at him and feeling warmth for him in your heart.

Is this what you really want..?

No.

Your relationship has felt like a series of rash decisions lately, and you aren’t about to make the final, irreversible choice of leaving London. You can’t leave - not now, with the path finally clear. You can’t leave Tom, who’s finally told you how he feels. He’s messy, and complicated, and being around him makes you feel like your heart is on fire, but you love him. You love him, and maybe he’s right - maybe love is enough.

You know that you have come too far to throw it all away without giving him a chance.

You’ve never been a fan of bold, romantic gestures, but as they call your gate again, you turn off your phone and you turn around. You turn around, and you run. You run back to him.

↠ next part

#sob #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland #tom holland series #crying on main time #y/n #y/n use #self insert #self-insert #tfg #ahhhhHHHHH screaming truly #what am i gonna do with my fridays when im finished with this series!!#:((( anyways #please let me know what you're thinking :)))#almost didn't include the final scene in this part but :)) i thought it deserved to make the final cut

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watchmegetobsessed · 4 years ago

Text

VALERIE - Part V. (Harry Styles)

happy sunday loves!! part 5 is here, buckle up bc we are getting down to business here!! thank you so much for the nice feedbacks, it’s always so moving and inspiring to read your thoughts, so please keep them coming! even if it’s just some gibberish rambling, those are the best haha! now let’s jump right into part 5, we are heading into the christmas mood and im so excited for yall to read this part!! enjoy!

word count: 6.1k

SERIES MASTERPOST

masterlist

By the time November nears its end you officially become a couple with Marcus. It happens gradually, two more dates follow your first one, and then on the third one you agree to test the waters of the possibilities between the two of you exclusively.

Marcus is a great guy. He is funny, caring and smart, always listens to you and cares for even the smallest details about you when you’re talking. He is great company and never fails to make you feel appreciated and wanted. Exactly what you’ve been looking for in a guy, Rosa really hit the nail on the head this time.

You easily fall into a habit with him. Fridays are for date nights, sometimes you go for little trips outside the city on Sundays and he never misses a chance to send you flowers throughout the week. He is just the type of guy that’s always there to cheer you up with something whenever the days start to weigh down on your shoulders.

You even have dinner together with Rosa and Steven one Saturday evening, Rosa keeps giving you those ‘I told you so’ eyes whenever Marcus kisses you shortly or places his hand to your waist. You mostly just roll your eyes at her, not wanting to make a big deal out of the two of you, but Rosa knows how long you’ve been trying to find someone.

What’s a surprising turn is that you start seeing Harry more. Intentionally. You have no idea how it happens, but it does and you’re not mad about it. Some days you grab lunch together whenever he is in the neighborhood, some days you go shopping with him when his sister doesn’t have the time. Harry is a problematic shopper, he takes a long time to decide on clothes so usually you are the one that forces him to choose and finish before all shops close.

When he has had a rough week and you happened to call him for whatever reason, the two of you agree to meet up for drinks at his place, then end up playing UNO for hours, slowly emptying out two bottles of wine.

It’s starting to get harder to imagine what it was like when things weren’t like this with him. When you were getting anxiety from just the thought of seeing him or having to talk to him. It’s like the both of you are showing a different version of yourselves to each other and you have to admit you enjoy being friends with him.

He keeps his habit of teasing you and making jokes about you though, but you don’t mind it. He is not doing it in a mean way with the attempt to piss you off, but to make you laugh and start a playful war where you both throw insults at each other until one of you runs out of it and just starts laughing. You feel a kind of dynamic building between you and him that has a way better effect on you than the continuous killing you were doing before.

You can tell Rosa is thankful for the change as well. Whenever she sees you interact with Harry without making a grimace or have that face that screams how badly you want to hit him, she is relieved that she has one less thing to worry about and Valerie will have two amazing godparents who even like each other.

Christmas is always a big parade in your family. Your mom and your aunts always want to celebrate together so in the past few years it has become a tradition to rent a place out that has enough space for the whole extended family and spend three days there from the 23rd to the 25th. This year your dad found a huge cabin in the woods with ten bedrooms and seven bathrooms, just the perfect size for you all. It’s gonna be your parents, Rosa and Steven with Valerie, Aunt Monica, Aunt Teresa with Uncle Andrew, your cousin Etta, her husband Joe and their two kids, your other cousin Lily with her husband Jeremy and their daughter, and lastly you and Harry. Though your mom urged you to invite Marcus along as well, he could join you for longer than a dinner, since he was already set to fly home to his family.

“You sure he can’t stay for at least the first night?” you mom asks on the phone one evening. You’re stirring the sauce in the pan. holding the phone to your ear with your shoulder so you have both of your hands free.

“Yes, I’m sure. It’s fine, he can come for dinner and then leave later.”

“I get it, but it would have been fun if he stayed,” she sighs, clearly disappointed that she couldn’t change what’s already set. If you’re being honest you don’t mind that Marcus is not staying for the night. You haven’t been dating for that long, you feel like it would be a little uncomfortable to have him there the whole time. A dinner is perfectly fine as a starter, since he hasn’t met anyone else from your family other than Rosa and Steven.

“Anyway,” she sighs moving on, “Have you figured it out how you’re gonna get there?”

“I don’t know, I guess I’ll tag along with someone.”

“Well, I think you should ask Harry. Everyone else is pretty packed already. Rosa and Steven won’t have any extra space with Valerie this year.”

You nod, even though she can’t see you. These past years Rosa always offered you a ride for the holidays, but even when they brought her over for just one night their car was jam-packed. No way you’re gonna fit in there so you are left with Harry since Marcus can only come in the afternoon.

“Sure, I’ll ask him.”

You shoot him a text that day and he replies right away that you’re welcomed in his car, though he won’t be able to take you back since he is leaving early in the morning on the 25th since he is flying back to the UK to his family. It’s fine, you think, you’ll just probably just tag along with aunt Monica back to the city, she always gets her a car for these occasions. Though it’s not your ideal option, she is not the best partner for rides, because she is a fan of smoking in the car, but you don’t have much of a choice.

“I’ll call you when I leave, okay?” Marcus tells you on the morning of the 23rd. It’s early, barely seven, but he is up because he needs to work a little today and you are finishing up packing since Harry will be here in an hour to pick you up.

“Sure. Drive safe,” you huff sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at your suitcase that’s still not closed, clothes are sticking out on the side and you’re sure you’ll have to sit on it to pull the zipper.

“See you later,” Marcus says before you end the call.

It’s rather comical how you try to close the suitcase but you only care about the fact that you eventually succeed. Only minutes before eight you are packed and ready so when you get Harry’s text that he is outside you can leave right away.

Seeing you with your big suitcase he hops out of the car and rushes to help you.

“How long are you planning to stay, Y/N?” he chuckles lifting the bag up and you just shrug your shoulders with a smirk. You’ve alway been a heavy packer, no need to try to cover it up.

Harry throws your stuff into the back of the car as you take the passenger seat. His phone is hooked to the car, a playlist of his own playing gently through the speakers and you’re surprised to catch on the Christmas feeling in the songs.

“Are you in the spirit?” you ask when he gets into the car.

“Like to set the mood ahead,” he chuckles starting the car and off you go.

Ridiculous to think about it, but it’s actually the first time you sit in the same car with Harry or see him drive even. The way you two used to be was not quite ideal to have you locked up in such a small place as a car. But now you have nothing against spending the almost hour long drive with him.

“Can you pull out the navigation when I leave the highway? I’m not sure where exactly I need to head,” he asks you, eyes fixed on the road ahead of him and nodding you open the app on your phone so his can keep on playing the music without the voice of the navigation interrupting it.

“Excited to spend your first Christmas with us?” you ask. Though Harry was there at several family events, it’s his first Christmas since becoming Valerie’s godfather.

“I am,” he chuckles, nodding, hands gripping the wheel gently. He is a natural driver, easily working the car, the kind you feel completely safe next to. As Baby It’s Cold Outside comes on a smile stretches across your lips as you start gently bop your head to the song. “I’ve heard crazy stuff about Christmases at your family,” he adds glancing in your way for a second.

“Like what?”

“I remember when Steven told me about his first Christmas with your family. You remember that?”

Searching in your memories you tried to remember when was the first time Rosa brought Steven along. They dated for two years before they got married so it’s been about five years since then, but as you think hard the memory of that specific year pops into your head making you laugh as you nod.

“Oh, yes. The year Aunt Monica almost burned the Airbnb down,” you sigh grinning at the memory. She brought some special kind of cigars that year that were told to be curiosities from somewhere fancy, but they ended up the literal worst quality, flaming bits were falling out them all the time when she would smoke one, almost making the rug catch on fire wherever she went. Best thing is that she was already drunk on the liquor so she didn’t even notice, there was always a person on Aunt Monica duty, following her around, making sure nothing burnt down.

“Steven said he had a moment when he thought about bailing,” Harry tells you and you gasp, because that’s new information.

“Really?”

“Yeah, but like only for a split second after your dad walked in on him naked in the bathroom. That was kind of the last straw. Luckily Rosa could convince him to stay. Guess it all worked out at the end.” Harry smiles as he stares ahead of him.

You can’t imagine a version where Rosa and Steven don’t end up together. They met through a mutual friend not long after Rosa had a nasty breakup with her scumbag ex. Steven was there to put her back together and be her partner as she found herself again. The change and positive impact he had on her could be seen every day and you were so thankful to him for helping your sister find her way out of such a dark place in her life. It didn’t take them too long to start dating and he proposed a little more than a year later. You still remember how Rosa was screaming in the phone when she called you that evening telling you that Steven proposed. They are quite literally a match made in heaven. It’s been your goal in life to find this person in your life though you haven’t had much luck with men so far. Ironically, if you were in a room with every man you were ever involved with in any kind of way, Harry would be the only one you’d want to talk with. If you had to make this exact same choice just months ago you would have chosen to run out screaming.

“Maybe this year it’s your turn to get horrified from us,” you laugh, sinking down a little in your seat as you adjust the seat belt. You’re still quite far away from the cabin, you might as well make yourself comfortable.

“I think there’s not much that I haven’t witnessed yet. I was walked in on at the bathroom once too, but it was your cousin, Etta.”

“When did that happen?” you ask with a heartfelt laugh.

“I think it was last summer at one of your nieces’ birthday party. Luckily everything was already tucked away when she basically barged in.”

“She didn’t miss much,” you tease him with a smirk and your witty comment catches him by surprise.

“Are you saying my dick is not imposing enough to be worthy of peeking?” he asks with raised eyebrows and you’re happy he is driving. His intimidating look would already burn right into your skin by now, but he is forced to watch the road instead.

“I mean, if you want to put it that way…” you continue, but a laugh escapes your lips.

“Take that back, Y/N,” he orders, sneaking a hard look at you before turning back ahead, but you can see the small smile hiding on his lips.

“Or what?”

“Or you might find yourself in a war you don’t want to be involved in,” he warns you, but his words don’t quite have the effect on you he wanted. Because in a heartbeat you find yourself feeling… excited? Thrilled? Even curious about his means behind his words.

“Wouldn’t want to lie, so…” Pretending like you’re sorry you shrug your shoulders as Harry gives you a look that makes your stomach churn. Now either you are gonna have some fun teasing each other or… you just threw yourself into the arms of the Devil himself. Either way, you’re certain Harry won’t leave it in that.

Turning your head to your window you can’t keep your smile contained as you think of the fact that how big of a lie it was. Harry is surely not a guy who should ever worry about any aspect of his manhood. You’re talking from experience.

***

The cabin is absolutely gorgeous, just the perfect place for a cozy family holiday. Hidden from the busy roads with a secure gate and tall trees on both sides, the back of it is facing a majestic view of the valley and the evergreen covered hill in the distance. With an interior straight from the pages of a magazine, you need just a few moments to adjust to your surroundings upon arriving.

“I saved a nice room for you, Harry!” your mother gushes the moment she sees the two of you walk through the front door. You huff in annoyance.

“And what about me?”

Harry chuckles giving you a smug grin. “Guess you’re just second after me.”

“It’s his first Christmas with us, he deserves the better room,” your mom shushes at you, making your eyes roll instantly. It’s still hard to believe Harry has this kind of charm over most people.

After greeting everyone who is already there, your dad, Aunt Teresa and Etta with her family, your mom walks the two of you down one of the hallways that leads to several bedrooms. She stops at the last door with an excited grin on her face as she opens it revealing the bedroom behind it.

You instantly understand why she thought this is the best one. The view is absolutely breathtaking, the gentle noon light is flowing into the room through the floor to ceiling windows, the king sized bed facing them so when you wake up in the morning the first thing you see is the endless sea of evergreens on the side of the hill. Not to mention the room has its own bathroom, not many of the other rooms are blessed with that. There’s a spacious shower that has enough space for at least three people in there and it’s one of those fancy ones that can make you feel like you’re having a shower in the middle of a jungle, mood lights and bluetooth speakers attached to it.

“No fucking way Harry is getting this room!” you gasp as you look around, taking in the luxure your mother is willing to hand over to him.

“Jealous, much?” he smirks, throwing his sports bag to the bed already ruining the neatly made sheets. He does not deserve this.

“Mom!” you huff turning to her, but she has made her mind up already.

“Your room is nice too, don’t worry Honey. Let Harry have this one!”

“I really can’t believe you are taking his side,” you grumble under your breath, folding your arms on your chest as you take one last look at the stunning view.

“Come on, Y/N. He is a guest!”

“He is not! You said it yourself he is family now!” you retort and Harry just laughs behind you, so you shoot him a murderous look over your shoulder, that just fuels his entertainment.

“Don’t be silly. Your room is the second one on the right from here,” she smiles at you. “We are gonna take a walk around once everyone arrives, so get settled by then!” she informs you before walking out.

“Hey,” Harry’s soft voice makes you turn around. “You can have the room if you want.”

Your eyebrows rise at the kind gesture, it’s very not like him, even now in your friendly state, so it’s quite odd that he is willing to switch rooms with you.

“No need,” you shake your head grabbing the handle of your suitcase that you abandoned at the door.

“You sure? It doesn’t matter where I’m sleeping, really.”

“I’m not gonna deal with my mother’s scolding if she finds out I took your room, so you can totally stay.”

Harry chuckles as you head out, but stop at the door to have one last word with him. “Though I might occupy your bathroom, that shower looks nice.”

“All yours,” he grins before you walk out.

***

By 11 am everyone arrives and the once quiet cabin is now buzzing from life, children running around, Valerie’s babbling shoots through the spacious living area where Rosa set her crib up, your mother is already making preparations for dinner while most of the men are circled around the pool table having a beer since no one has to drive for the rest of the day.

“When is Marcus arriving?” Rosa asks, eyes on Valerie who is absolutely destroying something that once were an elephant maybe, but she’s been ruthless with the poor animal, chewing and throwing it around all the time, so it’s not just a grey, fuzzy mess.

“Sometime before dinner. He has some work to finish,” you tell her pulling your legs under yourself on the comfy couch.

“And explain again, why isn’t he staying for the night?” she turns to you with a puzzled look.

“Because he is going home to his family early in the morning tomorrow.”

“Okay, but he could have just left from here, didn’t he?”

“It’s… complicated. It’s better if he just goes back home tonight and then leaves from there in the morning.”

What you leave out of the whole explanation is that you didn’t really invite him to stay the night as well. Sounds horrible and ridiculous but you didn’t think you’d have felt comfortable with him staying. You’ve been dating for only barely more than a month and though things are going well, you felt like starting with just a dinner would be a better idea. Marcus didn’t question why you didn’t offer him to stay, it seemed like he was fine with just coming and then going after dinner.

Does this make you a bad girlfriend? Maybe, but you value your comfort and feelings more than to ruin your favorite holiday with your family.

Just as you mom said, once everyone is settled in their rooms for the upcoming three days, the whole gang dresses up to have a walk around taking the welcoming little path that runs around the cabin and is smooth enough for Valerie’s carriage as well. Your nieces and nephew are quick to surround Harry and nag him to join them at the front, exploring the woods surrounding the path. It seems like he doesn’t mind it and gladly takes part in the adventure, also secretly looking after them so their parents can have a break and enjoy the stroll in hopes the walk tires the kids out enough that they’ll willingly go to bed in the evening instead of whining to stay up late.

You’re walking with Etta next to you as she tells you about Hannah’s latest dance competition when you spot that Harry and Oliver, your nephew, Etta’s other kid are suspiciously whispering around pointing in your direction. At last Olly nods and runs up to you showing a quite thick piece of wood into your hand. You look down at him confused.

“Thank you?” you tell him a little unsure what it’s all about.

“I found it in a bush, I want to take it home. Harry said you’ll keep it for me because you have a good hand for thick and hard sticks.”

You almost choke on your own breath, as Olly just carelessly runs back ahead to join his sister. You immediately look over to Etta in fear that she heard what Harry told Oliver, but luckily she was talking with Joe turning back, not really paying attention to the conversation you just had with her son. If she did, Harry probably wouldn’t live by now.

Speaking of the devil, you look in his way and that annoying, smug grin is right there as he nods in your way saluting before he shows his hands into his pockets and turns back around to catch up with the kids.

That disgusting piece of shit really went into the depth of teaching something secretly dirty to your nephew as a way of payback for your comment in the car earlier. He surely wasn't just joking when he said you’d pay for what you said. And you have a feeling he is just getting started.

***

Aunt Monica is like a legend in your family. She is the oldest between your mom and her sisters, already in her sixties, but in the heart she still feels like she has just turned twenty. She never married, but had several men in her life, love affairs, short flings, but none of them lasted for more than a year.

“Why would I settle when there’s so many fish in the sea?” she once told you, her iconic Chanel sunglasses sat on her nose as she sipped on her martini.

She has worked many jobs throughout her life, she was once a dancer, she waited tables and even worked as a TV host at one point in the ‘80s. She was the true free spirit of the family, her sisters often questioned her sanity, but you think there’s nothing wrong with how she lived her life, enjoying it to the last bit. In the early ‘90s she was seeing a millionaire, probably the only man she would have given her lifestyle up for. Unfortunately, they never married, the man passed away due to his heart problems, however, since he had little to zero family he left basically everything to Aunt Monica. Money, house, cars, business, everything. Being the smart woman that she is, she handed over the business into professional hands but she is still the owner, so the money is still flowing even though she could have lived happily on the money she inherited without ever having to work a day.

She seems a little odd in your family, but she has always been a loving aunt to you, a caring sister and she never fails to take care of her loved ones. She is the one to pay for all these Christmas getaways, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to stay in places this nice.

“What’s all the money for if I don’t spend it on my family?” she always says when someone questions if she is fine with paying for everything. Your mom and Teresa have tried to convince her to let them at least pay for part of it but she wouldn’t even listen to them.

She likes to have her own, sometimes odd ways in life. She definitely has a drinking problem, but not in a dangerous way. You have never seen her completely wasted, she just likes to keep things buzzing and always have a drink on her whenever she needs the extra fun. Because of her past she has the greatest stories about meeting famous people back in the days or how soldiers used to try to win her over when she was just a teenager.

“Oh, those things happened,” your mom told you when one day you questioned if you could believe all the crazy stories Aunt Monica tells you. “She was like… the star of the show. Used to hate living in her shadow, but I can’t blame her for enjoying life and doing the things I was too afraid to do myself.”

Now you’re sitting in the sunroom that faces the amazing view behind the cabin, the Christmas tree is standing tall in the corner, beautifully decorated in white and beige. Valerie is snuggled up to your chest as you gently rub her back and you listen to Aunt Monica tell you about how a literal captain once proposed to her after just three days of knowing each other.

“He was a gentleman, but a beast in the bed, Y/N. I’m telling you, men in uniform are just a different level of satisfaction.”

She sighs deep, taking a sip from her margarita that’s definitely not her first drink, and you just laugh nodding.

“He was begging for me to go to Italy with him.”

“And why didn’t you?”

“Who said I didn’t?” she asks with a pretentious hurt look turning to you and you just laugh. You should have known the story would go this way. “I accepted the offer, only turned down his proposal when we sailed off and then we parted as soon as I stepped onto the land of Italy. Broke his heart into pieces, but I was too busy enjoying the Italian summer.”

Harry comes in and hands you a bottle filled with juice that probably Rosa sent for Valerie.

“Thank you,” you smile at him shortly as you adjust the little girl in your arms and hand her the bottle.

“Young boy, have you ever proposed to someone?” Aunt Monica asks Harry who stops in his way as he was already about to head out, but now he walks back to the sofa where she is sitting.

“No, not yet,” he shakes his head.

“And how do you think you would if the time came?”

You watch Harry think to himself at the odd and quite random question. It’s not really something you would have ever asked him, but now that there’s the chance to hear his answer you are listening curiously.

“Depends on the woman I’m proposing to,” he replies after a few seconds.

“How would you propose to Y/N?”

Your eyes widen as you turn to your aunt with shock all over your face. You definitely didn’t want yourself dragged into this.

“Aunt Monica, that’s--”

“Shush! I’m just asking theoretically. Wanna hear his answer.”

Harry’s eyes wander over to your sitting figure on the sofa as he leans onto the back of the one in front of him. You can feel the heat crawling up on your neck to your cheeks under his burning look and you just know he enjoys how nervous you got from this simple question that wasn’t even asked from you.

Licking his lips he moves his eyes from you over to Aunt Monica who is still waiting for his answer.

“Something romantic, but not too grandiose, I know she doesn’t like being in the center of the attention that much. Maybe…” Tapping on his chin you listen to his words and without even realizing you hold your breath. “Maybe on a hike with a nice view. She would be admiring the view when I get down on one knee and as she turns around I pop the lid on the box.”

What bugs you is that it’s an awfully accurate description of how you’d imagined your proposal. He was right about many aspects, like how you don’t like being in the center of attention. No idea how he nailed so easily, but he did.

Glancing down you pretend to be busy with Valerie who is still peacefully drinking her juice, eyes wandering around the room relentlessly.

“So you really look to satisfy her deepest fantasies, careful about even the smallest details. Women appreciate it,” Aunt Monica nods, completely oblivious to how uncomfortable she just made you feel.

“Thank you, I do like to satisfy women,” Harry cheekily answers with a smirk, eyes locking with yours for a moment as Aunt Monica lets out a laugh at the dirty comment. Before you could bite your tongue a retort slips out of your mouth.

“What a shame you don’t always succeed.”

Harry’s eyes turn from playful to dark pretty quickly and you enjoy the victory over him. Your comment in the car earlier already wounded his manhood, now it’s another stab right into his… crotch. It’s the least he deserves after what he taught poor Olly.

“That I don’t believe. He seems like an absolute pleaser.” Aunt Monica winks in Harry’s way who just smiles at her shyly, but you can tell your comment is still bugging him.

“I think Y/N knows that too herself, am I right?” He tilts his head to the side and you stand your ground with holding his gaze and not looking away.

“Don’t be so sure about that,” you simply say, just when you hear your mom calling out for you. “Would you take her please?” you innocently ask walking up to Harry, holding Valerie out for him. You can tell he is looking for a witty comeback, but he has nothing just yet, so he is stuck with keeping his mouth shut as he takes baby Valerie from you. You gift him with a sweet, but definitely spikey smile before leaving him there with Aunt Monica.

***

Dinner is already almost ready, you’re helping your mom and Aunt Teresa in the kitchen with the finishing touches, Joe and Harry packing out the wine bottles from the rack Jeremy brought them in, the two of them examining the bottles with such professionalism you almost believe they have the slightest idea about what to look for in a good wine.

“Should we open some red or white ones for tonight’s dinner?” Joe asks your mom who is the master chef when it comes to the dinner.

“Red would suit better,” she answers. “Are they sweet?”

“Some, yeah,” Harry nods holding up a bottle and checking the label.

“Great. Monica loves that too,” Teresa chuckles as she adds some salt to the mashed potato.

“And Y/N too,” Harry adds, not even looking up, but he successfully attracts your mom’s attention with his comment.

“She does?” Harry looks up and sees your boiling anger plastered all over your face, so of course he chooses to take it further.

“Oh, yeah. She can drink like a gallon. Wine drunk Y/N is like a whole different person.”

“I told you so many times not to get drunk, Y/N. It’s not too ladylike. When was the last time you saw her drunk?”

“There were plenty of occasions,” Harry exaggerates and you could kill him right there. “Though last time it was the tequila that got her wildin’.”

That damned smirk of his is making your hands curl into fists and for a moment you tell yourself it’s okay to punch him in front of your mother even if she’ll probably disown you for such behavior.

“Y/N! I have told you a million times that you need to know where your limits lie!” she huffs shaking her head at you while you clench your jaw. Back at it with the lessons about getting drunk. She’ll never get over it, not even when you’ll be forty. Why does it matter to her so much? Sometimes she is the one to get you started, but then she gives you the dirtiest looks when you have one too many. She should just get used to it now.

“She surely likes to have fun when she has had a few drinks,” Harry continues smugly. “Remember how much fun you had at Rosa and Steven’s wedding?”

“Oh, God! I remember how drunk you were that evening, I could have killed you!” your mother growls and you roll your eyes at her.

“It wasn’t that bad. There were a lot more people who got way more wasted than me,” you try to defend yourself folding your arms on your chest.

“That doesn’t change that you were too,” she says with a hard look. Great, now she is mad at you for something that happened literally years ago. Kudos to Harry for ruining her mood.

“She wasn’t that bad,” Harry adds and you look in his way with suspicion. “She was a delight when it was time to get her to bed.”

Your mouth almost hangs open, but it seems like you’re the only one understanding what he really meant by that. Luckily, beside you and him, Rosa and Steven are the only people who knows what happened between you and Harry that night, so it’s no surprise no one else catches on the hint.

“You were the one who took her up to her room? Sorry if she was a burden,” your mother sighs and right at that moment you wish the floor would just open up and you could disappear forever. Harry’s satisfied grin is the evidence that he just won another round of this nasty war.

Just as you open your mouth to try and move the conversation to another field you see a pair of headlights pull up to the driveway. Everyone turns to the window as Marcus’ car parks down last in the line. As you step away from the counter you see the confusion in Harry’s eyes about the new guest.

“Oh, amazing! He is here!” your mom cheers, seemingly instantly forgetting about how she was dragging you just a minute ago.

“Who’s here?” you hear Harry ask, but you’re already out of there, heading to the front door to greet Marcus.

Just as you walk out into the cold evening air you see him get out with a warm smile on his lips. You wait for him at the door, arms wrapped around yourself and as he reaches you he places a soft kiss to your lips.

“Hey, how was the drive?” you ask him.

“It was fine. I didn’t arrive too late, right?”

“No, we were just about to set the table. Come on in, I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

He takes your hand in his as the two of you walk inside, all eyes immediately turning your way at the arrival of your boyfriend.

“Everyone, I want you all to meet my boyfriend, Marcus. He is staying for dinner.”

Your family members walk up to the two of you, shaking hands and introducing themselves to Marcus who smiles at everyone politely, trying his best to remember all the names and information that’s thrown at him all of a sudden. Everyone seems delighted to have him for dinner, the kids instantly make him promise he’ll play a card game with them after dinner and he happily says yes to the invitation.

You can tell your mom is proud that finally both of her daughters are spending Christmas with a man by their side and you’re almost certain your dad took a liking to Marcus the moment he mentioned he is into fishing.

Everyone seems excited and happy for Marcus, there’s just one face that doesn’t fit in the line of joyful smiles. Harry stands quite far from the two of you and only gets closer when he shakes hands with Marcus. His cocky grin is long gone from his face as he keeps his hard look on your boyfriend who is chatting with everyone. Standing next to Marcus, your hand still holding his, your eyes lock with Harry’s and there’s an unknown, burning feeling in your gut when his hard gaze holds yours. The sudden change and cold act gets you wondering what’s really going on in his mind. He is the first one to look away and you watch him walk into the kitchen and disappear from your sight before you force a smile on your lips and turn back to Marcus.

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ptergwen · 4 years ago

Text

last christmas

w/c: 2.0k

warnings: a few descriptions of dizziness

summary: someone might be able to get you back into the holiday spirit

a/n: hi hi hi i’m really excited about this :,) i’ve had the idea for a while and i like where it’s going! it’s based it off of the movie last christmas and this is only part one, so if it feels a little slow that’s why AND on that note i hope you enjoy

━━━ *:･。.

“you’re late,” harry comments as the coat room door bursts open. he’s not wrong, but he doesn’t have to announce it. you slip behind the counter while tying up your apron. “only ten minutes. besides, we’re never busy this early.” he presses his lips together and grabs a large cup.

that’s the face he makes whenever you say or do something stupid. you’ve learned a lot about harry in your year of working together. he’s a pretty laidback guy. funny, too. you’d consider him a friend and not just your coworker. the only time he isn’t chill is when your coffee shop has what you like to call its rush hour.

it’s in a pretty prominent area in london, and it gets packed every afternoon. people like to pop in for a muffin or some tea on their lunch break. with it being christmas time and all, the shop is way more chaotic than usual. the seasonal flavors clearly draw a crowd. you take that as a compliment since you came up with a few of them.

the point is, harry can get stressed and pretty mean. you’re afraid he’ll explode if you ask him a question sometimes. he turns super red. but, he also knows more than you do. he’s had to fix countless machines you’ve almost broken. you two make an interesting team. it’s just you and harry who work mornings.

your mouth drops open when you see the line of people squished into the shop. “oh, shit,” you whisper to yourself. harry hears it and hums smugly. “rush hour came early. get out there.” you quickly take your spot at the register. a man with a fuzzy red sweater and judgy look steps up. “hi, sorry for the wait. what can i get started for you?”

the rest of your morning is exactly the same. you deal with the crabby customers, harry makes the drinks. it gets better once your other coworkers clock in for the day. orders get done faster, and you have someone to joke around with from time to time.

you and harry eventually switch because he’s bored of making hot chocolates. you’re in charge of drinks while he rings people up now. it’s not too bad at first. all you have to do is dump some mixes into water and call names. then, everyone starts shouting at you. the drinks gets harder, you keep messing up, and customers aren’t happy.

harry is about to tell you off when he sees you stumble. he rushes to your side before you hit the ground. you grab his arm with an apologetic smile. “thanks.” “is it...” you nod, not wanting him to finish his sentence.

he’s your only coworker you told about your accident. it happened last year, almost a full one to date. you got this job a few months after. harry has always been understanding of it all, and he accommodates you however he can. you’re grateful to have his support.

“i’m just a little lightheaded. i’ll be fine,” you wave him off. he clicks his tongue. “you can’t stand if i let go of you.” you’d try to prove him wrong, but you don’t feel like falling on your face in front of all these people. “go take your break, y/n,” harry says softer this time. you give in, letting him take you to the coat room.

━ ❆

it’s finally the end of the day. your shift ended fine, and now you’re walking out with harry. you’re laughing at something he said inside. you pull your coat up around your face, smiling as you say your goodbyes. harry looks off to the car you assume is his before returning it. he waits until you’re out of sight to get into the passenger seat.

“who was that?” tom asks before harry can even shut his door. “y/n. we work together,” harry replies casually and buckles his seatbelt. the car engine is the only thing holding off silence. he raises an eyebrow at his brother.

“why do you ask?” “dunno. looks like you’re friends,” tom says quietly, pulling out of the spot he parked in. “you haven’t mentioned her.” “i have. you’re never home when i do,” he deadpans. tom drums his fingers on the steering wheel as they stop at a light.

there’s that void begging to be filled again. harry gives him a small smile. “thanks for picking me up, by the way. you’re cheaper than uber.” “does that mean i’m getting paid?” tom looks over at him. “joking. anytime, bro.”

harry can tell he’s waiting to bring you up again. all he did was look at you, and he’s falling. he’s never been subtle about his crushes. harry knows the two of you would get on well, but he’s not sure if you can handle a relationship right now. this year hasn’t been easy for you. you should be focusing on your health, not his tool of a brother.

at the same time, you could use some cheering up. you haven’t sang along to one christmas song playing at the shop. tom gets so into christmas every year, so maybe some of his festivity could rub off on you. it’s possible to work on two things at once, right? you’ll be happy and healthy for the new year. that’s all harry wants for you.

he wouldn’t mind the same for tom, either.

“she’s in all day tomorrow,” harry sighs. tom scrunches his face up in the side mirror. “who is?” “y/n, div. i knew you were going to ask.” there’s no denying that one. “right. i’ll stop in for a drink.”

he smiles about it the whole way home.

━ ❆

the next day is just like the last one. harry seems more on edge than usual, but you don’t know what that’s about. he does let you stay on register today so the chances of you passing out are lower. that all changes when your next customer walks in. you recognize him immediately, even with a scarf covering half his face.

what the hell is tom holland doing in your café? he pulls his scarf down and walks up to place an order. you sort of forget how to act. “you... you’re...” you stammer, eyes wide on him. smiling, he presses a finger to his lips. all he wants is a coffee, and you’re about to get him mobbed. you raise your hands in defense and focus on the register.

“sorry. can i get you anything?” you try again, lowering your voice. he’s still smiling. “sure, thanks. i’ll try an iced peppermint mocha.” a smile takes over your own face. “cool, i suggested that one.” you punch it into the register, keeping your eyes on tom. “i’ll bet it’s good, then. i trust your judgement.” he sounds genuine but teasing at the same time.

“hey, harry.” tom waves at him while he makes something in the blender. harry unenthusiastically waves back before getting to work again. you turn to harry with your eyebrows knitted together. “you know each other?” “really well. we’re brothers,” tom replies, your eyebrows now raised to the top of your head.

“what? how come you never told me?” you almost yell at harry. he awkwardly dumps the contents of the blender into a cup. “it never came up.” “you don’t talk about me, baby bro?” tom jokes, getting his card out. you give harry one more look before turning back to him. “oh, don’t worry about it. it’s on the house,” you dismiss him.

“he’s a multimillionaire, y/n. i think he’ll be fine,” harry chimes in. “family discount,” you decide. tom chuckles and shoves his wallet back into his pocket. “you’re a funny one. can i make it up to you somehow?” his eyes lock with yours. you feel fluttery, like your heart is going to jump out of your chest. there could be a few reasons for that.

“um, can i get your autograph?” you murmur out. “easy. do you have something to write with?” he watches you scramble to get a piece of paper. you pull a pen from behind the counter and hand them both to him. a line is starting to form, but you can’t even pretend to care. there are more important things going on.

harry starts making tom’s drink while he signs the paper. he leans on the counter, his tongue poking out. he’s so sweet for doing this. your alarm goes off before you can tell him that. you quickly shut it and peek over the register to see. harry comes up to you.

“isn’t that for your medication? you should probably go take it,” he says so only you hear. you shrug a shoulder. “i set it a few minutes early. i’ll be fine.”

“here we go.” tom grins and hands you the paper, then the pen. you put it down with another smile before looking over his signature. you’re confused when you don’t see one. instead, he wrote down a bunch of numbers.

it can’t be...

“it’s my number,” tom explains, glancing over at harry for a second. he scoffs and puts the lid on his drink. “i figured you’d like it more than my terrible cursive.”

your whole body feels hot. whether it’s from putting off your meds or getting hit on by tom holland, you’re not sure. you wouldn’t mind the latter, though. it’s the safer of the two. in all seriousness, the fact that he has any sort of interest in you is pretty insane.

“wow, for real? thank you.” you look at the piece of paper in your hands, then at tom. “does this mean i can text you?” he’s practically beaming at you. “or call.” “tom,” harry calls from the pickup counter. he rolls his eyes for good measure. “i guess your drink is ready,” you laugh out. tom adjusts his scarf again.

“i guess it is. i’ll talk to you later?” you hold up the piece of paper. “that’s what this is for.” he breathes out a laugh and turns to go. you’re about to call up the next customer, but he looks back at you. you shake your head. it’s going to be impossible getting through what’s left of your shift. “enjoy.” tom nods confidently. “i will.”

━ ❆

the first thing you do once you get home is call tom. your roommate is out with friends, so you’re spread out on the couch. all the lights are off to help the headache you got. with your luck, you’ll wake up with a migraine. you’ve become too familiar with nursing those. it’s given considering everything that happened.

tom picks up on the third ring. you hold your phone to your ear and sit up. “hello?” he asks sternly. you cringe at yourself for not texting him who you are first. “hi, it’s y/n. i probably should’ve texted.” his tone softens. “no, you’re fine. i was waiting for you to call.”

“were you really?” you lay your head back on the arm of the couch. he hums proudly. “tom holland was waiting for me to call him?” “he was.” you can hear the smirk in his voice. “he really enjoyed your conversation earlier.” sighing, you look at your reflection in the tv. “i did, too. i don’t think harry could say the same.”

“he hates having me around. i’m embarrassing, apparently,” tom laughs at his brother’s behavior. you press your lips into a pout. “is that why i’ve never heard about you?” “probably,” he confirms. it seemed weird that he wouldn’t want to tell the world his brother is spider-man. then again, harry isn’t like that.

“that’s nice, though. it’s like i’m the same me before the movies,” tom lightens the mood. “not that i know you, but i feel like you are,” you agree with a small smile. he’s grinning at his phone. “speaking of not knowing me, when are you free?” he smoothly transitions to the asking you out part. you were hoping you’d get there.

“saturday. why?” “i was wondering if you’d want to go out with me.” you hold the phone away from your face and silently squeal. tom didn’t need to witness that. “that would be fun, yeah.” “anywhere special you want to go?” he asks. he’s hoping there isn’t because he already has a place in mind. you actually don’t.

“surprise me.”

i made a new taglist form, so fill it out if you want!! the link is in my bio

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland imagine #tom holland x you #tom holland smut

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marvelettesassemble · 4 years ago

Text

Lost and Found (Charlie x Reader)

Summary: Soulmate AU – Things you lose appear with your soulmate and you knew you found your soulmate when you see a thing you lost years ago in his possession

Warnings: battle of Hogwarts?

Word Count: ~ 1.8k

Your fingers tried to find the little box you were searching for in your bag. In front of you stood your best friend, her eyes hopeful and expecting and now you couldn’t find her birthday present. Instead of the small box with a necklace that you had made yourself you found a glove. You pulled said item out and inspected it closely.

The smile on your friends face fell. “You lost my present?” she asked.

“Ugh, I can offer you one glove?” you held the new item in front of her. You friend sighed and told you it wasn’t your fault, but both of you knew that she was disappointed.

You weren’t quiete sure how it worked with the lost items and those who appear with you. You tried to lose something deliberately with your name on it so your soulmate knew who you were, but you couldn’t get rid of that piece of paper. However, the birthday present you made for your best friend and took hours to made got lost so easily and in return you got something from your soulmate. “Well, we add it to the collection,” your friend sighed. Not everyone was gifted with a soulmate, it was rather special and so your friend was as curious as you who your soulmate was, because it didn’t seem as if she had one.

“There’s a Hogsmead weekend coming, I’m treating you with something nice then.” you offered.

You wondered what your soulmate would do with the necklace. Your collection consisted of one glove, some hair ties (you knew it wasn’t yours as there were red hairs stuck in it), a hastily written list (wormwood, dittany, bubotuber pus, dragon liver – REPLACEMENT?), a shirt which somehow smelled of bonfire and something you hadn’t told your friend: a plush dragon. He wasn’t new when he landed in your possession. His ear was almost falling off and his eye was hold on one last string. You repaired him and since then he slept in your bed.

-x-

A few years had passed since you found the glove and with the war almost knocking on your door you were afraid of two things: what if your soulmate was on the other side or what if he or she didn’t make it? These were things you had no influence on and were still on your mind when more pressing matters lay in front of you.

As a member of Dumbledores Army you were informed that the battle would take place in Hogwarts soon. And you would take place in it, there was no way you wouldn’t fight for the right thing. Your father was a muggle and you wanted your freedom back. You wanted to chose how you would live your life.

You apparated to the Hogs Head at the same time as Cho Chang and met a grumbling Aberforth who told you which way would lead to Hogwarts. Your old DA coin had told you that Harry would be back and you weren’t surprised to see many of the members when you finally walked into the room at the end of the tunnel.

That had been hours ago which felt like a lifetime. Not everyone had survived and you stood in the shambles of your old school that you had called home for seven years. You didn’t know what to do right now, so you sat down on the stairs to the castle and looked out onto the forest. Your mind couldn’t really wrap around everything that had happened so far.

You almost felt like throwing up and you clutched your belly rather painfully. “Are you injured? Do you need help?” you heard someone asking you. You denied, you weren’t deeply injured it was just a little bit too much for you at that moment, but you kept that to yourself.

“I’ll sit down here, if you don’t mind,” you heard the strangers voice again, but you didn’t reply. After a while you turned towards him and took in his features. The first thing you noticed were his freckles that covered his whole face and the second thing was the flaming red hair that reminded you of the one which were covered in the hair ties that had turned up. But the hair on his head was shorter than the ones you found. His hands rested on his tights and looked beaten up.

“Aren’t you that dragon boy? The one that was here at the first task of the Triwizard Tournament?” you asked suddenly.

“Yeah, I’m Charlie Weasley.”

“Weasley?” you asked. Well you shouldn’t be so surprised with that hair. “Your brothers were in my year, Fred and George,” you told him.

“Freds injured, it’s not fatal but everyone is cornering him, so I just needed a little bit of air,” he told you. You asked him, if the rest of his family is okay and he nodded in confirmation.

“I think I need to check in with some of my friends, I’ve been here too long,” you said and stood up, your knees almost buckling beyond your weight. It had been exhausting hours, but you managed to make your way to the great hall. You spotted Neville and Luna and decided to join them. You looked over to the Weasleys who stood around someone who you suspected was Fred. When George looked up and met your gaze you mouthed if he was okay and he nodded before he looked back at his brother.

“Are you okay?” Luna asked you after a while.

“I don’t know. I know we won, but it doesn’t really feel like it, does it? We’ve lost too much,” you admitted your feelings. You felt kind of bad as you were sitting next to Neville who had done something magnificent, but you couldn’t help yourself. You gaze flew to the Weasleys again and you saw Charlie now among them. He had lifted his hand and you could see something on his wrist. You weren’t sure if your imagination was playing tricks on you, but you needed to be sure.

Without a comment you stood up and walked over to the Weasleys. A few of them greeted you when they noticed who came towards them. You asked George how Fred was, but before the twin in front of you could reply Fred answered for him that it needed more than that to finish him. You couldn’t help but smile at your former classmate and replied that it was good to hear that.

You turned towards Charlie and asked him if you could see his bracelet. You didn’t wait for his reaction as you were already busy pulling his hand to your face to examinate the jewellery.

“You don’t happen to have lost a plush dragon around eight years ago, dragon boy?” you asked. You could see him blushing and you were sure that the both of you hold now the attention of the whole family. “Because I made this as a necklace for my friend and it happened to be lost when I wanted to give it to her. Instead I had to buy her many butterbeers and cauldron cakes to make up for it, so I guess you owe me.”

“Charlie has a soulmate?” you heard Ron asking flabbergasted.

“Of all the things that are now in your possession, you must comment on the plushie?” Charlie finally said to you.

“Of course, it is my favourite piece,” you answered with a big smile on your face. “I also want you to know that I’ve taken good care of him and that he just waits to be returned.”

Before anyone could say anything else Charlies mother interrupted that you were more than welcome to come over for dinner. You told her that you first had to make sure to look after your parents but you’d stop buy. When you walked back to your friends you could hear George voice: “You scored her? I just want to tell you that Fred tried to ask her out once.”

-x-

“I’m afraid they think I forced you to something you don’t want,” you admitted again when you stood in front of the burrow. That wasn’t the first time you had that conversation. To be honest you had that conversation for months now and by the time it was even too late to change anything.

“I bet they’re more than happy,” he assured you.

“Well I hope you are happy,” you said and kissed his lips. You walked around the house and into the garden where a big table stood. As there was more and more family and extended family every time it was difficult to get everyone at the table at the same time. You were the last to arrive and while you still stood as the rest of them sat at the table you choose this moment for your announcment.

“We have something to tell you,” Charlie said and got the attention of whole table.

“Are you pregnant?” asked Fred.

“Were you finally able to adopt a dragon?” George asked instead.

“No, we’re moving back.” Charlie announced. This wasn’t what anyone had expected with the exception of Bill, who was helping the two of you. Molly squealed and jumped up to throw her arms around her son.

“But Romania was what you always wanted,” said Ginny astonished.

“Yeah, but sometimes it changes what you want. She wasn’t really happy in Romania. We tried for a year, but even when she didn’t tell me that directly I noticed it. And I can’t be happy when she isn’t. She tried to do it for me, now I try it for her.” He squeezed your hand. “And I noticed that I missed a lot. We’re such a big family, but I sometimes feel like a stranger and I really want to change that. And I also want to be the uncle who is actually there instead of one who writes a letter once in a while. So, we’re both happy that we will be moving back.”

“You’re more than welcome to stay here for a while,” Arthur offered with a smile on his face.

“We might take you on that offer, dad. We found a little house, but it needs a lot of work. Might take a while for us to finish it.” His siblings promised to help the two of you with renovations and you noticed that they were more than happy that to have their brother back in their live.

“We even have a photo of the house, I’ll show you,” you said and reached for the photograph in your jacket. Instead of the paper your fingers grasped something small, metallic. You pulled the thing out and stared at it. “Charlie, do you want to explain why I have a ring in my pocket?”

He looked shocked at you and when he searched his pocket and instead of the ring he bought for you he pulled out a photograph.

#charlie weasley #charlie weasley x reader #charlie x reader #soulmate au #marvelettesassemble #amwriting #charlie needs more love!#weasley x reader

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harrysgoldenline · 5 years ago

Note

okay so i saw one of these for niall but, one where y/n can’t afford harry’s life style but doesn’t like him paying for her and it’s just angst with fluff at the end?

Hii!! I got SO SO SO carried away doing this and it ended up not being too angsts so I really hope you still like it! And I’m sorry it took so long but I just got the inspiration for it and all just came to me at once! Thank you so much for requesting 💖

The Best Gift

The store was bright and flashy, yet somehow simplistic, the different display cases making the girl glance around quickly as she took in the new space filled with diamonds, pearls and jewels, although this being her second time here, only because of him, she didn’t think she would ever get used to it.

She felt completely out of place, walking through the luxury store with Harry wearing an ensemble costing close to three thousand dollars and she was wearing a dress from one of her favorite online shops costing her around $60, with that being a splurge.

“Anything catching those pretty eyes?” He smirked, nudging her slightly but still keeping his grip tight on her hand, guiding her throughout the store he has been through more times than he can count, “we got all day baby, try on anything you want!”

“I’d rather you give the fashion show.” She laughed, going up on her tip toes and kissing his cheek, “We’ve been in her thirty seconds and I’ve seen you staring at four different pairs of trousers.”

He gave her a small nudge, before leading her to a seat outside the changing room, due to the fact they got in trouble last time for having her come into the same one was him. He gave her a quick peck before he started grabbing his items, flashing her a wink before he disappeared into the short hallway and into the dressing room, giving her a cute wave before shutting the door.

She giggled softly to herself, biting her bottom lip and shaking her head, wondering how on earth she was lucky enough to have him as her boyfriend, be so lucky to have him be in love with her? It would never fully click.

Her eyes wandered around the shop, admiring the different materials and luxury items she could never even dream of purchasing. She wishes she could, especially dreaming of being able to buy something Harry would buy for himself and just be able to try and repay somehow for everything he has done for her.

Harry has taken her on so many different trips, gotten her custom gowns, designer shoes and jewelry and it made her feel terrible. For his birthday, she picked up extra shifts, stayed late, and did some babysitting in order to get him some new rings and a recording microphone he could hook up to his phone or laptop he could use instead of using just voice memos.

He loved it of course, wearing the rings all the time and enjoyed being able to get a better sound when an idea would spring up on him, but she still felt guilty. Harry would get her a thousand dollar bag and a matching diamond earring and necklace set.

Letting out an impatient sigh she stood and began wondering around the store a handbag catching her eye, well her dream bag really. She has had it plastered all of her Pinterest board and was just in love with it. She carefully ran her fingers over it, heart sinking as she checked the price tag and instantly retracted her hand, feeling wrong for touching it, so she just stood and admired.

“Okay darling, what do you think?”

The girl jumps at the sudden voice, pulling her back to reality and she turns to look at him as he is standing directly behind her, a large smirk covering her face as she takes in his appearance.

He struck a few poses, blushing a few moments later after some staff members noticed before shyly standing straight, giving her a quick twirl as he was dressed in grey wool trousers and a pattered sweater.

“You look so handsome.” She softly smiled, reaching her hand up and rubbing her hands over the material, “its really soft... I love it, absolutely perfect for you.”

“Thank you angel... now you go pick something to try on.”

***

After Harry trying on a few different outfits, and him forcing her to try on a dress (which she didn’t end up getting for obvious reasons), they were headed for check out, Y/N helping him carry his items to the counter where they both stood, her eyes widening at the price growing and growing.

“Hey Y/N, you wanna grab some smoothies from next door and I’ll meet you there and we can head back to my place?” He suggested, handing over the place pair of trousers, “I’ll be right there, gonna get the car pulled up.”

“Okay!” She happily smiled, “The usual?”

He nodded and gave her a quick kiss and she was off, entering the overly priced smoothie place nearly a minute later, quickly ordering their drinks and waiting over to the side.

A few minutes later they called her name, giving her the drinks and she left with a quick thank you, a smile covering her face when she sees Harry in the car pulled up outside, running over to the car with a smile and happily hoping into the passenger seat, handing him his drink with a kiss on the cheek.

He gave her a happy smile, stuck in a daze as he stared at the girl, a large dopey grin glued on his face.

“What?” She laughed, cheeks turning pink as she started buckling her seatbelt, “Why are you staring at me?”

“Just so in love with ya, sunshine.” He grinned, leaning over and giving her a long kiss before pulling back, switching the gear of the car and driving off.

She blushed, giggling to herself as he kept stealing glances at her throughout the drive back, “Look at the road!” She laughed, covering her face, “I love you but right now is not the time to stare, you’re gonna kill us.”

He grabbed her hand closest to him, bringing it to his lips with a quick kiss before seating it down on the armrest between them, holding it there for the rest of the drive.

Soon enough they were back at Harry’s, him grabbing the bags before she could so she just carries in both smoothies, scurrying in close behind him, following him into his bedroom where he starts putting away his new clothes.

“Darling, could you grab what’s left in that last bag please?” Harry called out from his closet, putting away his new sweaters and trousers.

“Of course!” She called back, walking over to it as Harry sneaks out of the closet, watching her reach into the bag.

She kneeled onto the bed, reaching into the deep white bag and her eyes widen at the feeling of leather, rather than the soft feeling of fabric, eyes looking up and meeting Harrys as he leaned against the inside of the doorway with a smirk, raising his eyebrows at her as if to urge her to keep going.

She shakily wrapped her fingers around the handle and pulled it out of the bag, an audible gasp escaping her as she quickly looked up at Harry, a proud grin covering his pink lips.

“H-Harry.” She shakily began, shaking her head as the images of the price tag overwhelm her memory.

“I’ve been seeing ya look at it online and when we went in the store last, then again today so I just had to get it for you my love.” He explained, walking over and sitting next to her on his bed, “Do you like it?”

She shook her head rapidly, dropping the purse onto the bed and covering her face as tears filled her eyes, knees pulling to her chest. Confused, Harry instantly took her into his arms as he got the complete opposite reaction than what he was expecting.

“I-Is it the wrong color? Shape?” He began, “We can take it back-“

“It’s too much!” She interrupted, “It’s so expensive! You cant keep… keep spending this money on me its not fair! I’ll never be able to repay you, we have to return it.”

“Repay me? That is not what this is about, I got this for you because I am in love with you and I wanted to get you something that you’ve been wanting for a long time. You’re always working so hard, Y/N. I wanna spoil you.”

She brought the back of her hand back up to her eye, wiping away her tears before looking up at Harry, heart breaking at the dejected face he was making. The girl leaned into him, arms going around his shoulders as his meet her waist, pulling her onto his lap, moving her hair out of the way and kissing her shoulder.

“Your love, Y/N…” He began, “is the most valuable thing you could ever give to me. All I ever want in this world is you and you alone, okay?”

She nodded, burying her face in the crook of his neck pressing a kiss to the warm skin before pulling back and looking into his eyes, “Okay.” She sniffled, “I-I’m sorry, I am- Thank you, Harry. I really am grateful, for everything, it’s just a little overwhelming.”

“I know you are, you don’t need to thank me angel. You got the sweetest little heart.” He chuckled, pressing quick kisses up her neck before leaning their foreheads together, “You’re the best thing to ever happen to me, no gift can top that… Although I do really love those rings you gave me.”

“They’re no Gucci....”

“Hey! They’re my favorites.” He grumbled, fingers digging into her hips as he pulled her closer, kissing her softly, “I love you so much, more than you will ever know.”

“I love you so so so much, Harry. Even without the gifts or anything… you know that right?”

“I know.” He shyly smiles, heart growing in size as he knows the girl in his lap is the one he’s been dreaming about, “and I know you’re the best gift because you’re my soulmate, Lovie. You’re my forever.”

#harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #fine line #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagines #harry styles headcannon #harry styles one shot #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles masterlist #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles request

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fallenangellinwonderland · 4 years ago

Text

Professor single dad Harry part 2

“It was an accident daddy” said Jared as he rolled up the sleeve of his shirt. Harry let go of Jensen to help Jared “Jared what happened baby? You can tell me, I won’t get mad, I promise”

Jared, Jared was the one with the bruise, YN made a mental note.

Part 1

Previously:

“It was an accident daddy” said Jared as he rolled up the sleeve of his shirt. Harry let go of Jensen to help Jared “Jared what happened baby? You can tell me, I won’t get mad, I promise”

Jared, Jared was the one with the bruise, YN made a mental note.

Now:

“Thomson was playing football with Kevin in the street and the ball hit my arm when Thomson hit it” Jared explained with a pouted lip, Jensen nodded the whole time.

“Where was your mom when this happen?” Harry asked as he tried to fix his son’s messy black hair.

“Inside with Lily” Jensen says looking at Jared and then at his father “Lily cries loads daddy! She doesn’t let me sleep” he complains crossing his small arms across his chest

“Babies cry a lot Jensen” Harry tried his best to explain “They are too small to talk, they don’t know how to say they are hungry and they just cry.” He said standing up looking at the two kids “Okay, grab your bags and your coats” he gave them a small smile

Thomson, kevin, Jared, Jensen and LILY! How many kids did Harry have? Why hasn’t she notice? Y/N stared at Harry as he approached her “They are your kids…” was the only thing she could say

“Yeah, these two little twin monsters, you didn’t know?” he asks confused running a hand through his hair. She shook her head no

“I mean, now I see they look like you, but I didn’t notice before” she smiled nervously as she wrapped her cardigan around herself. The twins ran to him with their coats on and the bacs on their back.

“Are we going with grandma, daddy?” Jared asked as he looked up at Harry, Jensen held his father’s hand waiting for his answer

“We are going to stop by your mom’s first, mate” Harry waved at YN before he grabbed Jared’s hand. YN stood by the door as she watched leave, she had so many questions now, she didn’t want to be rude but she was really curious now.

“Mummy’s not home” Jensen said as he jumped, he had just started a game himself trying to not step on the lines on the floor.

Harry rose his eyebrows down at the kid “Why not? Where did she go?”

Jensen slipped but Harry lift his little arm before he could hit the ground “careful son!”

“She went out with Bryan in the morning” Jensen continued jumping and Jared decided he wanted to play too, Harry tried his best to keep his balance as they approach the car “Did they took Lily with them? What about your brothers?” Harry asked concerned as he lifted the boys to get them in their car seats safely, Jensen shrugged his little shoulders “dunno”.

“Lily is with nana, I heard that.” Jared said

Harry sighed heavily as he buckled his seatbelt starting the car “alright, then let´s go to see Granny Anne and then we go home”. The twins agreed and sang along with Harry to “you’ve got a friend in me” in the ride to Anne’s house.

----

YN is sitting in front of her computer in bed with her glasses on, she tried to concentrate on her work but she just couldn’t stop thinking about Harry and the twins and all the kids he name, where they his? How old was he? He looks almost her age…20ish. Why was he so upset?. She has to get him off her head, he has a baby…Lily, did she look like him? How old was she? Were kevin and Thomson twins too?. She has to keep her distance; she can’t have a crush on him. She shakes her head again, she needs to focus and send her results to the principal.

---

After some minutes they finally arrived, Harry helped his kids down and they ran excited to the door which Anne opened happily as she heard them screaming, she had been waiting by the window, she just missed her grandsons too much.

“Hey pumpkings! How are you? How was school?” she asks as she rubs their backs, the twins hugging her legs tightly.

“It was fun! Our teacher is very pretty!” Jensen says shily batting his eyelashes.

“Jensen likes her” Jared said giggling, Anne looks up at Harry “Oh! Really what do you think Harry?”

Harry laughs shaking his head “She is very nice, mom”

“Hmm, I see, come in” she says smiling, Jared and Jensen leave their bags by the door and kneel as they look for their granny’s kitty. “Harry, you look a bit stressed. Is everything okay? Was work hard today?”

Harry follows his mom into the kitchen sighing again “Thomson hurt Jared, they said it was an accident, I wanted to talk to Nala about it but she went out with her boyfriend apparently and! Left the baby with her mom… or his mom, I don’t know. She knew the twins will stay with me for a few days and she just decided she needs a break” he is raising his voice, Anne rubs his arm to calm him down “I want full custody of my kids, I’m taking this to court”.

“I hope you get full custody of them, honey but it’s not easy.” She looks sadly at him before she gets the plates out to serve dinner.

“I know… Jared! Jensen! Wash your hands, it’s time for dinner” harry calls them from the kitchen, they can hear the twins giggling in the livingroom “ 1! “ Harry started counting, Anne just laughs lightly “2! Jared, Jensen..” he warns.

“Harry, They are not your students, you are not a teacher in the house” Anne reminds him and the twins come running into the dining room laughing and drying their little hands in their clothes.

Anne sets their plates with spaghetti and meatballs in front of them before she takes her seat by Harry’s side.

“These are worms, and these are dino eggs!” Jared says pointing at the spaghetti and Jensen laughs digging his teeth in the meatball

“Baby, don’t play with the food” Harry says softly chuckling some, they are just kids after all he thinks

“And what are you two?” Anee asks taking her for to her lips

“T-rex! Grr” says Jensen taking another bite of meatball getting crumbs of meat on his cheeks, Harry just laughs, Jared has orange cheeks from the spaghetti

#Harry styles #Harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #dad!harry #Harry styles x yn #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles au #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff

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pixie88 · 4 years ago

Text

Raking up the Past

Chapter 8 - Always the Bridesmaid.

A/N: This chapter is a flash back chapter. I’ve had it in my drafts for 4 days now reproof reading over and over again. It is upsetting I hope it doesn’t trigger anyone. I hope you like it.

If you would like to be ADDED or REMOVED just let me know!

Read previous chapters HERE!

Warnings: Fluff, NSFW & Angst (Euthanasia)

Word Count: 2507

Pairings: Laila x Josh / Laila x Harry

Enjoy!

9 Years Earlier

"That's it? You can't save me? I've just got to wait to die?" Tears start to roll down his face, Laila grasps his hand. He looks up at her, she was his life, they were supposed to grow old together, even get married, he fazed out and doesn't hear what else the doctor has to say. "How long?" his words come out almost as a whisper.

He can tell by the expression on his face that he has months rather than years "It's hard to say Mr. Wilkins...." Josh lets out a little laugh, "Because you know its weeks maybe months at a push?" Josh's tone is bitter "Mr. Wilkins...." Josh gets up from his seat and storms out of the doctors office and rushes through the hospital corridors until he's outside where he can breath again.

He looks around at people walking past him. If they only knew! Why me? What have I done? He thought as he watched them all just getting on with their lives while he was on borrowed time. "Josh?" she grabs his arm breaking him from his thoughts. He turns her eyes are puffy and swollen he was going to leave her, he'd be dead in the ground soon and she would be living her life possibly with someone else.

It broke his heart he wouldn't be the man she got to have kids with even grow old with "Josh, I'm..." she doesn't know what to say. He cups her face "Hey, it's OK," he kisses her lips "How can you say it's OK? It's anything but!" He wraps his arms around his fiancée "Because now I have to live my life to the fullest. Do all the things I keep saying I'm going to do!" he smiles softly at her. She was going to lose him, but she wanted him to do everything he was planning to do with his life.

A few days later, her heart is racing she can't believe he convinced her to do this, well it was more like he guilt tripped her into it "Laila! It's going to be fine! I wouldn't make you do anything that wasn't safe!" he tries to reassure her, but the higher the plane got the less she was convinced "Do you want to go first?" Josh calls over, she didn't, but then she couldn't watch him do it either.

She nods. The quicker I jump the quicker I get my feet on the ground right? She thought. Now she is outside the plane, feet dangling, she's strapped to some stranger's chest "We'll jump after 3! Are you ready?" She nods even though she wasn't ready "1.....2..." they jump at first Laila screams, but then she looks round it's beautiful and amazing.

Her screams fade "Whooooooooo! YES!! THIS IS AWESOME!!!!" She was so glad he had pushed her to do this with him.

A few minutes later she lands firmly on the ground. She is buzzing as she gets unclipped she looks up, watching Josh, who isn't far behind her. As he lands he's beaming "I told you that you would love it, didn't I?" She runs over to him colliding with him "It was amazing!! Thank you," he wraps her tightly in his arms "Thank you for doing it with me!"

They change out of their jumping gear, she's not sure if it's from the jump or the adrenaline, but she is turned on. They sign out and head back to the car "Can I add something to this buckle list?" She smiles at him as they get into the car, "Of course! What do you want to add?" She bites her lip "We need to find a country road" he looks at her puzzled.

She turns on the engine and drives.

She had been driving for half an hour when she found a deserted and secluded layby. She brings the car to a halt, turns off the engine. She looks around you can't see the main road "Laila? Why have we stopped here?" She leans over pulls up the lever from under his seat which slides the seat further back.

She jumps onto his lap, straddling him, she claims his lips with hers as she unclips his seat beat. He gets the hint as she begins to grind her hips with his "Laila, you want to..here?" She takes his hand in hers and guides it into her underwear where he finds she's soaked "Shit baby!" His kiss becomes more fierce, he works against her clit and she starts to unbutton his jeans.

She doesn't want to make love she wants rough, spontaneous sex.

Pulling him free, he pulls her underwear to the side, she guides him to where she needs him most. Thrusting up, he's entered her and she starts to ride him, he grasps a fist full of her hair pulling her head back. His nips her neck "Mark me!" She demands, he doesn't argue he bites and sucks against her neck as she digs her nails into his shoulders through his t-shirt. She starts to ride him harder, he thrusts up pushing deeper into her.

He pulls down the top part of her dress exposing her breast "Make them yours" she moans. He nips and sucks down to her nipple, she pulls his lips back to hers and grasps his lip between her teeth, making him hiss "Damn baby! If I known jumping from a plane got you this hot I would have had us doing it eve...." she rotates her hips shutting him up "Fuck me!" She smirks "I am!!"

"I'm not sure how......oh fuck yes.....longer....oh god baby just like that....I'm going to.....Laila your going to make me come......doing that" her efforts double she grips his shoulders tighter as she draws closer to her own high. "Ohhh....shit baby...fuck yess!" His body jerks and tightens as he hit his climax. She doesn't let up her pace she rides him harder feeling her own high build "Come on baby! Come for me! Let me feel you!" she falls over the edge "Josh!!!"

They both try to catch their breath, Josh smiles "That was something new!" he brushes her hair out of her face. She smirks at him "I love you" he smiles "I love you too, Laila!"

6 Months Later

Josh had gone down hill fast, he managed to get 97% of his bucket list done 3 months after he was told they couldn't do anything. He hadn't left the house for 3 weeks, he was barely able to get out of bed the past week. He hated being like this, Laila was slowly turning into his carer he didn't want that for her or that to be her lasting memory of him.

"You should go!" She shook her head "Josh, you need me here," he sighs, "Laila, my mum will be over soon...go! You need a break and I'm not going anywhere fast! Go and have a few drinks with Nikki let your hair down" He laughs making her smile.

She huffs "Fine..I'll go! But only for as long as your mum can stay for!"

Half an hour later Louise arrives and takes over, he entwines his fingers through hers. He's reluctant to let her go "I can give it a miss if you want?" He puts on a fake smile "No, you go!" He kiss her knuckles before cupping her face, running his thumb over her cheek.

"Are you sure?" She kinda hope he changes his mind, she doesn't feel right having a good time while he's laid up in bed "Yes...now go!" She laughs, "OK!" She turns and he grasps her arm, she turns back to him "Laila....I...I love you! Have fun!" He weakly pulls her towards him, he captures her lips.

His hand is on the nape of her neck, he deepens the kiss. She smirks against his lip "Josh! Your mum is just next door!" He chuckles "I don't care!" the kiss turns more passionate and Laila pulls away.

Josh hasn't been well enough to be with her in that way for the past 6 weeks not that she minded she was just grateful he was here to cuddle her to sleep.

"I love you too! I will see you later," she smiles at him, he nods. She grabs her coat and says goodbye to Louise on her way out.

Nikki has never seen Laila like this before, she's seen her tired, but today she looked exhausted. Being the friend she is, she told her she looked beautiful and held her tight. She could see the pain in her eyes, she needed to make sure, if only for a few hours she forget what was happening at home and just have some fun.

~*~*~*~

Nikki tried to persuade her to have one more drink, but she wasn't having any of it. She headed home as she rounds the corner, she spots the black private ambulance outside their building. Her heart drops before she realises, she runs, but her feet are barely carrying her.

She spots an upset Louise in front of the building's main door "Lou!" She calls out "Lou! What happened?!" She asks her hoping she had got it all wrong. She turns towards Laila as soon as turns in her direction she knows "Laila...he's.....he's gone!"

She collapses to the ground shrieking, "NO! Josh!!" she hysterical.

Louise tries to help her up, but she dead weights "Laila, come on. Let's get you inside darling!" She slowly gets off the ground as Louise helps her up and into the flat.

"What.....happened? He...was...OK when I left!" She asks through the tears, "I was cleaning the flat. I left him by himself for like 30 minutes and when I came back I found the pills and him...." she cuts off.

Laila can't believe it "But he wouldn't do that! Not Josh!" She can't compute he would take his own life. Why would he do that?

Laila gets up and heads toward the bedroom she notices the empty painkiller packets by the bed.

"Louise?" She hears her come up behind her, she turns "Where did those come from?" She points towards the packets.

Louise looks shocked "Erm....I...erm...I guess your medication cabinet?" She shrugs her shoulders "But we never had that many in there!" She's confused "Maybe he has been taking them out stocking them up each time you buy a new packet?" Louise suggested.

"No, I would have noticed! I haven't brought any in weeks!" She knows there is more to the story than she is letting on "Louise, did you bring them here?" She can't believe she's asking this but there isn't any other explanation. Louise looks shocked "What no!!!" But as soon as she says that she knows, her face gave her away!

"LIAR!!" Laila hisses at her, she breaks "OK! I did! Laila! You have to believe me! I didn't want this, but he begged me to help him!" Laila runs to the toilet and Louise chases after her "Laila, I'm sorry! But he couldn't face you turning into his carer. He didn't want you to remember him like that!"

She's hunched over the toilet, wiping her chin. She turns to Louise "GET OUT!" She ordered her "Laila...please!" Her blood boils "I SAID GET OUT!!! GET.......THE.....FUCK....OUT!!!" Laila screams at her.

Not wanting to upset her further Louise gathers her things and leaves, telling her she's sorry as she closes the door.

She collapses on the bathroom floor. He could've had months left! Why would he take his own life knowing it was cut short as it were? These thoughts haunted her for weeks, even months. The only answers she had were what Louise had told her.

Before the funeral, she tried to contact Laila numerous times but had no luck. At the wake she corners her "Laila, how are you?" She little out a laugh "How am I? After you helped my fiancé take his own life? How the fuck do you think I feel?" Louise is a little taken back she knew she was angry still, but she didn't expect this.

"Laila, please you have to believe me, I wouldn't have done it if he didn't beg me!" Laila is just full of hate towards her "Have you told anyone?" She knew there was a reason she wanted to speak to her so badly. But despite what she had done Louise and Steve had lost a son and Naomi a brother as she had lost her fiancé. She believed that the fact Louise would have to live with the fact she helped her son take his own life punishment enough.

"No and I'm not going to I couldn't do that to Steve and Naomi...I take it he doesn't know?" She shook her head "He doesn't know" this somewhat was a relief to Laila knowing she wasn't the only one out of the loop.

"Well, I'm not going to tell anyone but after today I never want to see your face again" Louise is stunned "Laila, we need each other to get through this!' She rolls her eyes at Louise "I don't need you! Your husband and daughter does!" She walks off leaving her stunned.

After that day Laila hadn't seen or heard from her, Steve did reach out a couple of times but after a while they lost contact.

Present Day

"Louise?" She was face to face with this woman she never wanted to see again. "Laila? Who's this?" Harry asks, "Louise" she doesn't elaborate Harry holds out his hand "Sorry Laila must've forgotten her manners, I'm Harry her friend" Louise smiles at him and takes his hand "Hi Harry, I'm Louise....Laila ex fiancé mum"

It clicks!

She had told him a little about Josh not the part Louise played, but he knew as soon as she said ex fiancé she was talking about Josh "Oh! I'm so sorry to hear what happened to your son!" She smiles softly at him "Thank you! How are you Laila?"

She couldn't do this she could stand there and pretend it was all OK even 8 years later. She turns on her heels and storms off in the other direction "Laila! Wait!" She hears Harry call out after her, she gets 3 aisles away before he caught up with her bring her to a stop "Hey! I know it must be hard to see his family but there was no need to be rude"

"Rude??? What like her not telling her son's fiancée he was planning on ending it all earlier than expect with her help!" She didn't mean to blurt it out it but just came out before she could stop it. She hadn't told anyone not her family or friends no one knew until now.

Harry knew now but why did she tell him? He looks at her in shock "What?"

Continue reading this story here - Chapter 9.

@lem-20 @secretaryunpaid @irisofpurple @aussieez @shewillreadyou @khoicesbyk @txemrn

#atb #always the bridesmaid #always the bridesmaid fic #original character #pixie88 original #fictionalstory #laila x josh #harry x laila

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harrysgoldenbum · 5 years ago

Text

Want You pt. 3

I know I am late... but things got a little crazy in my house. Anyways, here is the last part to Want You! I am floored by the responses I’ve gotten for this short story. I want to give my final thanks to @for-fucks-sake-h @andwhenshesays and @oh-honey-styles for setting up this challenge.

Catch Up: Part 1, Part 2

--Y/N messed up and Harry is avoiding her--

Word count: 4.3K

Warning: smut

~~~~~~~~

A week has gone by and Y/N hasn't tried to reach out to him. And if she had, she wouldn’t have known what to say to him.

He’s constantly on her mind.

Y/N thinks about the way he touched her, the way he treated her, she thinks about his cock and the way he made her feel. Every night, she closes her eyes and replays that night. With quick movements of her fingers, Y/N pleasures herself to the thought of them dry humping on her couch.

She also thinks about what he said to her before he left.

He wanted her. Not for a quick fuck, but for her. He wanted to get to know her. He wanted something real with her.

Every time she thinks about their falling out Y/N’s anxiety spikes.

During that week, Y/N came to a conclusion. Harry Styles doesn’t just want to fuck her.

Things probably would have been easier for her if he was who she thought he was. They would have worn each other down and Harry would have already fucked her. But that’s not what he wants. He wants something real with her.

But Y/N was terrified to take the risk. There is a part of her that is ready to throw caution out the window and jump headfirst try things out with Harry. But another part of her feels guilty for considering getting with her best friend’s ex.

But she’s overwhelmed by how intense things get when the two of them are together. How she is attracted to him, how he can piss her off in a matter of seconds, how he affects her like no other.

~~~~~~~~

The first time I see him since our hook up is at the gym. He’s at the bench press, shirtless and sweaty. His tattoos are shining. She stands in the room, just staring at him. It wasn’t until someone walked past her she realized she was being slightly creepy. Hoping that Harry didn’t see her, Y/N quickly walks out of the weight room and goes to look for an open machine.

For the next thirty minutes, Y/N works out on the elliptical, when she takes a glance at the mirrors, she sees Harry right behind her on a treadmill. When she finished, Y/N moved onto a couple of different machines, set on edge with Harry in the room. It wasn’t until Y/N had gone to the drinking fountain to refill her water bottle did she bump into him.

“Um, hi,” she stammers out, heart beating fast. She’s on edge. He’s so close yet so far.

He’s drenched in sweat, his hair is sticking to his neck and around his ears. Y/N’s hands itch to run through it.

“Hey,” he responds shortly. His lips are pressed together. He looks like he would rather be anywhere but there.

He doesn’t make eye contact with her. In fact, he looks everywhere but at her.

Before Y/N can say anything else, Harry bends down to take a drink from the fountain. When he’s done he stands up and with a quick glance in her direction he says a quick “see you” and walks away.

Leaving Y/N standing there while she watches his back as he moves further away

~~~~~~~~

The next week drags on.

Y/N is relaxing on her couch and watching That 70’s Show when she hears a rustling sound at her door.

She pauses her show and looks over the back of her couch to find out what’s happening. There are several letters that were being slid under the door.

She stands up and makes her way to the door. She bends to collect the letters and opens the door. She looks into the empty doorway, surprised not to see anyone standing outside her door. She steps out into the hall and gets a glimpse of curly brown hair. He’s about to head down the flight of stairs.

“Hey!” She calls out, causing him to pause at the first step before he turns around to face her.

Harry is standing less than 30 feet from her, but she felt like he was miles away.

“Couldn’t you just knock at my door?” Y/N asks, slightly offended.

“It doesn’t really matter,” he shrugs. “I mean you’d end up getting anyways. Your mail keeps ending up in my box.”

Y/N feels like she was punched in the gut. She must have flinched because the next thing she knew, Harry’s face softened. “Y/N,” he says in a gentler tone.

Y/N backs into her doorway. “Yeah, I guess it doesn’t matter. Why be forced to actually talk to me?”

Harry takes another step toward her, saying her name once again. She didn’t want to see him or hear what he had to say. Her feelings were hurt, so she did the one thing she could do. She stepped back into her apartment and closed the door.

~~~~~~~~

Apparently, Harry Styles made it very difficult to stay upset with him.

The next day, Y/N saw Harry helping Mrs. Miller carry her groceries to the first floor. He kept giving Y/N looks that clearly said he wanted to talk to her. Probably to say something about the other day, but Y/N doesn’t give him the chance.

A couple of days later, Y/N sees him outside with Mrs. Miller’s five-year-old granddaughter. They were playing on the patch of grass that grew on the pathway into the building. They were kicking a soccer ball to each other. When they weren’t playing soccer, he was chasing her around and throwing her over his shoulder. And every time he did, her long blond hair would flow in the wind and her shrieks of delight would ring throughout. The scene pulled at Y/N’s heartstrings.

He wasn’t the asshole she thought he was. He was a better man than most of the guys Y/N knows.

As every day passes, Y/N’s willpower to stay away from him lessens and the urge to connect with him and see how things would go for them increases.

Then one night, she hears enthusiastic moans coming from her window. The sounds are coming from Harry’s apartment right below hers.

At that moment, all Y/N wants to do is cry. Her heart clenches. Just the thought of him with someone else fills her body in agonizing pain.

But then, she hears a man’s voice that sounds nothing like Harry’s, demanding the woman to ‘suck his cock’. It takes her a minute but as she listens longer, it becomes obvious that Harry was watching porn.

Relaxing a little, she’s grateful that Harry isn’t with one of the skanks from down the hall.

Y/N closes her eyes and pictures him naked and hard, moving his hand up and down his perfect cock with long and slow pulls.

She clenches her thighs as her pussy starts to get wet from that image.

Y/N slips her hand inside her panties, and starts to make herself cum while thinking of him getting himself off.

~~~~~~~~

Y/N sees Harry in the parking complex that’s under their building.

“Hey.” She catches up to him as they make their way to the elevators.

“Um, hey,” he says uncertainly like he doesn’t know what to expect from her.

He presses the button for the elevator, and Y/N watches him carefully. She missed being able to look at him this close. Y/N things he is so easy to look at. He’s wearing black jeans that hug his ass perfectly and his signature white shirt that cling to his broad shoulders. She wonders how many white shirts he has.

“I’ve been thinking about you.” Y/N blurts before she realizes she is speaking.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He tries desperately to play it cool but Y/N can tell how pleased he is.

“Oh yeah?” Harry replies with just a hint of his beautiful smile and amusement shining from his eyes.

The elevator dings and the doors open. They step inside and Harry presses the buttons for their floors. The door close and she turns toward him.

Y/N hesitates for just a second before she decides to throw caution out the window. She can’t stop thinking about him. And she wants to tell him. So she reaches out and gently puts her hand on his forearm. Harry stares at her in confusion

“I’ve been thinking about you… with my hand between my legs,” Y/N whispers shyly. She hides her face in the curtain of her hair as she starts to blush.

The elevator stops at Harry’s floor.

Y/N looks up at Harry and sees that he is staring at the floor conflicted.

Sensing her looking at him. Harry gives her a weak smile. Disappointment if clear as day on his face.

“Guess that makes me pretty fucking lucky,” he forcefully. As if he is trying to satisfy her with his response. “That makes a beautiful mental image,” he adds, and then leans forward and give her a quick, short kiss on the cheek. Straightening up, he steps out of the elevator and walks away.

When the doors close behind him, Y/N is left standing there in confusion, wondering where she went wrong. She feels like she should feel hurt for him brushing her off like that. But all Y/N can think about his how sad and disappointed he looked.

As the elevator comes to stop at her floor, it hits her that what she said makes is sound like she is still only interested in a quick fuck from him.

Stepping into her apartment, she tosses her things on her couch and starts to pace. Her anxiety spikes at the thought of not being able to do things right with Harry.

Suddenly, like she hit a brick wall, Y/N realized that she wanted more than just sex from Harry. She just wanted him. All of him.

But she’s scared. Harry is the first person to ever make her feel these feelings and trying to stick to plain and simple sex was just an easy way for her to make sure she didn’t get hurt.

There is a knock on her door and she practically runs through the door, in her rush to open it.

On the other side stands Harry. He is pacing the hallway, he’s on edge like he is a caged animal that wants to let out. Running his hands through his hair, he turns to face Y/N.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he starts. “I am going crazy. I want you. I need you. And I will take you whatever way I can get you.”

He steps into my apartment and takes her face in his hands and kisses her with so much passion. Y/N whimpers and her knees buckle.

He slides an arm around her waist to keep her standing. He pulls away just an inch so he can whisper against her lips, “Do you want me to fuck you?”

Y/N bites her lip and nods her head slowly. She never wanted anything so much in her life.

“Do you want to ride my cock?” he asks, dropping his hand to cut her ass. Harry pulls her up against him and she feels his erection. Wetness collects between her legs. She is having a hard time thinking.

Harry slides his hands down to her thighs and picks her up. Forcing Y/N to wrap her legs around his waist. He pins her against the wall by the door. Harry presses his lips against hers. Their tongues and teeth clash.

She moans and starts to rock her hips against him. Grinding down against the very hard bulge in his jeans.

“Oh fuck,” Y/N whimpers, as her clit gets the attention it is begging for.

He moves his lips to her neck and starts to kiss and suck along the column of her throat. “At least I’m good for something, right?”

Y/N’s stomach twists uncomfortably at his words. He starts to kiss her again before she could get a word out. Harry explores her mouth with his tongue and continues to rock hips into her just the right way, driving her wild. Y/N is wet and needy and desperate for him to be in her.

But she can’t forget what he said to her. At least I’m good for something.

Before Y/N knows it, Harry is walking to her bedroom with her in his arms. He lays her down and reaches behind his neck to take his shirt off. Y/N admires his tattoos. She wants to take the time to lick and kiss every single one.

Harry climbs onto the bed and immediately goes for her jeans button. His fingers drag them down her legs along with her panties. She helps him by taking her shirt off and throwing it somewhere in her room. He moves to take his jeans off and lays down next to her. He kisses her softly and cuts her tits through her bra. He tweaks her nipple and slowly drags his hand down and slides a finger onto her lower lips.

“Fuck, I want to be inside you,” he whispers in her ear.

Y/N clutches Harry’s wrist and gasps at his teasing. She is dripping onto her bedsheets at this point. “Please!” she begs.

He climbs on top of her and removed his hand from her pussy. And reaches behind her and undoes her bra. He sucks the skin on her neck.”First, I’ll make you cum with my mouth, then I’ll slide into you and fuck you as hard as you want.”

Y/N is gasping for air. Harry kisses along her jaw to the back of her ear.

“Y/N,” he whispers against the shell of her ear. He sounds so soft, almost like he is pleading for her.

At least I’m good for something.

Y/N didn’t want it like this. This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen.

“Harry,” she says urgently, pulling his face toward hers. Forcing him to look at her.

When his jade eyes meet hers, she sees the nervousness and the uncertainty in them. He waits for her to say something as he strokes the side of her breast.

“I want you,” she whispers. Sliding her hands into his hair.

One side of his mouth tips up in an attempt to give her a smile. But it never reaches his eyes. He bends his head to kiss her, but he doesn’t say a word.

When she breaks away, “No, Harry,” she tries again. Winding her arms around his shoulders, “I want you.”

She trails one of her hands down his back and the other to cup his cheek. “I want you,” she repeats. “I want you, I want us, I want this. I want to see where this can go.”

Harry stays quite and Y/N’s tummy is filled with anxiety. She finally forces herself to meet his eyes. His facial expression is blank and unreadable.

Y/N bits her lip and reaches to brush his hair off his forehead. “Say something,” she pleads.

“Are you sure?”

Her heart nearly breaks. He looks so lost and afraid. She pulls him in for a soft, soothing kiss. “Yes.”

He bends down kisses her with so much want. Almost frantic. But there was something about this kiss that was different from all the others they shared. It was no longer lust that consumed their actions. But rather something promising.

Y/N wraps her legs around Harry’s waist and pulls his hips flush against hers. He’s still in his briefs, and his arousal has soaked through. She moans and rubs herself against him, like a cat in heat.

“Please,” she begs, breaking away for air. She needed to feel him inside her.

“Do you-?”

“Nightstand.”

By the time Harry gets his briefs off and the condom rolled on, Y/N is an aching mess. She is clinging to the sheets above her head. She legs her legs fall open, completely baring herself to him.

Harry settles into the space between her his and grabs his cock. He flicks the tip against her clit a few times and trails the length of her folds. Coating himself with her juices before he slides into her.

“Harry,” Y/N gasps, placing her feet flat on the bed and jutting her hips toward his, as he starts to fill her.

“Fuck,” he growls, grabbing both her hands, Harry pins her to the bed.

When he is in her completely, in one quick motion he pulls out and slams back into her. Once he is connected to her to the hilt, causing Y/N to call out. Overwhelmed by his size, Y/N is practically shaking. He’s so deep inside her, he’s the biggest she’s ever had. Not able to help herself, Y/N tells him exactly that.

“Y/N…” Harry whines. He leans down to kiss her chest.

“Make me yours,” Y/N begs. Circling her hips, encouraging him to move.

He releases her hands and sits back on his heels. Harry moves his hands to her hips and pulls her onto his lap. Y/N’s back is arched in this position, and he hits her at a new angle.

“So beautiful,” he gasps. Pulling her down against his cock and letting his hand trail up to cup her bare breast.

Y/N places her hand atop of his, to encourage his fondling. When she locks her eyes with his, she feels a pull in her lower belly and tingling at her lower spine.

Harry’s mouth hangs open in a perfect ‘o’. His body is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and his curly hair is stuck to her forehead. Y/N lets her eyes wonder done his chest to the bunching muscles of is stomach as he pumps into her.

“Oh God, Harry!” She cries, grinding down against his pelvis to stimulate her clit. Pressing her head into her pillow, Y/N throws her arms up against her headboard for leverage to push down on his cock.

“Fuck me…” Y/N pants, wanting to feel him deeper.

Harry moves her legs to his front, so her ankles rest on his shoulders. He wraps his arms around the front of her thighs, holding on to her. Then he starts to pound into her. Harder. Faster.

“Like that. Take it, love.”

Y/N calls out as her orgasm washes over her. She feels boneless as she watches Harry drop her legs to his sides. Still trembling from the aftershocks, Y/N pulls Harry down for a kiss.

He is still gliding in and out of her slowly. “Never thought I’d get to have you like this. Better than I ever imagined.”

He kisses her softly. “I want this,” he whispers. As he moves his hand down between her legs again. He circles her clit gently. Knowing that she was sensitive from her orgasm. He changes his thrusts from fast and hard to shallow and frantic.

Y/N can feel both of their orgasms approaching, all it takes for Y/N is the kiss Harry places on her lips.

She clings to him as she watches Harry cum. It was a beautiful sight.

Minutes later, Harry tries to get out of her grasp, but Y/N won’t let him. It takes Harry telling her that he needs to clean up for her to finally let go.

When he walks back into the room, Y/N opens her arms and pulls him close to her again. Their legs tangle together and the two fall asleep.

~~~~~~~~

When Y/N wakes up, Harry isn’t in bed. She shoots out of bed with her heart beating wildly in panic.

It’s when she hears noise coming from her kitchen, she calms down just a bit. Pulling on Harry’s white shirt, barely coming to the tops of her thighs. She walks out toward the living room. Harry is standing at her stove frying bacon.

He is in nothing but his briefs. He looks at her and smiles. Y/N missed his breathtaking smile.

He walks up to, pulling her to his chest and kisses her. His tongue slides in and Y/N can feel wetness gather between her thighs.

When he breaks away, she is breathless.

“I made breakfast,” he shares.

“ I can see that,” Y/N grins.

Harry drops his head to suck the sweet spot behind her ear before he whispers, “But I’m not hungry for breakfast.”

Before Y/N knows it, Harry lifts her up and places her on the dinner table. He pushes her onto her back and moves her shirt to expose her chest. Harry sits on the head chair and pushes her legs apart. Y/N lifts her head to watch him. He looks up at her with a gleam in his eyes and lapped her wet pussy. Crying out, Y/N drops her head back and clutches onto his hair.

“You taste so fucking good,” he tells her, before sucking in two fingers before sliding them into her. He wraps his lips around her clit and starts to suck.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck!” Y/N shouts as she rocks her hip into his face.

Harry curls his fingers just right and Y/N cums. She is seeing stars and babbling nonsense.

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Y/N chants, as she comes down from her high.

“Now you can eat love.”

~~~~~~~~

Y/N knows that they should talk at some point. But the thought gets lost when Harry rolls his hips up against her.

“Your pussy feels so good,” Harry groans. His hands grip her hips and guide her.

He leans further back against the couch, mouth hanging open, watching her breasts bounce.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants, dropping a hand to focus on her clit. Rubbing it in tight, hard circles.

Y/N cums instantly.

Thrust up one, two, three more times, Harry holds her against him as he shoots into the condom. They stay together for a bit before Harry moves to toss the condom. When he comes back, he had a warm washcloth in his hand for her to use. He pulls her against him and lays them down on the couch.

Once again the thought of talking to him enters her mind again.

“So, umm…”

“I was thinking…”

Y/N laughs as they both speak up at the same time. “Go ahead,” she encourages.

Harry grabs her hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. Causing Y/N to melt against him.

“I want you to know how much last night… this morning… have meant to me,” he says. “I care about you a lot Y/N.”

Smiling, Y/N leans up and kisses him. “I care about you too.” Cupping his cheek, Y/N strokes his cheek and brow bone. “I meant what I said last night. I want to explore the future of us. I realized it was pointless to keep fighting it.”

Laughing, Harry runs his hand up and down her back. “I’m glad you feel that way, I could only keep up the asshole persona for so long.”

“Oh!” Y/N teases, “that was all an act?” Trailing her nails over is abs.

“Yeah, I could see how it turned you on, so I went with it.”

Blushing, Y/N hides her face in his chest.

“But seriously,” she tries again after she can get control over her emotions. “I’m happy we are trying this. That we are not just sleeping with each other, it would make it easier to….”

“Explain to June.” Harry finishes for her tensely. Making Y/N look up to him in confusion.

“Y/N… there is something I need to tell you.” He starts “When I ended things with June… I told her there was someone else, and I wasn’t lying.”

Inhaling sharply, Y/N tries to pull away. “So what? You actually cheated on her!” She demands.

“No! I never cheated on her. I would never cheat on one! Ever!”

“Okay, so…”

“The someone else was you. Is you. I’ve always been attracted to you. Since I first laid eyes on you.

Y/N’s breath catches in her throat.

“Just a few times we hung out, I couldn’t get you out of my head. I was insanely attracted to you and wanted you. I might as well have been cheating on June. It didn’t seem right, to be with her when I wanted someone else.” He can’t help but smile and shake his head. “I knew that I had to wait before you would let me talk to you. But I knew that June and I would have gone down this road in the future. But I couldn’t be the guy who was with one girl while he was pining for another.”

Y/N doesn’t know what to say, but when she thinks back to when she first met Harry and all the other times they hung out, she remembers being attracted to him. But she use to brush it aside, thinking he was her best friend’s boyfriend. But it was the little things they would do that was coming back to her.

The not so innocent brush-ups, holding eye contact longer than necessary, and the low key flirting.

Y/N is jolted out of her thoughts when Harry cups her face in his hands with worry. “Say something.”

“I’m glad,” Y/N whispers. “I’m glad you waited. Things wouldn’t have worked out if you didn’t.”

“You are worth waiting for, love,” he replied without skipping a beat, tracing her brow.

Y/N lays there in his arm, wondering how could she have ever gotten him so wrong.

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sunsetcurbed · 4 years ago

Text

you showed me faith is not blind (miracles happen)

Pairing: Alex/Willie Words: 5,251 Rating: T Chapter Warnings: homophobia Chapter: 6/11 read on AO3

Chapter Summary: The sun has already set by the time they get back to the car and with a glance at his phone he sees two things. First, that it's already half past six and second, that he has… a lot of missed calls and texts.

"Oh," he says, before he even buckles his seatbelt. "Is the group harassing you too?"

Willie glances over at him with a confused look and then pulls out his phone. "Whoa, yeah. Wonder what that's about."

(*)

The sun has already set by the time they get back to the car and with a glance at his phone he sees two things. First, that it's already half past six and second, that he has… a lot of missed calls and texts.

"Oh," he says, before he even buckles his seatbelt. "Is the group harassing you too?"

Willie glances over at him with a confused look and then pulls out his phone. "Whoa, yeah. Wonder what that's about."

In skimming through the messages, Alex gets the gist of it—Luke is sorry, the group is worried about him, and after a while, they start to get worried about Willie as well. Before Alex can answer any of them, Willie has already sent the group text a message explaining that they were on a hike and hadn't looked at their phones. Within seconds, a message from each person in their group arrives, all variations telling them to come to the studio. Willie's eyebrows go up. He looks at Alex. "You up for it?"

Alex isn't sure if he is or not, but they're his best friends and he knows Luke is probably having a melt down, so he nods. Ten minutes later, Willie is pulling into the Molina's driveway. Reggie comes bouncing out of the garage, drumming his hands on the hood of Willie's car, and the two of them laugh as they unbuckle and get out.

"Hey, guys!" Reggie yells.

"Hey, man," Willie greets, walking towards him and tossing an arm around Reggie's shoulders, dragging him towards the studio, hurrying along fast enough that Reggie has to stumble to keep up. They're laughing as they go and Alex smiles as he watches. He follows behind them at a slower pace, so when he gets in the studio, Willie has let go of Reggie and is saying hi to the other three already. Alex looks from Flynn to Julie and then his eyes land on Luke, who is staring at him. He's sunken into the couch, eyes round and just on this side of miserable.

It's now going on seven hours since they've seen each other, and Alex knows the majority of that time, Luke has understood that Alex has no plans of leaving the band. And, well, Luke's first thoughts might always be music, but he also does genuinely care about people too. That's especially true for his band—for Alex, Reggie, and Julie. Alex knows that Luke is feeling guilty about the whole thing. He knows that the entire thing is behind them now, that Luke knows he's staying, that Luke knows Alex prioritizes the band too.

… He also knows that the band wasn't the only reason Luke was upset earlier.

Alex knows Luke. They haven't made it through eleven years of friendship on sheer luck.

"It's okay, dude," Alex says.

Luke laughs but it's not all there. "I'm still sorry."

"I didn't tell you guys, so. I'm sorry too."

"Yeah, well, I'll forgive you if you say hi to William and Harry for me," Flynn says from where she's lounging.

"Yes!" Willie whoops pumping his arms and twirling around.

Alex shakes his head. "Uh-uh. She didn't—"

"She called you Prince Charming at lunch," Reggie tells him.

"Oh. Well." Alex brings a hand up and scratches behind his ear, and looks at Flynn. "Thanks for that."

"Any time," she smirks.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Luke asks, and there it is. The other reason Luke had been upset.

Because, well. If the band had been Luke's only concern, it likely would have ended in an argument at lunch, then and there. Luke was passionate about music and he fought for what he was passionate about. But him storming away today? That wasn't out of passion. That was out of pain. He had been hurt that Alex hadn't told him, had been hurt that there was something about Alex that he didn't know. After all, Luke had been Alex's person for years. He was the first person that Alex came out to, the first person he turned to after a fight with his parents, the first person he went to for help. But that has changed lately. Since Luke got with Julie and since Alex's feelings for Willie developed further, the two of them had different people now. It wasn't that they were any less close—not at all. They still told each other everything. They just weren't always the first to know, not anymore. But this… Luke hadn't known this at all.

"I… I didn't want you to know," he admits while he stares at the ground, unable to see Luke's face as he admits this. "I barely wanted to know about it. I mean, this lady shows up and tells me I'm a prince and that I've gotta learn how to act like one and learn the history and politics and culture of another country and—I didn't want to think about it, man. And I knew telling you guys would make it more… real. I didn't know if you guys would think it was funny or if you'd think it was weird. And—and even if we didn't talk about it you'd still know and I'd still know you knew and I'd be wondering what you were thinking so then I'd wanna talk about it not to talk about it but to find out your thoughts and… it didn't have anything to do with you guys. I was just… I didn't know how to deal with it. I don't know how to deal with it. So I just… didn't."

"You told Willie," Flynn points out with a raised eyebrow. Alex kind of wants to fight her right now because he's trying to fix things with Luke, Flynn but he sees that Luke's shoulders are more relaxed now, so he thinks he's in the clear.

"I… I needed to talk to someone. And Willie—Willie—"

"What they have is stronger," Reggie quotes Willie from earlier. Everyone immediately 'ooohs'.

Earlier, it was a joke. Earlier, it was Willie teasing Reggie. Earlier, it was wishful thinking.

Now?

Now Alex has to turn his eyes to the floor because he's scared his burning face is going to give him away and maybe Willie doesn't want that and—

Something grabs his hand. He jumps and looks down at his hand to see another hand in his. He follows the hand up, up the arm, over the shoulder, landing on the face of Willie. He's got a small smirk on, but he tilts his head to the side and bounces his eyebrows. Alex understands the question in the movements and turns towards him. Willie takes that as the answer he needs and brings his hand up to curl around Alex's neck and draws him in for a short, heartfelt kiss. The 'oohs' change to 'oh my gods' and Willie and Alex have to break apart because Alex starts laughing at Luke's high-pitched screech. Willie doesn't let go of his neck but he steps away. The smile one Willie's face is blinding and Alex is willing to bet his matches.

"Dudes, I thought that was a joke!" Reggie yells.

"It was," Willie tells him, stroking the side of Alex's neck with a gentle thumb. "At lunch, anyway."

Their friends all start talking over one another and Alex laughs, moving with Willie to take a seat on the ground. When Julie demands to know how it happened, Willie smirks. "We went on a hike, screamed a bit, and then Alex told me how he felt and I kissed him."

"Alex made the first move?" Luke asks, disbelieving.

"Hey," Alex frowns.

"No offense bro, but we've been waiting for years now and you haven't done shit. Excuse me for my surprise."

"You were friends with Julie for three and a half years before you made a move, I did it in two."

"Yeah well you've liked Willie since kindergarten," Reggie says.

Alex dives across Willie's lap to smack Reggie. "I didn't even know him in kindergarten!"

"But longer than ninth grade, at least," Luke says confidently. "Longer than two years."

Alex's face goes up in flames and he stares at the ground. He can see Willie looking at him out of the corner of his eye. "I didn't even know him though, thinking he's cute doesn't count."

"How long have you liked Alex, Willie?" Reggie asks. Oh, god. Alex doesn't want to know. It's going to make him sound so much more pathetic.

Alex turns his head in time to see Willie look at Reggie and shrug. "A long time. Before I even really knew him I thought he was cute. Thank god he turned out to actually be as interesting as I had hyped him up to be."

"Really?" Alex asks, feeling his heart rate speed up. Hyped up? Willie had thought about him enough before they knew each other to have expectations?

Willie turns to him. Alex must have his anxiety written all over his face because Willie's eyes go soft and he smiles. "Yeah. The day I ran into you on the beach? With the hot dogs? I was actually looking for you. I'd seen you there already that day and I wanted to see you again, so I wasn't really paying attention to where I was skating because I was focused on trying to find you." He hums and knocks their shoulders together. "I did."

Oh.

"O… kay," Alex says, looking down at his hands and picking at the side of his thumb. He'd figured out what his feelings for Willie were in the sixth grade, and even at that age he knew that boys liking boys wasn't the majority. So he didn't hold out hope of Willie liking him back, even if sometimes his mind did like to pretend back then. When Willie came out to them when Alex was in ninth grade, Alex had already gone three years thinking (knowing) that there was no way that Willie could like him back. But then in the few months of knowing Willie, Alex had come to realize that Willie was just entirely too good for Alex. In ninth grade, learning Willie liked boys didn't change Alex thinking (knowing) Willie couldn't like him, even if sometimes he did like to hope. It just became for a different reason. So hearing that Willie had liked him, and for 'a long time'… Alex wasn't sure what to do with that information.

He doesn't get too long to contemplate it (beyond the thought of 'what took us so long then?') because after the group throws a few more questions at Willie, they turn their attention to Alex.

"So what have you really been doing after school? With the prince stuff?" Reggie wonders.

"I really have been with my grandma. She's, uh… the Queen of Beasiga by the way. We're just… I call them prince lessons." Everyone laughs. Alex smiles. "They're… It's like etiquette lessons mixed with Beasiga lessons—history, politics, government, culture, economy—mixed with world politics lessons mixed with foreign language lessons."

"And… you do this on top of school?" Julie frowns, her face clearly concerned for Alex.

He nods. "Yeah, but my grandma is really considerate of my time. She even helps me with my history and econ homework most days and gives me extra information."

"What kind of things do you do?" Luke wonders.

"Well, most nights I eat dinner over there, right? But apparently my posture sucks so they tie me to my chair." The entire group laughs again and Alex laughs with them. "It's also just… a lot of studying. Uh… Let's see… Beasiga began by a charter during a war between its two neighboring countries in 1634 and formed into a country in 1715. They're a constitutional monarchy with a two-party system. Over half of their GDP can be accounted for through tourism. They haven't been involved in a war since the 1810s. They got rid of their army in the 1880s and signed treaties with other countries for foreign protection. Uh…" he looks at his friends, who he realizes asked what he did—not what he learned. "Um. I'm learning how to… carry myself? like a prince. We're working on emotional intelligence this week. Things like self-awareness and empathy and interacting with others. There's some dancing? Not the fun kind, though. Ballroom dancing."

They carry on like this until it's quarter until eight, at which point Alex can't ignore the hunger pangs in his stomach. He promises to discuss it more with them tomorrow if they want, or that they can text him if they have any pressing questions, and then he and Willie take their leave.

He expects that to be the end of a stress filled day, but when they pull up to Alex's house, one of the Beasigan limos is parked on the street out front.

"I would offer to let you come in since we haven't actually eaten dinner," Alex murmurs as Willie turns in the driveway, "but I have no idea what's going on inside. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Willie says. He reaches over and twines their fingers together and squeezes. Alex looks over at Willie. Willie smiles and leans in. They'd kissed a few more times on the hike, and then the once at Julie's, so it feels natural now for Alex to meet Willie half way. They keep the kiss short—they're in a car outside of his house and his family is inside, and they don't know he's gay, so. Plus, something royal might be happening inside if the limo is anything to go by, so it's not the time to be pushing even if he wants to. Willie is the first to pull away (Alex thinks it's probably because he's the one with better self-control) and when he leans back in his seat he lets go of Alex's hand and smiles. "You should get inside. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Uh, yeah," Alex says. He sends one last look at Willie, says bye one last time, and then grabs his bag and gets out of the car. Willie waits in his driveway until Alex has unlocked his door and is inside, and then he backs out of the driveway and drives off. Alex closes the door behind him, dropping his backpack on top of the shoes he has just toed off, and wanders into his house. "Mom? Dad?" he calls.

"In here," his dad calls from the dining room.

He follows the voice through the rooms of the house until he's standing in the entrance of the dining room where he finds his parents, his siblings, his grandmother, and John sitting around their expanded dining room table. They all have plates in front of them, either empty or nearly empty. It looks like Chinese and Alex takes a moment to be surprised that his grandmother would eat take away Chinese food. Then he realizes she probably didn't plan her visit, and they had to order take out, and Chinese was a better option than pizza. "Hey," he says. The group all calls out a greeting.

"Alexander," his grandmother says. "We were just discussing the events of today and ideas for security going forward. We're going to see how the next few days play out and go from there."

"Sounds good," he says. "Is there any more of that? I haven't eaten."

"Yes, in the kitchen," his mom nods towards the kitchen, and Alex goes at once to make himself a plate. He's back, taking a seat at the table next to John after a minute, and bites his lip. "Mom, Dad, Grandma? Can I talk with you before Grandma leaves tonight?"

His grandmother looks at the clock on the wall. "It's getting quite late. Will it take long?"

"Uh… no. No. Just—"

John clears his throat and excuses himself from the room, clearing all the empty plates. He takes them through to the kitchen and turns on the sink to start rinsing them off.

"Ava, Austin," his mom calls, getting his siblings' attention. "Why don't you two go to your rooms? You each get half an hour of Switch time."

No more needed to be said—they were out of their seats and running out of the room as soon as she said the word 'Switch.' Alex snorts, and looks down at his full plate of food. He debates taking a bite because he's absolutely starving, but he'd rather not be talking with his mouth full for this.

"So—with this news thing, there's going to be rumors, right?"

"We'll take care of all of those," his grandmother says, shaking her head. "You don't need to worry."

"Well—I. I'm not overly worried. I mean, rumors are rumors, right? You can just prove them false, right? Someone says I do drugs, I take a drug test. Someone says I'm not really my father's son, you guys have the paternity test," he says. "I'm not really worried. And like, I'm not really worried about what I'm about to say either because there's not really any malicious people at my school, even if there are rumors about me. I don't think anyone would go to any news source and talk about those rumors either, especially because they only know them to be rumors. The chances of this getting out are slim to none. But, I'm sixteen and—and—" and Willie "—and I've been learning a lot in prince lessons. And part of that is confidence. And part of confidence for me is being brave, which… I have, historically, not been. But today I was. And—I'm trying to be right now? It's harder. It's always harder in the moment. But—well, yeah, I'm gay."

Alex wants to make some astute observation about the silence that follows his declaration, but he can't, because it only lasts a second or two. Rather than stretching on like he thought it would, it breaks quickly because his grandmother smiles and says, "why, Alexander, thank you for telling us."

Alex looks at her, head turning a little too quick for his neck's liking and blinks. "You—you're okay with this?"

"Well, why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know, I just. Well, not everyone is. And I thought you—"

"Now that the world knows you are a prince, I was going to invite you to a dinner we're having at the consulate next Thursday," his grandmother says, and Alex closes his mouth from where it was formed around his next word, confused at the sudden subject change. "It's a very important dinner and many members of our government will be there. Perhaps you can meet our Prime Minister, Jeffry Marley. And his husband."

Alex feels like something in the air has changed.

Beasiga's Prime Minister is gay? Is openly married to a man?

He blinks, looks down at his plate again, but he's not really hungry anymore. He thinks. One of his biggest hold ups about being Prince of Beasiga was the fact that he was gay. He didn't think that he could be Prince due to his sexuality, or at least didn't think the people would accept him because of it.

The monarch—his grandmother—appoints the Prime Minister, not the people, so… "And how do the people feel about Jeffry?"

"Oh, wonderfully," his grandmother waves him off, as if him asking is a ridiculous question. "We were among the first to legalize same-sex marriage—it has been legal in Beasiga since 2005. Our citizens are plenty happy with our leaders, and they would be plenty happy with you, as well."

That… That's…

Alex can't think about that right now.

He turns to his parents. "Mom, Dad?"

His dad is staring at the table and nods at him in acknowledgement, and his mom is looking at him with a smile, but he knows her well enough to know that it's not… it's not a smile. His stomach sinks. "Of course you know we love you, sweetie," she says. He's not sure if his grandmother can hear the tension in her voice, or if it's something that takes years to tune into. But he can hear it. "Thank you for telling us."

"Yeah, of course," he says, but the building good mood he had a minute ago has gone to shit with their dismissal.

"Well, then," his grandmother says, noticing the souring of the mood. "I think it's time for John and I to go. Alexander, I trust I'll see you tomorrow, all well? … after the day you've had?"

He blinks. He's pretty sure she's asking if he's safe to be left here. "Yeah. I'll be there tomorrow, fine and ready to learn about Beasiga in the 1700s."

"Good, I'm glad. Well…"

"I'll show you out," his dad says, standing up from the table and walking towards the kitchen to where John was, not sparing a glance in Alex's direction.

"I will see you tomorrow, Alexander," his grandmother says before following his dad.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow," he calls back. When she's gone, he finally takes a bite of his food, but there's no taste to it, which is shocking for the fact that it's Chinese food and Chinese food is always flavorful. He doesn't think it's an issue with the food, but instead his brain. His stomach needs food though, so he shovels it in, bite after bite, not stopping even as he hears the front door open and close, even as he hears the doors of the car outside open and close, and not even as he hears his dad slam the bedroom door. Alex sees him mom flinch at that last one and sighs. "You wanna go join him? Slam some bathroom cabinets closed to get some of that anger out while you're at it?"

Her head snaps up and she looks at him. "I'm not—I'm not angry."

Alex scoffs. "Sure."

"I'm not!"

"Right," Alex nods. "You're not angry. He is. You're disappointed."

She opens her mouth, leaning forward, ready to say something, and Alex braces himself, but the words never come. She falls back into her seat. She mumbles something under her breath that Alex doesn't quite catch and he frowns.

"What?"

She furrows her eyebrows together. "It's all going wrong," she repeats. Alex reels back, stunned. She barely takes notice, barreling on. "Thing after thing in your life, it all just keeps piling on and I don't know when it's going to stop. When you were in seventh grade you loved math and science and you wanted to be like Mike, do you remember? We started planning for Stanford or Yale or, hell, even Berkeley if you couldn't get into one of those. But then you got more serious about the drums. And then… then you and your friends made that band. And you got into Los Feliz, so how could we say no? It's still a top school. But then you started talking about gigs and tours and albums and… Alex, you've done great with the band, really. So we thought—maybe you'd put college on hold for a few years to pursue your music, but then you'd go back." She nods to herself assuredly, and looks up at the ceiling, drawing in a deep breath. "And then your dad dies. Not having had any other children, leaving you the heir to the throne of Beasiga. Something he and I had every intention to avoid for you, because I… I didn't want you growing up in that life. I didn't want you growing into that life. Into a prince and then a king who would be all about a country and not about himself and have no room to live your own life. And then that man has to show up claiming his right to the throne, so your grandmother has to contact you early. Throws off your entire junior year. It puts you in a position where you have to choose if you actually want to be prince or not. You're not mature enough to make that choice! You just got your driver's license this summer. And now—now you won't even get a normal family."

Alex stares across the table at his mom, completely unsure of what to say. There's a lot to unpack there, and there's a lot that he wants to argue with her on. He's about to start when—"What do you mean a man showed up wanting the throne?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what are you talking about? You said something about a man claiming a right to the throne," Alex reminds her. "What was that about?"

"Oh," his mom says. "I'm not sure if I'm meant to tell you about that if you don't already know."

"Well I know now, so tell me."

She looks at him and sighs. "There's a man in Beasiga who, if you renounce your claim, is next in line for the throne. I don't know much about him, but he's… pushy, and he's been pressing your grandmother about you. It's why she decided to tell you before your eighteenth birthday."

"Do you know his name?"

"Covington, I think," she says. "Why is this so important?"

Well. That's a good question. "I just think I deserve to know these things," he makes up. "You guys hid enough from me for sixteen years." This is something he needs to think more on, though. He stands up from the table and carries his plate towards the kitchen. When he's at the exit of the dining room, he turns back to his mom. "By the way, mom. I will get to have a normal family. Unless I choose to become prince. Then, only then, maybe my normal will be a little different." He moves to the sink to rinse off his plate, not bothering to give his mom time to answer.

It's when he's rinsing the sauce and rice off the plate that he starts to think about what really just happened. Coming out to his parents and grandmother, finding out the country he could potentially be prince of is pretty fucking progressive and would accept him, being all but shut down by his parents, finding out that there was someone ready to take the throne should he step down, and then—

Unless I choose to become prince.

He didn't say that for his mom's benefit.

He slots his plate into the dishwasher and grabs his backpack from by the front door, then makes his way to his room. He closes the door behind him and moves to his bed, falling down on it and pulling out his unfinished homework so he can complete it.

Unless I choose to become prince.

Where the fuck did that come from?

Okay, yeah, being gay was one of his biggest arguments against accepting his role as prince. Before tonight, he never could have dreamed of it. Before tonight, he couldn't even come out to his parents, how was he expected to come out to an entire country? But… but after tonight… He came out to his parents. And his parents didn't react well. And Alex—he's anxious, yeah, but he's not panicking. And Beasiga is apparently a lot more accepting than Alex's parents, so coming out to that country isn't as scary anymore. Hell, coming out to the world isn't as scary anymore—his parents are the ones in a position of power over Alex, at least immediately, and they're just quiet, angry, and disappointed.

Did Beasiga's progressive views really change his stance on being a prince that much?

No, he doesn't think so.

Covington was also a factor.

Sure, Alex doesn't know much about the man—doesn't know anything about the man—but if his grandmother felt pressured by anyone, well, that can never be a good sign. He's gotten to know her quite well over the past couple of weeks and she's not one to back down. She'd gotten into an argument with him over his own lyrics and refused to accept his word when he pulled the 'I wrote the song' card. Alex knows it's not just that he is easy to go up against, because he's seen her in meetings with diplomats from other countries. She's like the goddess of reasoning Athena—but her reasoning isn't actual reasoning, it's just an impossibility to argue against her. So someone forcing her hand… Well, Alex feels threatened. There's no way this Covington man can be a good person, and he suspects that's why his grandmother had come on so strongly at first. She's scared for her country.

Is that enough for Alex, though?

He's thinking about it now, he admits that much. He can't stop thinking about it. The thing is: the prince lessons are working. He can not only eat with correct posture and the correct utensils at a meal now, but he's also learning more and more about Beasiga and its history and is genuinely enjoying his time doing so. He's noticed his confidence has gone up. He's even started speaking with a different cadence to his voice. The care he has for the Beasigan people he's heard and read about and had the opportunity to meet and talk to is overwhelming and he wants to be a part of their lives, wants to improve their lives. He has ideas to improve their lives, good ones that his grandmother has heard and approved of. All the things his grandmother is trying to instill in him are showing up, but there are still two very obvious issues.

Number one: he's in a band. He can't leave that band. He literally just promised that band he would not be leaving them. He doesn't want to leave the band. He loves playing the drums, loves singing, loves making music with his friends. Wednesdays and Saturdays are the best days of the week and he could never dream of giving those up.

Number two: two and a half weeks ago he stood in front of a room of twenty students to give a speech and nearly passed out as a result. Public speaking is still a part of being a prince, and being in front of crowds is still a thing that he can't do. Of course, now that he's actually listened to Julie, he knows it's more the whole… attention thing when he's alone, not the speaking thing, but. Being a public figure involves attention.

He supposes he can bring it up with his therapist—after all, he sees her tomorrow afternoon—and see if she has any suggestions about overcoming that, but…

Why is he thinking about this?

What changed so drastically from this afternoon at lunch, when he was positive in telling Reggie that he'd made his mind up, to now, when he was considering asking his therapist for tips to help him so he could maybe be a prince? What made him go from scoffing at the idea of ruling a country to figuring out ways to make it possible? Why was he considering taking such a huge leap in his decision all of the sudden?

And then he remembered.

The lock.

The lock that broke somewhere inside him today.

He's not sure what the hell it had been holding back, but whatever it was is open and free now and Alex isn't sure if he's scared or excited about that.The sun has already set by the time they get back to the car and with a glance at his phone he sees two things. First, that it's already half past six and second, that he has… a lot of missed calls and texts."Oh," he says, before he even buckles his seatbelt. "Is the group harassing you too?"Willie glances over at him with a confused look and then pulls out his phone. "Whoa, yeah. Wonder what that's about."

#willex fic #willex fanfic #willex #jatp fic #jatp fanfic #ysmfinb #my writing

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thefakejeffreyazoff · 4 years ago

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‘He’s our Satan’: Mega music manager Irving Azoff, still feared, still fighting

(x)PEBBLE BEACH, Calif. —

This is not Irving Azoff’s house. Irving and his wife Shelli own houses all over, from Beverly Hills to Cabo San Lucas, but right now in the last week of October it’s too cold at the ranch in Idaho and too hot at the spread in La Quinta, so he’s renting this place — a modest midcentury six-bedroom that sold for $5 million back in 2016.

From the front door you can see all the way out, to where Arrowhead Point juts like the tail of a comma into the calm afternoon waters of Carmel Bay. More importantly, the house is literally across the street from the Pebble Beach Golf Links, where Azoff likes to play with his college buddy John Baruck, who started out in the music business around the same time Azoff did, in the late ’60s, and just retired after managing Journey through 20 years and two or three lead singers, depending how you count.

(Via LA Times)

Azoff is 72, and this weekend he’ll be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame alongside Bruce Springsteen’s longtime manager Jon Landau. Beatles manager Brian Epstein and Rolling Stones manager Andrew Loog Oldham are already in, but Azoff and Landau are the first living managers thus honored. Azoff is not only alive — he’s still managing. As a partner in Full Stop Management — alongside Jeffrey Azoff, his oldest son and the third of his four children — he steers the careers of clients like the Eagles, Steely Dan, Bon Jovi and comedian Chelsea Handler, and consults when needed on the business of Harry Styles, Lizzo, John Mayer, Roddy Ricch, Anderson .Paak and Maroon 5. Azoff has Zoom calls at 7, 8 and 9 tomorrow morning, and only after that will he squeeze in a round.

The work never stops when you view the job the way Azoff does, as falling somewhere between consigliere and concierge. “My calls can be everything from ‘My knee buckled, I need a doctor’ to ‘My kid’s in jail,’” Azoff says. “I mean, you have no idea. The ‘My kid’s in jail’ one was a funny one, because the artist then said to me, ‘Y’know, I’ve thought about this. Maybe we should leave him there for a while.’”

Golf entered Azoff’s life the way a lot of things have — via the Eagles, whom Azoff has managed since the early ’70s. Specifically, Azoff took up golf in the company of the late Glenn Frey, the jockiest Eagle, the one the other Eagles used to call “Sportacus.” By the time the Eagles returned to the road in the ’90s they’d left their debauched ’70s lifestyles largely behind, but Azoff and Frey got hooked on the little white ball.

“Frey would insist on booking the tour around where he wanted to play golf,” Azoff says. “We made Henley crazy. Henley would call me in my room and he’d go, ‘Why the f— are we in a hotel in Hilton Head North Carolina and starting a tour in Charlotte? Is this a f— golf tour?’”

Trailed by Larry Solters, the Eagles’ preternaturally dour minister of information, Azoff makes his way down the hill from the house for dinner at the golf club’s restaurant. He’s only 5 feet, 3 inches, a diminutive Sydney Pollack in jeans and a zip-up sweater. In photos from the ’70s — when he was considerably less professorial in comportment, a hipster exec with a spring-loaded middle finger — he sports a beard and a helmet of curly hair and mischievous eyes behind his shades, and looks a little like a Muppet who might scream at Kermit over Dr. Teeth’s appearance fee.

His father was a pharmacist and his mother was a bookkeeper. He grew up in Danville, Ill., booked his first shows in high school to pay for college, dropped out of college to run a small Midwestern concert-booking empire and manage local acts such as folk singer Dan Fogelberg and heartland rock band REO Speedwagon. Los Angeles soon beckoned. He met the Eagles while working for David Geffen and Elliot Roberts’ management company and followed the band out the door when they left the Geffen fold; they became the cornerstone of his empire. “I got my swagger from Glenn Frey and Don Henley,” he says. “No doubt about it.”

Azoff never took to pot or coke. The Eagles lived life in the fast lane; he was the designated driver. “Artists,” he once observed, “like knowing the guy flying the plane is sober.” This didn’t stop him from trashing his share of hotel rooms, frequently with guitarist Joe Walsh — whose solo career Azoff shepherded before Walsh joined the Eagles, and who was very much not sober at this time — as an accomplice.

“This was a different age,” Walsh says of his time as the band’s premier lodging-deconstructionist. “We could do anything we wanted, so we did. And Irving’s role was to keep us out of prison, basically.” He recalls a pleasant evening in Chicago in the company of John Belushi and Dan Aykroyd, which culminated in Walsh laying waste to a suite at the Astor Towers hotel that turned out to be the owner’s private apartment. “We had to check out with a lawyer and a construction foreman,” Walsh remembers. “But Irving took care of it. Without Irving, I’d still be in Chicago.”

Azoff became even more infamous for the pit bull brio he brought to business negotiations on behalf of the Eagles and others, including Stevie Nicks and Boz Scaggs. He didn’t seem to care if people liked him, and his artists loved him for that. Steely Dan co-founder Walter Becker said they’d hired Azoff because he “impressed us with his taste for the jugular … and his bizarre spirit.” Jimmy Buffett’s wife grabbed him outside a show at Madison Square Garden, pushed him into the back of a limo and said, You have to manage Jimmy, although Buffett already had a manager at the time.

His outsized reputation as an advocate not just willing but eager to scorch earth on behalf of his clients became an advertisement for his services, a phenomenon that continues to this day. In August 2018, Azoff’s then-client Travis Scott released “Astroworld,” which debuted at No. 1 on the Billboard 200 chart, and occupied that slot again the following week, causing Nicki Minaj’s album “Queen” to debut at No. 2. On her Beats One show “Queen Radio,” Minaj accused Scott of gaming Billboard’s chart methodology to keep her out of the top slot and singled his manager out by name: “C—sucker of the Day award,” she said, “goes to Irving Azoff.” Azoff says he reacted as only Azoff would: “I said, ‘I’m really unhappy about that. I want to be c—sucker of the year.’” In 2019, Minaj hired Azoff as her new manager.

Most of the best things anyone’s ever said about Azoff are statements a man of less-bizarre spirit would take as an insult. When the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inducted the Eagles in 1998, Don Henley stood onstage and said of Azoff, “He may be Satan, but he’s our Satan.”

An N95-masked Azoff takes a seat on a patio with a view of hallowed ground — the first hole of the Pebble Beach course, a dogleg-right par 4 with a priceless view of the bay. He cheerfully admits that he and his partners at Full Stop are “obviously, as a management business, kind of losing our ass” this year due to COVID-19. In another reality, the Eagles would have played Wembley Stadium in August before heading off to Australia or the Far East. Styles would have just finished 34 dates in the U.S., Canada and Mexico. As it stands Azoff is hearing encouraging things about treatments and vaccines and new testing machines, and is reasonably confident that technology will soon make it possible for certified-COVID-free fans to again enjoy carefree evenings of live music together; he doesn’t expect much to happen in the meantime.

“What are you gonna do,” Azoff says, “take an act that used to sell 15,000 seats and tell them to play to 4,000 in the [same] arena? The vibe would be horrible, and production costs will stay the same.”

He knows of at least six companies trying to monetize new concert-esque experiences — pay-per-view shows from houses and soundstages, drive-in events and so on. But he’s not convinced anybody wants to sit in their parked car to watch a band play. More to the point, he’s not convinced it’s rock ’n’ roll.

“Fallon and Kimmel, all these virtual performances — people are sick of that,” he says. “Your production values from home aren’t that good. And they’re destroying the mystique. I mean, Justin Bieber jumping around on ‘Saturday Night Live’ the other night without a band, and then he had Chance the Rapper come out? It made him look to me, mortal. I didn’t feel any magic. So we’ve kinda been turning that stuff down to just wait it out.”

In the meantime, he says, Full Stop is picking up new clients during the pandemic. Artists with time on their hands, he believes, “have taken a hard look at their careers— so we’ve grown. No revenues,” he adds with a chuckle, “but people are saying, ‘We need you, we need to plan our lives.’”

“IN HIGH SCHOOL,” Jeffrey Azoff says, “I wanted to be a professional golfer, which has obviously eluded me.” He never expected to take up his father’s profession. “But my dad has always loved his job so much. There’s no way that doesn’t rub off on you.”

The younger Azoff got his first industry job at 21, as a “glorified intern” working for Maroon 5’s then-manager Jordan Feldstein. After a week of filing and fetching coffee, he called his father and complained that he was bored. According to Jeffrey, Irving responded, “Listen carefully, because I’m going to say this one time. You have a phone and you have my last name. If you can’t figure it out, you’re not my son.”

“Direct quote,” Jeffrey says. “It’s one of my favorite things he’s ever said to me. And it’s the spirit of the music business, by the way. There are no rules to this. Just figure it out.”

Over dinner I keep asking Irving how he got the temerity, as a kid barely out of college, to plunge into the shark-infested waters of the ‘70s record industry in Los Angeles. He just shrugs.

“I never felt the music business was that competitive,” he says. “It’s just not that f—ing hard. I don’t think there’s that many smart people in our business.”

It’s been written, I say, that once you landed in California and sized up the competition, you called John Baruck back in Illinois and said —

“We can take this town,” Azoff says, finishing the sentence. “Where’d you get that? John told that story to [Apple senior vice president] Eddy Cue on the golf course three days ago. It’s true. I called John up and said, ‘OK, get your ass out here. We can take this town.’”

In the ensuing years, Azoff has occupied nearly every high-level position the music industry has to offer, surfing waves of industry consolidation. He’s been the president of a major label, MCA; the CEO of Ticketmaster; and executive chairman of Live Nation Entertainment, the behemoth formed from Ticketmaster’s merger with Live Nation. In 2013 he and Cablevision Systems Corp. CEO and New York Knicks owner James Dolan formed a partnership, Azoff MSG Entertainment; Azoff ran the Forum in Inglewood for Dolan after MSG purchased it in 2012.

Earlier this year Dolan sold the Forum for $400 million to former Microsoft CEO and Clippers owner Steve Ballmer, who’s since announced plans to build a new stadium on a site just one mile away. Despite the apocalyptic parking scenario that looms for the area — two stadiums and a concert arena on a one-mile stretch of South Prairie Boulevard — Azoff is confident that the Forum will live on as a live-music venue. “People are going, ‘They’re going to tear it down’ — they’re not going to tear it down,” Azoff says. “It’s going to be in great hands. I have many of the artists we represent booked in the Forum, waiting for the restart based on COVID.”

The holdings of the Azoff Co. — formed when Dolan sold his interest in Azoff MSG back to Azoff two years ago — include Full Stop, the performance-rights organization Global Music Rights and the Oak View Group, which is developing arenas in Seattle and Belmont, N.Y., and a 15,000-seat venue on the University of Texas campus in Austin. Azoff describes himself as increasingly focused on “diversification, and building assets for the family that aren’t just dependent on commissions, shall we say.”

But as both a manager and a co-founder of a lobbying group, the Music Artists Coalition, he’s also devoting more time and energy to a broad range of artists’-rights issues, from health insurance to royalty rates to copyright reversion to this year’s Assembly Bill 5, which threatened musicians’ independent-contractor status until it was amended in September. (“That was us,” Azoff says, somewhat grandly. “I got to the governor, the governor signed it — Newsom was great on it.”) He describes his advocacy for artists — even those he doesn’t manage — as a “war on all fronts,” and estimates there are 21 major issues on which “we’ve sort of appointed ourselves as guardians.”

He does not continue to manage artists because he needs the money, he says. (As the singer-songwriter and Azoff client J.D. Souther famously put it, “Irving’s 15% of everybody turned out to be more than everyone’s 85% of themselves.”) Everything he’s doing now — building clout through the Azoff Co., even accepting the Hall of Fame honor — is ultimately about positioning himself to better fight these fights. “I’d rather work on [these things] than anything else,” he says. “But if I didn’t have the power base in the management business, I couldn’t be effective.”

The recorded music industry, having fully transitioned to a digital-first business, is once again making money hand over fist, he points out, but even less of that money is trickling down to artists. That imbalance long predates Big Tech’s involvement in the field, but the failure of music-driven tech companies to properly compensate musicians is clearly the largest burr under Azoff’s saddle.

“These people, when they start out — whether it’s Facebook, Snapchat, TikTok, whatever — they resist paying for music until you go beat the f— out of them. And then of course, none of them pay fair market value and they get away with it. Your company’s worth $30 billion and you can’t spend 20 grand for a song that becomes a phenomenon on your channel? Even when they pay, artists don’t get enough. Writers don’t get enough. Music, as a commodity, is more important than it’s ever been, and more unfairly monetized for the creators. And that’s what creates an opportunity for people like me.”

AZOFF’S FIRM NO longer handles Travis Scott, by the way. “Travis is unmanageable,” Azoff says, nonchalantly and without rancor. “We’re involved in his touring as an advisor to Live Nation, but he’s calling his own shots these days.”

I ask if, in the age of the viral hit and the bedroom producer, he finds himself running into more artists who assume they don’t need a manager. Ehh, Azoff says, like it’s always been that way. “There’s a lot of headstrong artists,” he says. “I haven’t seen one that’s better off without a manager than with,” he says, and laughs a little Dennis the Menace laugh.

We’re back at the house. Azoff takes a seat on the living-room couch; Larry Solters sits across from him, his back to the sea. Azoff recalls another big client. Declines to name him. Says he was never happy, even after Azoff and his people got him everything on his wish list. “He hit me with a couple bad emails. Just really disrespectful s—. I sent him an email back that said, ‘Lucky for me, you need me more than I need you. Goodbye.’”

He will confirm having resigned the accounts of noted divas Mariah Carey and Axl Rose. Reports that he once attempted to manage Kanye West have been greatly exaggerated, he says, although they’ve spoken about business. “Robert [Kardashian] was a good friend of mine. The kids all went to school together,” Azoff says. “What I always said to Kanye was, you’re unmanageable, but we can give you advice.

“A lot of people could have made a dynasty on the people we used to manage,” Azoff says, “let alone the ones we kept.”

But he still works with many artists who joined him in the ’70s — with Henley, with Steely Dan’s Donald Fagen and with Joe Walsh. Walsh has been sober for more than 25 years; it was Azoff, along with Henley and Frey, who talked him into rehab before the Eagles’ 1994 reunion tour. “Irving never passed judgment on me,” Walsh says. “And from that meeting on, he made sure I had what I needed to stay sober.” If he hadn’t, Walsh says, there’s no chance we’d be having this conversation. “All the guys I ran with are dead. Keith Moon’s dead. John Entwistle’s dead. Everybody’s dead, and I’m here. That’s profound to me.”

The first client Azoff lost was Minnie Riperton — in 1979, to breast cancer when she was only 31. Then Warren Zevon, to cancer, in 2003. Fogelberg, to cancer, four years later.

“And then Glenn,” says Azoff, referring to the Eagles co-founder who died in 2016. “I miss Glenn a lot. And now Eddie.”

Van Halen, that is. I ask Azoff if he can tell me a story that sums up what kind of guy Eddie Van Halen was; he tells me a beautiful one, then says he’d prefer not to see it in print. It makes perfect Azoffian sense — profane trash talk on the record, tenderness on background.

I ask if he’s been moved to contemplate his own mortality, as his boomer-aged clients approach an actuarial event horizon. Of course the answer turns out to involve keeping pace with an Eagle.

“Henley and I are having a race,” he says. “Neither one of us has given in. Neither one of us is going to retire.”

Henley was born in July 1947; Azoff came along that December. Does Don plan to keep going, I ask, until the wheels fall off?

“I don’t know,” Azoff says.

Do you ever talk about it?

“Yeah! He’ll call me up and he’ll go, ‘I really feel s— today.’ And I say, ‘Well, you should, Grandpa. You’re an old man. You ready to throw in the towel? Nope? OK.’”

Azoff says, “I contend that what keeps us all young is staying in the business. I’ve had more people tell me, ‘My father, he quit working, and then his health started failing,’ and all that. Every single — I mean, every single rock star I know is basically doing it to try and stay young. And I think it works. I really think it works.

“I have this friend,” Azoff says. “Calls me once a week, he’s sending me tapes, it’s his next big record. Paul Anka! He’s 80 years old. OK? And my other friend, Frankie Valli …”

“Do you know how old Frankie Valli is?” Solters says. “Eighty-six. And he still performs.”

“Not during COVID,” Azoff says. “I told the motherf—, ‘You’re not going out.’”

#jeffrey azoff #la times #11.05.20

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theydontknowaboutusimagines · 5 years ago

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It’s Not What I Meant - Harry Styles Two Shot

Part 1

Hearing your voice on the other side of that door caused him to stop dead in his tracks. He found himself leaning towards the door, his hand coming up from his side to the doorknob. This was the closest he had been to you since that night. His heart urged him to turn the knob and walk inside, but his head knew this was not the time. He couldn’t hear much, but what he could hear he knew whatever you were were recording was about him. The pain in your voice and a few of the lyrics he was able to catch, broke his heart even more.

Harry felt his knees beginning to buckle out from underneath him, so he leaned himself against the wall. Everything he had been feeling over the last few months started hitting him all at once. His heart began to beat rapidly, as his eyes filled with tears. A door had opened down the all, one of his friends from the studio they had been working in came out to check on Harry.

“Harry, mate, what are you-” he said before realizing tears were falling down his face.

“She’s-she’s in there,” he whispered. “God, I fucked up. I hurt her. I did the last thing I said I’d ever do. I’ve lost her for good, man, fuck. I hate this!”

“Hey, hey,” he said. “Let’s get out of the hallway and talk about this, yeah? Get you some water.”

Harry didn’t respond, simply letting his friend help him back into the studio.

You hadn’t slept a full night in weeks. You barely felt like eating, only eating soup or a sandwich occasionally. You barely talked to your family or your friends, even though you were staying with one of them. The only thing you found yourself doing was playing around on your guitar or the piano, but your head was too jumbled up to provide any lyrics.

Breakups were something you were used to, given your past history with relationships, but none of them had ever hit you or affected you in this way. You felt numb, mostly, like you were living in slow motion, while still trying to grasp what happened. Since everything happened so fast, it almost didn’t seem real, but it was.

Your heart was broken. You two were over. There was no turning back.

You were laying in bed watching Netflix. Well, you were staring at the screen, but couldn’t really focus on what was happening. The door to the room you were staying in flew open and in walked your friend. She didn’t say anything to, just went straight for curtains and pulled them open. Very little sunlight shown through due to the rain outside, but it did brighten up the room a bit.

“Get your ass up,” she said.

“Get the hell out,” you mumbled pulling the sheets over your head.

“My house, my guest room, so nope,” she said jumping onto the bed. “It’s been months. The only thing you’ve done for yourself is shower, thank god, and play annoying, cheesy, love ballad melodies on the keyboard.”

“Fuck off,” you groaned.

“Look, I get it. Your heart’s been fucked over, we’ve all been there. But, babe, you gotta still live your life,” she said. “You need to make a decision about something. Either you call him up and talk things over or you move the fuck on.”

“I can’t,” you whispered.

“You can’t because you’re too scared of what either of those mean,” she said. “You’re afraid to call him and possibly work things out because too much shit happen and you’re afraid to move the fuck on because you think he was the person you were meant to be with, so then you’ll end up alone.”

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

“See, I’m right,” she smirked. “And you know it.”

You rolled your eyes turning away from her.

“Look, why don’t you grab a shower, a small bite to eat and we hit the studio. Maybe if we sit down together we can get everything your holding inside of you out onto the paper and you’ll start to feel better,” she whispered.

You sighed, “Fine, we’ll go for like an hour and nothing happens, we come back here and you don’t bother me until tomorrow, yeah?”

“Scouts honor,” she smirked.

“You were not a bloody boy scout, so that doesn’t work!” You groaned.

“You keep saying that, yet I don’t care,” she said. “Now, get your ass up, I’ve giving you fifteen minutes.”

Being in the studio was one of your favorite things to do. The setting, the people, there was something about it that opened up your heart and let your feelings burst out. Once you had something in mind you wanted to write, all it took was a few moments of taking in the scene and letting your mind wander off to the place it needed to be. You didn’t only write in the studio, sometimes you'd write on a plane, on a tour bus, in a hotel room, or in a backyard.

A backyard you used to share with your boyfriend. Although, technically, it was his house first, you just happened to move into it a year after you two starts dating. But you can’t think about that, now, or could you. You grabbed your journal and started writing down a few things that came into mind. You looked at your list as you brought the end of your pen in-between your lips.

You knew exactly what you were going to write about, now you just needed to let the words come out. About an hour or so later, you were ready to lay down some vocals. You were feeling a little bit better, but you knew you would feel a lot better once you laid down the song. You put on the headphones and listened to the melody for a few takes before nodding to the engineer.

When Harry got back into the studio, he couldn’t form words or gather his thoughts that were going through his head. The glass fo water shook in his hand as he brought it up to his lips taking a small sip.

“Okay, so what happened,” his friend asked.

“Y/N-Y/N she’s here,” he sniffled. “She in the fucking studio next to us...she’s-”

“Okay, that’s it,” he said standing up.

“What?” Harry sniffed.

“Don’t you see this?” He asked. “The fact that both of you are here is some weird ass fate. So, what you’re going to do, is you’re going to go over there and talk to her. You are going to get some sort of closure from this because you need it, you both need it.”

“I-I can’t,” he sighed. “The things I said- I can’t take those back. I know that, she knows that.”

“No, you can’t, but you two can move past it,” he said. “Look, most of your wallowing in self-pity is because you hated how things ended. So, now is your chance to either end it the way you want or make things right and leave here together. Either way, this is your fucking chance, so take it.”

Harry sighed running his hand over his face.

“And if you don’t then deserve to feel like shit,” He said.

Harry stared at the glass on the table for a bit before taking a deep breath and standing up. He walked back out into the hallway and approached the door of the studio you were in. He couldn’t hear anything coming from the room anymore. He felt his heart sink at the thought you were no longer in there.

If you had already left in the ten minutes he was in his studio, he would never forgive himself even more. He was about to head out into the parking lot to see if he could catch you heading to your car, but then he heard it. Your laugh. This was his chance and his friend was right, he would be stupid not to take it.

He put his hand onto the doorknob and took a deep breath. He didn’t bother knocking, he just turned the doorknob in his hands and walked right in.

You were nibbling on a bag of a crisps as you all started talking about different things after listening to the rough cut of the song. It was definitely a gut-wrenching, heartbreaking song, but it was what you were feeling. You did feel a little bit better, like a small weight had been lifted off of your chest. However, ever singe bit of that would land right back down, when the door to the studio flung open and in walked Harry.

You weren’t sure how you would feel upon seeing him again. You thought it would either be longing or anger, but seeing him standing before you only brought on confusion.

“I-uh-I heard you from the hallway,” he stuttered. “Can we-I-please can we talk, privately?”

You sighed looking over at your friend who gave you a nod before gathering everyone out into the hallway. They shut the door behind them, leaving you and Harry in a bit of an awkward silence.

“So, what do you want to talk about it?” You asked looking over at him.

“I think we both know,” he sighed.

You nodded leaning back in your chair, “You can uh, sit down.”

Harry nodded walking over and sitting down in the chair next to you. “I uh-I don’t know how else to start this, so I’m just going to tell you how I feel. Please,um, please don’t say anything until I’m finished.”

“Okay,” you nodded.

Taking a deep breath, he looked over at you, his arms leaning on his knees, “I miss you. God, I fucking miss you. I hate being in that house without you. I hate going to bed and waking up without you next to me. I’ve been, the last few months, my life has been shit because of how much I miss you. I know, I know how I royally fucked. I know I said some, awful, fucked up things, but I didn’t mean them. I don’t even know what I said them, maybe I guess, I just wanted to hurt you or something because I was angry.”

“But I promise you, the moment thy left my lips, I regretted them,” he said. “I wish I could take everything back, but I can’t. I don’t know if there’s a way to make things right or for you to forgive me, but I want to try. I don’t know if you even feel anything for me anymore, but I love you. Fuck, I love you more than I ever thought was possible. So, please, if there’s even a small part of you that still loves me, can we try and make us work again?”

“You done?” you asked after a few silent moments.

He nodded tears shining in his eyes.

“I wish I could say that I don’t miss you or that I can’t stop thinking about you. I wish I could look you in the eye and tell you I hate you because of what happened that night, but I can’t. I can’t because I miss you every second of everyday, which means there’s not a time when I’m not thinking about you. I can’t because I love you so much it fucking hurts and not being with you hurts even more,” you sniffled. “I want to jump into your arms and tell you I’m sorry and that I forgive you, but I don’t know if I can. Which is fucked up on my end because I said shit that night, too.”

“I want to say we can move on from this and be together because we both obviously still love one another, but can we? Should we? I mean if one argument caused both of us to intentional say shit that we knew would hurt the other, that’s not healthy,” you said. “Maybe in our case love isn’t enough for our happiness.”

“Don’t- Don’t say that,” he said. “We’re supposed to be together! I know it. We made a mistake that night, that’s it. We’re not perfect, Y/N. Couples fight. Couples who love each other, fight, it’s part of being in a relationship. Nothing is perfect, but it’s how we handle it.. how we talk through it.. “

“It’s okay to say that now,” you said. “But what happens if we have another argument and we make the same mistakes again, then what?”

“We’ll keep working through it,” he said.

“Until when? Until we’re both so miserable and despise each other?” You asked. “That’s not fair to either of us. We love each other now, but what about a year from now? Two years? Hell, what if we get married and have kids and realize we shouldn’t have been together.”

“Okay, if you want to talk what if’s, how’s this one,” he said. “What if we walk away from each other tonight and then we both move on and meet other people, only to realize we settled with people we weren’t meant to be with and we end up miserable, regretting not being with each other.”

You shook your head standing up to pace around the room.

“Look, the truth is neither of us know what the fuck the future holds, but we do know what is happening now,” he said. “And right now, I know that I love you and that I want to be with you and that I really want to kiss you and take you back to our house and fall asleep with you in my arms. I want that right now and tomorrow and the next day and the day after that.”

You sighed looking at him, tears threatening to spill over, “I can’t-I’m not... I can’t get hurt again, Harry. I’m not strong enough. This whole thing... broke me...”

“Then let me fix it,” he whispered closing the distance between you. “We can get through this, I know it. We just have to trust and believe in each other.”

You sighed turning your gaze down when Harry put his hands on your cheeks.

Using his thumb to wipe away your tears, he looks into your eyes, “All I’m asking.. begging for is one more chance. I promise I will do everything to not fuck it up again, please.”

Two years later.

You glanced into the floor length mirror one more time giving yourself a look over for it was time. Time for you to walk down the aisle in front of your friends and family towards the new chapter in your life. A few years ago, you never thought you would be in this place. A place of happiness, love, and marriage.

They called for your name and you took a breath before grabbing your bouquet and heading out. As you to closer, you could hear the music being played on the violin and you were already getting misty-eyed. Good thing they make waterproof, makeup. A set of white doors lined with flowers was the only thing separating you and the man of your dreams.

You once had gotten your heartbroken and you thought you would never mend it back together. But somehow and someone did just that and now you were moments away from walking down the aisle to him. Right on time, the doors swung open and all eyes were on you, but all you cared about was the handsome man in a suit at the end of the aisle.

You smiled as you stared at him as you started to walk. He wiped at his eyes and you were a little happy that he also was a bit of a blubbering mess. When you made it to the end, he took your hands into his, while you handed your bouquet to his sister behind you.

“You look beautiful,” he mouthed to you.

“So, do you,” you mouthed back.

He squeezed your hand as you two focused on the each other. The whole ceremony was a bit of a blur up until the final words you had longed to hear.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” they smiled. “Harry, you may kiss your bride.”

And that’s exactly what he did.

There’s part two! I hope you enjoyed it! :)

#Harry Styles Imagines #One Direction Imagines #Harry Styles one Shots

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sweethazzababy · 5 years ago

Text

Comfort.

A/N: Just a little something I wrote this morning. :) Enjoy... my requests are open for any suggestions and comments!

One Shot

Song: Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby by Cigarettes After Sex

Her body is trembling uncontrollably as her quick feet try to effortlessly carry her to the front door. Puddles are challenging her quest, standing in the way of the warmth radiating from the dim glow of her house a few yards away. The rain doesn’t let up, never showing her mercy, torturing her as she struggles without the shelter of an umbrella.

The water soaks her hair, hanging around her blushed face. Tiny strands stick to her forehead and her neck, clinging to her skin desperately. The tips of her fingers turn white from the chill of November air, and the frigid downpour.

Nowhere in the forecast did it say it was going to storm. London’s just that unpredictable, she tells herself.

The only thing that’s really motivating her to to get inside as fast as she can, is the person who’s waiting for her inside. He’s probably cooking up something for her, making her a steamy cup of hot cocoa and preparing it the way he knows she loves it. A drizzle of chocolate syrup at the bottom of the mug to enhance the sweetness. Only a few small marshmallows, a dollop of whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon to finish it off. Just the thought of his tasty creation makes her insides tingle and her mouth water.

Inside, he has a small fire going in the fire place, the whispers and crackles of the flames are music to his ears. For him, there’s nothing more soothing than the calm presence and warmth of a fire on a chilly day like today. The stove is on, with a pot holding what would very soon be dinner. His homemade chicken noodle soup is one of her favorite dishes of his. And he knows this, wanting it to be extra delicious and toasty for when she arrives. His favorite thing to do is spoil her. Shower her with endless care and affection, never once letting her doubt his love for her. He knows how it feels to ponder constantly about the thoughts of a loved one, wondering if any of their feelings are slipping at all. He never wants that for her. Her heart and soul is too precious and so incredibly special and he knows this. It’s his job to protect it.

These thoughts are wandering through his mind, a small dimpled grin on his face as he pictures her reaction when she walks in, ancticipating seeing the person he most looks forward to hugging after a long day.

She finally gets to the steps, her arms hugging tightly around her waist trying to retain any possible heat that’s still left. Once she gets to the door she immediately twists the metal knob to be met with the snug and radiating heat coming from the comfort of her home. The enticing ambrosial of what she knows to be his mouth watering homemade soup consumes her senses almost making her knees buckle.

Her clammy hands tug at the sleeves of her jacket, peeling it off as droplets of water run down the sides to soon appear on the hard wood floor below her. Once she gets her damp jacket hung on the rack beside the door, she can’t help but hear the squish in her shoes from the rain and her nose scrunches in disgust. Kicking her shoes off, she starts to feel a little bit of comfort despite the cold and uncomfortable feel of her socks dampened to her skin.

“Y/N? S’that you?” She hears his voice, so wonderfully deep it makes her heart jump at the huskiness emitting from his throat. His voice is one of the first things that made her fall for him. It’s so soothing and calm the way he speaks, so slowly and eloquently.

“Yeah. This rain is horrible.” She responds with a huff, her body still chattering away unable to escape the nip of the air outside.

Eventually she stumbles into the kitchen, her hair matted to her body and her waist still engulfed in the cocoon of her arms. When he lays his eyes on her, concern washes over him at the sight of her shivering. His eyes grow wide with a deep frown replacing his smile.

“Babe..” Trailing off, he’s shocked at her fragile being. The way she’s clutching at her own torso with her arms crossed makes her appear so small and bleak. He drops the wooden spoon used to stir the soup carelessly on the counter and immediately strides his way over to her. Worry is written all over his face.

“You’re trembling..c’mere.” His voice floats, with a small whimper. He can’t stand the sight of her in any pain. It makes his stomach twist and his skin crawl.

His hands grasp a hold of her lower back, pulling her into his chest tightly, hoping the warmth radiating from his palms can soothe away the bitterness deep in her veins. His hands gently run themselves up and down her back, chin atop her damp head. Leaning down he places a steady kiss on her forehead, lingering for a few seconds. They stay like this for a few minutes, his arms squeezing her tightly easing the shivers away. It’s almost like they’re frozen in time, never wanting to let go of each other.

“I made your favorite soup f’you. What do y’say we get you warmed up hm?” He grumbles lowly in her ear, optimistically speaking. Before she can even move he runs to the couch and grabs the first throw blanket his eyes land on, leaning his body over to get a hold of it. Soon enough, she senses his presence behind her, lifting the wool to drape around her shoulders like a cape. The small curls that peak out behind his ears tickle her face as he plants a gentle kiss on her cheek.

Plopping down at the table her eyes hungrily peer at the soup he brings over. One for her, and one for himself.

“Thank you Harry.” She gushes, the apples of her cheeks gaining some color from all of the heat around her. She starts to feel her fingers tingle as the frigidness melts away, her blood cells pumping again.

“Anything f’my love.” His ringed hand reaches over to her hand, caressing her knuckles further moving along the process of regaining feeling in her fingers.

Before he digs in, he abruptly drops his spoon, the sudden clink of the metal hitting the dish startling her while she’s drowning in the deliciousness of the soup.

“Almost forgot.” He mumbles, shuffling out of his seat and over to the kitchen. After a few long minutes he comes back with her favorite mug in his hand. The way he treads back in, carefully taking each step making sure to keep it steady makes her giggle. His bottom lip is tucked between his teeth, eyebrows tugged in and eyes concentrated on the drink. As soon as she spots the whipped cream with the sprinkle of cinnamon piling at the top, a wide grin spreads across her lips.

“Careful you don’t drop it.” She teases with a cocked eyebrow. He just playfully glares at her, slowly setting it down next to her soup.

Once he sits down, they continue on talking about each other’s days. The hush of the rain is pattering against the windows and the fireplace sizzles like a distant noise. He tells her about his hours in the studio, gushing over a new song he’s started. Seeing him hold so much pride because of what he creates is a type of happiness within herself she never thought was possible. It makes her heart swell until it feels like it’s going to eventually break through her chest.

She tells him about the antics of her coworkers at the office, reminiscing about certain inside jokes and things that make her laugh which causes him to chuckle here and there. Then her mood switches as she starts to rant about a few tough clients she had to deal with and he can see the frustration in her eyes.

After dinner, he did the dishes while playing some tunes, swaying his hips to the melody. His hair bounces as he shifts from one foot to the other, singing along. She smiles dancing beside him, the blanket still huddled around her petite body.

The night ends with snuggles on the couch, reruns of Friends playing on the TV. As they’re watching he likes to quote the lines as they’re happening. It’s his way of narcissistically proving how big of a fan he is of the show and it prompts her to roll her eyes at his silliness.

“Oh God, I am a woman!” Harry cheekily says along with Joey Tribbiani on the screen. He chuckles to himself watching Joey and Chandler’s amusing banter, tracing his fingers along her shoulder down to her forearm. She finds herself dosing off at his soft touch, her eyes flickering open the second she feels them give out on her. Her eyes feel sore and heavy, the events of a long day catching up to her.

“Go t’sleep pet. I’ve got you. M’right here.” He hums, pecking a soft kiss on the top of her head. Satisfied, she ajdusts her position so she’s cuddled even more into the warmth of his sweater, the fabric caressing her cheek in such a way that draws her into a deep slumber.

“I love you Harry.” She mumbles, her words drifting into silence as she falls asleep. Admiringly gazing down at his love, his world, his heart flutters at those three words.

“I love you too.” He whispers in her ear, wanting her to fall asleep feeling appreciated and loved like she should every night.

All she needed was him. It hurt when he had to go away for work, and her heart and her gut deep in her being, ached for the moment she would be able to feel embraced in his tattooed arms again. For him, these are the nights he craves while he’s away on stage performing for the thousands of people that love him. He dreams of these nights, where he has his love snuggled into his chest in the warmth of their home. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

A/N: Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Talk to me in the comments, or message/dm me! :) Let me know what you wanna see next.

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #harry styles fluff #Harry Styles fluff one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles writing #harry styles writings #harry styles stories #harry styles 2019 #harry styles update #harry styles lights up

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