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cloudyluun · 5 months ago

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Rewrite The Stars | Patreon Series

famous actor!harry x famous actor!reader

New series out now on Patreon!

Series Summary: Y/N and Harry had a one-night stand that went horribly wrong. Now, they’re starring in a romance film together—and the studio wants them to fake date for PR. Between past regrets, scripted passion, and way too much unresolved tension, pretending gets a little too real.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Rewrite The Stars Chapter 1 | Teaser

Summary: Y/N and Harry had a one-night stand that ended in disaster, and now they’re forced to play soulmates on screen—and fake date off-screen. Between scripted kisses, red carpets, and unresolved sexual tension, things spiral fast. Cue the angst, smut, and emotionally constipated idiots.

A/N: Look, I love a good “ex-lovers forced to fake date” trope almost as much as I love making Harry suffer with feelings. This is messy, steamy, and full of bad decisions. Enjoy watching these two idiots pretend they’re not in love. 😌

Word Count: 3,7k

Warnings:

Angst (like, so much angst)

Fake dating shenanigans

Smut (desperate, messy, emotionally charged)

Swearing & sexual tension at unhealthy levels

Poor communication (they are DUMB)

Flashbacks to bad decisions

Mentions of alcohol (drunken one-night stand)

Tabloid gossip & PR manipulation

Harry looking stupidly good in a suit (a warning in itself)

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The studio conference room is buzzing with quiet conversations, papers rustling, and the occasional scrape of a chair against polished hardwood. Y/N steps inside, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder, her pulse thrumming in her ears. It’s nothing. Just another table read. Just another job.

And then she sees him.

Harry Styles is leaning against the far end of the long mahogany table, deep in conversation with Sofia Laurent. His profile is sharp in the golden morning light streaming through the windows, his expression unreadable. He laughs at something the director says, and it sends an uncomfortable heat crawling up Y/N’s spine.

She hasn’t seen him in over a year.

Not since that night.

The memories slam into her without warning—a wrap party, too much champagne, his voice low and teasing in her ear, his hands finding her waist as they stumbled into the dimly lit corridor of their hotel. The way he kissed her like he had been waiting for it forever. The way she let him. Tangled sheets, desperate touches, whispered names in the dark. And then the morning after—him sitting on the edge of the bed, already pulling his jeans back on, raking a hand through his messy curls. The silence that stretched between them like a chasm.

His cold, distant text hours later: Last night was a mistake. Let’s not make this a thing.

Y/N had responded with nothing but a thumbs-up emoji. Then she’d blocked his number.

Now, he’s right in front of her, and there’s no blocking, no ignoring. Just a long, inevitable collision waiting to happen.

She forces a smile, smoothing a hand down her sweater as she moves toward an empty seat. Someone’s already put name placards at each spot. Of course, hers is directly across from Harry’s.

He looks up as she slides into her chair. Their eyes meet.

Something flickers in his gaze—recognition, hesitation, something she refuses to name. Then it’s gone, and he nods in greeting, cool and professional.

“Morning,” he says. Like he’s speaking to a colleague. Like he doesn’t remember every inch of her skin under his hands.

Y/N swallows down the bitterness rising in her throat. “Morning.”

Sofia claps her hands together, drawing everyone’s attention. “Alright, let’s get started! We’re diving in with the final scene today. I want to establish the emotional stakes right away.”

A production assistant starts handing out script copies. Y/N flips hers open, her fingers tightening around the pages when she sees what’s in front of her.

EMILIA: “It’s always been you.”

LUCA: “Then stay.”

(They kiss. It’s desperate, raw. Years of longing unravel in one final embrace.)

Y/N can feel Harry’s gaze on her before she even looks up. When she does, his expression is unreadable, but his grip on the script is just a little too tight.

Everyone is watching. Waiting.

Sofia leans forward, smiling. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Y/N exhales slowly. They have no choice but to dive in.

Except she already has—just not here, not in this room full of watchful eyes and murmured instructions. No, she’s already drowning, slipping under waves of memory that pull her back to that night.

It had been inevitable. The tension had always been there, simmering beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. It lingered in stolen glances on set, in the way their banter teetered on the edge of something sharper, something that made her pulse race.

But that night? That was when it finally snapped.

The wrap party had been a blur of flashing lights, clinking glasses, and too much champagne. She remembered the way Harry had watched her from across the room, half-smirking, half-serious. She’d pretended not to notice, even as her body betrayed her, drawn to him like some gravitational pull she couldn’t fight.

They’d danced. Not together, not at first. But close enough that when she turned, she could feel the heat of him at her back, the ghost of his breath against her skin.

And then the teasing started.

"Didn’t know you could move like that," he'd murmured against the shell of her ear, his voice thick with something that made her toes curl in her heels.

She’d turned to face him, lifting a brow. "There’s a lot you don’t know about me."

His eyes had darkened at that. "Yeah?"

One more drink. One more shared smirk. One more second of letting the tension coil tighter and tighter until neither of them could stand it anymore.

They’d barely made it out of the venue before it exploded.

A rushed exit. A slammed hotel door.

Clothes peeling away between frantic, breathless kisses.

Harry had been different that night—possessive, desperate. His hands mapped her body like he was trying to memorize her, his lips tracing a path down her throat, her collarbone, lower. She could still hear his voice, raspy and wrecked against her skin.

"You feel so good."

"Been wanting this for so long."

She’d been lost in him, in the way he made her feel like the center of the universe. But when morning came, the warmth was gone.

She’d woken up to sunlight filtering through the hotel curtains, stretching out across sheets that were already cooling beside her.

Harry had been sitting at the edge of the bed, half-dressed, running a hand through his curls.

Something in his posture had been different. Stiff. Guarded.

She’d wanted to reach for him, to trace her fingers along his spine, to whisper something to break the silence.

But before she could, he’d spoken.

"Let’s not make this a thing."

Just like that. No hesitation. No second thought.

Then he’d stood, buttoned his jeans, and walked out the door.

Y/N had stared at the empty space he left behind, the ghost of his touch still burning on her skin. She’d told herself it didn’t matter. That it had just been a mistake. That it hadn’t meant anything.

But then, three days later, she’d seen the pictures.

Harry Styles, arm draped around some model, grinning for the cameras like that night had never happened.

And now, sitting across from him, script clutched in her hands, she wonders how the hell she’s supposed to pretend it still doesn’t hurt.

She doesn’t have long to dwell on it.

The read-through begins, and like clockwork, she and Harry slip into their roles. The dialogue flows, their voices weaving together effortlessly, but it’s the way they look at each other—the tension thick, electric—that makes everyone in the room take notice.

It shouldn’t surprise her. Their chemistry has always been undeniable, even before that night. It was why they were cast together in the first place. But now, it feels different. More loaded.

He delivers his lines with the same careful precision he always does, but his eyes linger too long, his throat bobs when she leans too close. Her pulse quickens, betraying her.

When they reach the final scene—the kiss—Sofia watches them closely, tapping her fingers against the armrest of her chair.

Afterward, as the room empties out for a break, a couple of the studio execs murmur to each other before motioning for her and Harry to stay behind.

The door closes.

“We need to talk,” Sofia says, exchanging a look with the executives.

Y/N folds her arms, already bracing herself. “That’s never a good start.”

One of the execs, a tall man in an expensive suit, steps forward. “We need buzz around this movie. There’s already speculation about you two. We want to lean into that.”

Y/N frowns. “What kind of speculation?”

Another exec, a woman in a sleek black dress, smirks. “Oh, come on. The tension? The history? The way you two look at each other?” She tilts her head. “People think there’s something real there. We think it’s good for the film.”

Y/N scoffs, crossing her arms. “You want us to fake date?”

“Not just fake date,” the man clarifies. “We want the world to believe you’re soulmates. We want red carpets, Instagram posts, candid moments. Full package.”

Y/N shakes her head, the absurdity of it all making her chest tighten. “Are you serious? That’s—”

“Fine.”

Her head snaps toward Harry so fast she almost gives herself whiplash.

He’s standing next to her, hands in his pockets, looking entirely unaffected.

Y/N blinks. “What?”

“We’ll do it.” His voice is steady, final.

She stares at him, stunned. He won’t even look at her.

The deal is made before she can even process it. The studio execs beam, Sofia claps her hands together, and within minutes, their PR team is already setting the plan in motion. By the time Y/N steps outside the meeting room, her phone is buzzing with an email outlining their first official appearance as Hollywood’s hottest new couple.

The Venice Film Festival.

Three weeks later, she stands in front of her hotel mirror, smoothing down the silky fabric of her dress. The deep emerald slip hugs her in all the right places, skimming over curves in a way that should make her feel powerful. Instead, her stomach is twisted in knots.

A sharp knock at the door makes her jump.

She exhales, then opens it.

Harry stands in the hallway, devastatingly gorgeous in a perfectly tailored black suit. The crisp lines, the slightly unbuttoned shirt, the rings that catch in the soft light—unfair.

His gaze drags over her, slow and unreadable.

"You ready?" His voice is even, detached.

"Do I have a choice?" she mutters, grabbing her clutch.

He doesn’t answer.

The red carpet is a blur of flashing lights, shouted questions, and the ever-present hum of cameras capturing their every move.

Y/N can feel the heat of Harry’s hand on the small of her back as they step into the crowd, can hear the low murmurs of speculation from reporters lined along the velvet ropes. She lifts her chin, slipping into the role expected of her—one half of Hollywood’s most talked-about on-screen lovers, now supposedly together in real life.

Harry leans in slightly, voice just above a whisper.

“Smile, love.”

The way he says it—low, smooth, his accent curling around the words—sends a shiver down her spine.

She forces one. It looks real.

The cameras love them, and the world is eating it up. The flicker of their fingers brushing together, the easy way he laughs at something she pretends to say, the way his eyes drop to her lips like they’re the only thing in the world worth looking at.

And then, the questions start.

“Harry, Y/N—are you two dating?”

“You look very comfortable together.”

Y/N opens her mouth to respond, but Harry beats her to it.

“We’re lucky to have found each other.”

The words roll off his tongue smoothly, like he actually believes them.

Y/N swallows, gripping the fabric of her dress.

By the time they’re back in the car, her phone is already blowing up. Twitter is in flames. The headlines are everywhere.

HARRY STYLES AND Y/N CONFIRM THEIR ROMANCE AT VENICE FILM FESTIVAL.

LUCA AND EMILIA, BUT MAKE IT REAL.

The internet explodes.

Her notifications are a wildfire, consuming every corner of her phone. Harry Styles and Y/N CONFIRM their romance at Venice Film Festival. The chemistry is REAL. Fan edits, speculation, analysis of every touch, every glance.

But none of it is real.

And she’s seething.

That night, Y/N storms through the dimly lit hallway of Harry’s hotel floor, fists clenched at her sides. She barely takes a breath before pounding on his door.

It swings open almost immediately.

Harry stands there, now stripped of his red-carpet polish. His suit jacket is gone, shirt half-unbuttoned, tattoos peeking through the undone fabric. His curls are messier than they were hours ago, like he’s been running his hands through them.

“Y/N,” he sighs, already sounding exasperated.

She pushes past him, stepping into the spacious hotel suite. “What the hell was that?”

He exhales heavily, shutting the door behind them. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

She spins to face him. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the way you told the entire world we’re together without even discussing it with me first?”

He shrugs, undoing the cuffs of his sleeves. “You want this movie to succeed, don’t you?”

Her jaw clenches. “Don’t act like you’re doing this for the movie.” She takes a step closer, glaring up at him. “You’re doing it because it’s convenient.”

Harry’s expression shifts, something flickering behind his eyes—something dark. He mirrors her step forward, closing the distance between them.

“And you’re not?”

Her breath catches. The air between them thickens, electric. His voice is lower now, rougher, and his gaze flickers between her eyes and her mouth.

“You don’t get to act like you care now,” she forces out, but it sounds weaker than she intends.

Silence.

His jaw clenches, and something snaps in his expression.

“You think I don’t care?” His voice is quiet, but there’s something dangerous in it, something raw.

She doesn’t get the chance to answer.

Because suddenly, Harry is on her.

His hands find her face, his mouth crashes into hers, and whatever fight they were having burns away instantly.

It’s all heat, all frustration—pent-up anger bleeding into something dangerous, something intoxicating.

Harry backs her up until she collides with the dresser, the sharp edge pressing into her lower back. His hands find her waist, fingers digging into the silk of her dress, and he lifts her onto the cool wood like she weighs nothing.

Y/N gasps, gripping his shoulders, nails biting into his skin through his half-unbuttoned shirt.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she whispers, even though she knows it’s a lie.

Harry exhales a sharp laugh, lips ghosting along her jaw before he nips at the sensitive spot beneath her ear.

“Say that again.” His voice is low, thick, dripping with something smug—something dangerous.

She doesn’t. Because she can’t.

Not when his hands are already pushing her dress up, fabric bunching around her thighs. Not when his fingers are dragging up the bare skin of her legs, slow, purposeful, teasing.

Not when she’s already aching for more.

Her breath stutters as he palms the inside of her thigh, pushing her legs wider. He’s watching her now, eyes dark, hungry, waiting for her to stop him.

She doesn’t.

His fingers skim higher, over the lace of her underwear, pressing against the damp heat there.

“You hate me, don’t you?” His voice is softer now, coaxing, but there’s something else layered beneath it. Something vulnerable.

She should say yes.

But then he pushes the lace aside and slides a single finger through her slick folds, teasing at her entrance before dipping inside, and her only answer is a sharp gasp.

His lips curl against her skin.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth along the line of her throat. “That’s what I thought.”

She clenches her jaw, refusing to give him anything more, but it’s impossible when he moves his fingers so deliberately, so expertly. Curling, twisting, stroking that spot inside her that makes her thighs shake.

Her head falls back against the mirror behind her, exposing more of her throat to his lips, his teeth. He takes advantage of it, sucking a mark into her skin as he works her open, one finger turning into two, his thumb circling her clit just enough to make her hips jerk.

“Harry,” she chokes out.

He hums, pleased.

She doesn’t realize she’s gripping his arm until his muscles flex beneath her fingertips, his bicep taut as he keeps her steady. Her entire body is trembling, the coil inside her winding so tight, pleasure mounting too quickly for her to stop it.

And he knows.

He knows exactly how close she is, how desperate she’s becoming, how much she needs him.

But he doesn’t let her have it yet.

Instead, he withdraws his fingers, slow and deliberate, watching her reaction like it’s his favorite thing in the world.

Her lips part in protest, but before she can speak, he’s undoing his belt with one hand, shoving his trousers down just enough.

His cock is already hard, flushed and leaking, and when he grips himself, stroking slowly, she nearly whimpers at the sight.

“This what you want?” His voice is rough, teasing, but there’s something else behind it—something just as desperate.

She doesn’t answer.

She just grabs his face and kisses him again, hard, as she hooks her legs around his waist, dragging him in.

Harry groans into her mouth, lining himself up, and then—

He thrusts forward, filling her in one slow, deep stroke.

Y/N gasps, fingers digging into his back.

He stills for a moment, forehead pressing to hers, breathing heavy.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “So tight.”

She swallows hard, barely able to think, barely able to breathe as he pulls back and thrusts in again.

And then again.

And again.

His grip on her tightens, hands curling around her thighs as he sets a steady rhythm, each roll of his hips perfectly precise, perfectly deep, like he needs her to feel every inch of him.

Like he wants to ruin her.

The dresser rocks beneath them, the sound of skin against skin filling the hotel room.

It’s fast, desperate, filthy.

And yet—

It’s also slow. Lingering. Drawn out in a way that makes her chest ache.

He leans in, pressing his lips to her shoulder, her throat, breathing her in like he doesn’t want to let go.

And that’s what makes this different.

Not the way he fucks her, but the way he holds her.

The way his hand comes up to cup her jaw, tilting her head to look at him as he thrusts deep one final time, the coil inside her snapping, her body shattering apart around him.

The way he follows right after, groaning her name into her skin as he spills inside her.

Afterward, the room is quiet, save for the heavy rise and fall of their breaths.

Y/N lies tangled in the sheets, barely able to process what just happened.

She waits for him to leave.

Because that’s what he did last time.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he stays.

Y/N barely sleeps.

She should, after the way he wrecked her—after the way they wrecked each other. But her body won’t let her, still thrumming with adrenaline, oversensitive and restless even as exhaustion weighs her limbs down.

It’s not just the sex.

It’s the way he’s still here.

The way his arm is heavy around her waist, pinning her to the mattress. The way his slow, steady breaths tickle the back of her neck. The way his fingers, even in sleep, twitch against her skin, as if his body refuses to stop touching her.

The last time this happened, he left before she could even open her eyes.

Now, she’s the one who wants to leave first.

Déjà vu.

She stares at the ceiling for what feels like hours before she finally moves. Careful, slow, untangling herself from his grasp as gently as she can. His arm is heavy, muscles flexing even in sleep, and she has to hold her breath as she lifts it off of her.

When she’s finally free, she exhales. Swings her legs over the edge of the bed.

Her dress is still on the floor, a heap of silk puddled near the dresser. She moves toward it, keeping her steps light, mindful of every shift in the sheets behind her.

Almost there.

She bends down, fingers just brushing the fabric—

“Don’t.”

Her heart stops.

His voice is hoarse, thick with sleep, a quiet rasp in the dimly lit hotel room.

She freezes.

Her fingers curl into the fabric of her dress, but she doesn’t lift it. Doesn’t turn around.

“Y/N,” he says again, softer this time.

Her breath comes shallow, uneven. She forces herself to stand upright, forces herself to steady her voice.

“I should go.”

Silence.

Then, the rustling of sheets, the mattress shifting.

She doesn’t have to look to know he’s sitting up.

“I don’t want you to.”

It’s barely above a whisper. Like he doesn’t want to say it out loud, doesn’t want to give it power.

Her throat tightens.

Last time, he didn’t say anything at all.

Last time, she woke up to cold sheets and an unreadable text hours later.

Now, he’s asking her to stay.

And she doesn’t know what the fuck to do with that.

Slowly, she turns around.

Harry is watching her, propped up on one arm, hair a mess of curls, lips still swollen from kissing her. His eyes—greener in the dim light—stay locked onto hers, searching.

She grips the dress tighter.

“I don’t know what this is,” she admits, voice barely above a whisper.

Harry exhales, running a hand over his face. “Me neither.”

She nods once, lips pressing together. The moment stretches, tense and fragile, like one wrong move could shatter it completely.

He shifts again, swings his legs over the side of the bed. “But I know I don’t want it to be like last time.”

Her chest tightens.

And for the first time since that night over a year ago, she lets herself wonder—

If maybe… just maybe…

He doesn’t either.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

If you love angst, tension-filled romance, and two idiots pretending they’re not in love, Rewrite the Stars is for you!

#harry styles #harry styles fic #patreon exclusive #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #firstpost #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles concept #harry styles series #harry styles fiction #harry styles fan fic #harry styles angst #x reader

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merrybloomwrites · 1 year ago

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Passing Contact - 1D x Reader

Summary: Y/N's not a fan of physical touch, but that changes when she meets the boys of One Direction.

Word Count: 860

AN: Welcome to the first of 9 weeks of ficlets! Come back every Monday for a little fic of Reader x One Direction! There will be 2 more Reader x full band, as well as a fic or two for each of the individual boys.

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From the beginning, the boys of One Direction were very comfortable being close to one another physically. Harry was the one to start the group hugs and big cuddle sessions on the couch, but eventually all five had grown used to it, and had even begun to initiate. Maybe it was being away from their homes and families, maybe it was the stress of the competition, but sharing physical touch was never weird between them.

When One Direction was planning for their first ever tour, you’d auditioned to be their drummer, never thinking you’d hear back after submitting your reel to them. You were young, you were a girl, and you had no real experience touring on such a large scale. You later learned that all those things had counted against you, but then management realized it wouldn’t be the worst to have a young girl in the band. Something about being even more marketable, appealing to even more people.

Yes, you were there to catch the eye of teenage boys and make them fans. You don’t love that, but hey, you’re in the band. They wouldn’t have hired you if you couldn’t play, so you take it as a compliment.

Louis, Liam, Zayn, Niall and Harry quickly became your friends. You spent as much time with them as you could, often hanging in their dressing room instead of with the rest of the backing band. Within a month of tour, there had been rumors of you being in a relationship with each one of them. Of course, none of these rumors had any validity to them.

Not only were there rules in place forbidding you to date any of them, but the boys respected you as a band mate too much to make a move. They also noticed how you often shied away from any physical contact, so they always made sure to respect your personal space as well. Plus, you were all too exhausted from concerts nearly every day to even think about starting any kind of relationship.

The day after the first leg of the tour ended with a show in Belfast, the six of you made your way south again, to stay in a vacation house owned by Niall’s uncle. While you would have preferred a warm tropical destination rather than Ireland in January, no one was up to travel more than an hour at the moment.

That first night everyone went to bed early, completely exhausted.

The second night, however, saw everyone well rested and ready to party. While you and Harry technically weren’t of age, that didn’t matter. The other four could easily supply the party with more alcohol than you could possibly consume.

You guys went through the many stages of partying, starting with the loud singing and laughter, followed by dancing on tables and thinking drinking games would be a good idea, finally ending with all of you piled together on the living room floor telling deep dark secrets.

Which leads to you spilling more about your family life than you’d ever planned to tell, including how you basically raised yourself and learned how to play instruments to find a way out as soon as possible. You mentioned how you never really received physical comfort as a child and that’s why it feels so foreign to you now.

Of course you regretted your verbal diarrhea the next day, and you hoped maybe the boys had drank too much to remember.

But they did remember. And slowly, over the next few weeks, things began to shift. It started with Harry, as these things always did. He began wrapping his arm around you, lightly to give you space to move away, but you found yourself drifting closer instead.

Next was Niall, always giving high fives and fist bumps, even the occasional hair ruffle.

Then Liam began giving you piggy back rides around the venues, effortlessly carrying you around, his arms holding you tight to make sure he didn’t drop you.

Zayn, the most quiet of the group, was often found hanging on the couch watching videos on his phone during downtime. You’d seek him out when the others were being too much. He slowly drifted closer to you as you watched his phone together, and eventually you found that you’d be pressed close together, often with his arm around your shoulders.

Louis was the last, but definitely not the most subtle. By the time he caught on, he noticed how you were now accepting of these gentle touches, the reminders that there are people who care about you. So he went all in, hugging you at least once a day, resting his chin on your shoulder, even pressing quick kisses to the top of your head like you’d seen him do with his sisters.

Each of these little touches warmed you up inside, healed something you didn’t know was broken.

The first time you got pulled into a cuddle pile was unexpected, but not unwelcome. It was on that bed, surrounded by this group of boys you call your brothers, that you finally felt whole. And finally learned what familial love should feel like.

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Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed, and I can't wait to share the rest with you!

An: part 2 here!

#one direction fanfiction #one direction x reader #harry styles x reader #louis tomlinson x reader #zayn malik x reader #liam payne x reader #niall horan x reader

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gurugirl · 2 years ago

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Liar | bfd!harry

Summary: Harry's wife suspects something is going on but she doesn't know what. Harry can't stay away from you and you don't want him to.

Word Count: 6.1k

Warning: 18+ only, smut, lying, cheating, age gap, angst

bfd!harry masterlist

Harry’s phone kept lighting up from its spot on your bedroom floor. It slid out of his pocket in his haste to take his pants off and get you into your bed. You hadn’t even bothered to turn the lights on before you were spread out and naked under him.

You also hadn’t even made your bed that day. Normally you at least pulled the blankets up and placed the pillows at the headboard but it felt like such a daunting task before your date with Evan that you just didn’t bother.

But you didn’t want to think about Evan when you were with Harry after he’d just admitted he loved you.

Harry fingered you slowly as he kept his mouth over yours, “Just wanna keep kissing you. Never want to stop,” he whispered his words into your mouth as he thrusted his thick fingers into you.

And he didn’t stop kissing you. Not when you came on his fingers. Not when he wiped your arousal onto your leg as he positioned himself between your soft thighs. Not when he pushed his dick inside of you. Not when he brought you and himself to orgasm slowly.

His lips were soft but urgent. You came so hard when he glued his hips to yours and rocked into you, never letting his cock slip out too far.

And when he pulled you onto his chest after he landed on his back, he rubbed your spine and kissed your shoulder and your neck, “Never gonna be so careless with you again. Promise you.”

You always loved basking in the afterglow with Harry but this time was different. He had told you he loved you. You both felt it with each movement and each breath. Harry’s hands held your thighs as he pushed in and in and in and it was all love and emotion. He was showing you what he could with his body and you were happy to receive it.

You both fell asleep with smiles on your faces and you woke up hot and sticky on top of him. He was holding you tight. You attempted to move yourself off of him but he only tightened his grip. You heard him grunt, “Stay.”

And that turned into you slipping down onto his hard cock once again, whispering I love yous to one another as your chest stayed pressed to his. The soft rocking of your hips over his with his hands on your ass guiding you over him slowly. The springs in your mattress squeaked gently as his phone illuminated. But it didn’t stop you. It didn’t stop him.

You both kept at it. Until you’d come to your end again. You gasped his name and he groaned, spilling himself into you as deep as he could, lifting his hips and slicking in until it was impossible to reach further into you.

Even on the comedown, his phone lit up.

You both knew it was Mrs. Styles wondering where her husband was. It was nearly 2 am by then. He’d left his house hours ago and hadn’t returned.

“You should text her back so she’s not worried, Harry. At least,” you spoke quietly as you ran your fingers into his hair, scratching at his scalp. He was still inside of you.

He sighed and grumbled something before lifting you off of him, “I know. I’m just not sure what I’m gonna tell her. I meant to go back home hours ago. It’s late. This is not something I’ve ever done before.”

Obviously. You wanted to say but refrained as you watched Harry get off the bed and bend down to pick up his cell phone. Multiple missed calls and texts.

He sat down on the bed and smoothed his hand up your thigh, “I should probably go. I’ll figure something out to tell her. I’m sorry, pup.”

You sat up and leaned yourself into him, kissing his chest and feeling his come dribble down your thigh as you moved, “It’s okay. I understand.”

. . .

Harry was in trouble. He knew it when he woke up in your apartment and realized how late it was. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep but having you in his arms, post orgasm was like a drug that put him under. And throwing caution to the wind he stupidly fucked you again, wasting nearly 25 minutes more, instead of leaving.

He also knew he was in trouble when he pulled into his driveway and saw the lights on coming from his study.

He didn’t have anything in his study that would give him away. Some receipts maybe, but nothing major. And he’d hidden the receipts for anything he bought you very well. He hoped.

The moment the door was closed and the deadbolt latched his wife came quickly out of his study to confront him.

“Where have you been? I’ve been worried! Do you not have your phone on you?!”

Harry rubbed his face and realized he could still smell you on his hand. He’d cleaned up but, in his rush, he clearly hadn’t gotten all the traces of you off.

“I just had a bad week, at work, and I needed some air and went to the park near the lake and… I fell asleep in the car. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

And the look on Mrs. Styles’ face told him she didn’t believe him. He was definitely in trouble.

Why would she believe him? It was a terrible lie. Harry really didn’t know what he could tell her. He felt of all the excuses he could come up with (during the 20-minute drive home), the one he decided to go with, while quite outlandish and not particularly believable, was the most believable of them all.

“We’ll talk about this in the morning before you leave for your workout. I’ve put some pillows and blankets on the couch in your study. You can sleep in there tonight.” She turned before pausing and looking over her shoulder at her husband, “I’m glad you’re okay, though.”

Harry felt awful. He hated making his wife worry or having her upset with him. But he deserved her anger.

He’d just been so out of his mind wondering what you were doing on your date he couldn’t see or think straight. He left the house in a rush. He told his wife he was running out and would be back soon. And he intended on returning after a couple of hours at the most. But he’d left around 8 pm and had been gone for over six hours.

And even as guilty and bad as he felt, he slept rather soundly on his couch in his study. Perhaps it was that you’d forgiven him. Or the two orgasms. Both probably.

When he woke up to his phone alarm he smelled coffee already. He knew he was going to need to give her a better explanation. But what could he say? What things could he tell her that would quell her questions? Mrs. Styles was smart. She was no pushover. He couldn’t just act as if whatever happened was no big deal. Not responding to her in all those hours? That was a big red flag.

“How’d you sleep?” His wife was sat at their small dine-in kitchen table sipping her coffee. She was already dressed and ready for the day.

“Pretty good. Was tired. How about you?” He poured himself a mug of coffee and joined her at the table.

“Like shit.” She looked down at her mug and sighed, “You lied to me last night,” She looked back into his eyes. “And that makes me wonder how many other times you’ve lied and I’ve just not noticed it.”

His stomach felt sour. She knew he lied. Of course, his excuse was shit.

Nodding his head he stayed quiet. He didn’t know what to say. Of course, if she knew what he’d really been up to their conversation would be going in a very different direction.

“Say something. Tell me what you were doing, Harry. I deserve to know the truth.”

Inhaling a deep sigh he leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table, “I’m sorry. I’ve just been… I don’t know. Maybe I’m going through a mid-life crisis or something. I’m anxious and depressed and it feels like there’s no way out of how I feel–“

His sentence was cut off by her palm coming down sharply on the table and causing his mug to rattle, splashing the hot liquid over the lip of the cup, “Cut the shit! So what? We’re all anxious and depressed Harry!” She stood up and put her hands on her hips as she walked toward the sink and her shoulders dropped before gripping the counter’s edge, “Why didn’t you at least reach out to me? Were you with someone?”

Harry felt he was being choked of air. Was he with someone? Why yes, he was. Someone that he loves in a way he shouldn’t. Someone that he was having sex with while his wife’s calls and texts were being ignored. He felt like he was losing it.

“No. I just needed to be by myself. And I’m sorry I did it that way. I didn’t…” he inhaled to catch his breath, “think. I didn’t think. I wasn’t thinking about you or how you must have felt. I’m sorry. That was selfish.” At least the last part of his excuse wasn’t a lie.

Mrs. Styles turned back to look at her husband as she crossed her arms over her pretty silk shirt, “I know you didn’t think. And I know that I never crossed your mind last night, whatever it is you were doing, you certainly didn’t consider me at all.”

He looked at his wife and blinked his eyes as she stayed cool and steady. She hadn’t been crying. Or at least it didn’t appear that way.

“And I know you’re lying. I can’t explain how I know… I just… I’ve been with you for such a long time that I just know, Harry. And,” she pushed herself from the counter and walked across the kitchen to the hutch where she picked up her keys, “I found a sex toy in a box in your study last night. Care to tell me what that’s for?”

He forgot about that. The toy he bought for you. Forgot that he’d brought it back with him. He’d put it out of his mind, “It was for us. I… we haven’t used a toy in a long time and thought it would be fun–“

Her laugh cut him, “Of course, you’d say that. And how would I know if you were being honest at this point? Just return it. I’ve no intention of letting you use that on me. Not after all this.”

“Hey… I know that you don’t belie–“

“You’re right. I don’t believe you. Not right now. I’m leaving to go stay with my sister for a while. I think if you really feel like you need space, I’ll happily give it to you because I don’t want to be around you when you’re acting like this.” She paused and looked over her husband with his messy bedhead and shook her head, hating how handsome he was, “Just…” she flailed her arms, “get this out of your system. Whatever it is. And if I find out you’re cheating on me,” she laughed darkly, not a hint of humor, “God, I can’t even think about that right now.”

Harry nodded and stood from his chair but did not move from his spot at the table. He wanted to hug her and hold her and tell her everything. The whole truth. Ask for her to be lenient on him. Beg for her to go easy. Explain that he didn’t mean to fall in love with someone else. Tell her he’d give her anything she wanted. But to just give him grace.

But he did none of that. Like the coward he was starting to realize he was, he stood there and watched as his wife plucked up her suitcase and her purse and walked out the front door.

. . .

Your shift was grueling. It was Sunday brunch. The restaurant was packed. Reservations were always made well in advance. No one could just walk in and get a seat. But the nice thing about that was that you knew pretty much what to expect when you arrived and looked at the schedule and saw your tables and how many you’d be serving. Some even had pre-ordered certain things to make it even easier. Though the breakfast and brunch hours were the hardest.

When your new table came in at 1:00 pm you stopped in your tracks as you realized who was at the table. And instead of putting on a fake smile and calming yourself down you turned and walked back into the kitchen. You needed to take a moment to really collect yourself.

Mrs. Styles was there at your table, with three other women. She was dressed in a lovely lavender silk shirt with black twill pants. After what had happened just the night before, well, technically that very morning, you were sure Mrs. Styles wouldn’t be in a great mood. Her husband had avoided her for hours and hadn’t told her where he was. And as her husband was coming inside of you, giving you your third orgasm of the night, she was blowing up his phone that was lying on your bedroom floor.

When you’d gathered yourself as much as was possible you stepped out into the dining room and feigned surprise, “Hi! Oh, it’s so nice to see you, Mrs. Styles,” you greeted warmly. There was no way she’d ever assume you had anything to do with Harry’s being gone for hours the night before. You tried to keep that at the forefront of your mind as you smiled at the small group at the table.

“Y/n! I forgot you worked here! Wow, what a surprise!” Mrs. Styles turned to look at the other women at the table, “Ladies this is Fae’s best friend. Such a sweet and smart girl. Looks like we got the best waitress here. I guess my day’s already looking better,” she laughed, and the other women smiled and laughed with her.

Her comment was like a surgical slice into your heart. You swallowed thickly and nodded, “Yeah. I’m so lucky to be serving you today. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

After their orders were placed, a round of bottomless mimosas for each, you’d calmed from your initial surprise of seeing her. Everything seemed rather normal. Perhaps she wasn’t worried about Harry being home so late. You wondered what lie he told her. What kind of excuse he had.

But after Mrs. Styles ordered her fourth mimosa you realized things weren’t normal at all. The champagne had her spilling some details within your earshot. She was just loud enough that you could hear bits and pieces of what she was telling the other women she was with.

“And he didn’t even try and correct me when I mentioned cheating. Just stood there with his mouth wide open,” one of the women had her hand on Mrs. Styles’ shoulder, rubbing gently.

Through the breakfast you heard comments from the other women, words of advice, bits of encouragement, “Maybe he is just going through a mid-life crisis like he said. Marvin went through a phase last year. Would spend hours in the garage away from the family…”

You stood at the table and smiled as the woman finished her anecdotal story until eyes were on you, “Anything else ladies? More mimosas? Pan de chocolate?”

They’d been there for close to three hours by the time they finally decided to get the check. Mrs. Styles was a tiny bit tipsy as they left the restaurant and you learned that she was staying with her sister, one of the women who was with her at the table.

Now you were dying to know what had happened between her and Harry. She was clearly not doing well knowing that Harry had been gone all night. Understandably.

When your shift was over you got into your car and checked your messages. Normally you had a text from Mr. Styles. At least a good morning text but there was nothing.

Hi. How did everything go last night? Just got off work.

You drove to your apartment with your head in the clouds, made-up images of Harry and his wife fighting about him being gone all night. Harry being devasted when she left him to stay with her sister. Harry begging her to come back.

By the time you pulled your emergency break up in your car and shut your engine off your mood was lower than it had been all day. You hoped Harry was okay but you hated the circumstances of everything. And the night before was great. You were absolutely thrilled to have him with you but again, the burden of the guilt was tearing at your seams. At his.

After a shower you saw a missed text notification and your heart lifted. Throwing your hair up into a towel and picking your phone up with a big smile you opened the text and realized it was from the wrong man.

Would you be up for a picnic in the park? There’s a festival downtown and I was thinking it would be fun to check out.

Sighing you opened the text you’d sent to Harry to see that he’d read it but hadn’t responded. Your heart sunk back into the place it had been right before you’d gotten out of the shower.

I’m exhausted. Was a long day at work. Can I have a raincheck?

You knew you needed to tell Evan that you were seeing someone else. That it wasn’t going to work, but part of you didn’t know if maybe you should leave that door open a bit. Because what if Harry realized after all that he couldn’t be with you anymore? What if Mrs. Styles leaving had him coming to his senses? Despite him telling you he loved you, which you knew he meant, it still might not be enough for him to continue seeing you.

You tried to busy yourself. For an entire hour after realizing that Harry had seen your text but had not responded, you picked up a few things, tossed out the old and dying flowers, combined fresh flowers with ones that had not died from older bouquets… everything reminded you of him.

The sudden knocking on your door had you startled. It was nearly 6:30 pm and you couldn’t be sure it was him, but your heart leaped with hope as you quickly padded across your floor to the front door.

The moment you saw his face through the peephole you opened your door in haste and it felt like one of those cheesy Lifetime movie scenes where the man has come to claim his woman in some desperate bid to win her affections back.

He had his leather overnight bag in hand and he pushed you into your apartment, one arm pulling you into his chest, with his foot closing the door behind him. His mouth was on yours before you even heard the thud of his bag drop onto the floor and then both of his arms were wrapped around your middle.

Your world was spinning and your heart crashed under your rib cage as you moved your mouth with his. Soft and urgent. Not unlike the kiss from the night before when he had you coming so hard you saw stars.

You felt ridiculous as you started to tremble in his arms. Definitely felt as if you were enacting a cheesy romance scene from a B movie.

“My sweet girl. God…” Harry finally parted from the kiss, his big hands splayed across your low back as you both stood in front of your door, “I think I only feel okay when I’m with you. I tried… I don’t know. Everything is so fucked up.”

You cupped his face and bent yourself away so you could look at his eyes, “I know. It really is.”

You got two glasses of water and both stood in your kitchen as Harry told you what had happened with his wife. The night before and then that morning.

“And I thought… maybe this was a wake-up call for me. But,” he shook his head and looked at you softly, “I can’t be away from you. I can’t do it. You’re not just some pretty girl that I enjoy being around. I’m genuinely in love with you. I know I said it last night but having her leave this morning and thinking about it all day and trying to take time to be alone I realize I don’t want this, with you, to ever be over.”

You knew how he felt. Even though you weren’t married you were part of this mess and your own heart went back and forth with rational and irrational thoughts. In the end, it always came back to you loving this man, as stupid as it was.

“She was at the restaurant for lunch today. With her sister and two friends.” You finally decided to tell him. You pulled his hand into yours and looked up at him, both of you were leaning on your counter.

Harry’s expression was surprised as you continued, “Overheard her say a few things. I didn’t know what had happened but she was upset a little. That much was clear. And knowing what I know… well I figured out what was going on. Obviously…” you watched Harry take in the information.

He nodded, “She found the toy I bought you too,” he shook his head, “That was stupid of me. Told her a lie about it and she told me to get rid of it.”

You moved your hand up his forearm and as strange as the moment was with the things being discussed, everything felt so much better with him there.

Harry turned his body to face you and the quick movement of his hands grasping your waist and lifting you up to sit on your counter had you gasping. He placed his hips between your thighs with his hands at your waist and his mouth covering yours.

You held onto his shoulders tightly as he pushed your t-shirt up, letting his fingers slide underneath and upward. You hadn’t put a bra on because you hadn’t planned on leaving your apartment. You smiled into his mouth when you felt his lips turn upward when his palms smoothed up your back with nothing in their way.

He drew his hands toward the underside of your breast, his thumbs pressing into the flesh and upward to your nipples. His tongue pressed against yours as he softly, delicately brushed over your pebbled buds.

You moaned and lowered your hands to the waistband of his pants and plucked at his button. His pants always tightened significantly when he had an erection, the material unable to quite contain him comfortably.

The wet kiss grew frantic when he felt your hands at his waist, opening his pants up and he pulled back from the kiss to look into your eyes.

“Can I? Want to make you feel good…” your words were breathy. You wanted to see him smile. Wanted to wipe away the kind of day he’d had just like you knew he’d do for you when you were done.

You’d gotten used to his girth in your mouth, the way he reached down into your tonsils and your throat and made you gag. You’d learned to tolerate the feeling and how to pump his base with one hand as you sucked the rest of him.

And clearly, Harry wanted exactly that because he was dragging you from the counter, and the moment your feet hit the floor you dropped to your knees and shoved him back against the formica, pulling his pants down to his ankles.

You moaned when you peeled his underwear down and grasped him in your palm. Wide and heavy. You loved that he was uncut. Used the skin over his shaft to pump him before you spit onto his tip and looked up at him with as much love as you could with what you were about to do, licking all over his frenulum and down the side of his cock.

Harry put both of his palms onto the countertop behind him as he watched you in silence. Watched you drag your tongue along his foreskin and down to his base. Watched you glide your hand over his dick and wrap your hand around him as you laved over his tip. Watched you open your mouth with your tongue out and slide his cock into your mouth.

“Fuck, pup. You’re so good to me aren’t you?” He sucked in a sharp breath as you sucked his crown and continued pumping him. He learned early on that you were eager when it came to giving head.

And you were eager because of the way he gave you head. Had he not been so good and so excited to eat you out you wouldn’t have put in as much effort as you did. But you matched his energy and gave back to him dirty blow jobs that rivaled the kind of depraved things he did to your pussy with his mouth.

And when you got yourself into a good rhythm with drool pooling at the edges of your mouth and dripping down your chin you grabbed one of his hands and brought it to the back of your head, encouraging him to push on you, adding pressure to his hand as you looked up at him.

“Fuck, baby. Like this?” He pushed you down over him, making you take him deeper and you immediately gagged. He was already near your tonsils by that point and the little bit of push he gave you had his swollen, achy head pressing past them and into your throat.

You moaned and blinked your eyes as you grasped onto his thigh. You still used your other hand, sometimes stroking at the base, sometimes gently rolling his balls in your palm.

The gurgles and coughs coming from you shouldn’t have been as sexy as they were but Harry knew that a little gagging didn’t make you shy away from taking him deeper. He bit his lip as he watched you.

He kept his hand at the back of your head, gently guiding you up and down his shaft, sometimes giving you a break while you took in a breath through your nose and stroked his hard cock in your fist.

But then, after you’d gotten air in your lungs and you recovered after choking on him for a few solid seconds you went down on him further. Peeking your eyes up at him you forced yourself to go down over him as far as you could reach before you shut your eyes and felt a steady stream of your saliva drip down to your knees. You wretched and gurgled and listened to your lover moan praises to you.

“Oh my god… fuck me, baby. Holy fuck! You’re so fucking good to me. I need you, honey…” his words and his cock were making you dizzy. You wanted his come. Wanted to give him relief (whether he deserved it or not).

You felt him throb in your mouth, his dick poking deep as you swallowed over his tip and tasted the saltiness of his precome. He coughed out a groan and pushed you off by your shoulders with a gasp. He was red in the face, his lips were swollen and especially pink, chest rising and falling, cock twitching before your face as you leaned in to put him back inside your mouth.

“Oh, hold on pup! Wait…” he rushed out his words. You held on to his muscled thighs and looked up at him from your spot on the floor at your knees. You would have protested but you were too busy inhaling oxygen into your lungs and catching your breath.

Harry put his hands under your armpits to lift you upward before he bent down to remove his shoes and pants and underwear. He held you upright as he looked back at you with slobber all over your chin and neck, “Let’s get into your bed. Wanna finish inside of you, okay?”

And you knew “inside of you” meant in your cunt.

You were already slick and pulsing, your clit throbbing for him by the time he pulled your shorts off and spit down over your pussy. He waited for a minute before doing anything as he watched you squirm under him, “Please… what are you doing?” You asked him, impatiently.

Harry grinned at you and lifted your shirt up above your tits before dipping down to suck on each one. Thoroughly wetting them and pulling at your nipples.

When he sat back onto his haunches he sighed as he dragged his hands down your torso, thumbing over your soft skin and taking you all in, “Needed a minute, baby. Want to fuck you like you deserve.”

And fuck you like you deserve he did. Well, maybe you didn’t deserve it, but he certainly knew how to fuck you.

The slow plunge into your pussy had you writhing and keening under him. He focused on your face as he thrusted himself into you with long, languid strokes. Deep and full of love. He put his entire body into each thrust, his knees mushed into the bed, the front of his thighs pressed into the back of yours, his forearms flat onto the mattress on either side of your shoulders, hovering over you as he watched your face twist up in pleasure.

“I need you, Y/n. Fucking love you, baby,” he grunted as his hips ground deep into you, rocking against yours before gliding back to mid-shaft and plunging into you deeply, fitting his balls against your bum, causing your moans to get louder and whinier.

“I need you, Harry,” you moaned in response. The eye contact and the fullness of him consumed you whole. You’d allow him to overpower you in any way. All of your senses were controlled by him at that moment. The connection between your bodies felt unreal. You were both inhaling sharply at the intensity of the situation.

Your cheap bed creaked gently in time with each roll of his hips and the slick pat of your bodies joining each time he buried himself into you was met with his moans and your gasps.

You scratched your nails down his back when your vision began to blur and your blood rushed to your core. His pelvis dragged against your clit, over and over again as he stuffed himself inside of you, pressing you into the bed, your walls squeezing and taking him in like you were made for him. Like he was made to fit in you.

“Want my come, pup?” Harry’s words were tight as he clenched his teeth. He loved the way your nails felt on his back and he knew he’d have to deal with the consequences of that later on, but for now, it felt like heaven and you were his and he only belonged to you.

“Give me your come. Want it to soak all of my insides…” you moaned in response

“Yeah? Want me to fill up your cunt, baby? Get you all full of my cock and my come?” He grunted.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you whimpered and began to spasm. His words had you wishing you weren’t on birth control. Wishing you could get knocked up and have him for your own. Fuck everything else.

“Fuck, pup,” Harry choked his words when he felt you spasming around him, “Coming on my cock, baby? Yeah? Sounds like it feels really good,” he was delirious. He hardly knew what he was saying as your high-pitched whine turned into guttural moans. Your pussy fluttered and clenched around his cock until he couldn’t hold himself back anymore as he tried working you through, but your cunt was begging to be filled and fed. Begging to have his come.

He rutted into you sharply and groaned as he put his lips over yours and let your walls milk him dry, squeezing his shaft and drawing his come deep into your insides. Into your guts.

The earth began to right itself when you felt him shaking and knew he was finally coming. Finally getting the relief you’d wanted to gift him. His hot breath against your neck and his moans as he drained into you had you smiling and wrapping your legs around him tight, pulling him in deeper as you felt the tail end of your orgasm floating away into space. It felt so good to have him with you. To have him inside of you. To hear him tell you he wanted you, needed you, loved you.

Harry was always amazing at aftercare. He always took care of you, softly whispered to you, and held you. The sweet pillow talk and hushed voices as you held one another and kissed felt like what love really should. The sex was outstanding. It always was, but it was the moments after that sealed everything into place for you. Glued your resolve tight and reminded you of who you were with. Reminded you that Harry was yours and you were his and nothing else mattered. No matter what happened outside of the lazy comedown and the tender touches you received after a mind-blowing orgasm, everything always came back to this.

“I really get you all tonight and tomorrow?” You brushed his hair through your fingers as you both lay on your sides facing one another, your thigh draped over his hip, after the intensive cleanup process. Harry had one arm underneath you and his other hand was at your hip.

He grinned, “Yeah. But I look at it more like I get to have you all night and tomorrow. I’m getting a far better deal than you are.”

You laughed and gently tugged at his hair, “Oh please. I’m so lucky you’d even stay.”

Harry blinked his eyes and the grin fell from his face, “Don’t think like that, baby. You’re so much better than I am. In every way. Way out of my league. I don’t deserve your love. You’re precious to me. I’m the lucky one here. Don’t ever forget how this really is, Y/n.”

You settled your head back into your pillow as you kept your eyes on his, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that… like…” he looked toward your bedroom door and then shifted his gaze back to you, “I feel like I should be begging you and kissing the ground you walk on. Like any bit of attention you shower me with is a blessing and I’m surviving only on your love and affection that you somehow allow me to have.”

You smiled and brought your hands down to his face, the overgrown hairs tickling your palms, “You’re crazy. That’s not how this is at all.”

Harry took your hand and pulled your wrist to his mouth, giving you soft kisses to the skin, and shook his head into the pillow, “That is how this is. Whether you see it or not. I’m lucky you even give me the time of day. I’m like a peasant in comparison to your high royal position,” he smiled as you laughed, “I’m serious. I’m not good enough to even be in your presence and yet you let me in over and over again.”

“Stop. I don’t feel like that…”

Harry’s words were mushed into your wrist, “I know you don’t and that’s crazy to me. But that’s how it is, pup. You hold all the power here. Anyone on the outside will say the same. I’m a lowlife and you’re golden rays shining down on me.”

You sighed and shook your head as he pulled you in closer so your tits were pressed into his warm, sturdy chest, “I’m so lucky. I love you much.”

“I’m lucky too. Lucky you’re here with me now. Wish it was always like this.”

Harry kissed your forehead and smoothed his hand over your hair, “Me too, Y/n.”

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daisyblog · 10 months ago

Text

Angel Baby

Too Young Masterlist Summary: Louis and YN welcome their second baby, and Arthur becomes a big brother.

warning: childbirth, labour, birth, hospital

9th of September 2024

If Louis was glad he made any decision in life, he was thankful that he decided to come straight home from the festival in Munich. He had managed to sleep for a little bit on the flight home but he couldn’t wait to get into bed next to YN and wake up with Arthur in the morning.

Spotting Harry’s car on the driveway wasn’t unusual because he would often stay with YN and Arthur when Louis was away. Opening the front door, Louis was trying to open the door as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb anyone.

The dim light that was on in the living room caught Louis eye. But what surprised him was YN and Harry wide awake. YN was sat on the birthing ball and Harry on the edge of the sofa.

“Hey! Is everything alright?”. Louis walked further into the room, walking closer to YN as he placed a peck to her forehead, aware Harry was in the room.

“I’m having contractions but worry pants over here”. YN signaled towards Harry with her thumb. “Thinks I’m about to give birth within the next five minutes the way he’s been frantically phoning everyone”.

“M’sorry for being worried about my sister”. Harry joked as he looked to Louis for some back up.

“To be fair love, Harry was only looking after you”. Louis kneeled down in front of YN as she still sat on the large grey ball. “How painful are they?”.

YN knew he was referring to the contractions, as he gently rubbed his hand over her thigh. “They’re manageable at the moment”.

“Well we’ll keep timing them and let the hospital know when you need to go in”. Louis smiled up at YN who shared the same look. “We’re having a baby!”.

---

Within two hours, the contraction had become quite intense. YN felt her tummy tighten as the pain spread from her bump around to her back.

“Birth scares me”. Harry voiced as he watched his sister cling to Louis. Her arms were wrapped around his neck and her head burned into his shoulder as she breathed through the pain.

“Keep breathing through it babe…you’re doing amazing”. Louis rubbed her back and kissed the side of her head.

As the contraction ended YN sat back up straight as she took a rest in between. Knowing another one could hit her at any point. “I’m sure I said that you could give birth this time”.

Louis chuckled as he remembered the conversation during Arthur’s birth. “You did…but I didn’t think there would be a next time then…and also I don’t have the right body parts”.

“I forgot how painful this was”. YN held onto Louis’ hand as she prepared for the next one.

---

“I can’t do this…I can’t do this”. YN repeated as she sat on the edge of the sofa, Harry now being the victim of the famous hand squeeze.

“You can…you did it once and you’re going to make Arthur so proud when he finds out you’ve given him everything he’s ever wanted”. Harry encouraged, knowing mentioning Arthur would help.

“I can feel another one”. YN tensed up as she anticipated the pain. Her eyes closed tight as she dreamed about when she would have gas and air at the hospital.

Louis appeared with a bottle of water just in time as he cringed at how tight YN was squeezing her brothers hand.

---

Harry stayed at the house to look after Arthur, whilst YN and Louis were at the hospital. Anne was on her way but this was the downside of living so far away from her Mum.

Like she had done many years ago, YN kept the gas and air nozzle securely in her hand sucking on it probably more than she needed to.

“Do you have any children already? Or is this your first?”. The midwife asked as she sat in the room wi the couple.

“We have a little boy, Arthur…he’s nine”. Louis couldn’t hide his smile as he spoke about their son, and showed her a quick photo of him.

The midwife’s eyes widened. “Waw! He’s the image of you…perhaps this one will look like Mummy”.

---

YN was laying on the bed, the nozzle still attached to her hand. Louis was moving the hair out of her face as she now had a layer of sweat covering her forehead.

“YN I’m so sorry my darling…but we’re going to have to break your waters because your contraction are starting to slow down”. The midwife’s voice was full of sympathy, knowing how painful it could be.

With the tool in her hand ready, YN held onto Louis tightly. “You’re so strong and I’m so proud of you”.

The pain was something YN hadn’t felt before. “AHHH!”. She cried out in pain as she felt the water burst from her.

“You were amazing darling…keep sucking that gas and air for me”. The midwife gave an encouraging smile.

---

The contraction become more frequent and YN could not keep still as she moved from different positions. If she was not bouncing on the ball, she was sat in the chair next to the bed. If she was not in the birthing pool, she was clinging onto Louis, hoping it would ease the pressure.

As Louis massaged the bottom of YN’s back, getting a sense of deja vu, he felt her tense up more than she had been.

“Babe? You alright?”. He swallowed thickly, as YN froze.

“I think…I think I can feel the baby”. At the words, the midwife shot up from her seat and quickly glanced under YN’s gown.

“Lie down on the bed for me…baby’s head is crowning”. The midwife moved around the room quickly gathering everything she needed.

YN laid down like she was told, her legs up in the correct position, trying to relax as she was about to meet her baby.

---

“Baby’s head is out…and I think in about three to four pushes, you’re going to be cuddling your little baby”. The midwife spoke from her position at the end of the hospital bed.

Louis quickly glanced down and could see his baby’s head. Seeing his babies be born was something he found breathtaking and he was in absolute awe of YN for doing it.

YN found strength within and began to push. She repeated the action over and over. Louis was by her side as he waited for the sound to fill the room.

And the sound of a newborn cry finally filled the room, as tears ran down Louis and YN’s cheeks when the little one was placed on YN’s chest.

“I’m so proud of you…and I love you so much”. Louis left several kisses on YN’s head before the final one on her lips.

“I couldn’t have done it without you…I love you”. YN’s voice was tired but the adrenaline was pumping through her.

“Mummy and Daddy love you little one”. YN gently kissed the newborns head.

---

YN couldn’t decide who was more excited as Arthur, Harry and her Mum walked through the hospital room door.

Arthur ran straight to his Mum, who was laid underneath a blanket. “I’ve missed you my boy”. She wrapped her arms around him.

“I’ve missed you too Mum…I’ve been nagging Uncle Harry to come and see you”. Arthur held onto his mother for longer.

Harry and Anne hugged YN and congratulated her and Louis on the birth of their baby. The room was full of happiness and smiles as they looked at the little baby in Louis’ arms.

“Hey lad…do you want to have your first big brother cuddle?”. Louis felt his heart melt as Arthur eagerly nodded and ran over to his father’s side.

Arthur sat in the chair, waiting for Louis to place the newborn into his arms. The minute Louis placed the baby into Arthur’s hands, the four adults all shared a loving look, and wiped the tears away from their cheeks.

“Hi baby…I’m Arthur, your big brother”. Louis and YN shared a look as they knew this was the right time to share the news.

“And this is Elsie…your little sister”.

---

ynstyles and louist91

liked by lottietomlinson, annetwist and 1,672,665 others

ynstyles Our babies🤍Welcome to the world Elsie Johannah Tomlinson🩷 View all 10,733 comments

lottietomlinson Our sweet Arthur and Elsie🥹🤍

annetwist My heart could burst❤️I’m one lucky Nanny🩵🩷🩷 ⌞ynstyles The absolute best🥰❤️

the.daisytomlinson I love being an auntie to all these babies❤️

thephoebetomlinson my beautiful nephew and niece🩵🩷Auntie Phee loves you lots xx

gemmastyles We are so lucky❤️Aunties little cuties xx

louisfan5 OMG THE BABY IS HERE!!!

louisfan3 Louis a girl dad🩷🩷🩷

harryfan9 Harry is an uncle to another girl🥹💕

Taglist :@jillsvalentinex @itsmytimetoodream @peterholland04 @youcan-nolonger-run @chronicallybubbly @macy-tpwk @wh0s-nadii @lillisummers

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avatar-anna · 2 years ago

Text

2022

Y/n stepped into the studio in search of her boyfriend, who had been eluding her for a couple hours now. He woke up before she did, then went off on a morning run, then to rehearsals, and now that everyone was back, she still couldn't find him. Another person might've assumed he was avoiding her, or everyone, but she knew Harry better than most people. He was as clingy as they got, often crawling on top of her when she was at her desk to get her attention and his constant insistence on being the little spoon whenever the two of them watched TV at home. But Y/n knew he liked his space from time to time.

With a little more searching through the unfamiliar Palm Springs house, she found Harry laying in the middle of the studio, one arm draped across his eyes. From her vantage point, Y/n could see her boyfriend's chest rise and fall slowly, as if he'd fallen asleep on the carpeted floor.

"Come lay with me."

Y/n was a little startled to hear his voice, she could've sworn his eyes were closed at the very least, but he must've seen her come in. Still, she didn't question him, didn't say much at all until she was next to him, cheek nestled against his black hoodie. Y/n closed her eyes too, her hand sneaking beneath Harry's layers of clothes to feel his warm skin beneath his palm. Harry hummed, leaning into her touch a little as her breath kept time with his.

"H?"

"Yeah?" he replied, his voice low and croaky.

"Why are we on the floor when there's a perfectly good bed for us to sleep in upstairs?"

"I'm not sleeping," he mumbled.

Y/n picked her head up off his chest, and she smiled a little at the slight pout that turned the corners of his mouth downward. "Then what are we doing?"

"Meditating."

But it was clear Harry was content to lay on the floor in complete silence, so Y/n obliged, once again resting her head against his chest and focusing on his breathing. Minutes passed until she wasn't sure how long they'd been laying prone like that, but she didn't say anything. Even when she started to feel the hard floor beneath the rug and grew uncomfortable, she stayed put. There was something on Harry's mind, Y/n could tell. He was just finding the words.

He said it with finality, as if that was an obvious reason to be laying on the floor of the house's studio. But Harry was like that sometimes, believing him and Y/n were so in synch that she could read his thoughts. Most of the time she could follow his train of thought without him having to say anything, though even she had to admit this was unusual behavior for her boyfriend.

"You're supposed to be meditating," Harry mumbled.

Harry might've been meditating, but Y/n had never been all that good at it personally. She could hardly get through basic yoga poses without getting distracted or falling into a fit of giggles. Now her eyes were getting heavy, the smell of Harry's cologne and the soft material of his sweatshirt putting her to sleep.

Blinking slowly, Y/n inched her way up until she was face to face with her boyfriend. His eyes were closed, and if he hadn't just spoken, she would've guessed he was asleep. Tapping his nose gently, she said, "You're taking too long to talk to me."

"Oh. Well, excuse me," Harry said, one corner of his mouth turning up into a crooked smile.

"You know what I mean," Y/n said. She kissed his jaw, her thumb grazing the other side of his face. "We're laying on the floor in the middle of a studio. That's pretty strange, even for an eccentric celebrity such as yourself."

"You're just full of jokes after your nap."

"I wasn't napping!" Y/n insisted, pinching his stomach. Harry giggled and pinched her back until they were both rolling around the studio and play-wrestling until both breathing heavily with laughter. The tussle ended with Harry on top of Y/n his knit sunflower hat tickling her forehead.

"Talk to me. What's bothering you?" she asked him gently. She took his hat off and ran her hand through his hair, twirling a strand around her finger.

"It's all just...happening so fast," Harry finally admitted. He rolled back onto the floor, his head turning so he could still face Y/n. "I feel like just yesterday we were quarantining back home, and now we're here, and I...Am I crazy if I kind of miss it?"

Y/n's gaze softened. "You were chomping at the bit to go on tour when lockdown started," she said, smiling at the memory of those first few weeks. "And now the world is opening up and you get to perform again. This is a good thing, bub."

She and Harry hadn't been dating for very long when lockdown started, but they stayed in a bubble with Sarah and Mitch, which helped to make it feel like she and Harry weren't diving into moving in together so quickly. Y/n worried she would grow to despise him or discover a habit of his she didn't like and vice versa after spending so much quality one-on-one time together, but she didn't, and neither did he. Eventually the two of them quarantined without their friends, and Harry was right, it was honestly the best time. Y/n had never felt so close to someone before. All the movie nights and making dinners and late night wine and card games and cuddling for hours while sharing secrets and staying up and helping him with his music were so precious to her, and she wouldn't trade it for anything. But this was important too.

"I know what you mean," Y/n said. "I've missed my all-access pass to Harry Styles whenever I want."

Harry grinned. "You still have that, dork."

"And you still have me," she said earnestly. "But you're also going on tour again, H, and that's amazing. This album is so good, and you've worked so hard. If you need to take a step back from it all and have to decompress with little old me, you can. You know you can. But this is good too, okay? This is great. I mean, look at where we are? Coachella? Come on."

"I'm so nervous," Harry admitted.

"That's okay," Y/n told him. "I know you're gonna be great. And after that? We'll come back here and unwind. We can still do what we did during lockdown, bubbie. We'll just take it on tour. If I'm invited, that is."

Harry gave her a funny look. "Of course you're coming."

"Okay. Then that's that. Nothing to worry about."

Y/n grinned at him, but Harry just kind of stared at her. Normally she was pretty good at reading her boyfriend, but this was a look she'd never seen before. She was about to ask him what he was thinking now when he blurted,

"I'm gonna marry you someday," he said quietly, turning on his shoulder so he could face Y/n better.

Her eyes widened. They'd never talked about the future like that before. Y/n had been hoping and praying that Harry was the one for a while now and that he felt the same, but it had never been put in such plain terms before. Or out loud.

"Promise?" was all she could think to say.

Harry nodded. "Promise."

Y/n's grin was wider than anything she thought was capable. "Now can you please take me upstairs so we can lay on something other than a rug over hardwood floors?"

Rolling his eyes playfully, Harry stood up and helped Y/n to her feet, promptly picking her up until his legs were around his waist. "My fiance is so demanding," he said, leaning in for a kiss, but she stopped him by placing a finger on his mouth.

"Absolutely not. I am not your fiance until you ask me properly on one knee with a ring in your hand. And you can't call me anything else but your girlfriend until you do."

Harry looked amused but didn't argue, just raised his brows and glanced down at where Y/n's finger was still pressed against his lips. Smiling, she wrapped her arms around his neck, gripping the ends of his curls excitedly as he walked them out of the studio.

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

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homeofatlas · 4 months ago

Text

House on Fire

Summary: You and Elisa are friends with benefits.

Author note: Not going to lie these are all old drafts I’ve had sitting here for ages and just needed to clear them out. I am not as engaged in the fandom as I once was and this will likely be the last thing I post for Elisa. Plus she’s getting a lot of hate right now so please don’t take this as me supporting her. I’m just trying to clear drafts, don't shoot yall. If anyones interested in other things I write I could post my ao3 account where it’s mostly Harry Potter related content. Otherwise this is goodbye, love you guys.

Word count: 4.2k

Tw: Sexual content and lowkey toxic relationships. Extreme possessiveness. Swearing.

Minors stay out please!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’d tried hard not to fall for her. You really did. But when you woke up in her bed, under her arm, nose tucked into her neck one too many times it felt impossible not to love her. So when she sensed you getting too close- too comfortable she understandably distanced herself from you. It hurts, you won’t lie. Going from good friends who occasionally slept together 2-3 times a week to people who barely interacted on or off the field.

It happened so naturally, you’d been laying in bed together basking in a day free of training or games when you’d laughed and looked over to find her staring at you with an odd look on her face. Your breath had hitched in your chest when Elisas eyes dropped from yours to your smile. Before you’d had a chance to process the moment, the next thought in your mind had been a neon blinking sign.

I love her. How could I have missed this?

Fingers slotted perfectly between yours and her jokes rolled off your tongue as she finished thinking them. How could you have possibly ever thought you’d only be friends? You two were inevitable.

From there it had snowballed into something uncontrollable. She’d call you an hour after you got home from training to come over. Her touches lingered longer when she wrapped an arm around your shoulders. Unnecessarily placing a hand on your waist when passing by. Grabbing your hips to turn you to her whenever possible. Putting her head on your shoulder. All of a sudden she was taking up all the air in the room by constantly being in your space. You loved every minute of it.

When it all came crashing down around you, the reality check you had needed, you felt helpless to stop it. Of course there was nothing you could do to stop her storm from coming in, up-ending your whole life and then leaving. Privately, you thought to yourself as you lay in bed alone at night you’d let her do it again. Just to have and pretend for another moment she was yours. She chose you over anyone else and let’s be honest she could have anyone else. But she’d chosen you and your warmth and your bed and wasn’t that enough?

One summer when you were younger you had spent days working and nights training to be a footballer. You were exhausted day in and day out, barely sleeping, eating, having the time to bathe was a luxury. Loving Elisa felt a bit like that summer. You were never still. Even though you were exhausted you were still restless, never satisfied, never full.

You aren’t quite sure when the death of what had never had a chance to bloom started. Maybe it was dying from the start. A tragedy always ends in death. She wasn’t trying to rub it in your face… you don’t think. It just happened that when you guys all went together as a team she was flirtatious with other girls. It chipped a little at your heart but she still came home with you each time, dress bunched up around your waist while she fucked you with her tongue or her fingers.

You reasoned with yourself that it was basically a relationship. You two simply didn’t feel the need to put a label on it. You spent time together outside of training going to restaurants and doing activities. You spent all day together at training. You came home together most of the time. Except when you didn’t. When you wouldn’t come home together, you home, your flat, never hers, you wouldn’t hear from her all night. You tried to not let it get to you. You grit your teeth and pressed your fingernails to your palms and chewed your lips until they were chapped. You almost convinced yourself she was just with friends or family and then the next day she would come back with a hickey or a scratch you hadn’t put on her body. After that it would be tense for a couple days. Until it healed, until all the marks of others were gone from her body.

It was fine. You were fine. You just weren’t enough to satisfy her.

It all culminated after an argument. You had been trying so hard but she came home smelling like champagne and a perfume you didn’t wear. The last straw had been when she fucked you smelling like someone else. You lay there arms wrapped around her shoulders and legs around her hips with your heart in your throat and tears threatening to spill from your eyes. Her face was busy sucking dark red marks into your neck and chest, claiming you as hers.

Elisa was possessive and jealous when it came to you. She hated when anyone else made you laugh or touched you in any way besides a celebratory cheer. Most of all she hated going out with you. You turned heads, people always trying to catch your eye. She felt so special when she had you under her. That starstruck look in your eyes as you gazed up at her. You could have anyone and you let only her fuck you, claim you, make you hers. She knew you. She knows the chapstick in your nightstand tastes like cherries and the one in your purse tastes like mint. She knows you’re particular about the way you clean. She knows you like to wear rings but don’t because of your profession. She knows exactly what brands you buy for shampoo, conditioner, lotion, body wash and that you get the same ones every time.

She’s scared to say the least. She’s never known this much about anyone. She doesn’t care this much about anyone else. So when her eyes caught on a beautiful ring while she was out and her first thought was you, she tried to convince herself it wasn’t so serious. Like she wasn’t a little, definitely, in love with you. She hates when she goes on dates and goes back to her flat and wakes up alone without you pressed up against her. She hates it and revels in it when the girls she fucks leave marks on her and she can see your eyes catch on them. She knows you’re wondering if she says the same things to them as she does to you. She can’t let you in. It’s not in her nature.

Once she had made you cum, she rolled off of you and you quickly got up to go to the bathroom. You didn’t want to cry in front of her. You didn’t want her to leave. You could feel your heart squeezing painfully. You were so angry and tired of it all. But you loved her company even without the added benefit of coitus. You had made up your mind. You weren’t going to lose her as a friend. You’d rather sacrifice the best sex of your life then lose her.

You came out of the bathroom and stopped in the doorway. Her eyes drag lazily from her phone to you, a small genuine smile on her face. Each time you think this is it. She’ll finally pick me, just me after this. She only smiles at me like this. But you remained firm in your decision. There's a voice in your head - heart that is screaming not to do this. To just be content with what you’ve got.

“I don’t think we should do this anymore.” You say slowly. Looking down at the floor scattered with your clothing. You look up to meet her eyes.

Elisas eyes widened momentarily in shock? Confusion? Then narrowed suddenly and her expression darkened. Her eyes raking up and down your body, was she looking for something?

“Why?” She demanded.

Was someone else taking her place above you? She couldn’t see any marks on your body she hadn’t left herself. She usually left them in the same spots. To know if you were seeing anyone else. The hickeys on your inner thighs, the bruises from her grip on your hip bones, the teeth marks in your shoulders. You were covered in her. She felt a hot rush of primal possessiveness at this thought. Why were you done with her? Hadn’t she fucked you well enough? Had she not given you enough attention? Maybe she had gotten your mood wrong this evening, although she doubted it, she always knew when you wanted it a certain way.

“Because-“ You falter, the beast inside you is begging to be let out, ramming against the inside of your ribcage. You’ll fuck this whole thing up if you say one more word. If she knows you love her, she’ll really leave.

Oh it’s already fucked up something inside of you cries, you fucked it up the second you didnt push her away.

You know, You know, You know but you’re pleading with this monster (your head) to let you have Elisa for a little longer before she slips away from you entirely. She doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want to come home to you. You could be sick.

You’ve never felt so in sync with a person, every foot fall matches, you know her jokes before she does, she knows when you aren't feeling well with one look. Worse, she's all the best parts of you. You aren’t exaggerating when you say she’s your better half. Sure she fucked up your whole relationship because she’s got issues but she’s good. There’s some golden string inside of her that shines through the cracks. You’ve made a homeland out of her. She’s where you’re from. There’s no you, right here right now, without her.

There’s no way to describe the way she makes you feel other than you’re burning from the inside out. The flames are licking up your calves, spreading through your fingertips, her energy climbs up your body leaving you with a warm sensation until you’re burned. You don’t mind, you always loved the sun.

How can one person feel like coming home and being lit on fire, it’s contradictory and yet it works.

She’s a house on fire. A home on fire.

Your home is on fire, you wouldn’t have it any other way. But you can’t live while you die.

Her energy, her smoke is lining your lungs. Ironically you have no urge to cough, only to suck her fumes down deeper into your body. Drag me down with you, I love you, I love you, I love you. Your fists are clenched to maintain some semblance of dignity, you have to remain strong. You deserve someone who doesn’t fuck you while smelling like someone else’s perfume. Your eyes are watering again at the thought. This is a new low.

“Because I want you.” There it’s out there. The beast is in the room. She knows now. She can choose to take it or leave it.

“You know I only do casual, baby,” She says. Like that will somehow change your decision.

“Yeah exactly, so this,” you gesture to the space between you and her. “has got to end. I don’t want to lose you as a friend. Sex is making us complicated. I’m sorry.”

Elisa hadn’t taken that well. She had all but stomped out with a thunderous expression on her face the whole time. She practically ignored you for the next three weeks. Going cold turkey from her was lonely, it felt like a real break up. But it was for the best…right?

It hadn’t proved to be much of a problem- until the latest team hang out where teammates are allowed to bring significant others for the sake of bonding. When Elisa gets there she has a preppy blonde with her, who looks so sweet she’d melt in water. She makes her way around the table introducing herself to everyone. Jennifer? Oh god, you should just get up and leave. As you introduce yourself she doesn’t balk or change her pleasant expression. So she doesn’t know about your history, unsurprising but ouch. The knife wound is still fresh. Right as you’re about to fake an illness to get out of having to watch Elisa with her arm around someone else all night, someone catches your eye. The waiter comes around and takes drink orders, once his eyes reach you his smile widens and his voice drops a bit. You can totally play into this and flirt. Two can play at this game.

When he comes back he flirts with you some more and your short dress lets his eyes roam your legs. He likes what he sees as if it’s any indication since he continually comes back to check on you and your group. You can feel eyes burning into the back of your head whenever you’re talking to him. You smile and giggle and kick your legs out a bit so he can see what you’ve got to offer. Elisas loss really, you think, I’m a total catch.

Just then you hear Jane's voice cut through the conversation you hadn’t been paying attention to about current love lives.

“So Y/N what's going on in your love life? That waiter seems pretty interested in you huh?”

Nobody on the team was explicitly told what was happening between you and Elisa but none of them are stupid. Especially since things have been so cold between you two at training the past few weeks. You hear several intakes of breath at once. Carefully avoiding eye contact with Elisa, you shoot Janine a fake smile.

“All quiet on the western front right now, and yeah the waiters IS cute.”

Elisas jaw ticks.

Jackie jumps in with what she thinks must be helpful “Y/N has never really been one to shop around much, she’s definitely a homebody.” You know she’s only trying to help and what she means is you like committed relationships but could she have made you sound any lamer?

“Oh that’s alright, so was I before I met Elisa here a couple months ago, but she’s so much fun! You’ll find your person, don't worry.” June says

A few months ago? You’re fucking livid. If you squeeze your glass any harder you’ll shatter it. Fuck this. You’re going to hit on that waiter and maybe he’ll fuck you in the bathroom. Maybe then you’ll be able to get the feeling of Elisas eyes and hands off of you. Three weeks of scrubbing your skin raw and she’s still there.

You down your drink and put it down on the table a little harder than necessary. You were going to do it, Elisa and Julia be damned. You stood up from the table and ran your hands over your short dress. You knew you had nice legs, why not use them to your advantage?

“If that dress was any shorter, we’d be able to see your underwear.” Jackie teased.

You grin back at her, and lean in conspiratorially

“It’s really cute you think I’m wearing underwear.” You say in a mock whisper.

As you turn away to head for the bar you see Jackie choke on the sip she has taken. Laughing to yourself you head for the bar in search of the cute waiter.

You don’t really want to do this, the voice in your head says. You’re doing all this to make her jealous. You don’t even really like casual sex honestly, there’s no intimacy to it. That’s part of what you’d liked best about being under Elisa, she knew you inside and out. She knew you liked to shower and cuddle after sex. She knew you had a sweet tooth but always preferred something savoury after an intense round. She knew which places to touch to make you lose your breath, how to draw it out- NO. You were not thinking about it anymore. She was dead to you now. Her and Jessica could go ride off into the sunset somewhere as far as you were concerned. You’d be too busy bagging people left and right, being super successful.

You stop just short of the cute waiter and look over to the table. No ones watching you. You breathe a sigh of relief and beeline to the bar instead. Maybe another drink will loosen you up. Liquid courage never hurt anyone right? You’re at the bar waiting for your drink when you feel the brush of a hot hand against your bare thigh. You turn to see who’s touched you without even a hello and meet dark furious eyes. Bingo. No! Ugh she’s dead to you. But not really. You want her hand back on your thighs. You want her warm hands in between your thighs spreading you open. You want her mouth and her marks all over you again in places only she can see. Her invisible claim looms over you hanging in the tense air between you two.

If she wants to fuck you again, she’s going to have to chase you. You move away from her space, after all she’s the one crowding you while being here with another girl. Justine. Whatever her name is. You’re bitterly reminded that’s who Elisa has chosen to show off tonight. A privilege you never had. At least not where people knew you both.

Elisa is vindictive. She knows what it does to you to see her with someone else. She knows you’ll hate her and yourself to see it. She also knows you get turned on by a little shame about not being nice about everything all the time. She can see the way your legs are rubbing together for friction at the bar. This contempt you hold for her, it’s always fueled your relationship. From the day you met you’d semi hated each other. You love each other more, don’t get her wrong. But your fire was the reason she ever wanted you in the first place. You always gave as good as you got. And this right now? This is playing dirty.

The fingertips against your bare thigh was the tip of the iceberg. What she really wants to do is stand directly behind you and bury her fingers in your cunt until you admit no one else could ever fuck you like she does. No one else can take you in public. You don’t trust anyone else to get you off but her. She doesn’t even like the thought of you masturbating. All of your orgasms should belong to her and her only.

She knows you know how to play on her jealous streak. She knows she doesn’t like to share her toys, especially not her favourite one. Her most cherished one. She doesn’t mark anyone else the way she’s clawed you up.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Something cruel unfurls itself blooming in the centre of her chest. She wants to crack open her own chest and keep you there. Wants to eat you, to have you close. Fully consume you and your attention.

Is it too late to own you? She could never be your girlfriend. Only your keeper.

You’re looking at her like you’re innocent. Like you didn’t specifically choose the dress she’s eaten you out in several times. It just makes you look so damn deletable. She loves to lick you off her fingers. She wants you back. Badly. Josephine was a ploy to get you riled up. She wants to feel some sort of guilt over it but nothing matters as much as you.

“I’m done playing games.” She says. Does she think you’ll fall right back into her lap?

“I’m not sure what you mean?” Bullshit you don’t.

She looks around like someone in the loud restaurant might hear her. Before ducking down and whispering in your ear.

“I want to come home.” Her voice sounds a little whiny. Her finger tips are back on your bare thigh. You can feel your skin breaking out into goosebumps upon her touch. Your body is a traitor. Home is your flat, your bed, between your legs, the smell of your hair, you.

You turn your head to the other side so to anyone else it won’t look like you’re engaging with her and this behaviour. Acting like a poorly behaved dog.

“Please?” She places a featherlight kiss on your shoulder. You can feel her hot breath more than the indent of her lips.

Of course you miss her. More than the sex, you want her in your kitchen and on the couch. You want her clothes strewn about and dirty dishes in the sink. You want the smell of your lotion on her so everyone knows she’s as much yours as you are hers.

Can she feel your resolve breaking? Because steadily it’s crumbling. That extra drink was not a good idea.

You meet her eyes again. She’s mad but she’s earnest. You could always see it in her eyes when she was being sincere.

“Could we talk please? Outside?” You supposed an old dog can learn new tricks. Talking? She’s a quick learner and she’s driven by you.

You look back at the table to see Jasmine laughing but looking around to see where Elisas gone. You feel bad for her you really do but the gravitational force between you two was always going to trump any other relationships you had. You meet Elisas open eyes and nod slowly allowing yourself to be guided outside into the cool french night. She intertwined your left hands while her right hand is settled on your lower back to keep a hold of you through the crowd. It’s sweet and unlike her. It makes your heart wrench. Once you get outside she stays quiet for a moment. Allowing herself to admire what she thought she’d lost for a moment.

She thought she could be okay with it. She told herself she didn’t care what you did or who you went out with. You were another conquest in her books. But as soon as you had set your jaw and gotten up to seduce the waiter, her stomach had dropped straight to the floor. She was sweating and her pulse quickened. She knew then she had no other choice but to commit to you or die. She needs to be yours. She doesn’t even like who she is when she isn’t around you. Her hierarchy of needs involves food, shelter, and you. She can’t not have you.

“I love you,” She says. It is low and quiet in the night. Almost carried away by the wind.

“And I think I need you, genuinely I don’t do anything without thinking about you anymore. I’m in the kitchen and I’m thinking about the way you dance when you cook and how we always cuddled up on the couch and I was so content with what I had I didn’t realize I needed it until it was gone. Please, I want to come home.”

This is it. This is everything you wanted to hear. But you can’t help feeling insecure, she’s burned you before.

“Whatever you’re thinking, I’m willing to work for it. I’m willing to wait. Cause I can’t see you with anyone else. I need to be yours and you need to be mine so please.. Could I have another shot?”

You feel like you’re being pulled in two directions. Can she change? You hope to god she can. You sign and drag out your response before saying “You hurt my feelings a lot. It won’t be easy. But I’m willing to try.”

She smiles brightly at you. Lips quirked up until her entire face is a light. You’ve never seen this expression on her before. She swoops down halfway as if to kiss you before stopping herself.

“Can I kiss you? Would that be alright?”

You roll your eyes fondly.

“Quickly, it’s only celebratory.”

She kisses your lips chastely. She pulls back slightly to groan and say “Oh god love, nobody tastes like you do.” You pull her back into you. You need her and she needs you and everything is burning around you but it’s okay because you’re home. You pull away to meet her curious eyes. You grab her hand and squeeze it once.

“This means we’re monogamous right? No one else?”

“I can’t even think about anyone but you. And if you ever kiss someone else, or flirt, or want someone else I’ll die so yes we’re monogamous.”

You smile brilliantly up at her.

“Let’s go home.”

#elisa de almeida #elisa de almeida x reader #woso x reader #woso #élisa de almeida #this is a long parting gift #holy crow #not at all edited so sorry #thank you and goodnight #i know they didnt resolve the jenny issue #im lazy

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writingsfrombeyondthegrave · 10 months ago

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Torn from the future- Chapter 1

Tom Riddle X Fem!Reader

Summary- After tampering with a Time Turner, you find yourself back in 1942. You decide that your best chance of improving the future is by befriending a certain man named Tom Riddle. You've heard of him before, but never in a positive light. Will you be his key to power or salvation?

Warnings for this chapter- Mentions of death and war, Stealing

Time travel has always been controversial in the Wizarding World. The Ministry in particular has taken to keeping any form of Time Travel under wraps as to prevent Wizards from dabbling in the illegal form of magical transportation.

Now with the Second Wizarding War quickly approaching, this dangerous threat was overruled by your desperation to change the past and prevent this whole mess from happening. The sorrows of your friends, the loss, the unnecessary violence and rift between wizards and muggles, even further than it already was.

Hermione had recently been popping in and out of lessons unnoticed and denied knowing what you or your friends had accused her of. You knew she had a Time Turner. If you had that, you could find a way to fix things yourself.

The smart thing to do would be to inform your friends so that they could help you but losing them was something that you couldn't bear. Your only hope was to take the time turner and figure it out alone.

Luckily there was no need to fret about your plan since you shared a dorm room with her. You waited until nightfall when the famous Golden Trio left Gryffindor tower, claiming to be sick yourself to stay behind and search for the it

The thing about your dear friend was that she was a perfectionist, not only in her schoolwork, but especially in her living quarters. If even a single paper was out of place, she would scream at you for days. But at times like this, where the whole group was stressed enough as it was, you could easily get by that little issue... hopefully.

Going through her belongings proved more difficult than initially intended, considering you never actually witnessed her putting the Time Turner anywhere away in your dorm, at least not while the both of you were present. She was actually quite protective of the thing, which you could understand given the gravity behind it all.

Digging through the trunk at the bottom of her bed, you searched through a dozen sweaters before finding a hidden compartment tucked away in the bottom corner. Surprisingly it seemed that Hermione had opted to leave the thing behind, too afraid of losing it on their unpredictable outing.

Hurriedly tucking the pocket watch into your bag, along with your journal, you got up from the floor of your dorm and made your way out of Gryffindor Tower.

Hours ticked by with you sitting on the ground of the restricted section. Books were scattered open around you in a circle while you chewed absentmindedly on your thumb nail, a nervous habit that you were too focused to pay attention to at the moment.

Thoughts and plans, one after another swirled in your mind continuously. A headache began forming from it, as you continued to reach dead ends. No plans that you came up with seemed to work well enough. Not to mention the fact that you never actually learned how to use the Time Turner before stealing it. You blamed that fact on your stress and desperation. Normally, you would plan out your actions meticulously but not this time.

Finally, it hit you. Harry's parents, Sirius and Remus, Even Regulus. You could save them all and prevent the heartache. It was simple in your mind, you would go back to the 1970's to save as many people as you possibly could. Maybe you could warn them somehow, or at least prepare them ahead of time for what was to come. It was the only way.

It's not as if you were afraid of participating in the war alongside your friends, it was just that you couldn't possibly stand by and watch your friends die beside you in the bloodshed and horror of war.

Pulling out the pocket watch from your bag, you decided to take the Time Turner apart piece by piece and rewire it to take you further back in time. Normal Time Turners would only send you back a maximum of five hours, which wouldn't have worked for anything you had planned.

Consequences by damned, you thought as you opened the Time Turner and began poking around at the mechanisms inside. The diagrams in the book made absolutely no sense. They only contained detailed drawings of the watch, but previously there had been no history of ever tampering with one.

Ticking began to get louder and louder. The books on the shelves rattled violently as if sensing the worst. You raised your eyes from the Time Turner in your hand and your eyes widened slightly, looking around to see what was happening.

Your finger slipped and accidentally grazed a metal coil that was exposed. Blood dripped down and the watch sizzled from the intrusion. A bright flash of light startled you and threw you back into the bookshelf, causing a copy of Dark Witches and Wizards Through History to crash down on your head.

Time shifted, books disappearing from their place on the shelves, dust cleared, and the watch rattled as you tried to clasp it tightly. Instantly the world faded and the last thing your blurry vision saw was the room spinning fast as you collapsed to the floor.

The creaking of footsteps in the library outside the Restricted Section was what woke you up. Your head pounded and you lifted your hand to place it on the top of your head. Sitting up to regain your balance, you rested your back against the bookshelf, albeit much more carefully than before.

There were no books on the ground anymore, it was only you alone. That should've been your first indication that something wasn't right, but your head hurt far too much for you to worry about your current surroundings.

After shoving the pieces of the Time Turner back into your bag, you finally stood up and made your way out of the library, cautiously avoiding the librarian or wandering Prefects. The only thing on your mind was getting back to your dorm and figuring your next course of action.

The hallways were deathly quiet, not a single person in sight. It must've been far later in the night than you had remembered.

You had almost made it to the Gryffindor Tower when you heard a deep voice speak from behind you.

"Where do you think you're going?" He asked, his voice calm and authoritative. You must've gotten stopped by a teacher. Being prepared for a lecture, you raised your hands as you slowly turned around to face him.

"I was-" Your eyes widened as you saw him, words failing you. This boy was around your age, with dark eyes that bore into your soul.

He raised his eyebrow, the tiniest hint of acknowledgment before his expression became emotionless once more. "I know everyone in this school and I have never seen you before. Follow me"

It wasn't a request as he walked ahead, down the hallway. Never once did he look back, clearly expecting you to follow behind blindly. You weren't sure if it was the headache, but you obeyed for the time being.

A/N- Please like/repost/comment and tell me what you think! Constructive criticism is always encouraged and appreciated. If I left out an important trigger warning, please let me know and ill add it.

This Series is inspired by Time Warp, written by @astonishment, but I won't be tagging them in every part since that would probably be annoying. I definitely recommend reading their series! Thank you again for letting me use the idea as the basis for me series.

Misc Credits:

Dark Mark Divider- @firefly-graphics

Diamond Divider- @troublesomesnitch

Header- Me

#x reader #tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #harry potter #harry potter x reader #👻-ghost writing

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dodgerkedavra · 6 months ago

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2024 fics-in-review

Doing this to impress @its-the-allure, thanks for tagging me! And what a year, am I right, LOL

December

New Heavens (3k, G)

Percy lasts six and a half years.

Go Up to Gilead (106k, E)

The Aurors are Harry’s whole world—right up until he carries Draco Malfoy out of Azkaban in his arms. Harry can’t keep both, so he’s got to choose: forfeit the world, or forfeit his soul?

Clear, Warm Light (36k, E)

Instead of going to Hogwarts for eighth-year, Harry goes to bed.

Blossom the Lovely Stars (33k, E) *finished, from 2022

After three weeks and four days of dating, Draco asks Harry to stay for the holidays. Harry agrees.

Sweet to Your Taste (6k, E)

It’s just like Draco to fall prey to the machinations of his fellow Slytherins. This time, he ends up owning a bakery.

Burn Like Fire (4k, E)

Harry comes out of the Forest dead inside. Draco’s going to bring him back to life.

November

Ye Olde Publick Indecency (3k, E)

Draco and Harry get separated for ten minutes at the Mediaeval Fayre, which demands a carnal reunion.

October

Each According to Its Kind (10k, E)

Draco has one goal: become the best Obliviator the Ministry has ever seen. Everything proceeds exactly according to plan… Until he’s assigned to deal with a SNAKE SWARM in Godric’s Hollow.

Sleep, My Love (13k, M)

Why does Minerva McGonagall always wear green?

September

The Work of His Hands (digital art, E)

It’s not the first time Harry’s got a head injury. It is the first time he loses his ability to write. Now it’s up to Harry’s brilliant and beautiful husband Draco to save the day. Bending a naked and gorgeous Harry over Draco’s desk is an unconventional Healing strategy, but the Boy Who Lived has never been a conventional wizard.

Wherever He Leads Me (11k, E)

Draco never knows when a certain someone’s stag Patronus will block his path as he’s trying to sneak out of a memorial or leap on his pelvis during yoga class.

A Line-storm Song (12k, E)

Harry holds it together for five years after the war. Well—he sort of holds it together. Then his Auror partner Pansy Parkinson says it’s going to rain.

En Passant (46k, E)

An en passant capture can only be made by another pawn, and it is only possible on the move immediately after the enemy pawn lands shoulder-to-shoulder with his opponent. Nine days before the end of Draco’s probation, a grievously injured Auror Potter crashes through the roof of the Malfoy Manor and lands in Draco’s arms. It’s Draco’s first capture of the game. Or maybe it’s the other way around.

August

Bad Cop, Good Boy (1k, E)

Five times Harry Potter is a cop, plus one time he’s still a cop. A bad one? Well, that depends entirely on the beholder.

July

Perpetual Motion, Perpetual Sound (51k, E)

Harry Potter can’t sleep.

June

The Winds Forbid (8k, T)

The third letter Petunia receives from Albus Dumbledore simply can’t be right.

See Me and Live (37k, E)

Harry and Draco are roommates. They're coworkers. They're secret boyfriends. And now they're having a baby together!?

One Warm Line (1k, E)

This pain is part of being human.

May

Love Will Abide (41k, E)

Harry and Draco survive the apocalypse. This is what happens after.

April

Stand in the Shadow of the Moon (4k, E)

Husbands Harry and Draco road trip to Maumee, Ohio to experience totality at the 8 April 2024 solar eclipse.

March

Bike Dream (27k, E)

Draco’s going to learn to ride a bike if it’s the last thing he does.

Bridal Rose (2k, E)

Harry would do anything.

The Dancing Hours (2k, E)

Harry begged. Draco couldn't say no.

A Soft, Low Strain (2k, E)

Harry can’t help that it feels so good.

February

Perennial Blooms (5k, E)

The flowers keep coming back.

I'll Find You Again (I Always Do) (15k, E)

Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter make a pact that if they’re both still single on New Year’s Day in ten years’ time, they’ll get married. It’s a long ten years.

January

Get What You Knead (7k, E)

You can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes... You might find You—

All told, this was somewhere in the realm of 500kish ??? !! So

#drarry #harry potter #draco malfoy #my fic #draco x harry #drarry fic #drarry fics #fic roundup #all the stuff I did #last year #2024 #drarry 2024

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xoxoavenger · 5 months ago

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Hi! I saw your ask were open!!

I was thinking of Bucky with a fem!reader who's a time travelling witch. She's the old-fashioned, harry potter-esque kind and they meet in the 40s by accident after she heals pre-serum Steve but he never got her name.

He sees her again after a portal opened in the Compound where all the Avengers where reunited to discuss a plan. She gets spit out of the portal with her familiars and he recognises her immediately bc of the way she's dressed but she can't due to his arm/the longish hair and because she "just saw" him in her last time travel and him and Steve did not look like THAT.

Everyone's confused why Bucky insists he knows her and that she can help with their situation.

I LOVE this request omggg! I tweaked it a tiny bit to fit the plot, and also i've never seen/read harry potter lol. I wrote this in basically one sitting yesterday but I finished it at like 4 am and fell asleep proofreading it but now its here and I hope you enjoy!

Saved

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Witch!Reader

word count: 5122

warnings: reader does not call Bucky 'James' in this one (ik I just made the announcement but there is a reason I promise), Salem Witch Trials mention/explanation, Bucky's traumatic past mention

masterlist

"I told you to stay with me." Bucky says lowly as he wipes Steve's forehead with a cloth he had stolen from a nurses station. His best friend had picked another fight, except this time there was a knife involved. The doctors stitched him up the best they could, but his body is already so fragile, he's got an infection he's struggling to fight. Bucky feels so helpless, and even though Rebecca keeps telling him that short of kidnapping Steve, there was nothing he could have done.

Steve doesn't answer, eyes closed and mouth parted slightly as his shivers. He's sweating but freezing, and Bucky doesn't even want to look at the bloody mess that is the gauze covering the infected gash on Steve's malnourished body. Bucky feels guilty about this - he should have been there, he should have made sure that Steve wasn't in trouble. The kid loves to find trouble wherever he is, but Bucky never imagined this would happen.

Bucky's parents have come by, brought him food that's been left on the table untouched for hours, because Bucky feels sick just being in this room. But he can't leave, no, because this is his best friend, and his best friend doesn't have any family. Doesn't have anyone but him.

"You can't die on me, pal." Bucky whispers, emotion clouding his voice and making the words sticky as they climb up his throat. "I still need you."

It happens too fast for Bucky to figure out what exactly is going on. One minute, he's alone in the dark room, then next there's a bright purple light. A woman stumbles through, dressed in a long, dark lavender skirt that's high waisted, a white, pleated blouse tucked into it. She has a matching bow tied around the neck collar. There's a lace trim around the skirt, making her look old fashioned, even though she looks like she's probably his age. She's carrying a briefcase, and just when Bucky thinks this entire situation can't get any weirder, a black owl flys through the purple light and lands on the other chair that Bucky wasn't occupying.

The woman had been running from something, her momentum taking her forward until she hits the end of Steve's bed, dropping her briefcase and falling onto the floor. Bucky is frozen, not sure exactly what to do.

"Ow," She whispers, using the bed to stand up.

"Who the hell are you?" Bucky whispers, standing from his spot. He looks over at the owl, who's just staring there, then back at the woman, who now has her briefcase on the bed where Steve's skinny legs aren't taking any space.

"There's no time." She says, and Bucky looks over to see her briefcase filled with herbs and bottles and crushing tools. "Is he your friend?" She asks, finally looking up at Bucky. She's beautiful, her face seemingly timeless.

"Yes." He says, because he doesn't know what else to say. "Where did you come from?" He asks, watching her pull Steve's blanket down to get a better look at his wound.

"A portal." She answers, as if it was obvious.

"What?" He asks, and she takes a deep breath, before she looks at him. His brain is so jumbled, and his eyes keep going over to the owl, still just staring.

"I'm a witch. I time travel to places that need my help, and it seems your friend here is in desperate need." She answers, and Bucky can only blink as she moves Steve's hospital gown away to take a look at the gauze. It's already bloody, and puss is oozing from it, the infection making itself known. "What's his name?"

"Steve. I'm Bucky." He answers, without a second thought. "How-how does the portal know who needs help?" He asks, watching her begin to go to work. She pulls herbs out, and then begins to crush them together.

"The portal doesn't know that." She laughs, as if Steve isn't dying so bad that a time traveling witch came to save him.

Maybe Bucky's dying. That must be the only way to explain why an owl is sitting in Steve's hotel room.

"I made a spell that takes me to people who are meant to help the world that are dying. It seems your friend is important." She explains, but Becky's still lost.

"So you only save the important people?" Bucky asks. She adds a couple liquids that Bucky isn't familiar with, and then starts to spread it on Steve's wound. Bucky almost stops her, but he has a feeling Steve's gonna die without the help anyway.

"No," She tells him, smiling warmly as she finishes her spread. She moves over to Steve's bedside table, where a small roll of gauze is. "There are some people who need saving, because later on in life they do the saving. Your friend isn't supposed to die right now." She says, taking her tools toward the bathroom. Bucky checks on Steve, who already seems to be breathing easier, then follows her.

"So you just spend your life saving people?" He asks, watching her clean her tools in the sink.

"Yes." She says quietly, and Bucky frowns.

"What about your own time? What about your family? Friends?" He asks, and she blinks because damn, this guy asks a lot of questions. He's also accepted the 'witch' part of this story with surprising speed; if everyone reacted like this, she would tell them outright who she was instead of lying and saying she was a healer.

"Ya know, of everyone I've saved, no one ever asks this personal of questions." She says, turning the water off and looking over at him. "I just saved your friend, who is destined to do great things, and you're worried about my time?" She asks, and Bucky's stunned. This witch is telling him that Steve, skinny, defenseless Steve, is supposed to save people. His life is so important that it caused a magic potion to stop in their timeline to save him, out of all the other people in other times she could be saving.

"I guess, it just seems like a lonely life. Do you ever take a break?" He asks, causing the witch to scoff, passing him to go back to her briefcase.

"I mean, yeah, but my days aren't the same as yours. I can go from the middle of the night in the fourteenth century to broad daylight in the twenty first." She says, and Bucky is honestly shocked by this. She seems so put together for how much she's going through.

"Maybe you should stay here. Get some rest." He doesn't know why he offers, only that he doesn't want to see her go. He feels connected to her; she's someone who's only trying to do good, who feels out of place but is trying their best. He needs to know more about her, needs to know everything.

"Nice try," She says with a smile, and he hopes she knows that he means the offer genuinely. She takes something out of her briefcase before shutting it, looking up at him one last time. "But people need me."

"I want to see you again." He blurts out, because if he doesn't tell her, he knows that she'll be lost forever. She looks shocked, genuinely torn now, as if she hadn't expected him to say something like that. "Please," He realizes she never told him her name, and it makes his heart race with anxiety.

"Maybe one day, Bucky." She says, and it seems so sincere, so meaningful, that he could never guess what her next sentence would be. She throws the powder she was holding on the ground, a purple light appearing just like the one that did right before she came into the room. Her owl flies and finds a spot on her shoulder, so she looks over the other one, straight at Bucky as she stands before the portal. "But I really hope you won't need saving that badly."

And then the only witch Bucky had ever met was gone.

He stared at the spot for what felt like hours, but he couldn't be sure how long it really was. Soon, Steve woke up, no longer sweating and actually now hungry. The doctors called it a miracle, and Steve called him crazy when Bucky recounted the story, but Bucky knows what happened. He knows that there was more to her than she let on, and he knows there was a connection. But he also knows that he isn't important enough to be saved if he were to be hurt.

His fears are only confirmed when he's taken by Hydra the first time, dying underground. He prays to her, to that stupid fucking potion she had said that choses where she goes, but she never comes. He imagines it a couple times, but after awhile he knows it's not real. It's only worse when he falls off the train, when he cries out a mess of emotion, because he doesn't know her goddamn name. He stares at the blood soaking the snow, left behind like a phantom hand, and he knows that she meant what she said. She must have known that he didn't need saving, because he wasn't worth it.

The only good part of him getting his memories stolen was he was no longer plagued with the hope that she would rescue him.

As Y/N steps through the portal, she wishes she would have stayed in 1940 with Bucky. She is tired, she's been running through these portals for too long, and the job before Steve was risky. She doesn't even want to think about how she barely escaped, how she felt like she couldn't breathe the whole time. But she saved someone, and in doing so they're going to save many people, so it was a success. Even if right now, she feels like she just wants to curl up in her childhood bed and listen to the sounds of rain hitting the dirt outside.

As always, it takes her a moment to get acclimated with the scene around her. She's in a room, a bright one, so it must be some time in a newer century. It looks very much like the twenty-first century modern decorative take that she was afraid of the first time she was transported, but by now she's come to be familiar with many of the styles around the world. She doesn't go to the twenty-first century much, and it always scares her given that there is so much technology she doesn't quite understand.

"Who the hell invited Laura Ingalls?" A man says, and she turns to see him in a completely metal suit. It frightens her slightly, as she's never seen anything like it.

"Holy hell," A huge blonde man whispers from beside a bed. He's got a weird costume on as well, red white and blue. Y/N looks and sees everyone around her has weird costumes on, and she has no idea why she's here and who needs help.

"Where did you just come from?" An even bigger blonde with long hair asks, red cape dangling from his shoulders. She blinks at him, too overwhelmed to answer.

"And who are you?" The most normal of them all seems to be an archer dressed in all black, but even then she's not sure just based on the fact that he's hanging out with these people.

"Okay," She says mostly to herself, because this is just a group of crazy people. She can deal with them. She just needs to figure out who's hurt and what's wrong with them, and then she can go find somewhere to sleep. "I'm here to help. Is there someone who's injured, or maybe sick?" She asks, looking around the group.

"You're the witch." The blonde near the bed says, and Y/N blinks at him.

"Is it that obvious?" She asks, looking at Azio. Her owl just flys over to an empty shelf to perch, watching the group and making sure nothing bad happens.

"You know her?" A girl with dark red hair and a black suit asks.

"Look, if no one is hurt," Y/N started, but someone had to be at least ill. Sometimes, people didn't even know they were sick, and she had to diagnose them and give them the medicine she hoped would help cure them.

"No! No, we need your help." The man rushes, and Y/N feels slightly concerned by this. This man clearly seems to know her, but she would remember meeting someone so... large.

"Alright," Y/N started, looking around the group again. She paused when she saw a literal red man, and then turned back to them. The blonde man looked desperate, a lot like Bucky had just been. She hoped that Bucky was okay, wherever he was.

"What's she going to do? She looks like she doesn't even know what electricity is." Y/N turned to glare at one of the men, because she noticed there was only two women in this room besides her.

"She's a witch." The blonde repeats, and Y/N still doesn't remember who he is.

"I'm sorry, have we met before? I don't remember you." She says, and it's silent for a couple moments as everyone looks at them.

"Well, technically I haven't met you, but you healed me. In 1940." The man says it so matter of fact, but Y/N's sure he must be lying, or at least misremembering.

"What year is it?" She asks, a smile on her face because this must be some sort of prank.

"It's 2016." The man in the metal suit says. Y/N pauses, because that would make the blonde man around a hundred years old.

"Why are you lying?" She asks, walking closer. "I only healed one man in 1940, and he did not look like you." It's then that she notices the man laying on the bed. He has long, dark hair, and he looks like he's been through hell and back. She feels a sort of connection, but she's pretty sure she's never seen him before.

"I know. I'm Steve." He says from next to her, grabbing her attention back.

"Steve did not look like that." She says, looking down his large body. She turns back to the man on the bed, who seems to have a metal arm? She's pretty sure her potion keeps her in one universe, but she can't be too sure, especially with all these weirdos.

"Bucky told me about you." The man claiming to be Steve continues, and Y/N just puts her briefcase on the bed, opening it up. The name makes her pause, but she has to keep her cool. She needs to get out of this time. "He'd be so glad that you came to help him." Steve's words make her vision turn white with emotion.

"Stop!" She yells, because this man is implying that the person in this bed, who looks so horribly tortured, is Bucky. And he's not that much older than the Bucky that she just met. "Please, just let me heal this man, and then I can leave." There are tears in her eyes, because this is too much. Bucky reminded her too much of herself. She couldn't risk the connection.

"We had to knock him out, and he hasn't gotten back up. There's something wrong with his head." A woman with lighter red hair and a soft voice says, her costume completely and ridiculously red. Y/N nods, not wanting to know why they hit him that hard. She lifts his head, feeling around. She finds the problem, the large incision on the side of his head. She makes a fast acting concoction, using some of her own magic to help speed up the healing process. Just in case this is actually Bucky.

"How do you know Steve and Bucky from the 1940s?" The red head in the black outfit slides next to Y/N as she's packing her stuff up, ready to leave this shit-show.

"I just healed Steve in 1940, and he didn't look like that." Y/N whispers to her staring at the man in the bed. His face is bruised, and his hair is long, but she can't help but think about how this man may be the man she just had a connection with.

"Yeah," The woman laughs lightly. "He was injected with this serum that made him super strong, probably not too long after you left. He's still the same guy, though." Y/N turns to her, because she sounds honest but Y/N feels so conflicted.

"How would you know?" She asks defensively, making the red head chuckle once more.

"The serum just enhances everything that was there before. It makes good better, and bad worse." Her smile drops as she looks at Bucky. Y/N follows her gaze, because the man is starting to gain consciousness.

"What happened to him?" Y/N whispers, finally taking in that this is the same bright eyed man she saw what feels like moments ago. Even asleep, his face looks so scarred by life. She wishes there was a way for her to fix it, but she wasn't called to any time in between 1940 and now.

"He got the serum too. But a different version, from different people." The red head looks a lot less playful now, and Y/N wonders just how much Bucky has had to go through.

"How are they alive?" She finally asks the question that's been on her mind. They've got to be pushing a hundred years old, and yet Bucky doesn't look much older than the last time she saw him. Steve may look different than when she healed him, but he's still young.

"Steve crashed a plane carrying bombs into freezing water over the Arctic. Due to the serum, he was able to survive being frozen for about 70 years." She doesn't comment on Bucky, and just as Y/N is about to ask the man in question begins to wake up.

"Buck?" Steve is at his other side, watching Bucky open his eyes and blink against the harsh light.

"What happened?" Bucky rasps out, and Y/N fights her gasp. His voice is so much lower, so much more pained than the voice she heard in 1940. "What did I do?" He rephrases with wide eyes, looking at Steve and then at the man in metal, who stands at the end of the bed.

"Nothing we couldn't handle. It's not your fault." Steve answers. Y/N looks around for answers, but it seems no one has them. "We're just lucky you're okay."

"Yeah, well, Hydra at least had a good enough serum to keep me alive." Bucky grunts as he sits up, still not noticing the witch to his right.

"It wasn't the serum, Bucky." Another man in metal armor, one Y/N hadn't noticed before, steps up, arms crossed. He looks serious, and Y/N looks away like she's in trouble.

"What?" Bucky asks, confused. He looks around slowly until he finally lands on her. "It's you," He whispers, because he never got her name.

"Yes," She says, heart in her throat.

"You finally came." Bucky sounds so relieved, a little closer to the man she first met. "You finally saved me." He says it so soft that most of the people in the room can't hear it, but they all want in on this information. Bucky has never shown this much interest in anyone.

"Alright, we all have debriefs to fill out. Let's leave them alone." The red head says, forcing everyone out of the room. Steve is the last one to leave, smiling and winking at his friend.

"Told ya she was real." Bucky smirks, and Steve rolls his yes and mutters 'punk' before walking out of the room too. Y/N and Bucky are left alone, and while it's only been moments for Y/N, it's been years for Bucky.

"What's your name?" He finally asks, and Y/N smiles.

"Y/N." She answers, and Bucky gives a small, echo of a smile in return.

"I was starting to think that I just made you up, and that's why I didn't know your name." He tells her, and she chuckles a bit.

"You look... different." She says after a couple beats of silence. She watches his face fall, his eyes going to his metal arm. "I just came from 1940, so it was quite the jump for me." She tells him, and he flicks his eyes back to her.

"You mean, the last place you were at was Steve's hospital room?" Bucky asks for clarification, but he knows exactly what she's saying. He's lived a lifetime - two lifetimes - in the time that she walked through a purple light.

"What happened, Bucky?" She asks quietly, sitting on his bed but angling her body to face him still. He levels her gaze with a stare, unwilling the recount how he desperately prayed to a witch that he didn't even know the name of.

"You first." He counters, making Y/N furrow her brows. "Tell me what happened in your time."

"It's not important." The words are barely out of her mouth as she rolls her eyes before Bucky's speaking.

"It is to me." He says simply, and they stare at each other for a few seconds before she sighs, breaking eye contact and looking toward the window.

"My time was originally the seventeenth century. I had the misfortune of being born in Salem Village, Massachusetts Bay Colony. I knew that I was different from everyone else before the whole witch hanging was popular. And there were these girls, they were young and stupid, and they thought being a witch was cool. They called it 'possession.' But I am not possessed. I am a person." Y/N has to take a deep breath as she feels tears gather in her eyes, threatening to fall. "They accused everyone. Well, all the women, of course, because the men couldn't be tried for their wrongdoings. They pointed fingers left and right, and I know that these women were innocent. They didn't even know witches were real. They were just women." She pauses to wipe the tears that have raced down her cheeks, her heart pounding as she recalls the story. She looks down at her hands, unable to look at Bucky. "I was trying to keep a low profile. I had already been kicked out of my father's house, and I didn't have a husband. But there was this little girl, she couldn't have been more than five, and she was dying. She was going to die. I couldn't just sit there and let fear get the best of me." Y/N can remember it like it was yesterday.

"Y/N," Bucky starts, but she shakes her head. It feels good to finally tell someone, after years of meeting people and moving on immediately.

"Her dad turned me in. Said I had probably possessed her when I healed her. I saved his daughter, and he repaid me by throwing me in a cell." She watches Bucky's face change at this, but she doesn't know why. "I was held there for a month before they came to get me. They didn't feed me properly, gave me water in a bowl that they threw into the cell. I didn't even have a bathroom in there, and no one else had them in their cells either. There were times when I wouldn't eat, because I couldn't get over the smell, and I thought 'If I die of starvation, then at least I'll be free from here.' When they eventually did come, they put me in a cart, like an animal, and paraded me down the street to where my trail was held. But it wasn't actually a fair trial. Not for me, at least. I wasn't even allowed to speak. At my own death sentence!" She wipes her face again, wanting to wrap up the story. "I'm lucky on the walk to the hanging that there was some lavender and rosemary. I tripped into the bushes and crushed the plants so quickly, no one noticed. By the time I was saying the words, it was too late." She sniffles as she stares at her feet, a good point between her and Bucky so she doesn't have to look directly at him.

"You save the people who are destined to save others because you feel responsible for the women who were hung." Bucky says, reading her like a book. She snaps her gaze up to him, and he's just waiting for her to answer.

"If it weren't for me, no one in Salem would have even been thinking that witchcraft was a thing." She says, but Bucky shakes his head.

"You don't know that." He argues, and she just sighs.

"I have spent years moving around different times, saving people who are meant to be saved. And not one of those women have ever been apart of it. The only thing I've been able to do was help a woman who broke her ankle trying to run from her husband. And I almost got caught. Again." She almost shivers as she remembers helping Elizabeth right before she had helped Steve, how fast she had to go through the portal. "And now, I can never go back anyway, because they all know I'm a witch. They've seen me disappear. Twice." She thinks of all the women she was unable to save, who were hung publicly for no other reason but being a woman in Salem. It's quiet as they both take in what she's just revealed, and then Bucky starts talking.

"The first time I was taken by Hydra, it was right after you had come by. I joined the army, trying to do my part during World War II. But my unit was captured by Hydra, which was a Nazi group that largely worked underground. Steve eventually found me, but it took a month, and by that time Hydra had chosen me as their test subject. I didn't even know what they were doing, not until later, but they had given me a version of the super solider serum. I guess I should be lucky it didn't boil all my skin off or turn me green, but God, I was sick the whole time. They would take my blood, have me do certain tests, and sometimes, they'd just beat me until I was bloody." Y/N shudders as Bucky recounts his own story, feeling stupid for thinking that her starving in her cell was some sort of hell. That was just living compared to what Bucky was going through. "Steve and I formed a team after that, and we actually were pretty good. We were on a Hydra train, just trying to hijack it, when the wall was blasted off and I fell out. I should have died. But I lived, and of course, Hydra found me." He looks over at the silver arm, and Y/N figures that he must have lost it in the fall. "They wiped my memory. Made me into a killing machine. They gave me these trigger words, to keep me in line. They froze my body when they didn't need me to preserve it so I could be primed to go on missions. When Steve found me again, I didn't even know who I was. But somehow, he got through to me, and now I'm here, I guess." He doesn't seem too happy about being here, wherever it is. Y/N swallows back the tears from his harrowing story.

"Sounds like we have a lot more in common than I thought." Y/N says, and Bucky nods, jaw clenched. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you when you needed me. But I'm here now, which means you save people, Bucky. You are important. You deserve to be saved." She scoots closer with him, putting her hand on his.

"I just turned on my entire team because of ten stupid words. That's all it takes to trigger that part of my brain again." He tells her. She doesn't quite understand exactly what he's telling her, but she understands his emotions.

"They clearly care for you. They know it isn't your fault, Bucky. I promise, you are worth saving." She doesn't tell him that she thinks it may be her that will be saved. She's here for herself.

"So, are you gonna throw that magical powder again?" He asks, clearly upset at even the thought of Y/N leaving. She licks her lips, looking toward the window once more as she gathers her thoughts. She looks back at him, a small smile on her face.

"I was actually thinking that I may have some rest, finally." She says, just the thought of sleep causing her to yawn.

"Oh?" He's trying not to get too excited, he's only been dreaming of this moment for literal decades.

"I'm exhausted of running. Ever since that first portal, I've never stopped to catch my breath. I don't even know how long it's been, how much time I've spent doing this." She feels a little emotional even thinking about it, but Bucky seems to understand. "I want to live my life again. And I know I can still help, but maybe in a different way. Maybe in this century." She says, looking around before finally looking back at Bucky. He's grinning, looking so much more like the man she first met.

"I could help you, ya know." He says, and she laughs lightly as she moves around to lay in the bed with him.

"Sounds like a plan." She rests next to him, afraid to move, but he puts an arm around her and pulls her in, holding her tightly in his arms. She snuggles into his chest, feeling more content than she has ever felt in her life.

"Sleep tight." He whispers, and she sighs as she lets go of everything she's been holding onto.

"Where did Bucky come from?" She asks softly, wanting to know where that came from before she falls asleep in his arms. She wants to know a lot of things about him, but for right now, this small question will subdue her.

"My middle name is Bucahanan." He answers, smiling from this question.

"What's your first name?" She's almost slurring, sleep trying to take over quickly.

"James." He says, rubbing her side and trying to slyly untuck her pleaded blouse so he can slip a hand under her shirt to feel her skin.

"Yeah, I'm calling you James." She tells him, and he just laughs, unable to believe that the woman he'd been dreaming about is in his bed.

It may be too early to tell, but Bucky's pretty sure they're meant to be.

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @one-sweet-gubler @theoraekenslover @thefandomplace @mcueveryday @icequeen1371 @kenzi-woycehoski @multifandom-boss-bitch

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfic

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