#harry was also surprised how loud we were | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

artyandink · 2 months ago

Text

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐱𝐲𝐳 1

SUMMARY: You’re the first female president of the USA, having won the 2014 elections against Amara Shurley by a landslide. Now that you were a symbol of feminism, reform and a better country, it meant that there were a lot more assassination attempts bound to be on your head. For that, you needed a personal bodyguard, so you had to pick right. And you picked right in convicted ex-hitman Dean Winchester. Right?

TW: assassination attempts, ex-hitman!Dean, POTUS!reader, politics!au, politics, murder, gunfire, boss reader, angst, major sexual tension between reader and Dean but also romantic tension cause we love that, slow/quick burn, y’all will have to figure that out

A/N: In honour of our queen Kamala Harris, who didn’t win the 2024 elections, so I give you what could’ve been

NOW PLAYING: Power by Little Mix

office fever

God, the wait was killing you.

You were sitting in a bar, hoping that when the results of the final poll came you were drunk enough that you’d cheer and scream like a madwoman to counteract the inevitable news that you’d lose the 2014 presidential elections to your only eligible opponent, Amara Shurley. Either way, you both had incredibly good future legislations and laws, and whoever was elected there’d be a woman as the President for the first time, which was good. Really good.

“Come on, babes, cheer up!” Stephanie, one of your two best friends, drawled, checking her manicured nails while absent-mindedly sipping on a Long Island Iced Tea like it was merely water, but that was Steph O’Donnell for you, plain and simple. Eh, she was a bit nails-obsessed, but you loved her anyway for it, she did always look immaculate.

Bella, your other, redhead best friend, sighed and smacked Steph upside her blonde head, earning a gasp at the potentially ruined heatless curls (no, they weren’t ruined, she’s just being dramatic). “Maybe you just need to get less alcohol in your system.” She said pointedly, plucking the vodka shot out of your fingers.

“Bels, if anything, she needs more.” Steph pointed out after checking if her hair wasn’t frizzed up in a pocket mirror. “If she wins, it just means she’s capable of partying harder.”

Bella sighed and rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a small laugh, tsking internally at the notion. “She needs to remain sober for when she gets the results, and she’s going to win.” Bella turned to you with a sparkling smile and took your hand, squeezing it. “We’re here for you, girl. Sure, it’s totally possible that the Amara Shurley woman could win the election — she’s older — but if the country’s not stupid, then you’ll be the next POTUS.”

“I’m not sure whether to feel better or worse.” You playfully rolled your eyes, but let the vodka shot go and gestured to the bartender with a resigned sigh. Yeah, you could go without alcohol for tonight. “But ok. One mocktail, and surprise me with it. Cheers.” You looked to Bella with raised eyebrows, tipping your head slightly. “So, what if I lose the election?”

Bella tutted, and Steph looked up from her nails in shock— damn, that’s how you knew you were in deep shit. “Baby girl, you better get that thinking out of your head right now.” Steph gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in shock. “You are an icon for a feminist nation— a non-toxic feminist nation. If people don’t vote for you, I’m gonna kill those who didn’t, those who did can live.”

“Don’t do that.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Steph, no—”

“Yes—”

A loud squeal from Bella distracted both of you and almost made Steph spill the Cosmo that matched her nails and also made her shoot a you bitch look that she really didn’t mean, but then Bella started flapping her hands and making squealing and unintelligible, Brittany from Alvin and the Chipmunk-esque sounds that made you and Steph share a look. “You ok, Bels?” You asked in severe mild concern, while Steph just looked either repulsed or amused.

“Are you having a stroke?” Steph continued, checking for any signs of maybe a heart attack or an ice cube lodged down her throat so her speech becomes little whistles.

“Do you smell toast?” You waved a hand in front of your nose, but then her phone was shoved in front of your face so the screen and everything went blurry, not to mention the sting of the light on your eyes— shit, that burned until your retinas. Grabbing the phone from her, you held it at a distance and squinted (“grandma”, said Steph) but then saw the headline.

2014 PRESIDENTIAL ELECTIONS, FINAL POLL RESULTS

Then you scrolled down, with bated breath and clutching Bella’s hand like you wanted to rip it off, and you took a shaky look at the numbers.

AMARA SHURLEY — 36%

That means you got… 64% of the vote, now that you did the math. Holy shit. “Holy shit!” You gasped, letting out a Bella-reminiscent squeal just as Steph did, and you were smothered by two heavily-perfumed hugs, the wind knocked out of you, but did that matter? No.

You were the President. The first female President. POTUS. The youngest ever elected too, at 35.

Holy fuck, holy shit, holy crap. This was the most beautiful day of your life, beside the day you met Bella and Steph, that day was important. “You’re POTUS.” Steph grinned, waving for, like, six whiskeys for all of you to down.

“You’re POTUS, baby girl.” Bella giggled, squeezing your shoulders and then spinning around on her bar stool, pointing obviously to you and yelling “POTUS!”, earning a round of cheers and applause from the patrons that made you bury your face in your hands.

But you did it with a grin. You were the President.

Honestly, being the President was exhilarating, cause that meant you got to make real change, it was incredible. Your new security team had fended off the paparazzi from smothering you Bella and Steph style except more annoying as you were escorted into the White House, a woman only a little younger than you waiting with an eager grin and a clipboard hugged to her chest.

“Welcome to the White House, Madam President.” She grinned, holding out her hand nervously then retracting it— she didn’t know what new bosses wanted, alright? “I’m Becky Rosen, I’ll be your assistant. Anything you need, I’ll handle it. Do you want anything? Tea, coffee, water, a martini�� if you want a martini I’ll have the barman get one ready and waiting for you in the Oval Office…”

During that time she’d been rambling you’d examined Becky, getting a feel for what she was like. Thank God your assistant was a woman also and she seemed like good fun, lively spirit, definitely someone who won’t make your schedule sound boring. But she looked overworked and tired, maybe from the last president— that’d be Raphael Easton, right? Yeah.

“Two things,” you started as you were walking through the halls to the Oval Office, “do you have the files for personal bodyguard applicants that I can cycle through before making official speeches?”

“They’re all on your desk, ma’am.” Becky answered almost immediately— damn, she was rather eager, and happy with her job, clearly, but also had dark circles and eye bags that made something twinge in you. It didn’t sit right.

You nodded, then gave her a warm smile, gently taking the clipboard. “How ‘bout you take the day off, yeah? It’s only my first day, I don’t need anything yet, and I can get the applicants from…” You looked through the labels on the file: FBI, CIA, private agencies, ADX Supermax— ADX Supermax?

“What’s wrong, ma’am?” Becky asked, seeing the way your words trailed off upon seeing the file amid all the other incredibly professional outlets for protection, an applicant from the ADX. Well, you did say unorthodox applicants can apply if they wanted to, you just didn’t expect a dude in prison to put his file through.

Oh. Upon opening it, it was just a letter.

You looked up to Becky, biting your lip in thought, cause if this guy’s in the Supermax, he’s prolific.

“Do I have a direct line to the director of the FBI?”

ADX Florence was a fortress, a high-tech prison designed to keep America’s most dangerous criminals sealed away from the world. It wasn’t a place where hope grew. Dean Winchester, prisoner 11347-7, wasn’t the kind of guy to expect hope anyway. A hitman with a list of bodies long enough to fill a small town cemetery, he had resigned himself to spending the rest of his days in this tomb of concrete and steel.

It wasn’t regret that gnawed at him in the sterile silence of his cell. Regret wasn’t his style. He’d made his choices, taken his hits, and lived by the only code he knew: survival. But that didn’t mean he liked being locked away. Dean had always been a man who thrived on freedom—the smell of asphalt under the Impala’s tires, the weight of a weapon he knew as intimately as his own heartbeat, the thrill of a job well done.

Now, his days were measured in three meals delivered through a slot and the endless monotony of isolation. Until that morning in 2008 when the guard, a surly guy Dean called Mustache, slid a newspaper into his cell along with the breakfast tray.

Dean didn’t read newspapers often. What was the point? The world moved on without him. But that day, boredom got the better of him. He skimmed headlines about wars, scandals, and the economy’s nosedive. Nothing he hadn’t expected. Then his eyes landed on something that made him sit up straighter on the cot.

“Wanted: Elite Personal Security for First Female President. Apply Now.”

The ad stood out like a neon sign in a desert. Beneath the bold letters was a glossy image of the President standing in front of the White House, flanked by Secret Service agents. The text outlined the need for a personal bodyguard—someone with impeccable skills, discretion, and a willingness to take a bullet if necessary. Experience required. Unorthodox candidates welcome.

Dean read it twice, then a third time, the words stirring something he hadn’t felt in years. It wasn’t quite hope, but it was close.

ADX Supermax wasn’t the kind of place where people left easily. But this ad…this ad was a door, cracked open just wide enough for someone like him to slip through.

“Unorthodox candidates,” he muttered, smirking. “Guess I qualify.”

By lunchtime, Dean had a plan. It wasn’t perfect—nothing he did ever was—but it was a shot, and that was more than he usually got in this place.

He spent hours staring at the blank sheet of paper he’d salvaged from a previous legal memo. Writing wasn’t his strong suit. Hell, if he’d been good at words, maybe he wouldn’t have ended up in the killing business in the first place. But this wasn’t about flowery language. It was about convincing someone that a convicted hitman could be trusted with the life of the most powerful person in the country.

Dean leaned over the small desk bolted to the wall of his cell, chewing the end of his pen as he started to scribble.

To Madam President,

I am writing to express my interest in the position of personal security for the President. I realize my application may raise questions, given my current circumstances, but I ask for your consideration based on my unique qualifications.

Before my incarceration, I was highly skilled in tactical operations, surveillance, and neutralising high-level targets. My ability to assess danger and act decisively has been tested in some of the most dangerous environments.

Though I am serving time for my past actions, I believe in redemption. This position represents an opportunity for me to use my skills for a greater purpose. I have spent my years here reflecting on my choices, and I am prepared to dedicate my life to protecting someone who stands for hope and progress in this country.

Thank you for your time and consideration. I am available for an interview at your convenience.

Sincerely, Dean Winchester

He read over the letter a dozen times, making minor adjustments. It was rough, sure, but it was honest. And honesty was something he didn’t traffic in often, neither were fancy words, and he used a lot of them.

By the time he was done, his hand ached, and the paper was smudged from his grip. He folded it carefully and tucked it into the pocket of his jumpsuit.

The next step was trickier.

Dean’s lawyer, a wiry man named Feldman who’d been paid off by some shadowy client years ago to keep an eye on him, didn’t usually show up unless Dean demanded it. This time, Dean played the card of “urgent legal matter.” When Feldman arrived, looking mildly annoyed but curious, Dean slid the letter across the table during their monitored meeting.

“You want me to…submit this?” Feldman asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dean nodded. “Straight to the President’s office. No detours, no ‘I’ll get to it later.’ This is priority one.”

Feldman stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “You realize this is insane, right? You’re in here for life. They’re not going to let you out just because you can write a heartfelt letter.”

“They might if they’re desperate enough,” Dean countered. “And that ad says they’re looking for someone who can do the job, not someone who looks good on paper. I can do the job.”

Feldman sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. “And if I say no?”

Dean’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You won’t. You owe me.”

Feldman muttered something under his breath but pocketed the letter. “You’re lucky I like long shots.”

Weeks passed. Dean didn’t hear anything, and for a while, he wondered if Feldman had tossed the letter in the nearest trash can. But then, one morning, Mustache appeared at his cell with an unreadable expression.

“You’ve got a visitor,” he said gruffly.

Dean frowned. “Who?”

“Didn’t say. Get up.”

Visitors were rare, especially unannounced ones. Dean followed Mustache down the cold, narrow corridors, his curiosity growing. When he reached the visitor room, his breath caught.

The woman sitting on the other side of the plexiglass partition was dressed in a crisp suit, her posture radiating authority. She wasn’t Feldman, and she definitely wasn’t a typical visitor.

Dean picked up the phone on his side of the glass.

“Mr. Winchester,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “I’m here on behalf of the President.”

He leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Guess you got my letter.”

Her expression didn’t change. “We did. It was…unconventional.”

“That’s me in a nutshell.”

She glanced at a folder on the table in front of her. “Your record is extensive. Multiple charges of murder-for-hire, conspiracy, weapons trafficking…” She looked up, her sharp eyes locking onto his. “Why should we trust you?”

Dean leaned forward, his tone serious. “Because I know what I’m doing. You want someone who’ll lay down their life for the President? Someone who’ll see the threats before anyone else does? That’s me. I’ve been on both sides of this game. I know how killers think because I’ve been one. And if you give me this chance, I’ll prove that I’m more than what’s in that file.”

The woman studied him for a long moment before standing. “We’ll be in touch.”

Dean hung up the phone, watching her leave with a mixture of hope and disbelief. For the first time in years, it felt like the world outside ADX Supermax wasn’t as far away as it seemed.

You’d been running interviews for a bodyguard for about a week now, and you’d only started them once Becky had gotten a good rest, as well as the rest of the staff at the White House so they could spend good time with their families. First few weeks of presidency were busy ones, so you wanted your employees to have some time for themselves before anything happened.

Nobody seemed suitable to you, even though you’d been presented with the best FBI, CIA and private outlet’s security detail they had, they’d each and all failed your every attempt to make them seem credible, you didn’t want anyone like that. Tabloids had already gotten to smearing your name regarding this, but you were more concerned with your final applicant.

Dean Winchester.

You’d asked the FBI to send over every file they had on him, and the list was — you hated to say it — extensive. Many assassinations of high and low-level targets, and he was credited with over 100 assassinations in the past two years— you had your doubts about this guy, the director of the FBI had said he was in there for a reason.

You’d find out if he was unhinged, or just a normal man.

Well, Dean had been escorted as covertly as possible with a bunch of military and secret service agents, which didn’t make sense as his hands were shackled to his feet. The only way he’d be getting out of these chains was if he was a magician, and he wasn’t, just incredibly good at marksmanship and fighting, thank John for that.

“Alright, alright.” He scoffed, almost tripping out of the car as he was practically shoved up the steps by the agents by his head. “I’m moving, I’m moving, Jesus fuck, you ladies are uptight.” He got to the door of the White House, and holy shit, he was really here. He got let in, hearing a Secret Service agent blabbing in his ear.

“Any funny business, 353, and we’re sending you straight back. You’re gonna address Madam President with respect, no cheek—” Ugh, the sound of his voice was grating, but all Dean could do was let out a terse nod as he was led to the door of the Oval Office and led inside. He stepped in, glaring at the service agent who had been yapping about decorum. Then, suddenly—

“Oi! Hey, hey!” A woman’s voice snapped, and he looked up from his shackles to see you, and boy, were you young for a president. You had to be his age, right? Yeah, and you were surprisingly gorgeous for a POTUS, but the way you’d stood up with a loud chair screech from your desk, snapped your fingers and pointing at Dean’s shackles with a livid expression, he knew the agents were in deep shit.

“The fuck is this?” You gestured to the heavy shackles on Dean’s wrists and ankles— they were quite heavy and uncomfortable, now that he paid attention to it, but he was more focused on how much of a little Spitfire you were. Young, but you were snapping at these middle-aged men as if they were 5 year old children. “You might as well put a chain around his neck, for God’s sake— whichever of you has the key, take those things off and leave my office, if he kills me, fine, just have Amara take my place, she’ll do a damn good job as well.”

The service agents stood there, stunned, and then a stern look from you — “Damn,” Dean muttered — got the agent next to Dean to shove the key in the lock to his wrists and ankles, letting the chains fall free, and they were promptly carried out. You sighed, returning to your desk, running a hand through your hair.

“I am so sorry about that, Mr Winchester, I’ve just always found those chains really inhumane.” You rushed the sentence, gesturing to your desk in front of you and sipping your coffee to calm down. Honestly, not your best option, it probably made you more jittery.

Dean didn’t argue, he didn’t want to get scolded, just made his way to the desk, grey jumpsuit — he was in protective custody in prison — rustling with every step until he sat down on the irresistibly comfy chair, cause wow, prison chairs were hard and low standard.

His ass felt like it was in heaven right now.

“No problem, ma’am, I see the point. Not exactly the cleanest slate.” He didn’t think it was wise to make a joke of how he’d assassinated people for hire, but it made you laugh, so maybe that was good going. Who knows? “And call me Dean.”

“I see that.” You smiled, then gestured to Dean with a warm smile, not something he was used to unless it was the smiles of his mom that he barely remembered. Otherwise it was either hungry, lustful smiles of desperate women and cunning smiles of ruthless businessmen and mafia bosses. “So, Dean, before we get started, would you like anything? Tea, coffee, water, beer, whiskey— one candidate asked for straight vodka. He’s not getting the job.” Damn. The new POTUS was cool.

“Water would be great.” Dean would have a drop of whiskey, but he wanted to make a good impression and hydrate himself with something other than low-quality prison water. So, when you passed him the water, he downed the tall glass in three gulps, but then paused when he saw you watching.

Then he swallowed. Shit.

But you weren’t judging him, you seemed understanding, that yes, prison water probably tasted like rat piss, so he finished the rest of the glass and wiped his hand with the back of his mouth. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise. Prison must be really rough, treat yourself.” You waved him off, shaking your head, then peered through his file. Rather interesting family background, how did he turn out that way? “Says here that your father’s a Marine Corporal veteran, thanks for his service, and your brother’s a prosecution lawyer that graduated from Stanford Law. Impressive.” You looked up at him, thumb playing with the ring on your middle finger, eyes focused on the paper.

Dean couldn’t help but note that you were beautiful. Not objectively, just factually beautiful. He’s not being a perv.

“My brother’s a nerd.” Dean stated with a smile as you talked about his family, he didn’t blame them, he wasn’t a bookworm, he wasn’t as smart as his little brother in that aspect, Sam was all about studying and being the good kid.

"Yeah, my brother used to say I was a nerd, now look at me." You chuckled, then nodded in acknowledgement. "You, however, you graduated just on the mark, no honours, didn't go to college and transactions show you started as a hitman when you were 20." You paused for a second, cause that was what you couldn’t put your finger on. "But the equal amounts of money went to Stanford in deposits. Why?"

Dean knew he was gonna be interrogated by the new President, that’s a given, and he made sure to prepare himself for the whole psychological evaluation of himself. His expression remained unreadable, only slightly surprised by how quickly you put together that he’d been paying for his brother’s college.

“He’s family. Sammy’s a good kid, he deserves to get away from this life.” Dean answered, it was a simple answer. It didn’t really dig deep into his past or his true relationships with his family.

Well, all you had to know was that his dad was paranoid after returning from deployment and taught him how to shoot like James fucking Bond and Sammy too, but Sam had left for college while Dean had nothing he could do for himself.

"Mhm." You hummed, looking through the rest of it. "Now my guys are finding that in the years since your brother left college, money you've earned from assassinations ordered by high level clients — that are now behind bars — has been wired to a rehab centre down in Delaware. I looked into it, and I found out your father's staying there. None of that money's going to you." Your voice wasn't judging. You instead sounded understanding.

The only reason why Dean wasn’t surprised or shocked by the fact that you knew this was the fact that you were the President. He should’ve guessed. He smiled slightly as you remained understanding about the whole situation though, most other politicians would’ve seen this as a chance to blackmail and threaten him.

“Yeah, my dad’s got severe PTSD. It’s the only good one nearby.” He explained as he crossed his arms. It would be hard to find a rehab centre that accepted his dad given the whole violent record he had.

You couldn’t help but feel sympathy at that. Dean’s juvenile record wasn’t the cleanest, so no shops would’ve hired him so he could make that money, only black ops would. It was strange, and you’d be under fire by the media if you voiced it, but you saw his struggle. “You did it for your family.” You were surprised at how softly you said that.

“Family don’t end in blood, ma’am.” Dean replied, honestly, and you were hit where it hurt by that statement. You were expecting a cold-hearted killer, not a man trying to do right by his post-traumatic father and little brother. “Not if I’m still breathin’. Sammy’s got a good life, a wife, by what I’ve heard. Don’t wanna burden him with all that shit, a-and I haven’t talked to him in a few years. My boy.” He cleared his throat to not get too emotional.

You had to do that too, just to be clear.

“I’m sorry.” But that wouldn’t just fix everything, so you took a moment to let that hang in order to give him some time. “Only important question I’m gonna ask. Hypothetically, we’re under fire at one of my events. You’ve gotten me to safety, and I give you the order to do the same for civilians. Do you do it?”

Dean took in the question, eyebrow raised slightly as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the table as he studied you. That was a odd but interesting question. This was a job interview for real, it seems.

But this answer was simple.

“Civilians. I’d get the innocents out first.” He said, there wasn’t even a hint of hesitation in his voice. Civilians, innocent people will always come first before anything and anyone. He’d made sure when performing hits that no civilians, women, fathers, men, mothers, children— were safely out of the way before taking a shot. If they weren’t, he refused. He wasn’t risking it.

He was expecting you to refuse him on the spot, but instead two words came out that almost made him go “holy shit”.

“You’re hired.”

You’re. Hired. He could die.

“I-I’m sorry, Madam President, I’m what?” He practically gasped, hands clutching the arms of his seat, watching you take out some already prepared parole papers and walking to the door in your heels, handing the file to one of the service agents.

“Hired.” You said simply, a shrug and a smile offered as you walked to the desk. Fucking hell, Dean had never seen a stranger president in his life. “Your parole is being passed effective immediately, and I wanna get you in touch with my stylist and wardrobe guy so we can get you some new and frankly more comfortable clothes. You’ll be staying here, at the White House, you’ll have full access to my staff for anything you might need, but most importantly, you need to call your family.” You tapped your landline that you had prepared on the desk with a small, encouraging smile. “I have Sam’s number and the rehab centre’s number both in your directory file, I’ll give you some time to talk rather than waiting like a creep.”

As you walked out, Dean couldn’t believe his ears. He was now the President’s bodyguard, he got to live in luxury, no doubt there was a large paycheck and he got to call Sammy again. His Sammy, oh, holy shit.

His hand shook as he reached for the landline, opening the file and there it was, Sam’s number, and it’d changed since he got put in prison a good six months ago. His fingers fumbled, clumsily dialling the number and waiting a moment as the dial tone stopped and the ringing shook his eardrum. Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up, please pick up—

“Hello?” Dean’s heart broke upon hearing Sam’s voice again, and he took a shaky breath. Get a grip, Winchester, it’s only your little brother, the man you raised your while life.

“Bitch.” His voice sounded like he’d smoked cigarettes, and he’d quit that habit after high school, but all he could hear was the dead silence of realisation on the other side.

“Jerk.”

The motorcade pulled up to the white-brick colonial house just as the late afternoon sun began to dip behind the row of oaks lining the driveway. You leaned back in your seat, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. For months now, your life had been a whirlwind of campaign rallies, debates, and sleepless nights in cramped hotels. It all felt surreal. You were the President of the United States. Yet, somehow, coming home to this house—the one you’d grown up in—was what made it all feel real.

Secret Service agents stepped out first, scanning the quiet suburban neighborhood for threats. You glanced out the tinted window, catching a glimpse of the familiar front porch where your father had painted the railing a deep blue years ago. The door creaked open, and a small figure darted out onto the lawn before anyone could stop him.

“Austin!”

The call came from Eden, your sister-in-law, who appeared a moment later, balancing baby Wyatt on her hip. She looked harried but happy, waving at you from the porch. Austin, however, was already halfway to the car, his untied sneakers slapping against the pavement.

You smiled despite yourself. Rolling down the window, you called out, “Hold on, buddy, let them do their job.”

The boy skidded to a stop as one of the agents gently but firmly intercepted him, patting him on the shoulder and guiding him back toward the porch. Austin complied, but his excitement was evident in every bouncing step.

By the time you exited the car, your father, Mark, was standing on the porch steps, arms crossed but with a wide grin splitting his face. “There she is,” he said, his voice booming with pride. “Madame President.”

You felt your cheeks flush as you climbed the steps. “Dad, don’t start.”

“Oh, I’ll start, alright,” he said, pulling you into a tight hug. “My daughter, the leader of the free world! They’re gonna need to expand that Oval Office just to fit my pride.”

“Mark, give her some room to breathe,” your mother, Odette, chided as she stepped outside. She was smaller than you remembered, her hair streaked with more gray than the last time you’d seen her. But her smile was as warm as ever. She held her arms open, and you leaned into her familiar embrace, the scent of lavender and vanilla washing over you.

“It’s good to see you, Mom,” you murmured.

“We’re so proud of you,” she said softly, pulling back to study your face. “But I bet you’re exhausted.”

You nodded, glancing over her shoulder to see your older brother Ryan descending the stairs, a grin on his face. “Well, well, look who decided to come back down to earth,” he teased, reaching out to clap you on the shoulder.

“Someone’s gotta keep you grounded,” you shot back, the familiar rhythm of sibling banter falling into place as though no time had passed.

Eden appeared beside him, Wyatt still on her hip. She offered you a smile, and you leaned in to kiss her cheek. “How’s this little guy doing?” you asked, reaching out to tickle Wyatt’s chin. The baby let out a squeal of laughter, his chubby arms flailing.

“He’s teething,” Eden said with a weary smile. “So, you know…living the dream.”

Austin, who had been hovering impatiently at the edge of the group, finally couldn’t contain himself. “Auntie!” he shouted, throwing his arms around your waist.

“Hey, kiddo,” you said, ruffling his hair. “What’s new?”

“I got an A on my science project!” he said, looking up at you with bright eyes.

“That’s great!” you said. “What was the project?”

“Volcanoes,” he said, puffing out his chest. “Dad helped me with the lava.”

Ryan coughed. “Helped is a strong word. He mostly just told me what to do.”

“That’s because you were doing it wrong!” Austin protested, and the group dissolved into laughter.

Inside, the house was exactly as you remembered it. The worn hardwood floors creaked under your feet, and the faint scent of your mother’s cooking lingered in the air. The walls were covered with family photos—some old, some new—including one of you on election night, surrounded by your team, your face frozen in an expression of shock and joy.

Dinner was already laid out on the long wooden table in the dining room. A roast chicken sat in the center, surrounded by bowls of mashed potatoes, green beans, and your mother’s famous macaroni casserole. It was a far cry from the catered meals you’d been eating on the campaign trail, and your stomach growled in anticipation.

“Let’s eat before it gets cold,” Odette said, ushering everyone to their seats.

You took your usual spot, sandwiched between Austin and your father, while Ryan carved the chicken. Plates were passed around, and soon the room was filled with the clatter of silverware and the hum of conversation.

Mark raised his glass of water. “A toast,” he said, his voice cutting through the din. “To my daughter. The first woman to sit in the Oval Office. You’ve made us all so proud.”

“Here, here!” Ryan chimed in, lifting his own glass.

You felt a lump rise in your throat as you clinked glasses with everyone around the table. For a moment, the weight of your responsibilities seemed to lift, replaced by the simple joy of being surrounded by the people who had always believed in you.

After dinner, you helped your mother clear the table, despite her protests. “You’re the President now,” she said, swatting your hands away from the plates. “You don’t need to be doing dishes.”

“Maybe not,” you said, grinning. “But I don’t think I’ve outgrown being your daughter.”

She relented, shaking her head with a fond smile, and the two of you worked side by side in comfortable silence. When the last dish was put away, you found yourself drawn to the living room, where the rest of the family had gathered.

Ryan was sprawled on the couch, flipping through a photo album with Austin perched beside him. Eden sat in the armchair, rocking Wyatt to sleep, while Mark stood by the fireplace, nursing a cup of coffee.

You sank into the armchair opposite Eden, your eyes drawn to the flickering flames in the hearth. “It feels good to be home,” you said softly.

Mark looked over at you, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve got a hell of a road ahead of you, kid,” he said. “But don’t forget—you’ve got us. We’re here for you, no matter what.”

You nodded, feeling the truth of his words settle in your chest. “I know,” you said. “And I’m going to need that. All of it.”

Ryan looked up from the photo album, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Think we’ll get to visit the White House? Austin’s dying to see the bowling alley.”

Austin’s head snapped up. “There’s a bowling alley?”

You laughed. “There is. And yeah, you’ll all come visit. But I can’t promise I’ll have much time for bowling.”

“Why not?” Austin asked, his brow furrowing. “You’re the President. Can’t you just…make time?”

The simplicity of his question made you smile. “It’s a little more complicated than that, buddy,” you said. “But I’ll do my best.”

Later that night, after the house had quieted and everyone had gone to bed, you found yourself standing in the backyard. The air was crisp and cool, and the stars above were brighter than you remembered. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling the enormity of your new role settle over you like a heavy cloak.

The back door creaked open, and Mark stepped outside, a blanket draped over his shoulders. He joined you on the porch, handing you a steaming mug of tea.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Too much on my mind.”

Mark nodded, staring out at the dark yard. “It’s a big job,” he said. “But if anyone can handle it, it’s you.”

“I hope so,” you said quietly.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. “You’ve got what it takes,” he said. “And you’ve got us. Don’t forget that.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. “Thanks, Dad.”

He smiled, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. “Come on,” he said, gesturing toward the house. “You’ve got a long day ahead of you tomorrow. Let’s get some sleep.”

As you followed him inside, you felt a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in months. No matter how hard the road ahead might be, you knew you wouldn’t be walking it alone.

The Oval Office was as grand as you’d imagined—perhaps even more so. Its high, curved ceilings and rich, historic decor exuded authority, yet the warmth of the afternoon sunlight filtering through the tall windows softened the edges, giving the room an almost serene quality.

You sat at the Resolute Desk, a stack of documents waiting for your signature. Each one bore the weight of history. Education reforms. Trade agreements. Environmental policies. Every flick of your pen carried consequences that rippled far beyond the iconic walls of this room.

Across the room, Becky, your ever-efficient assistant, was perched on the edge of one of the armchairs, tablet in hand. “After this meeting with the education committee, you’ve got a fifteen-minute break before the press briefing,” she said, scrolling rapidly through the day’s schedule. “Then at three, there’s the Cabinet discussion on infrastructure. And don’t forget the call with the German Chancellor at four.”

“Got it,” you replied, signing your name with a practiced flourish. “Anything else?”

Becky hesitated, glancing at her screen. “Oh, and your new personal bodyguard will be arriving shortly. Dean Winchester.”

You kept your expression neutral, though you’d been briefed extensively on this particular appointment. A former hitman, Dean’s resume wasn’t exactly typical for someone tasked with protecting the President. But his unconventional background—and the skillset that came with it—was exactly why he’d been chosen.

“Right,” you said, setting your pen down. “I’ve read his file. Has he been through security clearance?”

“Thoroughly vetted,” Becky assured you. “And cleared. He should be here any moment.”

You nodded, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Let’s hope he lives up to the hype.”

Just as Becky opened her mouth to reply, the door opened.

You looked up, and the words you were about to say caught in your throat.

Dean Winchester strode into the room with the kind of presence that made people stop and take notice. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with a casual confidence that hinted at years of facing danger head-on. He wore a dark gray suit that was tailored just enough to highlight his powerful frame but not so tight as to make him look polished or delicate. The crisp white shirt underneath contrasted against his tanned skin, and his black tie was slightly loosened, as if he’d deliberately left it that way.

Despite the formal attire, there was an undeniable ruggedness about him. His short, tousled hair was just slightly too messy to be regulation, and the shadow of stubble along his jaw added an edge that no amount of tailoring could hide. His green eyes, sharp and assessing, swept the room before landing on you.

You found yourself momentarily distracted by the way the suit accentuated his broad chest and tapered waist. It was a rare thing for someone to wear something so formal yet exude the kind of raw, unrefined masculinity that Dean seemed to embody.

“Madame President,” he said, his voice low and gravelly as he stopped a respectful distance from your desk.

You forced yourself to refocus, clearing your throat as you rose from your seat. “Mr. Winchester.” You allowed yourself a small smile, noting the way his gaze remained steady but professional. “You clean up well.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “Thanks. I aim to please.”

Becky glanced between the two of you before standing. “I’ll step out and make sure everything’s ready for the committee meeting,” she said, gathering her tablet.

“Thanks, Becky,” you said, watching her leave before turning back to Dean.

For a moment, the room felt smaller. His presence was magnetic, and you couldn’t help but take him in once more, your gaze lingering on the way his shoulders filled out the suit jacket, the way his long fingers rested casually at his sides, the way they gripped his chair as he sat down. You snapped your attention back to his face before he could notice.

Dean leaned back slightly in the chair, taking in the sight of you as you scanned your schedule on the tablet in front of you. The soft lighting of the Oval Office seemed to highlight the sharp lines of your features, and the way you carried yourself—confident, composed, entirely in command—struck him in a way he hadn’t expected.

He’d done his research, of course. He knew your career milestones, your policies, even a few of your personal quirks. But seeing you in person was different. The photographs didn’t do you justice.

As you spoke, your voice clear and firm, Dean found himself watching the curve of your lips, the subtle tilt of your head when you emphasized a point. You had a presence that filled the room, a quiet strength that made it impossible to look away.

“Your main job,” you were saying, “is to ensure my safety, both here and when I travel. You’ll coordinate with the Secret Service, but your focus will be on close-range protection. You’ll accompany me to all public appearances, meetings, and events.”

Dean nodded, forcing himself to focus on your words rather than the way your blouse fit perfectly beneath your blazer. “Understood. Anything specific I should know about your routine?”

You looked up, meeting his gaze. “It varies. I keep a tight schedule, but unexpected situations come up all the time. You’ll need to be adaptable.”

“I’m good at that,” Dean said, his tone confident but not cocky.

“Good.” You swiped at the tablet, then set it down on the desk. “I’ve read your file. Your skillset is…impressive.”

He tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “That’s one way to put it.”

You arched an eyebrow, your lips curving into a wry smile. “I’d call it unconventional, but that seems to be exactly what I need.”

Dean’s gaze flicked over you again, this time lingering on the curve of your jawline, the way your fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the desk. He’d worked with plenty of high-profile people before, but you were in a league of your own.

“Anything else I should be aware of?” he asked, his voice low.

You tilted your head, considering him for a moment. “You’re going to see me at my best and my worst,” you said plainly. “Long hours, high stress, bad days, good days. It comes with the territory.”

Dean nodded. “I’m here to do my job, ma’am. Whatever it takes.”

Something in his tone made you pause, your gaze sharpening as you studied him. “You’ve been in worse situations, haven’t you?”

“Let’s just say I’m no stranger to high stakes,” he replied, his smirk returning.

You leaned back in your chair, satisfied. “Good. I’ll need someone who can keep a cool head under pressure. And someone who doesn’t mind telling me the hard truth when I need to hear it.”

Dean’s smirk widened slightly. “I can handle that.”

The conversation shifted to logistics—your upcoming travel schedule, security protocols, and daily routines. Dean asked a few questions, his tone professional, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was studying you as much as he was listening.

If you noticed the way his eyes dipped to your collarbone when you leaned forward to make a point, or how his gaze lingered on the curve of your wrist as you gestured, you didn’t let on. You were focused, deliberate, every bit the commander-in-chief he’d expected.

When the meeting wrapped up, you stood and extended a hand again. “Welcome aboard, Dean. I look forward to working with you.”

Dean rose, his hand engulfing yours once more. “The pleasure’s mine, ma’am.”

As he turned to leave, you called after him, “And Dean?”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder.

“You really do look good in that suit.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Alone again, you returned to your desk, your mind already shifting to the next task. But for a moment, you allowed yourself a small smile.

It was going to be an interesting partnership.

“Ok, excuse me?” Bella had practically squealed when the door to your bedroom behind you, her and Steph had been shut by Dean, who was now waiting outside to give you some privacy, and thank God those walls were thick enough to hide this conversation. “You didn’t tell us your bodyguard was a Ben Affleck and Brad Pitt combo.”

Steph scoffed, shaking her head. “Girl, no. He’s better than that, he puts Adonis to shame— where’s he been hiding?” They both turned to you expectantly, clearly not aware that your Adonis-transcendent bodyguard was fresh out of the United States Penitentiary, Administrative Maximum Facility. Oh, that’s gonna be a hard pill to swallow, right?

“Prison.” You swallowed, clearing your throat awkwardly upon saying it, cause you weren’t often the bringer of news that a guy like Dean used to be a prolific criminal who kills for money. “ADX Florence. An ex-hitman, to be clear, with over 100 kills in the past two years.”

“So he’s a bad boy.” Bella giggled, clearly not phased, which kind of concerned you with which brain they both were thinking from, and hopefully not the downstairs one. “Even better, oh my god, I was getting worried he’s a goodie.”

Steph raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sly grin. “Right? Like, you can’t just drop ‘ex-hitman with over 100 kills’ and not expect us to have questions. Or fantasies.”

“Steph!” you choked, glancing toward the door as if Dean could hear through the thick walls.

“What? I’m just saying!” She crossed her arms, leaning back against the bedpost. “Honestly, though? He’s got that whole ‘dark past but reformed bad boy’ thing going for him. You’re living every romance novel heroine’s dream.”

Bella, not to be outdone, clutched at her chest dramatically. “Forget romance novels—I’d climb him like a tree. That man looks like he could bench press me and not even break a sweat.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Can we not?”

“We absolutely can,” Bella countered, her voice rising with glee. “Seriously, you’ve got the hottest bodyguard in the country, and you didn’t think we needed to know this? Girl, where’s your sense of sisterhood?”

Steph was nodding in agreement. “Yeah, you’re withholding important information. Like, what’s he like in person? Is he all business, or does he have that smoldering, ‘I could kill you, but I won’t’ energy?”

Your cheeks burned, both from their shameless gushing and the mental image Steph’s words conjured. “He’s…fine. Professional.”

“‘Professional,’ she says,” Bella snorted. “Professional at looking fine as hell, maybe.” She leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. “Come on. What’s he like? Does he flirt? Does he give you those ‘I’m secretly in love with you’ stares when you’re not looking?”

You glared at her. “No. Absolutely not. He’s just doing his job.”

“Sure he is,” Steph said with a smirk, clearly not buying it. “But don’t think we didn’t notice the way he looked at you when he shut the door earlier.”

You blinked. “What? He didn’t—”

“Oh, honey,” Bella interrupted, waving her hand dramatically. “He totally did. That man looked at you like you were the last piece of chocolate cake at a birthday party. And don’t even get me started on how he stood. You know, all broody and protective, like some kind of…” She trailed off, searching for the right words.

“Alpha wolf guarding his mate,” Steph supplied helpfully.

“Exactly!” Bella snapped her fingers. “Thank you, Steph. That’s exactly the vibe.”

You groaned again, resisting the urge to bang your head against the nearest wall. “You two need help.”

“What we need,” Steph said, grinning wickedly, “is for you to admit that you’ve at least thought about it. Because if you haven’t, you’re lying.”

“I haven’t!” you protested, a little too quickly.

Bella’s eyes lit up like she’d just won the lottery. “Oh my God, you totally have! Look at you—your ears are turning red.”

“Leave me alone,” you muttered, glaring at the floor.

But they weren’t about to let you off the hook.

“Okay, okay,” Steph said, holding up a hand as if to calm the chaos. “Let’s be serious for a second. He’s obviously gorgeous, and clearly there’s some…tension. But what’s the story? Like, how did you even end up with him as your bodyguard? I feel like there’s a Netflix series waiting to happen here.”

You hesitated, weighing how much to tell them. “It’s…complicated. He was recommended through some very high-level channels. Apparently, he’s the best at what he does.”

“And what he does is kill people,” Bella said, her voice dripping with mock solemnity.

You shot her a look. “Not anymore. He’s reformed. He went through a rigorous vetting process before he was even considered for the position.”

Steph tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “So, he’s done bad things, but now he’s protecting the President of the United States. That’s a redemption arc if I’ve ever heard one.”

Bella sighed wistfully. “And he’s doing it all while looking like a Calvin Klein model who got lost on his way to the shoot.”

“Can we not turn this into a thirst-fest?” you pleaded, though you knew it was a losing battle.

Bella leaned closer, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, sweetie. It’s already a thirst-fest. You’re just in denial.”

The conversation spiraled from there, with Bella and Steph taking turns crafting increasingly absurd fantasies about Dean’s hypothetical love life.

“He probably has a tragic backstory,” Bella said dreamily, lying back on the bed. “Like, maybe he lost the love of his life in some tragic accident, and now he’s sworn to protect others to atone for his past.”

“Or,” Steph countered, “he’s secretly a billionaire who does this for the adrenaline rush. Like, by day he’s your bodyguard, but by night he’s funding orphanages and saving puppies.”

Bella clapped her hands. “Yes! And in his free time, he restores classic cars and writes poetry.”

You stared at them, equal parts amused and horrified. “You two have officially lost it.”

“Or,” Steph said, ignoring you entirely, “he’s secretly in love with you, and this whole bodyguard thing is just an excuse to be close to you.”

Bella gasped, sitting up suddenly. “Steph, that’s it! That’s the one!”

You buried your face in your hands. “I regret ever letting you meet him.”

“Don’t be like that,” Bella said, patting your shoulder. “We’re just saying—you’re sitting on a goldmine of romantic potential here. If you don’t at least consider it, we will.”

“Noted,” you said dryly, standing up and heading for the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have actual work to do. Unlike you two.”

Bella and Steph exchanged knowing looks as you opened the door to find Dean standing just outside, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.

He straightened slightly when you stepped into the hallway, his eyes meeting yours. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” you said quickly, avoiding his gaze as you brushed past him.

But as you walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Steph and Bella might have been onto something.

The drive to Sam’s place was smooth, the kind of easy journey Dean Winchester hadn’t experienced in years. Maybe ever. The hum of the Impala’s engine, a comforting growl beneath him, was as close to peace as Dean could imagine. His day off had finally rolled around, and he hadn’t hesitated to decide how he’d spend it.

Sam had settled in a quiet neighborhood outside Washington, D.C., where tree-lined streets and neat, white-picket fences painted a picture of suburban serenity. It was a far cry from the lives they’d led growing up, but Dean couldn’t deny it suited his little brother.

Pulling up to the house, Dean killed the engine and climbed out, adjusting his leather jacket as he took in the sight. The two-story home was modest but inviting, with a tidy lawn and a swing set in the backyard visible through the side gate. He could hear faint laughter—probably from Dean Jr., Sam and Jess’s kid, who, much to Dean’s delight, was his namesake.

Dean’s boots crunched against the gravel path as he approached the front door. Before he could knock, it swung open, and Sam stood there, looking every bit the family man.

“Dean,” Sam greeted, his face lighting up in a grin. “Right on time.”

“Of course,” Dean said, stepping inside. “I’m punctual now. Didn’t you hear? I’ve got a government job.”

Sam chuckled, clapping Dean on the shoulder as he shut the door behind him. “I’m still getting used to the idea.”

Inside, the house was warm and lived-in. Pictures adorned the walls—Jess and Sam on their wedding day, little Dean Jr. blowing out candles on a birthday cake, snapshots of family trips to the beach. The scent of something delicious wafted from the kitchen, and Dean’s stomach growled in response.

“Jess is cooking?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

“She insists,” Sam replied with a shrug. “Says you need a proper meal after all that ‘White House food.’”

Dean smirked. “Tell her I’m not gonna argue with that.”

Jess appeared moments later, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. She was glowing, as she always seemed to be, her blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail and her smile bright enough to light up the room.

“Dean!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a quick hug. “It’s been too long.”

“Too long,” Dean agreed, glancing over her shoulder. “Where’s the rugrat?”

As if on cue, the sound of small feet thudding down the stairs filled the house. Dean Jr. appeared, his face lighting up when he saw his uncle. The kid was a spitting image of Sam, with floppy brown hair and wide hazel eyes, but he had Dean’s mischievous grin.

“Uncle Dean!”

“Dean-o!” Dean crouched, catching the boy as he barreled into him. “What’s up, kiddo? You keeping your old man in line?”

Dean Jr. nodded enthusiastically. “Dad says you work for the President now. Is that true?”

Dean ruffled the boy’s hair. “Sure is. Cool, huh?”

“Super cool,” Dean Jr. said, his eyes wide with awe.

“Alright, enough hero worship,” Sam teased, though his smile betrayed how much he enjoyed seeing his son and brother bond. “Come on, dinner’s almost ready.”

The meal was hearty—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and vegetables—and filled with easy conversation. Dean filled them in on the basics of his new job, skirting around the grittier details of his past. Sam and Jess shared stories about their life, from Jess’s latest work project to Dean Jr.’s adventures in Little League.

It was only after the dishes were cleared and Jess had taken Dean Jr. upstairs to bed that the conversation turned serious.

The brothers sat in the living room, each nursing a beer. The light from the fireplace cast a warm glow, and the house was quiet except for the occasional creak of the floorboards above.

“So,” Sam began, leaning back on the couch, “you gonna tell me how this happened?”

Dean took a long swig of his beer, then set the bottle down on the coffee table. “What, me working for the President? Thought you already knew.”

“I know the headlines,” Sam said, his brow furrowing. “But what I don’t know is how you went from ADX Florence to the White House.”

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Figured you’d ask eventually.”

“Of course I’d ask.” Sam’s voice was gentle but firm. “You were in prison, Dean. The kind of prison people don’t just walk out of.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It started with a newspaper.”

Sam blinked. “A newspaper?”

Dean nodded. “I was in my cell, flipping through this paper someone left behind. Saw an ad for a private security position with the President. They were looking for someone who could think outside the box, someone with…unconventional skills.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “And you thought, ‘Hey, that sounds like me’?”

“Something like that.” Dean’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Figured I didn’t have much to lose, so I wrote up a resume. Handed it off to my lawyer, told him to file it.”

Sam stared at him, his disbelief evident. “And they just…hired you?”

“No,” Dean said with a chuckle. “They didn’t even call me at first. Took weeks before I heard anything. When they finally did, they put me through the wringer—interviews, background checks, psych evaluations. The works.”

“And they still hired you?” Sam asked, shaking his head in amazement.

“Guess they figured my track record spoke for itself,” Dean said, his tone turning more serious. “I’ve done things, Sam. Bad things. But I’ve also done what needed to be done when no one else could. They saw that.”

Sam was quiet for a moment, processing his brother’s words. “And now you’re protecting the most powerful person in the world.”

Dean nodded. “Guess you could say I’m making up for lost time.”

Sam studied his brother, his expression thoughtful. “You know, Jess and I were talking about you the other night. About how far you’ve come. We’re proud of you, Dean.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably, not used to hearing such straightforward praise. “Don’t get all mushy on me, Sammy.”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m serious. You’ve been through hell and back, and somehow you’re still standing.”

Dean took another sip of his beer, his gaze distant. “Yeah, well. Standing’s about all I’m good at.”

“That’s not true,” Sam said firmly. “You’ve got a purpose now. A second chance. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Dean glanced at his brother, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks, Sammy.”

Sam returned the smile, then leaned back with a sigh. “So, what’s she like? The President.”

Dean hesitated, caught off guard by the question. “She’s…different.”

“Different how?”

“She’s smart. Sharp as hell. Tough, but not in a fake way. And she actually listens, which is more than I can say for most people in her position.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you respect her.”

“I do,” Dean admitted.

“And for your type…” Sam smirked, his voice taking on a teasing tone. “She’s pretty hot.”

Dean nearly choked on his beer. “Sam!”

“What?” Sam asked, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying. You’ve got a thing for strong women, and she sounds like she fits the bill.”

Dean shook his head, trying to suppress a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Hey, I’m just calling it like I see it,” Sam said with a grin. “Besides, you deserve someone who can keep up with you.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through him at his brother’s words.

The rest of the evening passed in easy conversation, the kind that only happened between brothers who’d been through it all together. When Dean finally stood to leave, Sam walked him to the door, clapping him on the shoulder as he stepped outside.

“Take care of yourself, Dean,” Sam said, his voice quiet but steady.

“You too, Sammy,” Dean replied, his gaze lingering on his brother’s home—the warmth, the love, the life Sam had built.

As Dean climbed into the Impala and drove away, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a place for him in this world after all.

NEXT UP:

“Dean,” you said, a touch of surprise in your voice. “I thought you were on your break.”

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, his gaze locked with yours, and the air seemed to thicken. There was something different about him—an intensity in his expression, a flicker of something unspoken.

Without a word, he reached up and tugged at his tie, loosening it further before slipping it over his head and tossing it onto one of the chairs.

Your eyebrows shot up. “What are you doing?”

Dean didn’t answer. He shrugged out of his suit jacket next, draping it over the back of a chair with deliberate ease. His movements were slow, calculated, and impossibly confident.

“Dean?” you repeated, your voice catching slightly.

His shirt followed. Button by button, he undid it with maddening patience, his green eyes never leaving yours. Your breath hitched as he peeled it off, revealing the broad, chiseled planes of his chest and the faint scars that crisscrossed his skin—a testament to a dangerous past.

By the time his hands went to his belt, your pulse was racing.

“What are you—” you began, but the words died in your throat as he stepped forward.

In one smooth motion, Dean swept the documents off your desk, scattering them across the floor. He leaned down, his hands bracketing you on either side as he effortlessly lifted you onto the polished wood surface.

TAGLIST: @goldngguk @sweetpeachbombshell @slut-for-stiles @staple-your-mouth @daddyscrimsstuff

@dob-4-life @marcis-mixtapez @nonoreas0n @gabrielasilva1510

@lucyholmes13 @pandadork-blog1 @nicolstancu @malusinhaaaa @dybalabandolero

@a-cup-of-nightshade @tomatoessoup @sh0rtcakee @fall-06 @mckaykay-fandoms

@b3th13

@demonxangelomegaverse @deanwinchestersgirl87 @capailluiscedove @i723l-interrupted2323 @niyomiii

@all-the-fan-fic @eviekinevie8 @sunflowerlover57

@1-800-dean-winchester

@darichvep @idk-usernme @supernaturalmarvel3000 @ega2025 @deanbrainrotwritings

@targaryenluvs @bucky-hydra-hoe-barnes @leigh70 @aintnowayboi @ripoffsteveharrington

@gleefulleve @sacrosankta

@riteofpassage77 @eevvvaa @thedevilortheangel @thorsballhair @barbienotdoll

@4e1h3r @wolfieblue03 @kianaleani @vicky199625 @sassyslut2003

@impyrz

@didisull @miwp @lastcallatrockysbar @rizlowwritessortof

@zepskies @angelbabyyy99

@autisticgothic

@yourgoldengirls @deansobsessedgirl @mrsjenniferwinchester

@aylacavebear @lailawinchesterr @brightlilith @arcanaa @hobby27

@lyarr24 @ximm19

@a-girl-who-loves-disney @jeneelsworld @deans-spinster-witch @deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist @kayleighwinchester

@cheynovak @bitchykittenconnoisseur @underground-secret @heartiella

@bollzinurmouth @globetrotter28

©️ 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

87 notes · View notes

lemoncrushh · 9 months ago

Text

Dressing For Revenge 2

I had a few requests for a continuation of this story, so here it is!

Summary: A week after your night with Harry, he calls and invites you to a work-related event which his ex also attends.

Warnings: Smut, dirty talk, oral (male receiving), all the good stuff. MUST BE 18+ TO READ.

Word Count: 7.6k+

Read part 1 here

The microwave beeped offensively loud as you changed into your favorite pajamas. Slipping into a pair of fuzzy socks, you sauntered into the kitchen and grabbed a large bowl from the cabinet. Movies and popcorn sounded like a great plan for a night in. After the debacle the previous weekend, you’d scheduled this Friday evening for yourself. No parties, no nightclubs, no friends. Just you and a chick flick. And maybe some wine.

Deciding to pour a glass, you grabbed it and the popcorn and made yourself comfortable on the sofa. While laughing at Jennifer Lopez hiding from Matthew McConaughey, you felt your phone buzz. Expecting it to be Kelsie or one of your friends from work texting you, you were surprised to see a different name on the screen.

Hi Y/N. How are you?

Your stomach unexpectedly flipped just seeing your name in print underneath his. You hadn’t heard from Harry since he’d called you that night to make sure you’d gotten home okay. Not that you’d expected to. It had only been a week after all. And of course it was a two-way street. You could have texted him. But you hadn’t. But that didn’t mean you hadn’t thought of him.

Hi, Harry. You texted back. I’m fine. You?

Oh hey. I didn’t expect you to reply right away. Are you at home?

You bit your lip. Was he fishing for an invite? Shaking your head, you typed, Yes.

Mind if I call?

With a half squeal, half groan, you replied, Not at all.

Although you had literally just been texting with him, feeling the vibration in your hand and seeing his name again on the screen as your phone rang sent a new rush through your veins.

“Hi,” you answered nonchalantly.

“Hi, Y/N, how are you?”

You chuckled. “You asked me that already.”

“Right. So I did. Um…didn’t expect you to be home on a Friday night,” said Harry.

“That’s because I have a date.”

“Oh?”

“With myself,” you finished, reaching for your glass and taking another sip of wine.

“Oh,” he let out a breathy laugh. He sounded relieved, which only made your heart beat faster. “And how’s that going so far?”

“Not bad. I figure at this rate I’ll be taking myself to bed by midnight.”

Harry snickered harder at your joke. You smiled, happy that you could make him laugh.

“What are you up to tonight, Harry?” you asked.

“Pretty much the same thing, although I’m not sure I’m quite as compatible.”

“No?”

“Mmm,” he sounded. “Am I allowed to say I’m a little jealous?”

You chuckled, though you didn’t really give an answer.

“Which brings me to the reason I called,” Harry continued. “I have something to ask you. A favor, if you will.”

“Oh?”

“You can say no, and I’ll completely understand if you do. I know I said you could call me if you wanted to get together again…”

“Harry, what is it?” you persisted.

You half expected him to say he was horny and lonely, that he wanted you to come over for a quick fix. But you were surprised when he had a different proposition.

“I have a…a thing tomorrow night. A real estate thing. It’s like a corporate dinner where we meet up with the management companies and investors, announce the top brokers and give awards and such. And I was…wondering if you’d come as my date.”

“Oh…” you mused. “You’re allowed to bring a date?”

“Of course. In fact, it’s almost mandatory.” You heard Harry do the breathy laugh again and wondered if he made that part up, or if it was meant to be a joke.

“I see. And…you’re inviting me?”

“I am. I know we don’t know each other well. And you’ll probably be bored out of your mind, and I wouldn’t blame you one bit. It’s just…”

“Just what?” you asked when his words trailed off.

“I didn’t tell you this before because there was no reason to. But my ex is in real estate as well. That’s how we…you know…met.”

“Ah, so she’ll be there.”

“Correct,” Harry sighed.

“And you want me to make her jealous,” I added in a half question.

“Not jealous, really,” replied Harry. “More like revenge. To show her I’m better off without her. Like we did to your ex last weekend.”

“I see,” you said again.

You heard Harry sigh again, then groan. “I’m sorry, Y/N. It sounded better in my head.”

“I didn’t say no.”

“Well, no, but you’re probably thinking it. I swear, I don’t want this to seem like I’m using you. I genuinely like you, Y/N. And I’m very much attracted to you.”

You started to giggle, setting your glass back down on the coffee table.

“What’s so funny?” Harry asked solemnly.

“I used you, Harry. Last weekend. In fact, you wanted me to. And now you’re saying you’re not wanting to use me? For the exact same reason?”

“I reckon you’re right.”

“Of course I am. Now. Let’s just call a spade a spade. What time is this event tomorrow?”

“So you’re going?”

“Of course, I am. You did me a solid, and now I can do one back. Besides, it might be a little fun.”

“Alright,” said Harry, a smile in his voice. “It starts at eight. I can pick you up around seven thirty, if that’s okay.”

“That’s perfect. How formal is this, like black tie, or business casual?”

“Somewhere in between. A cocktail dress should be fine.”

“Sounds good. I look forward to it, Harry,” you announced honestly.

“Good. Me too. Thanks for doing this, love.”

After hanging up the phone, you rushed to your closet to pick out something to wear for the event. Even though you hadn’t wanted to let on over the phone, you were beyond excited to see Harry again. This time, you got to be his arm candy and not Luke’s. And unlike with Luke, you had a feeling Harry would only have eyes for you.

As long as his heart didn’t still belong to his ex.

You’d just dabbed on some lipgloss when you heard the buzzer. Pressing the intercom button, you instructed Harry to come on up to your apartment. But when the knock sounded and you swung the door open, you nearly had to hold on to the knob to keep your balance.

“Shit,” you muttered at the same time Harry exclaimed “God damn!”

With a nervous laugh, you caught the twinkle in Harry’s eyes as he leaned against the door jam, his gaze raking over your body.

He looked delicious. Similar to the previous weekend, he wore a silk shirt, unbuttoned plenty to catch peeks at his tattoos and pecks. Over it was a black suit with the jacket open, the slacks fitting him well in all the right places.

“Fuck me, kitten, you look stunning,” said Harry, expressing your thoughts before your mouth could.

You blushed, your hands self-consciously running down your waist and hips. You must have chosen the right dress for the evening. It was a short, fitted, black lace dress with a high neck and long sleeves. You felt like it was tasteful, yet sexy. Harry seemed to agree as he stepped over the threshold and reached for your waist, pulling you to him.

“Wow,” he breathed in your ear. “How lucky am I?”

“Hmm, I guess we’ll see,” you teased, inhaling his intoxicating cologne.

Harry chuckled low. “Is that how it’s gonna be, then, kitten?” You felt his hands travel down to your butt. And you didn’t stop him when he lowered his mouth to your neck.

“Yes,” you whispered as he sucked on your delicate flesh.

“Maybe we should just ditch this party all together and stay here instead.”

“Now, Harry,” you tsked, pushing his shoulders away. “I thought this was important.”

His laugh vibrated in his chest as he nodded. “Indeed. Thanks so much again for doing this.”

Pursing your lips, you winked at him. Then grabbing your clutch, you followed him out the door and downstairs to his car. When he opened it for you, you immediately got a whiff of the expensive leather, an aroma you’d found pleasant and comforting the last time. It reminded you of the smell of his bedroom, and you quickly clamped your thighs together when you climbed into the front seat, the memory of that night in his bed arousing you.

The drive to the venue was quick, for which you were grateful since you couldn’t manage to keep your eyes off of Harry’s hands on the wheel and gear shift, and the way his thighs looked in those pants. He made some small talk, but your mind was elsewhere, almost wishing you’d taken him up on the offer to stay at your place.

When he parked the car in front of a fancy hotel, you gasped. “It’s in here?”

You recognized the place. Well, obviously anyone would. But you’d been there before. Luke had taken you there once when you-

“Well, it only seemed natural,” replied Harry as he turned off the engine, “seeing as the company owns this property.”

Jerking your head, you stared at Harry with wide eyes, astonished. “Oh my God! I knew you were rich, but…oh my God!”

With a chuckle and a gleam in his eye, Harry opened his car door and rounded to your side where you still sat with your mouth agape. You eventually smiled, taking Harry’s awaiting hand and letting him lead you to the entrance and through the hotel lobby to the elevators. A cluster of people were gathered nearby and Harry slowed and whispered in your ear.

“Some of my colleagues,” he explained. “Shall I introduce you?”

“Of course,” you grinned. “As long as you’re not ashamed to be seen with me.”

“Are you kidding?” he smirked, giving your butt a pat before quickly guiding you toward the men.

“Gentlemen!” he greeted boisterously.

“Harry, my good man, how are you?” one of the men broke from the pack to offer his hand.

“Can’t complain,” Harry replied, shaking hands. “How about yourself?”

“Same here,” the man nodded, though his eyes seemed to wander to you eagerly. “And who is this gorgeous angel you brought with you?”

You felt Harry’s hand glide down your back. “Greg, I’d like you to meet Y/N, Y/N this is Greg Hawthorne, Chairman of the Board.”

“How do you do, sweetheart,” said Greg.

“Lovely to meet you,” you smiled, taking his hand though you had no idea what a Chairman of the Board was.

Just then, you were saved by the ding that the awaiting elevator announced, and you and Harry followed the rest of the group up to another floor. More groups of people were gathered there, and down the hall. Harry stopped a couple more times to introduce you to more colleagues. You knew for certain you would never be able to remember their names, but you figured that wasn’t the reason for the pleasantries.

When you came to a large, open, double doorway, you were greeted by another man and woman who welcomed you both to the event. Stepping inside the massive room, you took in the view of what appeared to be a ballroom, filled with cloth-covered tables with fancy centerpieces. At the far end was a stage, a podium erected in the center and a large screen next to it. The chandeliers were enough to take your breath away, and when Harry guided you toward one of the tables, you noticed the gold-leafed placards.

“This is nicer than most weddings I’ve been to,” you whispered to Harry, lifting the placard in front of you that held his name.

Your date only grinned, but you quickly felt a hand on your knee underneath the table. He gave it a nice squeeze, and you giggled.

“None of that, Mr. Styles,” you warned. “We’re in public.”

“Oh, so I can’t even touch you?”

“I didn’t say that. Just be careful. I’m very ticklish. People may get the wrong idea.”

“I see,” he smirked with sexy eyes. “I’ll try to be discreet, then.”

The room started to fill up, and Harry was greeted so many times that you just remained standing. You had to admit, it felt good to be the companion of someone so popular. Luke’s popularity was nothing compared to this. And everyone seemed to be very fond of Harry.

However, after a quick chat with one of Harry’s friends, you felt his hand twist the back of your dress. Taking a step back to keep your balance, you looked at him and noticed how much the expression on his face had instantly changed.

“What happened?” you inquired. “Is something wrong?”

“She’s here,” he said, his voice low but clear.

“Oh,” you whispered. “Where?”

Harry loosened his jaw, then cleared his throat, looked down and scratched his nose. “Right there. Blue dress.”

Scanning the entrance, you picked out the woman. While she was attractive, she was not what you had pictured. Not that you had any point of reference, but she just didn’t seem like someone you would have thought Harry would have been in a relationship with.

“Oh, I see,” you commented, unsure of what else to say.

A waiter came around with a tray of champagne, blocking your view of Harry’s ex. You graciously accepted a glass, and Harry suggested you both take a seat.

“Hello, Harry,” you heard behind you just as you’d turned.

Harry exhaled through his nose before addressing her. “Good evening, Toni. You’re looking well.”

Toni flipped her hair from her shoulder and grinned triumphantly. Then her eyes fell on you.

“Antoinette Bloom, how do you do?” she said, offering her hand to you.

“Y/N Y/LN, nice to meet you.” You tried your best to give the most nonchalant, yet genuine greeting, hoping Harry was pleased. The corners of your mouth began to curve upwards when you felt his hand on your back once again.

“I hear you closed on the MacHouser deal, Harry,” Toni turned her attention back to her ex. “Congratulations.”

��Thank you,” he half-bowed, “it was a team effort.”

“Of course.”

Just then, another tall man appeared, his hand on Toni’s shoulder. “Darling, I found our table over there. I think it’s about to get started.”

“Oh, yes,” she grinned. “Good to see you, Harry.” She merely nodded at you, and didn’t even bother introducing the man who was already guiding her to the right side of the ballroom. You felt Harry let out a long breath.

“That wasn’t so bad,” you assured with a smile.

“Wasn’t so great either,” he frowned.

You slid your hand up his arm, squeezing his bicep. “Could have been worse.”

Finally looking at you, Harry’s frown turned into a grin. Your insides flipped when his dimples appeared and he pulled you close to him.

“She’s got nothing on you, you know.”

“Except history,” you remarked.

Harry chuckled. “C’mon, love. Let’s sit and enjoy this evening. Together.”

“Sounds good,” you agreed as Harry helped push in your chair. “By the way, did you know him?”

“Who?”

“The man she was with. She didn’t introduce him.”

“Oh. Yeah. He’s the uh…”

When Harry paused, your eyes widened in astonishment. “Him? She left you for that guy?”

“Well, no, she didn’t leave me, I kicked her out.”

“Because she was cheating on you. With him!”

Harry covered your hand with his. “Let’s not get into it, babe. Not now.”

With a huff, you sat back in your chair, crossing your arms. What an idiot this woman was! Fucking moron!

Harry chuckled low, making you look over at him. “What?”

“You look like a defiant child sat there like that, kitten.”

With a snort, you sat up straight. “Sorry. I just don’t think she knew how good she had it.”

“And how good is that?” Harry leaned closer, his hand sliding up your thigh under the table.

“Harry…” you mouthed, barely able to get out a breath as his fingers played with the hem of your dress.

“Oh, good evening Harry!” a plump man announced, grabbing the chair on the other side of him. “Looks like Marla and I are at your table.”

“Hi, Tom, how are things?” Harry quickly rose from his chair to shake hands with the man, then with the woman he was with.

“Well, as they say…same shit, different day!” Tom cackled.

Harry laughed, “Yes, indeed.” Then he introduced you to Tom and his wife, Marla, who both already seemed like very nice people.

Two more couples arrived shortly after, rounding out your table. Soon enough, the waiters came around with plates of food. You gawked at the presentation of the scrumptious looking chicken dish in front of you.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered in your ear. “I forgot to tell you I ordered the food weeks ago. I hope chicken is okay.”

“Of course, no problem,” you replied.

“Obviously I knew I wouldn’t be here with Toni, but I reckoned chicken was a safe bet.”

“It’s perfectly fine,” you insisted.

“So, how did you two meet?” Marla asked after Tom had made a toast.

Harry looked over at you and you felt your face flush.

“Um…the traditional way,” replied Harry. “At a nightclub.”

“Oh!” Marla giggled when Harry winked, putting you at ease.

Once again, you felt Harry’s hand on you underneath the table. Instead of squeezing your knee, he slid his palm up dangerously, allowing his fingers to rest just inside your thigh. You gasped out a breath, swiftly grabbing your champagne, hoping no one noticed.

Chatter and small talk filled the room until the lights dimmed slightly and the man from the elevator stepped up to the podium. He announced himself as Greg Hawthorne and welcomed you all to tonight’s gala. Then the television monitor came to life and displayed a quick introduction to the firm. While most of it was over your head, you were once again impressed by the company and what real estate it owned. After another quick spiel, Greg introduced the CEO who joined him at the podium, gave a short speech and sat back down at his table. Then Greg proceeded with the awards ceremony, starting with one for another man you’d met earlier.

Having finished your delicious chicken, you placed your fork down on your plate, and dabbed your lips with a napkin. When everyone clapped, you joined in.

Harry leaned over and whispered in your ear. “Bored yet?”

“No,” you smiled. “I’m having a lovely time.”

“Liar.”

“No, I’m not,” you insisted with a laugh.

You reached for his hand then, pulling it underneath the tablecloth, setting it in your lap. You covered it with your other hand for reassurance. Harry beamed at you, then kissed your temple.

Just then, a name you hadn’t wished to hear was announced. Antoinette Bloom stepped up on stage to receive her award, though you’d missed what she’d earned it for. You felt Harry’s body go still next to you.

“You okay?” you whispered.

“Um, yeah. Yeah,” he sighed. “I’m fine.”

“It’s still hard to see her, isn’t it?”

“No, no…it’s…it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Harry, it’s okay,” you said, squeezing his hand. “I get it. Remember?”

His green eyes stared at you and you thought you saw them water, but he blinked quickly. Then he pulled his hand from your grasp and reached for his champagne, gulping it down. You looked around your table and saw more sets of eyes, either on Harry or trying to divert their gaze. They all knew. They had probably known them when they were a couple. Suddenly, you felt like a duck out of water, and just as Toni was finishing her speech, you excused yourself to the ladies’ room.

When you made it to the stall, and took several deep breaths, you started talking to yourself. Reminding yourself that you were doing Harry a favor. You were his plus one because he wanted some sort of revenge, or proof for his ex to see he didn’t need her anymore - just as Harry had done for you the weekend before with Luke.

This isn’t about you, you stupid bitch. After tonight you’ll probably never see him again.

After washing up and touching up your lip gloss, you opened the door to see Harry standing in the hallway.

“Hey. What are you doing out here?” you asked.

“Checking on you. You rushed out so quickly.”

“Sorry. Must have been the champagne.”

Harry took two steps closer, enough to reach out and finger a curl on your shoulder. “Liar,” he muttered.

With a sigh, you shook your head. “Harry…”

“Y/N. I’m the one who should apologize. I made a fool of myself, trying to act like I didn’t care she was here. You were right.”

“I was?” you gulped.

“It’s still hard,” he nodded. “I mean…it’s not like I want her back. I don’t really want anything to do with her. Just…seeing her reminds me, you know?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’m sorry, darling. I really am.” Harry shoved his hands in his pockets, and you took that as your cue.

“It’s okay. Shall I get an Uber, or…”

“What?” Harry’s eyes widened. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

“Well…um…,” you stumbled. “Don’t you want me to?”

“Oh, God, honey, no! No! I didn’t mean to imply that at all!”

You fiddled with the clutch in your hands as you stared at him incredulously. “I’m confused.”

Reaching for your waist, Harry pulled you even closer. “Baby, I want you to stay. Please. I enjoy your company. And even though this is probably boring you to tears, you look so fucking sexy, I want...”

“What?” you asked when his words trailed off.

“I…” Harry searched down either end of the hallway, making sure no one was within earshot. Then he guided you backwards against the wall. “I wanna eat you up,” he growled.

“Oh!” you squeaked just before his mouth collided with yours.

His kisses were rough and urgent. His stubble scratched against your delicate skin. And you loved it. Gasping for a breath, you grabbed hold of his jacket lapels.

“Harry…”

“I want you so bad, kitten,” he whined. God, that sounded hot. “Been thinking about you all fucking week. Took everything I had in me not to call sooner.”

“Really?”

Just then, two other women started down the hall toward you. Harry straightened up and you pretended to be looking for something in your bag. When they passed and entered the restroom, you raised your head. Harry was staring at you like a tiger about to pounce its prey. When he blinked slowly, you could hear him swallow hard.

“I got a room,” he finally said.

Your jaw dropped. “A roo-, here?”

“Yeah. I know it’s presumptuous of me. But I was hoping…you might…wanna stay with me tonight.”

As he said those words, he moved closer to you, slowly like a dream. Chills erupted down your body, and you found yourself eagerly allowing him into your embrace. His lips met yours again, this time sweet and wet.

“I-I thought…” you breathed between kisses, “when you froze next to me…when she got her award…that you…”

“Shh,” Harry sounded, silencing you with more kisses. “Baby girl…let me make it clear. I don’t want her. I want you.”

You thought you saw the shadows of the women returning from the bathroom, but neither you nor Harry moved an inch. His gaze pierced through you, you melted, and you may have even let out a moan.

“I want you, too. So bad.”

“Good,” he growled, sliding his hand around your neck. Then kissing you one more time, he stood up straight and said, “Let’s get out of here.”

Taking your hand, you were halfway down the hall when Tom emerged from the ballroom.

“Harry!,” he said. “They need you in here!”

“What for?”

“Your award!”

Harry cursed under his breath, and you chuckled as he tugged on your hand and led you back into the ballroom.

“There he is!” shouted Greg from the podium. “C’mon Harry, everyone who’s awarded has to get up here.”

Harry snorted, then gave you a quick kiss on the cheek before heading up to the stage. With a cheesy grin on your face, you made it back to your table and joined everyone in clapping as Harry accepted his award. You hadn’t even heard what it was for, but it didn’t matter. You were proud of him regardless, and you planned on showing him just how proud you were later in the room he’d said he’d gotten.

You watched your handsome date as he gave his acceptance speech, the glow on his face. When he was finished, he gave a quick nod and thank you, then began to make his way between the tables. You noticed Toni staring at him, but your grin spread when Harry paid her no mind, and instead beamed at you with his dimpled smile.

“Congrats, Harry!” exclaimed Tom when Harry reached your table. “I was worried you’d either gone or didn’t care about receiving an award. But I see I was wrong on both accounts. Well-deserved, my friend.”

“Thanks, Tom.”

Although Harry’s words were addressed to the man on his left, his eyes hadn’t left yours.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

“Now?” you half-chuckled, half-gasped.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice suddenly an octave lower.

“Oh, don’t leave yet, you two!” Marla whisper-shouted. “You’ll miss the best part!”

“Best part?” you inquired, eyeing both Marla and Harry.

Harry smirked. “There’s usually some sort of dessert, and they serve more cocktails.”

“Oh. I think I can pass.”

Not missing the tone in your confession, Harry rose from his chair and held his hand out for you. You eagerly took it, giving hasty goodbyes to your table mates, then you followed him back into the hallway just as Greg was giving his final speech, announcing the imminent dessert.

“I have my own sweet, tasty treat,” remarked Harry, patting your ass.

You were mid-giggle, starting to get handsy yourself when you heard a female voice behind you.

“Congratulations, Harry.”

Oh, goddammit, what did she want?

“Thank you,” Harry turned and nodded sharply.

“I always knew you’d make top broker,” Toni continued. “I know I voiced it many times.”

Her tone was sultry as she stepped closer to Harry. Then she placed her hand on his bicep and gave an adoring smile. Your stomach turned and your mouth felt sour as you watched her try to seduce her ex right in front of you.

“Um, no, actually you didn’t,” said Harry.

“Pardon me?”

“You never said that to me, Antoinette. Not once. In fact, if I remember correctly, you used to provoke and torment me by claiming you’d beat me.”

“Oh, that,” Toni dismissed Harry’s accusation with a wave of her hand. “That was just a little game. You enjoyed it, didn’t you baby? You liked trying to rival me. It only made you better.”

Your eyes wide, you nearly smacked her, but you held back your hands and your tongue.

“No, I didn’t enjoy it. And it didn’t make me better. I’m better now because you’re out of my life, Toni.”

Turning away from her, Harry grabbed your hand again and began walking faster. You tried your best to keep up as he led you to the elevators.

“Aw, little Harry is heartbroken so he needed to find a little trollop to mend his ego,” Toni mocked with a sneer.

At that you turned around swiftly. “You’re a horrible person! No wonder he kicked you out!”

“Y/N, please baby-”

“What the hell do you know?” Toni rolled her eyes.

“I know that this man is amazing and sweet and sexy as hell, and you lost out.”

Toni’s jaw dropped open as Harry pulled you toward the open elevator doors.

“I also know that nobody has used the word trollop since the sixties,” you called out just before the doors closed. “The term is slut now, honey.”

When the elevator stopped, and the doors opened, you followed Harry down the hall, your hand still in his until he stopped at the end of the hallway. Then he pulled a key card out of his jacket pocket and slipped it into the lock.

He had been quiet on the lift, his jaw set. You knew he was angry, and maybe even a little embarrassed. You felt for him, seeing just how vile his ex was. You wanted to make him feel better, but only if he wanted the same.

Stepping into the room, however, you nearly forgot what had just happened when you saw the exquisite view.

“Wow…” you breathed as Harry headed for the bar.

“Nice, yeah?” he wiggled his brows. When he poured two glasses of brandy, however, his expression returned solemn.

“Harry…” you began, walking toward him. “We don’t have to do this.”

“What?”

“If you’re not feeling up to it.”

“Who says I’m not?” he asked, handing you a glass.

“Well, I can tell you’re upset.”

“I’m not. I mean…yeah, she’s…a piece of work,” Harry half-chuckled, shaking his head. Then he looked at you. “But she has nothing to do with us.”

“No?”

“Mm-mm,” he sounded, reaching for your waist with his other hand. “I’m just sorry you had to see that. Cheers?”

You clinked your glass against Harry’s and took a sip, setting your clutch on the bar. He looked over his glass at you and winked. Slowly lowering yours, you grinned.

“So your award was for top broker? What does that mean, you sold the most houses?”

Harry chuckled low. “Houses, hotels, commercial properties...”

“Wow,” you said. “I’m proud of you, Harry.”

“Are you?” he smiled wider.

“Of course, I am. And I wanna show you.”

“Oh. You do.” Taking your glass, Harry set it on the bar next to his. “And how do you wanna do that?”

“Like this…” you said, reaching for his jacket and tugging it off his shoulders.

With a smirk, he shook his arms out of it and tossed it on a nearby chair. Then his eyes sparkled as you ran your hands down his chest and began to unfasten the remaining buttons of his shirt.

Slipping his fingers underneath your jaw, he pulled you into a deep kiss. You moaned against him, letting him know just how badly you wanted to please him. When your own fingers met his waistband, you felt him shudder, a sexy tremble of anticipation as he threw off his shirt. You played with him a bit, letting your fingertips linger along his tattoos after you’d unbuttoned his trousers. Then with a loud sounding of the zipper, you dropped to your knees along with his pants. You heard him gasp out a breath, a tiny one, but audible nonetheless.

You kissed his inner thighs, sweet, tender kisses. Moving up slowly, you reached for his underwear. A low, sexy exhale escaped his throat then, followed by a chuckle.

“Oh, kitten.”

“What?”

“Is this what you want?”

You nodded and licked your lips as his erection sprung from his briefs, meeting you in the face. Harry’s breath hitched in his throat when you took hold of it and wet the tip with your tongue. You looked up at him long enough to see his jaw drop as you enveloped your lips around his hard cock. Then he quickly shut his eyes and inhaled through his nose.

He was big. You knew this already, of course, but having him in your mouth for the first time took a little extra work and finesse. You didn’t think you’d be able to deep throat him, so you did your best with what you had to work with. Lubricating him up with your own saliva, you moaned against his cock while your hand met your lips halfway. Harry’s fingers raked through your hair until they had a good grip. His breaths quickened as he bucked his hips against you, urging you to suck him deeper and harder, your hand to move faster. You obliged to his physical requests until you felt him quiver, then tug harder on your hair.

“Easy, kitten,” he gasped. “Fuck, you’re so good, but I don’t wanna come so fast.”

Clipping your chin with his finger, he gazed down at you.

“Jesus, baby, look at you. So eager and willing to please.”

You nodded, running your hands up his thighs. “Yes, Harry. I wanna please you so bad. Wanna make you feel good.”

Stepping out of his shoes and pants, Harry lifted you from the floor. With his hands cradling your face he pulled you into a deep, wet kiss that nearly sent you back into a pool at his feet. Then slipping his fingers behind your neck, he found the zipper of your dress and tugged it open. Stepping out of it, you let him lead you to the bed, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I wanna make you feel good too, kitten,” Harry promised as he removed your black lacy bra.

“But it’s my turn, Harry,” you argued, climbing onto the bed and sitting on your knees. “You made me feel better last time.”

“Did I? Is that why you left in such a hurry?”

“I told you why I left,” you frowned.

“I know. I’m sorry.” His hands cupped your breasts as he snuck a kiss onto your collarbone.

“Anyway, tonight is about you,” you continued. “And I wanna show you how proud I am of you. How worthy you are.”

“Yeah?” he smirked, sliding his hand down the front of your panties. “Am I worthy of this sweet pussy?”

“Fuck yes,” you hissed.

Harry laughed, “God, you’re so wet already, kitten. I haven’t hardly touched you.”

“That’s the effect you have on me.”

“Good to know. I am lucky.”

He continued to stroke you, his fingertip pressing gently on your already throbbing clit. Still on your knees, they began to give out just from his touch. You grabbed hold of his arms to keep your balance, a tiny cry escaping your lips.

“Oh, sweetheart, you sure this is about me?” Harry raised a brow, teasing you.

“Yes, Harry. I promise. You just…get me worked up.”

“What do you think you do to me, hmm? Sat there next to me in that tiny little dress, your thighs begging to be stroked underneath the table. Your fuckable ass just waiting to be grabbed by my hands. Your fuck-me eyes batting their lashes at me as if I don’t know what that means.”

“I didn’t know they do that,” you mewled as you continued to ride his fingers.

“Oh, yes you do. And you love it. Just like you love how you’re dripping on me right now.”

“But you love it, too,” you said, trying to turn the tables. “You love how hot and wet I am for you.”

“Goddammit, yes I do. C’mere, kitten.”

The air suddenly felt cooler when he removed his hand from your panties. But the warmth was returned quickly as you watched him lay down on the bed and stroke himself.

“Harry,” you pouted. “I’m supposed to do that.”

“Well then hurry up, baby. We may have all night, but I get impatient too.”

You gave him a smirk, knowing he was mocking your impatience from last weekend.

“Just for that, I may just take my time,” you teased, slowly sliding your panties down your hips.

“Please don’t.”

“What would you do if I did?”

“Make myself come,” he replied cheekily, his hand still on his cock.

“Aw, c’mon Harry, play nice.”

He chuckled low, sending another thrill down your spine. Kicking your panties off of your ankle, you let them hit the floor as you crawled cat-like over his naked body.

“Kitten, you are,” he grinned, reaching for your hips. “Looks like I picked the right pet name.”

“Yes,” you agreed. “And now kitty wants a ride.”

Harry growled as you nibbled on his neck. “Condom’s in my jacket, babe,” he whispered. “Forgot to grab it.”

With a tiny pout, you slid off the bed and retrieved his jacket from the chair, and found the condom in the inside picket. Opening it swiftly, you returned to the bed where you eagerly slipped it on his awaiting cock. Lifting your hips, you eased yourself down slowly with a high-pitched groan.

“Gently, kitten,” instructed Harry. “You sure you’re wet enough?”

“Yes,” you sighed. “You just fill me so well.”

“Yeah,” he grinned. “Go slowly though, alright. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I can handle it, baby. Question is, can you handle me?”

Harry’s chest shook as he laughed, and you slowly began to ride him. When you began to pick up a little speed, however, Harry started to blink, his head tilting back into the pillow.

“Fuck, kitten, you feel so good.”

“I do? You like how my cunt feels dripping on you?”

“Mmm yeah. So fucking warm and wet.”

“You deserve to feel this good, baby. Every night,” you moaned.

“Yeah? You would fuck me like this every night?” he asked, his hips bucking up against you.

“Mmhmm. Anything you want. You’re such a fucking hot and sexy man. You deserve to be fucked any way you want.”

“Ah yes, fuck me, kitten.”

“She didn’t fuck you like this, did she?” you purred as you rode him faster.

Harry shook his head and gulped. “No.”

“You deserve so much better, baby. You deserve a woman who knows your needs. Who worships your cock.”

Though Harry moaned and let out an expletive, he grabbed your waist and tried to hold you still. “Wait…baby…wait, stop,” he gasped.

“What’s wrong?” you blinked.

“I don’t wanna fuck like this.”

“Like what?”

“Revenge sex, angry sex, whatever this is. I’m done with that, aren’t you?”

You stared at him, confused. “But, I thought-”

“I know, babe,” he interrupted with a nod. “But I don’t want this to be about her. Or him. Just us.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t you?”

“I…yeah, I guess so.”

Harry’s green eyes stared at you, and though they were still filled with lust, a softer look in them also appeared that you hadn’t seen before. “Just you and me, yeah? I think it could be great.”

“Okay,” you nodded.

“Good girl,” he grinned. “Now fuck me.”

You slowly resumed your thrusts, your eyes still locked with his. While you tried to continue the little game you’d been playing, the point seemed moot. Something came over you that you couldn’t describe, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say you were feeling emotional, overwhelmed. But you couldn’t, could you? This was just a hookup, a mutual agreement. There were no feelings involved. Finally, you stopped all movement.

“What’s wrong, babe?” asked Harry, a bewildered look on his face. “You tired?”

“No. It just…it feels different now.”

“Different…good?”

You shook your head, unable to find the words. “I don’t know. I just…I feel vulnerable.”

Harry’s face softened as he sat up and ran his hands up your back. “I know, baby. But it’s okay. I’m here, yeah? I’ll make you feel good.”

“But I wanted to make you feel good,” you said.

“Then we’ll make each other feel good,” Harry smirked. “C’mon love, it’s alright. We don’t need revenge sex. Those two other people…they mean nothing. We don’t have to use each other anymore. Let’s just…live in the moment.”

Taking in a deep breath, you let it out slowly. Was he saying what you thought he was saying? His arms around you, Harry kissed your lips softly. Then he continued down your jaw and to your neck. Inch by inch, you let the tension fall until his soft, pillowy lips lightly touched your shoulder.

“Mmm, that feels nice,” you breathed before you realized it.

“Doesn’t it?” Harry murmured before looking into your eyes. “I want you, Y/N. I wouldn’t have invited you here if I didn’t. I wouldn’t have gotten this room. For us. You and me, honey. You’re the one I wanna be with.”

Though he didn’t finish the sentence with tonight, you took it as implied.

“Let’s make each other feel good, yeah?” he continued, pecking your mouth again. “I wanna make you come so hard.”

A low moan sounded from deep within your throat before you started to giggle.

“Does that sound good?” Harry wiggled his brows.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Sounds amazing.”

“Then get that ass up, baby, and turn around for me,” he demanded, patting your behind.

Once on your knees facing away from him, you braced yourself for a quick thrust. But Harry seemed to have other ideas. Instead, he grabbed your hips and pulled you back so that you sat on his lap. Pushing your hair off your shoulder, he kissed your neck just underneath your ear. Then his other hand found your right breast, cupping it and pinching the nipple between his fingertips.

“That feel good, kitten?” he whispered, his breath tickling your flesh.

“Mmm, yes.”

“Good. Now lift up just a bit and bounce on me.”

Doing as you were told had Harry slipping inside you easily just before you bounced back onto his lap, his cock filling you completely.

“Ohhhh,” you gasped. “Fuck.”

“Mmm yeah, babe, do that again.”

With a deep breath, you exhaled as you lifted up to your knees again. This time, however, Harry met you halfway, thrusting up against you as you came down. When you let out another gasp, Harry groaned in your ear.

“Fuck, princess, just like that. Keep going.”

Though your knees were already starting to shake, it was nothing like the nearly exploding feeling in your core. You could feel him fully, all of him in your pussy. And you couldn’t get enough.

You repeated the movements over and over, each time making your toes curl more and more. Finally, you noticed the thrusts weren’t quite as long, as Harry was practically holding you against him, his arm around your waist as he panted in your ear, giving you continuous words of encouragement.

“Oh, kitten you feel so good,” he whined, sliding his free hand down your belly. “I’m so close already. But I want you to come first, alright?”

“Yes.”

“Are you close, too?”

“Yes!”

His fingertips slipped through your folds and pinched your clit. Your knees buckled and you almost fell forward until Harry pulled you up. You could feel his wet, sticky chest against your back as he guided you to your climax.

“Easy, kitten,” he cooed. “I got you. Come for me, sweetheart. I wanna feel that sweet little cunt dripping all over me.”

“Aaaaaa…” you exclaimed, though it was far from an actual word. “Oh, God! Ohhh Haaarrryy….baaaabyyyyy!!!!”

“That’s it, kitten,” he urged, his finger still circling your swollen nub as he continued his thrusts. “Such a good girl. I love making you feel good, baby.”

With a few more whines and pants, you came down from your high, taking deep breaths and hard swallows.

“Mmm,” Harry growled, then kissed your neck. “It’s not over yet, love.”

You chuckled, placing your hand on his thigh. “I know. Shall I stay here, or you want me somewhere else?”

“I’ll let you pick,” he replied.

“Really?” Lifting yourself up, you turned around to face him. “Cause I’d really like to watch you when you come.”

“You got it, babe,” he grinned. Taking your face in his hands, he kissed you with fervor. Then he rolled you onto your back.

“Are you sore, love?” he asked as he resumed his thrusts.

“Not really,” you gulped. “Only in a good way.”

Harry chuckled, “Alright, good. Cause I want you legs up here.” Grabbing hold of your thighs, he lifted them over his shoulders. “That’s it, kitten. Now, keep your pretty eyes on me.”

You had no problem with that request. His arms around you with your knees next to your ears, you couldn’t do much more than stare at him. And he was a sight to behold. A curl had fallen from his forehead, and he already looked fucked out of his mind. Your entire body was on fire, inside and out. You couldn’t look away if you tried.

Because of his close proximity, his thrusts were short and quick, his cock hitting you in just the right spot every time. You tried your best to keep breathing, though you could already feel yourself teetering close to the edge. And Harry’s grunts didn’t help. He was so sexy, and it turned you on knowing you felt good around him.

“So fucking wet baby, god damn,” he panted. “Can I fuck you like this every night?”

You blinked in surprise until you remembered your words from earlier. With a gentle smile, you nodded. “Yes.”

“Promise? Cause I don’t think I can go another week, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you swore to him, and as you wrapped your arms around his neck, you knew that it wasn’t a lie.

Harry’s breaths quickened, and with a deep groan, he shut his eyes tight. Then with two more thrusts, his body trembled and he gasped in your ear.

“Fuck. Oh, kitten, you’re amazing.”

Your fingers played in his hair as he laid on your chest. You listened to his breaths for a moment until he looked up at you.

“Please don’t leave,” he said.

“What?”

“Tonight. Don’t leave like last time, please. Stay with me.”

After a pause, you allowed your fingertips to draw shapes across his back. Then with a sigh you said his name.

“Hmm?” he sounded, rolling onto his side next to you.

You turned and looked at him, giving him a smile. “I have no intention of leaving.”

With a grin of his own, Harry pulled you close and kissed you, no other words needed.

Hope you enjoyed! Please like, reblog and comment (or even better send me a message) if you did.

tagging: @kathb59, @kahluamystery97, @triski73, @lovebittenbyevans, @chibijusstuff, @angywritesstuff, @indierockgirrl, @i-dont-want-your-sympathy (you are all ones who commented on part 1 so I hope that's okay.)

249 notes · View notes

soupandsimple · 1 year ago

Text

Just The Three Of Us (with James Potter)

[ you and James consoling your little boy after Harry leaves for Hogwarts ]

* fluff!

** warnings? pregnant reader ; Hogwarts exists but other than that the is non-magic

This was requested: see the ask here

…………..

“Love. Over here,” you heard James call you from across the hallway.

Harry had headed off to Hogwarts that morning and although not biologically yours, you felt every bit of pain any mother felt at being separated from their first born child. But even with your six month pregnancy hormones it had become obvious after getting home from dropping off Harry at the station, that you were not who was being affected the most by the departure of the 11 year old.

As James closed the door behind him upon arriving at the house, you excitedly asked your six year old son Maximus what he felt like doing for the rest of the day. Equal in tone, James threw in some fun options for Max to pick from but instead of getting a reply from the little boy, his lip quivered and he immediately turned and sped off up the stairs.

“Was it something I said?” James wondered out loud to you.

“Honey,” you said, failing to smile with a shake of your head, “c’mon let’s go talk to him.”

Making your way up, you let James rush up ahead while you took your time going up behind him. Your pregnancy wasn’t at the point of needing help walking up the stairs but it was starting to slow you down some.

“He’s not in his room” James announced once you finally reached the top.

“Check Harry’s room, I’ll check ours” you instructed.

It wasn’t until after you looked under your bed, the closet and your bedroom bathroom that James called you over from across the hall. Instantly, you beelined to the sound of his voice coming from Harry and Max’s shared bathroom. That bathroom connected the boys bedrooms but also had a hallway door which is where you entered from.

When you walked in, James signaled with his head over to the little boy huddled by the hamper. He had his face covered with his little hands and although silent, you could tell he was steadily crying. You wanted to crouch down to his level but of course that wasn’t possible right then with your belly so you made do with softly speaking to him from above.

“Maxie, what’s wrong baby?”

Max didn’t answer.

James then squatted down and affectionately rubbed one of his small knees.

“Buddy, c’mon tell us what’s the matter. I bet we can help.”

“You can’t help,” Max spoke, hands muffling his voice.

“Well we don’t know that for sure unless you tell us what’s wrong first,” James replied.

Max went silent for some seconds then removed the shield he had created from his face. Wiping at his eyes, he then looked down at his damp fingers.

“I didn’t want Harry to go.”

You looked at James and he to you; both with sympathetic expressions. This revelation was a bit of a surprise seeing as how days prior, Max had been all smiles helping Harry pack his things and had been all too pleased stuffing himself full of cupcakes and cookies at Harry’s going away dinner. To think he felt otherwise didn’t cross either of your minds then or now.

“Honey, why didn’t you say something sooner?” you asked him.

Max shrugged his shoulders and wiped at his eyes again.

“Has this been bothering you for a while now?” James asked, trying to remain composed. Remain composed because seeing his children or you hurting was something he had never been able to bear easily.

“No, but when I saw him leave on the train today it made me know he was going to be gone now.”

James and you both felt a huge wave of relief wash over yourselves because although Max was sad right now, knowing he had only just started feeling this sadness today and had not been silently suffering alone with it the past few days was of most alleviation.

“Didn’t hit you he’d really be leaving until then huh?” James gathered from Max’s confession.

Max nodded up at his dad then looked down to the floor.

James didn’t even have to look at your face to know that you wanted to hold your little boy so he stood up, took your hand in his and aided you in sitting yourself down on the floor. You winced at the ache you felt in your back upon lowering yourself to the hard surface, then slowly criss crossed your legs as James squatted down again to his previous position.

“Maxie, I’m sorry you feel this way” you said, taking one of his little hands in yours. He looked up at you and you stretched your other hand out, creating open arms to invite him to come sit on your lap.

Without a hint of hesitancy, he stood up and did just that…ever so cautious of course, just like James had told him to be with you ever since your belly had begun to grow.

You kissed his little head and wiped at his eyes to get some of the drying tears off best you could.

“We’re all going to miss Harry sweet boy, but it’ll be okay. I know it’s going to feel different without him here but we still have each other and it’s not like we’re losing him forever. He’ll be back for Christmas pretty soon and in the meantime, we’re going to write to him so much to keep up with all he’s doing at school and to tell him all about what’s going on here at home.”

“I can write now some too, remember...” Max quietly added.

“Of course we remember,” James spoke, ruffling his son’s hair. “I think it’d be a good idea to go out and let you pick out a stationery set for your own letters to Harry, hm? How does that sound?”

Max’s eyes twinkled with excitement but his smile was still a weak one. Seeing that, you pressed a quick kiss to the side of his head and tenderly squeezed him further into you momentarily.

“But we’ll sit here with you until you feel you’re ready, okay? There’s no rush.”

“She’s right, we’ll sit here until needed,” James repeated, sitting his bum all the way to the ground then criss crossing his legs like you had. “This is actually a pretty cozy spot and hey, if we need to use the toilet at least it’s right here.”

Max laughed as James patted the closed toilet seat and after a few seconds, voiced a concern of his.

“Will my baby sister be here soon? Because I really want someone to play with while Harry is gone.”

“Well she won’t be here for another couple of months..” you frowned, rubbing at your belly. “But we’ll be more than happy to play with you in the meantime,” you kindly assured.

“That’s right. But I mean it is going to take your sister some time to grow and be able to play with you anyhow so I don’t know…maybe we can also look into getting a dog?” James said, eager eyes shifting over to the six year old.

“Yes!”

“James!”

James chuckled at Max and your distinct reactions to his suggestion and raised his hands up in defeat in your direction.

“Okay, okay we’ll think on the dog…” he said to you but with a wink shot over to Max.

Max smiled big, stood up and got behind you and draped himself on your shoulders. “Mum, let’s go buy my stationery now! I need to hurry up and write to Harry about the dog we’re getting!”

“Uh-uh-uh… maybe getting a dog” James corrected Max before you could shoot him a stare of doom.

“Okayyy maybeeee .. but let’s go buy my stationery anyways! I wanna tell him some other stuff too!” Max urged, running out the bathroom presumably straight to the car.

James smiled to himself then stood up and once again stretched out his hand to help get you up from your spot on the floor.

“You just really had to go and bring up a dog did you now? A dog won’t replace Harry y’know,” you teasingly scolded as you walked down to the front door.

James pouted as he walked behind you. “I know, I know but I am going to miss all the noise he and Max made together. It’s going to be so quiet around here these days.”

“James Potter, you’re going to be begging for a quiet house once this little girl of ours shows up” you laughed as you reached the bottom of the stairs.

You were then able to tell this was something James really wanted for Max though, because instead of reacting to your jokey comment, his expression remained contemplative.

“Baby,” you began softly, “look I know you mean well and want to fix the way Max feels right now and believe me, I do too, but let’s give it a little time and spend a while with just him for a bit… this period in life of just us and him is only going to come once. Can we do that, give it some time? Afterwards I promise we’ll talk dog ...yeah?” you asked, reaching up to push back some of his front hair with one hand and caressing one of his cheeks ever so lightly with the other.

James exhaled and relaxed in your touch. “You’re right. You’re always right” he admitted with lovesick eyes and a kiss to your lips. “Don’t know what I’d do without you love.”

“Probably get a dog anytime you or someone you loved was upset…” you taunted.

He chuckled at that and gave you another kiss. “The dog can wait a bit, now let’s go start spending time with just our boy.” <3

#james potter x reader #dad!james potter #james potter fluff #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter imagine #james potter fic

845 notes · View notes

itsnevercasual · 7 months ago

Text

RISK PART II

pairing: mafia!harry styles x singer!reader

summary: Harry is in town for some.. less than legal business, and you're a local singer trying to get your foot in the door, and also planning your wedding. And maybe Harry is a little too interested in you.

warnings: cursing, mentions of death, i think that’s it??

At the end of the show, the band disappeared from the stage, and Niall and Harry busied themselves at the bar.

Jodie was the first one to come out.

“Hey, baby,” she greeted Niall with a grin, going up to press their lips together. “Hey, H. Enjoy the show?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “You guys were.. good. Didn’t know you could sing.”

“Oh, trust me, neither did I. It was Y/N’s idea to get me to do it. She’s been singing since she could talk. She’s pretty fucking good, too.”

“Yeah, first time we met Jodie wanted her to do karaoke and she kept saying she ‘wasn’t good’. Then fuckin’ busted out some Taylor Swift song like it was nothing. Speaking of, where is she?”

“Oh, she’s still in the back. She said she’d be out in a minute, she just needed a sec.”

Niall’s brows furrowed, “She good?”

“I think so. She didn’t seem off. But I think she knows Connor didn’t show and y’know how she gets.”

Niall’s eyes rolled at the mention of his friend’s fiancé.

“You don’t seem to like him much,” Harry commented.

“I don’t.”

“Why’s he so bad?”

“He’s jus’ an asshole to her sometimes. And usually, Y/N’s the first person to bite your head off about being a bitch to her. But whenever Connor does it, she just…”

Jodie finished for him, “She lets him. Plus, he’s super controlling. He wants her to quit the band once they get married so she can, like, be a housewife. And that’s literally her worst nightmare, he just doesn’t give a shit.”

“Yeah,” Niall nodded. “And the reason we moved in with them is ‘cause a few years ago—“

“Ni. Shut up. Y/N would be pissed if she found out we told someone. It’s bad enough as is.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Harry eyed them suspiciously, “What’d he do to her?”

“.. If Y/N wants to tell you, she will. But don’t bring it up or push it,” Jodie explained. “She’s normally pretty… unbothered, I guess. But she just.. is sensitive sometimes. And do not, under any circumstances, point out Connor not showing up tonight whenever she gets here.”

“Yeah, so switch the conversation. She’s comin’ over,” Niall rushed out.

“Uh… so, what’d you think about the show!” Jodie exclaimed, overly loud as you appeared behind her, grabbing her shoulders.

“Hello my favorite slut,” you greet Jodie.

“Aw, hello, my whore.”

You grin at her.

“What about me?” Niall pouted.

“You’re our favorite whore. But only for Jodie,” you shrug. Niall smiles as if he actually cares.

“Uh.. Y/N, this is Harry. Harry, Y/N.”

“Oh, yeah. We, uh.. met this morning. He scared the shit out of me.”

Harry gave a half smile and raised his brows.

Niall laughed, “‘Course he did. He’s nice, I promise. He doesn’t bite.”

“.. I’d hope not?”

“It was a joke, asshole.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t funny. Asshole,” you mock him.

You can see Harry laughing out of the corner of your eye and it makes you smile, just a bit.

Harry takes a bite of the food they’d apparently ordered, “Who writes them?”

“What?” you ask, hoisting yourself up into the barstool next to him. You ask the bartender for a beer.

“The songs. Who writes them.”

“Oh,” you nod. Hesitate. He notices. Watches.

“Well, that answer definitely clears things up.”

“No. Sorry— I… I write them.”

“She just gets embarrassed ‘cause she thinks they suck,” Niall interrupts your awkward conversation.

“Which they don’t,” Jodie also interrupts.

You roll your eyes at them, “Thank you, peanut gallery.”

“So, what’re they all about?”

You were, honestly, surprised he was even looking in your direction. Whenever a stranger talked to him, he seemed exceptionally uninterested. When you talked, he was practically staring into your soul.

“Uh.. just… life, I guess?” you shrug with a laugh. You didn’t exactly wanna specify the fact that half of the breakup songs were about the man you were about to marry, and they were all recently written.

He shrugs, and it seems like answer enough for him. For now. It’s enough to hold him over until he gets curious again.

The bartender hands you the beer, and you give a grateful smile.

“You didn’t strike me as a beer girl.”

“Yeah, well… I’m full of surprises.”

You cringe as you say it.

“That was not as cool as you thought it was,” he laughs.

“Yeah, I realized as I said it.”

He opens his mouth, but is cut off by your phone ringing loudly on the bar top.

“Sorry,” you give an apologetic smile as you flip your phone over. You contemplate smashing your head against the bar as you read the contact information.

Connor❤️

“Of fucking course,” you roll your eyes, swiping to answer the call, “gimme a sec.” You give Niall and Jodie a signal before walking towards the front of the bar. You step outside as you speak, “Hello?”

“Y/N, where are you?”

“I told you, I’m at a gig. You said you were coming. Where are you?”

“I’m at home. I don’t wanna go to another dumb gig.”

“I— first of all, that’s rude. Don’t speak to me like that. Second of all, do you think I want to sit around and watch you compete fucking video games? No. But I do.”

“I don’t care—“

“Yeah, clearly.”

“You just need to be home soon.”

You scoff, “Yeah, okay, dad. No. I’m with Jodie and Ni and their friend. You’ll be fine at home without me. Or— and this is just a thought, so hear me out — you could’ve shown up and hung out with us.”

“You’re always at some stupid gig! When do we ever spend time together?”

You sigh, “I try to spend time with you, babe. You’re always on your phone or playing games. You always say you wanna spend time with me when I have a gig, but when we’re both free.. you wanna be anywhere but around me.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Okay, but that’s what it feels like. And.. I mean, it hurts my feelings. We’re getting married, and you can’t even be in a room with me for ten minutes?”

“That isn’t true—“

“It is, though. And yeah, maybe some of it is my fault. I do have a lot of gigs, but we’re finally getting noticed! It’s exciting, and I— I wanna share that with you, but you don’t really care.”

“You’re making this into something bigger than it needs to be.”

“Then stop fucking calling me when you skip my gigs and interrogate me!” you snap. “Just— don’t fucking call me, or talk to me, unless you want to do it without belittling and invalidating me. Bye.”

You scoffed as you hung up. You have to repeat your mantra to yourself as you inhale. I love him, I love him. We’re getting married. He’s just moody sometimes.

You walked back up to the bar, feeling a lot better than you had before. Jodie grinned as you approached, wrapping an arm around you.

“Hey, sexy! Where’d you run off to?” she asked.

“Asshole of the Month called,” you rolled your eyes.

“Remind me why we’re marrying him if we call him Asshole of the Month?” Niall asked.

“Okay, first of all, we aren’t marrying him. I am. Second of all.. shut up. He’s sweet most of the time.”

Jodie gave you a deadpan look.

“… Sometimes.”

…

“Okay, barely. But when we’re alone, he’s sweet, I swear! He’s just moody sometimes.”

Jodie shrugged, “We’re not judging you, babe. Just want you to be careful. We don’t want another—“ her eyes flicked to Harry, “uh… situation.. to happen, y’know?”

You look to him as well, before looking back again Jodie, “I know, and I appreciate it. But seriously, I can handle myself. I promise.”

“M’kay. Now, go sit down and get shitfaced!”

“Sir, yes, sir!” you jokingly salute her before resuming your position next to Harry.

“She hath returned,” he joked.

“I hath,” you grin before wincing.

“That was awful.”

“I’m aware. Don’t talk about it.”

“Never even happened,” he grinned.

“See? I knew I liked you,” you smiled, turning to the bartender, “can we get a round of shots, please? Thank you!”

“Phone call that bad, huh?”

“No,” you respond quickly. Too quickly. He doesn’t believe you, and it’s obvious. “No,” you repeat. “It’s just… he gets mad over things that aren’t even happening, and won’t let me explain myself. It’s just.. annoying.”

“That sounds annoying. You should punch him.”

You laugh at the absurdity of his words, “What? No. No! What? No.”

He shrugs, “Your loss.”

“… Are you— should I call the police?”

“I’m joking, babe, relax.”

“… You aren’t very.. how do I say.. good at it.”

“Gee, thanks,” he rolls his eyes.

“You just told me to punch my fiancé!” you exclaim.

He just grins at you, taking a sip of his drink. There’s a lull in the conversation, but it isn’t awkward.

“What’s the tattoo for?” he suddenly asks.

“Hm?” you hum, turning your gaze back to him.

“The tattoo. On your wrist.”

You glance down. “Oh. It’s for my older brother. It’s.. uh.. his birthday in Roman numerals.”

“.. Why the angel wings?”

You hesitate. You debate whether you wanna make it awkward.

“I mean… I’d assume it’s obvious, but.. he died. A few years ago. I was seventeen.”

“.. Oh.”

You fold your lips into a line and glance away, “Yep.”

The silence is awkward now.

“.. The weather is crazy—“

“Yeah! I mean—“

When the night came to an end, you and Jodie clambered into the Uber driver’s car. Niall and Harry, however, hovered outside.

“Hey,” Niall said, grabbing Harry’s arm to prevent him from walking away.

Harry turned, a confused look on his face.

“I just.. wanna say thank you.”

“… For?”

“What’d you think I was gonna do?” Harry laughed, “Threaten her with a gun?”

Niall sighed, “For being nice to Y/N tonight. She gets.. really upset when Connor doesn’t show, and she normally just ends up leaving straight after. Bur.. she seemed like she was having a nice time with you. So.. thanks.”

“I mean… yeah. You’re not exactly nice. So.. thanks.”

He rolled his eyes, “Yeah. Sure. She’s.. sweet.”

“Yeah. Which is surprising, ‘cause—“ Niall stops, like he wasn’t supposed to say that.

“.. It’s surprising because what?”

“Nothing. Nothing,” he rushes out. “I just.. Look, I don’t wanna say anything, because she hates when people know, but.. she’s just been dealt a shitty hand in life. Like… your life, plus my life.. hers is still probably shittier.”

“Ni, what the fuck happened to her brother?” Harry asks.

“I.. how do you—“

“You told me, dipshit. And she has a tattoo for him.”

“.. Right,” he nods. “Forgot about that. I.. H, seriously, I can’t say. She hates when people know about.. the shit that’s happened. Like. Hates it.”

“Why? It can’t be that bad—“

“The same way you hate people being sympathetic, she hates pity. She doesn’t want people to be nice out of pity. She doesn’t want to get gigs out of pity. Seriously, I got her ice cream on her brother’s birthday and I almost died. She’s scary.”

Harry rolls his eyes, “She’s, like, the nicest person on Earth.”

“Until she’s mad! Seriously, wait ‘til you hear her and Connor fighting. She’s, like, female Gordon Ramsey.”

“.. What the f—“

“‘Ey, Ni, babe—“ Jodie shouts from inside the car. “Get in the fucking Uber before we ditch your asses!”

“Jodie!” you shriek with laughter. “Be nice!”

“Someone’s gonna call the fuckin’ cops! They look like they’re plotting murder!”

You tilt your head as you stare at them. “Oh.. yeah, nope, I see it. Get in the car, fuckers!”

When the Uber dropped the four of you off, Harry went to the guest bedroom and pulls out his laptop.

Would Niall kill him for what he was about to do? Probably. Was it a huge invasion of your privacy? Yes. Did he care? …. Unclear.

He opened up google and typed into the search bar.

Y/N L/N Brother.

God, Niall was gonna kill him if he found out about this.

a/n: sorry if this sucks i have a migraine & the whole thing deleted. so.

#harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry imagine #harry oneshot #harry styles fanfiction #styles #x reader #mafia!harry styles #mafiarry #mafia harry styles #mafia harry #mafia au #singer!reader

122 notes · View notes

sailforvalinor · 5 days ago

Note

For Christmas ficlet!

Harry and Monty, fruitcake

-Rain

This takes place in my fix-it AU, where the Potters live, and Harry has a younger brother.

When Ron and Harry walked into the Potter’s kitchen on a cold afternoon a couple of days before Christmas, they found Monty sitting at the kitchen table, apparently contemplating a fruitcake. It sat on a plate in the center of the table, and a piece of foil sat beside it, as if it had just been unwrapped.

“Harry,” he said, not looking up, “fruitcake.”

“Oh, right,” said Harry, as if that told him everything he needed to know. He took a seat across from Monty, and also began contemplating the fruitcake just as intently as his brother.

“Um…fruitcake?” Ron echoed, bewildered. He studied the dessert in question. Nothing seemed particularly remarkable about it; it just appeared to be a normal round fruitcake—meaning that it looked stodgy and unappetizing.

Both of the boys were too lost in thought to answer Ron’s question. He noticed that while Harry looked excited, Monty had a bit of a grim set to his mouth. After a few seconds, Harry commented, “Looks pretty solid this year.”

“Yeah,” Monty agreed. There was another pause as they continued to think. “Take turns dropping it from our window?” Monty suggested.

“Boring,” Harry said.

“What?” Ron said. Was this fruitcake hexed? Cursed?

“Tug of war,” Harry said. “Tie two bits of string to it, whoever gets the bigger half—“

“—like a wishbone? Like the Americans do?”

“Yeah.”

“Not sure how you’d actually get the string to work…”

Just at that moment, Ginny came in from the sitting room. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“Fruitcake,” Monty said.

“Ah.” Just like Harry, Ginny seemed to think this explained everything. Coming over to lean on the back of Monty’s chair, she also joined them in the contemplation of the fruitcake.

“Just what is going on here?” Ron asked.

“Sparklers,” she said after a moment. “Big ones. Stick a bunch in the top, light them, and—“

“—nobody wins at sparklers, Gin,” Monty said, crossing his arms.

“Everybody wins at sparklers, Fleamont.”

Monty raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Ron felt like he was losing his mind. “Is somebody going to tell me what in the name of Merlin is going on with this fruitcake?!” he exclaimed.

Suddenly, there was a loud CRACK, and with it came James Potter, apparating into the kitchen barely a foot from where Ron was standing. “Rejoice, boys, your fruitcake-y musings are over!” he exclaimed grandly. “For I have—ooh, sorry, Ron,” he said, noticing Ron having to stumble back. He patted him on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here though,” he said with a conspiratorial grin. “You’re just in time.”

Ron couldn’t help but grin back—Harry’s dad was just so cool. “With what, Mr. Potter? With the…” He floundered, unsure. “The fruitcake?” he asked tentatively.

James blinked in surprise. “What, Harry didn’t tell you?”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “What, you don’t know?” He seemed genuinely shocked.

“Obviously not, mate.”

“Really? I could have sworn I’ve told you about this before…” Harry scratched the back of his head. “Well, the fruitcake’s from our Aunt Petunia. She and my mum don’t talk anymore. She’s kind of…anti-wizard.“

“—not to mention, anti-James,” James muttered under his breath, with a slight grin.

“She sends a fruitcake every Christmas, though,” Harry said.

“Honestly, I can’t tell if it’s meant to be a peace offering or hate mail,” Monty mused. Ginny snorted.

At Ron’s questioning look, Harry explained, “It’s absolutely horrible. It’s like eating chunky glue.”

“You would know,” Monty pointed out innocently.”

“That was a gluestick, and I was five. Anyway, you’d probably know better—you’re the one who always ends up eating it.”

Ron stared at Monty. “Why would you eat the fruitcake if it tastes like chunky glue?”

“Hey, I don’t eat it willingly,” Monty said. “We play a different game every year involving the fruitcake. Loser has to eat it. Or…” He turned slightly green. “Whatever’s left of it.”

“What does the winner get?” Ron asked.

“They don’t have to eat the fruitcake,” Harry said, as if it was obvious.

“Oh.” It all seemed a little bit masochistic to Ron, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Thank you for the explanation, boys,” James said. “Now, I hearby declare that this year’s Fruitcake Game has been decided!”

“It has?” Harry and Monty asked in unison.

“Fruitcake hockey!” It was then that Ron noticed that he’d leaned nine or ten hockey sticks against the wall as they were talking. How he hadn’t noticed him holding them when he’d apparated in, he had no idea. “Had the idea when I saw that the lake was frozen this morning. Encasing this thing in ice will make for a solid oversized hockey puck. I already invited Pads and Moony—Tonks, too,” he added, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Two teams—I bet your uncles can rig up something like nets—and Ron, Ginny, I’m sure we’ve got some skates that will fit you around here somewhere. Losing team has to split the fruitcake.”

“Cool!” Ron said.

“Wicked!” Harry exclaimed.

Monty, on the other hand, looked greener, if possible. Despite looking uncannily like a smaller version of James (sans-glasses), he hadn’t inherited many of his daredevil tendencies. “Do we actually have to use the fruitcake? Can’t we use an actual puck?”

“As per the rules of The Fruitcake Game—which I made up—no, the fruitcake must actually be integrated into the game for the game to be recognized as a valid Fruitcake Game,” James said, with matter-of-fact glee. “Freezing it might make it a little soggy when we’re done with it, but I’m not sure you could make it taste much worse.”

Ron blanched a little at the thought of eating soggy fruitcake, but it mostly served to fuel his desire not to lose. A glance at Harry and Ginny told him that they probably shared his sentiments, but Monty still seemed unconvinced.

“But Dad,” Monty protested, “did you actually look closely at the lake to see if it was safe for skating? Did you test it?”

“Well…no,” James admitted.

“Somebody could fall through!” Monty exclaimed.

Ron was surprised that Monty was getting so worked up over this whole thing—“worked up” and “Monty” weren’t usually words that went together. Then again, he was the overly cautious type, and, given his alleged track record with Fruitcake Games, was probably facing being forced to eat wet-chunky-glue-cake. A perfect storm.

“I think you’re forgetting something.” James suddenly knelt down in front of Monty and took his face in his hands. Ginny backed away from them a little, watching them with a mystified expression. “You, my son,” James said, with exaggerated solemnity, “are a wizard.” He pulled his wand out of his jacket and waggled it at him. “And so am I. And as wizards, we know little spells like Glacius.” At the incantation, a puff of mist shot out of the tip of his wand and hit the petal of a poinsettia sitting on the counter, covering it in ice.

Monty didn’t look impressed. “Dad, what if one of the Muggles sees you doing that?”

“You, my son,” James said, with the same level of gravitas, “are a wet blanket.”

“Mum,” Monty called, “Dad just called me a wet blanket!”

“Well, he is a little bit right,” Lily’s voice answered from upstairs.

“Mum!” Monty protested.

A moment later, she came downstairs and joined them in the kitchen. “Aww, but you’re my favorite wet blanket!” she said, pinching his cheek. “Does that make you feel better?”

“No,” Monty replied, turning slightly red. Ginny sniggered, and Monty turned redder.

“How was work, James?” Lily asked, as she relented and left her son alone.

James sprang to his feet. “Work was work, he said dismissively. “But you’re just in time, Evans!” He swooped in for a quick kiss on her cheek (to which she giggled like a schoolgirl), then turned to the fruitcake, rolling up his sleeves. “Time for the Fruitcake Game to commence!”

Just as he pointed his wand at the fruitcake, however, Lily plucked it out of his hand. “I’m afraid there will be no freezing of fruitcakes, boys, or any Fruitcake Games at all this year.”

“Huh?” Harry said.

“I…” Lily looked slightly nervous, then continued, “I invited Petunia, Vernon, and Dudley for dinner. Tonight.”

James stared at her blankly. “You did what?”

“But, they said no, right?” Harry asked.

Lily seemed to gather her strength. She straightened. “No, Harry, they said yes. And so, this fruitcake,” she said, wrapping the cake back up in its foil, “will remain untouched and undamaged until tonight, when we will all eat it. Understood?”

Ron watched as the blood slowly drained from James, Harry, and Monty’s faces. Whoa, he thought. How bad are these Muggles?

“Understood?” Lily repeated.

All three of them made affirming noises.

“Good,” she said. “Now, I want this place spotless in an hour and a half—I will not have my sister judging me for my housekeeping, whatever else she may judge me for.” She turned to Ron and Ginny. “You two are welcome to stay for dinner, of course.”

Ron briefly looked over at Harry, whose eyes were frantically telegraphing go! Run! Get out while you still can! “Umm, that’s alright,” Ron said awkwardly. “Mum wanted us home by dinner, anyway. Thanks for asking though, Mrs. Potter.”

As he and Ginny stood in front of the fireplace, getting ready to use the Floo network to get back home, Ron muttered, “I feel bad for Harry and Monty. Being stuck eating dinner with relatives that hate you had to be the worst way to spend the Monday before Christmas.”

“I’m sad to miss out, actually,” Ginny muttered back. “I think whatever happens at that table tonight is going to be far more exciting than fruitcake hockey.”

#sorry this is a bit late!!#I don’t know if this works or not I’ve been staring at it too long 😂#Harry Potter and the untitled fix-it au #and it kinda just turned into potter family shenanigans lol #harry potter #fleamont potter ii #ron weasley #ginny weasley #james potter #lily potter #lily evans #jily

26 notes · View notes

ginnyw-potter-archive · 1 year ago

Text

A hungover Harry in her bed

Full oneshot also on AO3.

Ginny woke up with a low throbbing in her head. She had too much to drink last night, but that probably meant it was one hell of a new year celebration. She was currently still a little fuzzy on the details. Something shifted beside her and she froze.

She opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling wondering if she had imagined it. Then she felt something move again and she became aware of the shape beside her.

“Wha—?” Her head snapped to the left and she saw the mop of black hair, the shape of a man. “Aah!”

“Aah!” the man yelled, pushing off the bed in surprise and landed on the carpet beside her floor with a loud thud.

“Harry?!” she said and quickly glanced down, but to her immense relief she was not naked.

The poor guy looked at her in complete terror and then to the door as it swung open, and his eyes widened with even more terror as Ron appeared.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Ron noted calmly as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

Ginny gaped at him. “Why are you not more surprised about this?”

“Trust me, I am enjoying your utter surprise right now,” he said, pointing between the two of them.

Harry groaned and let himself drop back down on the carpet and stared up at the ceiling.

“But you two snogged last night. Well and properly...” Ron eyed them knowingly as he mimicked pulling someone in for a kiss. “Face-sucking... French kissing, German... a whole world tour...”

“Oh, Merlin,” Ginny let out and some vague memories of what they had done was starting to seep back into her mind.

Harry let out a strained, garbled sound from the floor.

“And you let us get in bed together when we were that drunk?” Ginny asked.

Ron nodded happily. “Yes, after I put a no-sex spell on you.”

Harry muttered a ‘thank, fuck’, muted a little because half his face was buried in the fluffy carpet.

“How do you know how to do that spell?” Ginny asked.

“Mum asked,” Ron told her with even more glee. “After you gave her the happy news when she came home at 2 AM, announcing Harry was your new—”

“Don’t even say it,” she cut him off. “Mum knows?”

Ron nodded happily. “Oh, yes.”

Harry groaned.

“If you are planning on puking, I suggest you don’t do that on my carpet because there is no amount of scourgify to get it from out of all those strands,” Ginny told Harry.

He glanced at her for just a moment and then continued to stare ahead of him, his eyes glazed over. “I’m not.”

Ron smiled at the two of them. “You make quite a pair. I’ll leave you to it... Oh and before I forget...” He ducked into the corridor for a moment. He came back with two potions. “Hangover potions. I think you’ll need them.”

Ginny grabbed one of them and Ron placed the other on the floor in the vicinity of Harry. Then he slowly closed the door. Ginny could hear him go down the stairs.

She took up the potion and gulped it down, the sooner she drank it the better, and perhaps the queasy feeling would leave her. She gave it a moment to settle in her stomach and she immediately felt some relief. She stepped out of bed, picked up Harry’s potion, and handed it to him.

He sat up enough just to drink it and she leaned against the side of her bed. He emptied the vial and set it down. He rested his head back on the carpet.

“Cute underwear, Harry,” she said.

He shook his head. “Don’t.”

“Maybe it’s for the better we didn’t have sex,” she said.

“I wouldn’t want to have sex with you and then not remember,” he replied. Then he frowned. “That came out wrong.”

She bent over, her face appearing above his. “Think that came out as you meant it.” She lay down on the carpet beside him. “If my mum thinks we’re together...”

“You announced it,” he retorted. “Apparently.”

She groaned. “Ugh, I’m such a tattler when I’m drunk.”

“You do a pretty good job at it too when you’re sober.”

She slapped her hand towards him without looking and aimed a little too low. To her surprise her hand bounced right off before it even touched him, like a shield. “Oh.” She did it again and the same thing happened. “I guess that spell is still working.”

Harry turned his head. “I would really appreciate it if you would stop aiming for my junk.”

She chuckled. “Sorry.”

***

After a very awkward breakfast where the both of them tried to pretend like nothing was out of the ordinary, Harry stepped out into the garden.

Ginny finished washing up and then pulled on her coat and scarf. She picked up her boots by the door and quickly slipped into them. She walked to the bench he was sitting. “Can I?” She pointed at the vacant spot beside him.

“Sure,” he said, adjusting his position so his arm was out of the way.

Ginny sat beside him, only leaving a little space between them. “That’s not how last night was supposed to go.”

“No,” he agreed.

She offered him an amused smile. “I never thought you’d look so terrified to find a girl in your bed.”

He shook his head, grimacing. “Yeah, well. It was your bed in your parents’ house. Your whole family...” he trailed off. “It’s a little daunting.”

“Suppose it is,” she said.

“I must admit,” Harry started carefully. “That I’ve sort of started to fancy you over the last year.”

Though he wasn’t looking at her, she offered him a smile. “I have fancied you for a really long time.”

Harry’s arm came around her shoulder and she leaned towards him, resting her head on his shoulder. He rested his head against hers.

“You have a hickey on your neck,” she said after a moment of silence.

“I know,” he said lightly.

She closed her eyes, resting against him enjoying his body heat. “If your hands are cold, I’m happy to hold them.”

#hinny #fic #tbr

114 notes · View notes

mrs-johansson · 8 months ago

Text

Escape from LA - Lisa Manobal x Fem!Depp!Reader

Part 5:

The last show in New York was here in no time. I was happy and also a little bummed about it because I enjoyed every show in Madison Square Garden but I was glad to have 2 weeks off and then go to the next city. My birthday was tomorrow also and what better way to celebrate than go to a Blackpink concert?

But before that, I had one last run in New York. While getting ready I was just really quiet trying to store all the energy for the night and be very electric. I will be presented with a Banner Dedication so it’s gonna be fun.

About half an hour into the show I was sitting in a chair in the middle of the stage at the piano. I was speaking before and the next song was New York on the setlist so I needed a few seconds just to settle in and have a more relaxed demeanor. But then the crowd started singing. I didn’t hear what they were singing because of my earpiece so I took them out and then realized they were singing Happy Birthday.

My mouth fell open and tears immediately welled up in my eyes. The smile on my face was so big that my face hurt and when the crowd was lit up with a big light I saw that everyone was holding a paper with Happy Birthday written on it and a gray heart that I always use. I was so happy and filled with joy as the tears slid down my cheeks.

When they finished singing I took a deep breath and tried to get rid of the huskiness in my voice from the crying then spoke into the mic. “Ah, you guys are the most beautiful people out there. Thank you so much!” I wiped off the tears from my face. “I love you all so much you don’t even know. This means a lot!”

The show moved along pretty fast and the next thing I knew was that we were on the last song. I was taking a water break when another voice rang through the arena. It was Jimmy Fallon. “Y/n Fleur Depp everybody,” he said and my eyes shot to the side of the stage where he walked out from. The only thought running through my mind was What is he doing here?

“Jimmy? Hi!” I said, genuinely surprised that he was on the stage. “Hello buddy,” he walked up to me and we shared a quick hug before I looked backstage’s way trying to find out why Jimmy Fallon was on stage. “You’re surprised, aren’t you?” He asked and I nodded with a smile. “Yeah, I don’t know what’s happening,” I chuckled a little nervously. “Well… I received the unbelievable honor to say thank you to you and to say how incredibly proud of you I am. We all are, right?” He asked the crowd who cheered very loudly. “Thank you,” I smiled shyly, now knowing what this is. “These past two weeks you’ve been giving your heart and soul to the people of New York but actually you’ve been doing that ever since you put your first song out. You are electric. You are dazzling. Your music gives us joy and you give us joy. But most importantly you are inspiring. Y/n you are one of the most impactful people in this generation,” said Jimmy, and the audience expressed their agreement with loud applause. All I could do was smile like an idiot already getting emotional. “And we know it’s not a surprise but we have a little something for you,” he said and then a line of light went straight to the banner with my name on it. “15 consecutive sold-out shows in Madison Square Garden! You are officially the youngest artist alive to ever do that,” Jimmy spoke excitedly as I just kept staring at the banner being pulled up to the top of the stadium. Tears rolled down my cheeks for the second time that night. My name hanging next to Billy Joel, Phish, and who else but Harry Styles. Insane moment. “You made over 250.000 people sing over the past two weeks and we enjoyed every minute of it. And there’s no denying it, you are a legend already!” Hearing Jimmy’s words I stopped looking at the banner for a moment and hugged him again. “Thank you so much. It’s an honor to have this presented by you dude,” I said without a mic just trying to soak in the moments of this evening. “Of course buddy. You’re amazing!” He said then I cleared my throat and turned to my fans.

“Thank you so much.” I bowed in front of the stadium. “This is absolutely insane and surreal. I only say a few words because I don’t want to talk too much…” I wiped away a tear that bothered my eye. “There are no words to express how happy every one of you makes me every single day. Your support is something that makes me feel and live. Without you, there wouldn’t be 15 nights here or a single show in the world, so thank you from the deepest parts of my soul. I'm forever in debt to every single one of you. I love you endlessly.”

***

The alarm next to my bed was going off for the fifth time this morning. But finally, I decided to wake up and start getting ready to leave for California for the first time in a while. I was very excited but at the moment I was more tired than excited.

My phone was going off all day, getting birthday messages from basically anyone who had my number. I answered my family and my close friends then left the others till I had time to look at them.

I left the hotel pretty quickly. By 11 am I was already on the plane, trying to get some sleep. Thankfully I slept through the whole 6 hours of the flight so I will have enough energy for the concert.

Got home and Lily was coming over so I had some food then she arrived. We picked some great outfits and while that we listened to music getting in the mood for Blackpink.

“So how are things with Lisa?” Asked Lily as we were finally on the way to the festival. “Everything’s good. I’m excited to see her finally. We’re still getting to know each other but it’s fun,” I smiled and Lily gave me a weird look. “What?” I asked and she shrugged. “I didn’t say a thing,” she insisted. “You made a face.” “It’s just you know that a relationship will definitely won’t be an option,” Lily said and I glanced out the window and then back at her. “Who said anything about a relationship?” I asked and she sighed. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

Once we got to Coachella, Lily and I met with some friends, just chatting with people who we knew. Lily went off to find her girlfriend, Shake, so I sent Lisa a text that I arrived.

me: hey, I’m at the backstage area. Are you getting ready already?

Rosalía was currently on stage so I was watching her perform from the TV at the tent. My phone buzzed in my hand but before I could open the text, arms wrapped around me from behind.

“What’s up, Birthday Girl?” The voice I only heard over the phone for the past weeks was by my ear now physically, I looked up at Lisa smiling and I got up from the couch and immediately wrapped my arms around her waist and hugged her tightly. “Careful, we’re filming for Blackpink’s YouTube,” she whispered and I looked for the camera and spotted them right away. “Mhm,” I cleared my throat and let her go. “Are you nervous? I’m so excited to see you perform,” I said as I turned my back to the cameras and also tried to speak quietly. “I’m so nervous,” said Lisa, and I smiled gently. “Come on, you will eat this up,” I brushed my hand along her arm. Lisa sighed, still looking anxious. I reached towards her and brought her into the friendliest-looking hug, hoping she would get a little more loose and be more excited than nervous. “I’m so happy you’re here,” she whispered and I couldn’t contain my smile. “Me too.” “Come on, let’s see the girls,” she pulled me to their trailer.

As we stepped into the trailer she said something in Korean and all three girls turned their heads towards us. “Hi,” I smiled widely and we all greeted each other and they introduced me to their assistants and managers. We sat around the lounge area just talking and catching up. Lisa got up to get herself something to drink and then sat back next to me. She looked very out of the conversation, just fidgeting with the water bottle. “What’s up?” I leaned closer to ask her and she shook her head with a soft smile. “Have you eaten today?” I questioned because she seemed like the person who won’t eat if she’s nervous. “Yeah…” Lisa was clearly avoiding eye contact and I sighed. “Come on, let’s get something to eat. Do you guys want anything?” I asked the rest of the people in the trailer and only Rose asked for something so it won’t be hard to remember.

We walked around the backstage food trucks, looking for anything comforting for Lisa to eat. “You don’t have to worry about anything, you know? This is your thing, you were born for this,” I bumped my shoulder to hers and she let out a soft chuckle. “You still haven’t seen me perform.” “But I’ve seen videos and my sister also told me. I’m just excited to see it live finally. And not just me, everyone will be at your show,” I said and she smiled. “It’s gonna be insane,” said Lisa. “Yeah, it will. Best way to spend my birthday honestly.” Lisa laughed at my comment but I just spread my arms. “What? It’s true. It’s kinda unfair that you’ve already seen me perform twice,” I smirked. “It’s kinda unfair there are so many people around,” I felt her fingers brush along mine and I laughed. “It’s a shame, yes, but we’ll have enough time. Two weeks seems like a year these days,” I said and she nodded. “Is your boyfriend coming?” I asked and she shook her head. “He’s busy, but it’s better that way.”

Found the right food place, and we got our meals and for Rose. We made our way back to the girls’ trailer, then Lisa looked at her phone before handing it over to read a message she got.

Rosie💩: we all went to look around

Rosie💩: the trailer is free

Rosie💩: LOCK THE DOOR!

I laughed at Rose’s text and gave Lisa her phone back. “Like we would do anything bad,” I said and Lisa looked at me with her eyebrows raised. “We won’t?” She asked and I chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist and bringing her closer to my side. “Forbidden things have a charm to them.”

#gxg #lalisa manoban #lalisa manobal #lalisa #lisa x female reader #lisa manobal #lisa x reader #lisa #blackpink lisa #lisa manoban #blackpink x you #blackpink x reader #blackpink #lily rose depp #rose #jennie #jisoo #wlw

42 notes · View notes

sunkissedpages · 11 months ago

Text

instead of you [part sixty-one] || th

pairing: [best friend’s brother] tom holland x college!reader

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing

word count: 3.4k

That night, you turned Sam’s words over in your mind over and over again. He was wrong, you were convinced. You would love him the same no matter what. No matter if he asked you to end things with Tom or not. You told him as much but he didn’t seem to believe you.

You went back to your room shortly after your talk. You had walked a little more, stopped for dessert at a little shaved ice stand on the beach, and then turned back. Sam showered first, then you, but only after going over your agreement again. What you did with Tom was your business, but it had to be kept a secret. You were still Sam’s girlfriend for the duration of the trip. It was mainly about his parents anyway. Sam hadn’t explicitly told you why having a girlfriend was so important to him but after spending so much time with his family you could guess why.

The next day, everyone piled into the cars and took the forty-minute drive back to Honolulu where you’d landed. Traffic was awful. You knew it took everything in Tom not to honk at the cars in front of him. You could see his knuckles turning white around the steering wheel from the back seat.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he cursed as another F-150 cut him off.

You and Sam traded looks but neither of you dared to say anything out loud. Even Harry’s grip on the armrest tightened when Tom swerved into the next lane to speed past the truck.

“We’re not in a rush,” you reminded him. You wanted to touch his arm, reassure him somehow, but you couldn’t.

“Yeah, mum and dad are way behind us now.”

“It’s not about speed,” he muttered. You weren’t really convinced about the speed thing. “It’s about the principle. These assholes shouldn’t be able to get away with driving like maniacs.”

“And what are you doing right now?” Sam asked carefully.

His twin brother turned around in his seat to give him a warning look but to everyone’s surprise, Tom took a deep breath and actually stepped on the brakes. He only slowed down a little bit, less than five mph, but it was better than nothing.

“Sorry, I’m just so used to being late all the time.”

“We know,” Harry joked.

“You should see my girlfriend drive,” your best friend joked.

“Please, I passed my driver’s test on the first try,” you scoffed, making eye contact with Tom in the rearview mirror.

He shook his head at you and mouthed low blow. Next to you, Sam was also shaking his head.

“Yeah, and I want to talk to whoever passed you because there’s no way they weren’t under the influence of something.”

“You’re in the fast lane to never getting a ride from me again,” you muttered.

Sam raised his hands in surrender.

“Apologize,” Harry demanded, cutting in on your behalf.

“Yeah, apologize to me,” you agreed.

Sam sighed and turned his full body toward you, taking both of your hands in his. “I’m sorry, my love. Please forgive me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever.”

Sam turned back toward his brothers. “I think I’m in the clear, guys.”

You smacked the back of his head.

The first stop in Waikiki was the ABC store. There was one on almost every block so you stopped at the first one you saw to buy snacks and drinks for the beach.

“How many musubis do you want?” you asked Tom, who was in charge of alcohol.

“How many are you getting?” he asked back with a grin.

He looked ridiculous with his arms full of beer, smirking at you like that.

“Two,” you said flatly.

“I’ll get two as well.”

You asked the others how many they wanted and raided the mini warmer for them before dumping them at the checkout counter with the rest of what the boys picked out. Dom paid and had the four of you take the bags back to the cars.

The next step was to find parking somewhere on the streets that were within walking distance to the beach. You had to split up from Sam’s parents to do so because there was no way you were going to be able to find two open parking spots on the same road.

Once Tom parked, put money in the meter, and double-checked that the car was locked, the four of you slowly but surely made your way down to the shore where you met up with Nikki and Dom who had already picked out a spot in the sand.

You had never seen a beach so crowded before. There were people everywhere. And all of the available space was being taken up by beach chairs and umbrellas that you had to rent from one of the several stands stationed behind them. Some of the different colored umbrellas even overlapped with each other in an apparent turf war. You could only imagine what conversations between the rival attendants must be like.

The beach was still beautiful, of course. You were in Hawai’i. Any beach here was going to be breathtaking. Waikiki Beach attracted so many tourists because of its beauty. That, and because of the dormant volcano, Diamond Head, sitting just off of the shore in plain sight for everyone to see.

“We rented four chairs,” Dom explained. “We figured not all of us would be sitting over here at once so we wouldn’t need six.”

Sam nodded in understanding.

“Are you going to surf?” you asked.

“Probably,” he answered, looking over to his brothers. “I assume you won’t be?”

“I think I’ll sit this one out.”

You turned your foot over to look at your toe. Even though all of the sea urchin spines had dissolved, the marks from the injury were still fading. You couldn’t see yourself back on a board any time soon.

You were content to lay out in the sun with your book until Sam wanted to wade in the water.

The boys left to rent surfboards and their parents headed in the opposite direction for a walk along the beach, leaving you alone with all of the stuff. You joked to Nikki and Dom that you would protect it with your life but in reality, you would hand it over if someone so much as looked at you threateningly.

You went to dig your book out from Sam’s backpack but accidentally grabbed his instead. It was the one you had already read and annotated for him. Out of curiosity, you opened to where he left off to see what part he was at and were surprised to see his handwriting scrawled in the margins of the most recent page.

He hadn’t stopped annotating it. Even after everything, even when he was simmering with anger, he was still writing you little notes and responding to the ones you had left. You weren’t supposed to read them before he was done so you quickly closed it back and shoved it into the bag again before retrieving the book that was actually yours.

You took a brief look back up at the water to see how the boys were doing but there were so many surfers that it was hard to pick them out.

“Which one’s yours?”

The voice beside you startled you, making you jump a little before you realized someone had taken the seat next to you.

You weren’t sure where she had come from but a girl who looked to be about your age was perched on one of the chairs the Hollands had reserved. She was pretty, really pretty. Head full of curls and freckles dusted across her cheeks. The tangerine-colored bikini she was wearing looked amazing against her skin and you weren’t sure whether you were more jealous of her or attracted to her.

“Huh?” you asked.

“Which one’s yours?” she repeated.

“Oh.” You squinted at the waves, trying to zero in on Sam. “Uh, blue wetsuit in the group of three off to the side.”

The girl followed your gaze and nodded when she found him. “They just got out there, right?”

“Yeah, we only got here a few minutes ago.” You noticed the camera dangling around and realized she must be out there for someone too. “Um, which one is yours?”

“Long hair, kind of far out. He’s in the big cluster of surfers in the swell.”

Her boyfriend was easy to spot. He was paddling in the direction of an upcoming wave.

“Do you guys come out here often?” you asked.

She nodded, curls bouncing. “David’s lived in Kaneohe like all his life, which is like fifteen minutes from here so it’s super convenient. The North Shore isn’t as crowded but the waves are practically nonexistent in the summer,” she explained. “What about you guys?”

“We’re on vacation.” You were embarrassed to admit that but it wasn’t like you could lie. You didn’t know the island at all. You also didn’t want to risk mentioning that it hadn’t been your choice to come here and offend her if she thought you were implying that her home state was the worst or something.

“Oh, how fun!” she exclaimed. Ok, well that was a positive reaction at least.

“My boyfriend’s family was nice enough to invite me along,” you added, wanting at the very least to establish that it hadn’t been your idea.

“Holy shit, that is nice of them.”

“I know,” you agreed.

“Well, while you’re here you should definitely check out the Pillbox hike. It’s a little brutal if you aren’t used to hiking uphill but the views are totally worth it.”

“I’ll be sure to mention it to him! We have a free day tomorrow so maybe we’ll do that, thank you.”

You would not be going on the hike. You hated hiking and heights but you would still mention it to Sam in case the boys wanted to go.

She smiled but then something out of the corner of her eye caught her attention and she was standing up to leave.

“Sorry, I promised my boyfriend that I would get some shots of him today and he’ll be pissed if I miss these waves.”

She threw you a wave over her shoulder as she jogged off. You waved back, calling out that it was nice to meet her. You never got her name.

You only managed to get through a couple of pages of your book before another person approached your chairs. This time, it was Sam. He had come up to check on you.

“Make a new friend?” he asked as he shook water out of his hair like a dog.

“Oh yeah, did you see that girl talking to me?”

“Thought she might be trying to put the moves on you.”

“Oh my god, how many times do I have to tell you I’m not Bella Swan? Not everyone who talks to me is into me.”

“She was your type, though.”

“You say that about all girls.”

“Because that’s your type.”

You rolled your eyes at your best friend. “Either way, she wasn’t interested. She has a boyfriend. She was just asking me if I had a partner out there too.”

“That doesn’t mean she didn’t think you were cute,” he pointed out.

“You’re so annoying,” you groaned. “I don’t need a wingman anymore.”

He made a face. “That’s right, you’re fucking my brother,” he said, sounding disgusted. You couldn’t blame him.

“Do you have to announce that to the entire beach? I’m supposed to be your girlfriend, remember?”

Sam shrugged and plopped himself down on the chair next to yours. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to get it out of his eyes. Because they were wet, his curls had taken on a mind of their own. You had witnessed Sam try to tame his hair after a shower on several occasions. It usually ended with him just waiting for it to dry so that he could style it and then making you late to wherever you were supposed to be going.

“Are you going to go back out there?” you asked.

“Probably. Wanna join?”

“Very funny.”

“I was being serious.”

“Oh. Well, no thanks.”

“I figured but I just wanted to make sure.”

“You’re sweet.”

The boys surfed for a couple of hours before coming in to eat the musubis and snacks you bought earlier. Their parents returned around the same time and you all ate together.

Afterward, Sam offered to wade around in the shallow water at the edge of the beach with you.

“You have to get in,” he insisted. “It’ll cool you down.”

“Okay,” you agreed.

You didn’t need any more convincing. You had wanted to get in anyway.

“Harry, Tom, do you want to come with us?” Sam asked.

They looked at each other and shrugged. “Sure.”

The four of you wove through the sea of beach chairs down to the shore where the remnants of bigger waves lapped at the sand. The water was crystal clear, apart from the frothy white foam atop the waves. It fizzled against the hot sand when the waves crashed against the beach, lingering still even when the water subsided.

There were several groups of people in the ocean as well but it was less crowded than the beach. Families with small children were gathered right by the shore, the parents mingling with each other as the kids played with wet sand and beach toys. You wished you could remember what it was like to be that young. To meet a stranger and be best friends in the blink of an eye.

There were less and less people the further out from the shore you got. Fathers teaching older kids how to boogie board, teenagers jumping in the waves as they gossiped with each other.

You weren’t sure how long you spent in the water but before long, Nikki and Dom were waving from the beach to get your attention.

“They’re either saying it’s time to go, or they’re ditching us,” Sam said, squinting and making a ‘what?’ gesture with his shoulders.

“It’s really a fifty-fifty shot,” Harry added.

“I think they want us to come in,” Tom guessed.

Tom was proven right mere seconds later when Dom beckoned you to join them.

The latter half of the day was spent walking around the city. Being the center of tourism on the island meant Waikiki had a lot of shopping. You had never seen so many high-end stores in one place before. You did some window shopping while the Hollands did some shopping shopping. Practically everything in every single shop was out of your price range. You weren’t expecting otherwise but seeing the numbers on the backs of the price tags still hurt your heart.

You could tell the sales associates recognized Tom from the way their eyes would get big when they saw him. They’d lean over and whisper to each other behind his back. Even though he couldn’t hear them you knew he knew it was happening. It made you feel kind of bad for him. Kind of.

You ate dinner at some restaurant attached to the lobby of a hotel. It was on the water, which was nice, but it was just as crowded as the beach had been. The poor servers were so swamped that it took over an hour to get your food. No one minded, of course, but by the time Tom laid his credit card on top of the bill it was dark outside.

“Do you remember where we parked?” Tom asked you as you

“Yeah, but I don’t know how to get there from where we are right now.”

“So you don’t remember where we parked.”

“No, I remember where we parked. But we’ve walked around so much that I don’t know how to get there.”

Tom shook his head at you. “You should always pay attention to where you’re going. It can be dangerous if you don’t know where you are.”

“Why should I? That’s what I have you guys for.”

"What if we weren’t here?”

“There’s a parked car option on my GPS.”

“What if your phone was dead?”

“What is wrong with you?”

“I just want you to be safe!”

You didn’t want to hear any more. “Sam, your brother is being an asshole!”

Your best friend, who had been walking alongside Harry, jogged up to meet you when you called for him.

“What’d he do?”

“I was just trying to-”

“I didn’t ask you,” Sam cut in, glaring at Tom.

“He’s giving me a hard time because I don’t know how to get back to the car from here,” you explained.

“We can just use the GPS app,” Sam said.

You turned to Tom with a smug grin. “See?”

“I can’t believe you told on me,” he muttered under his breath.

“Get used to it,” you hummed.

The last day on Oahu was a free day. You told Sam about the pillbox hike that the girl from the beach had suggested and he woke up early to do it with Harry and Tom. He came back raving about it and showed you a bunch of pictures that made you feel a little sick to your stomach because of how high it looked.

“Thank god I didn’t go with you guys,” you sighed. “I’d be freaking out even if I stayed at the bottom, just thinking about you up there. There aren’t any handrails or guards to keep you from falling-”

“We were fine,” he assured you. “I didn’t even show you the pictures of us on top of the box.”

“You climbed it?”

“I mean, we’d already climbed the mountain. What’s a little concrete box? Everyone else was doing it.”

You held a hand to your heart like a scandalized middle-aged woman. “I don’t think I want to know anything else.”

Sam took one look at you and laughed. “That’s probably for the best.”

You did some pre-packing at the hotel before joining his brothers to do some exploring. Like Sam, they had showered after their hiking expedition. All three of them were sporting still-wet hair that was dripping onto their shirts like kids sitting in church service after their baptism.

You walked around the resort first, checking out all of the pools and hot tubs for later that night. Sam told his parents that he’d cook for the family and he’d dragged Harry and Tom with him to get groceries earlier. Apparently, Tom said he would help grill while Sam made some of the side dishes upstairs. You were interested to see how that would turn out.

You walked by the lagoons next, slipping into the resorts along the shore to scope them out. You were surprised to see that some of them were nicer than the one you were staying at. You assumed the Hollands had chosen whatever the best money could buy was but maybe they were a more financially conscious family than you’d thought.

“This is the Disney hotel,” Tom whispered in your ear as you passed one of the pools. “It’s crazy expensive to stay here for just a night. Like a standard room is over six hundred dollars.”

“Are you serious?”

“Unfortunately. I mean, we probably could have stayed here for free but someone would have to pull a lot of strings and then a handful of people would know exactly where I’m going to be and when and we would have had to hire security... it was just easier to book somewhere else.”

“Isn’t it kind of dangerous to be walking around here in the open then?”

Tom shrugged. “I like to live life on the edge.”

You snorted. “Clearly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Sam showed me the pictures from your hike earlier.”

His eyes widened. “He did?”

“Uh huh.”

“Shit.”

“You know, I could point out how hypocritical it is to lecture me about safety one day and then do shit like that the next, but I won’t.”

“You’re the one that told us about the hike!”

You ignored him. “Does your agent know you were climbing mountains this morning?”

He narrowed his eyes at you and leaned closer to your face. “No, and she never will.”

“You seem pretty sure of that...”

“You don’t have her number,” Tom said like he was trying to reassure himself rather than call your bluff.

“Not yet, I don’t.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.”

He gulped. "Why do I get the feeling we're not talking about my agent anymore?"

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

#instead of you #iou #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x female reader #tom holland x bi!reader #tom holland series #tom holland x y/n

47 notes · View notes