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#‘harry you’re my baby of course u can call me what u want’

harrysfolklore · 2 years

Text

backstage girlfriend

third day of blurbs and i hope you’re not bored yet because this is a collab with my babie @astranva we really hope you like this <<3

backstage girlfriend masterlist | my masterlist

ask me anything | send me a tip for my blog’s anniversary (if u want of course) <3

liked by uncle_jezzy, maya_hawke and 437 others

yourinstagram unbothered. moisturizing. happy. in my lane. focused. flourishing.

view all 52 comments

uncle_jezzy Photo credits?

↳ uncle_jezzy That’s better 🥰

annetwist I miss you dear !! ❤️

↳ yourinstagram i miss you too, nonnie 🥺 let’s meet up when you’re free <3

maya_hawke Why does your man constantly steal you from me

↳ yourinstagram i’ll be all yours this weekend 💃

liked by harryfan1, fan1 and 109,736 others

enews Joe Keery out with new girlfriend and Harry Styles’s EX! Here’s everything we know about Y/N Y/L/N! Link in bio.

view all 25,836 comments

harryfan1 PLOT TWIST

fan1 they look so cute

fan2 i love celebrity gossip so much

harryfan2 the fact that SHE broke HARRY STYLES’ heart is comical to me. how tf can a 2 break his heart

↳ fan1 this is so unprovoked

↳ fan2 stfu

TEXTS BETWEEN JEFF AND HARRY

liked by harryupdates, harryfan2 and 82,836 others

celebrityleaks HARRY STYLES LEAKED SONG: GLIMPSE OF US. LINK IN OUR BIO

view all 16,827 comments

harryfan1 come on respect his work

harryfan2 nauuurr not harry building her entire career only for her to fuck him up. she does belong to the streets lmfao

↳ fan1 these harry styles fans are disgusting omfg

harryfan3 they were so in love :(

fan2 maybe what they had was read but it’s over now and yn is clearly happier now

harryfan4 DONT SPREAD IT

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 4,836 others

harryupdates Harry in NYC today, according to fans, he refused to take any pictures or sign anything :/

view all 985 comments

harryfan1 baby :(

harryfan2 oh he is PISSED

harryfan3 fuck yn fr

↳ fan1 why are you so quick to attack her ???

harryfan4 stop spreading the song ffs

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 4,209 others

theharrytea okay but we NEED to talk about glimpse of us because WTF was that ?? OUR BOY GOT HIS HEART BROKEN

view all 1,002 comments

harryfan1 fuck yn for real

harryfan2 if miss girlie isn’t crawling on her knees to get back with him i’ll assume she’s a cold hearted snake

harryfan3 both her and joe keery can get lost 🤷‍♀️

↳ harryfan4 i call bullshit on that relationship, she’s probably just using him just as she used harry

harryfan5 i just want to hug him

liked by maya_hawke, zendaya and 5,937,026 others

uncle_jezzy Dear fans and followers, I wanted to make a wee community announcement. I couldn’t help but notice that there has been some social animosity of late. It’s becoming increasingly prevalent on my feed. There has been lots of, let’s call it speculation for now, about my private life and relationships.

Now, while I do appreciate the passion and support by those very people who are ‘speculating,’ it has come to such a point that I needed to say something, which in itself is a bad thing. We are living in an age of social enlightenment. More and more, people are realizing that their views may have been blinkered and that they need to expand them to encompass others.

So to you out there who are expressing your disdain and showing your displeasure through a surprising variety of ways, it’s time to stop. I know it can be fun to speculate, to gossip, and to dive into our own personal echo chambers on the internet, but your ‘passion’ is misplaced, and it causes harm to the people I care about most, and I won’t stand for it.

view all 95,736 comments

fan1 OH EM GEE

maya_hawke I say those are my babies and I’m proud

annetwist ❤️

↳ harryfan1 anne ????

↳ harryfan2 is she aware that they broke her son’s heart?

florencepugh the love i have for the both of you it’s just so 🥺

mtv 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

harryfan3 there she goes.. playing the victim.. again

camimendes True love always wins ❤️

fan2 joe actually SPOKE about it oh yall pissed gim off

INSTAGRAM STORIES FROM YN AND JOE’S FRIENDS

taglist: @cucciolafaerie @eleanordaisy @sunflowersndpeaches @golden-hoax @alienorknight @daydreamingofmatilda @sunflowervolume66 @vanteguccir r @ivyproblems @ayeshathestyles @stylesmygucci @gimsaysay @rosaliedepp @dontworrysunflower r @milfrrynation @manifestrry @iceebabies s @harrystylesrecs @pleasingrryyy @harianaswhore @leadmetogarden @abeanontoast t @grapejuice-rry @vrittivsanghavi @msolbesg @tati813 @sad1esgf @ivegotparticulartaste @wobblymug @eviesaurusrex @olivialovesh @itsgabbysblog @theekyliepage @gumballavocadoharry @watermelonsugacry @be-with-me-so-happily @a-strange-familiar @reveriehs @musicforcinemas @rafeyyyyy @tinydeskwriter @noooovaaaaa @tenaciousperfectionunknown @mxltifxnd0m @rach2602 @balletdancerry

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leclsrc · 1 year

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i (no, we) need an addition to the carlos sainz luis miguel universe.

Pretty please!!!! love you!!!!!

kind of love – cs55

genre: flufffff. a spin-off (of sorts? it’s not a sequel per se) to this

auds here… love u guys and listening to luis miguel gets me in a Mood. late req i’m sorry i’m sooo busy lately… xxxxx hope u like it! :)

“You never teach me anything in Spanish,” you lament. “It’s always hola or te amo.”

“Are you saying you have no need for te amo?” Carlos asks, rifling through the Madrid keychain rack to look for your name, which he gives up on after a few moments. He spots your narrowed eyes and accused face and laughs, backing off. “Kidding. I didn’t know you were interested in learning it, mi vida.” He turns to search for more novelty souvenirs.

“Of course I am,” you respond, leaning closer and pressing your chin onto his shoulder. It requires a generous tiptoe allowance, but you brave it and waddle around behind him. “It’s your language, is all—I find it beautiful. And you know all your English already!”

“Not all,” he corrects, lifting up a beer bottle shaped magnet. “Do you think Max will like this?”

“Oh, obviously.” You pause, and then laugh at a memory that enters your mind. “Yeah, remember in Canada when you totally botched your order at that brunch place?”

He groans amusedly. “Don’t tease me.”

“It’s cute,” you remind him firmly, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw before disengaging from the hug to peruse the shelves yourself. There are a few cute ones, though most of them are a bit too tacky for your taste.

One bunch of them, lying on a discarded sale pile (seeing as though it’s well past February), is Valentine’s Day themed. They all have a variety of names printed on the metal, with red hearts all around them. You rifle through the Miguels, Annas, and Harrys before you luck out and find it collecting dust on the bottom of the basket.

“I found one!” You cry out, jingling the metal.

“Let’s see it,” Carlos says, but he’s elsewhere in the tiny store. You peer behind a shelf to find him rummaging through a half-off CD bin. Strange behavior, considering zero people ever use CDs for music nowadays, but you approach him anyway.

He turns briefly. “Can I see your purchase?”

“Not yet,” you say proudly. ��It’s a surprise. What are you doing going through that?”

“Well, I figured since you want to learn Spanish, I’ll be your teacher. Or he will be.” He digs out a dusty CD and you scrunch your nose as you dust off the cover, revealing a Spanish man posing for the camera behind it. Carlos flicks at the printed image, clicking his tongue. “Top hits, Luis Miguel.”

“Okaaay.” You turn it over, read over the list of songs. “I was leaning more towards Shakira being my teacher.”

“Mi vida, you know I’m her biggest fan,” he begins, taking the CD from you and walking you both to the counter, “but this is the good stuff. Trust me, mi amor.”

You both pay for your tiny purchases and enter Carlos’ Golf, where he wastes no time inserting the disc into the player and clicking the console buttons to get the audio just right. You’re content to watch, smiling softly at his excitement which is no doubt more than enough for the both of you. “I assume we’re taking the long way to your house,” you tease, even if you secretly love long car rides with him.

He starts the car and laughs. “For Luis, yes.” He pauses, clears his throat. “And for you, too, princesa.”

“Nice save, baby.” You link hands, and the music starts to flow softly through the car.

And so does the singing. Where Carlos got his golden voice from, you don’t know—he didn’t sing along much to the songs you both love—but something in these songs brings it out, and it causes your heart to swell with fondness. Sure enough, the song’s in full Spanish, with the romantic guitar to match as well.

“What’s this one called?” You ask aloud, gazing at the scapes of Madrid passing you by.

He pauses his passionate belting to answer you. “Sabor a Mi,” he says. “It means… it’s a very nice love song.”

“On the subject of love and Spaniards,” you say, momentarily unlocking your hands; his moves to rest idly over your thigh. You pick out the keychain from your bag and hang it on his rearview mirror. “Like it?”

His eyes flit to them and back to the road quickly, to keep you out of potential danger. He smiles.

“I love it, amor. I only wish it read your name.” He squeezes your thigh, searches for your hand, and lifts it to his lips. While the back of your hand’s pressed to them, he begins singing again and you giggle at the ticklish sensation of it.

The song fades out promptly, and into the next one—still Spanish, still romantic, still Luis Miguel. Carlos shifts in his seat with visible excitement, mumbling somethings in Spanish out of excitement. “One of my favorites, amor! Seriously!” He hums to the lyrics, half-distracted by the road, but eventually settles into singing.

“Si antes de amar… debe tenerse fe,” he pipes, pressing his and your interlocked hands to his chest out of sheer passion. “You must learn this one. It’s called Mucho Corazon. It reminds me very much of you, you know?”

He turns onto a quiet cobblestone road, and uses it as an opportunity to gauge the love of his life’s reaction to Luis Miguel (an important moment, he supposes, in everyone’s lifetime.) And he sees you reading over the booklet of the CD, mouthing along the lyrics as the song goes. He slows his pace, watches the greenery complement how beautiful you look, just here beside him.

Be it in Spanish or English, with rhyme or without, accompanied by idyllic instruments or not, Carlos often finds himself stumped with the love he has for you. Because, simply because really, he hasn’t felt this way and so strongly for anyone else before. To him, you’re everything—you’re the song in the car, the greenery outside, the spring that tints all of Spain. You’re all the nicknames, all the small kind gestures, all of it.

You could disappear right now and he’d park the car and wait, just for you to come back. He knows it’s impossible but he’d do it, he really would. He wants, needs, loves you, all the time. All the time.

It’s strange and beautiful and he realizes now that the best way he can really put it is by singing you a Luis Miguel song. He takes one hand off the wheel to flick at the keychain, and it shines in the sunlight. He smiles to himself and continues singing. He’s sure he dreamt of this once.

—

Life takes Carlos on a path far away from Madrid. It loops him around the world and averts him away from that shabby tourist souvenir shop. He takes money out of his generous paycheck, though, to make sure it never goes bankrupt. Writes checks under an alias because if the tabloids found out, they’d wonder why, and he’d rather not explain.

Life takes you on a path far away from Carlos. It loops you into cities he hasn’t been and won’t plan to visit and averts you from Spain, from their house in the hills. You write emails to his sister sometimes if she writes first, though, to avoid being a stranger. Lie on the subject heading—Doing great in NYC/HK/Seoul/Bali—because if she knew how you really were doing, she’d ask why, and you’d rather not explain.

Life is funny, though. Because even when the connection is gone, nearly everything forgotten, it’s always sending you little love letters.

For some it’s a keychain on the rear view mirror of a brand new Ferrari. For others it’s a Luis Miguel song, nailed perfectly on the karaoke no matter the city.

#anonymous #f1 #carlos sainz #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz imagines #carlos sainz fanfic #f1 x reader

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meetmymouth · 2 years

Note

could u maybe write a blurb about ur first time staying overnight at harry’s or him at urs super fluffy !!

omg cute of course. i did something similar here if u also wanna check that out kbyeeee

Lighting the last candle on the coffee table, your heart starts beating faster when the doorbell goes off. You look around, trying to spot things out of place, and when you can’t see anything out of the ordinary, you walk to the door.

He stands there with his overnight duffel, a hair-clip holding the front of his hair, and he’s got his big sunglasses on his face despite the gloomy weather outside.

He smiles, too big, and holds his duffel up— smile getting bigger and bigger.

“Hi,” you say, trying so hard not to crack under his happy gaze.

“Hi baby, sorry I’m a bit late—” he nods at his duffel bag. “—Was trying to find my bag.”

“No worries,” you smile, feeling a tad lighter now. “Come in.”

So, he does.

He watches you close the door behind him, and you guide him inside. You both stop in the middle of your living room, Harry’s eyes falling to his favourite candles on the coffee table before he turns to you, his smile bigger now.

“You did this for me?” He asks.

You’re trying hard not to let your nerves get ahead of you as you smile, and shrug like it’s no big deal.

It wasn’t as though you spend a lot of money on one candle just because your boyfriend of six months loved the scent.

Not really. Yes, really.

“I’ll—” you look around, then back at him. “—Follow me,” you say, feet already carrying you where your bedroom is.

You’d changed the sheets into your fancier ones, and even got a humidifier because you knew he liked them.

He does, he follows you with his little bag, and you open the door, waiting for him to walk inside before you do.

“You okay?” He looks at you.

“I am.”

You watch him place the duffel bag on the bed, and walk over to you. He grabs your chin— you look up at him. Leaning in, he locks your lips in a sweet kiss, and you taste the mint in his breath before he pulls away, the smile back on his beautiful face.

He bites his bottom lip. “Are you, though? You seem nervous.”

Feeling totally called out, you let out a puff of air and clear your throat before shaking your head.

“I just want tonight to be great,” you murmur, eyes locked on his duffel bag on your bed.

“Babe, it’s already great— it’s wonderful! I’m with you, we’re spending time together. What more do I want? Come here,” he pulls you into a hug, and kisses your forehead. “I love you— thank you for having me over.”

“I just— I don’t know, I’m being stupid.”

“A little!”

You gasp. “Hey!”

“Come on,” he grabs you by the hand, and guides you out of your bedroom. “I’m cooking tonight.”

The night goes by, you eat your gluten-free pasta on the sofa, side by side with feet on the coffee table. You watch reruns of Doctor Who as he makes little comments here and there, and when it’s bedtime, you both make your way into your bedroom, Harry immediately going for his duffel bag.

You watch him take his stuff out, and you crack a smile when you notice he’s taking out his skincare products instead of clothing items.

You follow him into your ensuite, and you fall into a routine as you brush your teeth side by side, shoulders touching, and you do your nighttime skincare routine together, Harry asking what each product do.

“Is that a serum?”

“Yes.”

“Can I use it?” He asks, turning to you.

“It’s for dry skin,” you rub the serum into your skin while he watches. “You have combination skin.”

“Hm,” he nods. “What’s that?”

“What?” You follow his gaze, stopping at your facial roller.

“Can I use that one?”

You smile, grabbing it before handing it to him. “Go on then,” you say, crossing your arms as you watch him move the roller against his skin.

“Like this?” He says, rolling it very gently.

You lean in, and kiss his lips. “Yes, bub. You can— let me,” you say, grabbing it from his hand.

He stands there as you move it across his face, and lets out a sigh.

“What’s that?”

“What?” He turns to you.

“You sighed.”

“I just love it here,” he chuckles. “Can I please extend my stay?”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #harry styles concept #concepts #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #ask

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alwaysxlarrie · 1 year

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favorite fics of 2021/2022

i love recommending fics & i love appreciating the talented, lovely writers in this fandom, so i wanted to make a list of my fav fics in 2021/2022. there are some longer fics that came out this year that i’ve wanted to read, but haven’t gotten a chance to, so knowing me i’ll make a masterlist of long fics or something bc i simply continue to be a slut for making masterlists & recommending fics idk what to tell u LMAO. anyway, these are in alphabetical order. sorry there’s kind a lot, thank u for ur time xoxo

are you taking clients? by @jaerie / jaerie

“Escaping had been the hardest thing Harry had ever done. They'd stolen his child and nearly stolen his life. Being homeless and pregnant gave Harry few options. It's a last resort to let men fetishize his body, but the luxury of choice is something Harry doesn't have.”

all your mates are here by @londonfoginacup / ladylondonderry

“"The pack is... It's folding, Harry."

Like every werewolf does when they get to a new town, Harry joined one of the many local packs when he started university. Now, three years into his program, he's hit with the news that his pack is giving up, going their separate ways. In the wake of the holidays, the three single wolves from the Majestic pack are pointed in the direction of a new pack to join; one that's got struggles of its own.

A new pack, a new house, and two new roommates with personal space issues... Plus exams, of course.

Happy Christmas, here's to many more.”

babydoll blues by @thedevilinmybrain / devilinmybrain (venomedveins)

“Louis is a high profile, filthy rich label executive who has the world at his feet - a music god.. Harry is the sugar baby trying to make a name for himself singing in shady bars and hanging off the arm of Louis' biggest rival. What Louis wants, Louis gets. But what if the game gets too hot and hits a little too close to the heart?”

boy for sale by @ohpleaselarry / ohpleaselarry

“Three large cushioned chairs face him, each holding a suited man. Mr. Horan, Mr. Payne, and Mr. Malik respectively sit at these chairs, eyes on Harry as he steps up to the middle of the room, lowers fluidly to his knees, hands behind his back, and looks to each man one by one, neck prickling with the eyes all on him, on his nude body.

They’re all going to have him, and yet Harry only really wants one man here, and it’s the man who steps up behind him, sets a hand on the nape of his neck, right over his collar.

“Alright,” Louis says, voice raspy and authoritative, “Mr. Horan, you’re first. Would you like his mouth or his arse?””

between two lungs by @hershelsue / docklands

“Harry and Louis are graduating medical school. There's a big party and everyone has big expectations. All of Harry's are exceeded when Louis remembers him from a long time ago. They fuck.”

boom, boom, don’t you wanna go by anonymous

“It doesn't take much to convince Harry to participate in Lambda Sig's annual ceremony for graduating seniors. She's hooked up with a few of the brothers already anyway, as lackluster as they were. She has to have her legs and bare bottom half on display for the rest of the brothers in the senior class to see, but she's always kind of liked being played with and definitely likes being on display. She's graduating in a few weeks anyway. What's the worst that can happen?

She doesn't expect contestant number fifteen to blow her mind in the first round. He doesn't let up.”

caught in your gravity by @lululawrence / lululawrence

“It felt like the blood froze in Harry’s veins even as he got a bit lightheaded. He hadn’t even made it two practices, only one of which he was remotely in charge of, without giving it all away and now he and Liam were both absolutely fucked.

“Shit,” Harry breathed out. “Who all have you told? Does everyone know? I thought I covered it better than that…”

“No, no,” Louis said quickly. "They’ll figure it out soon enough, though, because they’ll get used to you changing things up, but you’re only going to trip over your so called Americanisms for so long before they realize it’s because you don’t actually know fuck all about football.”

Harry sighed. “Yeah. I figured. I just need to bullshit for long enough to allow Liam to get the situation figured out from his end.”

“Right, which brings me to my entire point. I think we can find a mutually beneficial arrangement with all of this.” Louis leaned forward. “You need to learn the ins and outs of the sport incredibly fast. I can help you with that.”

“What do you want in exchange?”

Or, an AU inspired by a 30 second trailer of Ted Lasso that doesn't actually have much in common with the show at all.

counterculture by @sadaveniren / sadaveniren

“It all culminated to this: Harry in the middle of a crowded basement, music blasting from the live show on the far side, shirtless amongst alphas and omegas who all weren’t covering their scents. He took a deep breath of the heavy air and he felt alive.”

erva venenosa by @hershelsue / docklands

“Harry goes to his first all-gender party. There, he meets Louis, an eccentric bartender who claims to know more than he does. He turns Harry's world upside down.“

hint: i want to be yours by @greenblueish / bluegreenish

“Thinking back to Harry’s rut, Louis shivers, needing to put effort into keeping other bodily reactions at bay.

“Are you cold?”

While Niall’s been commenting through the entire film, Harry had stayed mostly quiet, so it’s a surprise when he speaks up, eyes zeroed in on the omega.

“Uh, yeah. It’s a bit chilly, innit?”

Niall shrugs, dressed in a sleeveless t-shirt and seemingly unbothered by the room temperature. Harry doesn’t ask for an explanation though.

“You can have my hoodie, wait, here.” Before Louis can counter, Harry’s pulling the light grey piece of clothing over his head and handing it to the omega.

or, the one where Harry unconsciously starts acting like Louis' alpha after they spend his rut together and Louis finds ways to make sure Harry's affection doesn't end.”

hike up your skirt (and show your world to me) by anonymous

“Louis has a very hands on approach to training his new secretary. How else can he make sure Harry realizes his full potential?”

i can’t wait to see what you find by @non-binharry / enbyharry

“"What do you do for work?"

"I, uh, don’t. I don’t work."

"Cuckold’s got you well kept then, yeah?" Harry’s face morphs into a frown, adorable creases forming along his brownbone, and Louis throws up his hands in a placating gesture. "Sorry! Sorry! I’m just taking the piss. You can do whatever you like. I swear I’m not some judgemental prick." Harry’s expression relaxes. He wedges a hand between his crossed legs, looking down at the arm of his chair. "You do like it though, yeah? You know, the whole —" Louis cuts himself off, gesturing broadly to avoid overstepping on a dynamic he doesn’t fully understand.

"Yeah, I um. I do like it. I get off on feeling used for him. I only belong to him and he loves that, no matter how many hands I’m passed through."

"Okay, so what happens if I agree?"

Louis finds himself entering an interesting sexual arrangement with a happy, committed couple.

He gets more than he bargained for.”

i’ll be your new favourite tune by @harrystinyshorts / lsforever

“Louis gulps, all coherent thoughts flying from his brain as he unabashedly stares. There’s just so much to take in, from the silky curls springing out in every direction under some sort of headband/scarf looking thing, to the bright eyes and rosy cheeks and cute dimples that make the man’s - Harry, Louis reads from his nametag - smile so charming. He’s wearing a simple black shirt paired with some short jean shorts that only reach the middle of his thighs, and Louis has to force himself not to stare at those long, beautiful legs.

“You okay there?” Harry sounds amused.

Louis clears his throat.

or, Louis is the Pop Punk King of our dreams, and Harry is the cute associate at the rescue who helps him adopt a cat.”

it’s been ages by @2tiedships2 / 2tiedships2

““We need to talk,” Niall said as he plopped down on Louis’ bed. “It’s you and Harry. You like him, he likes you, it’s a match made in heaven and you will one day be mates,”

Louis shook his head in exasperation. “If you’ve been watching, you would see that Harry is interested in, like, alpha alphas. Not me.”

“What the fuck is an alpha alpha?” Niall asked with furrowed brows.

“You know what I mean,” Louis said, giving Niall a pointed look.

“I literally have no idea what you’re talking about.”

i love this feeling (but i hate this part) by @lululawrence / lululawrence

““Stand up.”

Harry stood up from the couch, not a moment’s delay.

“Oh my god, is that what that’s like?” Harry turned to Louis, surprise on his face. “I really thought they were somehow exaggerating, but it really is an automatic response with absolutely no thought from me behind it whatsoever.”

Louis sighed again. “You really wanna keep doing this? Have me use my alpha voice on you so you can work on resisting it?”

“Yup,” Harry said, clapping his hands and smiling. “How else am I going to be able to have any chance at reducing the power an alpha voice has on me?””

keep me closer by @zanniscaramouche / zanni_scaramouche

“Louis expects Harry to react poorly, maybe even file a formal complaint and that’s gonna suck ass but Louis won’t say shit cause he knows he deserves it, so he prepares an apology before Harry’s even turned around.

What he doesn’t expect is Harry to fucking drop.“

know you better. by @wabadabadaba / wabadabadaba

“It didn't help that oftentimes Niall and Zayn's other friend, Louis joined them and from all the stories Marcel has heard about Louis, he was positive they wouldn't get along. From their description, Louis was loud, annoying, and competitive. He liked to tease Niall and Zayn mercilessly and he was creative. Being a tattoo artist, Louis knew things about art that Marcel would simply never understand due to his analytical mindset. He was the complete opposite of Marcel and Marcel didn't think he would ever last in a social setting where he had to be with Louis.

or the one where Marcel and Louis fall in love.”

like air to the fire i need you to breathe by @larrydoinglaundry / cuckootrooke

“Louis is going to do this right. He is going to praise every little effort Harry has made and will still make with his nest, telling him how cozy and well put together it is. And practical, on top of everything. Despite being situated in Louis’ closet. But it has so many blankets, duvets and pillows that Louis will happily make Harry fall apart in that nest when he goes into heat.

… Well. He’ll try.

The thing is, Louis is sort of terrified.

OR Harry is in preheat and Louis is nervous about his upcoming heat, fearing that he might not be able to fulfill his mate's needs. Lucky for him, Harry knows how to push the right buttons to get him relaxed.”

lost in your paradise by @sadaveniren / sadaveniren

““To the alpha I fucked at the Ziam concert, I think this is yours.”

aka Harry and Louis have a one night stand.”

my service, your pleasure by @hershelsue / docklands

“Harry moves in with Louis, his childhood best friend. He had always enjoyed doing things for him, never putting much thought into it. What happens when they're in the same space all the time and Harry can't keep his hands to himself? Surely, his adoration bursts at the seams and a very suspicious Louis tries his best to keep up.”

making my way downtown by @disgruntledkittenface / disgruntledkittenface

““Bye, Harry!”

“See you tomorrow, hon!”

Harry turns in the doorway and waves before he hitches the strap of his backpack over his shoulder and steps out onto the pavement. He tries to ignore the pang of regret after he couldn’t muster a smile, knowing that the middle-aged women he works with love him and won’t hold it against him. The walk from the bakery to his apartment takes almost an hour, which is usually brutal after being on his feet for a full shift, but he decides to skip the bus today. Maybe the sunshine and light breeze will lift the mood that had taken a nosedive when he checked his phone after getting off work.

So Louis didn’t text him back. So what?

So fucking everything.”

milk kinship by @jaerie / jaerie

“Harry had aspired to become a wet nurse since first learning about the honored and respected tradition when he was a teenager. The first documentary he’d seen had been detailed and brutally honest and Harry had still fallen in love with the idea. It’s origins were rooted in highly regarded positions of the royal staff and were credited in playing a role in the lives of some of the most famous children in history. There were medically trained wet nurses and other milk services for mothers unable to feed their babies, but true wet nurse nannies could only be afforded by the rich and famous. The glamorous life appealed to Harry even if his understanding of his role changed to a more realistic view over time. As a starry eyed kid, that was where he wanted to be.

Or Harry is a wet nurse and isn't allowed to have an alpha. He may or may not break his vows.”

my pleasure (to make you mine) by @zanniscaramouche / zanni_scaramouche

““Think about it.” Niall raises an eyebrow at him before amiably leading the interrupting customer to the other side of the store.

And the thing is, even a day later, Harry's done nothing but think about piercing his nipples.

Harry decides to get his nipples pierced. Louis is the piercing artist with a smile that breaks every rule of the universe.”

no one likes to be alone by @lululawrence / lululawrence

“Harry was a full-on fucking failure.

Letting out a whimper, Harry pressed his hands to his face as he finally allowed himself to cry. After a few sobs, he realized that something soft was pressed to his face, catching his tears instead of his hands. Harry pulled it away to see what it was and saw it was one of his sister’s shirts.

Shaking his head, he turned and placed it very specifically right where he usually tucked himself up against the wall. As he carefully shifted the shirt so he could see the faded image of Britney Spears looking out at him, Harry was overcome with a need he had only ever felt once before.

He needed to nest.”

opulence thrills by @brightgolden / brightgolden

““You know, it’s my first time bidding-”

“Bidding on people?” Harry supplies.

Louis snickers as he shakes his head, a small smile playing on his perfectly shaped lips. “You could say that, yeah.”

Where a well-versed submissive, Harry Styles has spent eighteen months in BDSM abstinence after an irreconcilable difference in kink preferences with his ex-dom, and a random winner for a charity auction might just be the one who brings him back.”

plenty of time by @juliusschmidt / juliusschmidt

“Harry gets into Louis' Uber. He's not in heat. Not fully. Not yet.”

picture this by @kingsofeverything / kingsofeverything

“Part of Harry’s job at the bar includes working the door on Friday nights, checking IDs and asking for proof of vaccination. One night, Louis Tomlinson accidentally shows him something else.”

sweet like candy by @neondiamond / neondiamond

“Louis is an Alpha with an odd obsession for gummy bears. Harry is an Omega who makes friends a little too easily. They meet on the bus.”

scent partner by @daggerandrose / amomentoflove

“The name of the company was horrible: Scent Partner. Whoever was on the marketing team should be fired immediately for green-lighting that name. But the instructions were simple.

Alphas wear a shirt for three days and nights. The shirt gets sent to omegas nearing their heats to pick the alpha who smells the best to them. The company notifies the alpha and gives them the opportunity to say no. If both parties agree, they meet at a heat room for the omega’s heat. Everything is safe and consensual.”

secrets don’t make friends by @thedevilinmybrain / devilinmybrain (venomedveins)

“5 times Louis' crew knew too much, and the 1 time they thought they knew, but didn't really. Not at all.“

single bells ring by @absoloutenonsense / nonsensedarling

“A holiday singles event is not where Louis wants to be tonight, but there he is, helping his best friend find love. Just as Louis is settling in, ready to have a terrible time, he meets the fittest alpha he’s ever come across.“

skip the small talk by @sadaveniren / sadaveniren

“"Your initial Result is that you are a service based submissive.”

Harry froze. James’ eyes were on him, boring into his soul. Harry had never felt so exposed. He wasn’t a submissive. He was an alpha.

“But I’d been so careful,” came out before he stopped himself.

aka Harry is an alpha that's just a little too soft to be a good dom but that's okay because Louis is an omega who is a little too rough to be a good sub.”

the lost art of breeding and (mis)behaviour by @indiaalphawhiskey / indiaalphawhiskey

““Strip, slave.” His voice was rough – stern, as a proper Master’s voice should be. Harry couldn’t help but feel pleased. “I could have had five of your kind for your price. Best make sure I’ve not been cheated.” -- Or, Harry learns a thing or two about fate and faith.“

the only one (when it’s said and done) by @londonfoginacup / ladylondonderry

“Louis Tomlinson, alpha, twenty nine years old, is head of the Tomlinson pack.

He's unbonded, and happily so. A trip to the neighbouring Arthur pack certainly isn't going to change that.”

there’s always another option by anonymous

“Harry gets all dressed up to go see his boyfriend with one goal: get railed. He doesn't expect his boyfriend's cousin to be staying in his flat, and he definitely doesn't expect his boyfriend to dip out to go cheat on him. Oh well, just because his boyfriend isn't there doesn't mean he can't still get what he wants.“

this is my jam by @disgruntledkittenface / disgruntledkittenface

“The guy’s eyes are so blue that Harry can’t tear his gaze away, even as he moves to the beat. The searing light shade is magnetic; he finds himself leaning in and yelling, “This is my jam!” only to earn a laugh from thin pink lips that Harry’s definitely going to be dreaming about tonight.

“Your jam?”

When the guy yells back over the music, his blue eyes sparkling and his lips twisted in a smirk, Harry’s chest literally puffs out with pride at earning his attention. His obvious approval. Tongue-tied, Harry nods and closes his eyes as he lets go, the music reverberating around them. All of the usual inhibitions that keep him in the corner at parties fall away and he bounces around the center of the dance floor, waving his arms above his head. Somehow his towel stays on, even as he starts to think he wouldn’t mind if it fell off. Fuck it. He finally made it here, he’s damn well going to enjoy it.

Harry goes to a gay bathhouse for the first time. 90s AU.”

the money mark by @brightgolden / brightgolden

“Harry's heart beats faster in his chest as the name sinks in. The Tomlinson name is awfully familiar, and he isn’t sure how many rich Tomlinsons are out here in London, but he knew one. Seven years ago.

Like all fine things in the world, Louis Tomlinson ages exceptionally well.

Where Louis is Harry’s first sugar daddy who dumped him over text and their paths cross, seven years later.”

the risen by @creamcoffeelou / creamcoffeelou

“In search of the next breaking story, Harry goes off to do something no one else has been able to do: get the scoop on Louis Tomlinson and his devoted group of followers.“

the flower that blooms in adversity by @hershelsue / docklands

“Harry is twenty-six and he hasn't presented yet. He lives in London with his alpha best friend, Niall, who invites him to a New Year's camping trip with his other alpha mates. Amidst them, there's the always sharp Louis, who has a knack for observation and dirt under his toenails. Harry ends up agreeing on going, unaware he's leaving for the trip of a lifetime.“

venus as a boy by @hershelsue / docklands

“When Harry goes to a friend's movie night, the last thing she expects is to meet an enigmatic and handsome stranger who sweeps her off her feet. Louis might just think she’s the most wonderful thing alive.“

where’s the divide? by @2tiedships2 / 2tiedships2

“Louis brings potato salad to Niall's barbeque.“

wait by the light of the moon by @jaerie / jaerie

“Being a single parent of a newborn was not in Harry's plan. He can barely keep himself together doing everything on his own. He can't explain why he finds comfort in his neighbour next door, but apparently it's mutual.“

you’re shooting stars from the barrel of your eyes by @thedevilinmybrain / devilinmybrain (venomedveins)

“5 times Louis was gross hot and 1 time Harry was.“

you make the world taste better by @loveislarryislove / livelaughlovelarry

“"Nice to meet you," Harry said. "What can I get for you today?”

Louis rattled through the order – a couple loaves of different breads, some pastries, and a dozen cookies. There was a niggling sensation in the back of his mind that he was forgetting something, but he couldn’t think what it might be.

Harry nodded along as Louis spoke, starting to flit around the shop and gather things together. “Is that all?” he asked when Louis finished. “No muffins this week?”

That was it! “Oh yes, a half-dozen of the pumpkin and blueberry,” Louis said. “Almost forgot, thanks.”

“Of course,” Harry said, packing the muffins into a box. “I remember all my regular customers’ favorites. Your mother has good taste.”

Louis smiled. “She usually does,” he says. “I look forward to trying your goods myself, and finding my own favorites.”

~~~

Or, a story based on Hans Traxler’s fictional non-fictional text, The Truth About Hansel and Gretel, which is based on the Grimm fairy tale Hansel and Gretel.”

young hearts on the chase by @polaroidlouis / daffodilsforlou

“Before he can question him any further, Harry’s holding out a drink to him, ‘Louis’ written on the side of it with messy, pink letters. Warmth spreads all throughout Louis’ body when he takes it, starting from the tip of his fingers where they brush Harry’s to curl around the cup and settling in his chest.

“I also got us– um,” the omega starts, nervous fingers fumbling to get the paper bag open. “Got you an egg muffin. Or– or a normal muffin if you don’t like egg ones.”

“Who doesn’t like egg muffins?”

The smile that breaks across Harry’s face in response is as bright as the one yesterday. Louis almost expects it to be kissed into his cheek as well. It looks like Harry’s considering it for a moment, too, dreamy gaze gliding all over Louis’ expectant face. He seems to decide against it with a sigh though, and Louis’ not disappointed when they start walking side by side instead (he’s not).

harry’s a hopeless romantic, louis’ oblivious, and it’s going to be Valentine’s Day.”

if you read any of these fics, please don’t forget to leave kudos & a comment!!

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tillthelandslide · 2 years

Text

Harry Styles Instagram AU

yourinstagram:

yourinstagram Harry Styles / Cochella 2022. Mush 🥹 words cannot describe how proud you make me every single day! You were simply born to do this, I love you my superstar! @harrystyles cannot wait for the world to hear the whole album and fall in love with every word just as much as I did. Bring on tour baby!

harryssunflower omg she’s coming on tour!! Yay!!

fan1 it was so cute, he kept gravitating towards the side of the stage she was at and at one point he said “this one’s for you baby” and it was so adorable

fan2 omg where can I see this? Please say someone filmed it

fan1 I’ll send you the tiktok

harrystyles I love you sunshine 🖤

yourusername I love you more

fan1:

fan1 Harry trying to find y/n in the VIP box at tonight’s show. I’ve heard different things, some say she felt ill so left? Some say she went backstage? I wasn’t there so can anyone confirm what happened? Just want to know if she’s okay :(

Fan2 I was there and she disappeared during Matilda but came back a few songs later, she was with Anne, sorry can’t give any more info because I don’t know myself

fan1 okay thank you for this though! Hopefully we can find out if she’s okay!!

yourinstagram Im okay guys don’t worry! touring can be a bit crazy and I was missing home a bit during Matilda so had to excuse myself. Thank you for caring about me, I love you all 🖤

harryfan3 think it’s really selfish of you to leave, Harry was looking for you throughout two whole songs so you clearly made him worry

fan2 woaw woaw woaw slow down! Of course he’s going to be worried! She’s his girlfriend! She has every right to leave if she’s not feeling it! She was still there supporting him… she came back two songs later and Harry was smiling again so it’s all good. No need to bring any hate into this

yourinstagram:

yourinstagram look at your little smushy face @harrystyles

Liked by harrystyles, florencepugh and 1,839,749 others

harryishome okay but like… stop being so cute some of us are trying to hate you

yourinstagram don’t know if this is serious or not but I love it

harryishome omg the queen replied! I love you! I was making a joke

yourinstagram I love you!

harryshouse pouty face 😗

yourinstagram always

harrystyles I🖤u☀️

harryfan I don’t know who taught you to use emojis but I love them

harrystyles:

harrystyles Harry’s House out now. Photography by @yourusername

Liked by yourusername, harrylambert and 3,111,089 others

harrysunflower okay but Y/N clearly needs to be hired as the photographer because he’s actually smiling IN this…. Not for the picture

yourinstagram the album is amazing, forever proud of you mush🖤

wellbealright she calls him mush 🥹

yourinstagram:

yourinstagram omg THE Harry Styles looked at me

yourbestfriend are you okay?

yourinstagram no? It’s Harry Styles

yourbestfriend he’s your boyfriend you idiot?

yourinstagram oh shit yeah

fan1 omg I love her

fan2 bet that’s not all he did

yourinstagram omg stahp ☺️

letmeadoreyou you’re literally a fan girl like us, I love it

harrystyles I adore you 🖤

yourinstagram omg Harry styles commented on my post

harrystylesupdates:

harrystylesupdates Harry’s reaction to a sign that said “I prefer your girlfriend”. We stan @yourusername

yourusername whoever’s sign this was: I love you

fan5 omg it was me!

yourusername hi!!! Your sign was amazing, very sweet

fan7 was this the show where y/n left because she was upset :(

fan8 yeah :(

fan7 bet this cheered her right up, pull a smile on our Harry’s face too!

#harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles social media au #harry styles instagram concept #Harry styles #harry styles drabble #harry styles fake instagram #harrystyles #harry styles instagram imagine

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golbrocklovely · 1 year

Text

haven't posted one of these in a while so…

here’s more of colby’s tweets from 2020.

i don’t have proof that these are his tweets, but believe me, they are his.

if it’s bold and italicized, it’s someone’s tweet to him.

if it’s in (), that’s just me commenting lol

added bonus: if they have a * next to them, that means it’s been deleted

~~~~~~~~~~~

July 3 - me and my homies have pillow fights in hotel rooms

fan: TELL ME TO GO TO BED

GO TO BED!

decided to take a walk alone in palm springs CA tonight, almost got mugged by two dudes. i’m okay and back at my hotel! PSA don’t wander off alone in a foreign area without friends.

fan: @/ColbyBrock why is your foot scarred up

had to run, i’ll explain later i promise

other fan: damn what shoes were you in or were you in no shoes

barefoot like an idiot 🤦🏻‍♂️

Cactus: 1 Colby Brock: 0

July 8 - fallin in love is so beautiful but can bring so much pain

maybe that’s why i’m so closed off

emotionally unavailable cause i’m scared to fall so deep again

fan: But the pain brings a drive unlike any other

facts

fan: Who hurt our baby🥺😠

no one .. just circumstances out of my control

July 9 - i miss japan everyone is so nice there

July 11 - new hair hi

@/mannymua733: colby in purple hair : “r u lost baby girl” me : 👁👄👁

hahahah

July 12 - life is a movie and YOU are the main character

July 13 - @/allylovesit: Miss you lol @/ColbyBrock

i miss you!

July 14 - leaving a ghost town and ended up with two flat tires. seems something didn’t want us to go so soon

July 16 - don’t settle for any less than you deserve !

manifest the person you want to be, and become them

July 17 - i love my LGBTQ fans !

(a whole month after pride? tsk tsk colby lol jk)

fan: @/AmberScholl can you and @/ColbyBrock plz do this tik-tok trend😂

@/amberscholl: @/ColbyBrock u down ??

you just wanna see me in a dress huh ;)

@/amberscholl: in my dress, specifically

July 18 - if you’re at war with yourself in your own mind, time really makes things get better.. promise.

July 21 - keep having this same dream over the course of the past 2 years. not sure what to think

July 22 - i’m in a really deep Michael Jackson phase right now and i don’t know why

stop pulling my heart strings 1D

July 23 - someone said i looked like a 19 year old uncle yesterday 💀

(what does this even mean sksksk)

i haven’t seen this much happiness on social media in a LONG time. thank you one direction.

fan: Serious question: what’s ur favorite song by them?

rock me ! or up all night

getting a big tattoo tonight

July 24 - for me and my best friend. (pics of his tattoo that's about him and sam)

July 27 - fan: i lose sleep every night knowing @/ColbyBrock hasn’t said what his favorite song from harry styles is 😪

sign of the times 🖤

July 28 - let’s forget who we are

July 30 - i miss the deep talks at 3am with someone special where you get the feeling of being high on life just from being so deep in conversation 🛸

Aug. 1 - what’s up guys it’s sam and colby

Aug. 3 - fan: I wonder if @/ColbyBrock thinks he’s hot, cute, or both👀 I’m expecting an answer sir

none of the above

we lost one of our little kitties today :/ RIP scar, you deserved a better life. hope you’re eatin all the tuna you can imagine you in heaven #trapcats

Aug. 6 - if i can, then you can too

Protect Your 🖤

Aug. 7 - i hate when people talk behind my back

Aug. 10 - tired

Aug. 13 - kingdom hearts

@/mannymua733: that's the tweet

love u

(miss colby and manny having interactions, ngl)

ever since our feral cat Scar passed away the other cats hardly show up anymore 💔

Aug. 16 - i feel like most alive when i’m the most uncomfortable

Aug. 17 - our neighbors are so scary, saw this old woman in a nightgown running around at 10pm last night not making a sound .. please SOS

*Aug. 21 - #teamcolby is back? let us know if you want a mini prank war to happen …

@/jakewebber9: i thought we left pranks behind, now u got it coming for ya buddy

guys he called me his “buddy” 🖤😱😚

Aug. 25 - just got my photo shoot pics back 👀

Aug. 27 - in the end the answer will always be and has always been love

Aug. 30 - i will never ever understand why someone would take the time to hate on another person for absolutely no reason

don't just say it, prove it. stand behind it

Sept. 1 - (posted some shirtless photoshoot pics)

@/mannymua733: seeing this photo on my timeline… (video of him closing his mouth)

lmaooo

@/DavidAlvareeezy shut up and kiss me

😗

Sept. 3 - why do i kinda like the tattoo pain

Sept. 7 - there’s some memories that no matter how hard i try, they will never leave me alone

(oh damn even i forgot this one… poor baby)

Sept. 9 - everything can feel so heavy

Sept. 13 - the old XPLR vibes are back and it feels so good 😈

Sept. 14 - always in my head

Sept. 15 - man i missed traveling so much

Sept. 16 - sometimes i don’t mind wearing a mask in public cause it hides my face

Sept. 17 - don’t forget to question everything

fan: @/ColbyBrock can you do me a favor and call me a bitch again

you’re a lil bitch

Sept. 20 - @/mannymua733: i think i need to glam @/ColbyBrock and @/SamGolbach

👀👀👀

Sept. 21 - such a beautiful day in Los Angeles i hope everyone is feeling okay !

Sept. 22 - you can’t help it if your mind changes

Sept. 24 - “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that” -Martin Luther King Jr.

Sept. 28 - i just have no idea where i’d be without you

#colby brock #cb tweets #personal #text

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songbirdstyles · 3 years

Text

screw my brain (’till it hurts)

summary: you and harry are spies on an assignment to pretend to be a married couple in order to take down a drug trafficking ring. the only problem? you two can’t stand each other.

warnings: smut (18+), hate sex, knifeplay, breathplay (choking), slapping, fingering, phone sex (sort of); enemies to lovers, one bed, fake dating

song inspo.: death on two legs (dedicated to ...) - queen / back chat - queen / you’re so vain - carly simon

word count: 19.5k

You can practically feel Harry’s anger simmering beside you, and you’re tired of it.

He’s been acting like a child since you got on the plane, his eyes narrowed and venomous and steam practically blowing out of his ears as though he’s on the verge of throwing a temper tantrum, and you’re sure if looks could kill you’d be dead a million times over again from all the staredowns he’d been trying to initiate. And you’re used to this, for the most part, but it doesn’t make you feel any less annoyed as he huffs beside you, flicking through the file on his lap.

And - look. You don’t like Harry. You can hardly even tolerate him, most of the time, and the only times you manage to be near him without gagging is when you’re on missions. Usually he’s the same way, pushing aside the mutual disdain you’ve shared from day fucking one when there’s goals to be accomplished and targets to take down but he’s just sitting here like an angry log, thumbing noisily through papers as you swipe through your phone.

He’s looking for attention, Mark would tell you - your boss is the epitome of coolness, desperate for you and Harry to get along because of his tendency to force you together on missions - and that is true. You’re just as pissed as he is and you aren’t making a show of it. No, he’s an attention seeking crybaby, and you won’t give him what he craves. Won’t even look at him.

The plane dips a bit, then, and your stomach lurches, grabbing at the armrest in between you two where Harry’s elbow rests, and he jerks it into his side as though you’d burned him. You scoff, then, the pretense of faking casualness abandoned as fast as you’d stuck to it, and you can sense him rolling his eyes at the noise.

“For Fuck’s sake,” you huff, leaning to the side so you can stare at him as you roll your eyes pointedly, and he mimics the movement. “What are you so whiny about?”

“M’not whiny,” Harry insists in a tone that’s strikingly similar to the whine he claims he doesn’t have, and you sigh before reaching over, snatching the file off of his lap. “Hey - I was readin’ that!”

“Really?” you inquire, shifting so your back is to the man next to you and he can’t read the words on the page you’re squinting at. “Could’ve fooled me. Thought you were just sitting there huffing and rolling your eyes like a baby.” After a moment where he doesn’t respond, you risk a glance backwards and are met with the back of his head full of curls as he stares out the window at the passing sunset as you whiz through the sky. “What’s got your knickers in a twist, hmm? Did Mark not put enough into the budget for hair gel and dirty shoes?”

“Oh, shut up,” he says in a wildly mature way of response, and you can hardly resist the urge to smirk at it. “F’the record, m’mad that I have t’do another mission with you.”

You nod, trailing your finger along the line of words detailing aspects about the target you know you’ll have to utilize later - he has four cats. He and his wife are on the brink of divorce. He has two daughters, and he doesn’t speak to either of them. His name is Vincent Carfield, and, boy, does he sound like a real catch - you’re so focused on reading about him that you hardly register that Harry’s started speaking again.

“Wish Mark would realize m’good enough to do shit like this on my own. Don’t need you t’come around an’ pretend to be my - my girlfriend. S’stupid.”

“Well, if you were good enough, I would be at home with cucumbers on my eyes right now instead of reading about the leader of a drug trafficking ring -”

“God, you’re a bitch -”

“And you’re an asshole -”

“Fuck you - m’calling Mark.”

You snort, leaning back in your seat as Harry fumbles in his bag at his feet for his tablet, and he shakily sets it up on his lap, tapping through the screen until he gets to the FaceTime app. “Real mature, Har, going to tattle to Mark.”

“God, not everything’s about you, narcissist - half hour out, need a debrief.”

You crane your neck to lean in front of him and look out the window, and - sure enough - you can already tell that you’re getting closer, plane dipping slowly lower and it wouldn’t be perceptible to you if he hadn’t told you. Harry’s always been a tad bit more observant than you, though you wouldn’t confess that to him if your life depended on it.

Mark answers Harry’s call within mere seconds - he’s always on high alert when you guys call, especially when you’re off on missions together - part of you suspects he’s always waiting for a call that one of you killed the other. “Hello, lovebirds,” he chirps, the pure image of relaxation as he adjusts his tie, shifting in his seat - you and Harry both roll your eyes at his nickname for the pair of you. “Surprised to see you haven’t clawed each other’s eyes out.” “Wish I did,” you mutter beneath your breath, and Harry glares at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Anyway,” Mark says, and you know he heard what you said judging from the ghost of a smile on his pale face, but he brushes past it. “When you land, you’ll have around an hour to get settled into the hotel before dinner. I’ve sent you the address to the restaurant - the target is eating there with his wife, most likely to discuss their divorce, so he’ll be feeling vulnerable and insecure -” “And that’s where I come in,” you finish, trailing your nail across the fine printed page which holds the plans the three had deliberated over for two weeks prior - compared to most of your missions it was an extraordinarily short amount of time to plan but none of you could foresee this one going anything other than disgustingly easy. If you pull through, you could be home by the end of the weekend.

“And that’s where you come in,” Mark affirms, thick rimmed glasses mirroring the image of you and Harry that he’s seeing on his screen. “Find any way to touch him - pretend to trip - and plant the audio tracker on his jacket.” You nod, and Harry drops his head against the seat with a soft sigh that nearly makes you turn and throttle him but you hold back, fingers tensing as though itching for a throat to grab. “Then you guys go back to the hotel, hold back from slaughtering each other, and listen in - he’s staying at the room next to yours.”

If this situation were occurring a year ago in your first few weeks of working as a spy perhaps you’d marvel at the seeming coincidence of Mark just happening to get you a hotel room right next to your target - but your one-year anniversary working has just come up and, as it so happens, you know he can make just about anything happen by pulling the right strings. And staying in the same hotel, on the same floor, is the perfect talking point for dinner - you’re already storing it in the back of your mind to bring up in conversation when you manage to get the tracker on his jacket -

“ - and, look, guys, I know you don’t particularly like each other,” Mark is saying when your attention snaps back to him, and Harry snorts. It’s the understatement of the century - you almost want to laugh with him. “It’s just really important that you sell yourselves as a couple. I don’t care what you have to do - share a drink or hold hands - but he needs to see you as a couple. All of his mistresses have been seemingly happily married - he’ll be more inclined to get closer with ____ if he sees you’re in a good relationship. Then, Harry, of course, can explore his hotel room - snuff out anything suspicious.”

You nod but Harry seems less convinced - his brow arches as his arms cross over his chest, and you glance over at him with confusion written over your features. “M’confused,” he says, and you raise your eyebrows. “She’s gonna fu - have an affair wit’ him, then?”

God, we fucking talked about this, you want to shout at him, to shake his shoulders until he’s dizzy. If you paid attention while we planned instead of sitting there whining that you don’t go on missions by yourself because nobody goes on missions by themselves unless they’ve been here for nearly 10 years and you’ve barely scraped three -

Mark is more patient. He just shrugs, fingers tapping away at the keyboard connecting to his screen. “Maybe - maybe not. Depends how vulnerable she can get him without resorting to sexual means.”

“Don’t think I’ll have a problem with that,” you can’t resist saying, popping the ‘p’ in problem as you smugly smirk, scratching your nails against the smooth paper you’d been reading as Harry glares at you, seemingly affronted. “Only had to resort to getting down and dirty with a target once - that asshole mob boss - everyone else is just dying to tell me their juicy little secrets. Guess it’s a perk at being good at what you do, right, Har?”

“Oh, you’re such a -”

“Children, children,” Mark interrupts the beginning of Harry’s speech about what a cunt you are, holding up his age-worn palms with mock exasperation as he stares the two of you down. “Stay civil. I’ve just booked your reservation at this Italian restaurant called Fucina’s - it’s for 7, under Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson. Vincent Carfield and his wife have a reservation for 7:30 but have a tendency to arrive early. They requested seating in a more private area, as did I, so you should be able to hear their conversations -”

The conversation rolls on for another few minutes until the pilot announces that you’re landing in ten, and that’s Mark’s cue to sign off - with a fleeting inquiry about any questions the pair of you may have he’s gone, wishing you good luck and making you promise to call him after dinner once you’ve set up the tracker and begun listening to your mark. You don’t suspect you’ll forget to - you and Harry generally can’t be in an enclosed environment together for too long without having overwhelming desires to take each other out, and Mark balances you out. Eases the two of you, calms you down, even when you’re so angry at Harry you want nothing more than to stamp your feet on the ground and scream.

It’s how you feel now, a bit, as Harry shuts his tablet and shoves it back into his bag with a dramatic huff after Mark has signed off. He’s angry about something again, surely relating to you and the mission and how he constantly feels snubbed by Mark but, truthfully, as the plane dips lower and lower to the Earth, you find that you really, really, don’t care.

The hotel room is, for all intents and purposes, fairly large. It’s nicer than a significant portion of the ones you two inhabit on missions and you should be grateful, toeing off your boots in the entrance of the suite, that it has a functioning kitchen and a bathroom with a door that closes and an L shaped couch facing the television (based on the description of the suite Mark had sent), but your mood has been entirely soured by Harry’s sore attitude during the drive from the airport to the hotel.

He drops his suitcase against the carpeted ground of the entrance, and it slams onto the ground so close to your sock-covered toes that you jump back, glaring at him as he pointedly ignores you and descends further into the hotel room, peeking his curly head into the kitchen and the bathroom. You watch him as you rest your suitcase against the wall, nudging his closer to the wall with your foot before following him, already tugging your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans to check for any new texts from your boss when -

“You’ve got t’be fucking kidding me.”

You arch your eyebrows, tilting your phone into your chest as you turn the corner into the main living area. And it’s nice, eyes wandering over the couch that Mark had told you about, and the TV mounted to the wall with a Roku connected to it that you’re sure you’ll take advantage of later tonight. The carpet is soft beneath your feet even through your socks, and the bed is nicely made, pillows fluffy and looking soft -

Bed.

Shit.

What a bastard, Mark is - booking a room with only one bed? And not even telling you two about it? God, you could kill him. You really could, and you will, as soon as you get back to headquarters and see his stupid bald head in person - you’ll throttle him. Or shoot him. Hell, you’ll even stab him.

“You’re taking the couch,” you tell Harry, and before he can protest you take a running start to leap onto the bed, plopping onto your back and tucking your arms beneath your scalp. “Looks real comfy, doesn’t it? The bed - not the couch. Couch looks like it’ll kill your back.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Harry practically snarls, voice all venom and teeth, and he sits at the edge of the bed anyway, hands going up to loosen at the black tie wrapped tight around his neck. “So entitled - I’ll take the fucking bed. Been here longer than you, y’know - just ‘cause y’like t’act like you’re so good -”

“And yet,” you interrupt, bringing your foot up to kick at his side, and he turns around and glares at you, “I’m the one getting put on assignments with you, even though I’ve hardly been here a year. Oh, yeah, what’s that Mark told us? I was put on duty the quickest than anyone else after finishing my assignments?” You screw up your eyes as though trying to fact check yourself before nodding, smiling at the positively hateful expression on your partner’s face. “Guess I am good.”

He opens his mouth to reply and perhaps he assumes better of it - he simply rolls his eyes, pulling his tie off of his neck and dropping it on the ground beside him. For a moment you simply stare at him as he peels his jacket off, littering it on the floor in a similar fashion as his tie, until he’s merely donning a white button down and his black dress pants, hair messy and face light red.

Sometimes you do that - you watch him - because it’s nice to see him look so peaceful and silent when you’re used to spewing hatred back and forth. You could even be into him if he kept his mouth taped shut and promised to never make a single noise, but he would never comply with it - and you’re sure you’d find a reason to get pissed off at him if he didn’t speak.

You hadn’t realized how long you’d been staring at him until he turns around, and your gazes lock, and you lift your eyebrows.

“Don’t stare at me,” Harry demands, backing up on the bed until his head rests on the pillow beside you - you turn your head to stare at him, affronted. “Told you - m’taking the bed. An’ m’gonna take a nap f’a half hour- already set the timer on m’phone - so you can either take the couch or sit here right beside me.”

You push yourself onto your elbows, glaring down at the man beside you who closes his eyes (rather smugly, you’ll add) and mimics your own previous position, arms tucked beside his head. “You dickhead.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m not moving.”

“Fine by me.”

“I’m gonna nap too -”

“Go ahead -”

“And I stretch out a lot when I sleep.”

“How ever will I handle it?”

You’ve seem to run out of responses, furrowing your eyebrows as Harry’s face settles into an expression of slight comfort and you wonder if he really has gone to bed, resting in the button down shirt and dress pants that he’s always itching to get out of at the end of the day. You’ve had to watch him undress with absolutely no shame in front of your far too many times for comfort, shoved into small hotel rooms together but at least they had two beds - you can hardly control your heart rate as you stare down at him.

(Because you’re angry, of course. Whenever he’s acting like a dumbass your heartbeat quickens to match the pace of a fucking freight train, and that’s nearly every time you’ve ever had to talk to him.)

After a moment you rest back on the bed beside him, head dangerously close to the center of the two pillows where you can feel Harry’s curls, spread upon his pillows, brushing against the sides of your temples. With every feel of his hair against your skin you feel your anger rising, and you exhale softly, pressing your palms to the top of your stomach as you listen to his steady breathing beside you.

He sounds too peaceful.

You wait nearly ten minutes before beginning your plan of attack, not nearly as meticulously planned as the ones you and Harry will employ later - you slowly begin to spread your legs out, feeling your calf brush against his foot, and your arms follow in a similar pattern. They stretch outwards, forearm thrown across his neck, and you can feel his Adam’s apple bobbing against your skin but he doesn’t take the bait - doesn’t even move a muscle, and you can feel his even breathing against your arm.

For a second you wonder if he really is asleep. You’d be surprised.

It’s uncomfortable sleeping on your back and that’s your justification for rolling over onto your stomach, body halfway on top of Harry’s, chest pressed against his and face buried into the pillow beside him so your nose presses into his hair, softly inhaling the fruity shampoo he uses. Your arm lazily throws itself across his torso, leg nudging his until they fall off the bed, and he grunts.

“What th’fuck are y’doing?” Harry questions gruffly, voice just raspy enough to make you consider the very real possibility that he truly had fallen asleep, and you don’t respond. “Get off me, dumbass - tryin’ t’sleep.”

You remain silent. You work on steadying your breathing, faking sleep in the way that you’ve mastered over the past year (and a half, if you count the six months of training you’d done before beginning work) - on one of your earliest missions you’d pretended to be passed out in the back of a work party you’d seduced your way into with a tape recorder taped to your underboob and you’d been able to get enough recording of a conversation between two sleazy old men to support your hypothesis that their paper company was a front for a sex trafficking ring. You suspect this case should be likely the same, albeit easier and likely without the work party, and you’ll breeze through it like nobody’s business if it requires fake sleeping like you’re doing now.

“I know you’re not sleeping,” he correctly deduces, lifting his arm to slam it against your back entirely too hard and you nibble on your bottom lip to keep from making any type of noise at the slight pain the motion brings. “Get off me. Go t’the couch - stop being so stubborn.”

You mumble something incoherent under your breath, digging your face further into your pillow just to hear the way he hisses as you (un)intentionally tug at his hair. You feel his hands dig into your sides and before you can pull off of him he pushes you away with as much force as he can muster, and you’re send tossed to the other end of the bed, grappling at the duvet to stop yourself from slipping over the edge of the bed onto the carpet.

“Fuck,” you hiss, pushing yourself to sit out with your legs stuck straight out in front of you. With a glare directed towards the man opposite you you pull your legs back and push them towards him sharply, kicking him directly in his thigh, and his legs tumble off the bed, forcing him to sit up to maintain his balance. “Take that, dipshit.”

“Can’t you do better than that?” Harry questions, tone so mocking and condescending that you push yourself to his knees just as he rises to stand, the top button of his shirt mercifully coming undone, and you resist the urge to glance at it every so often. “C’mon, babe - if you’re gonna be a bitch -”

You push yourself to stand on top of the covers, taking a leap towards Harry where he stands on the other side of the bed, and your legs hook around his torso, effectively catching him by surprise as his hands immediately land on your waist, tugging you off of him and throwing you onto the bed with an ease that shouldn’t surprise you after this long of knowing him but it still knocks the breath out of you. His body hovers above you, pinning your arms above your head but you won’t have that - hook your legs around the back of his thighs and force him onto his back, throwing your legs over his torso as you mimic the position he’d trapped you in.

“1…” you begin counting tauntingly as you stare down at his face, reaching down to grab his wrists and hold them above his head, watching as he wriggles beneath you, his stomach tensing against your core. “2 … not even gonna put up a fight? What an agent you are -”

He practically growls at that, jerking his hands upward until they slip out of your grasp, nearly whacking you in the chin before he pushes himself up. You’re slammed into the headboard before you can even stop to think of your counterattack, back slamming into the wood as you drop your head forward to ensure you don’t knock your head into the wall, and Harry kneels in front of you with an exasperated, smug smirk, reaching up to press his forearm over your throat.

He’s not pressing hard - not enough to constrict your breathing at all, merely to hold your head in place - and after a second he begins counting just as you had - “1 … 2 … 3.”

You struggle uselessly against him until he reaches the final number, and a satisfied smile etches itself across his face before he pulls away, resting back on his knees to watch you huff before him before he begins crawling off the bed. “An’ I think that means that you, m’lady, have t’take the couch -”

You deliver one final swift kick to the back of Harry’s needs, and he tumbles off of the bed onto the ground with a cry, knees dropping onto the carpet and hands instinctively pressing to the wall he’d nearly slammed his head into. His position becomes one similar to a prayer, dropping his head forward against the wall with a dramatic groan.

“I won,” you tell him, flopping onto your back on the bed with a satisfied hum. “Get on the couch - reckon we still have a good 10 minutes left of our nap.”

Harry pushes himself to his feet in the blink of an eye, turning around with a look on his face that’s so serious you nearly want to double over in laughter, and as he plants his knees on the edge of the bed to resume the fight you’d had earlier, a sudden noise from the wall opposite your bed causes you to hold your palm out to him, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

“Shh!” you hiss, pushing yourself onto your elbows as Harry furrows his eyebrows, craning his neck towards the wall as though it’ll help him hear better. “D’you hear that?”

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, pondering the muffled noises coming from the hotel room next door. “Wha’?” Harry questions after a moment, voice hushed and soft, and you wait a moment before responding.

“The shower -” and, sure enough, just as the thought crosses your mind and the words leave your mouth you know that that’s the noise you’re hearing - the sound of water streaming onto the buff body of Vincent Carfield or perhaps his wife - “what time is it?”

“Uh -” Harry scrambles off the bed, digging through his backpack thrown on the ground until he can pull out his tablet, and the light shines on his face as he turns it on. “6:34.”

“Shit,” you hiss, rolling off the bed and practically darting out to the entrance hall where your suitcase rests against the wall, and you knock it to the ground and unzip it quickly. “Vincent’s already getting ready - we need to be at the restaurant soon. How fast can you get ready?”

“Pretty fast -” by the time Harry’s made his way into the entrance hall to dig through the suitcase he’d attempted to hit you with earlier you’ve peeled off your clothes, dropping them in a pile by your feet until you’re clad in only your bra and a pair of lace panties that leave entirely too little to the imagination, holster holding your knife firm against your thigh, and he freezes. “Christ. Can’t y’get a room f’that?”

“Oh, says the one who strips naked in the middle of the room every single night!” You shake your head, digging through your suitcase until you can find the black dress you’d packed specifically for dinner - it’s folded and mercifully wrinkle free, and you unzip the back to begin stepping into it. “Get ready. I’m going to do my makeup.”

“Make sure y’put a lot on - don’t wanna scare him off -”

“Shut up, Harry!”

Fucina’s is dark and fancy, with hosts dressed in all black and waitresses in a similar fashion. You would almost feel out of place, your arm hooked with Harry’s as you’re led through the main dining room towards the back where your table is, but it’s not any more elegant than any of the other expensive restaurants and galas the pair of you have infiltrated together, and with your tight dress and his suit, you look like exactly the couple to eat and afford a restaurant like this.

“The pasta’s $65,” Harry murmurs, trailing his fingertip down the laminated menu that you can hardly see in the dim light of the restaurant. You squint down at the page, bringing your head closer down to confirm that, yes, the fettuccine truly is that fucking expensive, and - not for the first time - you’re immensely grateful for the headquarters-mandated debit cards that you’ll use to pay for this. “Y’see that? The fettuccine?”

“Yeah,” you nod, though you’re not looking at the menu any longer - your eyes scan the restaurant behind Harry’s back, and of the three other tables in the private section Mark had requested for Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson to be in, none of them are occupied except yours. You and Harry had gotten there ten minutes late, much to Mark’s chagrin when you called him in the taxi, and the Carfields still hadn’t arrived. “Think I’m just gonna get a salad - not too hungry, anyway.”

“Me too.”

The conversation drains into a weird sort of silence - not awkward, and not malicious, either, as all of your silences usually are typically the result of one of you purposely ignoring the other. It’s harder to air out your disdain for each other when you’re supposed to be a couple that’s hopelessly in love in a high class restaurant, and you find that you don’t have much else to talk about with your partner besides discussing either the mission or whatever he’s doing that may be pissing you off at the moment -

He actually looks nice right now. Calm, collected - if you didn’t know better you’d say he looks like a pretty stand-up guy. The kind you’d take home to your mom.

“Why are y’lookin’ at me?” Harry questions, then, glancing up at you, and you internally curse at yourself - you always tend to forget how good he is at identifying someone staring at him.

“Just thinking about how much I prefer you when you aren’t speaking,” you tell him, voice dropping lower as a host clad in black leads an older couple into the area, sitting them at a table towards the window as Harry rolls his eyes. You lift your water glass to your lips, taking a slow sip as you attempt to inconspicuously decipher if the couple is your target -

“You’re being so obvious,” Harry hisses, voice soft like a breath and yet still retaining all the venom his words always tend to hold. “Is it them?”

“No,” you decide, resting your glass back on your coaster as you slide your chair further into the table, foot accidentally kicking his ankle as you do - his face contorts in both annoyance and pain as he repeats the motion to you. “No - Carfield’s wife is young, isn’t she?”

“27.”

“Yeah.” The wife currently settling into her seat, draping her jacket over the back of her chair, is decidedly not 27 - add 50 years, or so. “Not them. They should be here soon, though.”

“Good.”

In another moment your waitress has come to take your drink orders - you get a bottle of red wine just to hammer in the notion that you’re a young couple on a date night, even if you really prefer white wine, and you’re sure Harry would rather have a beer, but Mark always tells you to go for red when you’re out to dinner on missions. And - well - you’re not necessarily complaining. Wine is wine.

The wine arrives at your table with two tall glasses and Harry takes it to pour with a faux cheerful grin that has the waitress flushing in the dim light of the room - you tell yourself the tinge of jealousy at her clear adoration for the man currently uncorking the bottle to pour for you is simply because of how in character you are in terms of your fake marriage - and if you were someone else, perhaps you’d get angry at her for clearly flirting with Harry, though he doesn’t seem to notice.

Strange. You’d always taken him as the more observant one of the two of you, but he’s paying no mind to the waitress’s blushed face as he pours wine into your glass and she pulls out her notepad, ready to take your order.

“I’ll have the caesar salad, please, without chicken,” you tell her, giving a tight lipped grin as she scribbles it down onto her page. When Harry’s rested the bottle of wine back on the tablecloth-clad table, you reach over and rest your hand overtop of his, feeling his veins jump beneath your touch. “What about you, honey?”

If he’s confused, he doesn’t look it - just gives you a warm smile that feels entirely wrong coming from him, and the waitress looks positively affronted as he orders a large Mediterannean salad, and when she’s tucked her notebook back into the apron tied around her waist and left the private area, he furrows his eyebrows at you.

“Y’jealous?” Harry inquires, leaning his head in with a mocking grin that makes you roll your eyes, though you make no effort to move your hand from his - it looks better for appearances, anyway. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“In your dreams,” you insist, straightening your posture once a different hostess leads a couple into the room. The man is old, bald head shining in the dim light and donning a suit jacket that clearly hasn’t been tailored to his proportions, and his wife is significantly younger, pale face flushed red and wearing a black dress that looks as though she’s attending a funeral - you suppose she is, to some degree, mourning her marriage, so perhaps it’s fitting.

Harry can tell by the way you straighten up that the new couple sitting at the table behind him is the Carfields. Vincent sits with his back to your table, his wife on the opposite side, and immediately they lean their heads together, surely speaking in hushed tones about - prenuptial agreements and custody of their two girls and the like.

You need to be a couple. Mark had insisted on it, that it’s the most important part for you to get closer to Vincent and make him susceptible to your manipulation - he needs to see you as some sort of forbidden fruit - a married woman with a seemingly happy husband. It’s a control thing for him, and one you need to play into if you want to take his drug ring down.

It would sound like an ambitious goal if you weren’t as confident in yourself and Harry - because even if you hate him, he’s a damn good agent.

Your eyes meet Harry’s across the table, and he raises an eyebrow. You nod, jerking your head up and down before wrapping your manicured fingers around the stem of your wine glass, lifting it up and giving your partner a soft smile - one that he’s rarely on the receiving end of, if you’re being truthful - and you nod your chin towards his glass. Harry follows your lead, lifting his glass and raising it to clink against yours.

“Cheers,” he murmurs, and both of you sip from your glasses before resting them back down on your coasters, the rim of your glass decorated with a generous pink stain from your lipstick. “Happy anniversary, honey.”

His voice raises in volume just a bit, and from the table behind him you can see tears fill Mrs. Carfield’s eyes at the sentiment of a happy couple, and Mr. Carfield’s head tilts to the side though you don’t watch him long enough to see if he’d heard Harry - you simply smile - lift your intertwined hands in the air and to anyone else in your private area you’re sure you simply look the perfect part of a happy couple, celebrating their marriage anniversary. Two years together. Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson have been married for longer than you’ve known (and despised) Harry - surely there’s irony hidden in there, deep enough that you can’t see it.

It’s easier than you’d like to admit to fake a meaningful conversation with Harry. Mark generally gives the pair of you a list of things to talk about so people get the impression that you can tolerate each other but you typically don’t even need it - it’s easy enough to talk about your faux plans for the rest of your marriage.

It’s almost fun, even. Not in a way you’d expect - but it’s funny, talking about whatever the pair of you would imagine married couples would discuss - mortgages and trying for babies and politics - keeping your voices loud enough so the couple behind you can hear but quiet enough so it doesn’t seem intentional.

“D’you think we could turn the guest room into a nursery?” Harry inquires, lips quirking upwards as he lifts his wine to his lips, and you nibble on your bottom lip, pretending to contemplate the question.

“Of course,” you respond faux-thoughtfully, leaning forward just a bit, and his eyes flicker downwards for hardly a second before rising to meet your eyes again. “Or perhaps the office.”

“Yes, that’s a bit bigger,” he says seriously, and you nod, reaching for your glass of wine to take another small sip. It’s bitter and leaves a sour taste on your tongue, but you’re determined to drink the entire thing - it’ll soothe the nerves that you’re sure will arrive when it’s time to plant the bug on Mr. Carfield. You still haven’t figured out how you’ll manage to do it smoothly. “Then perhaps we could save the guest room for the second.”

You nod, hardly able to keep the small smile off your lips, and Harry leans forward, reaching for the stem of his glass - perhaps he miscalculates the force needed to pick up a glass, or maybe he’s beginning to feel the effects of the first glass of wine he’d downed - but his hand knocks into the glass, sending it toppling forward onto your arms, sticky red liquid coating your skin. You jerk your arms back as though he’d burned you, watching him hiss as he reaches for the glass before it can spill any further onto you or the white tablecloth now stained with redness.

You swallow the urge to snap at him - that’s counterproductive, and it’ll blow your cover - so you merely inhale, willing the anger down as you reach for your napkin to begin to mop up the mess. “Should watch what you’re doing, honey -”

“My bad, darling - didn’t mean to -”

And the moment of you beginning to like Harry is gone as fast as it had begun, feeling the simmering anger that’s ever-present beneath your skin already beginning to bubble into existence. He’s looking at you with his eyebrows raised as if this is your fault that he can’t control his own glass, like you’re the nuisance, and your desire to retort snarkily is thwarted only as Vincent Carfield’s head turns just slightly to the side, and you can see him and his wife watching the pair of you in what’s clearly an attempt to be subtle.

You rest your palms on the table as Harry sets his glass back on the coaster, and you can feel the similar waves of annoyance rolling off of him that you’re sure you’re mirroring. “I��m going to go clean myself up,” you tell him. “Excuse me for a moment, sweetheart.”

“Take your time, princess.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you push your chair back with a tight lipped smile, standing up and resting your napkin on the table before your seat as you push past the table towards the bathroom you’d passed when your host had lead you to the table.

The restrooms are nicely decorated, with large mirrors and sinks and two singular stalls - entirely too fancy for the thoughts racing through your mind as you lean over the sink, turning the faucet on and shoving your sticky arms beneath the flow of warm water. You’d managed to clean most of the wine with your napkin but you still just need - perhaps just a moment to yourself, without Harry’s eyes piercing into you in a way that makes it impossible to feel like he doesn’t want to throttle you.

And you want to throttle him, too. That’s why your relationship works because it doesn’t, because you hate him as much as he hates you - and yet, while you were drinking wine and messing around and pretending to be a couple you didn’t hate him. Not even a bit -

Until he spilled the wine. It’s a forcible reminder of why you want to shave off all of his hair when he sleeps, sometimes.

The water has gone cold on your skin when you finally shut the faucet off, picking up a small stack of paper towels to dry off your arms. When you’ve chucked your trash in the wicker-basket garbage bin you take a moment to simply stare at yourself in the mirror, black dress hugging your body just enough to leave very little to the imagination - you adjust the fabric to hide the bulge where you have your knife holstered to your thigh. The cut of the dress dips low into your cleavage - and then you recall how Harry’s eyes had briefly dipped downwards when you’d been talking earlier -

A smile twitches at your lips. You’ll have to remember to use that one against him later.

Just before you turn to leave you pause - stick your hand down the front of your dress to the small audio device you’d hidden in your bra. The bug is small, barely the size of your pinky nail, one side sticky enough to hold onto Vincent Carfield’s tan suit jacket -

You hadn’t thought too much about how you’d manage to subtly get the device on him, but there’s no time like the present, is there?

You leave the bathroom, then - nearly run into your waitress as she stares down at her notepad, and you’re not sure if you’re imagining the dirty look she shoots you - and climb the two short steps it takes to get to the private area you’d been seated in. Harry’s back faces you, curls looking particularly messy and head dropped forward to surely stare at his phone, and you can see Vincent leaning in to talk to his wife with narrowed eyes and a hushed tone.

You inhale and begin your walk over to the table, heels clicking on the tiled floor, and Harry’s head tilts to the side as he hears you coming. Vincent’s eyes rise to meet yours just as your heel slides a bit on the floor and you slip forward right beside their table, and the plan falls into action just as you’d planned in the thirty second walk it had taken to get from the bathroom to here.

Vincent’s arm sticks out instinctively to catch you, wrapped around your stomach for just a moment too long as his other hand rests on your back, and you use the opportunity to reach up and grab his shoulder as a way to steady yourself. Harry jerks around in his seat to watch you, and the concern in his eyes almost makes you revive your brief moment of liking him but it’s overpowered by the pride you feel - if he can’t immediately snuff out that the fall was a fraud, then it had clearly looked realistic enough that the Carfields wouldn’t be able to tell, your hand with the bug pressing to his shoulder

Boom. Planted. Your grip presses the bug against the back of his shoulder as he helps you to your feet, and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes trail up your body - his poor wife looks affronted at the clear display of attraction.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” you apologize, trailing your finger down his arm as he drops his hands back to the table. “I’m so clumsy sometimes -”

“No worries,” he assures you, and perhaps he would seem like a kind, well-adjusted man if it weren’t for the way his eyes zero in on your chest like a magnet - Harry shifts in his seat, watching the two of you, and his wife picks up her glass of wine and downs it in one sip. “Always glad to help a pretty girl in need.”

A blush works its way up your cheeks and before you can flirt back - it raises bile in the back of your throat to do it - Harry intervenes, leaning forward with a goddamn award winning smile and absolutely stomping on your chance to ensure some sort of relationship with Mr. Carfield as he says, “Did she wrinkle your suit at all? We’ll get the laundry bill, if she did.”

You grind your teeth together through a smile as Vincent shakes his bald head, sending Harry a warm smile which your partner gladly reciprocates. “It’s fine - are the two of you married?”

Didn’t he hear you two loudly celebrating your anniversary? Perhaps he just needs to confirm it - nothing wrong with it - but, God, he’s forward.

“Yes, we are,” you reply, and you step away from Vincent to walk back to your table - Harry reaches for your hand and pulls you to him, and you suspect the motion would look awkward if done by anyone else but it feels entirely too natural for you to be bothered. “It’s our two year marriage anniversary, actually. That’s why we’re here - on vacation.”

“That’s lovely,” Vincent says, and his smile stretches wider until it makes you uncomfortable to look at so you busy yourself gazing down at Harry’s head as though you’re so smitten you can hardly stand to look away. Then he holds out his hand, and you grab it, letting him shake it vigorously before he moves towards Harry. “It’s Vincent Carfield,” he tells you both, and Harry jumps in to introduce yourselves by your false names. “How long are you here?” “Just th’weekend,” Harry responds, nodding as Vincent does. “We’re staying downtown.”

“Really?” Vincent leans forward, and you lean your body back just a bit - not enough for him to notice, thankfully. “What hotel?”

And Harry gives him the name and Vincent acts as though it’s the wildest coincidence in the world that you both happen to be staying at one of the nicest, most popular hotels in London but you’re glad he overreacts, in a way. It’s important to establish some sort of relation between the two of you and maybe this’ll make Vincent feel like he’s destined to start some sort of affair with you - sure, it’s stupid, but he’s insecure and you’re ‘married’ and that should make him feel a bit more in control, knowing there’s a man waiting for you when you’re with him.

The thought could nearly make you gag. You hope beyond hope that it doesn’t have to get to it - that maybe the two of you could just sit and talk while Harry searches his hotel room - but, judging from the way he’s practically salivating as he stares up at you, you don’t think that’ll be the case.

After another moment of chatter your waitress arrives with a large plate of salad in each hand - you let go of Harry’s hand with one last departing wink to Vincent Carfield as you walk around the table to your seat, pushing your seat into the table just as your salad is placed before you.

Vincent’s wife glares at you - you’d feel bad in any other scenario. But - hey - at least they’re getting divorced already.

You pick up your fork, stabbing into a crouton and a few pieces of iceberg lettuce, and you raise it to your mouth, chewing thoughtfully on your food as Harry mirrors your actions. The two of you eat in silence for a minute or two, and you occasionally lift your wine to take a sip - he hadn’t poured himself a new glass, for which you are extremely grateful - before he leans in, curls flopping around his ears in a way that would be adorable if you didn’t have any sort of niggling annoyance for him still lingering.

“Good job, Mrs. Robinson,” murmurs Harry into a forkful of lettuce before shoving it into his mouth, and you scrunch your nose at his sloppiness.

“It’s what I’m best at,” you respond in earnest, and you relish in the way he rolls his eyes.

Harry takes forever in the shower.

It’s an indisputable fact at this point and one you should have gotten used to but it never fails to amaze you as your fingers type away at the headquarters-issued laptop resting on the carpet in front of you. He’s already been in the bathroom for nearly 20 minutes - you can hear his music playing, old hippie music that’s always blaring from his earbuds on plane and car rides, and steam billows out of the crack in the bottom of the door - and you’ve been picking up where he left up setting up the audio transmitter you’d attached to Vincent Carfield so you can hear what he’s saying, wired earbuds plugged into the computer preparation for when you start the audio.

Harry hadn’t done much at all to set it up - you can’t imagine what he was doing in the hotel room while you were showering if he wasn’t working on the mission, but you’d come out after your shower and hardly anything was done.

They should come up with better technology for this, you think as you drum your fingernails against your laptop, watching the small loading bar inch across the computer screen, transmitting the audio from next door to both your laptop and to Mark, back at headquarters. You’d texted him briefly to ask if he still wanted you to call him and he told you to merely connect the audio to him and there would be no issues - well, that’s fine by you, even if you’d largely counted on him coming between you and Harry when you’ll inevitably want to kill him later tonight.

The water shuts off. You roll your eyes for a good few seconds as you hear the shower curtain being shoved open from inside the bathroom, and you lean further into the computer before you, squinting at the loading bar that hasn’t progressed further since the last time you examined it. You sigh - push yourself off of the floor, arms stretched above your head and the sleeves of your t-shirt slide further down your shoulders. You’re simply donning a worn college shirt you’d gotten when you were in high school and still had dreams of attending a typical university - dreams that, evidently, you had squashed in the years to come - and a pair of sleep shorts, their waist just a tad too big on you and you’ve tugged them up further than they should rest.

It’s decidedly chilly in the hotel. The steam dissipating through the room from Harry’s shower serves as the only way to heat you up, humid air warm on your skin, and you hate the way you almost appreciate him for taking such a piping hot shower - but the thought doesn’t have to linger too long before the bathroom door opens with the force of a fucking bullet and Harry walks out, towel tied around his waist and hanging low on his hips, sopping curls brushed and resting on his shoulders, droplets from the strands rolling down his chest.

Your stomach flips.

“Christ,” you say as a way of hiding the way your skin suddenly feels like there’s a fire lighting it from the inside out, burning your insides with it. “Don’t have any clothes to put on?”

He rolls his eyes - you swallow thickly, perching yourself on the edge of the bed as he takes a moment to stop and glance at the computer on the ground before turning back to you. “Changing in the bathroom is gross,” and - well, yeah, you have to agree with that. “Y’practically stripped naked in front f’me earlier, y’know.”

“You did it first,” you mutter, pulling your legs to cross beneath you as Harry crosses the room to the full length mirror mounted on the wall, fingers running through his wet curls, and you tear your eyes away from the water dripping onto his bare skin with only mild difficulty. “The audio is loading.”

“I saw that, believe it or not.”

Dick. You bite your tongue, though, and resist the urge to retort that he’d clearly not even started to set up the transmitter while you were showering, because the loading bar has moved nearly to the end of the screen while you’d been conversing with Harry. You climb off the bed, kneeling in front of the computer as Harry looks down at you, and you distinctly feel a drop from his hair land on the top of your head.

“S’done?” he inquires, and you glance up at him to reply but he’s already plopping down next to you, leaning over you to squint at the screen so you get a nice whiff of the hotel soap he’d used and his own distinct scent of shampoo - it’s fruity, mixed with something musky you can’t decipher - maybe tobacco? It’s hard to tell - he smells good. You wonder if he’s noticed how still you’ve gotten but then he pulls away, leaning back on his arm while you clear your throat and lean forward, tapping the mousepad on your laptop a few times in quick succession. “You’ve got it hooked to Mark?”

“‘Course,” you say, if only to regain your composure and keep your pretense of light annoyance with him. “Probably why it’s taking so long.”

“Ah.”

Then he stands, crossing to the entrance hall where his suitcase is opened, clothes folded meticulously because he’s nothing if not a freak for his clothes - out of the corner of your eye you see him pull out a pair of pajama pants and only a pair of pajama pants, and when his head turns to glance back at you, you’re quick to avert your gaze back to the computer -

Which has loaded. Hooray!

“It’s done,” you call to him, a decibel too loud and you’re quick to lower your voice with a small glance to the wall separating you and the Carfields. Earlier, you’d heard their door slam when they got home from dinner and you could make out their faint voices arguing if you focused hard enough - you don’t want them to hear you. “Get changed and we can listen.”

You pick up one of the earbuds connected to the laptop and shove it in your ear, fiddling with the volume buttons until it’s loud enough that you can hear their conversations as Harry ducks back into the bathroom. Clearly the coat with the bug has been folded in such a way that it muffles their voices but hell, it’s a strong bug, and you can still manage to hear them fine enough.

You send a text to Mark, and he confirms he can hear it too - you toss your phone to the side, letting it slide across the carpet as you lean in, adjusting the earbud in your ear.

Vincent’s voice is what you hear first - he’s talking fast, as though he’s in a rush, and your brows furrow.

“The new shipment isn’t set to come in until the first,” he says, tone hushed and soft, and you can’t hear his wife’s response after a moment of listening, and then he continues. “Think, you idiot! She’s trying to milk me for everything I’ve got - everything we’ve worked for -”

For a brief moment you wonder who she is, but after another few moments with no response you figure that he isn’t talking to his wife as you’d expected - he’s on the phone with someone, speaking of his divorce. A business partner - of course. The bathroom door opens, and your eyes shift to Harry’s figure as you hold out the available earbud for him.

Fuck. He’s gonna fucking kill you - not with his hands or with his gun but with those fucking pants, so low on his hips you can see the trail of hair leading beneath the plaid fabric, the tie done loose and casual. He’s not wearing a shirt, tattoos on full display for you to ogle if you had the time to, and you don’t, of course, but it doesn’t stop your eyes from roaming over his torso, throat feeling suddenly dry as he pads over to you on the ground, dropping to his knees beside you.

“Are you checking me out?” Harry questions, a soft smirk dancing on his lips and you roll your eyes, dangling the earbud for him to grab and he finally takes it, placing it in his left ear just as Vincent begins to speak again.

“Never,” you murmur, and if that isn’t the furthest from the truth you could get to you’re not quite sure what is. “Listen to him - I’m going to the bathroom.” And, as you push yourself to stand and walk towards the bathroom, you swear you can hear him murmur slacker beneath his breath but - well - you don’t need to respond to everything he says sometimes.

Truthfully, yes. You did have to pee. And when you’re done with that you turn on the faucet to wash your hands and you stare at the bathroom mirror that’s still damp from the steam of his shower, edges still frosted with the humidity, and it makes your reflection fuzzy as you look at yourself.

What the fuck? Seriously - what the fuck?

There’s a pressure in your lower stomach and a neediness between your thighs that you can only assign to Harry’s freshly-showered, no-shirt-low-pants appearance and it has shame bubbling under your skin mixed with some other feeling you don’t care enough to figure out. You’re feeling very strange things for Harry - things you’ve never felt for him, ever, in the entire year of knowing him - and you’re almost completely positive he doesn’t feel the same, doesn’t have the same desire to bend you over this sink -

Almost. But almost is very close to absolutely positive.

You feel embarrassed for yourself as you glance around the sink. His hairbrush sits on the counter, and there are so many assorted beauty products scattered across the surface that you can’t tell which ones are yours or his.

The lotion is his, you decide. You don’t use unscented lotion - but you reach for it anyway, squirting a dollop onto your palms and rubbing it in for a reason you’re not entirely sure of. When your hands are as soft as they’re going to get you glance at yourself in the mirror again, shirt baggy and long, the ends of your shorts peeking beneath the fabric.

You reach up, pulling the waistband of your shorts up until they aren’t visible beneath the ends of your shirt, exposing your legs until it appears you’re wearing no sleep shorts beneath the shirt. It’s more comfortable like that, anyway, you tell yourself, which isn’t quite true, before pushing the bathroom door open and walking back out to where Harry’s perched on the floor.

He turns to look at you, and you don’t miss the way his eyes crawl up your legs but he’s a bit more subtle about it than you’re sure you were - his bottom lip looks a deeper shade of red than the top and you wonder if he’d been biting it.

You decide not to repeat his retort about checking you out, even if you’re almost entirely sure he was.

“How’s it going?” you inquire, picking up your earbud to begin listening again. The wire connecting the two buds is short and you shift closer to him until the tip of your kneecap brushes his - you’d expected him to jerk away like you’d fucking stepped on him but he doesn’t, surprisingly. “Got anything juicy?”

“Jus’ vague references t’shipments and goods - they’re trying t’trace his call, see who he’s talking to.” You nod, resting your chin on your palm as Vincent drones on about exactly what Harry had said - the only substantial piece of evidence you have pointing to his business being a coverup for a drug trafficking scheme is references to obscene amounts of money he fears losing to his ex-wife that he would’ve never been able to obtain working at a privately-owned tailory.

For ten minutes Vincent’s phone call remains as a bit of a drag and, truthfully, a rather large waste of time in your opinion - this is stuff you’d already known, including the shipment coming in a week’s time that you know headquarters will be able to intercept - and you’ve just begun to pull out your earbud to retreat to the bathroom once more to brush your teeth when Harry’s arm jerks towards you, fingers wrapping around your wrist and effectively preventing you from rising.

“Jesus hell,” you hiss, dropping back down onto the ground as you shove your earbud back in, “what -?”

But then Vincent is speaking again.

“ - look, buddy,” he says, voice suddenly dropped lower so that Harry reaches out, tapping the volume button a few times until you can hear him properly, “met this girl at dinner tonight, out with Bonnie. Real cute - body like a fuckin’ goddess.”

Your cheeks flush as a small smirk spreads across Harry’s face.

Vincent pauses, clearly awaiting his business partner’s response to this shocking bit of news, and when he speaks again he sounds more annoyed. “Fuckin’ done with Bonnie - I’m a free agent, Jules.”

You snap at Harry, but he’s already fishing for his phone, pulling up the notes app and jotting down the name Jules in a fresh page.

“Can fuck whoever I want to, now, and I swear, you’d die if you saw her.” You can practically picture the scumbag’s face as he says it, all smug and arrogant - as though you’d ever give him the time of a day if you weren’t being fucking paid for it. “Staying at the same hotel too, with her husband.”

Another pause. “Jules, do you think I give a shit about husbands? Remember Mia, in LA? The one married to that big fella? She was all over me.”

Your lips quirk up into a smile even as your stomach continues to churn in disgust, and Harry exhales softly, resting his phone on top of his knee. Clearly, Vincent’s conversation with Jules has turned from fighting for nearly fifteen minutes about shipments and payments to you and it’s entirely less important but it still piques your interest more. The gritty details of their shipping is for Mark to handle back at headquarters - you need to make sure you can distract Vincent long enough for Harry to search his room.

“ - and, man, you should’ve seen the eyes this girl was giving me - and her husband was all over her, too, checkin’ her out but she was still looking at me -”

You nearly choke at that, head whipping to the side to look at Harry, and he’s doing a sufficient job of furrowing his eyebrows and looking entirely confused at Vincent’s words but you don’t believe him for a moment. Checking you out - God, and you had the nerve to feel embarrassed for your desire for him. A month ago you may have been truly annoyed at Vincent’s observation but it only fuels the fire igniting in your core as Harry puts on his pretense of adjusting his earbuds, tips of his ears bright red as he pointedly avoids your gaze, and you bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from grinning.

“I’ll let you go. God, don’t sound so pretentious - didn’t you hook up with that French chick who was married to the boxer? - Yeah, that’s what I thought -”

You’re much less interested in Vincent’s conversations now, pulling your earbud out and standing up, arms stretched high above your head as Harry stays, leaning against the ground with one arm. After a moment, though, Vincent must have ended his phone call - Harry shuts the laptop and pulls his earbud out, standing up, and your gazes meet for a moment.

“Vincent’s an idiot,” he tells you, flush creeping up his neck, and you nod.

“Is he?’

“Y’know he was just saying that so he seemed cool, right?”

“Said what?”

Harry rolls his eyes, then, and you can’t stop the smirk from gracing your lips once more as he crosses across the hotel room, collapsing onto his back onto the bed, and you furrow your eyebrows as you watch him. “Didn’t check you out.”

“I didn’t say you did.” He doesn’t respond, and you sit yourself on the edge of the bed, glaring down at his slumped figure. “You’re not getting the bed.”

“‘Course I am. We fought it out, remember?”

“And we didn’t finish.”

“We absolutely did,” and then he pushes himself to sit up, leaning against the headboard, and it takes more willpower than you possess to keep your eyes from roaming his body but you resist with everything in you - you’ll just about die if he calls you out for checking him out. “I beat you. I had y’against the headboard.”

“That was inconclusive.”

“Get on the couch.”

You narrow your eyes at him and he narrows his right back, staring into his fucking soul because you’ll be damned if you sleep on the couch, even if it makes logistical sense because he is taller than you - but, no. You’re the one who could possibly have to fuck Vincent Carfield in all his glory. You deserve the bed, size be damned.

In the end, you blink first, and come bedtime, you’re nestled on the couch with blankets you’d found in the hotel wardrobe.

You hate Harry.

The couch is extremely uncomfortable. It’s what you’d expected but your back still aches in pain when you wake up at 3 in the fucking morning, blankets dangling off the edge of the cushions you’re bundled on top of, and the pillow your head was resting on has slipped off onto the ground.

The room is pitch black as you groan, the noise purposefully loud, reaching down until your fingers graze the edge of the pillow - but your grip is slow, tired, and as you pick up the pillow to throw it back behind your head it slips from your grasp, dropping onto the ground and bouncing against the carpet until it’s resting a solid six feet from the couch.

Do you really need a pillow? You’re not sure, but you desperately don’t want to have to get up and get it because you know your sleepiness will melt away before you can even think about it, and, more than anything, you desire going back to sleep in order to try and be well rested for tomorrow.

You reach down and pull your clump of blankets back up over yourself, pulling your knees further against your chest so the entire area of the blankets coats your body. Your head rests against the flat cushion, pillow be damned, and you shift again until your back is rested flat against the cushion as well, legs sticking straight out in front of you, the couch creaking at the movement.

The blankets don’t cover your legs - you push one of them down until they’re situated onto your feet, collectively covering your entire body even if it isn’t necessarily warm. At least they’re blanketed to some degree.

After ten minutes of trying to go back to bed, you pointedly decide that yes, you really do need a pillow, and immediately. Your neck already aches with the uncomfortable position and your ears feel chilly without being pressed into the soft pillow you’d snatched from the bed Harry is currently sleeping on - the bastard. He’d practically suffocated you with his smug gazes before he fell asleep, curled on top of the bed that he’d (rightfully) claimed as his after an arm wrestle, rock paper scissors game, and a half-hearted second attempt at a wrestling match - you’d lost all three.

Whatever. You’d been determined not to sulk at your losses before returning to the couch, trying not to let Harry see you mope but now you wish you’d made a bigger show of your disappointment - perhaps he’d have caved and taken the couch, but you’re sure he’d have stayed firm no matter what.

You slowly push yourself off of the couch, creeping across the room towards where your pillow rests on the ground, and you pick it up, clutching it tight to your chest before returning to the couch. You press it against the cushion, punching it a few times to attempt to soften it before huffing softly, lying yourself back down and tugging your blankets tight back up against you.

The next ten minutes goes by much as the night had previously - you can’t find a good position, turning onto your side and your back and your stomach until you’re hardly sure which way you’re facing, at this point, face buried tight against your pillow. You long for not much more than a soft bed for your back to rest into and you’re sure you’ll be a sore, tired disaster tomorrow when you manage to find Vincent Carfield in the hotel.

You turn to your side, the couch squeaking beneath the shift in your weight, and your body tenses when you hear a soft groan from the lump wrapped in covers on top of the bed, his silhouette illuminated only by the moonlight streaming through the window into the hotel room.

“How much longer are y’gonna move?” Harry grunts, voice low and raspy and you swallow when you hear it - if you close your eyes and listen to him speak, you could almost imagine him sounding like that in a very different scenario - “Keepin’ me up.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” you retort, voice soft and crackling with your yearning to sleep. “If you’d like to take the couch so I stop tossing and turning, I’d much appreciate it.”

He exhales softly, the noise sounding so deep and pornographic it makes your stomach flip. “In your dreams.”

You narrow your eyes as you stare at him, duvet pulled up to his chest and head turned to the side towards you - in the dark you can’t tell if his eyes are shut or if he’s looking at you. For a moment you decide not to say anything, hands crossed over your stomach, and then you shift loudly onto your back, couch creaking, and Harry sighs just as you’d anticipated.

“Please,” he begins, tone low and pleading, and you cut him off before he can continue.

“Not my fault the couch is loud, Har.”

“You’re doin’ it on purpose.”

“Of course I’m not,” you tell him, shifting again so another noise permeates the air of the hotel room. “The couch is just noisy - and uncomfortable.”

There’s a rather pregnant pause after that and you keep your eyes on Harry, watching the way he shifts onto his back, opening up a rather small sliver of space beside him and your heart practically leaps at the sight but you don’t say anything else - simply roll back onto your side, the couch creaking as you do, and he sighs again.

It seems like he sighs a lot.

“If I invite you into my bed,” Harry begins, and a small smile begins tugging your lips upwards even if you want to groan at his usage of the word my, “you’ll promise t’be quiet an’ go t’sleep?”

God, he sounds like your mother. “Yes,” you tell him, clutching the blankets wrapped around your torso. “I promise.”

Another pause. “Then - then y’can come. We can share.”

You try not to look too eager. Masking your emotions is, perhaps, the most important aspect of your job and yet you’re sure you look just as excited as you feel, pushing yourself to your feet with your blankets wrapped around your body, pillow stowed beneath your arm. Your feet pad across the carpet, toes sinking into the plushness of the floor before you make it to the bed, and Harry’s staring up at you, face contorted in a mixture of emotions you can’t decipher.

“Not gonna scooch over, then?” you question, resting your pillow against the bed and hitting it a few times.

“Y’have room, don’t you?”

And the answer is that you don’t, of course. When you lie yourself down on the bed your legs knock into Harry’s, head so close to his you can feel his curls grazing your face, and the duvet you pull up your chin smells like him, distinctly. His elbow juts into your side - your cold foot rests against his warm one - you don’t think you’ve ever touched him this much outside of a mission.

You drape your clump of blankets over your body, partially resting on top of Harry, smoothing your palms over the fabric with a contented sigh. Your back is thanking you for the switch in sleeping spots and your neck sinks into the pillow and mattress, aches already beginning to alleviate themselves.

“Still need me t’move?” Harry asks, and you shut your eyes, nearly missing the way his eyes lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary before he rests himself back against the bed.

“No,” you murmur, and there’s another moment of silence before he mumbles his affirmation. Tomorrow you’re sure you’ll regret this - sleeping beside him, even if that’s all you do - feeling him pressed against parts of your body you’d never expected to feel his touch on.

Well, you’d rather deal with the tinge of embarrassment (and pride) than an achy back and lack of sleep - you smile slightly.

The next morning comes entirely too soon for your liking - sunlight peeking through the windows permeates your eyelids until you’re groaning awake, palm pressed against your eyes to block the light and face burying itself back into your pillow.

Your alarm hasn’t gone off yet. If your alarm doesn’t go off, then it’s not morning. Surely you have a few more hours of rest before you need to get up - even a couple more minutes will do -

Just as the thought crosses your mind your phone blares its alarm, the loud noise jolting you up like a bucket of ice water, and, from behind you, Harry grunts into his pillow.

Behind you.

You’re quick to silence your alarm - another nine full minutes of peaceful resting, if you’re lucky, before you’re disturbed again, though you’re sure you won’t get back to bed now that you’ve remembered the events of last night.

Harry’s arm is heavy, draped over your midsection, the soft surface of his cheek buried intently into the crevice between your neck and shoulder - you can feel his soft breathing against your skin, the air a warm and gentle sensation. One of his legs has wedged itself between yours, thigh pressed entirely too high in the crevice between your thighs, and with every moment that passes you can feel the rise and fall of his bare chest as he snores behind you.

What a fucking sight, you think, sitting up slightly to look down at him. God, if he were awake, you’d tease him until he cries about what a position the pair of you had worked yourselves into but you have the foresight to see how that would backfire on you - technically, you’re just as to blame as he is, even if he’s the bigger spoon right now.

But you’re most decidedly not to blame for the hardness pressing into your lower back, tearing a sleepy groan from Harry’s throat when you shift in your position.

The bastard. He’s hard as a fucking rock from pressing against you while you slept, and a sleepy smirk spreads across your face as you glance down at him. In any other circumstance you think you’d poke him awake just to make him aware of it but there’s a certain air of desire you’re feeling as well that makes you feel - well, not as though you’re in the appropriate position to make fun of him for his boner.

Slowly, you disentangle yourself from his body. His leg drops to the mattress when you swing your own off the edge of the bed, his arm falling until it’s resting in your lap, palm pressed against a certain area that makes your breath hitch, furrowing your eyebrows as you glance down at his hand. There are still fading, pink indents from the rings he takes off every night and before every mission, save for the fake wedding band the two of you often have to don on missions, and you scrunch your nose as you admire it.

Married. You don’t think so. The only time you think of him with anything other than hatred is when he’s asleep, like this - or shirtless.

You stand up, shaking your head to wipe those thoughts from your mind. Harry’s hand drops onto the mattress and you can tell it’s the push he needed into consciousness - you glance back at him to see his eyes cracked open, and they shut when your gazes meet.

“‘Morning,” you tell him, voice louder than you’d intended, and he winces at the noise, shifting onto his back - it’s as though you can see the exact moment he realizes his little problem mixed with the realization that you would also know about it, pressed up against him during the night - his eyes widen ever so slightly, and he pushes himself to lean against the headboard, bundling his duvet onto his lap.

“Um - g’morning,” Harry replies, voice raspy like it had been the night prior and your stomach turns - you shift on your feet. “Y’goin’ t’the bathroom?”

“You can go first,” you say, and he nods, bringing fists up to rub at his eyes. And then - because you just can’t help pissing him off when you have such a golden opportunity - you add, “Think you might need it a bit more than I do.”

His face reddens.

Earpiece. Knife. Boobs.

You go through the things you need on a mental checklist as you pick up your forkful of scrambled eggs, chewing thoughtfully on the bite. The hotel restaurant is nearly completely full, couples and families packed into the small tables as they feast on their complimentary breakfasts, chatter filling the section. You’ve been sitting eating (truthfully, delicious) breakfast for the better half of an hour, bringing your plate up to the buffet to refill your platter of eggs, fruit, and toast.

Realistically, you would have eaten and left had you not been waiting for a very specific somebody to walk in and catch your eye. You and Harry had plugged back into the bug in Vincent’s room to hear him planning to go down for complimentary breakfast - the only clue you had as to how he wanted to spend his day - and it was the only opportunity you had to find him. Get him out of his room - talking, if possible - so Harry can search it.

It’s such an easy plan, you could practically do it in your sleep.

“Is he there yet?” inquires a crackling voice from your earpiece, disguised as an earring dangling from your lobes.

“No,” you murmur, voice soft as a whisper, and you’re sure he can’t hear your response until he sighs.

“Takin’ his time, isn’t he?”

“Mhm.”

You pick up your glass of orange juice, raising the cup to rouge-stained lips as you take a sip. When you rest it back down on the table, there’s a light red stain on the glass - you wipe it away with a manicured thumb, leaning back in your seat, legs crossed. Your eyes scan the restaurant again, lingering on any newcomers leaning against the wall in case you can pinpoint the man you’re searching for - wide frame, untailored suits, bald head that shines in the artificial light.

(Complimentary breakfast ends at 10, and it’s 9:48. It’s safe to say that you’re getting nervous.)

Your nerves, however, are soothed just a bit when a familiar figure makes his way into the dining hall - tall and haughty, phone pressed to his sweaty head, Vincent Carfield is the image of a stressed businessman, recently divorced and searching for a young, married woman who’d given him eyes last night. His suit is baggy, buttons of the jacket undone and his white button up has sweat stains spreading from the armpits, visible with his arm lifted up to his ear. Instinctively your back straightens, tugging down the top of your lace top so that the top of your cleavage shows - it seems to be your greatest weapon, dealing with a man like Carfield.

You lower your gaze to your phone clutched in your hand but you can still sense exactly the moment his eyes land on you. In your peripheral vision you watch him straighten up, lips moving quickly before his phone is shoved into his pocket, weaving his way between circular tables until he’s standing beside you, and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes never meet yours - his gaze stays on a point eerily similar to your chest.

“Is he there?” Harry questions, and you clear your throat - it’s the symbol you’d decided on to mean yes if you can’t speak.

“Vincent,” you begin, faux smile spreading across your face, and a similar one lands on his features. He reaches for your hand and you give it to him, watching him press chapped, dry lips to the back of your palm, and the urge to scrunch your nose at the feeling is almost overwhelming. “It’s so good to see you.”

“And you,” he says, and you drop your hand back to the tablecloth resting on your table. “Can I sit?”

“Of course,” you reply, and he pulls out the empty seat across from you, resting with a soft grunt. “Breakfast ends in a few minutes, though - you’re welcome to have some of mine, if you’re hungry.”

He obliges, reaching to pull your plate to him, and you watch as he picks up your buttered toast, taking a large bite and smacking his lips as he chews. “I was hoping I’d run into you.”

You raise your eyebrows, leaning forward ever so slightly. “And why is that?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Vincent tells you, and in your earpiece, Harry snorts at his words - you hope you didn’t jump too hard at his sudden noises in your ear. “I hoped I wasn’t getting the wrong idea at dinner, last night -”

“What idea were you getting?”

“That you were interested in me,” and you tilt your head to the side, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth - if Harry could see the act you’re playing right now, you’d be humiliated. At least he can only hear it. “I saw the eyes you were giving me - not even worried ‘bout your husband seeing?”

“He’s too dense to notice,” you say, a smile tilting your lips up as Harry groans - from his side of the earpiece you can hear bustling mixed with the sound of a door opening, and you assume he’s just entered Vincent’s apartment. He needs at least a half hour, Mark had told you - breakfast ends in nearly five minutes, and you need somewhere else to take Carfield. “You know, Vince - is it okay if I call you Vince?”

“I don’t think he cares what you call him,” mumbles Harry, so quiet you’re sure he’s hardly even intending for you to hear it, “as long as you have your hand down his pants in the next ten minutes.”

Your cheeks flush as Vincent smiles, leaning back in his seat as he finishes off your toast. “Call me whatever you want to,” he tells you, and you can practically hear Harry rolling his eyes through your earpiece.

“Alright, Vince - breakfast is ending in a few minutes, and I desperately hope we can keep talking.” He nods along with your words, leaning in as he pushes his plate to the center of the table - all that’s left is the fruit and the remnants of your eggs. “Do you think we could go up to my room? My husband is off visiting some family members across London - he won’t be home for hours.”

“Hours?”

“Hours,” you confirm, nodding as you take another sip of your orange juice - this time you don’t wipe the lipstick stain off of your glass, and you watch his eyes follow the mark as you lower the glass back to the table. “Can we go, Vince?”

Clearly he isn’t thinking clearly enough to question how curious it is that you’d had similar feelings for him without much trouble at all - instead, he smiles like a boy on Christmas morning. He practically knocks the table in his rush to stand up - you watch a red blush creep up his neck to his ears as he grabs it, steadying the wobbling surface, and you pretend you hadn’t noticed when he holds his hand out for you. You allow him to take your hand in his and he pulls you to your feet, wrapping a secure arm around your waist, palm stretched across your hips so his fingertips creep up the hem of your lace shirt.

“Are you going to our room?” questions Harry in your ear, and there’s a few scuffling noises on the other end that makes you internally cringe as Vincent begins weaving the pair of you between tables that are now emptying as complimentary breakfast reaches its end. “____? ‘Y’goin’ t’our room?”

You clear your throat once, and Vincent glances over at you with an amused glance on his face as the two of you make your way out of the restaurant. “Are you okay, darling?”

The pet name makes you cringe internally and you give him a soft smile as you approach the hallway full of elevators, available to take you to any of the available thirteen residential floors of the hotel - Vincent presses the button to go up, and you wait for the doors to open. “I’m great.”

“Make sure he doesn’t want to stop in his room,” Harry mutters, and you swallow, your smile not faltering. You want to tell Harry to make sure he’s completely quiet in his endeavors in Vincent’s room but you’re sure he already knows - you can’t risk Vincent hearing a strange noise while you’re attempting to distract him.

The elevator doors open, and Vincent pulls you inside with a grip on your waist like a vise. He glances at the array of buttons available to press, and looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s floor 13,” you tell him, and he smiles, pressing the button until it glows.

“Floor 13? That’s where I’m staying, too,” he says, and you nod in mock-surprise -

“What a surprise,” Harry snorts in your ear, and you can’t stop the smirk from spreading across your face.

There’s a thick thigh pressed between both of yours, sweaty palms slid beneath your lace top, and you don’t think you’ve ever found a man’s touch less desirable in your life - and, for whoever may be keeping a record, this job has required you to get up close and personal with more skeevy men that you’d expected when you’d applied.

The only thing keeping a blissed out look on your face is your focus on the soft noises coming from the other end of your earpiece as Vincent lands wet, open-mouthed kisses to your throat, tongue laving over your skin - hearing Harry’s occasional quiet breathing and muffled noises as he searches the hotel room next to yours makes this entirely worth it.

Against your throat, Vincent moans, and the noise is throaty and loud - you can hear Harry stifling a laugh directly into your ear, and the noise sends a chill rolling up your spine. Clearly, Vincent thinks your involuntary movement was for him - his hands grasp on your tits entirely too hard to be pleasurable and you bite back the urge to tell him so. “Such a dirty girl,” he tells you.

You rest your head back against the wall he has you pressed against with a moan that sounds entirely fake from your throat. You can almost imagine how Harry’s going to make fun of this when he sees you next, and your stomach turns when you think about it for a reason you can’t quite decipher. “Fuck,” you say, forcing your voice to a near whine, and you swear you can hear Harry’s voice hitch through your piece but you’re not sure. “Feels - so good.”

The lie sounds natural off of your lips as Vincent’s knee jabs into your clit - the pressure is a pain rather than a pleasure and your breath hitches as you try not to cry out. He chuckles against your skin, clearly taking your soft sign of pain as an emblem of pleasure, and you shut your eyes as his teeth graze the veins in your neck.

“No way,” breathes Harry, and your ears perk up - had he found something in Vincent’s room? “S’he actually good at that?”

You want to snort at that. Of course he isn’t good but the thought of Harry listening spurs you on more than it should - you roll your hips against Vincent’s thigh with a soft moan, higher pitched than your last one, and the man on the other end of your earpiece exhales.

“That sounded fake,” Harry says, voice soft and light, and you want to slam your head into the wall so he knows that he’s starting to piss you off from next door. “So he’s not makin’ y’feel good?”

You practically freeze. If Vincent wasn’t tugging your shirt up to expose your tits to the cold air of your hotel room, you’re sure you would have forgotten where you were completely. Those words from Harry’s mouth mixed with an edge of venom isn’t what you’d expected him to say at all - on the contrary, you’d think he was fucking with you, trying to work you up to embarrass you if you couldn’t hear his little moans that he’s clearly trying to silence.

Is he worked up? Because you can work with that.

You drop your head back to whack against the wall with a loud moan as Vincent’s clammy lips press to the fabric of your bra. Your hand goes up to press to the back of his bald head, fingernails scratching against his sweaty scalp and you wish - not for the first time - that you were feeling thick, chocolate-toned curls beneath your fingers instead, tugging on them as his tongue lavished you. Though, in your mind, it’s more teeth and grit and anger because you’re sure you’d find a way to be angry with Harry even if his mouth were on your tits - it’s one of your special skills - in every fantasy you’ve had of your partner it’s violent and harsh.

“Fuck,” grunts a voice from your earpiece, and hardly a moment later Vincent groans a similar noise as you rock your hips against his thigh. Thankfully he seems to be getting a decent amount of pleasure just making out with your boobs like a teenage boy and - maybe, if Harry is quick enough in his search of his hotel room - you won’t have to fuck him at all. It’ll be a Christmas miracle (a month early, but a miracle nonetheless.) “Are y’fuckin’ him?”

You whimper, Harry’s voice shooting from your ear directly down to your cunt and your clit and you feel wetness soaking your knickers, pressed against Vincent’s thigh though it may as well be the arm of a couch for how it affects you - the only pleasure you get from Vincent’s hard body against yours is the urge to close your eyes and imagine it’s Harry.

“No, you’re not,” says Harry, and there’s a soft clatter in your earpiece - surely he’s dropped something from the room next door and you tense. Surely Vincent hadn’t heard it, teeth still gnashing against your bra, and he seems too distracted to pay attention to it. “M’hard as a fuckin’ rock, ____ - thinkin’ of you, gettin’ off on my voice, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you exhale, and Vincent glances up at you, thick brows furrowed in confusion. You swallow, focusing on giving yourself a satisfied expression, and he turns back to your chest, seemingly convinced of your pleasure. “Yes - making me feel so good.”

Harry groans in your ear, and you wonder, suddenly, if he’s jerking off - if he’s leaning against Vincent Carfield’s bed, hand pumping up and down his cock as he listens to you. Maybe he’s in the bathroom, or leaning against the wall like you are, his breathing picking up as sweat drips down his forehead -

“Gonna fuck you,” Vincent mumbles against your boobs, and you scrunch your nose. “Want me to fuck you?”

“Just -” you swallow, and Harry snickers in your ear, the soft laugh breathy and groaning. “Just wait, feels so good -”

“Don’t fuck him,” says Harry, and there’s a few more jostling noises on the other end mixed with another soft moan - you have a sudden image of him, digging through Vincent Carfield’s possessions with a firm hand around his cock and you feel the result of that imagery stricken straight down to your clit like a fucking lightning bolt until you’re crying out, and your orgasm is on you so embarrassingly fast you could sob in embarrassment. “I’m almost there -”

You’re not sure if he means he’s almost about to cum or if he’s almost found something to convict Vincent - you’re not entirely sure which interpretation you’d prefer.

“I’m gonna cum,” you breathe, the words sour on your tongue as Vincent glances up at you with a wicked smile, jolting his thigh further up into your clit, and you furrow your eyebrows at the pain the motion brings. “Fuck, H - Vincent.”

“Y’were gonna say m’name,” Harry hisses, and you squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassment coursing through your veins. You almost fucked everything up. “Cum. Let Vincent think he made y’cum - go ahead - do it.”

And - fuck. Who are you to disobey? You grind your core down on Vincent’s thigh with a throaty cry, and your orgasm rushes over you with an embarrassing waterfall of pleasure and shame. Never have you cum so easily and it wasn’t even Harry’s touch - simply his voice, his groans as he listens to you come undone - and, in the end, the only thing to pull you from your high is Vincent’s eyes boring into yours, eyebrows raised and lips parted as he pulls his face from your chest with a most satisfied expression on his face.

You want to smack it off of him - if you hadn’t already cum, that look would’ve stopped you in your tracks. As it is, it slows the aftershocks of your release into dull nothingness while Harry moans in your earpiece, his noises a mere backdrop to the sudden growing sounds of scuffling and jostling, and his sharp gasp is loud enough for Vincent’s head to snap up.

“Did you hear that?” Vincent questions - Harry curses into your earpiece.

“I found something,” Harry tells you, voice dropped to a low whisper. “I found - s’under his mattress - m’calling Mark!”

A small smile spreads across your face at his words. It’s done. He’s found something worthy enough to convict Vincent Carfield, and that’s enough for you to press your palms to his chest, pushing him away from you so forcefully that he stumbles over the carpet, back slamming into the edge of your bed as he falls to the ground. His expression is so confuddled as he stares up at you that, for a moment, you marvel at his lack of self awareness - in an instant you’re reaching up the hem of your skirt to the knife in its holder strapped to your thigh, and you pull the blade out to point at Vincent Carfield, in your ear a myriad of Harry’s delighted cheers of, “I’ve found it!”

Wrapping up a mission isn’t nearly as speedy as you’d like - there’s debriefs and paperwork to complete once Vincent is done and arrested, phone confiscated along with the drugs found in his hotel room by your partner, and physical evaluations to determine whether you’d been hurt, and a long phone call with Mark where he congratulated the pair of you.

Not only for taking down Vincent Carfield, your boss had said, his voice booming and cheerful, but for making it out without killing each other.

If only he knew.

Your plane is set to leave tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn, and if you were more reasonable perhaps you’d heade Mark’s advice to go straight to sleep and set an alarm for 3 AM but you’ve never been too bright in that regard. You finish your last debrief in the hotel restaurant, Harry working diligently beside you, and it’s at nearly 9 PM that the pair of you pack up your work and begin to head upstairs.

The elevator ride is silent when Harry reaches to press the button for your floor. Your room had been closed for you to visit for the better part of the afternoon until Vincent’s had been properly searched, though Harry had gladly given the authorities everything he’d found without a moment of hesitation. Tiredness creaks at your bones but here - standing beside Harry, feeling his gaze boring into the side of your face - you desire nothing less than to go to sleep.

“Good work, Mr. Robinson,” you tell him, and he raises his eyebrows when you turn your head to look at him. “Fairly easy mission, wasn’t it?”

“For you,” he says, and you arch your eyebrow, frown tugging your lips downwards as the elevator begins to move up. “Gettin’ off on Vincent’s thigh was the hardest part - I had t’search the room.”

For a moment you wonder if he’s kidding and certainly he’s only teasing you but you still roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as heat creeps up your cheeks. “Didn’t seem too difficult, moaning and crying ‘bout how hard you were. I bet I could’ve found the drugs in half the time it took you -”

“You couldn’t have,” Harry says, and you exhale sharply.

“‘Course I could -”

“Wasn’t hidden in plain sight like everything you find.”

“So where were they?”

He pauses, and you smile down at your shoes - surely you’ve got him now. “Hidden in his computer,” Harry says, then, and your smile is wiped away in an instant. Shit, you wouldn’t have found them. “Not so smart now, are you?”

“Oh, you dick -”

The elevator doors open to your floor and Harry pushes himself off the wall, stalking out of the elevator and you jump to follow him, picking up the pace to walk beside him as he begins down the hall towards your hotel room. It’s entirely too easy, falling back into an arrangement of bickering with him as though nothing had happened - as though you hadn’t cum with his voice alone, and you’re nearly positive that he had, too.

He stops in front of your hotel door, digging in the pockets of his pants for the room key, and you cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t know why you’re actin’ so high and mighty,” he tells you, voice biting as he shoves the key card into the door’s slot - it beeps red, and he tries again. “As f’you didn’t cream your fucking pants jus’ listenin’ t’my voice.”

“I’m not acting high and mighty,” you retort, praying the burning sensation in your face isn’t visible to him but you doubt you’re that lucky. “You don’t have to be such a douche all the time - and, by the way, you came in your pants, too, didn’t you.”

It’s not a question, and Harry flings the door open, letting you walk in before he follows. In an instant, before you can march into the bedroom area to huff at how pissed he’s getting you - it is what he’s best at - there’s a tight grip on your wrist, turning you around so fast your head spins, and before you can object, Harry has you pressed against the door, hands caging you in on either side of your head.

His face is so close to yours you can smell the alcohol on his breath that he’d had while you two worked, mixed with the scent of his mint toothpaste and his shampoo, curls dropping into your face as he wedges his leg between both of yours, thigh pressed against your cunt. It’s just as Vincent had done but so different, so much better, and it tears a whine out of your throat right off the bat.

Your urge is to lean in, clash your lips together in a fury of tongue and teeth but you don’t want to make the first move - Harry can take the lead and you’ll follow, and that’s more than enough for you. So you simply drop your head back, breathing heavy as you stare into his eyes, nearly cross-eyed to meet his gaze.

“Fuck you,” you tell him, and the words lack the venom you’d yearned for. It’s filled with more desperation and neediness than you’d anticipated, and you feel your stomach flip-flop at the smirk that spreads across Harry’s face. “Fuck you.”

His hands drop from against your head and for a moment you fear he’s going to pull away, that he’s doing this just to fuck with you but then his hands are on your legs, fingertips dancing up and down your outer thighs, fingering the hem of your skirt, and you jolt under him. “You’re so responsive,” he tells you, and you roll your eyes, dropping your head back against the door. “I love getting y’worked up.”

“Shut up,” you groan, feeling his fingers working your skirt up your legs, and the fabric brushes over the edge of your knife, still fastened to your thigh.

“Like makin’ y’angry.”

“Shut up,” and finally Harry leans in, mouth slamming against yours until your teeth grind against his and your lips part with a shocked gasp. His tongue slips between your lips, your hands reaching up to bury in his curls and hold his face to yours. His palm slides up your thighs, pushing your skirt up around your waist and your cheeks burn as the cold hotel room air assaults your skin, goosebumps popping up in their wake. You whimper into Harry’s lips and he pulls away, palms smoothing up and down your thighs before you feel his fingers hook against the top of your knife, and he tugs the blade out of your holster.

You watch with wary eyes as Harry brings the blade up to his eyes, examining it with narrowed eyes, his other hand still resting on your thigh, fingertips rubbing circles into your skin harsh enough that you’re sure you’ll find bruises tomorrow in the shape of his hands. Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch him and his eyes turn to yours, smile tugging his lip up.

“Y’look a bit excited, there,” Harry says - an acute observation, because you’re practically creaming your fucking panties. “Like seein’ me with your knife?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and Harry flips the knife in his hands until the blade is just an inch from the spot between both of your eyes, your orbs crossing to see it. “What are you -”

Before you can finish the question Harry presses the knife forward, the sharp edge of the plate pressed to your cheek, and you inhale sharply, swallowing thickly as he increases pressure against your skin. Fuck, this shouldn’t excite you - he’s not half as good as you are with blades - and you’re sure if he keeps going he’s going to slice you either by accident or on purpose, and it disturbs you how much that thought turns you on.

The blade drags down your skin, tracing along your jawline with pressure light enough to feel like a breath and hard enough to catch yours in your throat - Harry’s watching it with darkened eyes, watching as he lowers it down your throat, tracing it along your neck and the veins.

You drop your head back against the door with a thud, feeling the cool metal on your skin, sweaty from being pressed against him and the heat that encompasses your body until it’s all you can feel, and Harry’s just watching, watching the knife run across your skin.

Your eyes, fluttered shut, shoot open when a sudden burning sensation overtakes the top of your chest - you glance down to see Harry pulling the knife away from you, the tip decorated with just a smudge of dark, red liquid that’s mirrored on your collarbone.

“Did you -?”

“Oops,” Harry says as you bring your fingers to the small nick he’d given you, wiping away the drops of blood that spread on your chest. You raise your narrowed eyes to glare at him and you’re trying - trying so hard - to be furious with him, to get angry, to push him away and yell at him - but, fuck, feeling his thumb rub across the cut on your chest only increases the ball of pressure in your lower abdnomen as you look at him.

Your lips clash once more, more intense than before as you whine into his mouth - Harry’s free hand hoists your thigh around his waist, and when his lips move down to bite at your throat, the hand still clutching your knife pulls back before he slams the blade into the door next to you, surely taking a few of your stray hairs. You yelp, jolting your head back as you whip your head to the side to stare at the knife stuck in the door barely an inch from the side of your head, and Harry lifts his head with a smirk.

“You assho -”

Before you can finish Harry’s hand is wrapped around your throat, cutting off your ability to speak and you can’t help but moan at the pressure even if the noise is choked and gasping - Harry grins, moving his other hand down to your hips until he’s helping you to roll against his thigh, clit rubbing against the fabric of his pants. You tighten your thigh’s hold around his waist, pressing his torso closer to yours, and he, in turn, tightens his grasp on your neck.

“Y’like m’hand on your throat, hmm?” Harry questions, voice low and raspy like how it had been in the middle of the night except more, better and intense, and you whimper in affirmation. “Can’t even talk - can’t even say anything.”

When he finally loosens his hold on you, you gasp for air and bring your arm up to wrap around his neck again, fingers scraping through his scalp to tug his lips back to yours. Your other hand drops to the front of his pants, palm smoothing over his bulging erection before your shaky fingers begin tugging his zipper down.

“Can I tell you something?” says Harry, then, as you fumble to undo the button of his pants until you can shove your hand into the fabric, fingernails dragging along his cock through his boxers - his hips jolt into your hands.

“Yes,” you murmur in response, hand jerking up and down his dick and, even through a layer of fabric, he grunts into your lips.

“I didn’t cum,” he says, and you move your head from his, furrowing your eyebrows. “Didn’t cum, even when I heard y’with Vincent -”

“You -?”

“Didn’t wanna cum when I wasn’t buried in your cunt,” and you gasp sharply as his hand on your throat slides down your body until it’s shoved into your panties, cold fingertips dragging along your soaking folds that drip your ambrosia into his grasp. “Even f’you sounded so good, moanin’ for me - almost pathetic -”

You tighten your grip on his hair until he’s crying out, fingertips pinching your clit in your panties and you jerk your hips into his grasp at the sharp punishment. “Don’t call me that -” you moan, trembling hand pulling his boxers down over his cock while he smirks.

“Pathetic -”

“Fuck you, Harry -”

“Whimperin’ like a baby -”

You move your hand from his hair to his face, grip bruising as you grab his chin in your palm. Your fingertips squeeze his cheek as you force his head to stare at you - the lazy, cocky smile that adorns his features makes you want to throttle him, and your fingers flex against his face.

“What?” Harry questions, tone mocking and it fuels the anger in every crevice of your body as you glare at him. “Gonna hit me?”

Yes, you want to say - before you can even open your mouth, though, Harry leans in, teeth nibbling on your earlobe as he exhales, his words low and breathy, “Do it.”

Who are you to disobey him?

You bring your hand back and smack it down on his cheek with a satisfying slap that reverberates through your hotel room. His head is slapped to the side, exposing his side profile to you, and you smooth your palm over the red mark already blooming on his cheek in the shape of your handprint.

“You like to be hit, do you?” you inquire - for a moment, just a second, you feel some semblance of control over the situation, wrapping your fist around his cock once you’ve pulled his boxers down over his length. He hisses, dropping his head back, lips parted in a silent cry when your thumb sweeps over the weeping tip of his cock, precum dripping down his member. “Never would’ve guessed.”

And you do it again, bringing your hand up to slap his face and it tugs a louder grunt from his mouth, pressing his body further into yours until all you can feel is him, chests pressed together and cock rubbing against your cunt through the fabric of your lace panties. You bring your hand back to give him another slap but then his fingers are pulling your drenched knickers to the side, bulbous tip of his cock nudging through your folds for only a split second before he pushes himself inside of you, sheathing the entirety of his length until he bottoms out, balls pressed tight against your skin.

You can’t help but sob out. It’s, really, not your fault - you can tell how it spurs him on, but before he can keep fucking you like how you’ve dreamt of he’s pulling out completely, taking a half a step away from you, cock tall and leaking. The emptiness you feel is overwhelming, even if you’d only had him in you for a few seconds at best, and objections immediately rise in your throat.

“What the fu -?”

Then he’s grabbing your throat, using his grip as leverage to force you around, cheek smushed against the wooden door frame and back pressed to his chest. His palms smooth up and down the globes of your ass, pulling the cheeks apart until the pressure burns and you throw your head back with a cry. Then he pulls his hand back - lands it back against your ass with a cracking slap that makes you jump against him - and he doesn’t give you a second to beg him to fucking do it again before he’s sliding his cock back into your folds.

“Fuck,” he practically shouts, the noise crackling and broken with arousal practically dripping from the syllable, and you drop your forehead against the door with a cry. “Fuck, so tight - knew y’would be -”

“Move, please,” you beg, tone sobbing and desperate, and Harry obliges without another second to spare - pulls out and thrusts back in, pace brutal and desperate right off the bat until you’re quivering, legs trembling when he’s only been going for a half a minute.

Oh my god. Holy fuck, it feels so good, better than you could’ve ever pictured it, his hand smoothing over your ass before landing periodic slaps to the plump skin - his hand landing on you hardly overpowers the sound of his hips smacking against your ass, filling you until you’re crying for it before leaving you empty and diving back in. You can’t do much else other than stand there on quivering legs that feel incapable of handling your weight and take it, pushing your hips back into his with every thrust until you’ve worked yourselves into a rhythm that makes your fucking head spin.

“Harry -” you gasp as he grabs hold of your hips, pulling them upwards until his cock is slamming into the sweet spot buried inside of your walls that makes you sob out, cheek slamming into the door over and over with the force of his pounding. “Harry - God -”

“What?” he practically hisses, the word full of desire and contempt in the most delicious way possible, and your knees would give out if not for his bruising grip on your hips, keeping you flush against him.

“Har - choke me, please, want you to - to choke me -”

He stutters a groan at that, moving one of his hands from your hips - he delivers one hard smack to your ass before he’s trailing his hand up your back and around to the front of your throat, squeezing your neck once experimentally just to hear the way you moan at it before he tightens his grasp. Your resulting whimper is caught in your throat, pressing your palms to the door you’re leant up against as Harry just fucking laughs from behind you, thrusting himself into you like he was fucking born for it.

“You’re fuckin’ filthy,” Harry says, then, and he almost sounds in awe as he squeezes your throat tighter, tight enough that your vision goes fuzzy and your head feels light. “So filthy - knew y’would be - an’ so - so - fuckin’ - tight -”

With every word he punctuates his meaning with a particularly hard thrust into your cunt, and the hand on your hip slithers around your body until he’s pressing two fingertips to your clit, rubbing shaking, hard circles against the sensitive nub that has you jolting, arms shaking as you attempt to keep yourself up. “Oh my god,” you practically cry, and the voice sounds far away as he briefly releases his hold on your throat - a firm slap is delivered to the side of your face as you’d given him, the motion forcing your head to the side, and you sob out harder. “Fuck - do it again, please -”

He obeys you, bringing his palm back to slap your cheek again before he wraps his hand back around your throat. “M’gonna cum,” he tells you, words throaty and laced with neediness - you push your hips back against his, a loud, long whine bursting from your throat as his fingers never give up on their assault to your clit. “M’gonna fill y’up - y’want that?”

“Yes!”

“Want me t’fill you up?”

“Yes, Harry, please -!” You come undone around his cock just as his hips stutter to a close - there’s a ball of pleasure that bursts in your core, spreading warmth and euphoria through your body like a wildfire attacks a forest. Your forehead slams against the door with a moan that borders on a scream, nails scratching against the wood as though searching for something to hold onto, to ground yourself, because surely you’re far away - in fucking space - because there’s no way on Earth you could feel this good.

Behind you, Harry’s hand on your clit wraps around your waist, holding your body taut to his as you feel him spurt ribbons of cum inside of you, his release filling you up and it only prolongs yours, aftershocks rolling through you mixed with his warmth spreading through your body. His head drops against the back of yours, breath ruffling the hairs at the back of your neck, and when you finally regain the ability to breathe you’re fucking heaving, gasping for air, the once-simple process labored and desperate.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, and then he pulls out of you - you can feel his cum beginning to trickle down your inner thighs, and that mixed with the sudden emptiness in your cunt makes you exhale a low whine. Your pussy flutters around the sudden air invading it, the loss of a certain appendage filling you up glaringly obvious, and you slump against the door. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, and your knees are shaking when Harry unwraps his arm from around your waist, leaving you to fend for yourself as you try and steady your body. “Fuck.”

You hear, then, Harry walking away - surely stalking deeper into your room, perhaps lying on the bed, kicking off his shoes and beginning to tug off his shirt. You feel sudden embarrassment and heat coursing through your body as you tug the bottom of your skirt down over your ass and the tops of your thighs, walking on shaking legs into the bedroom area of your hotel room -

(Your knife can stay in the door until morning. It is, for all intents and purposes, the least of your priorities when you can’t even think straight.)

Harry’s eyes are on you when you make your way into the bedroom section, leaning up against the doorframe to hide the quivering in your legs, and you hope it looks decently natural but you’re sure it doesn’t, judging by the way his lips tremble upwards as he glances down at the shoe he’s focused on untying.

“I’m gonna shower first,” you tell him. Your throat burns with the energy of speaking after screaming your lungs out and your voice is crackling and raspy - you cough into your elbow, hoping it makes your voice sound a bit less fucked-out than it is, but you’re sure you’re not that lucky.

“Fine by me,” Harry says, kicking his sneakers off onto the ground, and he collapses onto his back onto the bed with a sigh. His pants are still undone and are pushed down his thighs, boxers pulled up over his cock, and you feel - decidedly strange, watching him post-coital, at the way his eyes shut, limbs spreading out over the mattress with a grunt. “M’takin’ the bed, though.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “What -?”

“Y’can hardly walk from how hard I fucked you. I think I deserve it.”

And - well - you can’t quite argue with that logic.

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littlesniggy · 3 years

Note

Hey could i request an Ace x female!reader scenario where she is Whitebeard’s biological daughter and the “little sister” of the crew. And she gets pregnant by Ace but nobody knows about it because they kept their relationship secret. So while the crew are eating lunch, the reader suddenly stands up and announces her pregnancy without giving Ace a warning (he already knew about it but didnt expect her s/o to say it outloud) So he just sits there all nervous while the crew is interrogating the reader about who is the father so they can kill him . Also i imagine whitebeard just choking on his beer for the shocking news lol.Srry if its too especific, change wtv u want about it.

Hello! Thank you for requesting! I hope I wrote everything to your liking. I probably went a little too much into Whitebeard's reaction but oh well...Please enjoy!

Pairing: Ace x female! reader

Crew's and Whitebeard's reaction to reader announcing her pregnancy

Word count: 1.2k

“I’m pregnant, Ace.” He thought those words had caught him completely off guard. Your slightly trembling voice, your insecure tone, your harried eyes, darting from him to the wall behind him and back to him again; and he couldn’t say a word. Thinking about it now, he felt bad about his reaction but he was simply stunned. The first thing that had come to his mind was: How?

Of course, Ace knew how babies were made but didn’t you to use contraception? Sure, there was always a risk when having sex but Ace would’ve never thought he’d come into such a precarious situation.

The lack of speech had you think it was a bad idea; you should’ve never told him in the first place and just gotten rid of it. But you didn’t want to. You’ve already made up your mind that you would get the baby, if Ace wanted to or not. You wouldn’t even push him to be part of its life if he didn’t want to.

Ace noticed you becoming more insecure by the second and snapped back from his thoughts. “Hey, hey. Why that face?” he asked, trying to smile encouraging even though he felt insecure himself. “That’s great. It just came so…suddenly, y’know?” he said honestly, putting a hand on your cheek, stroking it your skin lightly.

“I know. I’m sorry to just tell you like this. But better now than never. I was shocked myself.” You admitted, leaning into his touch. A huge burden was being lifted from your shoulders and you were glad that Ace accepted it like this. Now came the difficult part though – how should you tell your father, Whitebeard?

Ace nearly choked when you announced your pregnancy to the crew out of nowhere. He stared at you wide eyed, face an unhealthy red. Did you catch him off guard back then? Absolutely. Did he think you could manage that again? Absolutely not. Was this announcement to your friends and family even worse? Holy shit, yes! Why didn’t you give him a heads up, an early warning? Anything, really!

All eyes were on you, a small smile on your lips. Marco was the first one to clear his throat. “W-what did you say?” he tried to get affirmation that he just misheard but you didn’t do him this favor. “I said, I’m pregnant.” You repeated yourself as if nothing was wrong with this statement.

Ace looked over the faces of his friends, some were shocked, some were angry, and some just had a blank expression. He didn’t want to look over to Whitebeard but he just had to take a quick look.

The old man was sitting at the head-side of the table, with a huge bottle of booze in his hand and completely frozen in place. Ace wasn’t sure if he even was still alive. Maybe the old man had a heart attack? Not too uncommon for people his age.

And suddenly, there was a lot of commotion on the table. Everyone was talking over each other, asking you questions over questions without waiting for an answer.

“Who did this to you?” “Did you get hurt?” “Tell us the name of this bastard!” “We will hunt him down, cut his dick off and present it to the sea monsters as some kind of offering!”

Every pair of eyes looked at the person who just said the last suggestion in confusion. “What?” Marco asked, bewildered from this comment. “I-I was just thinking…never mind.” The man said and sat back down, drinking his beer in silence. The pairs of eyes were shortly after back on you, everyone expecting an answer.

“Whoever this bastard is should run far, far away.” The deep voice of your father sounded from the far end. Apparently, no heart attack. Ace thought to himself. You looked at Whitebeard with a small smile on your lips, shaking your head.

“And why should he?” you wanted to know, intending on making Ace sweat a little more for the time being. It was kind of your revenge for him being silent for so long when you told him. It was petty, you knew but in your eyes you got a free pass. After all, you were going to go through a lot of pain in the end.

“Because once I get him into my hands I will personally crush this man with all I’ve got. So I hope he’s already on the run.” Whitebeard was mad. Not, because you were pregnant but because someone dared to touch his beloved daughter. Ace swallowed hard and looked over to you with a slightly pleading look on his face.

“So, you would crush your second division commander? That would be a shame. You’d loose one of your best men.” Silence. Aces’ eyes were wide open and his face said it all. How can she say this so nonchalantly?! Is she out of her mind?! Every single pair of eyes were now on him, disbelief written all over them. You could hear a pin drop; nobody dared to speak up.

“So, you’re the one who touched my precious daughter, Ace?” Whitebeard slowly got up from his seat, his heavy footsteps rumbling through the boat. “W-well….I-I can explain, pops.” Ace also got up from his place, slowly backing away with a shaky smile on his face, hands held up in defense.

“Really? Let me hear your excuse, then.” Whitebeard was standing in front of him, and it was the first time Ace felt intimidated by his captain. But before he could say anything you came between them, taking Aces’ hand and holding it tightly.

“We’ve been dating for quite some time now. We just thought it’d be better if nobody knew.” You said, looking up at your father.

Whispering could be heard from the rest of the crew at this revelation. Whitebeard raised an eyebrow. “For quite some time, huh? Why didn’t you tell me, Y/n? I’m your father.” Did he sound hurt? Or were you just mistaking? Either way, you felt guilty. “We just thought it’d be best for the crew if nobody knew. We didn’t want to cause disturbances on the ship.”

Whitebeard stayed silent for a moment, then looked behind you to Ace who immediately tensed up. “If you do anything and hurt my daughter or my grandchild in any way I will make my words from earlier come true. I can always get a new second division commander.” There was a small smile on his lips as he turned back to return to his seat.

You turned around to Ace and gave him a quick peck on his cheek. “Why are you so tense? Everything went great!” you said innocently, pulling him back to the table where the rest of the crew was waiting to ask you two more questions. Before you two sat down, this time next to each other, Ace whispered into your ear. “Someone’s getting punished later on, Y/n. You almost gave the old man a heart attack, y’know?” he chuckled but was silenced by you almost immediately. “Just cause you’ll become a father doesn’t mean you have to call yourself ‘old man’.” Knowing full well he meant Whitebeard.

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angryinternetduck · 3 years

Text

Bet On It

HELLO i’m back again with not only another fic but another friends to lovers!!! here’s 5.9k on hotel mishaps, long-term bets, and falling in love. featuring harry styles x reader with just a few warnings of explicit language and alcohol consumption.

enjoy!!!

masterlist | ask

***

Five Years Ago

If you hadn’t met him an hour before in the bar of the hotel, you would’ve said no. Share a hotel room with a stranger just because the hotel fucked up and double booked a room? No. Absolutely not.

Except -

His name was Harry. He was very cute. And sweet. He complimented your shoes in the bar, dimpling at you all cutely before holding out his hand and introducing himself. He let you prattle on for way too long, laughing at all your jokes and nodding gravely when you started getting serious.

And surprisingly, when you said you had to go, he didn’t ask you out or try to kiss you. He just told you it was nice to meet you with a smile. Problem was that that wasn’t the last you saw of him; when you went up to the desk to get your key card, the receptionist informed you of the mistake.

“We’ve double booked it. You’ll have to work it out amongst yourselves,” they said. “We can suggest other places to stay, or you can sleep in the lobby. Or - of course, you can always share. He’s over there. Guy in the pink shirt.”

You looked over, and lo and behold…

“Harry.”

“We meet again.”

“Was this your doing?” you joked. “All that to get me in a room with you?”

Harry grinned. “I wish I were that smart.”

“So just coincidence?”

“Or perhaps fate,” Harry replied with a shrug.

“Did you know?” you asked. “When you, uh - introduced yourself?”

He shook his head and said, “Not that it was you.”

“Well, now that you do, what do you say? Share the room?”

Harry tilted his head from side to side, pondering. “Let’s prove it was fate,” he decided, meeting your gaze with a grin. Your brows furrowed, and he clarified. “Rock, paper, scissors. I win, we’ll share. You win, I’ll find somewhere else to stay.” He held out his fist.

“Won’t make me find somewhere else?” you asked, smiling a bit. “Would rather share?”

He shrugged.

“Alright, then.”

Both of you counted silently, in your heads -

Rock, paper, scissors…

Harry grinned, and you made a fist from your scissors to bump his rock.

“Fate it is,” you said.

Fate proved to be in your favor; that night, you had the most fun you’d ever had in your life. To your surprise, however, the fun didn’t involve sex. Just talking. You sat on the bed drinking booze from the minifridge and talking until dawn with this Harry Styles.

It came up at one point, sex - or at least kissing did - but neither ever happened.

It was around three, when the exhaustion had set in, when you were lying down, gazing into each other’s eyes, half asleep. “Why haven’t you kissed me yet?” he’d whispered, and you grinned at him. “I should be asking you that, don’t you think?”

He looked confused. “Why’s that?”

“You’re the one in love with me,” you told him.

He giggled, rubbing his eyes. “And what makes you say that?”

“You wanted to share!” you exclaimed, like it was obvious, because it was.

“Sharing is caring.”

You bounced your brows. “Caring. Loving.”

Harry laughed and insisted, “Not the same!”

“I’d bet a million bucks you’re in love with me,” you murmured, tapping his nose.

“Then a million bucks you’d lose.”

“You will be,” you said, nodding slightly.

“Yeah?” Harry asked, a smile growing on his lips.

“Yeah.”

“Do you have a million bucks to give me on my deathbed when I still only care?” he said.

“Do you have a million bucks to give me when you confess?” you said back.

He stared at you for a second. His eyes were very green, his smile very wistful. “A kiss.”

“A kiss?” you echoed.

Harry nodded. “I will bet you one kiss that I will never fall in love with you.”

“You’re gonna want a lot more than one kiss when you inevitably do,” you whispered.

“At least one kiss,” he amended.

“At least one kiss,” you agreed.

“Shake on it?”

You both shifted around in the bed so you could shake hands without sitting up.

“It’s a bet,” Harry said.

And so it was.

***

Present Day

“Give it to me straight, Styles,” you greet Harry, plopping down at your table with a sigh.

He hesitates for a moment, drawing out the suspense, and then breathes, “Care.”

You shake your head disappointedly. “Unbelievable, how bad you are at lying, you -”

Harry interrupts, “What’s really unbelievable is your tardiness -”

Then you do: “Your annoyingness -”

He pouts and fires back, “Your vocabulary -”

“Your lack thereof -”

“That’s not proper English.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “You’re not proper English.”

“I promise you I am,” he replies with a smirk.

“I’ve always thought the accent was fake.”

“If it were, I’d be the greatest impersonator to walk the earth.”

“Impersonator?” you repeat. “And tell me, what is an impersonator but a talented liar?”

He gives you a grin. “I’ll take the compliment of talented, thank you.”

Leveling his gaze, you smile back and take a sip of your drink. “You know, I think that actually was proper English,” you muse. “Lack thereof. Your vocabulary - or lack thereof.” Harry bites his lip, eyes narrowed, staring at you, and you’re tempted to joke that his focus is lust when he replies, “It’s still wrong. I was saying your vocabulary is naive, and by saying I have none, you’re fundamentally saying the same. It’s redundant.”

Clearly satisfied with himself, he sits back, smiles smugly, and takes a sip of his coffee.

“Harry Styles,” you say, “I’m going to smack that smirk right off your pretty face.”

“Second compliment in a day!” Harry exclaims. “Someone alert the press.”

You roll your eyes, taking a sip of your own drink. “Why, they’d have a field day.”

The little cafe you’re in is absolutely adorable. It’s midway between your place and Harry’s, and after that fateful night in the hotel (during which you learned you live so close to each other), you began a tradition of meeting here once a week.

Tradition doesn’t end with just the location and time. Each meeting is almost exactly the same. You’re always late, and you always greet him the same way: some variation of “Have you fallen in love with me yet?”

And his reply is always the same: negative.

From there, the conversation wanders as much as it ever does, with one asking about the other’s week and the response being long and filled with complaints and woes and lamentations. The question is echoed back, and the response is - again - long, filled with complaints, woes, etc.

Despite the moaning and groaning, the mood never falls too low. It’s impossible to feel down around Harry Styles; just one look at those dimples makes a smile of your own appear on your face.

Your friendship with him has certainly blossomed. It’s a wonder he hasn’t fallen in love yet (or maybe he has, you’ll never know unless he says), and a greater wonder still that he hasn’t turned the question around on you.

Because the answer would be yes. You have, in fact, fallen in love with him.

Deeply, madly, in love.

But he’ll never know, because you’ll never say.

***

“I love you,” you tell Harry breathlessly, looking up at him lovingly. “Most ardently.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, no - I’m just a girl! I’m just a girl, standing in front of -”

“I’ll always be there for you!” you cut in excitedly. “All the love in my heart, Llo -”

“Michael, I love you!” Harry gushes. “Choose me, marry me, let me make you happy!”

You jump up and jut a finger at him dramatically. “We live in a cynical world!” you exclaim. “A cynical world, and we work in a business of tough competitors. I love you! You - you complete me!”

Harry jumps up to match you and begins, “I hate that -” then shakes his head and restarts, “I hate the way you’re always right, I hate it when you lie - I hate it when you make me laugh and - and - and even worse when you make me cry - I hate the way - I hate it when” - he’s grinning big now, jumping with excitement and passion - “you’re not around and the fact you didn’t call - but - but mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you, not even a little bit, not even at all!”

It all came out in a rush of jumbled words and you’re so impressed you can’t help but sit back down and clap for him. Bright red, Harry takes a bow and collapses onto his couch next to you. “That took way too much effort,” he says, out of breath.

“It was worth it,” you tell him. “That was dazzling, really. You should go on the road.”

Harry nods. “One man show. Shakespeare. All of his long monologues, then bam - a poem better than all the others combined.” You giggle and fall into him, leaning against his chest with a sigh. “I’ll come with you,” you say. “Follow you to the ends of the earth and hold my breath to Pluto.”

“What’s that from?” Harry asks.

“That’s all me, baby.”

“Maybe the poem better than all the others combined could be yours.”

“Impossible,” you say immediately. “Nothing will ever beat Kat Stratford.”

“I’ll manage.”

You scoff. “You?”

“We.”

You shake your head. “There’s no ‘we’ in genius, Styles, but there is an I.”

“And a U!” Harry replies.

You look up at him.

“Wait.”

Snickering, you sit up and stretch your arms towards the ceiling. “Stick to memorization, maybe. Leave the heavy lifting to me. You need some practice on that speech, anyway - I counted at least three errors, not to mention the stuttering.”

“Practice makes perfect,” Harry sings. “What do you say, can I confess my love to you every night for the sake of practice?” You shake your head, standing up again and grabbing an empty container of food to throw away. “Not without losing the bet.”

Harry follows you, cleaning up as he goes. “Just for the one man show!”

“No exceptions.” You grin at him, grabbing your stuff and heading for the door. “Thanks for the food, Styles. I’ll see you Sunday?” Harry nods and blows you a kiss, which you catch and put in your pocket. “I’ll save that for when you lose the bet,” you tell him.

“Get outta here,” Harry laughs.

You stick your tongue out at him and stick a post it note on the door frame as you leave.

***

Harry usually wakes up to a few texts. Maybe a call every so often. Notifications from social media aren’t uncommon. The only days he wakes up to nearly a hundred texts are the nights you decide to go to the outlook.

Whether or not you like staying up late normally, you stay up until the wee hours of the morning to go to this place you found about three hours outside of the city. It’s a bit of a drive, but it’s completely worth it.

There’s a little woods out there, and a while ago you went a bit off path and found an outcropping of rocks that look out over the city. At night, stars are visible. There’s nothing you love more than lying for hours on the cool stone, gazing up at the heavens above.

The first time you took Harry to the outlook, you asked a question, and Harry’s answer to that question was one of the only lies he’s ever told you. You’d asked, “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

And Harry had said, “Of course not!” when in reality, he’d been looking for an opening to mention that very fear for the twenty minutes before, while you’d been climbing steadily uphill through the trees.

In his defense, there was no way he could’ve said anything different. You were just so happy, glowing with excitement and practically buzzing with energy. Plus, you’d grabbed his hand at the moment you asked to pull him up the last ridge and he was still a bit startled.

He never came to regret that lie. He grew out of the fear, anyway, so it wasn’t a huge deal. In fact, he’s almost come to love heights. He loves the thrill, the burst of happiness, the insane phenomenon of a racing heart and the feeling of being totally at peace all at the same time.

Incidentally, he also feels that way around you, whether the two of you are a hundred feet up or not. He’s always enjoyed spending time with you, and even just seeing you makes him happy. It’s what makes you a good friend.

Harry’s gone with you a few times to the outlook, but it’s usually pretty late by the time you want to go. Sometimes you’ll call him and he’ll pick up, and you’ll talk on the phone until one of you falls asleep.

You went last night, apparently, because Harry scrolls through seventy-two text messages this morning. It takes a while, since he reads all of them and then replies, but he woke up early anyway so it’s fine.

It’s Sunday, so he’s headed to the cafe to meet you. He has a cup of coffee even though he’ll get one at the cafe, too. There’s a sticky note on the coffee maker - Note to self: tell Harry there’s a snickers bar in his sweatshirt pocket - which you probably left a few days ago.

Harry smiles at the note, then frowns, sticking his hand in his pocket. There is, in fact, a Snickers bar in there, and Harry throws it out. It’s from almost a month ago, when you and him had an August Halloween. The sun is just a little too bright. Harry listens to music in the car, humming along and tapping his hands against the wheel in time.

You’re late, of course, so he orders his second cup of coffee and reads a newspaper on the shelf while he waits. Today it’s five minutes until you arrive, which is actually more on time than usual, and Harry throws you a large brimmed hat he found in his closet when you approach the table.

“What say you, Harry Styles,” you greet him, catching the hat and placing it on your head. “Make a jester laugh” - you form a heart with your fingers - “or make a jester cry?” Your heart cracks in two as you pout at him.

Breaking a finger-heart of his own, Harry grins. “Laughing clowns were always creepier to me,” he tells you. You trace a finger down your cheek like a tear and sit down across from him, sliding a menu from its place on the wall and beginning to read it over.

You look up at him, half smiling, a joke on your lips, and then -

Harry blinks.

Just like that, something’s changed.

You snap in front of his face. “Hello? Anything? You could at least pretend to laugh.”

“Christ, sorry,” Harry breathes. “What’d you say?”

Raising a brow, you lean forward and inspect him. “You alright, there, Styles?”

“If I were any better and it’d be obscene,” Harry answers easily, tapping your nose.

Grinning, you sit back. “Fantastic. Tell me, then, how it’s been. Fill me in.”

“It’s a lot better seeing you in that hat.”

“Oh, I forgot!” you exclaim, looking up at it.

Harry giggles and asks, “You wanna know what one hat said to the other?”

“Oh, boy.”

“I’ll see you on a-head!”

Groaning dramatically, you throw the hat at him and bury your face in your hands.

***

"This is getting embarrassing, Styles,” you say as you walk up to Harry.

He turns around, a smile already on his face, and begins, “What’s -”

He stops when he sees you, because you’re all dressed up. You look absolutely stunning, which was on purpose, because of course you want to see his reaction, whether he loves you or not. And it’s very satisfactory, this reaction.

“You look fantastic,” Harry says softly.

You clear your throat, a little put off by how serious he’s being. “That was the goal.”

His eyes float back up to meet yours, a small smile on his face. “Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome,” you chirp. “But don’t let your head get too big - I only came for the free food and movie.” Finally, the glaze over his eyes fades, and he grins at you. He takes your arm, and as you walk, he asks, “You started a thought, you know, about something embarrass-”

You scoff. “You asked me on a date, Styles!”

“I did not!” Harry insists. He shakes his head. “My date ducked out at the last second -”

Smirking, you cut in, “Wonder why, Mr. Pink Suit.”

“- we were going to match, thank you - but really, she ducked out, and I wasn’t about to waste two perfectly good tickets. Thus… here we are.” He nods, like he’s pleased with his answer, but you raise a brow at him. “That’s a terrible excuse. You can just say you love me. I’ll accept.”

You arrive at his car. “Not yet,” he says, and then he gets in.

He starts the car, and for a moment, you gaze out the window.

Then, breaking the silence, you say, “I like the suit.”

“I like the look.”

“Thanks, I came up with it all by myself.”

“Impressive.”

You wait a moment, and then ask, “What inspired the pink?”

“She said she wanted a pink rose.”

Frowning, you begin, “I thought you said pink roses are -”

“Yeah, they’re not my favorite,” he mumbles.

You snicker a little. “Oh, what a bad date in high school can get you…”

“Hey, don’t tease,” Harry whines with a pout.

“Sorry, sorry,” you murmur. “You’re nice to dress up anyway. No rose, though?”

Sheepishly, he tells you, “I… forgot.”

“You forgot?” you laugh.

“Yeah…”

“Well, um… well, it’s the thought that counts.”

Harry pulls into the parking lot and parks the car, then unlocks the doors. “Come on,” he says, but you frown at him, confused. “You know you pulled in the wrong way?” you ask, but he just beckons with his hand and opens the trunk.

You hadn’t even looked - there’s pillows back there, and candy, and blankets, and he flicks on little fairy lights. “Harry Styles, you romantic!” you gasp, enthralled. “Wow, I gotta meet this girl, if you’re doing all this for her…”

He sits down and pats the space next to him, then grabs a pack of candy - your favorite. He hands it to you, which you take with a slow smile. “Her favorite too?” you ask. “Nope,” Harry replies, shaking his head as he opens his own pack of candy. “Forgot to ask her, but when I called her in the store she wouldn’t pick up so I just… got yours.” He clears his throat and hands you a bag of popcorn. “There’s this, too.”

“Thanks, Styles.”

On the huge screen in front of you, the movie begins to roll. You take a risk, sliding a little on the seat so you’re leaning against Harry, head against his chest. You can feel him breathing, his heart beating, his arm around your waist, thumb gently moving back and forth over the fabric of your clothes.

You fall asleep for most of the movie.

When you wake up, you’re leaned against a pillow, not Harry. Frowning and out of sorts, you sit up and rub your eyes. He’s leaned against the car outside, on the phone, and you can just barely make out what he’s saying.

“... I know, it’s… Yeah, I - I’m sorry you couldn’t make it, love. I missed you…”

The familiar feeling of tears building behind your eyes horrifies you, and you have to turn your back to him as tears start slipping down your cheeks. You’d somehow managed to convince yourself that it was all a ruse, that he’d meant it to be you from the start, that there was no other girl, that all along it was -

“Hey,” Harry says.

You cough, palming away the tears on your face and yawning like you’d just woken up. “Oh, hey… How’s, um - how’s she doing? Or - whoever - I mean -” You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head. “Sorry,” you whisper.

“She’s fine,” Harry tells you. “How are you? Took a pretty long nap there…”

“Yeah,” you murmur. “I was… I’m tired.”

“C’mon, then, let’s get you home.” He smiles at you, dimpling adorably, and holds out his hand. You take it and slide off the back of his car. “Thanks,” you say. He nods and shuts the trunk while you get into the passenger seat.

You don’t say anything as he starts the car, as he backs out and heads for your place. He glances over at you, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, and eventually turns on the radio. You fold up a sticky note and covertly slide it into the center console.

“I’ll see you Sunday,” you tell him when he stops the car.

He nods. “See you then.”

You hold his gaze for a second, and then get out of the car. As you’re shutting the door, Harry says, “Hey!” and you stop. “Hey, er - thank you. For coming tonight. I know it was a little… It was a bit much.”

“Not too much at all,” you say softly. “Bye, Harry.”

You shut the door.

***

The sticky note business began about a year after Harry met you. He’d mentioned something about refrigerator magnets being the most charming form of communication ever invented, and the next day he found a sticky note on his mirror that said, Note to self: find a more charming form of communication than refrigerator magnets.

Harry doesn’t find the sticky note in his console until the next night, when he’s driving home after working late and he’s trying to find his phone. It’s ringing, and it’s your ringtone, which is really, really annoying because you set it to the worst song you could think of so he’d be motivated to pick it up fast.

It’s not in the center console. It’s actually in his pocket. He picks it up.

“Harry, you gotta tell me now,” you say immediately. “Do you love me?”

“I -”

“Love or care, Styles.” You sound breathless. “L or C. Lover or Cunt. Tell me now.”

“Cunt,” Harry says reflexively, and then shakes his head. “I mean -”

“You don’t love me.” You don’t sound upset at all. You’re just clarifying.

Harry frowns. “I… What’s going on?”

“Well, I think I love this guy, Styles, and I’m about to fuck him, so I’ll talk to you later.”

And then you hang up.

Harry stares at his phone for a moment. Then he puts it down, frowning at the street in front of him, and thinks for a while until he gets home. When he does, he’s shutting the center console, which he’d left open, and he sees the little post it note.

Note to self: buy a pink rose for h to make him like them bc they’re pretty

Sitting in his car, staring at the note, Harry can’t help but think he’s messed it all up.

***

Sunday. You don’t show up.

***

Another Sunday. Harry orders a coffee and reads the newspaper.

You don’t show up.

***

You answer a text.

He asks if you’re okay, and you say, Yup!

***

You send a text.

Hey, Styles? Can you bring me a flower?

***

He should’ve gone to your place first, Harry’s thinking. He should’ve checked there, and then gone here. But it’s too late now. He’s stepping out of his car, trekking through the forest, and he’s finally here, and -

You’re on your back, staring at the stars.

“You know, I really thought he was the one.”

Harry bites on his lip and fiddles with the flower in his hands. “Did you?”

There’s a beat of silence. Then you sigh and sit up. “No.”

“He didn’t - you’re not… You’re okay, right?”

“Nothing’s broken but my heart,” you murmur. “Physically, I’m fine, emotionally, I’m…”

You fade off, and Harry sits next to you and hands you the flower.

“Yellow,” you whisper. You look up at him, eyes wide in the moonlight. “Why yellow?”

“Color of your shirt the first time I met you.”

Smiling, you murmur, “Memory of an elephant.”

“I couldn’t remember her favorite candy,” Harry says impulsively. He shuts his eyes, exhaling softly. “Sorry. Wrong thing to say.” You shake your head, looking forward again. “It’s fine. How’s she doing?”

“Wouldn’t know.”

Surprised, you glance at him again. “You mean you -?”

Harry shrugs. “She said my priorities weren’t right. Then she said goodbye.”

“We’re just a coupla broken hearted fools, aren’t we?” you say quietly.

“Broken hearted, yes,” Harry replies, “but I’m not a fool. Don’t know about you.”

You scoff, hitting his chest with the back of your hand. “We’re having a moment here!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry says, but he’s laughing so the apology is moot.

There’s a beat of silence, and then you say, “I would’ve known about her if I hadn’t missed all our Sundays. I’m sorry.” Harry shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. Did you have fun, at least? With Mr. Heartbreak?”

You giggle. “So much fun.”

“Well… that’s good, at least.”

He looks at you, really looks, and for a moment, he forgets himself.

You’re looking up at the stars, your head tilted up, your lips curved upwards in a smile.

Harry’s expression matches yours. It’s one of quiet awe, of happiness and joy and adoration. He’s smiling, too, but it’s not as conscious. It’s more reflexive, something he can’t help but do whenever he catches sight of this view. He’s not looking at the stars, though - his gaze is focused on you.

“Come on!” you exclaim suddenly, jumping up. “This is the perfect excuse to watch The Notebook again.” Harry blinks, standing up and following you back to his car. “You took the words right out of my mouth,” he says.

***

Ideally, on the anniversary of your meeting Harry, you’d both rent a hotel room and get drunk on the minibar, talking nonsense until morning, to properly reenact that first night together. Problem with that is that hotel rooms cost money.

So instead, you have a sleepover. Last year it was at your place, so this year it’s at his. The good thing about not being in a hotel is that you can buy normal size bottles of booze, rather than the teeny ones from the minibar.

He’s grabbing everything from the kitchen while you’re queueing up the movie on the TV in his room. It’s not cooperating, though, and you’re rooting through all the wires in the back to try and find something that’s supposed to be connected.

“Harry, if you don’t get in here this second!” you shout at him.

“Did you get the other remote?” he shouts back.

You groan and whine, “Just come in here!”

“I haven’t gotten everything yet! Look for the second remote. It’s in one of the drawers.”

“Which drawers?” you yell.

He doesn’t reply.

So you ruffle through the drawers closest to the TV. Books, papers, chargers. No remotes. You go further and find his record collection. A few photo albums. You stick a sticky note on the top one that says, Note to self: go through these. There’s more books. A few DVDs.

And then - a folder. It has a yellow flower on it.

Frowning, you glance at the door behind you and then flip it open. What must be a hundred post it notes fall out. Your jaw drops, just slightly, because they’re all from you. Every sticky note you’ve ever left him is in this folder. He kept them all.

“Did you find it?” Harry shouts.

You ask, “Find what?” but your voice is too soft and he doesn’t hear you.

He shouts your name again, and you quickly shove the folder back where you got it. You clear your throat, then yell, “Harry, I can’t find it!” Finally, he comes in, arms full of food and drink, and tugs open the top drawer on his bedside table with his foot.

And there it is.

“Have I got to do everything around here or what?” he jokes.

You give him a laugh and set up the TV, which works just fine now that you have the right tools. Harry sets everything down and puts his hands on his hips, raising a brow at you. “You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah, fine,” you tell him. “Just grew a few white hairs waiting for you to come back.”

He sticks his tongue out and tosses a bag of chips at you. “Ha, ha, very funny.”

Finally, the movie’s set up, and you lean against his bed, sighing in contentment as the opening credits start to play. Harry hands you a glass and holds his own out, which you knock against your own. “Cheers, Styles,” you say. “To five years.”

“And counting.”

Grinning, you drink up and then settle back to watch the film.

***

His voice is thick.

Like honey.

It drips off his tongue, catches on his lips, slides down the column of his throat and glistens in the dim light. It’s rich. Deep. It turns to crystal in the cool air around you as his words fade off. You want to reach out and feel it on your fingers, want to taste it on your tongue, want to feel it slide over your lips, down your throat…

“... and then, suddenly, I was flying out the window with the worst pain I’ve ever -”

“Harry,” you interrupt with a giggle, “this is the third time you’ve told this story tonight.”

“It’s a good story!”

“Lemme see,” you say, crawling forward, and you’re on his lap now but you can’t really bring yourself to care because this is for scientific purposes. Harry grins and puts his hands on your waist and you giggle again and put your fingers on his jaw. “Lemme see your tongue.”

“Wanna see it or touch it?”

You smirk and reply, “How ‘bout lick it?”

“That’s gross!” Harry exclaims with a delighted laugh.

“I know!” you exclaim back, equally delighted.

“It’s broken,” Harry says, but he’s opening his mouth so it comes out all warbled. “I’m broken, you know -” You peer at his tongue, but it doesn’t look very broken. “No, you’re not,” you tell him.

“On the inside,” Harry says, pouting at you.

You laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, nestling your head on his shoulder in a hug. “You’re warm,” you say, “that’s what you are.” Harry nods against you, running his hands up and down your back. “You fix me,” he slurs into your neck.

“That’s so romantic!” you giggle.

You sit there for a second, breathing him in, feeling happy, and then suddenly -

“I’m roasting,” Harry says, and it’s morning.

“I’m so hot,” you groan, “and my head hurts so bad…”

Harry grunts and pushes against you. “Get off me.”

You open your eyes, squinting in the sunlight, and fall off of him and onto the floor.

He stands up, moaning and groaning, and walks out. You may have fallen asleep again because when he comes back in and hands you a glass of water and some medicine you’re blinking back awake. “Thanks,” you mumble, downing both.

“That was something,” Harry says.

“Something for sure,” you say.

“I can’t move,” Harry says.

“Me neither.”

So you don’t. The day drags on, and when you’re both coherent enough for food you go to the kitchen. Harry cooks something up, and you eat it, sitting next to him at the kitchen island. You feel his foot against yours, and you play a half-delirious game of footsie as you finish eating.

Once you’re all done, Harry stands up and starts to wash the dishes. You watch him, watch his back and his arms and the way he moves, and stand up and stand next to him, grabbing a dish towel and holding out your hand. He hands you the plate, and you dry it.

It’s comfortable, the silence, and it’s more than peaceful, standing there drying dishes with Harry in the early afternoon. There aren’t many dishes, but you both take your time, and eventually he breaks the silence and the productivity to put on some music.

And then, suddenly, you’re dancing, a smile on your face that you can’t seem to get rid of curving your lips as you float around the kitchen with him. He’s bopping along to the song, hand in yours, dish towel over his shoulder after he stole it from you.

The dancing carries you to the living room, where he twirls you out so you can collapse onto the couch. He does the same, and you put your feet on his lap, head on the armrest, looking at him.

“You’re staring,” he says.

“You’re in front of me.”

“Excuses, excuses.”

You raise a brow, smiling and still holding his gaze, and then sit up. “Staring contest, go.”

Instantly, he blinks, and you laugh, “Fuck’s sake.”

“No, no, again,” he demands, grinning, and he blinks quickly a few times before declaring, “Go.” The staring begins. Your eyes begin to sting, and you bite your lip, trying to keep your eyes open.

“We should watch Bird Box,” Harry whispers.

“Saw it last week.”

“I saw it,” he corrects. “You hid behind your hands the entire time.”

“You were the one screaming like a baby.”

“I prefer rom-coms, you know that.”

“Sometimes you need a little variety in life.”

“I lost the bet.”

You blink.

“Victory,” Harry says, a bit weakly, blinking too.

Your brows furrow. “What?”

“Victory,” Harry repeats, smiling sheepishly.

“No, no, before that,” you insist, shaking your head.

“I lost the bet,” Harry repeats softly.

You swallow thickly. “What bet?”

Harry bites his lip, concentrating, and then stands up and walks away. You scoff, following him, and ask again. “What bet?” He shakes his head, quiet, and opens his refrigerator, looking for something.

“Harry, for the love of -”

He holds out a kiss. A chocolate kiss.

Your eyes widen.

He steps closer, holding the kiss out on his palm. “I lost the bet,” he says. “I fell in love with you.” Your breath catches in your throat. “I don’t know if you feel the same,” he goes on, “so I… I don’t want to kiss you. I mean - I do, but -”

He holds the kiss closer to you. “I lost,” he finishes quietly.

You can’t find the right words.

So instead, you close the distance and kiss him.

The chocolate kiss falls to the floor, and fireworks erupt behind your eyelids.

After a moment, the words come.

And then, when you pull away for a moment, you both speak at the same time -

“I love you.”

Laughter bubbles from your lips, and Harry grins, kissing you again.

“So I guess I didn’t lose after all,” he murmurs.

You smile against his lips. “Let’s call it a tie.”

***

AHHHH there it is!!!! i actually did write this in like . two days . which was ! great haha but i hope u liked it!!!! if u did, feedback and a reblog would be much appreciated 💜

thanks for reading!

masterlist | ask

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles oneshot #harry styles x y/n #harry styles

192 notes · View notes

finelinevogue · 3 years

Note

Hello, could you do one of those Instagram blurbs where they both are into artsy stuff like museum dates, going to concets, painting, and just being really cute and cuddly on their finsta which is only known by their friends? Thank you (:

‘course i can!! enjoy♥️

12 likes

yourfinstagram record shopping for H, only he doesn’t own a record player smh

harryfinsta1 They’re for decoration

yourfinstagram @/harryfinsta1 they’re too expensive to just have hanging on your wall

harryfinsta1 @/yourfinstagram Leave me alone

mitchrowland oooh we’re witnessing a domestic

31 likes

harryfinsta1 Date night got me making martinis

yourfinstagram !!! they tasted awful !!!

harryfinsta1 @/yourfinstagram Only because you can’t handle your alcohol and had too many bevs

mitchrowland another domestic👀

harryfinsta1 @/mitchrowland Blocking you now

yourfinstagram @/harryfinsta1 surprised you know how to do that👀

harryfinsta1 @/yourinstagram Don’t push your luck baby…

mitchrowland @/harryfinsta1 ok block me rn

16 likes

yourfinstagram blowing bubbles for baby

y/nbff POST THIS ON UR MAIN RN

harryfinsta1 Fuck you’re so pretty

yourfinstagram @/harryfinsta1 love u bestie

otherbff ooooh u look so good

9 likes

yourfinstagram i just squish him

harryfinsta1 I squish you most

mitchrowland you two are disgusting

harryfinsta1 @/mitchrowland Get off my girlfriends instagram you’re upsetting her

mitchrowland @/harryfinsta1 woah what about bros before hoes

harryfinsta1 @/mitchrowland Did you just call y/n a hoe?

michrowland @/harryfinsta1 🏃‍♂️💨

16 likes

yourfinstagram we had a cd painting competition, which one would you vote for??

harryfinsta1 The left one

yourfinstagram @/harryfinsta1 you can’t vote for your own you dickhead

mitchrowland um the right one

sarahjones ^^

y/nbff ^

otherbff ^^^

harryfinsta1 I’m leaving😑

29 likes

harryfinsta1 I want to write a song about her

mitchrowland lets goooooo

jeffazoff About the statue or y/n??

harryfinsta1 @/jeffazoff The statue obviously

yourinstagram @/harryfinsta1 smd

harryfinsta1 @/yourinstagram No, you mine

mitchrowland @/harryfinsta1 👀

1,028,204 likes

harrystyles She’s my sunshine

304,028 comments

yourinstagram aww baby🥺🥺 i love you

harrystyles @/yourinstagram ❤️

mitchrowland swear on your finstas ur different people

harryfan1 @/mitchrowland THEY HAVE FINSTAS

harryfan2 HARRY HAS A FINSTA WYHAt

annetwist Beautiful photo!!💞💞

245 notes · View notes

fawad-khan · 3 years

Text

birthdays and wonders

A/N: heyyy so this is an entry for @hollandsrecs tom’s birthday fic fest! hope u enjoy and let me know how this was!

Masterlist

(edit is mine!)

Pairing- Tom Holland x reader, both are married here :)

Word Count- 1.5k+ (yea i should practice writing more)

Prompt- your birthday present for tom: telling him you're pregnant

Warning- just mentions of sickness and vomiting in the beginning, nothing too much.

Summary- on tom’s birthday, you have a certain special gift for thomas this year.

You tossed and turned on your bed as you felt something come up your neck and would come out of the mouth any moment. You felt nauseous. You opened your eyes and sat up. You climbed off the bed, trying not to make noise and wake Tom. You made your way towards the bathroom, covering your mouth so that you could avoid puking on the floor.

Quickly, you opened the bathroom door and jogged towards the toilet and lifted the seat and emptied the contents of your stomach inside the toilet bowl. As the contents left, you could feel a bit better.

When you were finally done, you flushed and rinsed your mouth thoroughly to get rid of the taste of vomit. You walked back to the bed and got inside the covers beside Tom, who stirred a bit in his sleep and subconsciously pulled you closer towards him. Closing your eyes, you drifted back to sleep.

----

This continued for a week. You didn't tell anyone about this, as it didn't seem like a big deal with you. Also because Tom would make a really big fuss, although that was also something that made him so adorable. You thought maybe this was a flu bug that was in the air and decided to dismiss this and focused on the upcoming days.

Tom's birthday was approaching and you wanted to keep a small and homely affair with all of his family and best mates.

Right now, you were discussing the food menu and decorations to do. Since Tom was out doing some work, this was the perfect opportunity to plan everything out and hence you had called Harrison, Harry, Sam and Tuwaine to help you out and discuss the food, time, drinks, etc.

You suddenly felt an urge to pee real bad. This was weird, considering you had just gone to the bathroom ten minutes ago.

"Shit" you muttered, hurrying towards the bathroom again. You came out five minutes later, feeling very suspicious. This happened a bunch of times in the previous day as well. You were trying to wrack your brains.

Then it struck to you. You took out your phone and checked the calendar, and sure enough, your period was late by a week already. Now, just to be sure, you needed a test.

You went back to the living room, where the boys were chatting and planning.

"Hey Haz, could you come here for a second? I need to talk about something." He nodded and walked towards you. You gestures him to follow you to the kitchen so that you could get some privacy.

"What's up, (y/n)?"

You took a deep breath. "Well, uh, I really don't know how to say this, but um I've been feeling some things over the last few days and uh" you looked down for a minute, wondering how were you gonna speak the words you were about to say next.

"I think I might be pregnant." You bit your bottom lip nervously as you looked at his face for his reaction. He held a bewildered expression, his eyes widened as he tried to process what you just told him.

"Wait, really? You're pregnant?" He asked, still confused.

"I think so, I'm not really sure."

"Oh, I see. Well, do you have any tests lying around? You could take a test and check."

"Well, that's what I called you here for. Could you just maybe purchase some tests from the nearby store? If it's possible?"

"Of course! I'll be glad to help you however I can." He smiled, making you smile too.

"Thanks Haz, you're a lifesaver."

"Anytime. I'll just go now and bring them for ya."

"Oh and Haz? Can you just not tell anyone right now? Especially Tom? I don't want anyone to know just in case this was a false alarm or anything."

"Of course, my mouth is zipped. You have my word."

"Thanks. Now hurry along!" With that he went out and made a simple excuse of getting a phone call and quickly went to the nearby medical store and bought a small bunch of tests. He came back carrying them in a small bag, entering inside quietly and sneakily placing them in your room, without anyone seeing him. He came back and nodded at you, you mouthed a thanks to him.

Later, when the other boys had gone, you decided now would be safe to test. Harrison, of course, stayed back as he wanted to know whatever the outcome was, and be there for you.

You went to the bathroom and prepared yourself to pee on the stick. Luckily, you made sure to drink a decent amount of water just in case so that this would go smoothly.

You waited for five minutes and checked the tube. Surely, it showed two lined, which indicated that the test was positive and you were indeed, pregnant.

"Oh my god." You could not help saying to yourself.

"Is everything ok?" Haz asked, knocking softly at the door.

"Yeah, yeah it's alright." You replied, heading to the door and opening it.

"Well?" He asked, looking at you.

"It's positive."

"Oh my god is it true?"

"Yes it is Haz! You're going to be an uncle!" You smiled as he jumped a little in excitement like a kid. He gave you a tight hug, which you responded by hugging him as well, giggling and smiling.

"Hey, uh let's just not tell Tom yet. Or anyone. I think I know the perfect time to tell him." You looked at him knowingly, hoping that he could get the drift, which he did.

"You got it, chief."

----

"Happy birthday to you, Tom!" You sang as he cut his cake. The party turned out to be a very and cozy affair, with everything going well as planned.

You were yet to give your gift to Tom. You decided that it would be better when you both were alone and had your privacy to do it.

While the others were busy on distributing the cake and food for each other and taking their share, you went to Tom and hugged him from behind, making him grin and hold your hands wrapped around his waist.

"Happy birthday, darling." You mumbled in his ear, giving him a sweet kiss on his lips.

"Thanks love." He chuckled, turning around to give you a proper hug and pull you closer to him, his head resting on your shoulder and taking in your scent which always reminded him of home and comfort, what he always felt when he was with you.

"Hey, wanna come to the room for a second? I wanna show you something." He nodded and you took his hand in yours and walked to the bedroom. You walked to your cupboard and took out a small, neatly wrapped box which you had kept for this particular occasion.

"Here's my present. Happy birthday, baby." You whispered to him, handing him the gift.

"Thanks, angel. Wonder what's in here." He sat on the bed and unwrapped the box, wondering what could be there. You could feel your heartbeat go faster as you waited for his reaction. He took out the box and opened the lid, his eyes scrunched in confusion as he saw a pregnancy kit there.

He picked it up and observed it closely in his hands and noticed there were two lines, which made him gasp in surprise and look at you. He got up, taking the pregnancy kit in hand walked to you, hoping he had read the situation right.

"Darling, is this what I think it is? I mean, is it true? Are you h-having a baby?" He looked down gently at your belly and looked at your face again. You smiled and nodded, taking his hand and placing it on your belly.

"Yes Tom. We're having a baby." You smiled softly, waiting for his reaction.

"Oh my god, babe this is so amazing! We're gonna have a baby, a mini you or mini me in our arms in a few months, I just- wow!" He chuckled softly, running his fingers through his curls. He gave you a big hug, holding you close to him. You could hear him sniffle a bit as you hugged him back, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I'm so happy and excited, darling." He mumbled in your ear.

"Me too, Tom. I'm excited for this." You could feel tears of joy coming out of your eyes. You pulled away from the hug and cupped his cheeks and pulled him in for a soft kiss. His soft lips moved with yours as he squeezed your waist gently. You pulled away and placed your forehead on his, looking into his eyes filled with happy tears.

You both could not help but giggle, feeling so ecstatic about having a child, two years into your marriage, and were ready to welcome a little baby into your world.

"I love you, (y/n)."

"I love you too, Tom." You smiled.

"Now wanna tell the others?"

"Yeah, let's do that. Although, Harrison knows." You winked. With that you walked towards the door to break the news to everyone, while Tom muttered a 'hey!' before coming to join you to break the news.

This certainly had been an amazing birthday, he thought. You were both looking forward to having your child and what the future held for you.

The End

taglist link in reblog!

#shreya writes #tbff21 #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland oneshot #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfic #tom holland x reader fluff #tom holland imagines #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom x you #tom x y/n

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wizkiddx · 3 years

Note

Not sure if you are taking request at all but if you do, do you mind writing something about Harry agreeing to be the birth photographer at the birth of his niece (tom and reader’s daughter) 🥺🤍

this was so interesting!! personally I am way too self conscious to have a photographer when I *eventually* have a kid aha, but I hope this is what u were looking for x x p.s. coming at my brand w the white hearts :)

tomholland x reader

summary: harry gets terrified by toms request about the birth of his child, but the reader smoothes it over

Having just had a round of golf with Harry, Tom invited him back to yours for a cuppa and a catch up too. After all the years of living and travelling with Harry by his side, Harry in particular was massively important to TOm. Especially since he’d moved in with you, Tom constantly made a super special effort to spend as much time with him as possible. Harry had a key and had no quam with letting himself in uninvited. Though since he had walked in at *the wrong time* a bit too frequently, and then the announcement of your pregnancy - he had cut down the unexpected visits.

“So, I actually wanted to ask you something.”

“This does not sound good” Harry furrowed his eyebrows together, looking suspiciously at his brother as he poured the kettle into the two matching ‘Brothers Trust’ mugs.

“Since when? I only ever ask you to do good things?”

“We both absolutely know that is not true.” Harry deadpanned, pointing to the palm of his right hand which carried a large scar. Scar in question had been sustained during one of Tom’s incredibly ‘good’ aka stupid ideas.

“Right fair… I’ll allow that.” He receeded, placing the two mugs onto the counter in front of Harry. All it took was one look at the pale brown colour for Harry to turn his nose up, shooting Tom a look as though he’d just murdered a puppy. The elder of the two sighed, knowing exactly what his brothers snobbiness was about.

“Seriously?”

“It’s not your fault your awful at this, some people just aren’t born with it.” With a sarky pat on the back Harry rounded the counter, pouring the freshly brewed but slightly too milky tea down the drain - before flicking the kettle on to make his own brew… properly this time.

Tom knew his brother well enough to know not to argue or protest, instead perching on the counter as he watched Harry work his ‘magic’.

“But seriously me and Y/n have been talking about the birth cos you know, it’s not too far away now.” This was true, you were now only 3 weeks from your due date - but going by the size of you, you were ready to pop. Quite literally, you didn't know how much longer you could last.

“I’d be concerned if you weren’t mate.”

“Well yeh and I basically um … had the idea to get a photographer for the birth right? It’s quite an American thing but I don’t want to forget anything and I’m sure it’s gonna be magical.” In response, Harry slowly turned around, empty mug in hand and eyes fierce.

“Are you fucking stupid?!”

To be fair to Harry, that had pretty much been your reaction when Tom first suggested it - word for word. He’d got the idea from one of the crew he’d filmed his most recent projects with, the guy had been raving about how beautiful it was and once he’d shown the pictures to Tom - he had to agree. Eventually Tom had worn you down to it and actually the idea of being able to save the moment you met your kid for the first time didn’t sound too bad. You had firmly set the boundaries of no photos of your ‘labour face’ and absolutely nothing from the ‘other end of the bed.’

The worry for both of you, as it always was given Tom’s reputation, was privacy. Especially the birth of your child, having a stranger there had you straight refusing, even a friend seemed still a little invasive. It was only when Tom had remembered he had a brother (who you were also incredibly close to) who was handy with a camera. Even if he had no experience with this particular type of photography, Harry was a pretty safe pair of hands for a camera in any situation. God knows he’s had enough practice at it.

“No hear me out, Y/n agreed too-“

“Of course this was your idea! So she’s totally fine with me staring at her fanny through a camera lens?”

“Harry” That was a warning tone, which the frizzy haired boy chose to completely ignore.

“No I-I mean, you want me to stare at your finances bits? Isn’t that some sort of weird incsest?”

“Shut the fuck up about Y/n’s body. You OBVIOUSLY wouldn’t be taking photos of that end, more like when the baby gets handed to us you know?”

“When its covered in gunk that came out of Y/n?”

“I’m pretty sure they clean it-“

“Not properly!”

Thankfully perhaps, the conversation was interrupted by the kettle clicking off, the water coming to a boil. With a huff Harry turned round, pouring and then stirring the tea as Tom watched his back from a distance. Neither spoke till after Harry finished, returning the milk to the fridge and then leaning against the counter top.

“Look I get it if you dont want to but your the only one Y/n trusts to do it and it means a lot to me.”

“Y/n wants me to stare at her fanny?!”

“No calm down you div. But you are the only one she trusts to be in the room when our first child is born. Will you just think about it?”

Harry opened his mouth to reply, probably protest, but before he could the front door opened and you called through the house.

“Tom? I’m home!” And becasue the boy was whipped he instantly trotted to the front door giving you a peck on your lips. He murmured to you that Harry was there, his lips moving against yours and you nodded with a small smile. You knew, instantly, that Tom in all his idiocy hadn’t handled it well.

“Would you mind getting all the shopping from car? Pregnant and all, so I’m not allowed to lift a finger.” You cocked your head, laughing as he rolled his eyes with a nod.

“I’m excited for when you can't play that card.”

“But then I’ll be the women who pushed a baby out for you… the mother of your child.” Winking, you then quickly moved through the house before he could protest, just knowing he was pulling a pouty face as he watched you sway away.

Once in the kitchen you saw Harry nursing his mug like it was the last drink on earth, hunched over it from where he was sitting on a stool on the breakfast bar.

“ You lose at golf?” Opening the conversation, Harry instantly shot his head up, looking slightly terrified to see you.

“Wha- no, no I didn’t actually.”

“Tom asked you huh?” He nodded, seemingly not wanting to commit with words. “I had exactly the same face when he first told me. It’s weird right?”

“Yeh no shit.”

“He’s really keen on it though, I mean he’s like an excited puppy about the whole birth.”

“But you want it too?”

“Sort of. What I do want is for him to be happy though. And I’m fairly certain he’s gonna be terrified throughout the whole birth while I won’t be in a position to help himl.”

“You’ll probably have other stuff on your mind to be fair.” You laughed, at that, nodding in agreement with him.

“Just a little. I did think though, who is a person who I can trust to look after him too during that... and even I draw a line at your dad… Look if you don't want to, I totally get it and I can’t promise that I won’t be screaming at you during if you do. But it would comfort me to know you were there, with or without the bloody camera.”

“Seriously?” Rather than exclaiming it, Harry whispered in shock, not expecting this sort of a revelation.

“Course H! You're my little brother too.”

“I might pass out.”

“So will your brother, at least he won’t be on his own then.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Thnakyouthankyouthankyou!” You squealed, running over to hug him from the back, arms round his shoulders as he squirmed on the stool.

It was at this point Tom walked back in after unloading the ridiculous amount of baby clothes shopping you had done. Big strong Tom had to take 2 trips up and down the stairs to the nursery. Of course, all it took was a few words from you and Harry was falling at your feat. He was hardly surprised. Annoyingly you seemed to have this power over all the Hollands. They never stood a chance.

It wasn’t till later than evening, long since Harry had left and the dishwasher had been put on after Tom had made a mess cooking you dinner. Only then did your phone ping with a text message from Sam.

Sam H

‘I dont know what you’ve done to Harry but I’m scared, he’s binge watching one born every minute.’

Immediately you cracked up, knowing that it was his nervous energy and need to ‘be prepared’. Tom, who was lying behind you on the sofa whilst his hands caressing your stomach, jerked his head up intrigued as the what the ‘ding’ was. You showed him and he snorted in laughter too, whilst nuzzling his nose into your neck.

“How did you bring him round by the way?”

“Oh you know, I’ve got all of you wrapped round my little finger when I want.”

“That you do… do you think I should be worried?”

“Nah your just all softies.” Laughing softly, you pulled his arms tighter around you, wiggling back into him a bit more.”

“You didn’t tell him about the godparent thing though?”

“Course not… we can give him a separate heart attack about that.”

#tom holland x reader #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tomholland #tom holland angst #harry holland #tom holland x y/n #dad!tom #fluff #tom holland x famous!reader #tom holland blurb #tom holland one shot #tom holland oneshot

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ginnympotter · 3 years

Note

if you are still doing prompts can you do #50 with hinny pls! And if at all possible can u please do it with jily alive, imma sucker for those!:)

“Shh, stop fussing,” Harry said, trying to soothe her. “I’m just braiding your hair.”

“Don’t shush me,” she muttered, hugging the toilet. “When did you learn how to braid hair, anyway?”

“Mum taught me,” he told her, as he carefully wove her ginger locks together into a tight plait. “On Sirius.”

Despite her current disposition, Ginny let out a short chuckle. “What?”

“When I was seven, Sirius went through a long hair phase. He was trying to grow it longer than my mum’s,” he explained. “They can tell you about it at the table. You have a hair tie?”

Ginny stuck out a hand, and Harry gently pulled off the black tie from her wrist. He tied up the end of her plait and put his hands on her shoulders. “There. Now your hair won’t be in the way.”

She looked back at him, her face soft and pale. “Thank you.”

“You think you’ve finished?”

She nodded. “For now.”

Harry stood up, flushed the toilet one more time for good measure, and then offered his hand to Ginny and helped her up. “You think you’ll be able to get through the rest of lunch?”

“I’m hoping,” she said, attempting a smile. “You go back out there, I’m just gonna brush my teeth...again.”

He kissed her cheek and left the bathroom. When he returned to the dining room, James and Sirius were caught up in a heated debate about whether flying the motorbike or a broom was a more efficient way of travelling. Lily had a knowing look on her face as Harry sat back down, which made Harry want to avoid her eyes, afraid his own would confirm it.

She played along, anyway. “Is Ginny alright, love?”

“Yeah, she’s fine, she’ll be out in a moment,” he assured her, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice.

Sirius halted his argument with James to add, “I did think she seemed a bit off-color when we got here.”

Of course Sirius decided to become observant when they were trying to keep something private. He was glad to have an excuse to change the subject. “I was just telling her about your long hair phase when I was a kid, remember that?”

“My glory days, you mean?” Sirius reminisced wistfully. He looked at James and Lily. “You think I should grow it out again?”

“No,” said James at the same time as Lily said “yes.”

“What Evans says goes,” Sirius smiled.

Just then, Ginny emerged from the bathroom and joined them at the table. She sat down and muttered, “Sorry about that.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” James waved off, pouring her a glass of water. “Are you alright?”

She nodded. “Yes, thank you.” She squeezed Harry’s thigh with one hand and took the water in the other. Harry took that as his cue to take lead of the conversation.

“Ginny wanted to hear about how I learned to braid hair,” Harry told them.

Sirius and Lily laughed as James dug into more food. “I had just cut my hair,” started Lily. “Shoulder-length. And Sirius’s hair was getting pretty long, he was about to cut it himself when we realized it was about the same length.”

“So we had a contest,” Sirius said. “Who could grow out their hair longer, faster.”

“It was a pretty close call,” James joined in.

“But eventually I got tired of only donning a man-bun. It was time to change up my style. So I asked my dear sister here to teach me how to braid my hair. Even though I could’ve just used my wand, now that I’m thinking about it.”

“So Sirius practiced on me,” Lily recalled. “And Harry watched, and then we got him to braid Sirius’s hair for him. I said, ‘my love, one day this is going to be a skill that will come in handy in one way or another,’ and any time spent with Sirius was time well spent for Harry.”

“Still feel that way, kid?” Sirius asked Harry, grinning.

Harry shrugged playfully and Ginny laughed, bringing some color back into her face. “Depends on the day.”

“I get it, you’re married now,” Sirius lamented as he ruffled his own hair, much shorter than it was back then. “But I guess Ginny has me to thank for that lovely plait, given all the hair you ripped out of my head practicing.”

“No hairs were ripped out in the making of this plait,” Ginny assured them, smiling. She reached for a roll and took a small bite. Harry could tell she was hungry but scared to eat anything more. She swallowed. “Thank you for teaching him, most helpful.”

“Remember how we used to have braid-offs?” said James, his arm around Lily. “To see if Harry or I could braid faster?”

“Oh yeah,” Harry laughed, recollecting it. “Whoever was braiding Mum’s hair always won,” he told Ginny, holding her hand on his thigh. “Because hers was much easier to work with than Sirius’s.”

As Sirius took great offense to this and started going on about how female conditioner is better than male conditioner and it took him a year to figure that out and make the switch, Harry looked over at his wife and saw her scrunching up her features. “You ok?” he asked, quiet but concerned.

“I thought I was done, but…” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose and out through her mouth. “I don’t think that’s the case.”

And then she stood up abruptly, mumbled, “excuse me,” and ran down the hall, slamming the bathroom door behind her.

They all went quiet, staring at the closed door.

James spoke first. “Is she alright? If Ginny’s sick we can get going, you can take care of her.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s-” he stammered, unsure of how to finish his sentence.

“Harry,” said Lily, compassion in her voice. She knew. Harry knew she knew. She smiled at him. “Go check up on her, let her decide.”

He could tell she meant let her decide if she wants to tell them the news more than decide if they should leave. Harry nodded, getting up from his seat and apologizing. “Sorry, be right back.”

He walked quickly down the hall and knocked on the door. “It’s me,” he said. “Can I come in?”

Harry heard her clear her voice before responding, “Yes.”

There she was on the floor again, head hanging in defeat over the toilet, a sight that Harry has been saddened to become so familiar with over the past couple of weeks, despite the otherwise wonderful cause of it.

He shut the door behind him, and squatted down on the floor, gently placing a hand on her back.

“Your mum so knows,” she grumbled. “Doesn’t she?”

“I suspect so, yeah,” he replied as she flushed the toilet. “Gin, if you don’t want to tell them yet we don’t have to, we can tell them you’re sick and they can go home.”

She shook her head slowly and turned her gaze to her husband. “No, let’s tell them. I want them to know. It’s just...we haven’t told anyone, you know? Saying it out loud makes it feel more real.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, of course not,” she clarified. “I’m so happy, you know that. But it’s still scary.”

He smiled, moving closer to her as he continued to rub her back. “They’ll help us.”

“I know they will,” she smiled back.

Harry helped her up again, and she moved to wash her hands and face. As she was finishing up he asked, “Are you sure you’re done?”

“Yeah, that was the last of it,” Ginny stated in reassurance. She rinsed with mouthwash and spit it out. “This baby better be worth all the vomit.”

Harry laughed, pulling her in, enveloping her in a hug with gentle arms. “It will be.”

She sighed against him, leaning up and pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, which then prompted him to lean down and kiss her on the mouth. She pulled away laughing. “You do not want to kiss me after that.”

“I always want to kiss you,” he told her in earnest. “You used mouthwash, it’s fine.”

“Harry-”

He caught her lips with his own, kissing her passionately. And how could he not? She was going to be the mother of their child. He felt so grateful to her, so guilty that she had to be the one to bear the bodily burden of it all. He hoped he could translate it all into his kiss.

Ginny must’ve understood- she always did - as she kissed him back with equal enthusiasm for a minute before pulling away again. “Harry,” she repeated, this time with tenderness in her voice.

“Sorry,” he said. He moved a stray hair from her braid and tucked it behind her ear. His heart was swelling. He could hold her all day. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she told him as her eyes softened. “Alright, let’s do this.”

They exited the bathroom together and approached the dining room table. Before they could even sit back down Sirius said, “Are you pregnant or something?”

James groaned and Lily smacked Sirius’s arm hard.

Sirius swore loudly, glaring at Lily. “What the hell, Evans?”

“That’s a rude question to ask, Pads,” James muttered.

“No tact,” Lily sighed in disappointment. “None, whatsoever!”

“I was just asking an innocent question! Her sprinting from the table just reminded me of you when you were pregnant with this one,” Sirius said, nudging his head towards his godson. Then he looked at them. “Sorry, didn’t mean to be rude.”

Before Harry could interject, Ginny said, “No, it’s ok. You’re right.”

The room fell quiet. James’s eyes widened. “Come again?”

“He’s right,” she repeated. “I am pregnant.”

“Surprise?” Harry offered.

There was a beat, and then Lily, James, and Sirius all started speaking at once, sharing their congratulations, shooting up out of their seats and moving to hug them. When Lily reached her son, she put both her hands on his face, and she had tears in her eyes.

Harry smiled. “You knew, right?”

“A mother always does,” she confirmed, giving him a kiss on the forehead. “You’ll learn that soon enough when Ginny suddenly becomes all-knowing.”

“She already is.”

#Hinny #harry potter #james potter #lily evans #fanfic #hp fanfic #sirius black #ginny weasley #ginny potter #harry x ginny #drabble

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kaepopsicle · 3 years

Note

hello, sweetheart!! would it be okay for me to request a nct dream reaction to you asking to sit on their lap when you're tired, because it makes u fall asleep easier? it's something I had picked up from my last relationship, and she always said it was rather cute,so I was curious what you thought the boys would think of it!! u dont have to do it tho, ofc!!<3

omg hi!! this is literally so precious !! and it is really cute !! I love it !! I can def see the dreamies be super considerate and comfortable to lay on. they’re all just so sweet and I’m not crying you are TT ! I hope this is what you wanted !! 🥰 :D

nct dream reaction. their s/o falling asleep on their lap.

— mark

you knock lightly at the door, your boyfriend with his messy hair, hoodie, shorts, and harry potter glasses appears, “oh dude, hey babe, I wasn’t expecting you here.” his voice was raspy as if he just woke up; which is probably what happened. He rubs his eyes before motioning you to come in. He shuts the door and looks at you concerned a bit from your non response. “hey are you okay-“ he gently pulls your wrist and you turn to him with mascara stained down your cheeks, a symbol of hours worth of crying. His voice softens and he immediately pulls you into a hug. “You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong if you don’t want, we can just lay here.” he motions for the couch and you sniffle before agreeing. He takes a seat as you follow, laying your head in his lap while he gently brushes your hair. You felt comfortable in his presence and begin drifting off in a euphoric trance.

— renjun

night shifts were hard. especially at a hospital. you sighed as you walked into your dark apartment and turned on the lights, tossing your bag to the side and quickly locking the door. you smile before seeing your boyfriend asleep on the couch, his mouth hanging open just the slightest as a random cooking show was playing on the tv. ‘he must have been up waiting for me.’ you thought to yourself, you smiled before going to change in the bedroom; quietly so you didn’t wake him up. a few minutes have passed and you came out with a towel drying your now wet hair, you could barely keep your eyes open. the sight of your bf wasn’t helping. you sigh before tossing the towel to the side and heading to the couch, you put one leg on each side of him, sit on his lap and snuggle up into his chest. he moves a little before a soft smile appears on his face. along with a groany sound; his arms come around and hold you even closer as you lay your head in the crook of his neck. “how was work?”

— jeno

it was late at night and jeno walks in the dorm kitchen you were sitting there leaning against the counter. “babe? what are you doing up?” he glances at the time; 3:07. you sigh “I can’t sleep” “aw” he gives you a little pout before penguin running over to you. you giggle before he picks you up, you swing your legs around his waist and he rubs your thighs as you hug into him. “can you stay with me?” you whisper into his neck. a smile appears on his face. “of course.” he takes you back to his bedroom and he sits on the bed with you still hanging on to him like a koala. “ahh” he sighs as he lays down, you still laying on his chest. he pulls a blanket over you guys as he brushes the hair out of your face. “you’re so cute.” he whispers, but you were already asleep.

— haechan

“baebbbbeee stopp,, I’m tired” you complain as your bf was being a turd. as usual. “awww is my flower tired” he mocks at you while running away, “I just want a hug” you cry as you drop your arms to the side in defeat. he stops before looking at you “fineeeee come here you sleepy puppy” you pout before sliding on the hard floor to him. he pulls you into a warm hug, his hand resting on the back of your head. you keep snuggling closer and closer. “BAbe!” He moves while complaining; looking up at the ceiling. You groan “I just want to get closerrrr” “you’re already as close as you can! what more do you want from me?” he complains. you groan before rubbing your head into his chest. “do you want to sit on my lap or??” he rolls his eyes, jokingly until you don’t answer. “wait seriously?” he says, you move your head in a nodding motion, as he gets the hint his hands reach down to under your butt to pull you up holding you. he walks over to the couch and takes a big fall, while you’re still holding on. he laughs as you snuggle up into him and lay your head into his neck. “my big baby.” he laughs.

— jaemin

you walk into your boyfriends dorm as you see his handsome self standing in the kitchen making some espresso in the espresso machine you got him for his birthday, you were absolutely exhausted. you didn’t know why you agreed to go work out with your friend. but you did and you were sore, and not to mention tired. “Baby!” your boyfriends smile appears on his face brighter than the sun itself. You limp over to him in pain, as your muscles felt like they were about to explode. “hi..” you say wincing. “Baby!!? What’s wrong what happened???” He runs over to you full of compassion and concern; pulls you into a big hug and pulls you towards his room. “Come come you need to rest.” He says, a smile appears on your face as your boyfriend was being a sweetheart, like he always is. you go to sit on his bed before he runs over and pulls you on top of his lap. he rubs your back as you hug into him, slowly drifting away. he just smiles at you as he plays with your hair. “just stay here for as long as you need my princess.” his coffee long forgotten about.

— chenle

your legs were killing you, were you going to tell your boyfriend that? of course not. he was so excited to be able to have a break and play basketball at the court down the street from the dorm, you couldn’t bare to tell him. “omg babe here! This is the perfect spot.” he runs over to an empty bench, rips off his jacket and throws it down. while dribbling the basketball and making a basket, you sigh before sitting down on the bench he laid his jacket on. leaning back before breathing heavily. “Babe watch this !!” He runs and dunks the ball “OOOOOHHHH you saw that! LEGEND!” he runs around yelling while making random noises and movements, before stopping when he saw your state. “babe? are you okay?” he runs over before squatting down and gently rubbing your knee. you look at him and rub his soft cheeks. “sorry bubs I’m just really tired” he smiles before sitting on the bench and picking you up setting you on his lap. “Hey don’t worry about it; I just want you to be happy” he rubs your back, gently brushing your hair. “you can fall asleep on me if you want” he smiles. you take that offer and melt into his embrace. and fall asleep. he ends up falling asleep too.

— jisung

finals were finally over. you couldn’t wait to get home and spend your winter break with your boyfriend. You walk in his dorm and throw your bag and jacket on the counter before making a hunt for jisung. “baby...” You call. “In here!” A deep voice shouts from a room down the hall. You quickly skip to him and hug him from behind. He was playing a game on his phone while sitting on his bed. (Like usual) “how was class?” he asks as you cling on to his back like an animal. “It was good I’m just exhausted.” he turns to you and smiles. you kiss his cheek and run to go change into comfier clothes, you come back and he was still in the exact same position. so you decided to take that as an opportunity to sit on his lap, you crawl underneath his arms holding his phone and snuggle up into him, he doesn’t stop you, he just continues to play his game. not paying too much attention. you know he doesn’t mind, you do this all the time. he knows it helps you sleep cuddling up to him. eventually he pauses his game to admire your cute presence; but that doesn’t last long, he just resumes the game and goes back to playing for hours. doesn’t move, just so you can sleep peacefully.

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parkersbliss · 3 years

Text

request; If ur still doing request could u do one when the boys have a little sister and Tom comes home for the first time in ages and normally the sister would always cling onto Tom and basically not leave his side but she hangs out with Sam and Paddy instead and Tom gets jealous and gets like flashbacks off all the times their sister would cling to him?

Clingy | T. Holland

—

Tom loved his job, he’s dreamed of it since he was a kid.

But nothing is as glamorous as it seems, he learned that quickly. His dreams came true, he was a superhero, he was an actor, working with some of the biggest names in the industry. He got to travel the world, make friends and inspire young kids.

He couldn’t ask for anything more.

Except for time with his family.

Filming was a long process, and it always took him far from home. He was gone for almost half a year, on the other side of the world, sometimes even longer and sometimes even further. It wasn’t easy, but he thought it was worth it. He could call you guys, but the time zones and his schedule made it difficult. Sometimes he had one project lined up after the other and then he was never able to call.

He missed you guys, but it paid off in the end when he did get to come home. Sometimes he was even able to take one of you with him, but not always.

Not this time.

He had been gone for a while now, between filming for Marvel and a few other movies, he’d been in the states for almost ten months now.

When he was finally home, it felt like a relief. Everything seemed the same, nothing out of place and it was a comforting feeling.

His family runs up to him, hugging him tightly telling them how much he missed him. He, of course, returns the same feelings.

His brothers give him quick hugs, joking about, knowing that soon enough he’ll be gone again, so they take what they can get, inviting him to golf and lunch.

Then there’s you, you’re always excited to see your older brother, that’s a given and you hug him tightly. A bright smile on your face and Tom finally feels at home.

…

He wakes up the next day to a homemade breakfast and lots of laughter, the family explains how they’re going out to golf and getting lunch to celebrate. Tom’s ecstatic to finally be back and continue their routine. He knows what to expect, and he’s more than ready for it.

He readies his stance, gripping onto the club as he aims. He expects you to be right next to him, trying to mirror his poses, but instead, he finds no one, and you’re standing next to Sam, matching his stance.

Tom frowns at the thought, but he doesn’t linger on the thought. It’s not like you had favorites anyway, he swings his club watching the ball soar through the sky.

“How was filming?” His mother asked, taking her seat next to him at the restaurant.

Tom nods, swallowing his mouthful, “good.”

Harry takes the other seat next to him, Sam across from him.

You’re sat between Sam and Paddy, which is odd because the last time Tom could recall, you were always sat next to him.

“Did you meet any new famous people?” Paddy asked, you look to Tom expectantly but not with that same adoration in your eyes. It was more like a casual interest.

“Yeah, Ciara Bravo, she was cool.”

Tom vaguely remembers you mentioning her as one of your favorite actresses, so he waits for a response from you, but all he gets is a nod.

He watches as Sam leans over to whisper something in your ear and you begin laughing, you playfully hit Paddy’s shoulder, grabbing his attention and telling him the same thing as all three of you burst into laughter.

Tom feels lost, but no one else at the table does, they act like it’s perfectly normal and make light conversation over your laughter.

A thought crosses Tom’s mind, maybe this was normal. He hadn’t seen you in almost a year, you hadn’t seen him in almost a year. Things were bound to change.

And he was proven correct when it seemed over the next few weeks, you didn’t so much as bat an eyelash at Tom. Whenever he was about the house, you were with Sam and Paddy.

It hurt him a little because he always looked forward to coming home to see you, to have you cling to him and follow him wherever.

Like the first time, he came home,

Tom dropped his suitcase on the floor, the familiar feeling of being home resting on his shoulders. He could hear footsteps come running down the stairs and the sound of his family.

“Tommy!” You shouted, running up to him.

“Hey, you!” He said, picking you up in his arms and hugging you.

“Did you miss me?”

You nodded your head, tugging on his arm. “You should see my new room, and you have to tell me all about being a superhero. How many villains did you fight? What’s New York like, is it as pretty in person? Can we have a sleepover?”

Tom chuckles at all the questions that come tumbling out of your mouth, trying to keep up with most of them. He hadn’t been gone for too long, maybe a month or two, but it felt much longer to him and his family. It was the first time he had left, and you couldn’t quite understand it yet. All you cared about was him coming back home every time and asking if he brought any American treats back.

That was always the most important question.

Or the time he was home for Christmas,

You heard the door unlock, and your head snapped up at the noise. You weren’t sure who it could be, everyone was home right now. Maybe it was Harrison coming over to visit for a bit. He did that quite often. Sometimes he brought over his dog to keep Tessa company, but most of the time he didn’t come unannounced.

You stare curiously at the door until it opens till reveal none other than, your eldest brother. The one who wasn’t supposed to be home for another month.

“Tom!” You exclaimed, jumping off the couch, “You're home?”

“Surprise?” He said, opening up his arms.

You laugh, hugging him, you missed this feeling.

“Bring anything cool back?”

“Only a couple signatures from the Marvel cast and your favorite cookies from that one bakery.”

You gasp, eyes lighting up, “Really?”

“I thought they’d pair well with some hot cocoa.”

“You are the best brother.”

Tom laughs, as Harry comes strolling down the stairs, practically dropping his drink.

“Mum!” He shouts, looking over his shoulder, “Tom’s home!”

“WHAT?”

Or even his first movie as the lead,

It was so hot in L.A, you weren’t quite used to it just yet. The sun was blinding as you stepped out of the car to be with camera flashes in every direction. A red carpet was presented in front of you and your brothers, who looked just as surprised.

Except for Tom, he was beaming. The paparazzi was screaming, trying to get every shot possible of your brother. It was a weird thing for you, since to you he was just your brother.

You grabbed Tom’s hand, letting him lead you down the carpet as the paparazzi tried to get as many pictures of him with his family.

“Do you want to take one that’s just the two of us?” He asked.

You nod and Tom takes you further down the carpet, posing with you.

“You’re famous,” you said, squinting between all the camera flashes.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Tom hummed, “But you’ll always be my number one fan.”

—

“Hey,” you said, sitting next to Tom on the couch.

“Hey,” He replied, taking in your appearance. You had changed a lot in the year he’d been gone. Your hair was shorter, you had lost your baby face features and you seemed taller.

“It’s been a while,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek.

Tom nods, “Yeah, it has.”

You take out a game controller, handing one to Tom, “You still got it?”

Tom smiles, taking the controller from your hands, “only one way to find out.”

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x sister!reader #submission

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