#London Decompression

[jakeperalta]

telling my bf's brother + his girlfriend about our eras tour experience because they're going tomorrow and the post concert depression is hitting

[dorzlty]

Toothache is slowly easing off! But now I’m tempted to play kcd for a bit xD

[a-b-riddle]

Can’t stop thinking about poly141 who get so wrapped up in their own bullshit they begin to neglect reader. So you leave 🤷🏼‍♀️

It wasn’t a big deal at first. You understood that their jobs were intense to say the least. You own a bookshop, which in itself was exhausting, but you understood how they could get carried away with work.

You had excused the many delayed returned texts or missed FaceTime dates when they were deployed. When they came home, they almost always made it up to you. Showering you with attention and quality time.

But the past two returns home have been… different.

Usually at least one of them made a beeline to your shop or your loft if it was too late in the evening. You always held your breath when it was just one of them.

“They’re okay.” Was the usual answer. “Everyone made it back okay.” It was only then that you could melt into whoever’s hands you were in.

After one of their recent returns home you had voice to Price that you didn’t appreciate several days passing after they came back and no one had bothered to tell you. He had snapped. Arguing that a mission doesn’t finish just because they land back on soil. There was paperwork and debriefing to be done. If and when they wanted to see you they would.

He didn’t apologize until later. Crawling into your bed, using one of the keys you had given them. Blaming the stress. How they had almost lost Johnny for the reason of his outburst. What else could you do but forgive him?

So you had given them space after that one. Not holding it against them to decompress before seeing you.

The next time was the final straw. Solidifying how little they cared about you and how much power you had given them.

Johnny had come in around 7 one evening. He was dressed nicely, for civilian standards. You were reading a book on the couch when he had let himself in. You were wearing on of Simon’s sweatshirts and panties. He took you in for a moment before scooping you up.

He fucked you absolutely stupid. Adamant on having you cum on his tongue, his fingers and his cock. You were only able to bask in the afterglow of him filling you up before he started pulling his pants back on.

“What are you doing?” There were times that you would practically need a crow bar to get Johnny detached from you just long enough to relieve yourself. You had gotten many a UTI courtesy of Mr. John MacTavish.

“Dinner with my family tonight.” He explained by the time he was already buttoning his shirt. “The youngest just graduated and ma’ feels the need to go all out.” Now came the tie. Johnny was actually wearing a tie. To go to dinner. “A fancy dinner in London.” He huffed. “Meanwhile I’m out scufflin’ with bloody fuckin’ terrorists and I get a pat on the back.” He gave you a peck on the cheek before heading out the door. Promising to call you later.

You just sat in your bed. Still naked. Almost in shocked. He had fucked you and just… left. You were close to a panic attack as you called Simon.

Simon wasn’t the one to cuddle and coddle. But there was something so soothing at the sound of his voice or even how his heavy body felt perfect laying on top of you. Yes. Simon wasn’t the time to lift you up with words, but he was your own security blanket. Just having him close helped.

“Can you come over?” It wasn't unusal for Simon to be the one to come later in the evening. Insomnia was a bitch to deal with and you could sleep through the sounds of whatever he played on the tv. Most of the times you were content laying your head on his lap as he ran his hand along your head as if he were petting you. It was a bit cringe, but it knocked you out every time.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. The low timber of his voice already calming you.

“Johnny came over.” You sniffled. “He just fucked me and left.”

“Not surprised.” He scoffed. You could almost see him rolling those deep brown eyes of his. “If you wanted to cum, I’m happy to come over and help.”

For whatever reason, that only seemed to make you more upset. “You’re not listening.” You said, trying to spell it out for him. “He left. Like didn’t even stay and cuddle just left. Fucked me and left.”

“That’s why you’re calling me crying about?” He almost seemed… annoyed.

“Yes!” You said, nearly snapping. All of the tension from the last several months coming to the surface. “I’m not just a warm body to keep a bed cozy until you assholes decide you need to get one off.” Assholes. You called them assholes. “This isn’t what we agreed to.”

“Johnny is Johnny.” Simon tried to defend, not really caring to continue the conversation now knowing that you weren't in any sort of physical harm. “He wanted his dick wet and from the sound of it, that’s what he did. Don’t hold it against him because he had other things to do.”

“It’s not just Johnny leaving.” Your throat felt like it was tightening. A telltale sign you were close to crying. Whether from sadness or anger you weren't entirely sure. “The only time any of you want anything to do with me anymore is to fuck.” You missed date nights and lunches. You missed texting any and all of them about your day, about theirs. About new books. You had been trying for months to tell them over dinner one of your books got picked up. Yours was being traditionally published.

None of them had bothered to even try penciling you in.

“You got yours.” You heard the popping of a can top. Simon was settling in for the night. Once he popped a top at home there was no getting him out. He wasn't coming for you. “I don’t understand what you’re bitchin’ to me about. Yeah, in the beginning we indulged ya a bit? Dressed you up, took you out. But you should have known spreadin’ them legs of yours wouldn’t end with one of us puttin’ a ring on your finger.”

You didn’t know what to say. What could you say? These were the men that pursued you. Initially, individually, but when tensions became to much they offered a solution. All of them. Four times the attention, of the affection.

Four times the love.

But also four time the neglect. Four times the amount of heartbreak and disappointment. Loving all of them meant putting yourself in a position to let each of them hurt you in their own way and they had.

John's constant state of snapping at you as if you were one of his men.

Johnny swinging by as if you were just a fuck buddy. Not even bothering to give a peck before leaving.

Kyle essentially ignoring you for weeks now. Ghosting you for hours or having to cancel on date nights last minute or claiming that he really did forget that the two of you had planned to meet for lunch.

And now there was Simon. Telling you that all you meant to them was what was between your thighs.

Spreadin' them legs of yours wouldn't end with one of us puttin' a ring on your finger.

None of them ever intended on making this into something more. That much was clear now.

You didn't know what to say to Simon. You couldn't think of a witty retort. You couldn't find the proper insult to whirl his way. You couldn't convey just how much his words had hurt.

So you did the only thing you could.

You hung up.

[ghstyles]

For Worse Or For Worse

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WC: 13k

Masterlist

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As Y/N and Harry finally escaped the suffocating formality of his mother's Christmas morning celebration, an almost palpable relief settled between them. The drive back to their Hampstead home was quiet but comfortable, both of them decompressing from the tension of maintaining appearances around Anne's critical gaze.

Harry glanced over at Y/N as he navigated the nearly empty London streets, appreciating how the winter sunlight caught in her hair. Their relationship had shifted dramatically since their conversation last night—the antagonism that had defined their first months together giving way to something neither had anticipated when they'd signed those marriage papers.

"Christ, I thought we'd never escape," Harry said, reaching across to take Y/N's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Every year I forget how exhausting she is until I'm right back in it."

Y/N turned toward him with a small smile, the genuine warmth in her expression a stark contrast to the polite mask she'd worn all morning. "You handled her well. I especially enjoyed when you shut down her comment about my dress being 'almost appropriate for once.'"

Harry's jaw tightened momentarily at the memory. "She's lucky that's all I said. I had about fifteen other responses lined up, none of which would have made for a peaceful Christmas breakfast."

As they pulled up to their home, Harry noticed Y/N's expression brighten. This place had been just another part of their arrangement at first, a stage set for their performance. Now, somehow, it had become a sanctuary.

"Home sweet home," Harry murmurs as he turns off the engine, the relief evident in his voice making Y/N realize just how tense the visit to his mother's estate had been for him despite his outward confidence.

"Much better than your mother's mausoleum," she agrees, earning a surprised laugh from Harry as they gather their overnight bags from the trunk.

The moment they step through the front door, they're greeted by an indignant meow as Grumps appears from wherever he'd been napping to twine around their legs in greeting.

"Yes, yes, we're home," Harry tells the cat, crouching down to scratch behind Grumps' ears despite his frequent insistence that the cat is Y/N's responsibility. "I suppose you're expecting dinner now, aren't you?"

Grumps meows again, his single yellow eye fixed on Harry with what can only be described as feline expectation.

"I think he missed you more than me," she commented, setting down her bag and closing the door behind them. "Traitor."

Harry looked up with a grin. "He's got good taste, what can I say?"

"I'll feed him," Y/N offers, dropping her bag by the door. "If you want to bring our stuff up and maybe start a fire?"

He stood, brushing off his clothes, then surprised her by reaching out to pull her into a casual embrace, kissing her. "Merry Christmas, by the way. Properly merry, now that we're home."

The simple affection in the gesture made Y/N's heart flutter in a way she was still getting used to.

"Merry Christmas," she returned softly, allowing herself to lean into him briefly before pulling back. "Now, I believe I was promised waffles before our walk?"

Their eyes held, the moment stretching between them with possibilities neither had anticipated when they'd signed those papers binding them together for a year. The contract that had once seemed like a countdown clock now felt increasingly irrelevant to what had developed between them.

The kitchen fills with warmth and the sweet scent of batter as they move around each other with a newfound ease. Harry has rolled up the sleeves of his sweater, revealing the tattoos scattered across his forearms as he measures flour into a large mixing bowl while Y/N cracks eggs beside him.

"You're doing it wrong," she teases, bumping her hip against his as she watches him add the flour.

Harry raises an eyebrow, pausing with the measuring cup midair. "Am I? And here I thought I was following your oh-so-specific instructions to the letter."

"You're supposed to level it off," Y/N demonstrates, taking the measuring cup from him and running a finger across the top to even out the flour before dumping it into the bowl. "See? Otherwise, the proportions are all wrong."

"The proportions," Harry repeats solemnly, though his eyes dance with amusement. "Of course. How could I have forgotten the critical importance of perfectly level flour in waffle making?"

Y/N flicks a small amount of flour at him in retaliation, laughing as it dusts his dark sweater with white. "Mock all you want, Styles, but there's a science to this."

"Is there now?" Harry's voice drops lower as he steps closer, crowding her against the counter with a playful intensity that sends a shiver down her spine despite the kitchen's warmth. "And what happens if I disrupt your scientific process?"

Before she can respond, he dips his finger into the bowl of flour and traces a line down her nose, his expression triumphant as he marks her with the white powder.

"Harry!" she protests, laughing despite herself as she reaches up to wipe it away.

He catches her wrist before she can, his other hand coming up to cup her cheek as he leans in to kiss the tip of her flour-dusted nose. "There," he murmurs, his breath warm against her skin. "Much better."

The simple affection in the gesture makes something warm unfurl in Y/N's chest, a feeling that's becoming increasingly familiar in Harry's presence. She tilts her face up, seeking his lips in a kiss that starts soft but quickly deepens as Harry presses closer, his hand sliding from her cheek to tangle in her hair.

The bowl of ingredients sits forgotten between them as the kiss continues, Harry's body warm and solid against hers, the counter edge digging into her lower back barely registering through the haze of desire building once again.

It's Grumps who eventually interrupts them, jumping onto the counter with a disgruntled meow that has them breaking apart, both slightly breathless.

"I think he's judging us," Y/N observes, laughing as the one-eyed cat stares at them disapprovingly before turning his attention to investigating the mixing bowl.

"Off," Harry commands, gently shooing the cat down despite his earlier indulgence of Grumps' behavior. "Unless you want flour-paw prints all over the house."

Grumps gives him what can only be described as a feline glare before jumping down with exaggerated dignity, stalking away with his tail held high in obvious offense.

"Now, where were we?" Harry asks, turning back to Y/N with a mischievous smile that suggests he's thinking of resuming their kiss rather than the waffle-making.

She laughs, placing a hand on his chest to gently push him back a step. "Waffles first," she insists, though her resolve wavers when he captures her hand and presses a kiss to her palm that's far more sensual than the gesture has any right to be. "Harry..."

"Waffles first," he agrees with exaggerated reluctance, releasing her hand and returning his attention to the mixing bowl. "Though I'm going to hold you to the 'first' part of that statement."

The promise in his voice sends another shiver through Y/N, but she determinedly refocuses on their breakfast plans, directing him to whisk the dry ingredients while she combines the wet ones in a separate bowl.

As they work, the earlier tension mellows into a comfortable rhythm, their movements around the kitchen surprisingly coordinated despite Harry's relative inexperience with cooking. They exchange casual touches as they pass ingredients back and forth—Harry's hand lingering on her waist as he reaches past her for the vanilla, Y/N's fingers brushing his as she takes the whisk from him.

"Did your mother really never let you help in the kitchen?" Y/N asks as she watches Harry pour the wet ingredients into the dry ones with careful concentration, his brow furrowed in a way she finds unexpectedly endearing.

Harry shakes his head, his expression briefly shadowed by old memories. "Cooking was for the staff," he explains, his tone carefully neutral though Y/N can hear the underlying criticism. "Mother believed children should be seen and not heard, and definitely not covered in flour in her pristine kitchen."

The admission adds another piece to the puzzle of Harry's childhood—the privilege and wealth, yes, but also the strict boundaries and emotional distance that had shaped him.

"Well, her loss," Y/N says lightly, determined not to let Anne's shadow fall over their morning. "Because you're actually not terrible at this."

Harry's expression lightens at her teasing, his dimple appearing as he grins. "High praise indeed," he remarks dryly. "Not terrible. I'll have to add that to my list of accomplishments."

"Grammy-winning musician, devastatingly handsome model, and now, not-terrible waffle maker," Y/N lists, counting off on her fingers with mock seriousness. "Truly, a renaissance man."

Harry laughs, the sound rich and genuine in a way that still surprises Y/N sometimes. It was so different from the carefully controlled amusement he displays in public. "You forgot devastatingly handsome husband," he corrects, stepping closer to slide an arm around her waist and pull her against him.

The casual claim of the title—husband, not arrangement, not business partner—sends a flutter through Y/N's stomach that has nothing to do with hunger for waffles.

"I stand corrected," she murmurs, allowing herself to lean into him briefly before turning her attention back to the batter. "Now, let's see if your waffle-pouring skills match your mixing abilities."

Harry accepts the challenge with good humor, taking over the waffle iron duties while Y/N slices fresh fruit for toppings. They work in companionable silence for a few moments, the only sounds the sizzle of batter on the hot iron and the soft Christmas music playing from the speaker in the corner—a playlist Harry had surprisingly created the day before, full of classic carols and modern favorites.

"These actually look edible," Harry observes with genuine surprise as he lifts the first golden-brown waffle from the iron, the steam rising in fragrant clouds. "I think I might be a natural."

"Don't get cocky," Y/N warns, though she can't help but smile at his obvious pride in the simple accomplishment. "The true test is in the eating."

They carry their plates to the small breakfast nook overlooking the garden, now covered in a light dusting of snow that sparkles in the winter sunlight. Grumps follows, apparently having forgiven their earlier transgression as he settles beneath the table, no doubt hoping for dropped morsels.

Harry cuts into his waffle with exaggerated ceremony, raising a forkful to his mouth with dramatic flair that has Y/N rolling her eyes even as she watches expectantly for his verdict.

"Well?" she prompts when he chews thoughtfully, drawing out the moment.

A slow smile spreads across his face, genuine pleasure replacing the theatrical suspense. "Not bad," he admits, cutting another piece with noticeable enthusiasm. "Not bad at all."

"See? I told you homemade is better than those frozen ones you're always buying," Y/N points out, taking a bite of her own waffle and humming with satisfaction at the perfect balance of crisp exterior and fluffy interior.

"You might have a point," Harry concedes, reaching across the table to steal a strawberry from her plate despite having plenty on his own. "Though I maintain that frozen waffles have their place. Specifically, at three in the morning after a long flight when cooking seems like an insurmountable challenge."

Y/N laughs, swatting his hand away as he goes for another strawberry. "You have your own," she protests, though there's no real annoyance in her tone.

"Yours taste better," he insists with a grin that's equal parts charming and mischievous, successfully snagging another berry before she can stop him.

Their breakfast continues in this vein, easy conversation and playful banter flowing between them as naturally as breathing. When Harry reaches across the table again, Y/N assumes he's going for more of her fruit, but instead, his fingers gently brush away a drop of syrup from the corner of her mouth, the casual intimacy of the gesture making her heart skip.

"What?" he asks, noticing her sudden stillness.

Y/N shakes her head, unable to fully articulate the emotion welling in her chest at these simple moments of domestic harmony. "Nothing," she says softly. "Just... this is nice."

Harry's expression softens, understanding passing between them without the need for further explanation. "Yeah," he agrees, his hand finding hers on the table, fingers intertwining with easy familiarity. "It really is."

They stay like that for a moment, connected by more than just their joined hands, before Harry's expression shifts to something more playful.

"Now," he says, giving her hand a squeeze before releasing it to gather their empty plates, "I believe I was promised a walk with our cyclops cat before presents?"

As if recognizing his cue, Grumps emerges from under the table with an expectant meow, his single eye fixed on them with unmistakable anticipation.

"I think he understood that," Y/N remarks with amusement, standing to help clear the table.

"Of course he did," Harry replies, bending down to scratch under the cat's chin. "He's the most intelligent one-eyed cat in London, aren't you, Grumps?"

The cat purrs in response, rubbing against Harry's leg in apparent agreement, and Y/N finds herself smiling at the sight—this man who once claimed to despise cats now openly doting on theirs. Theirs.

Just another of the many surprises that have emerged as the walls between them gradually crumbled, revealing the person beneath the carefully constructed facade Harry presents to the world. A person Y/N is discovering she likes very much indeed—flour-flicking, strawberry-stealing tendencies and all.

"Let me get the dishes," she offers, taking the plates from him. "You find Grumps' leash for our walk."

Harry nods, pressing a quick kiss to her temple as he passes—another of those casual affections that are becoming wonderfully commonplace between them—before heading off in search of the cat's harness, Grumps trotting dutifully at his heels.

As Y/N rinses their breakfast dishes, she finds herself humming along with the Christmas music, a sense of contentment settling over her that feels both foreign and entirely right.

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The winter morning is crisp and bright as they stroll through Hampstead Heath, their breath forming small clouds in the cold air. The park is relatively quiet on Christmas Eve morning, just a few other dog walkers and joggers braving the chill. Harry holds Grumps' leash loosely in one hand, his other entwined with Y/N's, their gloved fingers interlaced as they walk side by side along the frost-dusted path.

"I still can't believe you got him to wear that," Y/N remarks, glancing down at Grumps who trots ahead of them wearing not only his harness but also the small red and green plaid sweater Harry had mysteriously produced that morning.

Harry shrugs, though there's a hint of pride in his expression. "He was cold. Aren't you, Grumps?"

The cat, predictably, ignores him, too busy investigating an interesting patch of frozen grass to acknowledge the conversation about him.

"You spoil him," Y/N accuses, though her tone is warm with affection.

"Says the woman who feeds him organic salmon treats," Harry counters with a raised eyebrow.

"That's different. That's nutrition."

"And the cat bed that cost more than some people's actual beds?"

"It's orthopedic," Y/N defends, laughing at Harry's knowing expression. "He's a senior cat. He needs proper support."

"Of course," Harry agrees solemnly, though his eyes dance with amusement. "Just like he needed that catnip mouse that's shaped like a Christmas pudding."

"That was on sale!"

"It was thirty pounds!"

Their playful argument is interrupted when they reach the small pond at the center of the park, now partially frozen over. Harry tugs gently on her hand, leading them to a bench overlooking the water.

"Let's sit for a minute," he suggests, brushing a light dusting of snow from the bench before they settle side by side, Grumps immediately investigating the area around their feet with feline curiosity.

Y/N leans slightly against Harry's side, drawing warmth from his solid presence as they watch a pair of ducks navigate the unfrozen portions of the pond.

"This is perfect," she murmurs, content in a way she never expected to feel. "Much better than your mother's stuffy Christmas party."

Harry's arm slides around her shoulders, pulling her closer as he presses a kiss to her temple. "Agreed. Though I'm sure she's currently telling everyone who'll listen how her ungrateful son abandoned her on Christmas to shack up with his gold-digging wife."

There's a bite to his words despite the light tone, the hurt of his mother's rejection still fresh despite his defiance.

"Hey," Y/N says softly, turning to face him. "Don't let her ruin this. Not even from a distance."

Harry's expression softens as he looks at her, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair that's escaped her hat back behind her ear, his touch lingering on her cheek.

"You're right," he acknowledges. "This is our Christmas. Just us and the cyclops."

Speaking of the cyclops...

Y/N glances down, expecting to see Grumps still investigating the area around the bench, but the cat is nowhere in sight. Her heart immediately jumps into her throat as she scans the immediate vicinity.

"Harry," she says, an edge of panic already creeping into her voice. "Where's Grumps?"

Harry looks down, his relaxed posture immediately tensing when he realizes the leash in his hand now leads to nothing. "What the—" He stands quickly, turning in a circle as he searches for the cat. "He was just here a second ago."

Y/N is already on her feet, her eyes darting frantically around the park. "Grumps!" she calls, her voice rising with worry. "Grumps, where are you?"

"He must have slipped out of his harness," Harry says, examining the end of the leash where the small harness dangles empty. "Clever little bastard."

"This isn't funny, Harry!" Y/N's voice is tight with panic as she starts moving in widening circles around the bench. "He's an indoor cat. He doesn't know how to survive out here. And he only has one eye!"

The fear in her voice has Harry immediately sobering, any amusement at the cat's escape vanishing as he takes in Y/N's genuine distress.

"We'll find him," he assures her, his own voice calm and steady in contrast to her rising panic. "He can't have gotten far. Which direction was he facing when we sat down?"

Y/N tries to think through her mounting anxiety. "I—I think he was sniffing around that bush," she points to a holly bush several yards away. "But I wasn't really paying attention. I was distracted by—"

"It's okay," Harry interrupts gently, placing his hands on her shoulders. "We'll start there and work outward. He's wearing that bright sweater, which will make him easier to spot."

Despite his reassuring words, Y/N can feel tears pricking at her eyes, her breath coming faster as worst-case scenarios flood her mind. "But what if he's scared? What if he's hiding? What if a dog chases him or he falls in the pond?"

"Y/N," Harry's voice is firm but kind as he cups her face, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Breathe. Panicking won't help us find him. Grumps is smart, and he's wearing identification. If someone finds him, they'll call us."

She nods, trying to control her breathing as Harry had suggested, but the thought of Grumps—their one-eyed, perpetually grumpy but secretly affectionate cat—alone and frightened in the park is enough to make her stomach twist with anxiety.

"You take that path," Harry directs, pointing toward a winding trail that leads deeper into the park. "I'll check around the pond and those bushes. Call me immediately if you see him."

Y/N nods again, grateful for Harry's calm approach even as her own thoughts race with worry. She watches him stride purposefully toward the pond before turning to hurry down the path he indicated, her eyes scanning every bush and tree.

"Grumps!" she calls, her voice carrying in the crisp morning air. "Grumps, come here! Treats!"

The promise of treats would normally have the cat appearing as if by magic, but there's no sign of movement in response to her calls. Y/N continues down the path, her heart pounding with increasing dread as minutes pass without any sight of their wayward pet.

She's about to turn back and try another direction when her phone rings. She fumbles to answer it with gloved hands, nearly dropping the device in her haste.

"Harry? Did you find him?"

"Not yet," his voice comes through, slightly breathless as if he's been running. "I've checked around the pond and those trees near the entrance. Nothing. Any luck on your end?"

"No," Y/N's voice cracks slightly, the fear she's been trying to suppress bubbling to the surface. "Harry, what if we can't find him? He's not used to being outside. He could be anywhere by now."

"We'll find him," Harry repeats firmly, though she can hear the concern underlying his confidence. "Keep looking. I'm going to check the area near the playground. Kids might have spotted him."

They hang up, and Y/N continues her search with renewed desperation, calling Grumps' name until her throat feels raw from the cold air. Every rustle in the bushes makes her heart leap with hope, only to crash again when it turns out to be a squirrel or a bird.

Twenty minutes later, she's nearly back at their original starting point, having circled a large section of the park without success. The panic she's been fighting now threatens to overwhelm her completely. Grumps isn't just a pet—he's the first living thing she and Harry had taken responsibility for together, the unexpected catalyst for many of their early moments of genuine connection when Harry would pretend to be annoyed by the cat while secretly sneaking him treats and affection.

She's about to call Harry again when she spots him in the distance, walking quickly in her direction. She hurries to meet him, hope flaring briefly before dying at the sight of his empty arms.

"Nothing?" she asks, though the answer is obvious.

Harry shakes his head, his own worry now clearly visible despite his earlier calm. "I've asked everyone I've seen. No one's spotted a one-eyed cat in a Christmas sweater."

A sob escapes before Y/N can stop it, the reality of the situation hitting her full force. "He's gone, Harry. We lost him"

Harry pulls her into his arms, holding her tightly as she presses her face against his coat. "We haven't lost him yet," he insists, though his voice lacks the certainty of before. "We'll keep looking. And if we don't find him today, we'll come back tomorrow. We'll put up posters. We'll hire a professional pet finder if we have to."

The lengths he's willing to go to should be comforting, but it only emphasizes the seriousness of the situation. Y/N clings to him, drawing what strength she can from his presence even as tears threaten.

"It's my fault," she murmurs against his coat. "I should have been watching him more closely. I should have checked his harness was secure."

"It's not your fault," Harry counters firmly, pulling back just enough to look at her. "If anything, it's mine. I was holding the leash."

Before Y/N can respond, a voice calls out from behind them.

"Excuse me! Is this your cat?"

They both turn so quickly they nearly lose their balance, hope surging as they spot an elderly woman approaching, holding what appears to be a bundle wrapped in her scarf.

"He was hiding under a bench near the café," the woman explains as she draws closer, pulling back the edge of the scarf to reveal a familiar one-eyed face peering out with what can only be described as feline disdain. "Poor thing seemed quite put out by the whole adventure. I recognized him from his tag."

"Grumps!" Y/N cries, relief flooding through her as she rushes forward, Harry right beside her.

The cat gives a small meow of recognition as they approach, seemingly unperturbed by the panic he's caused while they transfer him from the woman's careful hold into Y/N's waiting arms.

"Thank you so much," Harry tells the woman sincerely, his hand never leaving Y/N's back as she clutches Grumps against her chest. "We've been searching everywhere."

"He's quite the escape artist," the woman observes with a smile. "Managed to wriggle right out of that fancy harness but kept the sweater on. Quite stylish for a cat."

Y/N laughs through her tears of relief, burying her face in Grumps' fur. "You scared us half to death," she murmurs to the cat, who responds by butting his head against her chin in what might be affection or simply a demand to be put down.

After thanking the woman profusely, they learn her name is Mrs. Finch—a local who walks in the park every morning and has seen them when they'd taken Grumps out a few times. They say goodbye and turn toward home, Grumps now securely cradled in Y/N's arms rather than risking the harness again.

"I told you we'd find him," Harry says as they walk, though the relief in his voice betrays just how worried he'd actually been.

"Technically, Mrs. Finch found him," Y/N points out, still holding Grumps so tightly the cat squirms in protest. "But yes, you were right. And thank you for staying calm when I was falling apart."

Harry slips an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his side as they walk. "One of us had to," he says simply. "Besides, I knew Grumpy here is too stubborn to stay lost for long. Probably got bored with freedom after five minutes and decided to find someone to pamper him."

As if understanding the conversation, Grumps gives a small "mrp" of agreement, settling more comfortably in Y/N's arms as they make their way out of the park.

"No more adventures for you," she tells the cat firmly, scratching under his chin in the way he loves. "At least not without proper supervision."

Harry laughs, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I think our Christmas walk has had enough excitement for one day. What do you say we head home and move on to the presents part of our plan? Preferably with Grumps safely contained within four walls."

Y/N nods, the last of her panic finally subsiding as they walk together through the park gates, their little family intact once more. The morning's scare has pushed all thoughts of Anne and her disapproval completely from her mind, replaced by a profound gratitude for what truly matters—this unexpected happiness she's found with Harry and their troublesome cat.

"Home," she agrees softly, leaning into Harry's embrace as they walk. "That sounds perfect."

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The living room glows with soft light from the fire and the twinkling Christmas tree, casting warm shadows across the hardwood floors as they settle onto the plush rug before the hearth. Grumps, now safely confined indoors and apparently over his adventure, has claimed his favorite spot on the windowsill where he can survey his domain while still keeping a watchful eye on his humans.

Y/N sits cross-legged on the floor, still occasionally glancing at Grumps as if to reassure herself he's truly safe, while Harry retrieves several beautifully wrapped packages from beneath the tree. His own wrapping skills had proven surprisingly meticulous—each gift adorned with precise folds and elegant ribbons that put Y/N's more enthusiastic but chaotic wrapping attempts to shame.

"I still can't believe you color-coordinated the presents with the tree decorations," Y/N remarks, accepting the mug of hot chocolate Harry passes her before he settles beside her.

"Aesthetics matter," he replies with mock seriousness, though the effect is somewhat undermined by the whipped cream mustache he acquires after his first sip.

Y/N laughs, reaching out to wipe it away with her thumb, a gesture that's become natural between them. "Says the man who once wore a shirt patterned with dancing flamingos to a charity gala."

"That was a Gucci limited edition, I'll have you know," Harry defends, capturing her hand to press a kiss to her palm before releasing it. "And you're changing the subject. Presents." He nudges a neatly wrapped package toward her. "You first."

Y/N looks down at the gift—a medium-sized box wrapped in deep emerald paper with a gold ribbon that matches the ornaments on their tree. The sight of it sends a flutter of anticipation through her stomach; she's never been good at receiving gifts, always feeling awkward and unsure how to react, but with Harry watching her with such eager expectation, she pushes past her hesitation.

"If this is another one of those ridiculously expensive candles your sister keeps sending, I'm going to start thinking you all believe I smell," she jokes as she carefully unties the ribbon.

Harry's laugh is warm and relaxed. "Open it and find out."

Y/N peels back the wrapping paper, revealing a sleek black box underneath. She lifts the lid, then goes still as she sees what's nestled within. A delicate gold locket, oval-shaped and engraved with intricate vines that curve around its surface. It's elegant without being ostentatious, exactly the kind of jewelry she would choose for herself.

"Harry," she breathes, lifting it carefully from the box. "It's beautiful."

"Open it," he encourages softly, watching her face with an intensity that suggests this gift means more than a simple piece of jewelry.

Y/N finds the tiny clasp on the side of the locket, her fingers trembling slightly as she opens it. What she sees inside makes her breath catch in her throat—on one side, a photo she hasn't seen in years: her parents on their wedding day, young and radiant with joy as they look at each other rather than the camera. On the other side is an equally cherished image of herself as a little girl, maybe five or six, sitting on her father's shoulders at what appears to be a county fair, both of them laughing in the summer sunshine.

For a moment, Y/N can only stare at the photos, her vision blurring as tears well up. She traces a finger over her father's face, remembering the sound of his laugh, the safety of his arms, the way he could make even the hardest days seem manageable.

"I contacted your cousin, Leila," Harry explains, his expression earnest. "She had some old family albums and helped me find these. I know how much you miss him, especially around the holidays."

The thoughtfulness of the gift and not just the locket itself overwhelms her. These aren't the kind of photos that can be found online or through a quick search; these required genuine care and attention, a desire to give her something truly meaningful.

A tear escapes, sliding down her cheek as she looks up at him, struggling to find words adequate to express what this means to her.

"Harry, I..." her voice catches, emotion making it difficult to continue. "I don't know what to say."

Harry reaches out, gently wiping away the tear with his thumb, his touch tender against her skin. "You don't have to say anything," he assures her, his own voice soft with understanding. "I just wanted you to have them with you. Something to keep them close."

Y/N nods, closing the locket carefully before looking back up at him. "Will you help me put it on?"

Harry takes the necklace as she turns, lifting her hair so he can fasten the chain around her neck. His fingers brush against her skin as he secures the clasp, the touch sending a shiver down her spine despite the warmth of the room.

"There," he murmurs, his breath warm against her neck before he presses a soft kiss to the spot where her shoulder meets her throat. "Perfect."

Y/N turns back to face him, her hand automatically going to the locket now resting against her chest, the weight of it comforting in a way she hadn't expected. "Thank you," she whispers, the words inadequate but heartfelt. "This means more than I can say."

Without hesitation, she leans forward to kiss him, pouring into the gesture all the emotion she can't quite articulate. Harry responds immediately, one hand coming up to cup her face while the other slides around her waist, drawing her closer.

When they finally part, both slightly breathless, Y/N rests her forehead against his, unwilling to move away just yet. "How did you know?" she asks softly. "About my dad, about how much I miss having photos of him?"

Harry's expression turns thoughtful, his thumb tracing gentle patterns on her cheek as he considers his answer. "You mentioned it once, when we were arguing about what to put on the mantle," he admits. "You said you wished you had more photos of your family but most were lost in the move after your father died. I don't think you even realized you'd told me."

The revelation that he had been listening, truly listening, even during their arguments—that he had filed away this piece of her heart for later—makes something warm unfurl in Y/N's chest, a feeling too new and fragile to name but powerful nonetheless.

"I didn't think you were paying attention," she confesses with a small, wondering smile.

"I always pay attention to you, Y/N," Harry replies, his voice low and serious in a way that makes her heart skip. "Even when I was pretending not to."

Y/N swallows hard, suddenly aware of how far they've come from those first tense days of their marriage, how much has changed between them. "I have something for you too," she says, reluctantly pulling back from his embrace to reach for one of her less elegantly wrapped packages beneath the tree. "Though I'm afraid it might seem rather insignificant after this."

"I doubt that," Harry assures her, accepting the gift with a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes in the way she's come to adore.

He unwraps the package with careful attention, preserving the paper despite its somewhat haphazard application, until he reveals a leather-bound book. Opening it, his expression shifts from curiosity to surprise and then to something deeper as he realizes what he's holding—a collection of handwritten music, his own compositions and half-finished songs that he's worked on over the past months, now transcribed onto proper sheet music and bound together in a professional volume.

"How did you—" he begins, looking up at her with wonder.

"Your producer helped," Y/N explains, a hint of nervousness in her voice as she watches him flip through the pages. "All those melodies you're always humming, the ones you play late at night when you think I'm asleep...I asked him to help me get them properly arranged. He said some of them are the best work you've done in years."

Harry continues turning the pages, his fingers tracing the notes with reverence. "These were just ideas, fragments," he murmurs, almost to himself. "I didn't think anyone was listening."

"I was," Y/N tells him simply. "I always am."

Harry looks up at her then, his eyes suspiciously bright in the firelight. "This is incredible, Y/N. Truly." He shakes his head slightly, as if in disbelief. "No one's ever done anything like this for me before."

"There's more," she says, gesturing for him to continue through the book.

He turns more pages until he reaches the final section, where he finds not music but a letter. Y/N's handwriting flows across several pages in what appears to be a deeply personal message.

"You don't have to read it now," she says quickly, suddenly self-conscious as he stares at the letter. "It's just... some thoughts. About your music, about what I hear in it. Things I thought might help with the album you've been struggling with."

Harry's gaze returns to her, his expression unreadable for a moment before it softens into something that makes her breath catch. "Y/N," he says, her name almost a caress as it leaves his lips, "this is the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me."

Before she can respond, he's setting the book carefully aside and moving toward her, cupping her face in his hands as he kisses her with an intensity that leaves no doubt about his appreciation. Unlike their earlier kiss, this one is deeper, hungrier, his fingers threading through her hair as he pulls her closer until she's practically in his lap.

"I take it you like it, then?" Y/N asks when they finally break apart, her attempt at lightness undermined by the breathlessness in her voice.

Harry laughs, the sound rich and warm against her skin as he presses his forehead to hers. "I more than like it," he assures her. "It's perfect. You're perfect."

The sincerity in his voice makes her heart flutter, but she can't resist teasing him just a little. "I'm hardly perfect, Harry Styles. Just ask your mother."

He winces slightly at the mention of Anne, but recovers quickly, his thumb tracing the line of Y/N's jaw with gentle affection. "My mother wouldn't recognize perfection if it came with a designer label and a royal seal of approval," he says dryly. "Her loss."

Y/N smiles, leaning into his touch, the locket warm against her skin as a tangible reminder of this unexpected gift of a day—of finding in Harry not just a temporary solution to her problems but someone who sees her, truly sees her, in a way few others ever have.

"There are a few more presents," Harry mentions, nodding toward the remaining packages under the tree. "But they can wait if you'd rather—"

His suggestion is interrupted by Grumps, who chooses this moment to leap from his windowsill perch directly onto Harry's lap with impressive accuracy for a one-eyed cat, causing both of them to jump in surprise.

"Jesus Christ," Harry exclaims, though his hands automatically move to steady the cat rather than push him away. "Was that really necessary?"

Grumps merely blinks his one eye slowly in response, settling himself more comfortably on Harry's lap as if he belongs there—which, Y/N supposes, he rather does these days.

"I think he's feeling left out," she suggests, laughing as the cat begins to knead Harry's thigh with determined paws, completely unconcerned by Harry's wince at the pressure. "I think he's just a cockblocker" Harry grumbles. "Or perhaps he's reminding us that he deserves extra treats after his traumatic morning."

"Traumatic for us, maybe," Harry mutters, though he's already scratching behind Grumps' ears in exactly the way the cat prefers. "I'm pretty sure he planned the whole escape just to give us both heart attacks."

"Probably," Y/N agrees, reaching out to stroke the cat's back. "He does have a flair for drama. Wonder where he gets that from?"

Harry gives her a mock-offended look that quickly dissolves into a grin. "I have no idea what you're implying."

"Of course not," she replies innocently, leaning over to press a quick kiss to his cheek before retrieving another package from under the tree. "Now, I believe Grumps also has a present for you."

Harry raises an eyebrow as she hands him a small, somewhat lumpily wrapped gift with a tag that reads 'To Harry, From Grumps' in Y/N's handwriting. "Does he now? How entrepreneurial of him, considering his lack of opposable thumbs and income."

"He's very resourceful. Don't mind the wonky wrapping. He insisted on wrapping it himself," Y/N says solemnly, though her eyes dance with amusement as Harry unwraps the gift to reveal a coffee mug emblazoned with 'World's Most Reluctant Cat Dad' and a cartoon drawing of a one-eyed cat.

Harry laughs, turning the mug to examine it from all angles. "Well, at least it's accurate," he concedes, though they both know his reluctance regarding Grumps has long since been an act.

"He insisted," Y/N says with exaggerated seriousness. "Said it was time you embraced your true identity."

Harry sets the mug aside with care before fixing her with a look that's equal parts exasperation and affection. "You're ridiculous," he tells her, though the fondness in his voice transforms the words into something close to endearment.

"You like it," she counters confidently.

Harry's expression softens as he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch lingering against her cheek. "I do," he admits quietly, and they both know he's not just talking about the mug.

The moment stretches between them, filled with all the things they're still learning to say to each other, until Grumps decides he's been ignored long enough and headbutts Harry's hand with imperious demand.

Harry laughs, breaking the tension as he obediently returns to petting the cat. "Yes, Your Majesty, how could I forget my duties?"

Y/N watches them, her heart full to bursting with unexpected joy. The locket rests against her skin, a weight both new and familiar, connecting her past to this present she never could have imagined when she agreed to Harry's business proposition all those months ago.

"Merry Christmas, Harry," she says softly, leaning against his side as they sit before the fire, their cat purring contentedly between them.

Harry's arm slides around her shoulders, drawing her closer as he presses a kiss to her temple. "Merry Christmas, Y/N," he murmurs against her skin, his voice warm with promise. "The first of many."

And in that moment, surrounded by the tangible evidence of their care for each other, Y/N allows herself to believe that it's true—that this happiness isn't just a temporary respite but the beginning of something lasting, something real that they're building together, one day, one gift, one revealed truth at a time.

The rest of their day unfolded with the same easy intimacy—preparing a simple Christmas dinner together, Harry insisting on wearing the ridiculous novelty apron Y/N had included as part of his gift, stealing kisses between tasks as if they couldn't quite get enough of this new freedom to touch, to connect.

The television murmurs in the background, some classic Christmas film neither of them is really watching. Instead, they've spent the past hour in comfortable conversation interspersed with companionable silence, Y/N nestled against Harry's side, his arm wrapped around her shoulders as they enjoy the simple pleasure of being together without pretense.

Grumps has claimed his spot at their feet, curled into a tight ball of contentment after having sampled a carefully portioned amount of their Christmas turkey—a treat Harry had insisted was "just this once" while simultaneously sneaking the cat an extra morsel when he thought Y/N wasn't looking.

Harry's fingers move through Y/N's hair with gentle, almost absentminded affection, occasionally pausing to trace the curve of her ear or the line of her neck in a way that sends pleasant shivers down her spine. The touch is intimate without being demanding, the kind of casual tenderness that has gradually become natural between them.

"What are you thinking about?" Y/N asks, tilting her head to look up at him, curious about the thoughtful expression on his face.

Harry's expression was thoughtful, his eyes reflecting the twinkling lights from the Christmas tree. "The contract," he admitted.

Y/N felt a flutter of anxiety at his words. "What about it?"

"It's got another four months," he said slowly. "four months until it officially expires and you're...free to move on."

Something in his tone made Y/N shift to face him more fully. "Is that what you want? For me to move on when the contract ends?"

Harry's eyes searched hers, vulnerability and determination warring in his expression. "No," he said simply. "That's not what I want at all."

The admission hung between them, weighted with implications neither had been ready to face until now.

"What do you want then, Harry?" Y/N asked softly, her heart racing at the intensity in his gaze.

His hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing lightly across her lower lip in a gesture that had become familiar yet still sent heat coursing through her.

"I want this to be real," he said, his voice low and certain. "Not just behind closed doors, not just for the cameras. I want to tear up that bloody contract and start over—not as a business arrangement with an expiration date, but as...us. Just us, figuring it out together."

Y/N's breath caught at the raw honesty in his voice, at the vulnerability he was offering her.

"Are you sure?" she asked, needing to be certain. "This isn't just because it's Christmas, or because we've had a good day, or—"

Harry cut her off with a kiss—deep and thorough and unmistakably sincere. "I'm sure," he murmured against her lips when they finally broke apart. "I've been sure for weeks now. I just wasn't sure if you felt the same way."

Y/N looked into his eyes and saw no calculation there, no performance—just the man she'd come to know beneath the fame and fortune and carefully constructed public persona. The man who made waffles on Christmas morning, who rescued ugly cats, who remembered the stories she'd told about her father and tracked down lost photographs to ease an old grief.

"I do," she whispered, the words carrying a weight beyond their simple syllables. "I want this to be real too. I want us to be real."

Harry's smile—slow and genuine and slightly awed—was worth every moment of doubt and difficulty that had brought them to this point.

"Then that's what we'll do," he said, drawing her closer. "Tear up the contract. Start fresh. Figure it out together."

Without hesitation, Y/N climbs onto his lap, “I know something else we can do” 

Harry's eyes darken at her words, his hands automatically settling on her hips as she straddles him. The soft fabric of her dress pools around them, creating a intimate cocoon that separates them from the rest of the world. Grumps, sensing the shift in atmosphere, rises with a disgruntled stretch and pads away to find a quieter spot to nap.

"Is that right?" Harry murmurs, his voice dropping to that lower register that never fails to send a shiver down her spine. "And what might that be?"

Y/N rocks slightly against him, feeling him already beginning to harden beneath her. There's something intoxicating about the knowledge that she affects him this way—that despite his wealth and fame and the countless women who've undoubtedly thrown themselves at him, it's her touch, her voice, her body that he craves now.

"I think you know exactly what I'm suggesting," she replies, leaning in to brush her lips against the sensitive spot just below his ear, gratified by the slight hitch in his breath. "Unless you'd rather finish watching the movie..."

Harry's laugh rumbles through his chest, vibrating against her. "Fuck the movie," he says, his hands sliding up her thighs beneath her dress, his fingers tracing teasing patterns along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. "I'd much rather fuck you."

The crude words send a pulse of heat straight to her core, dampening the lace between her legs where his fingers are now brushing with deliberate lightness.

"That can be arranged," she breathes, grinding down more deliberately against the growing bulge in his pants, savoring the low groan she draws from him.

Harry's fingers hook into her panties, tugging them aside rather than removing them completely, his touch tantalizingly close to where she wants him but not quite there. "Already wet for me," he observes, his voice husky with desire as his fingers slide through her folds, gathering her arousal. "Eager little thing, aren't you?"

"Only for you," Y/N admits, the honesty of it surprising her even as the words leave her lips.

A flash of possessive heat in Harry's expression makes her pulse quicken. His free hand slides up her back to tangle in her hair, pulling her down for a kiss that's all-consuming, his tongue delving into her mouth as his fingers finally, finally slide inside her, curling to find that spot that makes her gasp against his lips.

"That's it," he encourages as she rocks against his hand, her body already tightening around his fingers. "Show me how much you want it."

Y/N's hands work at his belt, fumbling slightly in her eagerness as Harry continues his ministrations, his thumb now circling her clit with just enough pressure to build her pleasure without tipping her over the edge.

"Harry," she pleads, finally managing to free him from his confines, her hand wrapping around his thick length. "I need you inside me. Now."

Harry groans at her touch, his cock jumping in her grip, but he doesn't immediately give in to her demand. Instead, he adds a third finger, stretching her as his thumb continues its maddening circles.

"Not yet," he says, his voice strained but determined. "Want to feel you come on my fingers first. Want to make sure you're ready for my cock."

The combination of his filthy words and skilled touch pushes Y/N closer to the edge, her thighs beginning to tremble as she rocks more desperately against his hand.

"That's it," Harry encourages, his eyes dark with desire as he watches her chase her pleasure. "Let go for me, love. Let me see you fall apart."

His thumb presses more firmly against her clit, his fingers curling inside her with perfect precision, and Y/N shatters with a cry, her inner walls clenching rhythmically around his fingers as waves of pleasure crash through her.

Harry works her through it, gradually slowing his movements as she comes down, his expression one of masculine satisfaction as he withdraws his fingers and brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean with deliberate sensuality.

"Delicious," he murmurs, his free hand guiding her hips until the head of his cock is positioned at her entrance. "Now, I believe you wanted something?"

Y/N, still sensitive from her orgasm but already hungry for more, sinks down onto him with a shared groan, taking him inch by inch until he's fully seated within her, stretching her deliciously.

"Fuck," Harry hisses, throwing his head back, his fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave marks. "So tight, so perfect around my cock."

Y/N circles her hips experimentally, adjusting to the fullness, savoring the way his breath catches when she clenches around him. "You feel so good," she breathes, beginning to rise and fall on his length, setting a pace that quickly has them both panting.

Harry's hands slide up to cup her breasts through her dress, thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples, sending fresh jolts of pleasure through her already overstimulated body. "Want to see you," he demands, tugging at the fabric. "Take this off."

Y/N complies, raising her arms so he can pull the dress over her head, leaving her in nothing but her lacy panties, still pushed to the side to accommodate him, and the locket he gave her, which rests between her breasts, catching the light as she moves.

"Beautiful," Harry breathes, his eyes roaming hungrily over her exposed skin. "Fucking gorgeous riding my cock like you were made for it."

His praise sends another rush of heat through her, making her clench around him, drawing a groan from deep in his chest. Harry's hands return to her hips, guiding her movements as he begins to thrust up to meet her, the new angle allowing him to hit spots inside her that make her see stars.

"Harry," she gasps, her nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt as the pleasure builds again, impossibly fast. "I'm going to—"

"Not yet," he growls, suddenly flipping them so she's on her back on the sofa, his body covering hers, still buried deep inside her. "Want to make this last."

He withdraws almost completely before slamming back in, setting a punishing pace that has Y/N crying out with each thrust, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

"Look at me," Harry demands, one hand coming up to grasp her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his as he continues to pound into her. "Want to see your eyes when you come on my cock."

The intensity of his stare, combined with the relentless friction as he drives into her again and again, pushes Y/N rapidly toward the edge. She's close, so close, her body tightening around him as the pressure builds.

"Harry, please," she begs, not even sure what she's asking for, just knowing she needs something, needs him.

Understanding her need without words, Harry shifts his angle slightly, grinding against her clit with each thrust as his hand slides between them to apply direct pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Come for me," he commands, his voice rough with exertion and arousal. "Come all over my cock, show me how good I make you feel."

The combination of his words, his touch, and the relentless drag of his cock inside her tips Y/N over the edge into a climax that seems to go on and on, her inner walls clamping down on him as waves of pleasure crash through her.

Harry groans at the sensation, his rhythm faltering, "Fuck, Y/N, you feel so good," he gasps, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "Going to fill you up, make you mine."

Harry's thrusts grow increasingly desperate, his breathing ragged against her neck as he chases his own release. Despite the haze of pleasure clouding her mind, Y/N registers the familiar tension in his body, the telltale signs of his approaching climax.

"Harry," she manages, her voice breathless but clear enough to cut through his concentration. "Condom."

A flash of clarity crosses his features—desire warring briefly with practicality before the latter wins out. With a frustrated groan, Harry pulls out of her, the sudden emptiness making Y/N whimper despite her rational understanding of the necessity.

"Fuck," he mutters, his cock painfully hard and glistening with her arousal as he rummages through the coffee table drawer, praying for a foiled packet. "Wasn't thinking straight."

Y/N pushes herself up on her elbows, watching as he retrieves a condom with hands that aren't quite steady, tearing the packet open with his teeth in his haste.

"Let me," she offers, taking the condom from him and rolling it down his length with deliberate slowness, her touch firm enough to provide the friction he craves but careful not to push him over the edge too soon.

Harry's jaw clenches at her ministrations, his eyes dark with renewed hunger as she finishes. "You're going to be the death of me," he growls, pushing her back down onto the sofa and covering her body with his once more.

He slides back into her in one smooth thrust, both of them groaning at the reunion. The brief interruption has done nothing to diminish their desire; if anything, the momentary pause has only heightened their need for each other.

"Not going to last," Harry warns, already setting a punishing pace that has the sofa creaking beneath them. "Feel too good, too tight around me."

Y/N arches into him, meeting each thrust with equal fervor, her hands sliding down to grip his ass, encouraging him deeper. "It's okay," she gasps, already feeling the beginnings of another climax building despite the sensitivity from her previous orgasms. "Want to feel you come."

Harry's control fractures at her words. His thrusts become erratic, his fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave marks as he drives into her with abandon. The wet sounds of their coupling fill the room, punctuated by their increasingly desperate moans.

"Y/N," he groans, his face buried in her neck, breath hot against her skin. "Fuck, I'm going to—"

His words dissolve into a guttural moan as his release overtakes him, his body shuddering above her as he empties himself into the condom. The pulse of him inside her, combined with the pressure of his pubic bone against her clit as he grinds through his orgasm, triggers Y/N's own climax—less intense than her previous ones but no less satisfying as it ripples through her, leaving her boneless and breathless beneath him.

For several moments, they remain tangled together, sweat-slicked and panting, neither willing to break the connection just yet. Harry's weight is heavy atop her, but Y/N welcomes it, her arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders as their heartbeats gradually slow.

"Sorry about that," Harry murmurs eventually, pressing a kiss to her collarbone as he carefully withdraws from her, holding the base of the condom to ensure it stays in place. "Got carried away."

"It's okay," Y/N assures him, watching as he ties off the condom and sets it aside to dispose of properly later. "I did too."

Harry settles back beside her, pulling her against his chest as they both catch their breath, his fingers tracing idle patterns along her spine. "We should probably be more careful," he acknowledges, though there's a hint of reluctance in his voice. "I mean, unless..."

He trails off, leaving the implication hanging in the air between them. Y/N lifts her head to meet his gaze, finding a question there that makes her heart skip.

"Unless...?" she prompts, wanting him to articulate what he's suggesting.

Harry's expression turns more serious, his hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear with unexpected tenderness. "Unless that's something you might want. Someday. With me."

The implications of his words—children, family, a future together that extends far beyond their original agreement—send a flutter of something both terrifying and exhilarating through Y/N's chest.

"Are you asking if I want your babies, Harry Styles?" she asks, aiming for lightness but not quite managing to hide the emotion in her voice.

A flush creeps up Harry's neck, a rare sign of genuine embarrassment from a man usually so confident. "I'm asking if it's something you'd consider. Not now, obviously too soon. But...eventually."

Y/N considers his question seriously, knowing this isn't a moment for flippancy or deflection. The fact that he's even thinking about such possibilities with her, that he's imagining a future where they might create a family together, fills her with a warmth that has nothing to do with their recent exertions.

"Yes," she answers honestly, watching his expression carefully. "Someday. I'd consider it."

The smile that breaks across Harry's face is breathtaking in its genuine joy—no artifice, no performance, just pure, unfiltered happiness that crinkles the corners of his eyes and deepens the dimples in his cheeks.

"Yeah?" he asks, sounding almost boyish in his excitement.

Y/N laughs, charmed by this unexpectedly vulnerable side of him. "Yeah," she confirms, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. "But maybe we should get through tearing up that contract first, before we start planning our hypothetical children."

Harry pulls her closer, his arms tightening around her as if he can't bear the thought of letting her go. "Fair enough," he concedes, though the smile doesn't leave his face. "One step at a time."

They lie together in comfortable silence for a while, the Christmas tree lights casting a soft glow over their entwined forms, the abandoned movie still playing quietly in the background. Harry's fingers tracing lazy patterns on her bare shoulder as their breathing gradually returned to normal. Y/N could hear the steady thump of his heart beneath her ear, the rhythm soothing in its constancy.

"Best Christmas ever," Harry finally murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Y/N laughed softly, tilting her face up to look at him. "Is that because of the presents or the sex?"

Harry pretended to consider this seriously, his expression thoughtful. "Well, the book was pretty spectacular..."

She swatted his chest playfully, and he caught her hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss her palm with surprising tenderness.

"It's because of you," he said, all teasing gone from his voice. "Just you, Y/N. Everything else is just...bonus."

The simple honesty in his words made her throat tight with emotion. For someone who made his living with lyrics, Harry was often most devastating when he spoke plainly, without artifice or calculation.

"I feel the same way," she admitted softly. "About you."

Harry's arms tightened around her, his expression softening into something so nakedly vulnerable it made her heart ache. For a moment, it seemed like he might say more—those three words that had been hovering unspoken between them—but instead, he simply lowered his head to kiss her. It was a different kind of kiss than before—not desperate or hungry but achingly tender, communicating without words what neither of them was quite ready to say aloud.

When they broke apart, Y/N settled back against his chest, content in the warmth and security of his embrace. Outside their window, snow continued to fall, blanketing London in hushed white. Inside, in the sanctuary they'd created together, the world had narrowed to just the two of them—no contracts, no expectations, no performances. Just Harry and Y/N, finding in each other something neither had been looking for but both now couldn't imagine living without.

After a while, Harry's fingers began tracing more deliberate patterns on her skin, moving from her shoulder down her arm, then across to the curve of her breast.

Y/N felt her body responding immediately to his touch, desire rekindling despite their recent exertions.

"Again?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, though she was already shifting to give him better access.

Harry's answering smile was slow and wicked, his eyes darkening with renewed hunger as he rolled her beneath him once more.

"It is Christmas," he pointed out, lowering his head to press open-mouthed kisses along the column of her throat. "Season of giving and all that."

Y/N laughed, the sound quickly turning to a gasp as his teeth grazed her collarbone. "Well, in that case...who am I to argue with tradition?"

Harry's answering chuckle vibrated against her skin as he moved lower, clearly intent on unwrapping his Christmas gift all over again. And as his mouth found her breast, his tongue circling her nipple with exquisite attention, Y/N surrendered herself to the pleasure of being thoroughly, completely consumed by the man who had started as her adversary and somehow, against all odds, become her everything.

· · ─────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·  

The bedroom was still dark when Y/N's alarm blared at 4:30 AM. She fumbled for her phone, silencing it quickly to avoid waking Harry, only to realize his side of the bed was already empty. Confused, she blinked away sleep and caught the faint scent of coffee drifting from downstairs.

Pulling on a sweater over her pajamas, Y/N padded quietly down the hallway. Their massive bedroom suite led to an equally impressive landing overlooking the foyer below. The house was mostly dark, save for a warm glow coming from the kitchen.

She found Harry there, leaning against the counter in sweatpants and nothing else, his tattooed chest bare in the soft kitchen lighting. Two travel mugs sat ready beside him, and he was scrolling through his phone with a furrowed brow that softened when he noticed her.

"Morning," he said, setting his phone down and reaching for the coffee pot. "Thought you could use this before your flight." He gestured toward the mugs, then added with a hint of his usual sarcasm, "Can't have you missing your grand escape from me."

Despite the teasing tone, Y/N caught a reluctance he wasn't fully masking. The past few days has shifted everything between them, leaving them in uncharted territory. Their declaration to tear up the contract and try for something real hung in the air between them, making this first separation more significant than either had anticipated.

"You're up early," she observed, accepting the coffee that Harry had somehow gotten her hooked on, "You didn't have to do that."

Harry shrugged, the motion highlighting the defined muscles of his shoulders and chest in a way that still made her breath catch slightly. "Couldn't sleep much anyway. Grumps was hogging the bed after you packed last night."

As if summoned by his name, the cat came padding into the kitchen, looking thoroughly displeased at being awake at such an hour. He curled up dramatically at Y/N's feet with a grunt that perfectly captured her own feelings about the early hour.

"The true reason for your insomnia reveals himself," Y/N smiled, crouching to scratch under the cats’s chin. "Poor Harry. Forced to share his California king with a tyrant."

Harry's lips quirked upward, "our California king", but his eyes remained serious as he watched her. "How long's your flight again?" He asks, as if he hasn't flown there numerous times in his youth.

"About three and a half hours," she replied, straightening up and taking a sip of her coffee—fixed exactly how she liked it, with just enough cream and a hint of cinnamon. "Then about an hour's drive from the airport to my mom's place."

Harry nodded, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm against the counter. "And you'll be back...?"

"January third," Y/N confirmed, feeling a strange flutter in her stomach at the genuine concern in his tone. "Just like we discussed."

He nodded again, looking momentarily uncertain. An expression so at odds with his usual confidence that it tugged at something in Y/N's chest.

"It's just a week," she reminded him gently, moving closer to bridge the distance between them. 

Harry's expression shifted to one of understanding mixed with genuine remorse. "I know. I'm not—I'm not trying to make you feel bad about going. Your family needs you." He ran a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. "It's just...first time we'll be apart since..."

He didn't finish, but he didn't need to. Since they became friends four months ago. Since Christmas. Since they'd decided to make this marriage something real. Since they'd crossed the line from contractual housemates to...whatever they were becoming.

Y/N set her coffee down and stepped into his space, placing her hands lightly against his bare chest. The contact sent a familiar warmth through her fingers. "I'll call every day. And it's not like I'm going to change my mind about us while I'm gone, if that's what you're worried about."

Harry's hands settled at her waist, his thumbs tracing small circles against the fabric of her sweater. "That obvious, am I?"

"Only to me," she replied softly, the intimacy of the statement not lost on either of them.

Harry dipped his head, resting his forehead against hers with a sigh. "I still don't like it. A week is too fucking long."

"Says the man who regularly goes on month-long tours," Y/N pointed out, her hands sliding up to link behind his neck.

Harry's grip tightened slightly at her waist, pulling her closer against him. "That's different."

"How so?"

"Because when I'm on tour, I'm the one leaving," he admitted with a self-deprecating smile. "I'm shit at being the one left behind."

The confession, so honest and vulnerable, made Y/N's heart twist. She rose slightly on her toes to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

"Well, look at it this way," she murmured, "the sooner I leave, the sooner I'll be back."

Something darkened in Harry's eyes at her words, and his hands slid from her waist to her hips, pulling her flush against him. "Is that supposed to make me feel better about letting you go?"

The low timbre of his voice sent a shiver down Y/N's spine, and she was suddenly very aware of the heat of his bare skin beneath her palms, the solid press of his body against hers.

"We have to leave for the airport in twenty minutes," she reminded him, though her body was already responding to his proximity, a familiar warmth spreading through her.

Harry's mouth curved into a slow, knowing smile. The one that never failed to make her pulse quicken. "I can be very efficient when properly motivated," he murmured, before capturing her mouth in a kiss that was anything but brief.

His hands moved from her hips to slide beneath her sweater, finding bare skin that pebbled with goosebumps at his touch. Y/N gasped against his mouth as his fingers skimmed higher, tracing the curve of her ribs before reaching the soft swell of her breast.

"No bra," he observed with approval, his thumb brushing across her nipple and drawing a soft moan from her lips. "Were you trying to test my self-control?"

"I just woke up," Y/N protested weakly, her head falling back as Harry's mouth moved to her neck, finding that sensitive spot just below her ear that always made her knees weaken.

"Hmm," he hummed against her skin, unconvinced. "And yet you knew exactly where to find me."

Before she could formulate a response, Harry had lifted her onto the counter in one smooth motion, positioning himself between her legs and recapturing her mouth in a searing kiss. His hands pushed her sweater up and over her head in one fluid movement, leaving her upper body bare to his appreciative gaze.

"Beautiful," he murmured, his eyes darkening as they roamed over her exposed skin. "Every fucking time, you take my breath away."

Y/N flushed under the intensity of his gaze, still not entirely used to this side of Harry. The unguarded admiration, the open wanting that had replaced his earlier disdain. She reached for him, pulling him back to her for another kiss, her fingers threading through his hair as his hands explored her body with increasing urgency.

Harry broke the kiss to trail his mouth down her neck to her collarbone, then lower still until his lips closed around one peaked nipple. Y/N arched into the contact with a gasp, her hands tightening in his hair as he sucked and teased the sensitive bud, his tongue circling it before his teeth grazed lightly across the hardened peak.

"Harry," she breathed, her voice already taking on that needy quality that he loved to draw from her. "We really don't have time—"

"We have time," he insisted, his attention shifting to her other breast, lavishing it with the same thorough devotion. "Consider it a proper send-off." His fingers traced the waistband of her pajama shorts, dipping just beneath the elastic to tease the sensitive skin there.

Y/N bit her lip, torn between practicality and the mounting desire his touch was stoking within her. "The driver will be here—"

"I texted him to come fifteen minutes later," Harry admitted, looking up at her with a wicked smile that sent heat pooling low in her belly. "I had plans for this morning."

"You're impossible," she accused, though the effect was somewhat undermined by the way her body responded to his wandering hands, her legs parting wider to accommodate him.

"Only with you," he murmured, his fingers slipping beneath her shorts to find her already wet for him. "Only ever with you, Y/N."

The sincerity in his tone, combined with the expert touch of his fingers against her most sensitive flesh, drew a moan from deep in her throat. Harry captured the sound with his mouth, kissing her deeply as his fingers continued their exploration, circling her entrance before sliding one inside her with deliberate slowness.

"God, you're soaked," he groaned against her mouth, adding a second finger and curling them in a way that made her gasp. "Always so ready for me."

Y/N could only nod, words beyond her as his thumb found her clit, pressing and circling in rhythm with his thrusting fingers. Her hands scrambled for purchase on his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as the pressure built rapidly within her.

Harry's free hand returned to her breast, pinching and rolling her nipple between his fingers as his mouth reclaimed the other, the dual sensation sending shocks of pleasure straight to her core. Y/N's head fell back, her breath coming in short gasps as she approached the edge.

"That's it," Harry encouraged, his voice rough with arousal as he watched her responses with heated eyes. "Let go for me, love."

The endearment, still new enough to send a thrill through her each time he used it, combined with a particularly skilled twist of his fingers inside her, was enough to push Y/N over the edge. Her body tensed and then shuddered as release washed over her, Harry's name falling from her lips in a breathless cry.

He worked her through it gently, prolonging her pleasure until she was trembling and oversensitive. Only then did he withdraw his hand, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead as she struggled to catch her breath.

"That was..." she began, then shook her head, unable to find adequate words.

Harry grinned, self-satisfaction evident in his expression. "I know."

Y/N rolled her eyes at his smugness, but couldn't suppress her own smile. As her breathing steadied, she became acutely aware of his arousal pressing insistently against her through the thin material of his sweatpants.

"Your turn," she murmured, reaching for the waistband, but Harry caught her wrist gently.

"Later," he said, pressing a kiss to her palm. "When you get back. Something for both of us to look forward to."

Y/N blinked in surprise. "Are you sure? We still have a few minutes—"

"I'm sure," Harry confirmed, though the strain in his voice betrayed the effort it took to refuse her offer. "Consider it my insurance policy for your return."

The possessive undertone in his words sent another small shiver through her, though she tried to mask it with a teasing smile. "As if I needed extra incentive to come back."

Harry's expression softened, his hands coming up to frame her face with unexpected tenderness. "Just come back to me, yeah? That's all I need."

The vulnerability in his eyes made her heart clench. Y/N leaned forward to kiss him softly, pouring all the reassurance she could into the contact. "I will. I promise."

They stayed that way for a long moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air. Then the spell was broken by Grumps, who had apparently grown tired of being ignored and let out a particularly disgruntled sound from his position on the floor.

Harry laughed, the sound vibrating through Y/N where their bodies still touched. "Someone's feeling neglected."

Y/N smiled, reluctantly pulling away to retrieve her discarded sweater. "I should finish getting ready. The driver really will be here soon, adjusted schedule or not."

Harry nodded, stepping back to allow her to slide off the counter, though his eyes never left her form as she pulled the sweater back over her head. "I'll take your bags down."

The next fifteen minutes passed in a flurry of last-minute preparations. Y/N changing quickly into her travel clothes, Harry insisting on making her a breakfast sandwich to take with her ("Airport food is shit, and you'll be starving by the time you land"), Grumps following them both from room to room as if aware that a separation was imminent.

When the driver texted to announce his arrival, Harry carried Y/N's luggage to the front door, setting it down with a reluctance that was evident in every line of his body.

"Call me when you land?" he requested, trying for casual but not quite achieving it.

"Of course," Y/N promised, reaching up to straighten the collar of the shirt he'd finally put on. "And every day after that."

Harry nodded, his hands coming to rest on her hips in a now-familiar gesture that felt both possessive and steadying. "Give your mum my best. And tell her I'm still working on getting her that signed album she mentioned"

Y/N smiled, touched by his thoughtfulness. "She'll be thrilled. Though I think she's more excited about the fact that you've apparently convinced her daughter that you're not, and I quote, 'just another entitled celebrity with more money than sense.'"

Harry laughed, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "High praise indeed, coming from your mother."

"The highest," Y/N confirmed, rising on her toes to press a final kiss to his lips. "I really do have to go now."

Harry sighed, reluctantly releasing her. "I know."

Y/N reached down to give Grumps a final scratch behind the ears, the cat looking up at her with such mournful eyes that she almost laughed. "Be good for Harry, okay? Don't let him waste away in lonely brooding while I'm gone."

"I don't brood," Harry protested, though the slight quirk of his lips betrayed his amusement.

"You absolutely do," Y/N countered, straightening up to face him once more. "It's actually quite attractive, in a tortured-artist sort of way. But try to keep it to a minimum, for Grumps' sake."

Harry rolled his eyes, but couldn't maintain his mock offense in the face of her teasing smile. He pulled her in for one last embrace, burying his face briefly in her hair as if memorizing her scent.

"One week," he murmured against her temple.

"One week," Y/N confirmed, squeezing him tightly before forcing herself to step back.

Once again, those three words lingered in the air, creeping into their hearts. Unspoken yet deeply felt

Harry opened the door, the cold morning air rushing in and making Y/N shiver. The driver was waiting patiently beside the car, ready to take her luggage as soon as she approached.

"Safe travels," Harry said, his voice steady even as his eyes betrayed a depth of emotion that made Y/N's heart flutter.

"See you later, Harry," she said, pressing one last kiss to his lips before turning toward the door. He didn’t move, rooted to the spot, until the car disappeared from view.

The journey through the airport was a blur, her mind replaying their goodbye over and over. It wasn’t until the plane had already taken off that she reached for her phone—only to find nothing. Her stomach dropped. Not because of the lost device that must have slipped somewhere, but because she hadn’t memorized Harry’s number. No way to call. No way to reach him.

Shit

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A/N: Can I apologize for the next part in advance...? I just couldn't stop writing these two :))

Taglist:  @mysunflowerposts @lydiasfalling @panini @ell0ra-br3kk3r @donutsandpalmtrees @sunshinemoonsposts @angeldavis777 @fangirl509east @maudie-duan @indierockgirrl @harryssunflower17 @lizsogolden @daphnesutton @spinninc @behindmygreyeyes @wheredidmyeyesgo @matildasatellite @drewrry @inlikea-coolway @jerseygirlinca

[ahappydnp]

2025 dnp predictions because i'm bored

minor logistical crisis during during the UK leg that's not that bad but phil still steps in with some damage control posts

they take a small break after the tour to decompress/don't post for a few weeks and then a local tweets about spotting dan out in london cuddled up to some guy with [insert bright hair color]. predictable phandom discourse (that could be anyone, who are we gonna believe, breakup rumors, dan would never do PDA) only for phil reveal he dyed his hair in a grid post that has pics from that night (one where he and dan are closer than normal if we're being spicy)

phodcast (all but confirmed bc dan said "do you even want that" too many times)

they tease it's finally dog time but then delay it again for unknown reasons

some kind of content with nana

japhan 4.0 (or emotionally devastating equivalent)

PHIL PROJECT!!!!!! FINALLY!!!!! the world rejoices!!!!

[flemingology]

finals over feelings ─ jessie fleming x reader

in which: jessie disregards you and your relationship while studying for her finals

warnings: like very slightly angsty? r feeling disregarded in the relationship but it ends fluffy :)

wc: 4k

a/n: as much as I feel like Jessie would be a very caring partner, I see this could be something that happens irl lol. little nerd

Canada had failed to qualify for any tournaments over the summer this year. Jessie was gutted, she felt like she let her country down, especially as she had recently been made captain. Sinc's shoes were big ones to fill, and to fall short in the first summer under her leadership weighed on her.

Despite the cons about the football-free summer, there were obviously positives too. Jessie finally had a proper summer break, having two months off in which she could do what she wanted. Of course, Portland sent her training schemes that she had to follow. They included cardio, lots of mobility sessions and some light weight and strength training. Jessie still had to watch her food and just be mindful about anything she did, like she had to on a day-to-day basis throughout the season, but it gave you and her a bit more time and space to work with.

You'd gone back to Canada, accompanying Jessie on her two-week holiday back home. Her parents had welcomed the both of you with open arms and you could tell that your girlfriend really enjoyed a little getaway surrounded by home comforts. You slept in her childhood bedroom, visited all the places she used to hang out at as a kid and spent lots of time with her family. Almost every night was filled with board games and laughter, Jessie finally letting go and decompressing a little after a very stressful and tough season of football.

It was her first in Portland. She'd had a hard time settling in to her new surroundings initially, missing London and missing the familiarity of a club she had been at for a couple years. Everything was new for Jessie, and it overwhelmed her. New club, new country, new teammates, new apartment. You had moved with her – striking a deal with your boss that allowed you to work from America –, and as much as she appreciated having you by her side from the beginning it hadn't entirely settled her. A couple months in, when she also started to find her footing in the football and started playing more regular minutes, is when you finally saw she was growing back to her own self. She presented herself with more confidence on the pitch, and finally found her fun again in the sport rather than having a head hung low every time she came back from a training or match, claiming that she wasn't feeling good about the move and that she wanted nothing more than to go back.

Portland ended the season with a mid-table finish, nothing to bask about but the team and her were quite pleased with the performances they put on throughout the year. Now that Jessie was feeling more comfortable with her surroundings she was excited to get back going, but was also very eager to enjoy her two month break away from the pitch.

The two weeks in Canada flew by and before you knew it the both of you found yourselves back in your apartment in Portland. With 6 weeks left, Jessie decided she wanted to devote some of that time to the two courses of her degree she was yet to complete. She was nearly there, but hadn't found the time yet to study for two finals. It was normally busy all-year long and she would never really have the time to study for a final, but her free summer this year allowed her to pick it back up.

You knew how much finishing this degree meant to Jessie, school had always been a big priority of hers. Even though she loved the fact that she was able to make football her full time job, she often told you she found it unfortunate that she never really got to wrap up her degree like she should've, back in college. She wouldn't have traded her situation for the world, but you were happy for her that she would finally be able to wrap it up this summer. Jessie prided herself on her achievements in school, so you knew it would mean a lot to your Canadian to have an official degree in her bag.

So it begun. Jessie took up your spot in your home office to avoid any possible distractions, you moved your work to the dinner table. The house got very quiet throughout the days. Normally you'd have Jessie chewing your ear off about everything and nothing, talking about anything she'd come across in a book she was reading, on social media, on tv, etc. This time, though, it was eerily silent. Nothing could be heard in your apartment apart from the clicking of your keyboard and the occasional deep sigh that creeped through the door of your office, where Jessie was situated to study for her finals.

It was a new situation for the both of you, and it added a new layer of uncertainty on your relationship. You'd met Jessie when she played football in London, so you never knew what she was like when she studied. You weren't sure if she wanted you to be more or less present for her, whether she wanted you to do extra stuff for her or not, so it was a bit of a tricky situation.

It went by quick though, and before you knew, the final couple days of the three-week period were coming around. To say it had been easy would be a lie. Jessie retreated herself into your office for more than 8 hours a day, not coming out of there unless she had to pee or to go to bed. You knew it was gonna be hard to manage this new situation, but you didn't expect Jessie to be that detached from you and your relationship. As much as you understood that this was important for her, you couldn't help but feel the way you did.

You'd tried a couple things to connect with Jessie during the past weeks.

On most nights, Jessie only came to bed when the clock was nearing 12. You had your back turned to the door but you would hear when she came in, usually not able to sleep anyway when she wasn't in bed next to you. She would tiredly shrug off her clothes and put on some old football stuff and get in bed next to you, not bothering to check if you were still awake. By the time you turned back around and faced her in the hopes of getting a cuddles and kisses in, she'd be fast asleep. The early mornings and late nights were taking a toll on her, so she needed to get all the sleep she could get, rightfully. But to go to sleep without her goodnight kiss, wasn't something she would do.

By the time you woke up and were ready to start your day, Jessie had already gotten up. The first couple times you were taken aback by the way your hand was met with cold sheets when you rolled over, but you got used to it after a couple days. You got up and went about your morning routine trying your hardest not to disrupt Jessie from her studying. The first couple days you made her breakfast, but when you noticed she couldn't even spare a simple thank you or a kiss, you refrained from that too – lunch time was usually similar.

When you finished work around 4, you went for a walk. It's a habit you had picked up in your early days of living on Portland, when Jessie was usually at the club until 5 or 6. Especially now, you could use the time outside. It wasn't particularly because you needed to be alone – you practically were alone for 3 weeks –, but it helped you in clearing your mind. It was in those moments, when you could unwind yourself from the situation, that you could look at it with a more level-headed approach and could put into perspective the way Jessie was acting.

As the days rolled on, you noticed that Jessie was growing more and more tired. She came to bed later, alarms were set earlier and she didn't even eat the breakfasts or lunches you brought her. You knew she was dedicated and you certainly knew that she really wanted to do well on these finals, but Jessie was burning herself out and you wanted to find a way to stop that.

One night, while Jessie was out for a run – despite the studying, she still found time to stick to the training schedules as good as possible – and you were rotting away on the couch, you decided you could do something nice for her. You got up and made your way over to the kitchen, retrieving all the ingredients that you needed to make the soup that Jessie's mum always made for her when she was little. You figured a bit of home comforts would settle her down a little, and maybe you could even try and get through to her about how she was making matters worse for herself by barely sleeping and eating.

You played some soft tunes on the speaker in the kitchen and busied yourself with making the soup, time passing quite quickly while you were working on dinner.

You were just applying some finishing touches to the soup, adding a bit more spices here and there based on how it tasted, as you heard the front door opening. Jessie had made it back from her run and took off her shoes by the door, putting them neatly on the shoe rack. You heard footsteps padding down the hallway and moving towards the living room, deciding not to call her in just yet as she probably wanted to sit down for a couple minutes.

When you deemed the soup as just right, you retrieved two bowls from the cupboards and filled them with fresh soup. You'd made sure it was steaming hot, just the way Jessie liked it. You put the bowls on two trays paired with a couple slices of bread, before making your way over to the living room, where Jessie was still catching her breath from her run. She was scrolling on her phone and didn't hear you coming in until you sat down next to her, placing the trays down on the coffee table by the couch.

She looked at you with a grateful smile and you sat next to her, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear that had fallen out of her ponytail. You pressed a soft kiss against her rosy cheeks, that were slightly cold at the touch. "I made you your favorite, figured you could use some veggies and a bit of home comforts," you said as you placed a hand on her thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Jessie offered you a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes before she frowned. "This is nice, but I'm quickly gonna take a shower first. I'm sweaty and I'm getting cold", Jessie started. You had a hard time concealing the disappointment you felt upon hearing her words, trying your best to keep your shoulders straight when they dared to slouch.

You looked down at your lap, fiddling with the rings on your hand before you replied. "It's warm now, you should eat Jess. You can shower after, it won't take long."

Your reply clearly fell on deaf ears, before you could even finish your sentence she had already gotten up and started making her way over upstairs and to the bathroom. "I won't be long. Thanks for dinner," she said before turning the corner and closing the bathroom door behind her.

You clasped your hands together in front of you and placed your elbows on your thighs, leaning on your hands and letting a couple minutes pass before you finally decided that you shouldn't let your bowl of soup go cold. As much as you were disappointed – and angry, probably – at Jessie, you knew you shouldn't let her demeanor ruin your night. You finished it all rather quickly, enjoying the food that reminded you of Jessie's home. You'd always felt really welcomed in her family and it was nice that you could do things like this that could remind you both of her childhood. On another day Jessie would've loved the fact that you made that soup, catering to her mum's recipe. Tonight though, it seemed like she couldn't care less.

You decided not to dwell on it too much and tried to take it in your stride, thinking she did appreciate it but really wanted a shower after her run. She didn't say she needed space, though, so when you had put your bowl in the dishwasher and put hers in the microwave for her to warm it up later, you went upstairs and made your way over to the bathroom, to see if you could potentially join your girlfriend in the shower.

You knocked on the door and heard a faint "come in," being said over the sound of the running water. You slowly opened the door and made your way inside, being met with the warm air of the shower. "Care if I join you," you tried.

Jessie turned off the water before she spoke. "I was just getting out, actually. I wanted to do a bit more work for school tonight and as it's already late, I should make it quick," Jessie replied. You nodded, but eventually gave her a verbal okay when you realized she couldn't see your face from behind the shower curtains. "Mhm, okay," you started, your voice a little shaky. "Well, I'll be downstairs if you need me."

You didn't await Jessie's reply before you made your way back downstairs and slouched down on the couch. You couldn't hold back the stray tear that made its way over your cheek as you started running through this evening's events in your head. You knew Jessie loved you. She loved you a ton, but she'd made it really hard recently for you to be aware of that. Tonight had been the worst it's been in over the past two weeks. She'd been distant, yes, but she had never turned down lunch or dinner before. Especially not when you'd make her something like you did tonight. As much as she'd spend most of her days away from you, if there was an opportunity to get some affection and be close to you, she'd grab it with both hands – which was the reason you found it weird she denied the opportunity to shower with you.

You heard Jessie emerge from the bathroom and pad her way over to your home office which was just across the hallway. You heard the door close and settled back down, deciding on watching some crappy reality tv to keep your thoughts at bay – not wanting to be an emotional wreck all evening because of how your girlfriend was acting.

A couple hours later, you felt yourself yawn and decided to call it a night. Your eyes widened when you checked your phone and the clock read quarter to 1. You hadn't realized it was already that late, you got caught up in your show and lost track of time. What worried you, though, is that Jessie hadn't left your office yet. This was the latest she'd ever worked and you were sure this wasn't a good move. Knowing her, she'd be up bright and early again tomorrow and if she wanted a couple hours of sleep, she really shouldn't be working this late.

You turned off the tv and made sure all the lights were out downstairs before you made your way upstairs. You tried your luck one final time with her, and while you were making your way over to the bedroom you took a quick stop at your office first. You didn't knock, just slowly opened the door and were met with the sight of your girlfriend's back, cladded in one of your old hoodies. You fully opened the door and leaned your body against the doorframe. "Come to bed, baby. It's late," you tried, in a soft voice. You heard a faint hum coming from your Canadian but she gave you nothing more than that, her eyes trained on the computer screen in front of her. Her final was coming up in a few days, she was cramming as much as she could but you were insistent that this wasn't the way she should be going about things. You approached her and put a hand on your shoulder.

"Jess, baby, it's almost 1," you rubbed her shoulder affectionately. "You really should get some sleep, you and I both know you and your brain will function better after a bit of rest," Jessie let out a deep exhale at your words.

"I appreciate your concern, but I'm quite certain I know myself what's best for me. I just wanna finish this bit, I'll be in bed soon," you didn't miss the hint of annoyance that seeped through her voice. She didn't snap at you, but it certainly didn't feel good. You nodded wordlessly and let go of her shoulder, silently making your way out of the room before heading back to your bedroom.

A little over 30 minutes later, Jessie was finally done for the day. She had wrapped up the chapter she wanted to finish and turned off her computer, leaving the room and going downstairs for a drink.

She noticed the bowl of soup that was still in the microwave and silently cursed herself for having forgotten about it. She knew you'd put your work into it and felt bad about how she had just left it to go cold, leaving you to your own devices for dinner. She heated it up and sat down to eat it, making sure your work didn't go to waste. She made sure to leave her empty bowl in the dishwasher and not in the sink, being mindful of the way she left the kitchen so you wouldn't wake up to any dishes. It doomed on her that she didn't treat you right tonight and felt bad about it.

She quietly made her way upstairs, not wanting to wake you, had you already fallen asleep. The bedroom door creaked when she opened it, Jessie narrowing her eyes while they adjusted to the dark room. She could make out your figure under the covers, back facing the door, a sight she'd grown used to the last two weeks when she entered the bedroom. It was only now that Jessie was slowly realizing how unreasonable she'd been towards you these last couple days. You had gone out of your way and beyond to make sure she could study in the best circumstances possible, and she'd disregarded that completely – not just that, she'd disregarded you.

She wanted to make it right and as much as she knew that 1am wasn't the time, she couldn't let it linger on. Jessie quickly changed into something more comfortable and made her way under the covers as silently as possible. You had indeed fallen asleep, soft snores coming from you as you stirred when Jessie's side of the bed dipped when she joined you.

Jessie pressed a couple soft kisses on your bare back, one of her arms coming to lay across your waist as she pulled your body into you. You stirred, slowly waking up as your girlfriend kept on pressing kisses against your body. You slowly opened your eyes and let them accustom to the dark room. Your gaze fell on the alarm clock that was on the nightstand, the time now reading 1:42am. You figured Jessie had only just joined you. You wanted to give in to her touch and turn around in her arms, wanting nothing more than to revel in the affection she was finally giving you – but decided you should give her a hard time. She had disregarded you lately, and you should let her know that you weren't pleased with how she acted the last two weeks.

"Baby, I know you're awake," she mumbled against her back. You hummed in response, unwrapping her arm from around your waist and scooting a bit further away from your Canadian. The silence that fell hurt you, but you didn't want to give in just yet. "I'm sorry, love. I know I've not been the best girlfriend the past couple weeks," she started. Her words were the only thing that could be heard in the room now, no noise coming from traffic outside or anything inside the house.

She tried her luck again and pulled you back against her, breathing out a soft sigh of relief when you didn't push her arm away this time. "I'm sorry, really. I've been super caught up with my work and didn't notice how hard I've been disregarding you, disregarding us."

You sighed and turned in Jessie's arms, snuggling your face in the crook of her neck and waiting for her to continue. You wanted to be annoyed at her but couldn't turn away from the warmth of her embrace. "I'll do better, I promise," she pressed a soft kiss to your crown. "Thank you for the soup, I really enjoyed it."

You lifted your head from your neck and looked at her, her eyes noticeably watery despite the darkness in the room. "You had some?"

She nodded, sporting a small smile. "Yeah, it was nice. Thank you, really. For everything you do. I don't think I've really noticed how much you do for me until now. You've really kept me standing this past period and I've not thanked you enough for it."

You cast your eyes down, a sad feeling washing over you upon hearing Jessie's words. She gently lifted your chin with her index and middle finger and pushed your head back up, her eyes locking with yours. "I appreciate you, baby. So much. I'm sorry I haven't shown you that lately."

Jessie's eyes flicked from your eyes to your lips and you saw how she tentatively started leaning closer. She left a little space between the both of you and left it for you to close, not wanting to cross any boundaries and kiss you if you weren't feeling like it.

You crossed the final bit of space that was left between the two of you and pressed your lips against hers. Jessie poured every ounce of love and adoration she had for you into the kiss, placing both of her hands on your cheeks and pulling you even closer. "I love you so much", she mumbled against your lips without breaking the kiss. You responded by kissing her harder, getting lost in the feeling of her lips against yours.

You only broke the kiss when you had to get some air, reluctantly letting go of Jessie's lips. "I love you too. I really do. And thank you for speaking to me about this," you started and took Jessie's hands in yours. "I have been feeling quite disregarded. I tried to put it down to just you being busy but tonight was a little too much."

Jessie nodded and acknowledged what you said, pushing a strand of hair behind your ears that had fallen in front of your face. "I know that I've been going about this the wrong way and I acknowledge that. I promise I'll do better."

You couldn't help a small smile creeping onto your face. You were happy with how tonight turned out, eventually. "I love you, Jess. Thank you."

"How about we get some sleep, hmm? I'll stay with you in bed tomorrow morning for as long as you want me to, I promise."

Your eyes lit up at the prospect of morning cuddles with Jessie, eagerly nodding and agreeing with her proposal. Your girlfriend chuckled at how excited you were at the simple idea of cuddling with her.

You pressed a final, tender kiss against Jessie's lips before you turned back around and wrapped her arm around your waist. Your Canadian pulled you tight against her, your back flush against her chest and she pressed a couple soft kisses against the nape of your neck before settling her head down on the pillow next to you.

"Goodnight baby, I love you." "Goodnight Jess, I love you too."

[cicerfics]

So, I have been vaguely noodling around with an idea that's, like...

OK, first of all: I choose to headcanon that the SIS has a K9 unit, because why wouldn't they! They have dogs that are trained to sniff out bombs and do all kinds of other things! And I don't know if realistically these dogs and their handlers would be kept anywhere near MI6 HQ...but make-believe land can have anything I want, so they are there now!!

And I always choose to headcanon that Q was a Weird Neurodivergent Kid Who Spent All His Time With Animals Instead of People and had like ten million pets of all different species. But mainly he had cats and dogs, and he's as comfortable with dogs as he is with cats.

And he gave up having dogs when he moved to London full time and got very busy with grad school and MI6, but he still loves dogs very much. So he visits the K9 unit regularly and makes friends with one of the handlers and helps her with training and exercising the dogs. It's like free therapy for Q! It helps him decompress after a bad day! He is soothed by working with these creatures for an hour or two!

And I've been thinking about how maybe one or two of these dogs have been retired from active service but still hang out with the others. Their handlers take the retired dogs home with them at night, and bring them into work in the morning, and the retired dogs get to exercise with the others and stay busy and feel useful! They are also helpful for socializing the newly trained puppies and keeping them in order!

Aaaaand maybe the handler of one of these old dogs has to move away to take care of her sick mother, or something. And she can't take the dog with her. And she's very upset because she doesn't know who will look after this dog now!

And Q is like ☝️🤓 💡

Because, as it happens, there is another old dog lurking around HQ these days who is about to be retired from active service but needs to stay busy and feel useful!

And so Q simply leashes up the dog and hands him to Bond.

Congrats, Bond! You have your very own retired-from-service dog now! He is scarred and grumpy and suspicious of everyone and he has a bad hip! You two are gonna get along GREAT. Also, he needs to go for walkies every morning, and he needs to go swimming every afternoon, and you are going to have to spend two hours a day working with him in the training room or he will fall into a deep depression. And also, he needs a special expensive kidney-health diet and distilled water and regular brushings and nail trimmings. I will teach you all his commands and walk you through his daily routine for the first few weeks until you get used to each other! You two are going to have so much fun together! 🤩

Bond does not want this dog. The dog does not want Bond. But Q is determined, and now Bond is walking this dog around Hyde Park (or the dog is walking HIM) and they're both eyeing each other like...it's rotten work. Especially to me, especially if it's you. I'll do it, but Jesus Christ.

But both Bond and the dog have a strong sense of Duty which carries them through until they can properly get used to each other, and they do become very fond of each other in time!

(Also, I just have a nebulous Thought in my head of Q teaching Bond the dog's routines and commands and giving the dog treats and headrubs, and Bond getting jealous and needing Q to also give HIM treats and headrubs for participating in the Training Routine with the dog. After each training sesh, Q has to have them both sit politely while he feeds them treats and rubs them down and tells them they are Good Boys.

@halfbaked00q, maybe you have more thoughts on this, idk!!)

[fiuworks]

MAGPRIDE!!

hi yall!! ive just about recovered from a hectic day at london pride (very awesome, i got barricade for the parade for most of it, my throat hurts from cheering it was very good) and i thought about the archives having a fun day at pride too because my brain is rotted (also these r just my headcanons please don't whack me for these or what you think i should believe (outside the objective canon truth) i beg) (also i didnt colorpick some of these so .)

while i have you, please make sure to do your daily clicks at arab.org, please PLEASE consider donating to a gofundme on the Operation Olive Branch spreadsheet (will link both below) and remember that just speaking out and using your platform and voice, however small, will make a big change! remember: pride is a protest! never forget the difference we could make as a community! it is the LGBTQIA+ community that has stood up in the past to fight for equality, and we can keep going as we mean to go on!

if you'll just allow me to get on my soapbox a bit about pride:

i've only been to one pride previously in 2019 and didnt go again because of covid and other things, so this is the first proper time ive been out to pride with freinds freshly graduated settled in my trans and queerness bla bla and it was just absolutely amaaazing....just to witness so many kinds of people marching for a common sense of unity was so brilliant! you also get to see how much of your community is spread through institutions that often take us for granted like the NHS to name one, or how queer people are fighting for healthcare- i saw so many marching squads for so many medical causes, and what warmed my heart was that there were so many community elders marching in the parade, and what have you! there were also little squads for residential areas and stuff and it was so refreshing to see a city usually so divided come together........weeehhh

just to see it made me feel weepy after i had taken a moment to get home and decompress- it's really another thing entirely to feel like you really do belong somewhere! in the words of one of my favourite songs- do try to make a little birdhouse in your soul for your people- get people together! spread culture! promote diversity! advocate for causes! love! cheer! hug! i love you!!!

[allophonicmess]

Sweetest Taste

Masterlist

15th Doctor x Reader (One Shot)

Part of the Doctor and Sun universe but can be read as a stand-alone

SMUT ( fem oral reciving & P in V)

4.3K

Tags: Fluff, Smut, body worship, consent, unprotected sex, established relationship

June offered the perfect time to visit London's Kensington Park for a stroll. Living in the bustling, vibrant city, you came to love it over the years. The park gates acted like a separator between the cold, busy and unpersonal streets and the lush green gardens that offered a sense of connectedness for the visitors, allowing them to escape from the pressure of the city and simply decompress and be.

You pulled at your clothes, making sure that you looked your best. It wasn't your first meeting; it was far from it. Yet, this day marked your first proper meeting with him in this new body, and it made you both excited and nervous, just like the previous times you two saw each other again with new eyes. Literally.

You felt a grin spread over your lips as you passed the black gates that separated the greenery from the greyish street. Passing the café, you stood momentarily, eyes wandering over the small, chapel-like building, the calm scene, and artistically set up plans in the middle of the grass. To your left, the view opened into the display of dark-orange cranesbills, lavender and other flowers. The ensemble reminded you of the sunset, rich in colour and contrast. Behind it, a line of angular ponds, lined with waterplants and accompanied by beautifully crafted benches, created the scene of the Italian Gardens.

This was the place you had decided to meet. You stayed on the reddish pavement, following one of the main routes through the park. The white oldtimer turned ice cream vendor stood in its usual place, attracting a small crowd of eager customers. They had formed a line, waiting patiently for their turn to receive their sweet treat.

"Should have clarified the time we meet", you mainly mumbled to yourself. You had told him when and where to meet you but in a more broad sense. Yet daytime also played a key role. You looked around for a moment. Perhaps a walk would be good to pass the time. You could follow the Long Water, take a look at one of the many statues and then come back a little later to see if he arrived at your set location. Or you could start searching for the big, blue police telephone box. It shouldn't be hard to find unless he fixed the chameleon circuit. Perhaps this new Doctor got tired of the Tardis' look, but you doubt it.

"Figured you'd be here around noon. Love to spend your-"He continued, but you interrupted him, finishing the sentence alongside him.

"Well, good on me to have thought of that" he spoke, the playful tone of his new voice made your grin before you consciously processed it. It was as if your body was drawn to him, able to recognise it anywhere, regardless of sound, tone or pitch. Always recognising, always drawn to it.

You turned around with a soft gasp, and there he stood. A big, inviting smile stretched over his face, adorned by a thin, trimmed moustache. His eyes held a twinkle that you couldn't quite explain. Youthful joy and pure ecstasy were the best words you could find. There were two ice cones, one in each hand. 99 Flake, you noticed. Vanilla soft ice with a chocolate flake, Simple yet classy.

"-lunch break in the park." You chuckled, approaching him and taking the cool dessert with a soft "Thank you".

"Bring some ice cream, you said. And here we are!" he cheered with a joyous laugh. You nodded, letting your eyes wander over his new look. He had changed; he put on some actual clothes. You didn't mind his 50/50 Bi-generation look, but it was… impractical for travelling.

He noticed your wandering eyes and decided to play into it. The Doctor stepped back, giving you a little swirl that made his orange leather coat swish. He had dressed up nicely. The outfit was new, certainly different from what he used to wear, yet it suited him so very well.

It reflected him, the healed and refreshed mindset expressed in daybreak's bright and daring colours. He wore light, striped sneakers, contrasting with the dark blue trousers. 'He really put some thought into this,' you thought, noticing the repetition of colours on his top. The zipper of his striped jumper was opened halfway, revealing the view of the necklace set he wore. An orange gem on one chain and an odd-looking golden shape on the other. They rested over a soft patch of dark chest hair that you took immediate interest in.

"You like it?" He asked with a flirty wink, stepping closer again and taking your free hand.

"Yeah, very stylish. It's new. Different, but I think it looks great. Especially the jewellery." You admired, feeling the cool metal of his ringers against your hand as you squeezed it to emphasise your comment.

"Thanks, darling." He chuckled softly, eyes moving from your face to the hand which held your now semi-melted ice cream that threatened to spill over your fingers.

"You want to lick that away before you get your hands dirty." He nodded towards it.

You quickly breathe a soft 'oh', turning the cone in your hand to clean it up. The sweet and creamy liquid made you hum in delight. You noticed that the Doctor was about to be in the same predicament as you. The molten cream snailing over the wafer.

"Same with yours. Don't want to make a mess." You joked, looking him in the eye. But he stayed serious, keeping eye contact for longer than you would find appropriate for the situation.

Then, there was a shift in the air around you. The soft reunion of lovers turning into something else…

His eyes focused on you as he licked away a streak of melted ice cream that dared to run down the cone. Those dark eyes watching you intently, clearly aware of the sexual allusion the action carried.

He grinned cheekily at your loss of words, clearly aware of what he was doing to you. But he wanted to take his sweet time with you. He enjoyed teasing you before, always did, but now it had a different tone to it. He felt a rush, watching you struggle; your attraction to him was undeniable.

Oh goodness, that stare was stirring something in you.

You released a breath, eyes following his pink tongue slide along the brown wafer with perfect pressure. He took his sweet time, knowing exactly what he was doing to you.

"Uh…" You started, gasped really, at a loss of words. Regeneration was a gamble, and you won.

"My plan?" You asked, shifting in your seat to get a better look at him. "What do you mean?"

"Do you want to sit down?" He asked softly, sweetly, with an innocent look. He waited for your approving nod, then placed his arm around your waist to lead you to one of the benches that lined the fountains.

You tried to calm down and get your pulse back to normal. You had seen him just yesterday. The other version of him, still him though. But this new factette of him thrilled you, willing to play along in his little game. It only would make winning the price sweeter and much more satisfying.

The two of you sat down on a bench. The wood under you had been warmed in the sun, making for a cosy spot. The Doctor moved in closely, placing one arm over the backrest. His hand rested on your shoulder and arm, stroking over it in a slow, calming motion.

"You chose a lovely spot", He commented, watching the place and people around him. He slid a little closer, making your thighs touch. He looked into the distance, where the Long Water widened into a river.

"So what's your plan?" He turned back to you, taking a lazy lick of his treat. He was almost finished.

"I was wondering how you want to proceed now. Do you want to keep your routine? Work, here on Earth? Travel?" He squeezed your shoulder, waiting patiently for your response. His head was turned back, the light shifting in his short, dark hair. The colour bordering between black and a lush midnight blue.

"I liked the routine. Me staying here, taking care of Earth while you are off. You taking me on dates when you find the time." You shrugged.

"Oh yeah? I'm glad to hear it." He pulled you in for another kiss. It was less passionate but undoubtedly made you feel his love. The Doctor petted your face quietly, watching you with warm admiration.

He sighed, something shifting behind his eyes. "I should have made more time for you." He whispered with some sense of grief behind it. "You deserve so much more than what I offered you." He moved even closer, and the arm around you pulled you into him. His hand moved towards your face.

He held your face gently, fingers curled and ringed knuckles resisting against your pulse as his thumb glided over your cheek.

"That will change now. You will be my priority." His eyes moved between your eyes and your lips, silently asking for permission to kiss you. You granted it, leaning forward to meet him in a soft, shy kiss. It was new, different to the feeling and rhythm you were used to. But you adapted, just like so many times prior. You found a new rhythm with him, lips moving in a sweet dance.

The two of you only let go to catch a breath of air, grinning shyly at each other like smitten teenagers. "You liked that?" He whispered with a breathy chuckle. Your actions, visible acceptance of this new version of him, took away the feeling of nervousness.

"Yeah, very much." You replied with a smile, just as relieved as him. Change was a constant in your lives. Things and people; everything was constantly changing. Yet you remained.

"I'll admit: I'm a fan of this." You vaguely motioned towards him, his face and body. "It suits you." Your own smile widened as he seemed to light up. The complement boosted his already strong confidence and charm. He radiated a warmth that you just wanted to bask in.

You didn't mind the silence. It felt easy and natural. But you were giddy, high on his smile and the joy you felt. So your brain went into overdrive, leading to making a silly confession.

"You know what I couldn't stop thinking about?" You asked, unable to hold back a childish giggle, already overly excited to reveal it.

"What?" He asked, watching you intently.

"Those thighs." You giggled, placing a hand on his left leg for emphasis. The woolly material of his trousers was rather rough against your fingers. But you felt his warmth seeping through the pant leg.

"Is that so?" He grinned. First, it was innocent, playing to your joke. But then it turned hungry before shifting into a stern expression.

And there it was again, that tension around you.

"You know what I kept thinking about?" He asked, his thumb tracing your lip.

You only managed to let out a breath of air. Yet he took it as a response to reveal it to you.

"I kept thinking about how sweet you will taste on this new tongue."

Oh, you were done for.

Your eyes met his. A spark was ignited the moment you saw the lust and longing reflected in his intense stare.

"Take me. Now."

What ensued was a mad rush for the Tardis. He grabbed your hand and practically dragged you off to the location of the well-known police call box. He had parked it just outside the other park gates. There, resting in the shade of tall plane trees, right next to old and out-of-use red telephone boxes. You would have laughed at it and appreciated the joke if it hadn't been for the delicious ache between your legs and the heat that flushed your body.

The Doctor practically ripped open the Tardis door, letting you in before him. He stepped in quickly and slammed the door shut the moment you were both inside. And not even a second later, you found yourself pressed against said door. Pillowy lips caressed yours as soft hums escaped between them, and strong hands grasped at your sides. All you could see and feel was him.

You threw your arms around his neck, gently scratching his neck and toying with the collar of his leather coat. That evoked a hiss from him; his tone made pain and pleasure mix.

"Need more of you." He hissed, placing his hands under your ass and pulling you up. You immediately wrapped your legs around his waist, crossing your ankles behind him to create stability. Thank the universe for Timelords' strength. He didn't carry you very far, though, slowly setting you down on the edge of the Tardis console. The surface was slightly sloped, but the new design allowed for free space between the control elements. You believe it might even have been made like this on purpose. Naughty machine.

This new position allowed you to be on eye level with the Doctor, if not, being a little taller than him. He noticed it, too, breaking away from you and grinning at you with marvel. You placed your hands on his jaw, feeling the skin there, the shaved hair over his sharp cheekbones. You pulled him in for another kiss, this time leading him in it. You held him there momentarily before your hands smoothed over his neck, along his ears and back down to the coat collar. A tuck signified him to shrug it off, and he obliged. The garment fell to the floor with a soft swoosh, leaving him in his jumper and pants.

You broke the kiss slowly, pressing your forehead to his as your hands wandered over his shoulders and back, feeling the strong yet lean muscle underneath the woolly material. He did the same, tugging at your jacket and shirt in the hope of finally being able to touch your skin. You let the coat slip from your arms, lifting them immediately to let him pull off your shirt. It left you in only your bra, sitting on the white metal console.

"You look like a goddess", He sighed, going for your neck and the soft spot behind your ear. The kisses there turned into playful nibbles as he carefully held the skin between his teeth to suck at it. It made you gasp, a shower running down your spine. You pulled the Doctor into an even closer embrace, hands holding him firmly.

He hummed against your skin, hands massaging the skin of your waste. His lips moved lower, over your clevis, down to the spot on your breast bone just above where your breasts connected to the skin. He licked down a stripe, only halting when he was stopped by your bra. It made him look up.

"Will you allow me to find out?" He looked you deep in the eye, waiting for your consent. His fingers were tracing along the hem of your jeans, eager to have you be rid of them. You nodded, holding onto his shoulders.

"I need you to use your words, darling." He kissed your jaw for emphasis; his right hand had moved up to the small of your back, tracing the spot where your spine connected.

"Yes, please." You managed to answer, already pushing yourself up on his shoulders to make it easier to free yourself of your pants. He grinned, making quick work of the zipper and button. He freed the jeans and underwear from under you with a swift pull. His hands explored the now-exposed skin of your thighs before pulling off your shoes to take off your pants for good.

He sighed at the view in front of him. Lips skimming over your thighs as he slowly and gracefully got to his knees. His hands traced over your back and down to your hips, squeezing them. The Doctor looked like he was about to pray, eyes focused up at you in admiration, soft breaths excepting through his slightly opened lips. He pulled you forward by your hips, making you lean forward and stabilise yourself with one hand on his shoulder and one on the console.

"My good girl." He whispered into the soft skin of your thigh, the moustache deliciously ticking you. His hands were on your knees, keeping your legs spread for him.

"Let me have some of that sweet taste." He mumbled before he oh so slowly licked over your core. You gasped, feeling his hot breath on you and heavenly pleasure against your clit. He kept his eyes focused on you, licking in slow motions before taking your pleasure bud in his mouth and gently sucking on it. The sensation was otherworldly, making you throw your head back. Years of experience had made him so good at making you gasp and scream, and the regeneration into a woman had evidently benefited his understanding of female pleasure.

He kept at it, lapping at you like his life depended on it. At some point, one of his hands had moved from your knees to your thigh, massaging it gently in the rhythm of his licks. You weren't going to last long if he kept going like this.

You moaned softly, trying to gather the energy and will to make him move. While this was great, you needed to feel him inside you.

A hand was placed on his head, making him stop to look at you.

"Too much?" He asked; the wet shine of your juices on his moustache made you even hotter.

"No, it's great, but I need you to feel you." You explained weakly, "I need to feel you inside me." You slid slightly lower on the console to get down on shaky legs, hoping they could hold you up.

But he was faster, swiftly getting back on his feet to carry you like he did before. The dark wool was rubbing against your core deliciously with each step as he carried you over the ramp towards the bedroom.

The Doctor placed you on the edge of the bed with just as much care and admiration as he had picked you up with. He was crouched before you, smiling softly in anticipation. You grinned, smoothing your hands over his neck and over the cool metal of his jewellery. The zipper of his jumper was only halfway open, so you took the little metal handle to open it fully, allowing you access to the gentle splatter of chest hair. Your hands moved over his torso, but you had to stop as the material offered no more room before the seams would give away.

"You are overdressed", You stated, making him chuckle. He readily lifted your arms to help get rid of his clothes. Fingers snuck under the waistband of his pants, grabbing onto not only the jumper and the light undershirt as well.

"Much better", you mumbled, placing your hands on his chest to explore it. He was fitter than you expected. Muscles stretched and flexed under your hands, and he brought his arms back down to hold your shoulders, pushing the straps of your bra down. He moved awkwardly from one foot to the other to shrug off his trainers.

That left him in his socks and pants. Still, too much, you decided and started fumbling with the button of his trousers.

"You got what you wanted. Let me see those legs again." You joked, making him laugh as he freed himself of the last of his clothing. He leaned over you, kissing you softly as he worked on the hooks of your bra. It hadn't been long since the two of you had had sex. But not with this body; it excited you to feel him again.

You slid back on the bed, allowing him to kneel and hover over you. The bra had been taken care of and thrown on the pile of clothing on the floor at the foot of the bed. You were getting ready to lay on the bed, having moved the duvet and additional pillows aside, but the Doctor stopped you.

"Can we try something?" He asked, still leaning over you, hands caressing your neck and the back of your shoulders as you turned towards him.

"Yeah, sure." You answered, interested in what he had in mind.

He kissed you again, gently holding your lower lip between his teeth before letting it go to focus on you.

"I want you on top." He stated simply. Kissing along your neck, fingers tracing your sides. "I want to watch you take what you need." He spoke against your chest in between soft kisses. "Is that alright?"

He asked, and you never knew that asking you for your consent to try something new would be so hot.

"Yes," You hissed. He had taken one of your nipples in his mouth, gently sucking on it and holding the other breast in his hand. His thumb was moving over the other in soft circles.

"Lovely." He commented, giving your chest one last kiss before leaning away from you to arrange the pillows to make himself comfortable. A few were placed against the headboard, allowing him to lie in a half-sitting position. The Doctor nodded to you, signalling that he was ready.

"C'mon then. Let me feel you." He beckoned you, hissing in pleasure when you moved over to him, lowering yourself over his lap. His cock was half erect, so you pumped it a few times, letting the tip grace over your folds.

"You are so good", He whispered, eyes closed in pleasure. He reached for your body, hands exploring your back. "So good to me." He mumbled, already drunk on you.

You positioned him, slowly lowering yourself into his lap and moaning in pleasure just as he did. You took a few breaths, stabilising yourself on his shoulders. He felt different but filled you oh so deliciously.

"I'm gonna move now." You announced, making him nod. His hands had found their place on your hips, pulling your torso a little forward. He looked up as you filled his vision. You looked ethereal; the dimmed light of the Tardis was behind you, creating a halo around you.

"My goddess, my sweet sweet girl." He groaned, pushing his hips into yours to reach deeper.

He held you, slowly pulling your chest into him. You were both catching your breaths, lying in a loving embrace.

You were both getting close.

He held you as you rode him, feeling blissful to see the expression of pleasure on your face. You felt your core tighten. His gentle fingers and thrusts move you closer to the edge.

"Go on," He said, moving onto his elbows to kiss along your neck. "Take what you need. I want to see you come."

His encouragement drove you closer; you fasten your paste while he uses his hands on your hips to push himself more deeply with each thrust. You were becoming hazy, so close to that sweet release. He noticed it, too, finding the soft spot behind your ear and sucking on it gently.

That threw you over the edge, coming with a gasp. You could feel your cervix pulsating, squeezing him inside you.

"That's it." He chuckled softly, but it quickly turned into a moan as he, too, came. The sight of your orgasm, the fact that his words and actions had helped you reach that sweet spot. It gave him the last push to tip over the edge and cum.

"I love you so much", He mumbled against your ear, fingers skimming over your back and holding you close.

You hummed, "I Love you, too. Till the end of time," You turned your head away from its position against his neck to kiss him softly.

You stayed that way for a moment longer, petting each other gently and sharing kisses. With a soft groan, you let his cook slip out. You managed to shift onto the side, leaning next to him. You were spent, happy to feel the soft comfort of the bed underneath you.

The Doctor sat up to reach for the duvet at the foot of the bed, placing it over the two of you. He had lifted his arm to let you move on his chest, just like you always did.

No words were spoken as you moved to place your head on his chest, your free hand gently laying next to it. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, arm wrapped around you and fingers smoothing over your arm in a slow back and forth.

He sighed, eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of you next to him. He wouldn't mind staying like this for the rest of his life and the ones following it.

You shifted a little to look at him, your eyes meeting, smiling softly at each other.

"What do you want to do now?" You asked softly, drawing patterns into his skin.

He hummed, thinking for a moment.

"The club? You go partying?" You asked, chucking at the absurd idea. He had never been to a club, not that you knew about. But with each regeneration came new quirks.

"I wouldn't mind a nap." He joked, smile widening as he saw you laugh. He squeezed your shoulder softly before leaning back.

"How about a nap. And then we go to the club?" He offered.

"Yeah, I feel like we should go to a club. Maybe something exciting will happen." He winked, leaning forward to kiss you again before settling into the pillows and closing his eyes.

[unusuallysubtext]

Hey, can I request a oneshot where Y/n (Mycroft's spouse) suddenly brought a puppy home; they found the puppy on the sidewalk. They brought the puppy home, cleaned him up, and then went to the pet store to buy supplies like dog food, toys, a bed, and a pad for the puppy to pee or poop on. They returned home with all the supplies.

Mycroft finally arrived home after a long day at work. He found Y/n on the floor and was confused at first until he saw the puppy they were playing with. He was perplexed and definitely against it at first, but a few weeks later, Y/n finds Mycroft in the living room with the puppy on his lap while Mycroft reads his newspaper.

Thank you in advance!

Thank you for your request! Requests are open as of 18/06/2024. Tags at end. To be removed/added to the taglist, send an ask or DM me. Critics welcomed, reblogs appreciated! :)

Today was one of those rare days off you had from work, but as usual, it was never in sync with Mycroft's busy schedule. You had awoken to a cold bed with the sun already beaming through the crack in the curtains. With a sigh, you climbed out of bed and stretched, making your way downstairs. A vase of sunflowers stood on the kitchen counter, a card beside it on top of a box of London’s finest pastries.

Good morning, my love. 

Salon appointment at two p.m. 

Take care of yourself.

Love,

M.H.

You smiled, admiring the set up and the time taken out of Mycroft’s morning. Of course he had booked out an entire salon; nails, hair, facials, drinks…

After getting comfortably dressed (a change from your usual business attire), eager to eat more than a few pastries (it would be unfair to try only a couple, after all), you ran downstairs and popped the kettle on.

As you sipped your tea, you pondered how to spend the rest of your day until a car picked you up at one-thirty. The idea of a long walk around the estate seemed appealing, especially with the rare London sun. 

Spring coat and boots on, you set out for your walk. The streets were quiet unlike the bustling inner city, and she much appreciated the calm; it allowed for decompression after high stress days at your demanding job. As she turned a corner into a small park, she noticed a small bundle of fur huddled in the bushes fronting the blue-painted metal rails. Curiosity piqued, you approached cautiously.

To your surprise, it was a puppy, shivering despite the unusual warmth, alone. You were expecting a rabbit, likely dead after the foxes got to it, not an uncommon sight in this area. The little creature looked up at you with wide, fearful eyes. You kneeled, allowing your hand to be sniffed before you picked it up. Upon further inspection, it was only a couple of weeks old, the size of your hand, and bore no collar.

"Poor thing, you must be freezing," you murmured, stroking its soft fur as you held it close to your chest. "Let's get you home."

She made a quick stop at a nearby pet store and vet clinic, purchasing everything the puppy would need—food, a bed, toys, and a small collar, which you left unetched without a name, only your phone number on the back of the tag. 

By the time she arrived back at the house, her arms were full of supplies, and the puppy seemed much more comfortable in your breast pocket. The clinic had not detected a microchip, making you wonder how long the pup had been outside as you set up a cozy corner in the living room. You watched as the puppy explored its new surroundings, following you with tiny, tentative paw taps to the kitchen, where you poured some water and food into its bowls. 

"Mycroft is not going to like this," you thought out loud with a wry smile, imagining his reaction. But the sight of the puppy, now curled up contentedly in its new bed, made her feel certain she had made the right decision.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of playing with the puppy, canceling your salon appointment and ride through Anthea, and preparing dinner after the pup grew tired enough to fall asleep in its bed. As evening fell, you found yourself anxiously awaiting Mycroft's return, wondering how he would react to your new addition and fearing his disappointment of being unable to enjoy his planned day for you.

The grandfather clock struck once, indicating five-thirty and you arose from the dining table to head to the front door. You opened it to see Mycroft, who was pleasantly surprised at your greeting.

���Good evening, darling. How was your day?” he asked, heading in. His smile immediately turned to scrutiny as he sensed something was wrong. “You didn’t go… Why do you have cat hair on you?” Mycroft asked, looking at you.

“Dog, Mycroft,” you rolled your eyes. You weren’t anxious anymore, just keen to see Mycroft discover what you’d done. You followed him to the living room, where he froze at the sight of the sleeping puppy across from you.

“Y/N, what on earth were you thinking? How will you care for it?” Mycroft cried. He never called you by your name. Only ‘Mr/Miss/Mx L/N’ before marriage, and ‘my love’ and ‘darling’ after.

“Mycroft!” you were taken aback, but still attempted to explain your situation. “She was abandoned on the side of the road, no collar, no chip. I couldn’t leave her there!”

“Do you know how many shelters there are in London? One-thousand-two-hundred-and-twenty-seven! Any one of them would have taken it in.” Mycroft was exasperated. “Y/N, please think before making such decisions…” he trailed off, softening his tone and expression as he caught sight of your teary eyes. He walked to you, touching your cheeks and kissing your forehead. “I love you. I don’t love that,” he indicated to the puppy with his head. “I do not want this matter to cause any stress to our relationship. I’m sorry for shouting at you.”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “It’s okay. I’ll see what I can do about her as soon as possible.”

You understood where Mycroft was coming from. Both of you worked full-time, and taking care of a puppy who was rapidly transforming into a full-grown dog was like taking care of a toddler. She would need to be trained, spayed, played with for mental stimulation… it was going to be a lot.

While Mycroft showered, you heated up dinner. As the two of you ate, the puppy awoke and padded to the dining room, watching Mycroft curiously. The two of them stared at the other intently, frozen in place, and you watched in amusement. 

That night, you lay in bed on your side against Mycroft’s chest. It was a miracle that the puppy had not followed you upstairs, but was instead sleeping soundly in the living room. 

-

Mycroft had been sitting on the sofa after dinner, reading their mail while she tried to reach the seat beside him. Watching her struggle for a couple of minutes from the corner of his eye, he finally sighed and picked her up. She lay down next to Mycroft’s side, and he begrudgingly had let her. She fell asleep, as Mycroft mumbled, mostly to himself. “You don’t have a name, do you? You are rather annoying, going to places you don’t belong. Sofas are for humans, the dog bed, as implied in the name, is for you.” Mycroft thought for a moment, then chuckled in revelation. “Sheryl.” He seemed pleased with the name.

-

“Mycroft?” you say quietly, unable to see him. The curtains have been drawn for the night, the bed toasty from your combined body heat. 

“Hmm?”

“Are you jealous of her?”

There is a pause. “That is preposterous! Go to sleep,” you can feel him shaking his head as he is ripped from his near sleep.

You smile to yourself, turning around and kissing his cheek before drifting off to sleep.

-

Days went by, and you spent all of your lunch breaks and the extra ten minutes you had in the mornings at work calling animal shelters in London, despite the heartache. It would not be difficult at all to get the pup into one, just inhumane. Unsurprisingly, they were all overcrowded and underfunded. You glanced up from the website you were reading on your phone to the stack of paperwork overshadowed by your boss. You sighed.

“Working, are we, Mr/Mrs/Mx Holmes?” Ms Smallwood sneered, saying your name as if it were sour milk.

“Yes, apologies, ma’am. No excuses,” you said, grabbing a pen and opening the first file. 

Her beady eyes watched you for a moment before huffing and storming out on her four-inch heels.

You shot Mycroft a quick text.

Going to be late, sorry. Lots of paperwork, ughh. Can’t wait to get a transfer. - Y/F/I.H.

Don’t worry, my love. I’ll have dinner and a bath ready. Don’t stress, my darling. I shall see you this evening. - M.H.

You smiled at your husband’s preemptiveness, silently thanking the universe for having him to go home to. 

It was quarter-to-seven when you arrived home. You walked through the hallway past the empty study and dining room, the aroma of dinner making your mouth water. In the living room, you could see Mycroft, engrossed in reading the newspaper… out loud? Mycroft saw you, and hushed you, pointing to the sleeping puppy curled up against his belly. He finished reading one last sentence of today’s headlining news: ‘Two murdered bodies found in abandoned freezer at Wembley Sainsbury’s.’ 

“Goodnight, Sheryl, sleep well,” Mycroft said quietly, putting the newspaper down and patting her gently before picking her up and placing her in her bed. He then walked over to you. “Hello, darling, how was your day?” 

“Sheryl, huh?” you laughed.

“Too late to change it now, I have already had it engraved,” Mycroft said matter-of-factly. “I have already fed her–one cup–walked her around the estate, had her pee, and read her a bedtime story, of course.”

You squealed in joy, engulfing Mycroft in a hug. “We’re keeping her?!”

“Yes, of course we are, darling. How else will I keep in shape?”

“Oh, Mycroft! You’re already perfect. I love you! I can’t believe we get to keep her!”

Every night onwards, Sheryl lay in wait in front of the dinner table for the two of you to finish eating and take her for a walk. She would chase butterflies in the very park she was found in before returning to her home, where Mycroft would read her the headlines and let her pick her bedtime story from the papers. Some days it was stock trading tips, obituaries and juicy celebrity gossip, other days it was how her Uncle Sherlock was saving the arses of the Met Police, and gruesome murder-suicides. Every night, she fell asleep in Mycroft’s lap, even when she grew up to be a huge German shepherd. Every night, you snapped a picture of the two, compiling the photographs into an album that showed how their bond strengthened and their kinship blossomed.

-

Tagging: @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @that-ace-idiot

[professorfcknmoriarty]

Trick or Treat! Your mismag drabbles are giving me life! If you're not too busy, I'd love some EvSam..

I feel like a lot of discussion of their relationship centers around Sam comforting Evan... I'd love to see some Evan comforting/protecting Sam!

Hand shaking, she struggles to not drop the phone.

It rings.

Once.

Twice.

A thi-

“Hello?” his voice is groggy from sleep and she almost sobs in relief at the sound.

“Hi,” she says, trying her best to sound like she hasn’t just been crying. “Hey, Ev’.”

“Sam?” he asks, suddenly sounding infinitely more alert than he was a moment ago. “What’s up? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s- I’m fine,” she reassures him quickly, rubbing at her nose with the back of her hand. It’s wet from snot and she feels gross.

“Where are you?” he asks. She can hear the noise of something in the background, rather like air rapidly decompressing from something.

“Why?” she asks. “You don’t need to- you don’t have to come.”

The sound of a window opening and a deep breath in. “Sam,” he says, his voice dangerously low. “Either tell me exactly what happened or tell me where you are, so I can make sure you’re safe.”

“London,” she says, “Outside a pub. In- the West End? I’m- I’m not sure.”

“Got it,” he says. She can hear the sound of his fingers flying across the screen of his phone. For a guy who only had a flip phone for the longest time, he took to screens really well. “I can be there in five. Is that soon enough?”

A door opens behind her and she holds her breath, taking the phone off speaker and turning the sound down so Evan won’t give her away. “Sam?” a voice calls. “Samantha? I know you’re out here.”

She doesn’t respond.

Faintly, through the phone, she can hear whooshing wind - the sound of him on his broom. Just knowing he’s coming is enough to turn her stomach into knots and make her feel safe at the exact same time. It’s stupid, this is stupid. He’s going to think she’s stupid for calling him crying over something this ridiculous.

“Ugh,” the voice says, the door slamming again as they go back in.

Sam breathes out sharply, peeking out from behind the dumpster to make sure they really left and aren’t just faking it. It’s what Evan would do, if he were here.

They’re gone. She turns the volume back up. “Sorry,” she says. “I -"

“Sam, who was that?” his voice is a little tinny but she can make it out okay.

There’s wine all over the front of her dress and T2’s going to kill her over the dry-cleaning bill. She doesn’t answer. “I’m okay,” she says. “It’s not- I’m not in danger. I promise.”

The sound of rushing wind stops and then his voice comes through clearer. “If it’s safe, can you walk out into the street for me?”

She pushes up from her seat on one of the small crates and brushes off her dress, though it’s a futile effort. Most of her things are still inside, she’d only had her phone on her when she rushed out, and now she’s kicking herself for it. She’s going to have to go back in to get her stuff or give them up and hope someone turns them into the bartender so she can maybe get them back in the morning.

Stepping out under the streetlights, Sam gives the street a quick look around. “Okay,” she says, “I’m on the street.”

“Thank you,” he says politely. “I want you to pick something and think about it as hard as you can. Focus everything you have on thinking about it.”

A little confused, Sam closes her eyes, and thinks about Evan.

After about fifteen seconds, she hears, “I see you.”

When she opens her eyes, he’s walking up to her, his broom already stashed away in his backpack. The final few paces, he jogs to her, reaching out in concern at the stain on her dress. “Is that -"

“Wine,” she says quickly, not sure what to do with her phone now. Not waiting for him to open his arms, she throws hers around him, latching onto him. Her face buried in his neck, she breathes the smell of Evan. Warm, a little like the forest after a spring rain, and perfectly him.

His hand comes up to cup the back of her head, his other hand not so subtly checking her for injuries.

“What happened?” he asks. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, pulling away to sniffle. “I’m sorry- you shouldn’t have- I shouldn’t have called. It’s just -" she stuffs her phone in between her boobs for lack of a better place to put it. “Did I ever tell you about my dad?”

-

With Evan’s coat wrapped around her to cover up the stain on her dress, Sam feels like she’s been wrapped in a spell of protectiveness. They walk back into the pub, him just a few steps ahead of her. “Which one?” he asks, his voice low.

Sam points.

“Wait here,” he instructs, passing over his backpack for her to hold.

She waits.

He strides up to her father, clasping him on the shoulder to get his attention. She’s too far away to hear what’s being said but it’s less than a minute before Evan’s widening his stance and she knows exactly what he’s going to do. Too bad that no one else does.

Her father hits the floor like he’s been slammed into by a cannonball, sliding backwards several feet. He looks up at Evan in a daze.

The rest of the pub falls completely silent, no one daring to move or even thinking to intervene.

Evan steps up over her father, his foot coming down to the man’s wrist to hold it in place. Crouching down, he removes her purse from his grasp.

He opens it, checking to make sure everything she carries is in there, and then digs his heel in for good measure. “Stay the fuck away from Sam,” she hears Evan say, his voice dangerously serious.

“C’mon,” he says, pulling Sam in close with one arm hooked around her shoulder. He kisses the side of her head. “Let’s get you home.”

Sam cries a little again, but for a whole different reason this time.

“Thanks, Ev’,” she whispers.

“Anytime, Sam,” Evan says. “Anytime.”

[graciegoeskrazy]

i'll give you one more time

part 2 to she's begging you to stay stay

Matty Healy + preteen!lost!daughter!OFC!r

warnings: idek yall, language i think, dead mom, slightly shitty dad, this isn't even my usual angst this shit is just SAD, r is twelve

a/n: long awaited part 2! enjoy!

The ride home was a heavy, suffocating silence, the kind that pressed down on your chest and made it hard to breathe. Every ounce of your willpower was spent keeping the tears from spilling over, your eyes stinging as you stared blankly out the window. You couldn’t even begin to comprehend why you’d acted the way you did. Yes, times were tough, and you were teetering on the edge mentally, but surely there were other ways—better ways—you could’ve handled things. Yet, none of that mattered now. The only thing consuming your thoughts was how Matty would react when the two of you finally walked through that door.

The day had dragged on, filled with more emotion and exhaustion than either of you could have anticipated. Matty knew that a conversation was inevitable, that you both needed to talk—really talk—but as he glanced at you, he realized now wasn’t the right time. 

You were a mess, physically and emotionally. Your hair was tangled, matted with dirt from your adventure on the London streets, and your clothes were no better, stained and disheveled from the day’s events. It was clear that you were drained, the weight of everything you’d been through etched into your weary features.

Matty sighed, feeling a pang of guilt for what you’d endured, but also a deep sense of protectiveness. He wanted to fix everything, to make it all better, but he knew that right now, the best thing he could do was to give you a chance to breathe, to decompress. The conversation could wait—tonight, what mattered was getting you cleaned up and comfortable.

The silence between you became too much to bear. Matty gently placed a hand on your shoulder, stopping you before you could head inside. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the quiet. “I’m not mad, okay?”

You stopped in your tracks, turning to face him, your eyes clouded with guilt and confusion. “I ran away, Matty. I scared the shit out of you—”

“Yeah, well, you’re safe now. That’s all I care about, okay?” he interrupted, his tone firm but laced with concern.

You shook your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. “You should be angry.”

“I’m not—”

“You should be yelling at me, kicking me out of your house, something!” The words spilled out before you could stop them, along with the tears in your eyes, the rawness of your emotions catching both of you off guard.

Matty’s expression softened, a mix of sadness and disbelief crossing his face. “What makes you think I would do that?”

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, your voice cracking as you tried to hold back tears. “I just… I don’t know.”

Matty sighed, stepping closer and gently tilting your chin up so you’d meet his gaze. “Listen to me, Tilly. I’m not going to kick you out, and I’m not going to yell at you. I’m just glad you’re here, that you’re safe. We’ll talk about everything, but not right now. Right now, I just want you to take care of yourself, okay?”

“Go take a shower,” Matty said softly, his thumb brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “Get some rest. We’ll figure everything out later.”

You hesitated, the weight of the day pressing down on you, but finally, you nodded. The fight had drained out of you, replaced by a deep exhaustion that made it hard to argue anymore.

 You looked up at him, eyes heavy with exhaustion, and nodded without argument. There was no energy left to resist, no fight left in you for tonight. The promise of a hot shower and a bed was all you needed.

Matty watched as you trudged upstairs, each step slower than the last, and he felt a knot of worry tighten in his chest. He wanted to say something, to offer comfort or reassurance, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he silently vowed to be there for you when you were ready to talk, whenever that might be. As you disappeared down the hallway, Matty lingered for a moment, running a hand through his hair. The house was quiet now, the kind of quiet that felt heavy, like it was waiting for something to happen. But for now, he decided, it was enough to let you find some peace, even if only for a little while. He made his way to the living room, sinking into the couch with a weary sigh. The day had taken its toll on him too, but his thoughts were with you. They always were. The sun was setting outside, casting long shadows through the windows, and Matty closed his eyes for a moment, letting the quiet of the house wash over him. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, but tonight, all that mattered to him was that you were home and safe.

—-------

You’re asleep, lost in a dreamless world where the weight of reality has, for a moment, lifted. As your father started the trek back to his room, he noticed the light peaking through the crack beneath your door, to him, indicating you were awake. He let out a soft sigh and took a detourour to your room. He knocked, “Matilda.” You don’t stir. Your name, the one your mother gave you, is still new on his tongue even after all this time, as if he’s trying to make sense of it, to make it his own. There’s a slight pause, and then he speaks again, his voice lower, softer. “Matilda George. It’s late, you should go to bed.”

There’s no response, only the sound of your steady breathing as you lie curled under the covers, the peaceful rise and fall of your chest the only movement in the room. Matty hesitates at the door, the silence stretching out between you. Finally, with a sigh, he pushes the door open wider. “I’m coming in.”

The door creaks open, and a soft, golden light spills into your room, touching the edges of your bed. His footsteps are careful, almost hesitant, as he crosses the threshold into your room. He stands there for a moment, just watching you sleep, his expression unreadable in the dim light. You’re completely unaware, lost in the depths of slumber, oblivious to the fact that he’s here, that he’s looking at you with something akin to longing.

And then his gaze shifts, catching on something beside you—your diary, lying open on the bed. He hadn’t meant to look, but the way the pages fall open, revealing your handwriting, draws his eyes. Curiosity tugs at him, and before he can think better of it, he reaches down, picking it up.

His eyes scan the words you’ve written, the pages filled with all the things you’ve been too scared or unsure to say out loud. The confusion, the loneliness, the raw ache of trying to understand who he is to you and who you’re supposed to be now. He reads on, the lines blurring together, each word a glimpse into the parts of you that you’ve kept hidden away.

I used to keep track of how many days it had been since I last saw my mother. In the very beginning, I would count down to the exact hour—sometimes even the minute. I’m not sure why I did it. Maybe it was a way to cope with my anxiety. I think I was just measuring the time until I thought my world would blow up again.

I never stop thinking about my mom. I could be laughing and having a nice conversation, and then, all of a sudden, a dark gray cloud comes and blocks my happiness. A part of me doesn’t want it to stop, though, because I’m scared I’ll forget her. In my mind, the day I go a whole 24 hours without thinking of my mom is the day I will have moved on. And I don’t want to move on. Miss Julia asked me the other day, “If you could reverse the cancer and see your mom again, would you?” I replied, “Obviously.” Then she said, “Even though you wouldn’t have Matty?” I didn’t answer.

Overall, I think that’s a harsh question for a twelve-year-old, but whatever. I know she’s right, though. Maybe I wouldn’t reverse it.

My mom was in unspeakable pain—pain that I can’t even begin to understand, pain that I hope I will never experience. I’m not sure where she is now, but I like to think it’s somewhere nice, somewhere she’s at peace. One thing I do know for certain is that she isn’t in pain anymore. She’s free. If I were to reverse things, I would be taking that freedom away from her. I would be calling her back to her pain.

I have a lot of realizations in that small office with Miss Julia. After that session, I realized that with all my thinking about how things could be or could have been, I have yet to fantasize about how life could have been if Matty had been there from the beginning. If he knew about me. If he had been my father from the start.

I don’t understand why my mother didn’t tell me about my father, or why she never told him about my existence. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t because she wanted to ‘protect me’. He’s not that bad. He’s kind. He makes me laugh from time to time. I enjoy his music, but I would never outright admit that to him. If it wasn’t for him being my literal father, I’d say we could be twins. But still, she never said a word to him.

I know it’s not because she was ashamed and tried to keep me a secret, but that thought always crosses my mind whether I like it or not.

I know very well that I said I didn’t want to go home with him, and even after I agreed, I promised I would find somewhere else to stay. And he was fine with it. As long as he knew I was safe. The truth is, I can’t imagine growing up anywhere else. I don’t think I want to.

I want to be with my father. I want to call him ‘Dad’. I want him to know that I love and care for him, but I’m too terrified to. I’m also scared that if God forbid, something terrible happens, he will never know how much I love him. Because I don’t think I said that nearly enough to my mom.

I don’t know how to tell him. I don’t know how to help him. I have six years left before I’m an adult. He would have to agree to raise me for six years. That could either go really bad or good. I don’t see an in-between.

I’ve played it out in my mind. I will either get exactly what I want or nothing at all. I’m too scared to ask, to tell him that I care, so I’ll just stay silent for now. Because truthfully, I have not a single clue how to do this.

Matty read every single word of your last entry, his eyes tracing each line as if they were the most precious secrets. What struck him the hardest was the realization that if someone could peek inside his brain, take out his thoughts, and lay them side by side with yours, they would be almost indistinguishably similar. That comment about being like twins? It wasn’t far off. And every day, he was noticing it more and more.

He knew it was wrong to be reading your diary, an invasion of privacy he had no excuse for. But he couldn’t stop. He was too caught up, too addicted to the patterns of your mind—patterns that were so familiar because they mirrored his own. The pull was irresistible, like seeing a reflection of himself in your words, understanding you in a way that felt both thrilling and terrifying.

He was so engrossed in his re-reading that he didn’t notice you stir or open your eyes. When you finally took in the sight of him with your diary in hand, you froze, then rolled your eyes. “Reading my diary, are we?” you mumbled, your drowsy state adding a touch of comedy to the tension.

Matty jumped, startled by your voice, and hurriedly closed the book, pushing it aside. “I thought you were asleep!” he stammered, his guilt obvious.

“And I thought the cardinal rule of diaries was that no one else is supposed to read them?” you continued, a sly smile tugging at your lips.

He shook his head, trying to backpedal. “I didn’t read it—I swear.”

“Yeah, you did,” you shot back, the sly smile now full-blown.

“Yes, I did,” he admitted, not missing a beat, the look of defeat settling on his features. “I’m sorry.”

You looked down wearily, adjusting yourself as the weight of the moment settled in. Matty, still feeling the need to say something, continued, “I didn’t know you were a writer.”

“I’m not,” you replied simply.

Matty scoffed, shaking his head. “I don’t see many twelve-year-olds putting out words like this.”

You rolled your eyes, brushing off the compliment. “I’m not putting them ‘out.’ I’m putting them in a three-dollar notebook I got at the grocery store.”

He shrugged, not willing to let it go. “They’re good nonetheless.”

You offered him a weary, tight-lipped smile, the kind that said you were too tired to argue but appreciated the sentiment. Matty’s tone softened, almost a whisper. “Sit up for a second.”

Your eyes changed, a flicker of panic flashing as you realized he had actually read everything you wrote—all of it. You hesitated, your heart racing. “You said it was time for bed.”

“This will only take a second.” His voice was gentle but insistent. After a weary pause, you sat up, looking at him with guarded eyes. He took your hands in his, the gesture tender as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple, then looked at you, his expression serious. “You don’t have to go anywhere, Matilda.”

For a moment, the room was silent. You’d been waiting for this conversation for months, but you never expected it to happen now, like this. “Yes, I do,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Where?” he asked, his tone laced with concern.

“Somewhere where I’m not in your way.” You slowly pulled your hands from his grasp, the distance between you growing in that small action.

“You’re not in my way, my love,” he said softly, trying to reassure you.

“I could be. I will be,” you insisted, your voice trembling slightly.

“No, you won’t,” he said, a bit more firmly this time.

“You don’t know that,” you whispered, doubt creeping in.

“If you’re anything like me—and you are, whether you like it or not—we’ll have some challenges,” Matty admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “But I’ve wasted so much time…and missed out on so many things over the last twelve years, Tilly. I’ll be damned if I miss one more.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid.

You looked at him, searching his eyes for any hint of uncertainty, but all you saw was a sincerity that made your chest tighten. It was overwhelming, the idea that someone could care about you this much, could want you around despite everything.

His expression softened even more, a sadness flickering behind his eyes. “You’re not a burden, Matilda. You never were, and you never will be. I want you here, with me. I need you here.”  It was almost as if he was reading your mind.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill over. “But what if I mess up? What if I make things harder?”

Matty shook his head, squeezing your hands gently. “Then we’ll figure it out together. I’m not going to let anything get in the way now. Not even your doubts.” You felt a tear slip down your cheek, but for once, it wasn’t out of fear or sadness. It was a relief. Matty reached out and wiped the tear away, his touch gentle, like he was afraid you might break. “You’re stuck with me, babe. I don’t know what to tell you.” He said, lips pulling into a smile.

At that moment, something shifted between you, an unspoken understanding that you were no longer just two people navigating this confusing, painful world. You were a team—a family, bound together by something far stronger than blood or circumstance. It was love, pure and simple, and it was enough.

You leaned into him, letting your head rest on his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe things could be okay, that maybe you could find a way to be happy, despite everything.

And as you sat there in the quiet, the weight of the world lifting just a little, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you wouldn’t have to face them alone. 

You had your dad, and he had you.

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 50: Are We All Safe?

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

How is it possible to function on three hours of sleep? All night I toss and turn trying to relax but my mind is too full. Eventually I hear Thomas get up and leave. It’s barely daylight but I shouldn’t pay any mind to him. I can easily count how many apologies he owes. 

I throw in the towel and begin to make breakfast. Charlie is still asleep so the meal will just be for me. After a small portion of toast and eggs I try to distract myself with a copy of The Great Gatsby. Talk about the American dream being disintegrated into a shallow pursuit of wealth. Just like another certain someone…

Ring! Ring!

Who would be calling? I jump up and rush to the phone. Oh Lord, is it someone from home-?

“Is this Verena?” A familiar voice asks on the other end.

I gawk at the receiver. “May?”

“Verena, is that you? My, it’s good to hear from you. I wanted to call and see how you’ve been. I stopped by to collect Thomas’ horse. Um, pardon me for asking but the Americans that Curly told me about, they wouldn’t happen to…?”

Hearing May’s concern is a wonderful reminder that not all the rich and wealthy are heartless. 

“My family’s Irish side has made me a part of this too. The Italians are known enemies of the White Hand gang. I’m afraid my terms with Changretta are painted the same as the Shelbys’.” Unless… “That is unless I can arrange a diplomatic meeting to take the hit off my family.”

“I’m so sorry.” There’s a pause over the phone. “Does Tommy still treat you well?”

The thought of yesterday’s events makes my fist clench. Between his remarks on my family’s situation and Lizzie’s cold stare I’d say that this vendetta is starting to become more like a prison sentence.

“As good as any other employee,” I reply darkly.

“I see.” May pauses again and this time uses a more upbeat tone. “It was good to catch up. Pop by London sometime. We’ll go shopping.”

Somehow the ghost of a smile tugs at my lips. “I’ll put it in the books.”

I replace the phone and begin to go about my normal routine- All aside from looking for Thomas. I’m still too heated to hear any excuse he has. As for that idea from earlier… I could try. It couldn’t hurt… Could it? If I wave the white flag and ask to speak with Changretta then I could ask him to remove my family’s hit. 

“Veena?” Charlie asks from the sofa. “Are you sad?”

Lord bless him and his childhood innocence. “I’m okay, Charlie. Just… a little tired, ‘s all.”

“Do you want a nap?”

I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding and feel myself decompress onto the sofa. “Charlie, a nap sounds wonderful. Are you still tired too?”

“Yeah.” The young Shelby crawls up next to me and lays down facing me. “Veena, is mummy with God too?”

I move my arm over to rub his small head. “Yes, Charlie. Your mummy was a very kind person, and she loved you very much. She watches over you every day.”

Charlie’s tired eyes widen. “She does?”

“She does,” I repeat. “And I promised her that I would take care of you. Right now you need to sleep, alright?”

“Okay.”

His eyes finally close and I wait for him to fall asleep before letting my own eyes shut. Somehow sleep does find me, because when I open my eyes again it’s because Thomas is shaking me awake. Charlie is awake too and is clinging to his dad’s leg.

“Verena? It’s after six. Are you alright?”

After six? I slept a solid seven hours! I jump up in surprise to look at the clock but then remember I’m still cross at Thomas. I resume a tight posture and merely hum in response.

“Charlie, why don’t you go play with your blocks, eh? Or I’m sure there are some books to read.” 

Thomas ushers his son off and stands directly in front of me so that I can’t avoid looking at him or getting up from the couch. Of course Thomas can tell when someone is angry. Heaven forbid he can tell when I’m trying to love him. 

“Are you going to ignore me all night?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Are you going to apologize for speaking so harshly of my family yesterday?”

“Yes.” 

Thomas moves to sit next to me on the couch, looking at me with sincerity. His face tells a story of a man who’s frustrated with himself. Is he really going to say sorry? Can I bring myself to forgive him for not only mocking my family but also keeping me from talking to another man?

 “Verena, I’m sorry. You just need to understand that-”

“You are not the most empathetic person,” I say slowly. “I know.”

Something is wrong. Like Thomas once told me, no one apologizes unless they’ve done something else. The sound of his voice tells me he’s hiding something. He’s too stubborn to give in so quickly… What exactly happened at the office today?

“Something happened today,” I state bluntly and my face hardens with worry. “What happened?”

Thomas’ mouth drops slightly. “How-? You read me like a fucking book.”

“Thomas Shelby. Just answer me one fucking thing. Are we safe?”

If I had the idea of talking to Changretta then Thomas’ mind can’t be too far behind. This vendetta involves me too so if he makes any move to address it then I need to know. 

Thomas reaches across and takes my hand. “Yes.”

Does he mean everyone or just my family? “Are you safe?”

He holds up a finger. “That’s two questions.”

“Thomas Shelby!” I squeeze his hand tighter and can’t stop my brow from creasing. “You can keep me in the dark from whatever sinister deeds you concoct. I don’t want to know. What goes on in that boardroom is your burden. Whatever strike or uprising, it is brought on by yourself. I was hired for international relations and that is what I will work for. But that does not mean I stop caring for your safety. I do want to know that after all this is said and done that you will still be here.”

“And if I'm not?” Thomas challenges, still keeping a calm face. “If you could save your family by killing me, would you?”

My chest tightens and I fight to keep from crumbling into him. “You make it so easy to say yes. But you know I am no murderer, Thomas. Even if I don’t pull the trigger I will never arrange for you to be killed.”

There are far more dreadful ways of torture. If I ever want Thomas to suffer then I will walk away completely. We’ll see who’s angry when there is no one who will listen.

Thomas must believe me because his crystal eyes have a look of content sadness. If he has anything to say then it’s his own fault for staying quiet. As is mine.

“There is a meeting tomorrow I want you to be at,” the gangster murmurs. “At the hospital with Michael. Arthur, Ada, Polly, and Lizzie are coming too. See these?” He holds up a set of keys. "These are the keys to your car outside. You can take it to the meeting. Trust me, you will want to be there. Even if you’re still mad at me.”

“I will be there,” I promise. “Hopefully after a few more hours of sleep.”

“Yes, do sleep,” Thomas insists and gets up to let me have the whole sofa. “You shouldn’t have to go through this, Verena.”

He walks off to the kitchen. Did I hear him mutter ‘all my fault?’ Well, partially that is true. But it is also my fault for being dumb enough to come back. What have I accomplished? John is dead and I’m no closer to admitting my feelings than I was a year ago. Why does love have to be this complicated? I suppose another night of fighting for sleep might calm me down.

@meadows5

[findingmelissa]

I've had a crazy roller coaster five days.

Friday was me helping my friend with her two toddlers and 7mo and the night ended with me in tears. Not going to go through the whole story here. Our friendship is still awesome, it wasn't anything that affected that. But I still have some tough feelings (rejection, inadequecy, fears that stem from my own traumas) about everything that happened with the 2yo that day and I need to work through that.

The weekend I mostly decompressed with Steve, but I also drank (Fri night/Sat night) and smoked a lot of cigarettes again. Which I really didn't need to do, obviously. Still a work in progress, that.

I hadn't even talked about it here, but I drank in London in February (after almost 5 months of being sober) and I've done it probably another dozen times since. Stopping again would be wise. It reminds me of a meme I read that was something like "if your life were a movie, what would people be yelling at your character to stop doing?" Yeah.

Monday I got on a plane to California on only 2 hours of sleep and I've been trying to catch up since. Work has been so much busier than I expected. But I am staying caught up with both jobs while I am here and that's the best I can hope for. Had a meeting with some of the new owners today and I think I made a good impression. My hope is to be able to stay with this new company long-term doing all technical work. We shall see.

I haven't run or biked since last Thursday. I got PLENTY of activity with the girls on Friday and definitely enough the first few days here in CA just walking a lot and cleaning out the office prepping it for the new owners to visit. And I've been keeping up with strength work, mostly! I am looking at a 75% strength training rate for the month. That will be the most consistent I have ever been with any physical activity other than running.

I am unwinding at the hotel now. I am BEAT. Again. Tonight I am going to try to actually turn in early and get 9-10 hours so maybe I can finally feel rejuvenated.

I don't like that I haven't been journaling consistently, either, so this little dump is just catching myself up. I am hoping that tomorrow I can get back to posting daily activity/food/thoughts because I really enjoy that.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Does princesse ever have a hard time with all the expectations on her.

How does her moms support her through the career with all the expectations and the people around her like zećira and Rolfö?

Does it ever get too much for her?

Pernille and Magda are super supportive but at around thirteen/fourteen, they remind her that there's always a chance she won't make it (not to be mean just to be realistic) and that she needs something to fall back on. As I've mentioned before, Princesse is extremely smart and she picks up languages so well that Pernille and Magda float the idea of being her being a translator if football doesn't work out.

They're very proud of her when Linköping comes to them with a professional contract. They very much have expectations for her but it's not like they're overbearing with it and Princesse definitely puts more pressure on herself than they do.

Frido's the person that Princesse goes to when she's feeling quite overwhelmed with things. It's easier to talk to Frido about these things because she's endlessly supportive and will usually drop a bunch of money on some restaurant for a decompression meal and she comes to as many of Princesse's games as she can manage and she will tell anyone who listens how proud she is of her.

Zećira is where most of Princesse's pressure comes from. She can't come to her games as often as Frido and Magda and Pernille can so whenever she can, Princesse feels an intense amount of pressure to perform well. Princesse thrives under pressure though so almost always pulls it out the back (though there are a few times when she's not on form). But Zećira doesn't even end up caring about how well Princesse is performing, so long as she is trying.

Princesse strives for Zećira's approval every day and whenever they're both available, Zećira ends up taking Princesse to the park for their own training sessions like she used to do when they lived in London. For Zećira, Princesse's career is the highest form of flattery because everything Princesse has done regarding football is to follow in Zećira's footsteps.

The pressure she puts on herself is intense but Magda and Pernille know when Princesse's about to go off the deep end and make sure to draw her back and calm her down until she's mentally ready to go to practice the next day.

It gets a bit harder when she moves further away but Princesse's fairly loved by players around the world when she's little so there's usually someone she knows in the country she's playing in that's willing to help her out if it all gets too much 😊

[the-ghost-light-and-the-book]

here are all of the books ranked so far. argue later.

best books:

Category: Light Novels. Don't care, but these are awesome for decompressing after a stressful day.

Legends & Lattes by Travis Baldree I want to be a receptionist in this magical world Dahlia wilts no more

Long Live Evil by Sarah Rees Brennan (Time of Iron)

Dealing with Dragons by Patricia C. Wrede (whole series is so good, no not like other girls, and has a decent plot for a kids series)

The Tea Dragon Society

The Little Thieves Series

Enola Holmes. The Netflix movies did my girl so dirty.

Crazy Rich Asians

Once Upon a Con series by Ashley Poston (she is so middle school favorite tbh)

Dragon Spear, Slippers, Flight by Jessica Day George (this is a trilogy with so much intricate world building, it is a great book for kids!)

By the Book by Jasmine Guillory (honestly fairy tale retellings just are good when done right)

The Princess Protection Program by Alex London (Another excellent retelling!)

Princess of the Midnight Ball

If the Shoe Fits by Julie Murphy

Funny Story by Emily Henry

Best Served Hot by Amanda Elliot (Rivals to lovers! Two food critics who compete: new vs old, papers vs videos)

Icebreaker Series (Honestly. excluding the sex, I think it's well written, and honestly kinda sweet.)

Red, White & Royal Blue

Half a Soul series by Olivia Atwater

Assistant to the Villain by Hannah Nicole Maehrer (decent, honestly funny af, also that twist at the end mwa)

The Dark Lord's Daughter by Patricia C. Wrede (Good, could have been more interesting. Definitely not a DNR)

hell level:

Awk-weird by Avery Flynn (...stop being horny. also use protection, y'all are adults.)

Fourth Wing. Controversial, but also...I did not need to know about why the lightning happened.

Can't Spell Treason Without Tea by Rebecca Thorne (0 plot...as much as I love a cozy read, uh...this one was just strange to read.)