#i really needed the serotonin from finishing something and i had a knit pattern but only a crochet hook in the right size for the yarn

[quiltedlovers]

um a little crochet fishie for um to for um for good luck :)

[sweetsbfreex]

a father’s duty

Summary: brought to u by the wholesome picture of Cevans sewing up dodger’s stuffed lion 🤧

Warnings: Talk of trauma (nothing too in depth) and talk of sex

Pairings: Dad, Husband!Ransom x reader

-

You and Ransom were cuddled up together on the couch, some random movie he had chosen that you weren’t paying attention to. You wanted to cuddle, but he insisted on watching this movie so a compromise had to be made. And the feeling of his hand going up and down, inside your shirt, against your arm; Could only make you purr in contentment.

And you were meant to doze off if it wasn’t for the dramatic, high pitched scream of pure agony. You both shot up from your seats, looking at each other wide eyed before dashing up the stairs (Ransom ahead). 

Until you were in the doorway of an overly purple room.

“Mommy! Daddy!”

Ransom let a small, stunned gasp at the feel of a teary eyed four year old, Celeste bolting to his legs. Her small arms had tried to wrap around his legs as she sobbed into his jeans, fists tight as she clutching the denim. 

Confused you had leant down adjacent to her, Ransom peering down from his stance, lifting her arms to softly run circles over her back. 

“What’s wrong baby?” a fake pout on your lips.

“She’s dead!” she had sobbed, her puffy cheek making contact with his expensive jeans to make eye contact with you. 

“What? Who’s dead babe?” Ransom asked, tilting his head downward, eye brows stitched together. 

She propped her chin up against his leg, “Daffy” she blubbered, extending her arm behind her to point at the limp stuffed bunny a few feet away.

“Fucking––” He couldn’t finish his sentence a hearty laugh emitted into the otherwise somber air, still laughing (some tears streaking his face) he had picked up the once blubbering girl so she saddled on his hip. 

“Ransom! It’s not funny and language, god”

“C'mon” he dragged the n, “You gotta admit this is hilarious, she’s so dramatic...I wonder who she gets it from” he smirked, looking at you knowingly. 

“You” you appointed, holding back your smile. 

“As if” he scoffs rolling his eyes. 

“Daffy!” Celeste exclaimed, snapping the two from their loving trance. 

“Right!” you snapped yourself back into mom mode, making way to Daffy and your way back to the two, watching Ransom wipe the tears from Celeste’s face, calming her down in a hushed voice.

You sidle up next to Ransom lifting the stuffed animal, so the both of you could evaluate the state of her favorite buddy. You looked up to him, watching his face scrunch up, almost like disgust, but you knew he was just very confused.

“Jeez leste, what’d you do?” 

The light yellow bunny up front was perfectly fine, but once you had turned it around a tear in the fabric of the it’s “spine” was parted, the thread poking out along the hem. 

“I–– I was just spinning her around”

“Is that really what you did” you prompted.

“No..” she set forward shyly, resting her temple against her father’s shoulder. “There was a string and then I pulled it by accident”

“By accident?” Ransom asked, eyebrows raised. 

“On purpose” she mumbled, eyes tearing up slowly.

Celeste is probably the biggest liar the two of you know. You both have been working on that habit, reassuring her that it was fine and being honest is better most times (minus surprises, safety, etc). You both had even resorted to acting out examples for her. She was getting better, but ever the fibber she still found a way to slip into the habit. And when you had asked her why exactly she loved lying, she only replied with a quib “It’s fun!” giggling to herself. 

“Hey it’s okay, you were curious” he cooed, “Mommy will fix it don’t worry” 

You looked up at him mesmerized, not so surprised at the father he was becoming. Remembering all those nights he had kept the two of you up, even the day you were in labor, he had been worried. How was he ever supposed to love a kid properly–– let alone his–– when he never had that benefit. All these what ifs running through his head in a cycle.

He had even taken it upon himself to sign you both up for those parenting classes. The ones with the fake dolls. Dolls that he held gently as if they were alive.

“I will. You’ve had a long day, love, you wanna go to bed now?” you asked her, smiling. 

She nods silently, reaching her hands out to you. Ready for the familiar night routine to begin.

––––

After Celeste had been put to bed, it was not you and Ransom being the only two up. You were both in your shared bathroom, getting ready for bed. 

You groaned, catching the attention of Ransom. “Sewing that thing is gonna be some work” watching yourself in the mirror as you rub in your lotion. 

“You’re tying that thing together, how hard can that be?”

“I’m sewing it together” 

“Tomato, Tomahto” he responded. 

“Fine, since you think it’s so easy why don’t you fix it for her?” 

“Deal. I’ll take another night of anal as my end” he says this confindently, not expecting another word for you, as he saunters past you briskly but not before placing a kiss to your check and a rough smack to the ass. 

Ransom.

–––––

And god did he take this seriously. Making sure you were up this entire time as he achieved his new level of domesticity. 

And you did, sitting up against the headboard as you watched him sit shirtless across the sized room. 

He sits in the barrel chair. the stuffed animal in his lap, a spool of light pink thread to match the bunny in between his legs, and a packet of needles in his hand. 

“Babe you have to––”

He holds up a hand, stopping you from saying whatever you were about to say.

“I got this babe” he tells you, looking at you wearily as he pulls up a video (‘how to sew stuffed bunny animal together’) on his phone. 

You watch him watch the video,switching the show you were watching to make it seem as if you weren’t watching him too carefully. 

He squints, focused as he listens to the lady in the video.

“You look so cute”

“Thanks” he grumbles, placing a thimble on his pointer finger. 

He was like a cute grandmother. His eyebrows brought together and tongue poking through his cheek, which you teased him endlessly about. There was just something about watching a brawly, grumpy man like him knit. So you pulled your phone out wanting to take a quick picture. 

“Put. it. down.” he tells you, not even looking away from his task.

“Wha–– You’re really creepy, you know that. Smile” you demand of him. “It’d be so cute for the album”

He of course doesn’t smile instead raising the stuffed animal to cover his face from the camera, but you were quick enough to get something before that. Smiling fondly at the adorable photo of his concentrated face. Once you had your fill of serotonin, you closed the device and reached over to set it on your nightstand. 

“You gonna give me a kiss goodnight before you go?” he asks you stoically, head still looking down at his task. 

“Yes Ransom. Just give me a minute’ you respond, shimmying yourself from the soft sheets. You make your way besides Ransom–– naturally he wraps one arm around your waist to bring you–– leaning down and placing a kiss to his cheek (which he smiles at) then his lips. He pulls back first only to return again for a deeper one. Sending you off, finally, with a pinch to your ass. 

“Goodnight, Baby” you tell him over your shoulder on your way back to the bed. 

“Night y/n/n.”

–––––

“y/n” is whispered in your ear and the shaking of your shoulder is what causes you to wake up. You turn your head over your shoulder to see Ransom standing over you gleefully. 

“Ransom?” you rasp, turning your whole body over to face him, looking at the clock on your night stand. “It’s two in the morning!”

“Thanks captain obvious” he mutters, rolling his eyes. Yet, he lifts up the stuffed animal. Both hands on either paws, holding it up to show you. “I finished!”

You instantly noticed the band-aid wrapped around his thumb and the brightest smile on his face. Through it you could see how proud of himself he really was. He really was getting a hand of this dad thing he was still figuring it out. 

Ransom, however, could only think about how tired he was and how strained his eyes felt––probably rimmed red. With the amount of times he had to rewatch the video because he missed or didn’t understand a step. But, for his little girl it was definitely worth it. 

“Well, look at you. You did so good bub” you extend your arm up lazily to then loop it around his neck, bringing him down for a kiss. 

If only his conceited friends could see him now. Thinking about how Danver, one of the many friends he had dropped, would berate him passively. Calling it a women’s role most likely. 

“Thank you” he settles one more kiss, “Let’s go”

“Go where?” you chuckle

“Leste’s room...where else? She’ll need him to sleep the rest of the night comfortably” he explains, removing your arm from his neck. To gently tug your hand.

“You sure?” you ask hesitantly.

“Hundred percent, let’s go”

––––

You open the door slowly, the creaking sound it emitted making you cringe. And when you’re hushed by Ransom, you twist around instantly sending him a stink eye.

And you both stand against the side of her bed, you crouch down. Raising your hand to her shoulder. 

“Lesty” you whisper, your thumb running circles over her shoulder. 

She wakes up slowly, as always. The clear indication that she is awake being when she raises her hand to rub at her eyes.

“Mommy? She stops and gasps, “Are we going to Disney?” asking the question with glee, she sits up, her hands placed over her book patterned pajama pants.

You and Ransom share a short laugh. Remembering how you surprised her just like this months ago. The frown that overtakes her face makes you both want to laugh. 

“I’m going back to sleep” she tells you both, already reaching for her blanket. 

“Wait” you laugh, holding her hand. “There's a surprise for you” 

At your announcement, Ransom steps up holding out the sewed up stuffy. Her tiny hands covered the gasp she let out, muffling it.

“She’s fixed!” she’s astonished, running her fingers  along the stitches. 

Celeste felt like a jumping bean with all this happiness filling her body and she wasn’t sure how to express how happy she felt. So, she jumped onto her mother, arms latched onto her neck. Kissing her cheek incessantly.

“Thank you thank you thank you-”

“Actually––” you start.

“Woah! Woah! Woah!” ever the dramatic, “Momma didn’t do this. I did babe” he tells her, a gobsmacked, playful expression on his face. 

Ransom’s replica quickly unlatched herself from y/n, rocketing herself into his arms. He held onto her tightly. Falling in love with the toothy smile–– albeit it was missing a front one–– she gave him. He was rolling around in her appreciation towards his gesture. This was all he wanted. To be a better man for you to marry and be a better father for his daughter.

He brought her into him a little bit, placing a kiss to her forehead. 

“Anything for you Leste” he tells her in a hush. 

You rise slowly from your crouch, knees a bit sore from how long you were down there. Just in awe of the love they both exerted towards each other. Ransom’s hand lightly flying over the back of her head and Her tiny palm coddling his cheek.

“Time for bed?” you ask the two of them, your hand naturally going to Ransom and Celeste’s shoulder.

“Yeah. I’m tired” she tells you, dragging out the h. Setting her cheek to her dad’s muscled shoulder. Nuzzling her cheek against it lazily. 

“Yeah? Well let’s put you in bed first” Ransom responds. 

You walk behind the two, as Ransom sets her down gently on her bed.

He sets a kiss to her cheek then he pulls back, watching the way her arms tighten around the stuffed animal. 

“You love it?” he asks, a proud smile etched on his face. 

“Yes” she whispers, “Thank you, daddy” her palm caressing the top of it’s head. 

“Anything for you Leste” he reaffirmed. He needed her to know that he’d do anything. Anything. To keep a smile that bright on her precious face. He didn’t want her to doubt if he ever loved her or if she could ever come to him about anything. He especially didn’t want her to think that she’d be second to his work. 

He loved her too much and decided, right when you told him the news, he’d learn from his parents’ mistakes and trauma he had to deal with. 

“Goodnight, honey”

He gets up from his spot watching you lean over placing a kiss to her cheek, tugging the crocheted blanket to Celeste’s chin. 

“Night baby” you tell her sweetly.  

“Night” she replies to the both of you before snuggling into the duck more. 

––––

RIght when you shut the door, you expect to face Ransom’s back walking towards your bedroom. But try not to scream, startled, when your head meets with his chest.

You look up, probably not the smartest thing to do. “You ready for bed?” you ask nervously, each hand landing on his broad shoulders. 

With the way he was looking at you, you would assume you were the last stash of biscoff cookies he always keeps fully stored in the house. Especially, with the other Drysdale in the house, the cookies went by faster when they used to.

“Don’t think so..We made a bet. Remember?” he smiles

“RIght now?!” you hiss lowly. He must have lost his mind. “You woke me up at like three in the morning”

“It was actually two” you whack his arm at his smart mouth, of course he doesn’t react.  “Anyway. A bets a bet. Let’s go baby” he crouches down, lifting you up swiftly into a bride-groom like position.

“Ransom!” you whisper, taken by surprise. 

“A quickie and then we’ll drop her off at your parents tomorrow to get to the real stuff tomorrow” he asserts.

With that, he picks up his speed. Taking you both down the hallway. Once he’s arrived at his destination–– the bedroom–– he throws you on the bed. Laughing to himself with how stricken you look. You should be used to this by now, he tells himself. 

“Ransom!” is the last of his name he hears with a tone of scolding mixed with shock, before he gets to work. When he climbs on top of you quickly––like a lion to prey––biting your neck. 

-

if you enjoyed pls don’t forget to reblog or give feedback if ur up to it <3

[hrina]

Harry Styles Masterlist

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Don’t forget to support fic authors via reblogs and feedback! Thank you.

[*] indicates smut

~*~

One-Shots:

Model Material* 

“Every night for the past week,” Harry began, his voice low, “You’ve tried to get me to show you the pictures. I’m gonna crack sooner or later, so I’m just…trying to avoid it, that’s all.”

You blinked.

And then you smacked his arm. Hard.

“Ow!” Harry yelped, and the tranquility of the moment was gone.

“What the damn hell?” you said loudly, scowling. “You had me really worried for a second!”

“This is a worrisome situation!” Harry protested, but you could hear the laugh in his voice. You narrowed your eyes at him, balling your hands up into fists and crossing your arms over your chest. Harry tried to mirror your expression but eventually, the humour of the affair overtook him, and he grinned teasingly at you. Your frown only deepened, and he made a cooing sound, his right hand cupping your cheek and rubbing at the corner of your lips.

“Don’t be like that,” he said, “Smile for me, pet.”

or

Harry refuses to show you his spread for Another Man magazine.

Kisses*

“You sure you’re alright?” Harry asks, frowning in concern. You look up at him.

His cheeks are rosy, bright green eyes gazing at you. His arms are crossed over his chest to keep warm, and his breath comes out as a faint, opaque cloud of air. You swallow heavily, turning away.

“Yeah, I’m good.” It’s difficult to force the words from your mouth, and before you can stop yourself, you’re spewing, “I’m just frustrated since you seem to have forgotten that I rode your fucking thigh last week.”

The chattering of Harry’s teeth stops.

“And—you know—,” you’ve started and now you can’t stop, “You kissed me and got me off and ran me a bath and napped with me. And now you’re pretending like nothing happened, and I just—,” you whip around, staring at him helplessly, “—I’m lost, Harry. I’m so fucking lost!”

or

Harry’s kissed you a few times now, and it’s hard to know where you stand. 

Wife*

“Just wanted everyone to see the marks my wife gave me,” Harry mumbles, slowly kissing up your neck. “My wife…”

You sigh, your left hand sliding up his back before disappearing into the tuft of hair atop his head. He lets out a satisfied noise, running the tip of his nose along your jawline. “You’re my wife…,” he says, as though the thought has only just dawned on him for the first time, “You’re my wife, love.”

“I am,” you concede breathlessly. “And you’re my husband.”

Harry groans, dropping down so that his forehead is pressed to your collarbone. “Fuck…that sounds so good.”

or

You and Harry have a bit of fun on your honeymoon. 

Popsicles And Kiwis*

“Hi,” you murmur. Your fingertips come up to tap gently on your lips; you do that every time one of Harry’s kisses catches you by surprise. It’s almost like you’re trying to savour the flavour of his mouth.

He finds it unbearably adorable.

“Hi,” he smiles at you, his grin lopsided. He’s feeling the effects of his post-orgasmic haze: his insides are warm, eyes droopy, muscles loose and flexible. He always becomes insanely cuddly and affectionate after his release, and his mannerisms spark a flicker of recognition on your face.

“Did you…?” your lips part in surprise. His response is simply another pert kiss delivered to your nose, and you gasp, pushing away from him.

“Harry!”

or

You accidentally turn Harry on, and payback’s a bitch.

Fairies First*

You frown gently, reaching for the handle on his nightstand. You’ve pulled the drawer halfway out when two firm arms wrap around your midsection, the hands attached settling nicely onto your stomach. You nearly drop the folded clothing, twitching in surprise.

“You scared me!” you say breathlessly, and you’d put your hand on your heart if it weren’t for all of the fabric tucked into your arms. Harry chuckles, pressing a gently kiss to your cheek before following it with several playful pecks to the column of your neck. For a moment you stand there, closing your eyes and swaying slightly as he rubs his palms over your belly in a greeting to your unborn child.

“She was kicking before,” you say airily, distracted by the way Harry ghosts his lips along your skin.

He hums in surprise. “Was she now? Always waits ‘til her daddy is gone, the little rascal.”

“She can hear you,” you tell him matter-of-factly. Harry smiles.

or

You’re pregnant, but you want more.

Four Hours*

“It’s too bad you missed the show,” he rasps, his hungry eyes trailing down your body. His gaze lingers on your erect nipples for a few seconds before sweeping down to where your thighs are pressed firmly together. “But you understand, right? Understand why I had to punish you?”

“Yes.” The affirmation is breathless.

Harry nods. “Tell me,” he says, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I wanna make sure you know.”

or

Harry leaves you tied up for quite a while.

French Fries and Feelings*

“Want a fry?” you ask, and then the moment is gone. You hold out the red carton as the words scrape against the roof of your mouth, and Harry’s eyes reflexively fall to your hand. He blinks a few times before nodding slightly.

“Just one,” he concedes, before flashing you a wicked grin. “Gotta reward myself for doing some late-night charity work.”

You gasp, shoving at his bare shoulder before he can pluck a fry out of the cardboard container. “You dick!”

“I’m joking!” Harry laughs, holding up his arms to shield himself from any further blows. “Christ, woman!”

“Take it back,” you order sulkily. “You know I’m an emotional drunk.”

“Fine,” Harry smiles; his eyes are tender when they meet yours. “I take it back, yeah? You’re wonderful.”

You sniffle. “Thank you.”

or

You’re drunk, craving something salty, and a bit too honest for your own good.

Gone Cold*

“My mum came by the other day,” he says suddenly. He’s fully aware that talking about his mother may not be the best tactic out there, but he can’t stand the awkward quiet hanging in the air. “She asked about you.”

You swallow heavily, trying to keep your voice level. “Oh…what did you say?”

“Said you were doing well,” Harry hums, playing idly with the spoons lying on the counter. The metal clangs when they bump against each other, ringing out loudly in the stillness of the room. “She misses you.”

Your smile is sad. “I miss her, too.”

“Think she likes you more than she likes me, to be honest.” Harry chuckles softly. “Always asks me how I was able to let you go.”

You don’t reply.

or

You show up at Harry’s house at the ungodliest of hours, and things get messy before they get better.

Serotonin*

“Welcome, everyone,” Dr. Renault starts, and you turn your attention back to him. He’s standing behind the podium now; there’s a small stack of papers in front of him. “First things first: can you all hear me properly? Or will I need to use a microphone for the duration of this course? I don’t mind.”

A low rumble of responses travel across the room. You shake your head; Margaret and Mateo do the same. You can all hear him just fine.

“Alright,” your professor clears his throat. “My name is Gabriel Renault, but you can call me ‘My Lord’.” He smiles, and the class laughs weakly. Dr. Renault holds out his arm, gesturing to the tattooed man that you’d been studying before. “This is my assistant, Harry. He’ll be grading most of your work this semester, so if you’re looking for someone’s ass to kiss, it should be his.”

Everyone laughs a bit louder this time, including you. Harry steps forward and offers a small smile but doesn’t say anything.

Margaret leans into you. “He’s kind of cute,” she mumbles, shrugging. “In an old-man sort of way.”

or

You find yourself drawn to Harry—the man who dresses like a grandfather and scribbles encouraging little notes on all of your work, and who also happens to be the TA for your class. 

   → Dopamine* (extra)

Trials and Tribulations*

“My tie,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “I forgot to put on my bloody tie.”

You cock your head to the side. “Where is it?” you ask. “I can grab it for you.”

“Should be on the kitchen counter,” he tells you. “I was about to finish up with it before you got here.”

“Sorry about that,” you chuckle, shooting him a playful look as you speed back into the kitchen. Sure enough, Harry’s tie is resting on the counter, folded into a neat little square. You snatch it up quickly, making your way back toward where he’s waiting for you at the door.

“Got it,” you say, holding up the fabric and letting it unfurl with a flourish. Harry takes it from you once you stop in front of him, smiling widely and looping the silk around his neck.

“I like the pattern,” you say, observing the material with eager eyes.

He grins. “Thanks. I’m really into, like, non-traditional designs.”

You nod. “I can tell.”

or

Harry is balancing life as a midwife and a single father, and you’re just trying to make it to the end of nine months.

Polished*

“It doesn’t matter!” you say, looking up at him earnestly. “You could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t,” he says. He’s staring at the mirror behind your head, refusing to meet your gaze. “And if it weren’t for me, you would have died.”

“That’s exactly my point!” you cry. You wrap your fingers around his forearm, hoping that the contact is enough to make him understand. “Who says my life is more valuable than yours? Some stupid fucking paycheque? Or—?”

Harry cuts you off before you can say anything else, squishing your cheeks together with his left hand. You make a surprised sound in the back of your throat, your brows knitting together at the suddenness of the action. You’re sure that you must look extremely unappealing, with a puckered mouth and inquisitive eyes, but he just gazes at you solemnly, licking his lips before speaking.

“I would take a bullet for you, no questions asked.” He stresses every syllable, like he doesn’t want to risk any potential misinterpretation of his words. “And not just because it’s my job.”

or

Harry is your bodyguard.

Close Quarters*

“Back door,” Harry tells you, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the exit.

You squawk in surprise. “Are you serious?”

He peers at you from over his shoulder. “Does it look like I’m joking?”

Your eyes are wide, pupils blown out with an unmistakable cloud of lust. He can feel you simmering like a pot that’s about to boil over. You stop in your tracks, and it quells his movements, too. He turns around and opens his mouth to question you, but you seal your lips to his before any words can slip out. His hands shoot upward; one buries itself in your hair while the other clasps firmly around the nape of your neck, keeping you close. You moan wantonly into his mouth, arching your back so that your chests smear together.

“What if someone sees?” you whisper when you both pull back.

Harry smirks. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Your lips move, but no sound comes out.

He snickers; your silence is all the confirmation he needs.

or

Harry’s patience has run out, and you like the thrill of getting caught.

Something Strange

After a brief moment, you give in, sliding your knuckles into his open palm.

“It’s alright, really,” you say, speaking around the lump in your throat. “The piece was tiny—it hardly broke the surface.”

Harry inspects the laceration closely, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

It’s not that serious, you want to tell him, but you refrain from letting the words escape. Part of you is enjoying the way your hands fit together so perfectly. You don’t want it to end—not yet.

“You’re bleeding a bit, babe,” he announces faintly, brows cinched in concentration.

“I am?” You try to tug your arm back, but he keeps a firm grip on your wrist. A low, confused noise echoes in the back of your throat; Harry peers up at you, his features unreadable.

“It’s just a spot,” he murmurs. “Let me.”

And before you can say or do anything else, he’s taking your finger past his lips and giving an easy, gentle suck.

or

Harry is an insufferably arrogant scammer with a secret heart of gold.

~*~

Patreon-Exclusives:

Vodka Cranberry*

“Have I ever told you how cute this is?” you ask, dipping your thumb into the crater of his dimple.

Warm air rushes out of his nose.

“Once or twice, maybe.”

“Good,” you say, arching closer to him. “Because it is.”

He giggles—actually giggles—before dropping to the ground. You gasp at the suddenness of the action.

“What are you—?” you begin, but then his fingers brush the button on your jeans, and it all sinks in. “Not here—Harry, your knees—”

“It’s alright,” he says, grunting. He pulls his own coat off, discarding it effortlessly before shooting you a wry grin. “I like having souvenirs.”

or 

A steamy one-shot based on this ask. (SIGN UP TO BECOME A PATRON!)

The Thrill of the Chase* (IN PROGRESS)

“You’re up,” he says gruffly, stepping through the threshold.

You scramble back, eyes widening in fear. He pauses.

You’re afraid, he realises, tilting his head to the side. This may be more difficult than he initially thought.

“Soup,” he says slowly, holding out the small clay bowl in his hands. “You need to eat.”

“Who are you?” you ask. Your voice is patchy and frail. “Where am I?”

He sets the dish down onto his dresser before shooting you a stern, expectant look.

“Eat.”

or 

Harry’s simple life is uprooted when he finds you wounded in the woods. 4/4 parts posted.

PART I

(The other parts of this series are only available on Patreon. SIGN UP TO BECOME A PATRON!)

~*~

Series:

Il Ritorno (COMPLETE)

“So where will you stay?” you ask, your brows knitting together. Alex shrugs, his gaze falling to the floor.

“I’ll figure somethin’ out.”

For a long moment, nobody speaks. Alex feels awkward, like he’s just ruined the happy mood, and he suddenly becomes very interested in the dirt speckling his black boots.

“Nonsense!” you say loudly, and the confidence in your voice shocks Alex into looking back up at you, his eyes wide. You turn towards your parents, nodding your head assertively before facing him once more. “You’ll stay with us! At least until you find somewhere.”

or

Alex returns home from the battle of Dunkirk and stays with the family of his fellow comrade. He had known the war would be hard, but he wasn’t prepared for the love and loss that would follow in the aftermath. 

I: Il Ritorno*  

II: L’Amato*  

III: Il Devoto*

    → Apericena* (extra)       → Primi Passi* (extra)

Thank God for Sewing Needles (COMPLETE)

Harry clears his throat. “Yeah. Thank you so much.”

“It’s my job, Your Lavishness.” You grin, and he rolls his eyes teasingly, unable to keep the corners of his lips from kinking up.

He usually hugs you after a visit, but you’re sitting behind the counter, and—as much as he hates it—the two of you aren’t alone. You never are.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” Harry asks, backing up as he speaks. The promise pulls at his heartstrings. He says that every time he leaves your shop, but the words never hold true. He only ever sees you when he needs clothing tailored or stitched up. That’s it.

You smile softly at him, but there’s a hint of sadness brewing in your eyes, like you’re thinking exactly the same thing. “See you around, Harry.”

or

Harry’s a prince, you tailor clothes for the royals, and he just really wants to see you happy. 

I: Thank God for Sewing Needles*  

II: Hanging by a Thread*

In The Ring (COMPLETE)

“Harry?”

“Yeah?” He sits up too quickly, nearly catching his forehead against the metal of the bar. When he turns around to face you, he finds you doubling back, approaching him and nibbling apprehensively on your bottom lip.

“I actually—,” you pause, like you’re unsure of how to continue, “I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

“Sure,” he says, rubbing his hands over the black shorts covering his thighs. “Go ahead.”

“It might be kind of weird,” you warn. “Don’t laugh at me.”

He shakes his head, blinking solemnly. “I won’t.”

“Would you—,” you begin, and your fingers come up to play with the pendant resting at the base of your throat, “—teach me how to box?”

or

Harry is an underground boxer who may or may not have feelings for his coach’s daughter.

I: Jab 

II: Cross* 

III: Hook 

IV: Uppercut*  

→ Knockout* (extra) [READ IT NOW ON PATREON]

1923 (COMPLETE)

“Are you upset with me?” Harry asks, digging his hands into his pockets. You’re so taken aback by his question that your head snaps toward him, brows cinched together in confusion.

“What?” The question falls from your lips before you can blink. “No, of course not. Why would you think that?”

“You won’t even look at me,” he hums, shrugging casually.

“I’m looking at you right now.”

“Not before, you weren’t.”

“I—” you break off, pursing your lips and squeezing your eyes shut. You pinch the bridge of your nose between two fingers, trying to keep yourself composed. “I have to go.”

or 

You’re not quite sure how to feel about Harry, the groundskeeper of your estate. 

I: The Day

II: The Week

III: The Month*

~*~

Blurbs/Drabbles (some—most, actually—are *): 

Blurbs/Drabbles Tag