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freedomfireflies · 7 hours
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what if 404rry was teaching tink how to play his fave video game while she's sitting on his lap his arms around her his hands on her hands on the controller showing her how to play, too cutesie for them perhaps butttt 👀
!!!!!!! OMG STOP I DON'T CARE IF IT'S TOO CUTSIE, I LOVE IT?????
Oh, absolutely, this is sooo them! Cause he'd be in her ear, teasing her, taunting her, maybe even trying to make her mess up đŸ„č and she'd just nudge him and tell him to fuck off but she'd be so happy to be on his lap, playing this little game (and beating his score)
And when she did something right, he'd squeeze her thigh or kiss her cheek and whisper, "There you go, that's my girl." GOD!!!!
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freedomfireflies · 8 hours
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I still need to read this, I'm SOOOO BEHIND BUT I'VE HEARD AMAZING THINGS (and sad things) BUT EVEN IF THERE'S NO PART 2, I'M SO PROUD OF YOU AND KNOW HOW MUCH LOVE YOU PUT INTO WRITING SOMETHING YOU DON'T REALLY LOVE TO WRITE!!!
Bestie crushes everything, it's crazy 😭💞💞 SO PROUD OF YOU!
casual
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partially based on casual by chappell roan and a lil bit of sad personal experience hehe
word count: 2k
content warnings: angst (no happy ending), references to smut, alcohol, harry being a douche, not ramadan friendly
main masterlist | talk to me
. . .
From: H (12:47 a.m.)
Come over?
To: H (12:50 a.m.)
Give me 15
From: H (12:52 a.m.)
K
. . .
It’s not unusual for her nights to look like this. Or her early mornings, rather.
It wasn’t always this way. When she first met Harry, she wanted nothing to do with him romantically or intimately. She’d heard about his reputation — it wasn’t anything bad as long as you were looking for the same thing. He was an expert in bed and the friends that slept with him always provided rave reviews. Ever excited rumblings of, “oh my God, he’s so caring! He made me finish twice before he even took his cock out” and “he’s the perfect one night stand — seriously, I’ve never had anyone better.” 
But Y/N didn’t care for that.
She was a serial monogamous, always bumping around from one lengthy relationship to the next. In hindsight, she supposes she wasn’t any better than Harry, who earned his notoriety from a series — a long series — of casual hookups. 
If you needed a rebound, you went to Harry.
If you were going through a dry spell, you went to Harry.
If you were just horny and needed someone to go home with at the end of the night (and he hadn’t miraculously already found somebody else yet), you went to Harry.
And Y/N never planned to sleep with him. Ever, really. He was a fine friend, someone who mixed well with their mutual friends, but they hardly exchanged conversation except for the occasional nicetie. She had his phone number from when he planned Rachel’s surprise birthday party last year and they were friends on Venmo, passing back the same $20 every month for drinks or a shared Uber. 
That was the extent of their friendship. 
Until a few months back, when Y/N was down in the dumps. She’d been seeing this girl, Samantha, for a month or two, assuming that they were headed straight towards a happy, exclusive relationship — only to discover that Samantha was sleeping with and seeing just about 10 other people on the side. And it only came out because Samantha happened to contract chlamydia from one of her sexual partners, so she’d been forced to tell Y/N for the sake of her health.
Y/N's friends, Rachel, Maeve, and Len gave her time to wallow. They offered it to her on a silver platter, even, offering multiple girls nights out (and in), providing Y/N all the space she needed to cry and complain and talk about how hurt she felt. 
But then
 a week of moping turned into two, which turned into three, which eventually turned into a month and a half. Her friends were exhausted from watching her spiral into sadness, so they did the only thing they knew: They sat her down and told her she needed to rebound. Fast.
“And who the hell am I supposed to rebound with?” Y/N asked through a sniffle. The only thing that made this whole thing worse was her friends staging an intervention for her because she was being annoyingly sad about her not-really-breakup-but-felt-like-a-breakup. “See, that’s the best part of being friends with a man whore,” Maeve replied eagerly. Len and Rachel sat on either side of her with bright eyes, nodding excitedly. “Harry! He already said he’s down and everything!” “Wait— you already asked him?” “We just put the idea in his head. Don’t worry, men are stupid,” Len quickly waved her off, “But he’s going out with everyone tonight. We’ll feed you a few shots to get you just buzzy enough, and then send you off to your night in heaven. You won’t even remember that girl’s name by the time Harry’s done with you!” Y/N cringed. “Hasn’t, like
 everyone slept with him though?” Maeve shrugged. “Yeah, but he’s clean. He gets regular testing and uses condoms. Really, Y/N, it’s sort of a rite of passage at this point. But you should do it only if you’re comfortable— don’t let us force you into it.” Y/N swallowed tightly. She had to admit, the thought of a rebound sounded
 appealing. She’d swiped through dating apps looking for one, but she was too scared that a one night stand would end in her bloody murder. And it helped that Harry already knew what he was doing, and— wait, was she crazy or was she actually starting to consider this? “Alright, fine,” she replied with a shaky exhale, “Let’s do this.”
That was four months ago.
And what was supposed to be an evening of stupid, lusty, casual sex turned into Y/N falling hard. It wasn’t her fault, though — no, not when he panted breathy promises into her mouth in the back of the Uber, mumblings of “just tonight, you know that, right?”. She’d replied just how she’d rehearsed it in her brain hours prior: “yes, yeah, I know— just tonight. Just for tonight.” 
"Just for tonight" shifted into Harry asking her to stay until the morning for breakfast and shower sex. Then, the following weekend, he texted her the ever classy you still awake? at just past midnight. She was indeed up, doing nothing but rotting on her couch and watching a documentary about the deep sea — and her hookup with Harry had been good, really good, and she wasn’t going to turn down another night of orgasms. 
As he wrapped a condom around his dick and pressed messy kisses down her neck, he whispered the same hurried sentiments from the weekend before: “didn’t see anyone I wanted tonight and we were good, yeah? It was good. So just
 just one more night, okay? That’s fine, right?” 
Foolishly, with flittering eyelashes and her nails scraping down her back as he pushed inside, she nodded and echoed his words. Just one more night, that’s fine.
It didn’t take long for their friends to catch on when Harry would leave the bar an hour early without looking for someone to take home. Or, when they’d both be out and, like magnets slowly being pulled towards one another, they’d end up kissing on the street as they waited for an Uber to take them back to Harry’s place. 
The guys hounded Harry about it, asking if Y/N was finally the one to tie him down.
“Nah,” he’d reply with a shake of his head, “She’s a good girl. Too good for me.”
When Y/N’s friends demanded to know every last detail, she shrugged.
"I'm not really sure. It's... good, I think."
They only responded with small, tight smiles.
. . .
“Your mom texted me today. She invited us to come see them this weekend.”
Harry doesn’t reply — or rather, he makes an unassuming humming noise — as he gets out of Y/N’s bed, untangling his naked form from her sheets. He hunts down his briefs and pulls them on before stretching his arms out. 
“Did you eat dinner?” he asks, grabbing her tee-shirt off the floor and tossing it to her. She sits up, tightening the sheet around her chest. She shakes her head as she clutches the fabric of her shirt in her hands and watches him scroll on his phone.
“No. I thought we could get something.”
Harry hums again, pinching his bottom lip between his fingers. Swallowing, Y/N puts her shirt back on. She’s not sure why, but she always feels oddly vulnerable once they’ve finished hooking up. When she’s still naked and he’s already moved onto the next thing, like having plans with the guys or taking a shower before he heads home. She'd even purchased his favorite body wash and shampoo when he started sticking around a bit longer, but he'd never even mentioned it or uttered a thank you.
“Yeah, maybe,” he finally replies. He locks his phone and places it back on the ledge of the TV stand in her bedroom. The simple act makes her heart jump — usually, he’ll stuff his phone in his pocket as he’s leaving. Maybe he was planning on staying the night. “So listen, I know I took you to dinner at my parents’ place that one time, but I don’t really feel comfortable with you talking to my mom.”
Y/N furrows her brows in confusion. “She texted me, H. I don’t, like, regularly reach out to her.”
“Right, but it just makes this whole thing feel way more serious than it is.” he says, sitting back down on the bed. He maintains a steady distance between them and it makes a small lump form in Y/N’s throat. 
“Okay,” she murmurs slowly, “That’s fine, I get it. But
 we never really talked about what this is.”
Harry glances up with wide, confused eyes. “We’ve said it a million times, Y/N. This is casual. Completely and totally casual sex.”
An ugly, involuntary chortle leaves her chest. He raises his eyebrows.
“We’ve been fucking for four months. That’s not really casual.”
“Yes, it is. It’s friends with benefits.”
“Sure, maybe, but that’s if you explicitly outline that you’re just having sex. No feelings involved.”
“We did that.”
“When?”
“At the beginning,” Harry responds. He seems frustrated now, but it feels as though he’s recalling a memory that Y/N was never even around for. “Remember? I told you, it was all just for tonight type shit. Nothing real.”
“Then why the fuck did you take me to your parents’ house two months ago?” Y/N demands, anger rising in her chest, “And why am I your date to all of your stupid, boring work events? And why the hell are you at my house like four times a week, and why do you have a drawer full of my clothes at your place?”
“Y/N—”
“This isn’t fucking casual, Harry. This is dating. You’re dating me and you don't even realize it.”
“I would know if I was dating you, but I never asked you to be my girlfriend. I don’t want a girlfriend, you know that.”
She groans and shakes her head, ignoring the way her jaw already aches from clenching it so hard. She grabs a clear pair of underwear from her drawer and quickly slips them on. Harry’s silent the entire time.
Suddenly, she whips around and faces him. “Have you been fucking other people?” 
A wrinkle forms between his brows. He shakes his head.
“No. I wouldn’t do that, and it’s unsafe.”
“Right,” she murmurs, placing her hands on her hips, “So piece it together, Harry. Neither of us are sleeping with other people. We’re exclusively seeing one another.”
“You’re just making this out to be way more of a thing than it is—”
“Oh, fuck off!” she exclaims, “You have a key to my house! That’s pretty serious!”
“I didn’t ask you for that!” he fires back as he stands up from the bed. They’re in a stand-off now, staring at one another with angry eyes. She snorts and shakes her head in disbelief.
“My friends were so fucking right about you. You’re such an asshole. You know Maeve called me a loser for thinking you were a good guy?”
Harry rolls his eyes as he grabs his phone and sweater, “Yeah, I’m sure.”
They don’t exchange any other words as he leaves her room. She sits back down on the edge of the mattress, listening as he stuffs his feet in his sneakers and slams the front door shut. She doesn’t even notice that tears are lining her eyes and falling onto the apples of her cheeks.
. . .
It’s barely 48 hours later when Y/N’s watching a YouTube video as she stands in the bathroom, doing her nighttime routine.
Like four months prior, when she hoped Harry would be a good rebound for her heartbreak, she's been moping around in self-hatred and sadness. She's in awe of how cruel and oblivious he's being, but more than that, she can't believe she actually believed he had real feelings for her. Ones that extended beyond sex.
She’s brushing her teeth when she notices a text notification come down, redirecting her attention from the influencer vlog to read the name of the sender. She taps on it to see a familiar initial.
From: H (10:32 p.m.)
Sorry for what I said. Can I come over?
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freedomfireflies · 8 hours
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hey what’s 404rry doing rn
Probably being an insufferable little shit if we're being honest ALFJSF
Maybe writing code while she sucks him off under the table. Or maybe she's sitting on his face and riding it while he palms himself through his jeans.
Or hey, maybe they're 69ing!!!! I feel like that would invite a lot of trouble and that sounds just like them
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freedomfireflies · 11 hours
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NEEEED TO CATCH UP ON THIS!!! So many amazing collages and ideas and UGH!! Literally obsessed 😭💞 every summary makes me feral hehe
Discipline
Summary: Agent Harry cherishes discipline, but he doesn’t like the fact that Y/n has been lacking it.
Trope: Agent Harry
WC: 6.8k
Warnings: MEAN Harry, shouting at Y/n, Angst, mention of blood tests and deficiencies, NO SMUT.
Agent Harry Masterlist | Main Masterlist
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Choosing to become an agent would either be the worst decision in your life or the best. In Harry’s case, it was the latter.
He was born a leader—at least according to his mother. He had the household controlled from a young age, something that was perceived as adorable by adults.
But behind all his antics and “boss orders”, was a man eager to assert dominance starting from his early years.
His behavior was a replica of a leader or a man in power. His mother didn’t oppose his personality, perhaps a part of her thought it was just a phase, while the other was okay with it.
Little did she know that this stubborn young man would grow up to become one of London’s best secret agents.
As some would say—he didn’t choose the path, the path chose him. A fresh High School graduate eager to take a bite from what the world was offering him with little to no guidance.
Instead, he poured all of his focus on training like a man ready to enroll in the military—something that his mom disapproved of.
How could she allow her son, her boy to sign himself up like that?
Underneath his rough exterior and judgmental persona, his mother’s beliefs were dear to him. To this day, no one has deemed himself as important as her, and perhaps no one ever will.
So, after her sudden death when he was merely twenty—he allowed himself to get lost in grief, to go against the orders he created, and betray his strictness. His body dragged him around from one place to another, asking for fights, a punch here and there to transfer his emotional maim to a physical one.
The last time he would do that was also his first chance at a new beginning. Drunk and out of his mind at a local bar, the whiskey still fresh on his tongue with rage bubbling in his core.
Just like every previous time, he ensued a fight for no reason. But this time, it was different because he had an admirer and more of a stalker.
Ezra Nakrosa, the director of the London Intelligence Agency. A man whose reputation preceded him and Harry’s mentor for the upcoming years.
He wasn’t actively pursuing him, but he kept his eyes on him after he managed to take down three men with alcohol in his system.
He watched him drink one glass after the other and scoffed to himself when he caused a fight. The last thing he expected was for Harry to outpower them all.
Since then, he watched him from afar, studied his file, and was even more interested upon finding out that he had no family.
The agency always preferred recruiting agents with little to no loved ones, for many obvious reasons and Ezra felt like he hit the jackpot.
That night, he watched Harry intently observing his moves and his body language, before approaching him after the bar owner kicked him out.
Again—he didn’t choose this path, it chose him.
Ezra didn’t even have the chance to speak because Harry was quick to confess that ‘he wasn’t dumb to not notice men stalking him’.
His agents were the best, so how did a man from a small town detect undercover agents?
He knew in that moment that he would work hard to recruit Harry, and ironically he didn’t have to ask twice.
From that day onwards, Harry climbed the ladder to the top with the help of his mentor. He found a purpose to live again, somewhere to cage his rage, and use his strategic thinking skills paired with his physical strength.
While most agents took time to adapt to the new environment, and around two years to be qualified as a field agent—Harry got his first mission in one year.
Not because Ezra secretly favored him compared to others, but because he managed to prove himself worthy, making the board demand his transfer to the field.
He was aware of the progress he made and with every milestone, his ego inflated a bit (and his biceps too).
He turned thirty-one recently, marking eleven years of being a skilled agent. Ezra’s retirement is approaching by the second and everyone is whispering rumors about Harry becoming the next chief director.
It’s a decision that hasn’t been discussed yet, but Ezra is aware that Harry will approve instantly because no one can do it like him. Besides, the agency is his entire life.
He has no loved ones and he dedicated years and hard work to the agency. He knows nothing else.
What could make Harry Styles so busy other than his position as a secret agent?
The agency is preparing for a major attack on a drug cartel, and Harry has been training everyone ruthlessly. The plan he devised was strategic and well-planned from A to Z. It can’t go wrong.
But for today, he allowed them some rest after some bargaining with the other trainer. So instead, he directed his focus towards other agents.
According to him, time can’t be wasted.
The room was filled with agents in every corner. Most of them were beginners while the others trained for their upcoming missions that weren’t as important as the drug cartel attack.
The smell of sweat and tiredness reeked from their exhausted but energetic bodies. Harry focused on strengthening their stamina because a weak one won’t benefit them in the field.
“Faster! A child can do better than you.” His voice echoed in the tight space as he stood in front of the lined agents on the ground.
Even his position whether he was sitting or standing declared his authority and sense of power. His arms were folded against his chest, showcasing his pumped biceps and his facial expression did not harbor any warm smile or softness. No one dared to look him in the eyes anyway.
“With a stamina like that, you’d be dead already!” His loud shouting wasn’t helping the poor beginner agents who cursed their luck that landed Harry as their trainer for the day.
Their current exercise was pushups. A basic one but effective in Harry’s opinion, but their exhaustion makes sense when he wants them to do 200 consecutive pushups without resting, and with sudden planks in between that don’t stop until he says so.
Harry may be a bit biased, but he fully believes that the other trainer (whom he doesn’t like) is being too soft with the newcomers. Something that shouldn’t happen.
He glanced at their worn-out faces and rolled his eyes before dismissing them.
“I’ll be discussing your weaknesses with Agent Ian. Go eat and rest but know that you shouldn’t be called agents for this shitshow.” He spat his criticism mercilessly uncaring for their feelings.
He watched them stumble out of the room, some of them limping as he remained in his place with the same posture of a leader.
Once everyone was out, his gaze drifted to the punching bag in the corner. He felt like it was calling for him despite the four-hour workout he did in the morning.
His thirst for combat or any type of martial arts could not be tamed. But upon gazing a bit too much at the punching bag, he remembered something he was supposed to do.
His legs immediately take action before his brain as he flees out of the room heading towards a private floor that is restricted for regular agents.
Only Harry, Ezra, high-ranking agents, and members of the board can access this floor. But for an unknown reason, Harry found himself giving Y/n access to his private gym.
There are many layers to things that shouldn’t happen but it seemed as if Harry didn’t care or was perhaps unaware of his actions.
Agents like Y/n shouldn’t be on this floor, but they also can’t be trained privately.
The first restriction is more important, but the second is rather for caution—to maintain a professional relationship between regular agents and higher rank ones.
All agents were trained in groups and if they needed to work on certain issues, their trainer would give them advice but not train them individually.
Harry doesn’t always train Y/n’s group but as of late, he noticed her lack of discipline and physical stamina when it comes to combat.
He knew that she wasn’t that weak which meant that she had been slacking off with training and that pissed him off.
So he ordered her to wait for him in room 309 at exactly two in the afternoon. His boots left an echo as he walked through the corridor with a confident stride. Yet, something kept poking at his brain allowing anxiety to settle in his stomach. He wasn’t entirely comfortable.
He pushed the door to the gym open, reaching his hand for the light switch. It was somewhat dim, obscuring Y/n from his view. She sat on the ground in a corner with her head tilted upwards. In the few seconds between moving her head and meeting his sharp eyes, he got to catch a glimpse of her in a calm state, almost unobserved. Even then, she looked obscenely beautiful.
“You’re late.” She gestured to the clock on the wall in a sarcastic tone that indicated his five-minute delay.
“No. You’re early.” He tried to hide his smirk before failing upon seeing the frown on her face.
“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes and supported her body using her hands to get up—something that caught Harry’s eye.
“You’re an agent. You shouldn’t act like a 70-year-old woman at a retirement home.” His tone could cut a vein open, but at this point, she kind of got familiar with it.
She avoided responding or looking him in the eye because one answer would drag the other and he would end up questioning her on her performance—and frankly, she doesn’t have a proper response for that.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t take it any further and instructs her to warm up for fifteen minutes in a corner.
She does so with exhaustion traveling through her veins. The only thing that helps her through it is the sight of his athletic body.
His shirt is still on but it perfectly outlines his biceps that he wraps around her body to manhandle her during sex—
She quickly shakes her head to rid herself of the sinful thoughts she’s having. But again—would it be so bad to crave something that happens every other day?
Their steamy encounters keep increasing behind closed doors, and he puts on his boss’s facade once they’re out. She’s not sure if she likes that or not, but either way, she doesn’t have a say in it.
Their relationship is strictly physical.
Even if her lips begged her to find his at random moments throughout the day, even if their naked bodies molded after sex, and even if she was awake when he kissed her temple.
“Okay, that’s it.” The expression on his face held ambiguous cues, but he refrained from saying anything.
She caught her breath as shame creeped up her face planting a rosy color on her cheeks. She walked over to him with her head hung low, and nails digging into her palm.
“I need you to do some boxing because your game is getting weak.” He sighed as disappointment reeked from his words, causing more redness to settle on her face.
He helped her wear the boxing gloves as he intently glanced at her worried expression.
The first ten minutes were okay. Some form of another warm-up in Harry’s opinion. He has seen her train many times before and by now she would have the bag swinging left and right.
It made him think back to her friendly match with another agent and how she got a hit to the stomach—if he hadn’t stopped it, other areas would have been affected as well.
Not to mention her stamina in recent training—Harry simply could not let her lose her strength out of everyone else.
“Focus harder.” His posture was a warning—an indication of his bubbling anger. His arms were crossed, giving more room for his biceps to rightfully appear.
His legs were parted as he stood motionless, simply burning Y/n’s shame with his piercing gaze. She could feel it. How he had something going on in his mind, aching to roll off his lips.
His jaw ticked while his eyes followed the movement of her hands in sync with the boxing bag. It was a disaster.
“You know who gives this fucking performance? A beginner.” His tone began to increase gradually.
She swallowed down her throat, trying to ignore his intimidating posture and body that could be warm at times and cold at others.
It wasn’t odd for him to be harsh and strict during training—except that he never spoke to her like this. Not even when she was snarky and replied at things that had nothing to do with her.
Superior agents were not allowed to train any lower-ranking agent privately, and she wasn’t an idiot to dismiss that rule. But why was he acting this way?
She punched harder gathering all the strength left in her muscles, for the bag to only move a bit farther. She almost lost her footing but kept going for him. She never wanted to disappoint him.
“A fucking shitshow.” He mumbled quietly under his breath—but she heard it, and it went straight through her heart like an arrow.
“For the love of god, you’re a skilled agent so act like one!” His shouting echoed through the room making her stop and glance at him.
He was visibly furious with a vein bulging from his neck. His hand was trembling and his breaths were laboured. She hasn’t seen him in such a state before, and she regrets that she just did.
No one wanted to be on the receiving end of his anger but especially not her.
Besides, underneath all the tough facade that she puts on and her bold replies, she’s very sensitive and completely vulnerable when it comes to him.
Getting shouted at and taking orders from superiors was just another day for agents, but Harry? She was fucking falling for him.
She sighed, gathering her pride before continuing to punch the bag, ignoring the signs her body was giving her to stop.
He observed her for a minute or two, with his eyes darting between her hands and the sway of the bag. He slid down to her legs, and how they were positioned and stationed.
He took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and shook his head in frustration. Did everything she learn evaporate in thin air?
“If you were in the field right now, you’d be fucking dead.” He began walking around her, throwing one sharp comment after the other.
“Are your legs paralyzed? Are you supposed to stand like that when fighting?! His shouting kept getting louder, pushing at her tear duct to open.
He suddenly punched the bag with his bare hand causing it to swing way farther, almost hitting the mirror facing them.
“Is it that hard, Y/n?” He gestured to the swinging bag.
“Where is your strength!” He was fucking fuming.
What would he do if she went on a mission with such weakness? What would happen to her if he wasn’t there?
He was too occupied with his fears to notice her frantically taking the gloves off with tears streaming down her extremely rosy cheeks.
“Y/n
” He tried to speak but her sobbing was louder than his words.
It was just another training. He has been way harsher before but this was his first time seeing her cry because of him. It was more painful than a bullet.
“J-just stop!” Her words were barely coherent with how hard she was crying. He stood in front of her unable to do or say anything.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. She was never supposed to cry because of him and he shouldn’t have raised his voice this way.
The boxing gloves hit the ground as she hiccuped from sobbing. She picked up her bag from the ground and turned around to face him with red eyes and a broken expression.
“Leave me alone.” The loud thud of the door closing made him flinch. He still hasn’t moved an inch trying to grasp what he had done.
Being mean and strict was all he ever knew. He never toned it down for anyone and it didn’t reflect how he felt towards them. When it came to Y/n, it was more out of protection and fear of something happening to her. He wanted her to defend herself properly and be a skilled agent. He didn’t understand why she was slacking with training like that, missing some sessions, or letting other agents beat her.
She was an amazing agent and managed to reach the top ranks in a short period, just like him.
He lost himself while training her, but he shouldn’t have assumed that she could take all of that as a motivation. There’s no such thing as being gentle in the agency, and Y/n is one tough woman. Still, he didn’t speak to her like that before. If anything, she was the only agent he praised in his ten years of service.
Did that have to do with their secret meet-ups?
Whatever the reason, he fucked up. If someone made her cry, he wouldn’t let them see the light of the day again, and no he doesn’t know why he feels the need to protect her from everything or why he isn’t running after her this instant.
He’s a pretty shit communicator—that’s the only thing he knows.
“Harry.” Ezra snapped him out of his thoughts. He was standing in the doorway with a worried expression.
“In my office. Now.” ——————————————————Harry was all too familiar with this office. He has been here a million times for the good and bad. The leather sofa he’s resting on is somewhat his signature sofa, no one else uses it but him.
His legs are spread and his left knee is bouncing as his fingers tap repeatedly on the edge of the sofa. His expression is serious as always and holds no room for bargaining. If you get close enough, you’d hear his blood boiling in his veins and the echo of Y/n’s cries repeating in his head.
“Harry.” Ezra cleared his throat, letting out an exhale before clasping his hands together.
He didn’t need to wait for Harry to turn around and acknowledge him, he had his body language memorized by heart. He instantly caught on and noticed his agitation and stress—something that he doesn’t exhibit regularly.
“I will not question you as to why an agent like Y/n had access to this restricted floor.” Ezra trusted her but if it were a different agent, he could not let it slide easily.
“What I will ask is—why did she run from here crying?” He wasn’t born yesterday. Harry’s bias toward her and his extra attention was easy to catch, especially when he had known him for a long period.
His question was met with silence and the tightening of Harry’s jaw. He kept observing him shamelessly wondering when was the last time he showed such distress over another human being.
“At least tell me why you were training her privately. You have never done that nor should you, but what’s so simple—“
“She’s getting weaker!” Harry slammed his hand on the mahogany desk, catching Ezra off guard and spilling some of his coffee.
“Low stamina and endurance, weak punches, wrong posture, and allowing others to win in matches.” His nostrils flared while his hand trembled from the pent-up anger. The tick of his jaw was unsettling and his brows furrowed with great agitation.
Ezra remained calm partly because he was familiar with Harry’s outbursts, but also because he was shocked by his response.
It would be hard to recall a decade of knowing someone, but if he’s not mistaken, Ezra has never witnessed Harry giving two fucks about someone other than his late mother, let alone an agent.
But damn it if it didn’t make sense.
“So what? Many agents slack sometimes.”
“Well, she’s not any agent. She’s smart, strong, and a skilled agent. Have you thought about what would happen to her in the field?!” His body language was less tense, but his defense grew stronger giving Ezra the final piece of the puzzle.
As the chief director of the agency, he’s slightly disappointed by Harry’s lack of professionalism, but as his mentor and nonbiological father figure, he’s happy for him.
He’s on the road to finding love and caring for someone else is a promising step to de-freeze his cold heart.
Ezra didn’t convey any form of emotion and sported a poker face. Harry looked as if he was still gathering evidence in his mind while simultaneously waiting for Ezra to say something.
“A while ago, Y/n asked for my help.” Harry’s expression changed completely.
“Wha—“
“Patience Son.” He warned, gesturing for him to relax a bit—which he did reluctantly.
“She wasn’t feeling well and told me that she wanted to get some tests done.” The words rolled off his lips smoothly as if he wasn’t casually telling him that something was wrong with her. If it weren’t for Ezra, Harry would be halfway through the door right now.
“The only obstacle was you.”
“Me?” Harry’s voice was rather timid this time—another surprise for Ezra.
“Yes. If she asked for the agency’s doctor to perform them, then you would have known one way or another. The reason she avoided telling you remained unknown to me—but I did help her to get them done.” Harry’s mouth went dry and he felt his vision getting blurry.
Y/n was not feeling fine, and he thought she was slacking.
He was frozen in his place, stuck to the sofa trying to comprehend what his mentor just said. His chest tightened and his heartbeats increased gradually.
“I—“
“The tests came back and the doctor I contacted said that it’s mild anemia. Nothing too scary, it’s treatable.” Ezra stopped right there after noticing the change of color on Harry’s face. He looked like he was about to faint.
“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He immediately passed him a water bottle and watched him take a few sips with furrowed brows.
What is up with this boy, Ezra thought.
“Do you need food—“
“She doesn’t have a history of anemia, where the fuck did it come from?” He returned to his normal angry self by posing more questions.
“The doctor said that mild anemia can develop suddenly—due to lifestyle practices of course but Harry it’s manageable.“ He could no longer tell his body language. Was he angry? sad? overwhelmed?
Harry stared at the wall, avoiding eye contact but continued his knee bouncing. He unconsciously began cracking his knuckles as Ezra’s presence was erased from his mind.
Only Y/n occupied his thoughts.
His little minx.
She was sick, refused to inform him and all he did was make it worse. His nails dug into the leather sofa, almost tearing off a piece with how hard he pressed.
He was a fucking idiot for not noticing her cues. What kind of sick bastard was he?
“Harry!” Ezra stood in front of him, snapping his fingers to coax him back from his dissociation.
He had a file in his hand that he threw in Harry’s lap. “These are her tests. Take them and fix what you have done son. I know that you hate apologizing—but sometimes it’s what you should do with certain people like Y/n.”
Harry was up on his feet in seconds heading towards the door with the file in his hand.
“And Harry?”
He waited for him to turn around before continuing.
“I know nothing about this.” A hint of a smile was painted across his face with some mischief.
——————————————————
Y/n was curled up on her couch under her fuzzy blanket with a half-eaten chocolate bar next to her. Her tears barely dried before another wave came through upon remembering what unfolded a few hours ago.
She glanced to the other side of the room where her beloved (and only) companion was staring.
“He’s a meanie TimTim.” She wiped her tears using her sleeves as her sniffling increased.
Unfortunately, her companion cannot comfort her verbally. TimTim is a penguin plushie that has been with her through everything. The nature of her job prevented her from adopting a pet—something that she wanted so badly. Her constant absence did not make her qualified to look after a small creature, but TimTim sufficed.
“
but he has a good dick
 and a good heart sometimes.” She rolled her eyes at her stupidness. No matter how badly someone hurt her, she’d always find an excuse to justify their actions.
Her recent argument with Harry had many layers to it. To begin with, he wasn’t exactly a love-dovie type of person. His attitude toward her was slightly less bitchy compared to other agents—but she also drove him nuts by throwing back sassy replies and remarks.
He was the most stubborn and cold-blooded man she had ever met, not because he liked to do it for fun or out of sadist tendencies—it was just his character.
Discipline, Respect, Loyalty. Those were his most sacred traits. Most agents nowadays were weak according to him, so he found himself resorting to tougher training and a harsher approach.
Her eyes didn’t swell with tears because of his sharp words and anger. Frankly, she knew how he could turn into someone else during training, and rightfully so.
But validation from him mattered. If she placed her biased feelings aside, she would find that he was her favorite superior. He’s a talented agent with the right principles and morals. She looked up to him.
She never wanted to disappoint him, but she managed to.
The more she thought about it, the more tears flowed out of her tear duct. The fury and frustration that he expressed pained her, it was so different from his usual smirks that were followed by praises.
When she could no longer handle his disappointment, she broke down revealing all the ache that she had been carrying.
Letting him down was never on her agenda, but neither was getting sick. She began noticing her decrease in performance a while ago, along with fainting twice. She dismissed it thinking that she just needed more sleep or perhaps more days off.
But when the symptoms persisted, she knew something was off. Telling Harry was not an option, mostly because she didn’t know how he would react but it also felt like something that must be kept a secret from him, so she resorted to Ezra.
He hasn’t replied but she spotted him from her peripheral vision upon leaving earlier today, and her emotions were all over the place to give two fucks, which explains why she came to her apartment.
Usually field agents like her sleep at the agency and dedicate their time to the secret service. She was one among many who became orphans at a young age, and this made it easier for the agency to make them stay there instead of in apartments.
No loved ones always meant a safer life for people like them.
Still, Y/n liked the idea of having a designated space for her. If she was destined to be lonely, she might as well learn to enjoy it.
So despite not being allowed to leave without prior notice, she immediately found herself in her cozy flat munching on chocolate and ranting to TimTim as she hiccuped and sniffled repeatedly.
What confused her even more was his expression of regret upon seeing her cry. She was too upset to register it, but now that she let everything out and recalled what went down, she was certain that it wasn’t something usual of him.
His entire demeanour switched and he was confused whether to step forward or backward as he softly whispered her name.
Did he act the same way with other agents? Fuck no.
But does that mean that he regretted what he had done?
Maybe his eyes that tried to decode her feelings exposed him, or his hand that unconsciously moved forward towards her body—
Y/n covered her face with her hands and groaned loudly as if her thoughts would stop colliding. Everything was puzzling her more and more. Was he disappointed or not?
The loud banging on her door pulled her out of her tangled thoughts and vulnerable character.
She certainly wasn’t around enough to become besties with her neighbors or have friends to pop in for girls’ night.
Perhaps the agency sent someone to get her, but how would they know that she came here? Maybe they just tried their luck—
The banging got louder as if it was a warning. Whoever was outside, planned to come inside no matter what.
Y/n immediately switched into agent mode and grabbed a gun from the nearest drawer. Better be safe than sorry.
She walked slowly to the door with careful footsteps and high heartbeats. The door didn’t have a hole in it, so she’d either have to ask who was outside—or open the door.
But her guest beat her to it.
“Y/n
open the door.” Harry’s voice made her take a step back. The fresh tear stains on her cheeks burned upon hearing his words. What brought him here?
Hell, a serial killer would’ve been less surprising.
“No.” She lowered her gun and relaxed her shoulders a bit. More tears threatened to fall as she slowly turned around toward the couch.
He hasn’t been to her apartment before which means that he had some fun with her record. He’s most likely here to drive her back to the agency where she’ll receive a warning for leaving—what else could be here for?
“Y/n
 I can pick the lock, break the door, or you can just let me in.” He huffed in annoyance at her stubbornness. She might as well turn on the TV to ignore him.
They both knew that he wasn’t joking. He could break in if he wanted, but Y/n was too busy trying to understand why he came here.
“Listen, I know about the lab tests.” Y/n’s eyes widened in shock. Damn it, Ezra.
So this is what he’s here for. A double warning. One for leaving and one for not informing him of her sickness.
She was near the door in two seconds, unlocking it and facing him despite her messy look and tired teary face.
“Since when—“ She meant to stay focused. She really did. But as usual, he found a way to make her forget about her anger.
He was dressed normally. It was odd to see him in something outside of his work attire, even if it was a simple hoodie with matching joggers. He looked cozy.
But what made her jaw drop was the fresh bouquet of yellow tulips in his right hand.
He got her flowers?
He cleared his throat making her realize how shocked she looked, and he didn’t blame her. She was the first woman he bought flowers for, ever.
The sight of her swollen eye and dried tears made him tighten his grip on the bouquet. A sight that will never leave his mind.
“I—“ She tried to let out something but she failed and moved aside for him to enter.
“Why the tulips?” She stood with her arms crossed trying to decipher what was going on.
“You like them.” His answer was short and clear but it held more meaning. She doesn’t recall letting him in on her favorite flowers—
“I overheard you telling Tania.” He shrugged as if it was not a big deal to eavesdrop on other agents and then memorize Y/n’s favorite flower.
He scanned the apartment with his eyes carefully—a habit of his for safety. It was more out of curiosity as if it would whisper to him secrets about Y/n.
“Why are you here?” Her voice seemed timid and broken.
He ignored her query and continued scanning his surroundings for a hint of her personality.
“Chocolate
?” He furrowed his eyebrows at her but it was hard to focus or look her in the eye without noticing her puffy face.
“Here to lecture me?” She scoffed, walking past him to the safe corner she made on her couch.
She covered herself and returned to her previous position as if her superior at work was not standing before her—with her favorite flowers still in his hand.
What the fuck is up with the flowers, she thought.
“If you want to stand there and give your lecture, then be my guest.” She mumbled coldly without blinking once. The coziness from the soft blanket slowly came back, but Harry’s cold stare fought it.
The last thing she expected him to do was sit next to her and rest his hands on her legs. She had a billion questions swimming in her head and she bit her tongue to not ramble and ask what the fuck was going on.
“I’m Sorry.” It rolled off his lips so easily, but her ears couldn’t process it. She stayed silent and did not move an inch as she stared ahead, ignoring his warm touch.
If she can’t understand anything, she’ll just listen and observe cluelessly.
“I had no idea that you were sick— I wouldn’t have pushed you this much if I did. But still, that’s not an excuse. I shouldn’t push you at all.” His words were direct and his voice was unshakeable. He was fully confident of what he was saying, with no shame.
She swallowed down her throat, fighting the tears threatening to fall down her face.
“I spoke with Ezra
and he gave me your tests. A doctor reviewed them and said it’s mild anemia.” The tears fell silently on her face disobeying her. Harry stopped speaking as if he felt her sadness.
“Could you get up a bit? Hmm?” He rubbed soothing circles on her skin and waited patiently for her answer.
She slowly lifted herself despite her reluctance, but still refused to look him in the eye. He can see her tears falling from the side and it makes him want to punch a wall.
“Attagirl. Look at me please.” He stroked her cheek softly with his knuckles.
She slowly turned her face in his direction as his hand reached out to wipe her tears.
“You’re pretty when you cry, but I don’t like it.” He whispered with his voice being barely audible. His eyes were fixated on her gorgeous lashes that she batted at him. How did she exist like an angel so casually?
“Yeah well, it was you who made me cry.” She mumbled like a child, crossing her arms at her chest.
“I’m a dickhead.” He laughed at the cute face she made with his hand still wiping any new tears that fall.
He’ll be damned if he’ll let her cry again.
“I know.” She rolled her eyes and reached out for the file next to him.
“Y/n—“
“What did the doctor say?”
“Like I said, it’s mild anemia. But nothing too dangerous. I got you the supplement he prescribed.” Harry gestured to the bottle placed near the flowers.
“And you missy will have your diet monitored by me. I want you eating iron-filled foods—“ He barely completely his sentence before Y/n was groaning loudly and slumping backward on the couch.
“Get up. Don’t make me tickle you.” He warned and she lifted herself within seconds with a pout on her face.
“Now the question is
 why were you ignoring your needs?” It was the only question that she wished he wouldn’t ask. But nothing can stop him from knowing what he wants.
She stared at TimTim despite his piercing gaze on her hoping that the plushie could rescue her somehow.
“I wasn’t ignoring them, I guess I simply didn’t realize.” She swallowed down her throat, avoiding eye contact.
“You didn’t want to tell me.” He pressed further. His tone was soft but impatient—he’d beg on his knees if he had to.
“I—“ She focused her gaze on TimTim again causing Harry to turn his head around for a look.
“A plushie?” He scrunched his face in shock.
“So?” She raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms against her chest. She seemed ready to punch him if he made fun of her.
“No comment.” He raised his hands in the air letting out a soft smile. It was a rare sight, but a beautiful one. She liked seeing him smile as his dimples popped up on his soft face.
“Don’t run away from the question though.” He whispered with his eyes begging her for the truth.
Her tears had dried but her face was still puffy and her eyes were swollen. There weren’t any tears to wipe but that didn’t stop Harry from reaching out his hand to caress her cheeks.
His warm touch was weird to decipher, it seemed able to burn her at times, just like his words.
“I didn’t want to disappoint you.” She blurted out suddenly before inhaling sharply in shock as if her mouth betrayed her without permission.
Harry’s facial expression shifted from softness to something she couldn’t decode—but the pain was recognizable.
She lowered her gaze as her cheeks became flushed with embarrassment. His hand slowly inched away from her skin, feeling unworthy of touching her.
“You could never disappoint me.” He whispered it like a promise. A sacred one. He couldn’t believe that she would think like that even for a second.
He was so fucking proud of her. He pushed her earlier today but he was lenient with her before. A bullet wound would’ve been better to take than her confession.
She mattered to him whether he was aware or not but the clutch in his chest must’ve given him a hint.
“Look at me, please.”
She lifted her chin reluctantly and looked him in the eye. This was her first time seeing him this vulnerable—it was so easy to read his eyes.
“There’s no way you could disappoint me. Ever.”
“I slacked in performance—“
“Fuck that. You need rest.” He shook his head, denying all the false thoughts she had.
“What I did earlier was a mistake and it won’t happen again.” It was more of a vow than a promise.
Silence filled the apartment after his last sentence. They shamelessly stared into each other’s eyes despite the intrusion of TimTim. Harry knew that if he didn’t do or say something—he’d have his lips on her in mere seconds.
“I should get going.” He cleared his throat and stood up.
Y/n was still going through a rollercoaster of emotions. She ached to ask him something back, it was fair to do so. But instead, she decided to let him go.
“Also
” He fetched a paper out of his hand and left it on her couch. “You’re allowed a week of rest. That means no training, no gym, and you can stay here.”
Surprise was prominent on her face. She opened her mouth to speak but he beat her to it.
“No objections. I need you to rest.” She’s not sure if this was allowed—if the board knew about the leave he granted her. It seemed to pile up amongst many of the other things she wondered about.
“Okay
” She balanced herself on her feet and walked him to the door.
“This doesn’t mean I’m done being mad at you.” She mumbled sarcastically.
“Good. I like it when you’re bratty.” He winked at her as he opened the door.
She watched him walk away before turning around and looking at her.
“Oh and Y/n? I’ll have a customized meal plan delivered to your house. For fuck’s sake don’t live off chocolate.”
“But—“
“No buts and take your supplement.” His voice echoed in the building as he descended the stairs.
She stood motionless at the door with her arms folded against her chest as she scrunched her face and rolled her eyes at his bossy orders.
“Don’t roll your eyes missy.” His voice was distant signaling that he reached the ground floor. She slammed the door shut in response, unable to contain the smile that crept up on her face.
She didn’t lie to TimTim—he does have a good heart sometimes, but discipline remains cherished.
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freedomfireflies · 12 hours
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Oooooo! That made me think of maybe like an apartment building doorman LOL idk if it’s been done before but I think it could be kinda cute and fun! Very grumpy x sunshine, it’s like an upscale building, he always has a serious grumpy face / deals with rich rude snobs that live there but she’s very nice / down to earth but also confident. She’s always trying to get him to crack a smile every time she sees him. She’ll do most of the talking and he keeps it short / one word answers. She’ll walk in with shopping bags or groceries and let him know what’s inside or how her day was or stuff like that. One late night she comes back stumbling drunk from a bar and he helps her get back into her apartment safely and friendship develops from there / he opens up more / flirting starts. LMAO one day she comes back with shopping bags that are clearly from a lingerie store or something haaaa💀Finally one night she invites him up to her apartmentttttt
đŸ©·đŸ©·
BESITE I'M SO SORRY FOR THE LATE RESPONSE, APPARENTLY I DON'T UNDERSTAND TUMBLR HAHA
Shut up this is SOOOOO good! This feels very unique and fresh and I absolutely WILL be writing this down!! Your brain is so big, I'm OBSESSED!! 😭💞💞
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freedomfireflies · 12 hours
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How long has it been sunce they broke up when this starts taking place
About 5 months I'm thinking! So not terribly long, but long enough for it to feel like it was a really long time!
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freedomfireflies · 12 hours
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Track Star Harry and goth girl y/n next
Inspired by this picđŸ€Ł
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HE'S A RUNNER HE'S A TRACK STAR!!! Wait why do I kind of love this idea???? Bestie we might just have to because this is too funny HAHAH
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freedomfireflies · 12 hours
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Oh interesting what are insomnia Harry and poppy’s professions because from the angst snippet it feels like she might have had a fancy job and Harry maybe didn’t or something
I don't actually have any specific jobs for them but we can pick anything we want! Legal, finance, some corporate job!! And Harry got fired from his while they were in a relationship so his could be anything! Maybe bartending??
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freedomfireflies · 12 hours
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Love the nickname poppy
EEE I'm so glad! They're getting harder to pick tbh HAHAH BUT THIS ONE JUST FELT CUTE FOR THEM!
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freedomfireflies · 12 hours
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I feel like you’re literally a hug in a message??? Every fic I see you reblog you’re just SO kind and supportive and it’s so refreshing! You are honestly the light of this community for me and I needed to say it 😭😭😭 thank you for being you!
UM ACTUALLY THIS MESSAGE WAS A HUG AND NOW I'M ALL WARM AND FUZZY AND THIS IS SO FREAKING CUTE???? SO GRATEFUL FOR YOU!! Thank you for this and for being YOU! And for being so kind 😭💞💞💞 Literally such a bright light yourself and I will be squealing all day hehe
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freedomfireflies · 12 hours
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I don’t really care about Harry that much anymore but I’m still super invested in your fics and your blog đŸ„°
This is SUCH a compliment, oh my god?? Will actually be SOBBING??? Thank you so much for even wanting to read, especially if it's not a subject you're entirely all that interested in!! This is so nice and I'm actually gonna think about it for the rest of my life 😭💞 I LOVE YOU!!
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freedomfireflies · 12 hours
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STUDIO H IS SO TEACH ME CODED!!!!! (i just saw pictures and had to come scream about it in your asks hahaha)
also hi!! how are you?? the snippet for the insomnia fic is already so goodd. as an insomniac girlie, i will be eating it up. also, the idea??? is so??? creative??? i just love you and your brain so much!!! constantly fangirling everytime i see you on my dash 💞💞
SENDING SO MUCH LOVE I HOPE YOU’RE LOOKING AFTER YOURSELF AND ENJOYING WRITING đŸ«¶đŸ«¶
~💌
EEEE MY ANGEL BABY!!
First of all, OBSESSED WITH THAT!!!!! So true, Teach Me is the King I don't make the rules (but he's also baby hehe)
I'M SO GOOD!! How are you?? I HOPE YOU'RE DOING WELL AND TAKING CARE OF YOURSELF IN EVERY ASPECT OF YOUR LIFE!!! 😭💞💞💞 Also stop I adore you, thank you for reading it heheh
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freedomfireflies · 14 hours
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can we have another đŸ€­
HAHAH OF COURSE!!! 😭💞 (this one is a touch angsty hehe SORRY!! if we want a smutty one we can do that, too hehe)
You find him in the kitchen about an hour later. You managed to sleep at least a few minutes before you felt the sadistic hand of insomnia pull you back out. But when you woke, Harry was gone. His clothes were still on the floor, so you knew he hadn’t left. But he wasn’t with you.
He’s staring out your kitchen window when you slip into the living room. You’re not sure if he hears you or not but if he does, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he keeps himself braced against the sink, clad in nothing more than his briefs.
Curious, you call, “What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head. Silent. Contemplative. “I used to love this window,” he eventually says. Soft, like he’s reminiscing. “The way the light looked in the morning. The way your little crystals would put rainbows on the wall and you’d get so excited. How you’d make me dance with you to some Elton John song while we were literally in the middle of cooking.”
You blink. “Um
okay.”
He turns and his eyes find yours. “I fucking loved this apartment. And this kitchen. And that couch. And your room. And even the hallway. I loved being here, all the time. I hated going back to my place because it never felt the same.”
The silence grows louder now as you look down at your feet and pull your robe just a bit tighter. “I know,” you finally whisper. “That’s why I changed it.”
“I know,” he whispers back. His expression falls. “You changed everything. This apartment, your life
us.”
“Because I had to,” you argue, glancing back up. “I had to, Harry. I couldn’t keep going in circles. I couldn’t drag you along behind me into the future when you clearly wanted to be anywhere else.” 
“Because the future you always painted didn’t seem to have room for me,” he huffs. “Okay, with all these dinner parties and fancy houses and good school districts. You’d planned out the next 30 years and I didn’t see myself anywhere in your picture.”
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freedomfireflies · 15 hours
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EEEEEE I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS, I'M SO EXCITED!!!!! FIC REC FIC REC!!
Ding - Round 1
I had this little idea. The meeting came to me in a dream, no word of lie. Classic little trope, I know. I'm hoping to work in some smuttier things down the line. Hope I do it justice and you like it 💕 Erring on the side of caution; probably not suitable for Ramadan
You'll be able to read the rest here eventually: Ding
~3.8k words
As she did the wind took her door not much, nor hard but enough to bump into the car beside her.
The man rolled the window down, his deep green eyes, still blank. “You’ll have t’pay for that,” his voice was low and gravelly.
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It was cold and rainy all day long. It made her want to curl up in a ball with a good book on her sofa and not get up for hours and hours. The kind of day where she wished she wasn’t an adult, and she was back home. Back when her dad would make her hot chocolate, they would watch old movies, and he would give insider information into all the hubbub that happened behind the scenes. How the actors interacted and when the props failed or something of that nature.
Her father was a great film critic. But he always said “even ‘bad’ movies have good.” She had seen tons of movies. Summers during school were filled with at least one movie a night. Sick days were made for marathoning series. When they weren’t watching movies, he was taking her to baseball games, teaching her how to cook—“the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, honey”—and making sure that she knew how to be spoiled by any man that deigned to enter her life. She was handy around the house and fiercely independent.
As much as she enjoyed cooking with her dad, baking was her real passion. She loved the science of baking: how butter affected cookies, temperature changed the consistency of cakes, and nothing made her happier than playing with baking powder and baking soda to change the rise of her pastries.
It led her to this spot. This little bakery. School for business and plenty of classes on cooking and baking. At the age of twenty-seven she was extremely lucky; for the last three years her business had been so successful. It was in local and state magazines about a hot spot for tourists and one of those shops that everyone just loved.
She wished her dad could see it but knew he would be proud of her regardless.
A strong gust of wind pulled her from her thoughts. There was a late-night closing report she needed to go over—a favor to her regular closer who needed to get home to her little baby. But really, A Pinch of Sprinkles was her baby and she loved to be in the little shop that smelled like the cupcakes she loved making.
She zipped her coat up, pulling her hood over her hair. It was hardly any further than a 40-yard dash to her little bakery door but in a steady rain like this, she thought not even her rubber boots would be enough to keep her dry for the short little sprint she would have in just a moment. She thought of her dad again, who would have run around to her door and held an umbrella over her head before getting out in the rain. With a deep, sad sigh, she braced herself, opened her door and reached for her umbrella and purse on the passenger seat.
As she did the wind took her door. It wasn't much, nor hard to create real havoc, but enough to bump into the car beside her. “Fuck,” she hissed getting out quickly, her belongings be damned her hair getting wet and stringy almost immediately. She slammed her door shut, turned to the car beside her, and made eye contact with the person in the driver’s seat. Her lips parted slightly, heart hammering in her chest. There was hardly anything more than a bit of a ding on the the stranger's car but the unmoving gaze that returned from the front seat intimidated her immensely.
The man rolled the window down, his deep green eyes still blank. “You’ll have t’pay for that,” his voice was low and gravelly.
It felt like thunder was inside her chest, the way her heart was thudding against her ribs. An intimidating man, his hair not quite buzzed off but not quite much more than an inch or two long, deep, soulful eyes. His gaze didn’t drop from hers. It was like he was having a staring contest.
“I... am... so sorry,” she whispered. She wasn’t afraid to admit she was terrified. It wasn’t that she was terrified of men. But in a dark parking lot and someone who looked so intimidating... well it was a modern-day-female nightmare.
The man smiled and suddenly he was no longer intimidating. Dare she say, he was even cute. The left half of his mouth quirked up and he glanced down at his hands on the steering wheel, tapped a quick rhythm on it, and turned back to her. “S’okay,” he shrugged, rolling the window back up. He stepped out into the rain in the same motion, rain not bothering him as it began to soak his hair and slid down his face. The man was gorgeous. A walking ad for raincoats and umbrellas. He meandered over to where she stood. Her heart still pounded now for an entirely new reason. He shoved one hand in his pocket, the other reached for the blemish on his car. “See, jus’ a ding,” he rubbed his fingers over the little indent a few times before turning back to meet her gaze again.
His grin was adorable.
The air came out of her in a whoosh loud enough to rival the one that took her door right into his car. “I’ll pay for it to be fixed,” she promised.
He chuckled. “S’fine, love,” he assured her. “S’jus’ a ding,” he repeated with a shrug.
By now she was drenched. It wasn’t a downpouring, but the steadiness of the raindrops won out. Without any regard to how she was stood still between the two cars—soaking the inside of her seat as well—he leaned in, grabbed her purse, umbrella and closed the door behind him. Honestly, it didn’t even cross her mind that he was going to rob her. That alone should have raised about ten alarm bells in her head. Instead, for whatever reason, she felt safe.
He handed her own bag to her. It felt so strange. Like she didn’t know what to do with it. He paid no mind to her uneasiness. Without any acknowledgment of their weird meeting and their even weirder interaction thus far, he opened the umbrella and held it over the pair of them to keep a little dryer—even though they were both already soaked.
“Let’s go,” he put a hand on her lower back to usher her out from between the cars.
Reality and her brain finally restarted in her head. “Excuse me? Go where?”
He shrugged. “Well... y’did ding m’car. Assumed y’could at least come with me.”
“Come with you where?” She repeated incredulously.
“Oh right, sorry. D’you have plans? A date?”
“Well...no...”
“Great,” he tiled his head in gesture toward their current path, the opposite direction of her bakery.
“Can you tell me where it is you want me to go?” But she was already following the gentle touch on her back to keep her moving in his current direction. She should have felt unsafe. This was unnatural. How could she not be scared?
He pointed at the municipal building—it was old and pretty. Pretty typical for a little tourist area. Lights caught the raindrops that fell to the ground that hung from ancient looking black iron sconces. Steps up to the main doors were cobblestone and probably brand new as they were replaced over the years. Back in the day it was probably home to many rousing mini-city debates. It was hard to imagine back then it would ever become the bustling little tourist center it was at present. “Y’ever been in?” He asked.
She shook her head. It was like he was a truth serum wrapped in a hot body. There was nothing to explain her reasoning to answering him. “Not since I was little. My dad took me to a magic show here.”
“Well, s’not quite as magical, but s’a fight tonight.”
“A fight?”
“Boxing.”
“Boxing?” She repeated.
“M’not trying t’be rude, are y’hard of hearing?”
“What? No,” she shook her head, confusion coloring her features. “Why?”
“Y’keep repeating everything I say,” his ever-present half-smile was mocking her.
She scowled at him, shook her head again, and halted them in the middle of the rainy sidewalk. “Please stop walking. I’m so confused,” she put her hands on her temples. Why was she even following him? She didn’t need to be with him right now. She could have walked the other direction just as easily and told him to take a hike.
“Mmm... I’d rather not, I’ve got t’get ready,” he explained inching further along the path with the umbrella in his hand still. “M’on the first card.”
“Let’s try this again,” she stood her ground. Deciding now that if he were a serial killer, it would be too late but at least she could have the satisfaction of trying. “I don’t know your name and contrary to my current actions I'm actually very wary of strangers. But I own the bakery right over there in the main square. I was going to run the closing report. I’ll wait there until your fight is over,” she suggested--where she at least had security cameras set up and would have proof of a stranger murdering her with a baking sheet. “You can come get my insurance info then,” she spun quickly away from him, and started back toward the direction of the bakery; he could keep the umbrella.
“Your bakery?” He asked, following her a few paces back.
“Yes. A Pinch of Sprinkles. It’s right over there,” she gestured to the main bustling little square.
“You own the bakery: A Pinch of Sprinkles?”
“Are you hard of hearing?”
He snorted at her and smirked once more. “Alright,” he sighed holding his hands up in surrender. “M’Harry. M’in a boxing match tonight. M’normally in there by now getting ready. But this really pretty girl dinged m’car,” his smile was so boyish for someone who scared the lights out of her only minutes before. “And y’did kind of promise t’come with me as payment,” he looked at her knowingly.
“I did not promise that,” her tone was defensive. “I said I would pay for the dent to be fixed.”
“I know y’did. S’very nice of you. S’not what I want. This is how I want you t’pay me.”
“By coming to watch your fight?”
He nodded eagerly. But she saw his eyes scanning her. He was still holding her umbrella while she continued to get soaked. Her dad would have a conniption at the sight of a stranger holding her umbrella and not keeping her dry. But it didn’t bother her. If anything, she kind of liked it if only because it gave her a chance to look at how adorable he was holding her flowery umbrella when she knew the embodiment of intimidation was going to punch someone at three-minute intervals.
Harry stepped closer, bringing her back under the umbrella. “Look... If y’really need t’go to your bakery, then no, of course m’not going t’stop you. But if it can wait, then s’how y’can repay me,” he shrugged. They were huddled close together under the umbrella. Her hair was a wet stringy mess. She knew very little about boxing. Muhammad Ali, Mike Tyson, Rocky and The Eye of the Tiger. That was about the extent of her knowledge. Boxing wasn’t one of the major sports her dad imparted his wisdom about to her.
“You want me to go to your fight as payment for your car dent?”
“Are y’going t’jus’ keep saying the same thing as me but as a question all night?” She knew she was repeating herself again. She pursed her lips to refrain from asking another question. “C’mon, Cupcake... m’really starting t’run late here,” he pointed to his wrist with an imaginary watch.
Cupcake.
What was she getting herself into?
She took a deep breath trying to calm the bit of nerves. “I’m not really a go with the flow kind of girl. I have a lot of questions.”
He smiled sweetly. Nodded like he expected such an answer, like he knew her already. “M’sure you do,” he agreed. “But... I really need t’go in. Like right now. Louis is going t’kill me if I don’t appear in front of him four minutes ago. When the fight’s over, I’ll walk y’to A Pinch of Sprinkles. We’ll run y’closing report and I’ll answer every question y’have.”
It took every bit of her self-restraint to keep her mouth from repeating him again. We. “There’s also the whole... I don’t know you at all, thing,” she reminded him stepping out from the umbrella again. “Seems like a bad idea on my part.”
It was almost moot though. Even she heard the way her voice sounded like she was caving as she said it. He stepped closer again. “You’re right. S’good instincts that I admire y’have,” he held his phone out to her, the screen catching a few drops of rain. “S’my niece,” he told her of the baby on the lit screen. She was only a few months old based on the picture. “She’s got me wrapped around m’finger and she’s barely old enough t’even see me and know m’holding her. Least that’s what m’sister Gemma says,” he shrugged. The adoration, the love in his voice made her stomach flip. It was unbelievably adorable this scary man was in love with a little baby. His voice was so sweet, it made her feel at ease. “I grew up with Mum and Gemma,” he looked her squarely in the eye. “I know m’about t’go in there and punch another grown man, but m’not dangerous. Especially not towards a girl who parked in a dark parking lot who owns a bakery with a sprinkles pun," her heart softened. “I know y’have questions, Cupcake. But I really need t’go in there,” he was growing the slightest bit impatient. “Louis is gonna send Niall out looking for me and then m’screwed. I need y’decision either way.”
It was perhaps her dumbest idea ever. Even stupider than when she tried to make peanut butter cookies without peanut butter to make them allergy friendly. “Are you going to win?” She asked.
He chuckled. “Think so. Especially if you’re there as m’good luck charm," he winked.
When she thought about this in the future or when she ended up on a true crime TV episode, it would be this moment that thousands and millions of people would say "how could she be so stupid?"
But she started for the building ahead of him, anyway. He fell into step beside her holding the umbrella over her again. “Probably not a good idea to put stock into me when I just dented your car.”
“S’jus’ a ding, Cupcake,” he smiled. “Something t’remember y’by.”
She couldn’t believe how quick and flirtatious he was. He knew all the right things to say and wasn’t even the least bit nervous it seemed. When he went into the ring or something she would have to Google his name and see if she accidentally made a fool of herself talking to a professional boxer. “You’re something else.”
They entered the building from a back door guarded by a man who gave Harry a nod as he ushered the sweet girl inside. “You’re trying to kill him, aren’t you?” A blonde man with an Irish accent asked, running his hand through his hair right as the guard at the door pulled the door shut from the outside. “I was just about to go see what happened this time,” he started back down the hall, deeper into the building. “He’s losing his mind,” he warned.
Harry shrugged. “Met a girl,” he smiled back at her. “She owns the bakery. She’s gonna be my good luck charm”
“Oh, you’re the reason for my freshman fifteen,” the blond man wiggled his eyebrows at her as he turned to her as well.
“Cupcake, this is Niall, he’ll keep an eye on you,” he assured her.
“Cupcake, hmm?” Niall chuckled. “Louis’ gonna kill you,” he skipped ahead of Harry. “Found him!”
“Harold you better have been held at gunpoint!” The shout was nearly hysterical as they approached the open room.
“He was just talking to Cupcake,” Niall was nearly giggling. Louis, she presumed, wasn’t the least bit amused. His face was hard. His blue eyes cold, his jaw as sharp as his words.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” he snapped. “Get your fucking clothes on,” he ordered.
Harry rolled his eyes and winked in her direction. “Hold this for me?” He asked, handing her his phone. The picture of the little babe illuminated the screen and a message from Mum was previewed on the screen so she couldn’t help but read, “Good luck honey bunny!” With about ten four-leaf clover emojis and just as many hearts. It warmed her heart so much to see the message on this scary man’s phone. She had doubts now that he was going to murder her later. A murderer wouldn’t have a supportive mom like that, right? Or a picture of their niece as their phone background? “See y’in a bit, Cupcake,” he gave her arm a squeeze and leaned her umbrella beside the door leading into the next room.
Niall was sipping a beer from a clear cup. “Y’ready, Cupcake?”
She snorted, sticking his phone into her purse alongside hers and nodded. “Sure. M’gonna have a lot of questions.”
He laughed. “Well, I have a lot of questions for you,” he promised pushing a set of double doors and into a thrumming, crowded arena.
It was definitely not a magic show.
Blinking, Niall put a gentle hand on her back and leaned toward her ear so she could hear better. “How do you know Harry?”
“I don’t,” she shouted back to be heard over the crowd. There were people getting things set up, announcements being made, and the like. There were people cheering and she couldn’t believe how big the boxing ring looked. The only boxing ring she had ever seen was the one in Rocky. Moreover, the only thing she knew about that ring was that the audience in the movie was given a free chicken dinner for showing up to the arena and they dimmed the lights, so it looked like more people were there. “My car door hit his car.”
“You hit Clay?”
“Who’s Clay?”
“His car!”
“He named his car, Clay?”
“Like Cassius Clay?”
Again, she didn’t know much about boxing, but she realized immediately that Harry named his car after the greatest heavyweight boxer ever. Oh, Lord. What did you get yourself into? She thought to herself. “Er
 yeah
 I guess so.”
“And he didn’t...” Niall drifted off curiously. “Hmm,” it seemed he surmised something in his head but didn’t let her in on the secret. He gestured to a chair that was front and center of the corner of the ring for her to sit. He took the seat beside her and leaned close as she spoke to him again. “How do you know Harry?”
“We’ve been best friends since Uni,” he shrugged. “Been icing his bruises for years.”
She nodded. “I see. Are you recently graduated? You said freshmen fifteen?”
Niall laughed. It was contagious. Made her feel safe still. The whole last ten minutes were surreal. She really followed a stranger to a boxing match. She was sitting with his best friend asking questions about someone she hardly knew. “Just a joke, Cupcake. You are single handedly responsible for my recent weight gain since you moved into town. Well, you and that Irish soda bread you made last March. It tasted like home.”
“Really?” She asked excitedly. “I was so nervous about it!”
Talking about sweet treats and breads and cupcakes was more her speed. “Oh, it was perfect, Cupcake. Rivaled my nan’s.”
Well, maybe Harry wasn’t so scary.
At least his friends were nice. Although... “Louis hates me, doesn’t he?” The thought of someone hating her, even though she didn't even know him made her sad.
Niall rolled his eyes. “No, he’s just so sick of Harry being late. Thinks because he’s undefeated on this circuit he can do whatever he wants.”
“Undefeated?” She was grateful Harry wasn’t there to hear her question repeating the same thing Niall said again.
“Not much of a boxer are you, Cupcake?”
“No,” she shook her head. “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.”
He chuckled. “Harry’s very good. You’ll see.” Clearly. What did he need a good luck charm if he was already undefeated. She really needed to research him.
As if he heard his own name, he dropped into the seat across from her. It would be inside the ring between rounds but for now it allowed him to gaze at the pretty girl he met moments before. “Hi Cupcake,” his smile was sugary—and she knew sugar.
“Hi,” she murmured, willing her eyes to stay focused on his face and not his bare torso. A litany of tattoos painted his skin and a pair of vines dipped into the band of the shorts he wore. Everything was black. His shorts, his tattoos, his shoes, and his gloves. She could see tape going up half the length of his forearm keeping the bottom of his gloves in place.
“That’s a record for you getting ready. Must be your good luck charm,” Niall nudged her with his elbow. “Didn’t I tell you those soda breads were delicious?”
Harry kept his eyes on her and nodded. “Y’did.”
“Told you,” Niall assured her.
“Wouldn’t shut up ‘bout them,” Harry was unmoving, his body, his gaze. His phone was in her purse. He was looking at her like she was pretty, and she knew her makeup and hair was ruined by the rain. “M’a bigger fan of those raspberry filled cupcakes of yours,” he told her. “S’like heaven in a cupcake.”
“Harry, I swear to God!” Louis shouted.
Harry smiled ruefully, winked at her again and finally moved, heading back toward the sound of Louis’ voice. “Niall, don’t let her leave, yeah?”
Niall saluted him and she watched him leave again. She cleared her throat, turning in her seat toward the door, she exited to get to her ring-side seat. “Good luck, Harry,” she called, unsure if he would hear her over the building crowd.
Harry turned back right as he got to the door and winked again. “Thanks Cupcake,” he called back loud enough for everyone to hear that he was talking to her. Niall chuckled, shook his head, and put a friendly arm across the back of her chair.
He was kind enough to lean to her ear so that others wouldn’t hear the next thing he said because it made her blush and nearly melt to the floor right in front of Harry’s best friend and the very ring, he would be punching another grown man in just a few minutes. “Hope you like your boyfriends like your frosting, Cupcake. Because that man is already whipped for you.”
--
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freedomfireflies · 15 hours
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OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODKAHFHSKFLSKFKALS
OH MY GOD OH MY GOD WHAT WHAT WHAT 😭💞💞💞 ALFD YOU'RE VERY CUTE
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freedomfireflies · 17 hours
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Oooh love the angst of them being exes
EEE YES ME TOO!! It's kind of fun to write bc I've never really gotten to do this much...anger between the couples, you know?? Like Tink and 404rry argue but obviously they do get along so this is exciting for me and my masochistic ways HAHAH
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freedomfireflies · 17 hours
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is poppy his nickname for her đŸ„ș
HEHE YES!!!
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