weapons † hs [two]

9. platonic

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they look badass here i love it

"We're home," those fulfilling words leave Harry's mouth as he exhales, both of us stopping in front of his flat's front door.

As he fumbles with his keys, I take them from him. "I'll open it, you've got your hands full."

I move to open the door for him so he can carry in my luggage, though before I step in, he blurts, "Wait!"

From behind the doorway, not daring to cross the threshold, he sets my luggage in there and my shopping bags, wiping his palms together before turning to me.

A smile surfaces on his lips, "Hold on tight."

Cheeky, he picks my body up bridal style in one quick motion, causing me to squeal, my curly hair smacking me in the face.

Once I collect myself, I wrap my arms around his neck, the two of us in a fit of giggles as he adjusts my body in his hold.

Might as well pick me up now before I'm heavier.

"Let's do this the right way," the unpredictably cute man declares, taking us through the doorway to our house, letting out a sigh of relief and happiness.

Even though we've lived together before, obviously under different circumstances, living together for the sole reason that we're a couple makes things feel more complete.

"We've done our relationship completely backwards, haven't we?" I question, combing back one of his baby curls behind his ear. "I'm pretty sure the boy usually carries the girl into the first house they live in together."

"Maybe we're the ones doing it the right way," he looks down at me sporting a satisfied grin, his eyes utterly enamored when absorbing my presence.

"Well, I guess it's time to unpack..." I start to suggest, though my words drift away just as we do from my luggage, Harry carrying me into the kitchen with a smirk.

"...Or not. That's cool. I'm totally okay that all my clothes are still in a luggage sitting in the front room, getting slowly wrinkled in there..."

He shakes his head, dimpling, "You're more compulsive and obsessive than anyone I've ever met, Caroline. Relax yourself."

"Wha— No I am not. I'm relaxed..."

He rests my offended-self on the clean, cool countertop, hungrily staring at me like the delicious dishes he prepares here. I'm about to object, though he steps around the corner to the drop off of the counter, standing between my legs and sliding my body closer to his.

"Now that we mutually discussed the past," he tickles up my thighs, gliding his fingertips up and down the leggings I'm wearing.

"We have no reservation constraints..." he places his hand around each thigh and squeezes them, "no room service..."