Mr Hayward, if you had asked me what I wanted, I would have told you I never wanted Mr Ryder. I have never loved Mr Ryder. I love you. I have only ever loved you.
Dónal Finn during day six of the 2026 Wimbledon Tennis Championships at the All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club on July 04, 2026 in London, England. (x/x)
After a blissful few weeks at home with him, you bid Dónal farewell as he leaves for his next project.
Word count: 805 (short n sweet!)
Warnings: none (please let me know if I missed anything, or if there’s anything in particular you’d like me to tag!)
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a/n: written for and because of @winniemaywebber 🤭love sharing lots of Normal and Fine thoughts about our fella with you, bestie 🫶
If you enjoy, feel free to like, reblog, comment Shakespearean declarations of love, whatever strikes your fancy. Feedback is always welcome & my ask box is always open. If you'd like to be added to my tag list, let me know!
You didn’t want to ask.
You knew you should, that if you didn’t bring it up now it would simply stew in the back of your mind and ruin the little time you had left together.
But you still didn’t want to ask.
Dónal’s eyes snap towards you as you inhale, and your question comes out on the exhale.
“Are you all packed?”
The question hangs heavy in the air between the two of you on the couch, a reminder that your time together was going to come to an end sooner or later.
His blasphemously large hand squeezes your thigh— simultaneously a thank you for the reminder and an attempt to comfort you.
“I am. Just a few small things left that I’ll be able to toss in tomorrow before we leave.”
You manage a nod.
“Good. Don’t want a repeat of last time— your collection of emergency oops-I-forgot-to-pack-one toothbrushes is growing alarmingly large.”
“I’ll remember that next time you ask to borrow one.”
“Hey! You said you kept buying the pink ones specifically for me!”
Your boyfriend grins, dimples and those sweet crinkles around his eyes making an appearance as his smile grows. You recognize the little jab for what it is— an attempt to distract you from his departure, and it does work, drawing a peal of laughter from you.
“Really, mo ghrá,” he murmurs, leaning into your touch as your hand drifts up to play with his outgrown curls, “I’ll be back before you know it.”
“I know,” you smile, trying to keep the mood light, “I’m just savoring these last few moments with your hair before the darling ladies in hair and makeup cut it all off again.”
He opens his mouth to reply at the exact moment that you happen to tug at his curls just a touch harder than usual, and a slightly strangled sound escapes him— one that sets butterflies fluttering low in your stomach.
When you meet his eyes again, his gaze is the heavy-lidded one you’ve become… intimately familiar with.
“Savoring the last few moments, hm?” He hums, hands sliding further up your thigh. “I’ve got a few ideas, if you’re open to them.”
If the eager way you let him tug you along to the bedroom is any indication, you very much are.
You’re at the airport the next morning, and the weeks you’d had with Dónal before his next project are feeling like not enough time at all.
“You’ve got everything?” You ask, yet again. You reach up to adjust his Abercrombie hat, knuckles brushing his arm on the way down, intertwining your fingers with his. You haven’t stopped touching him— like you need to store up the feeling of him in preparation for the months of texts and video calls.
“I do,” he assures you for what must be the fifth time, squeezing your fingers briefly. A frown flashes across your face as the gate attendants announce that boarding will start soon, and he pulls you in for a hug.
“I’ll be home before you know it, mo ghrá.” He whispers in your ear, squeezing you tight. You bury your face in his neck, inhaling his familiar citrus scent before he pulls away.
“Hey,” his fingers tilt your chin up so your eyes meet his. “Kiss for luck?”
You can’t hold back a smile at the familiar refrain, a tradition that began before every audition. Rocking up onto your tiptoes, you press your lips to his in a sweet kiss, leaving one last peck on his cheek for good measure.
Pulling one hand from where it rests at your hip, he holds up his St. Christopher pendant from where it hangs at his neck, giving you a look with those big brown eyes of his.
You obediently press a kiss to the medallion, an extra little sprinkle of luck for him.
You want to stay right there, arms wrapped around each other at the gate, but then his boarding group is called, and his arms reluctantly release you. He gathers his suitcase and his trusty tote bag that you’d teased him relentlessly about— “performative male”— and his hand cups your cheek to pull you in for one final kiss.
“Text me as soon as you land,” you remind him, knowing he doesn’t need it.
“I will,” he reassures you anyway. “I love you.”
He’ll be back soon. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
“I love you.”
You watch until he’s safely on the plane, and pull up his flight information on your phone as you turn to leave, setting an alarm for the time he’s meant to land.
Your phone dings with a notification— one you’re not expecting.
You can't look at that face and tell me you're not bewitched. Wish I had a few more from YS but he was pretty straight faced for most of it! Open to a part 2, I'll keep my eyes peeled 😂
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