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anna | 22 | i like to read & write | support me! | MINORS & LARRIES DNI

[babyyhoneyyy]

Sugar, spice, and everything nice* | H.S

Harry is an author who’s a regular at Sunflower cafe, and Y/N has a crush (and a knack for helping cute writers who are virgins).

CW: shy author harry x barista y/n!!! U GUYS HAVE NO IDEA HOW HARD IT WAS TO KEEP QUIET ABOUT THIS LOL!! THE INSPIRATION HIT ME LIKE A TRAIN AND FINALLY GOT ME OUT OF THE WEIRD SLUMP I WAS IN!! H IS A BIG SWEETIE IN THIS ONE HE WEARS GLASSES AYYYY AND HES A VIRGIN SO BE WARNED FOR # SMUT !! ENJOY! TELL ME WHAT U THINK! AS ALWAYS MDNI!!

WC: 13k

PREVIEW:

As he sat next to her, warm and solid, Y/N leisurely let her eyes take him in; he looked easy as always, calm, relaxed against the back of the couch adorning black trousers and a fitted gray shirt. He smelled yummy too, woodsy with the faintest notes of lavender. Be it because of the alcohol in her system or the prospect of what the night could lead to, Y/N wanted nothing more than to climb onto his lap and eat him up entirely.

She set her glass down and shuffled a bit closer him on the sofa. “So,” She began, “How do you want to do this?”

At her question Harry’s eyes widened and he adjusted slightly. His own drink found its way to the side table as he nudged his glasses up. “Um. Whatever you want to do, you can do to me, really. I don’t mind,” He exhaled softly afterwards, “I’m also not, like, completely inexperienced. I’ve done other stuff.”

Y/N’s brows quirked. “Yeah?”

“Uh huh,” Harry swallowed around nothing. His lip was caught between his teeth as he stared her up and down. Goosebumps pimpled on her skin wherever he looked. “Do you wanna…” He spoke, weighing something up in his head very obviously, until he continued, “Can I kiss you?”

Harry was Y/N’s favourite customer.

She knew that, her coworker Aly knew that, even her manager Cody knew that— at this point, she’s halfway convinced he knew as well. 

How couldn’t he (or anyone else apart from the girl, actually) not see what was so blatantly obvious every morning as he walked in through those doors and strutted up to the counter with a notebook and laptop tucked under his left arm? Unfailingly, a cute pair of glasses were always either resting on his nose or pushing his chocolate curls back from his forehead— tendrils that looked so soft, Y/N is shy to admit she would give an embarrassing amount of money just to feel them one time.

And when her eyes locate him at exactly 9:15AM on the dot everyday, she wonders if he could see how her pupils expand the tiniest bit, and a smile threatens to stretch across her face as he greets her. 

The sad part was that their brief interactions never seemed to give them enough time to properly talk. Conversations were mostly centered around what pastry he wanted to get that morning to go along with his disturbingly strong espresso, or what brand of soap they just started using in the bathrooms because they left his skin feeling soft and smelling of strawberries. Sometimes Y/N would ask him what he was working on when he was glued to his computer for hours, or writing furiously in his tattered brown notebook, and he’d excitedly spill bits and pieces of his current project to her.

It was all very basic, very mediocre conversations you have with any regular, really, that comes into Sunflower cafe— mostly fillers to avoid long awkward pauses as the barista keyed in their order in the system or wiped down the counters with nothing in the background playing but the faint crooning of the old radio they relentlessly played. And yet Y/N would overthink every word she’s ever said to him, and vice versa.

Any outsider, reasonable person would safely assume her tiny little crush comes from the fact that he is very, very handsome. More than the average man that Y/N sees walk into the cafe or even stroll on the streets. With jade green eyes framed with thick, brown glasses and a rosy pair of lips, Harry Styles was as pretty as an angel fallen directly from heaven onto the earth’s soft grass— adorning features that Y/N thinks she’s only ever seen in paintings and other musings as such.

But what any other outsider, reasonable person doesn’t know, is that Harry Styles is one of Y/N’s personal favorite authors as well as her personal favorite customer.

His work was mostly fictional; focusing on genres such as romance, dabbled in with comedy and philosophical notes of self-improvement and all. She first picked up one of his books when she was fresh out of uni— spending her days off slouched on the bean bags in the public library to read for hours on end without interruption. When she began flipping through the introductory pages, she didn’t anticipate she’d become so enthralled by the way he wrote and the stories he told. His words had a way of immersing her entirely, making her forget that the physical world around her even existed. It was the first time Y/N truly understood what people meant when they said they’d ‘lost themselves in a book.’

Curiosity got the best of her, and after six hours spent in the library where she swallowed up two of his books in a single sitting, Y/N was tucked into her bed and googling the name “Harry Styles” with enthusiasm. She was pleasantly surprised to find that he wasn’t that much older than her— perhaps six or seven years, give or take— and his main office was shown to be around her city as well.

Maybe the universe was playing one big, fat prank on her when, after three days of searching for every book this man had ever published so she could binge-read them all, she was stopped in her tracks by the sight of him stepping into Sunflower Café, a thick coat pulled over his shoulders and his cheeks pink from the harsh winter air.

He was even prettier in real life than he was on her laptop screen. His eyes crinkled with kindness, and a gentle, polite smile graced his face as he greeted a stunned Y/N behind the counter. Somewhere between that first interaction and now— 9AM on a quaint Tuesday as she subtly awaited his arrival— she developed a giant, raging crush on the sweet author. It didn’t help that he was so soft-spoken as well; gaze never straying below the name tag on her collar, and a little dimple sporting his face whenever he thanked her. Then he’d settle in the booth on the far right end of the cafe, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the 9-10AM rush which trampled the poor staff.

And from her spot by the coffee machine, Y/N would steal glances at him staring down at his laptop with a furrow between his brows, and wonder what he was working on at that moment. She’d already caught up on his latest release— a 500 page novel about a group of friends who grow up together and then part ways to pursue their dreams before reconnecting again— and she’d do anything to get a small glimpse in that head of his just to know what he had in store next.

Y/N was yet to tell him she was a big fan of his, although she wasn’t sure she wanted to in the first place; merely because she didn’t want to scare the man away by coming off as a creep. So, she kept all of this hidden away in the crevices of her heart, not to be known or seen by anyone apart from those who read the clear signs themselves (namely Aly and Cody, thanks to the forced proximity and nothing else).

Today, as she scurried from customer to customer, hastily taking down orders and manically counting change so she didn’t mess anything up, all thoughts of Harry were shoved to the back of her mind (which was so very unlike her). She still clocked he’d be coming in soon, but normally she’d take a few moments to fix her hair or retouch her lip gloss before he came. Though now she couldn’t find a second of reprieve to collect herself until the bells jingled, and Harry came through the cafe doors. 

Her heartbeat stuttered when her eyes found him, watching as he ruffled his hair and slicked it back from his face. He was wearing a simple black long sleeve and blue jeans baggy enough to pool over his black shoes— even dressed so simply, Y/N thought he could easily give a supermodel a hard time. Wired headphones were plugged into his ears, and she could make out his sparkling eyes all the way from where she stood.

There was a short que he had to wait in before she could take his order. Since the cafe was a relatively small space, they only had room for one register at a time, so she couldn’t turn away for a single moment. Besides, she wouldn’t want to, in case she missed her chance talking to Harry and seeing him up close again; she’s only granted those pockets of time sparingly, and she liked to make the most of it when she could.

After minutes of back and forth with a fussy customer and then a regular who’d been frequenting the cafe for eight years, a subtle blush settled on Y/N’s cheeks when Harry stepped up to the counter.

“Hey, Y/N good morning,” He spoke, sniffling slightly. A small smile graced his rosy lips, “How are you?”

Y/N did her best to maintain eye contact with him, struggling to hold her own when he looked at her like that. “Hi, Harry, good thank you,” She tried to distract herself by glancing down at the screen, scrolling mindlessly across different drinks and pastries. “What can I get you today? Cody’s put out a fresh batch of pain au chocolat if you’d like one with your coffee?”

“I do love pain au chocolat…” Harry mused, staring at the specials above her head with squinted eyes. Y/N braved herself enough to look at his face, instantly taken aback by his unblemished skin and pursed lips. He was so unfairly pretty it made her chest ache.

“What would you recommend?” He questioned and snapped her out of her haze.

“Cody’s really good with chocolate, so I think you should get one. They’re yummy when you dip them in your coffee.” 

“Yeah?”

The word was followed by another one of his smiles, and Y/N was promptly killed all over again. Each passing second in his presence seemed to steal a little more air from her lungs.

“Uh-huh.”

Harry hummed, blissfully unaware of the effect he had on the girl. “Okay, we’ll do one of those,” He eyed the delicacies in the transparent case for a moment before coming back to her. “When r’you making those scones again? The ones with the dates and honey?” 

The ones he was referring to were those Y/N would make every couple of weeks when it was her turn to put out a bi-weekly special on the menu. It was a fan-favorite— especially Harry’s, seeing as though he tended to buy half the batch whenever she’d put out a new one. He wasn’t shy in the way he praised her baking, constantly telling her how perfect they were, and how they were his favorite treat in the whole city. That did wonders for Y/N’s delusional mind and love-struck heart; she had to keep reminding herself he was probably just being polite, and that’s all that was to it.

“Oh, I was planning on setting up a tray on Sunday. I can save you some if you like?”

Harry shuffled his laptop from one arm to the other. “Thank you, love, that’s very kind.”

“No problem,” Y/N replied, acting like the petname wasn’t making her blood rush, as she punched in his order to go back to the kitchen to Aly. “So a pain au chocolat and the regular espresso?”

“Yes, please. I’ll settle the tab as I leave— might be here a while. Mapping out my next novel.”

“That’s exciting,” Y/N exclaimed. She tried to keep her voice neutral, like she was not at all internally jumping for joy that Harry was working on his next piece.

“Maybe when the rush dies down, I’ll come over with another cup myself— that way you don’t interrupt your flow.”

“I would really appreciate that. Thanks, Y/N.”

Y/N noticed how he turned bashful as the words left his lips. Before she could think too much of it, he cleared his throat and changed the topic, “Hey, did you cut your hair?” 

“Oh,” Y/N’s fingers came up to graze the ends, “Uh, yeah, just a trim.”

“You look pretty.” 

He said the three words so simply— so calmly, Y/N would’ve thought he just asked her how she was, instead of lightening up her whole world with the easy compliment. The casual nature of the way it left his lips sent her nerves into frenzy; if he hadn’t been able to tell she was flustered before, Y/N was certain he could now, judging by how thoroughly she’d morphed into a tomato.

Plus, she barely even did much to her hair; only shaved off the dead-ends like she would routinely, and no one had noticed until now— not Aly, or any of her best friends.

Her heart was hammering in her chest as she formulated a reply. “Oh, thanks, Harry.”

“Yeah, no problem,” He backed away from the counter. 

Y/N pinched her thigh behind the opaque cabinets to bring herself back to earth. “I’ll be over with your stuff in a minute.” 

She caught the quiet “thank you,” he murmured in reply, along with the way he rubbed his nose with the back of his index finger, seemingly trying to hide the small smile tugging at his lips.

She stared after him for a second longer than she should have.

Maybe she was reading too much into it. Maybe she wasn’t.

Either way, Y/N found herself smiling too.

-

Y/N has decided she will never, ever go out drinking with her friends again.

Sitting there on the edge of the pavement with goosebumps trailing up and down her bare arms, she promised herself this as she tried again (yet to no avail) to book an Uber to go home. Of course, none of this would be happening right now if she’d just stayed in like she was hoping to, or even if Gina and Drew told her they were going to leave early that night and abandon the girl to fend for herself. 

It was times like this she really pitied herself; sad, cold, alone, moderately drunk with a shitty group of friends who left the bar without checking with her first, because they assumed she went home due to her headache.

An hour ago, Y/N went to the grimy bar toilets to splash cold water on her face to try and make the encroaching pain go away. She was there for fifteen minutes max, and when she came out and found the booth she shared with her friends empty except her drink on the table, her heart dropped low in her stomach. After sending Gina a text asking where they went off to, Y/N had to bite her lip to stop herself from cussing out the entire room when she replied that they’d gone bar-hopping ‘cause the one they were at had no cute guys to scout.

That part specifically, Y/N didn’t mind as much. Obviously, if her friends were going out with the intention to meet new people romantically, she understands why they wanted to check out different places and see what their options were. All she’s saying is she would’ve appreciated a little notice or a text or a call or anything which signalled they were changing hunting grounds. And when she brought it up, Gina just said they assumed she’d gone home because she wasn't feeling well.

In their defence, they weren’t normally like this; every other time they went out, Y/N was always stuck to Gina’s side no matter what the social situation was looking like.

Then again, that could just be because apart from tonight, Y/N was usually (always) the designated driver. Being the only one with a working car who was willing to spend her petrol and go without drinking for the whole night, she’d agreed months ago to take on the role.

It normally played in her favor, because she worked almost six out of seven days a week, and that meant she couldn’t risk the after effects of drinking too much on a night out— specifically dealing with a gnarly hangover, all while a pesky customer stood shouting their head off at her. That was a situation she was desperate to avoid under any circumstances.

But tonight was meant to be the exception; instead of taking her car, they all pitched in to get an Uber to the bar so Y/N could have a couple of drinks too. What she didn’t expect, was to end up like she had— lonely and cold by herself, stray tears staining her cheeks, for which she felt really stupid… why did the whole thing have to bother her so much? So what Gina and Drew assumed she’d gone home and went to a bar 20 minutes away from the one she was at? They were only looking out for her. Surely that’s all there was to it.

And yet her heart still wrenched painfully in her chest. Y/N blamed it on the alcohol she had and her post-period emotions (which Aly kept trying to tell her was not a real thing, but Y/N swears she turns into a completely different person every stage of her cycle).

Alas, her exposed skin was flushed beneath the hot summer air, her knees tucked into her chest, barely covered by the tiny dress she put on a few hours ago. She didn’t give up on her phone— still tapping and smacking; yelling at Siri to make the piece of garbage work, but she couldn’t catch a signal from where she was. The tears were making her vision blurry, and she was on the verge of giving up when a shiny, polished baby-blue car drove right past her.

She wouldn’t have thought much of it, if whoever was driving didn’t stop inches from where she sat and reversed slowly to be parallel to her. She was confused at first— frozen in place— before the panic settled in; what if her time had come, and she was going to get kidnapped and shipped off to another country to be sold for body parts? What if it’s an attacker who preys on young, innocent girls and steals them away to keep locked in his basement until she agrees to have his babies? Fuck, what if i—

“Y/N? What are you doing out here?” A familiar voice broke her out of her thoughts just as she was about to wrap her fingers around her small pepper spray bottle; a gentle tone which her brain was primed to associate with comfort.

A relieved sigh escaped her lips when Harry stepped out of the driver’s side— the same Harry who made her heart pound and her veins sizzle with want every time she set her gaze on him.

He looked more wound down than she was used to seeing him; wearing a loose green jumper and gray sweats to go with. On his feet were a pair of black slides, and his car keys hooked off of one finger lazily. She was too far gone mentally to even consider why he would be out at this hour in this part of town. That was a puzzle future, sober she would have to solve, when she wasn’t blinded by irritation towards her friends, and surprise for seeing the man she was unhealthily obsessed with at such a random time.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she recognised him, and she used her free hand to quickly wipe her wet face. “Harry?”

He rounded the hood to stand before her, “Are you alright?” Harry asked, planting his hands on his knees so he could crouch down to her height.

She was slightly taken aback by his close proximity. His cologne invaded all her senses, rendering it hard for her to focus on anything but his nearness— it  almost made her forget about the messy, dramatic mascara stains running down her cheeks. “Hi! Hey,” Y/N greeted with false enthusiasm, “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.” She waved her right hand unoccupied with her phone around, like she was batting away any apprehension he might have seeing her like this.

Even still, his brows knitted together in worry. “Y’sure? Why are you sitting by yourself alone on the sidewalk? It’s so late.”

“Is it? Huh,” Y/N looked around the dark street, like she was just now realising it was way past her regular bedtime. A glance at her screen and she read the time to be about 12AM. “I, um— I was trying to get an Uber.”

“Are y’out with anyone?” He asked, punctuating the sentence by cutely pushing his glasses back up his nose. 

Having his pretty face so close to hers and his sparkling eyes twinkling beneath the moonlight staring intently at her was becoming Y/N’s downfall. She wanted to kiss him silly so bad, she wondered if he could see the filthy thoughts swimming in her brain as she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Hmm?” She hummed dreamily, gaze saccharine as it didn’t stray from his, “No. Not anymore, at least.”

“C’mon, we’ll get you up.” He shook his head like he was almost sad for her, sighing, while he got up from his squatted position. Both his hands were held out to her expectantly.

It was a wonder how spending just a few minutes in his presence made Y/N basically forget about how she was hurting and crying moments before. Now, as she slipped her colder hands into his bigger, warmer ones, she couldn’t think of anything else but the way his grip swallowed hers entirely.

“Oh!” A surprised cry crawled up her throat when he tugged once, bringing her to a stand immediately— albeit on slightly wobbly legs. His casual demonstration of strength made butterflies erupt in her belly unannounced. Y/N gratefully squeezed his hands one time before letting go (very, very regrettably). “Thank you,” She breathed, noticing how they were standing basically toe-to-toe now. From this new angle, she spotted three freckles dotted on his face in the shape of an upside down triangle. 

Y/N was so close to reaching up to trace them with her fingers when her stomach loudly interrupted the moment. The growl was long and embarrassing— also very expected, seeing as though she hadn’t eaten in a long time; prior to coming out to town, Gina and her had split a pizza for lunch, however that was almost twelve hours ago now. They did nibble on some chips at the bar, but Drew stumbled and spilled most of it out on the waxy floors. So her tummy being angry about being left unsatisfied for so long didn’t come off as a surprise to her. She just wished it didn’t happen so awkwardly in front of Harry.

A chuckle came from his pretty mouth, and two dimples which Y/N wanted to poke formed on his cheeks. He nudged his shoulder against hers, and spoke, “Y’hungry?”

“... Yeah.”

“Let’s get you something to eat, hmm? Then I can take you home.”

“Harry, you really don’t have to. I don’t want to be a bother.”

He leaned over to get the door for her on the passenger side, ushering her inside with a hand on the small of her back. “Me leaving you like this on the street will bother me more. I’ll keep wonderin’ if you’re okay.”

Y/N stopped in her tracks at his words. She twisted her body so she could face him, a pout forming on her painted lips, “You’re so nice, Harry, really. I wish there were more people like you.”

And she meant every word too— he had no need to be this kind to her. They didn’t owe each other anything. All of this was coming from the good of his own heart, and the thought of that made Y/N more sentimental than she thought she could be.

At her moony-eyed state, Harry smiled shyly, “Yeah, yeah. I’m a joy to be around,” He muttered while again, pushing his glasses further up his nose. He tapped her back twice with the palm of his hand, gently signalling for her to get a move on.

“Now get in the car before you starve to death, love. Can still hear your tummy growling.”

-

“Why are you out this late? Been askin’ me for so long— I wanna know what my favorite regular was up to at 12 in the city.”

Harry ended up driving Y/N to a Mexican food truck a couple blocks away from her apartment building. She’d been living in the area for almost five years now, and she was devastated to find out she didn’t even know the place existed. How an authentic Mexican restaurant missed her radar was beyond her— Y/N was always on the lookout for new food places to try, especially those that wouldn’t break the bank, and this one was exactly that, she noted, as she nursed a 6$ plate of three tacos in her hands, complete with a steaming cup of consomé and two wedges of lime.

The food was amazing, be that because she was very hungry and also still a little drunk, or because she got to share it with Harry. He was the mirror image of her, leaning against the back of his car as Y/N stood to his left. He was down to one taco now, and judging by the way he ate them so fast, Y/N was inclined to think he too was starving like her.

The entire drive to the food truck was spent with Y/N explaining to Harry how she ended up in such a unfortunate situation; specifically, how Gina and Drew essentially stood her up for the night. Suffice to say, Harry was not happy at all when she reached the end of her story. A tiny frown scrunched his face as he tsked at her, telling her how the way she was treated was not okay, no matter how much Y/N tried to convince herself (and him) otherwise.

But she did her best not to dwell on it too much. If she did, that just led to the waterworks, and she has a little bit of self-respect left before she lets Harry see her like that. So, she swallowed up all these feelings and urges, put on a brave face, and let herself forget about the shitty night she had at the prospect of spending some time with Harry. Which she still couldn’t believe was happening, by the way— but it was, and unless she was so drunk she was imagining this entire thing, she wanted to maintain a good image in front of her little work crush.

Though the fact that she was still feeling loose-lipped and wobbly was not missed by Harry, who found her drunken words quite entertaining. At her question, he quirked an eyebrow and smirked.

“Favorite regular?”

Y/N nodded animatedly, gesturing with her free hand towards the car and the food truck just a few feet away from them. “This certainly bumped you up the list.”

“There’s a list?”

“There’s always a list.”

“What rank was I before?” Harry asked. He took a bite out of his taco, sticking his tongue out before it met his mouth like a child. The sight made Y/N want to giggle, but she refrained. He was doing so much for her already— he even paid for her food— so she didn’t want to tease and poke at his antics.

Instead, she finished off the food in her mouth, then spoke, “That’s very confidential information,” She swiped her chin with a clean napkin. “And you haven’t answered my question.”

Harry looked down at his plate, fiddling with the flimsy styrofoam with his thumb. “I was driving back home from the laundromat. Couldn’t find time during the day so…”

“So midnight laundry?”

“Midnight laundry,” He said definitively.

“Very efficient.” 

“I try to be.”

Y/N was happy with the way the night turned out, and how conversation flowed so easily between them. She was expecting it to be awkward like it could get in the cafe sometimes, but surprisingly it wasn’t. Even the silence was comfortable, filled only by the sound of her lime being squeezed over her last taco. 

“How’d you find out about this place? I’ve never ever had tacos this good,” Y/N dipped the tortilla in the consomé once, then twice, “I’m always looking for someone who makes them the way those people eat them on Tiktok and such. My food never looks the same,” It was steaming hot, and she blew a cool stream of air towards it before finishing her thought, “Not tonight, though. These are the best tacos I’ve ever had.”

Harry took a sip of his bottled soda, setting down his empty plate on the car. “My sister and I come here whenever she’s in the city. She used to date the guy who worked here like seven years ago— our yearly tradition of scarfing down ten of these in one sitting, unfortunately, lasted longer than the relationship.” 

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise. “You have a sister?”

“Yeah, she’s older than me. I’ll bring her ‘round the shop one day when she visits.”

“Yes, please. We’ll take good care of her.” 

Now that she thought about it, it made so much sense that Harry had a sister. That explained how he was so soft-spoken and attentive— qualities Y/N had always assumed came from having an older sister who spent years correcting your manners and reminding you to be considerate. He didn’t continue talking about her though, so she took that as her que to change the topic into something else.

As casually as she could, she hoped to maybe get a few crumbs on what he was working on now. Y/N chugged her orange soda to buy a couple seconds to compose herself, and then spoke, “Make much progress on your book?”

“Um, just sorting out the basics really. I like to character map and all before I begin writing the meat of it,” He said, gesticulating with his free hands, “Helps when I get to meet interesting people who inspire me a lot.”

“Yeah?” Y/N hummed with interest, “Come across a lot of those in this boring city?”

Something warm spread in her tummy when he laughed softly, nodding down at the ground. He didn’t meet her eyes, but then again, Y/N didn’t know if she wanted him to— standing this close to her and looking so pretty, she’s worried she’ll do something she regrets if he stared at her for too long. 

“I do,” He started. A smile stayed plastered on his face as he spoke, “But I don’t typically find them sitting on the pavement outside a 7/11 with mascara streaks at 12AM.”

The words made Y/N gasp, and a breathy scoff left her mouth when she shoved her shoulder against him playfully. “Hey! I was vulnerable! You can’t use that against me,” She exclaimed.

 “I thought you were very inspiring,” Harry giggled, “Really, I’m touched.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the little grin tugging at her lips betrayed her. “You’re actually mean.”

She focused on picking off the onions from her last two bites, wanting to carefully curate them so they were perfect. Now that she knew this place existed (and was so close to her house), she’ll be here all the time. A small part of her hoped she would run into Harry here as well as the cafe; those five minutes that she got to speak with him everyday were slowly seeming smaller and smaller.

She thinks she could hear him talk forever; not only was his voice deep and calming, but she liked the things he said, even if sometimes they were silly little jabs at her. Knowing that he felt comfortable with her enough to tease her like that was already making her heart flip behind her sternum.

Y/N took another bite before speaking, “Thanks for this. You didn’t have to, and you still did, and that meant a lot to me,” She tilted her head towards the plate and then the car so he knew what she was referring to. “Especially after what happened, y’know.”

“What do you mean, this is exactly how I wanted to spend my night,” Harry’s cheeks went slightly pink when he talked, gaze still not meeting hers, “Maybe it wasn’t what I was planning, but I’m glad it turned out like this. Of course, I’m not glad about what y’friends did and all, but I’m happy I ran into you.”

Every word that left his mouth tugged at her heartstrings. Maybe he was saying it just to be polite, so she didn’t feel bad about him having to take care of her, feed her, pay for her food, and drive her home— though she felt her waterlines flood instantly. Perhaps it was the alcohol in her system making her feel like this (Y/N’s always been a particularly emotional girl when inebriated), but she’s probably also still a little worked-up about what happened with her friends. Y/N wasn’t in a good place when Harry found her, and him staying and helping her through it meant so much to her, she’s worried she doesn’t have the words to express it.

“I’m happy you ran into me too,” She said through a pout. Without thinking much of it, Y/N leaned up to wrap her free arm around his neck and pull him down for a hug. The scent of vanilla and something fruity enveloped her senses as she tightened her fingers around his collar. Harry’s hand settled on her waist, and all Y/N could think about was how sober her would never have the guts to do something like this. She would probably pass out, actually, if something of this sort ever occurred— merely standing in front of him made her brain fuzzy, a hug would take her out.

Harry patted her waist twice. “Okay Ms. Sappy don’t go all teary–eyed on me again,” Y/N could hear the smile in his voice as it dropped lower, “Who would’ve thought you were such a crybaby drunk.”

Y/N shushed him, “Stop, let me have my moment.”

“Yeah, please do. S’not like a hot bowl of consomé is up against my stomach.”

Unwinding herself from his torso, Y/N took a big step back when the words left his mouth. He wasn’t wrong— she didn’t realise she was still very much holding her plate in her other hand which was awkwardly squished between their bodies.

Y/N covered her mouth with her palm, eyes rounded in distress. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay!?”

Harry pressed against his jumper, presumably where the consomé warmed him, and hissed jokingly, “I can’t really feel anything in the waist area, but I think I’ll live.” 

-

Harry came around to see Y/N often.

The shift was a gradual one— something that happened slowly and naturally. After that night when he took her out to get tacos, he ended up taking Y/N home right after. She invited him up to her place to be cordial (at least that’s what she told herself) but he politely declined because it was almost 2 in the morning.

The next day, Y/N was working the afternoon shift at the cafe. The past night was evident on her, taking form in deep circles beneath her eyes and a dull ache in her head which moved as she did. To top it all off, she hadn’t seen Harry come in either. She had half the mind to think that perhaps last night scared him, and he realised that Y/N was maybe a little bit weird. Her mind was racing as she served customer after customer, wondering if Harry decided to change cafes… what if he stopped frequenting Sunflower altogether? Surely she didn’t come off that strong last night.

She was on the verge of calling out for five to get some fresh air when the bells jingled and a familiar frame entered the room. A tiny breath of relief came past her lips as Harry stepped inside and walked right up to the counter.

Y/N wondered if he could tell from her face how glad she was to see him, because he smiled at her all big. That was when she noticed the thin red plastic bag hanging off of his right wrist, and he spoke excitedly, “Hey! I brought y’some more tacos. Figured you’d be going for y’break soon. They’re still warm,” He held the food up a little and wiggled his hand, then was interrupted by a yawn, “M’knackered though. Couldn’t get out of bed this morning— I haven’t slept past 12 in a long time.”

… Y/N was starting to like Harry a lot.

And if he kept this little act up— where he’s sweet and loving and kind towards her, bringing her lunch every other day and hanging out at the counter to ask how her day was, she’s afraid her meek heart can’t take it.

He made it a habit to bring her the tacos; it’d gotten to the point that Y/N was eating them at least three times a week now. If it wasn’t those, he was grabbing her one of her favorite drinks that she’d randomly mentioned in passing when he was driving her back to her place. 

The thought did occur to her that perhaps he was behaving this way because he still felt bad about what had happened to her. Maybe he pitied her for the way she’d been treated and thought he could step up as the friend she’d never really had. Yet Y/N was inclined to believe there was more to it than that. She wasn’t a little girl, and Harry didn’t need to fuss over her or treat her like one. She liked to think that maybe he was simply one of those people whose love language was acts of service or gift-giving—he did always seem particularly pleased with himself whenever Y/N smiled at him gratefully and told him how kind or generous he was when he brought her something.

Although concurrently, he also seemed like he valued quality time, considering how he began asking her to his table every time she went on her thirty-minutes. Though Y/N may be more to blame for that one, if she was being real. The first time he brought her something to eat, she all but forced him to join her, and split the meal with her on her break.

She was happy to learn that conversation still flowed, despite both of them being sober and of sound mind this time around. And she was even happier to learn that Harry didn’t totally despise hanging out with her. In fact, it was usually him, rather than her, who waved her over and invited her to spend her break with him at his table.

If she wasn’t so preoccupied with worrying about what she was saying or doing all the time around him, she’d have the energy to dwell on the reality of the situation— this was the same Harry she used to spend half her day staring at longingly from afar, desperately looking forward to the next time he came to the counter to exchange a few words with her.

However, now, as she sat across from him with her half-empty drink (that he’d gotten for her) and a croissant she was slowly picking apart, Y/N could sense that something was bothering him instead of her. The crinkle between his brows, the tense set of his jaw and the short, clipped responses he gave without ever looking away from his computer made it rather obvious.

Y/N brushed off stray flakey bits of pastry that stuck to her fingers, determined to make him talk about what was so obviously nagging him. “What’s wrong?” She asked abruptly.

Harry met her prying eyes for a second, and just as quickly returned to his screen as he nodded ‘no.’ “Hmm? Nothing,” He replied.

“I can tell something is bothering you. You got that look on your face.”

“What look?”

Y/N huffed, “Like something is bothering you.” 

“S’nothing. Just a… block,” Harry said, reluctance to speak evident in his tone. He avoided making eye-contact with her— whatever was on his screen was apparently more worth his attention than she was. But Y/N knew there was more to his story than he was letting on; she could tell by the way he shut down the second the words left his mouth, as though pretending she wasn’t there would somehow make her disappear.

Even still, she didn’t let up. Y/N took a long sip of her drink and then spoke, “A block? Like writer’s block?”

“Kind of,” He muttered, “Well, I can write if I wanted to, I just don’t know how to.”

“Don’t know how to write?”

Don’t know how to write this scene specifically.”

“Maybe I can help. What sort of scene is it?” 

Harry sighed. “S’okay, I’ll figure it out. Don’t wanna bore you.”

“You could never bore me,” Y/N reassured him, now leaning forward like she was going to tell him a secret, “Tell me. Unless you don’t want to?”

At this, Harry finally lowered his laptop screen, and Y/N could properly see him. Today he wore a soft looking black hoodie and jeans— again, appearing so effortlessly pretty, Y/N was a little jealous. His face was smooth, as if he shaved this morning.

“No, no, I do,” He shook his head, “I just— it’s a little embarrassing.”

“Now I wanna know even more,” Y/N drew out the last word, eagerly getting closer towards him on the table. The thought of something making a grown man like Harry embarrassed was sort of thrilling to her. As strange as it might sound, Y/N found herself oddly curious about what could possibly make Harry so blushy and bashful— especially when he was usually so composed around her.

 “C’mon, I’ll give it my best,” She pleaded, eyes wide.

Y/N noticed as Harry contemplated the idea before her, until he breathed deeply and pushed his glasses up his nose, seemingly having made his choice.

“Um— fuck. Okay,” He started, “So, I’ve been trying to write this scene for days now, but I can’t get it right. I’ve rewritten it so many times at this point, I almost want to scrap it altogether,” He waved his hands around as he talked, rings glinting beneath the cafe lighting, “But I can’t. It’s important for the story.”

“What kind of scene is it?”

“Um. It’s like a… it’s romantic.”

Y/N fidgeted with the plastic rim of her cup and hummed, “Romantic? You’ve written heaps of romance before, have you not? What’s so hard about this one?”

“I’ve never written it so… intensely,” Harry said. He was sitting up now, knees knocking into hers beneath the table, “Never got into the nitty gritty.”

“Nitty gritty?” She asked and raised her brows in question.

He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, exhaling softly, “Sex. I’m talking about writing the characters having sex for the first time,” He said, watching Y/N closely, who was trying her best not to let her jaw drop open in shock. Her cheeks were flaring up as he continued, “I’ve been trying, and I feel like I’m no good. Though I know exactly what the issue is and how to fix it.”

Out of everything Harry could’ve said, Y/N certainly wasn’t expecting that.

Sure, she’d read heaps of his books before, and she knew he was a good writer— he wrote romance well, and he was funny, he was good with dialogue, and he could really make you feel what his characters were feeling solely with his words… Yet now that she thinks back, she doesn’t recall anything of his that she's read which was particularly promiscuous; most of the time he’ll write a kiss or two in, but that’s about as far as he usually goes.

Despite that, Y/N still couldn’t understand why he couldn’t write it now. What could possibly be holding him back from finding the right words this time?

Y/N blinked twice, processing this new information as she cleared her throat, “Wow. Okay,” She rubbed a hand down her thigh anxiously, “So if you know how to fix it, why don’t you?”

“It’s not that simple, I— I’m a…” Harry began talking, only to pause briefly while he twisted his ring around his finger. Y/N was beginning to think the sentence was lost upon him when he went on, “Um, I’ve never really done it before.”

“Done what before?”

“I’ve never had sex before. I’m completely lost as to how to write it. I’ve tried reading about it and everything, but I’m just not happy with how it’s turning out.”

Oh.

Oh.

Y/N was at a loss for words.

She could feel her entire body begin to buzz, heat creeping up her neck and into her cheeks as he suddenly seemed determined to avoid her gaze. She was in disbelief. There was no way (in her head, at least) that Harry— as beautiful and funny and charming as she knew him to be— was a virgin.

She can’t accept the fact; her brain won’t allow it. Not as he waited patiently for a response, or as he nudged the tip of his shoe against hers as if he was reminding her he was still there, and could very much see how her lips had parted in shock.

“Oh… that’s um. That’s— wow,” Y/N said after a long silence, “Do you think if you do it— have sex, I mean— it’ll, um… it’ll help you’re writing process?”

Harry nodded enthusiastically, “It will help my writing process,” He said, “And I’m not saving myself or anything. The right opportunity just hasn’t shown up.”

“And you’re ready now? Like, if the right person came along, you wouldn’t mind loosing it to them?”

“I wouldn’t,” He pouted slightly, “But the thing is, I don’t want to do it with just anyone. I want it to be someone I trust, and I want them to be able to trust me too.”

Trying to appear as cool and nonchalant and unbothered as she could be (a stark contrast to her jittery nerves), Y/N picked the skin by her thumb. “Do you have anyone in mind?” 

“Well I don’t have many friends in the city. Especially those who’d be cool with something like this,” Using the back of his knuckle, he shoved his glasses further up, “I mean, I wouldn’t want to ruin a good relationship if we’re not on the same page about why we’d be doing it.”

“Yeah, I can understand where you’re coming from.”

“You do?’’

“Of course I do. You want to ask them, but you don’t want it to be this big monumental thing— it has to purely be a friend helping out another friend. No strings attached.”

Y/N watched as his gaze faltered, flitting between her own two eyes like he was mulling over something. She anticipated a question even before he opened his mouth, yet nothing could’ve prepared her for what he was going to say next.

“Would you…” He started, fading out as he looked down at his lap and shook his head,  “Nevermind.”

“What?”

“Nevermind it. Forget I said anything.”

“Harry. Tell me,” Y/N urged.

“Well, I was wondering if maybe you could do it for me.”

A beat passed.

“You mean if I could take your virginity for you?”

“Yes! It’d be so, so, so helpful for me, Y/N, really. I’m genuinely stuck here and I can’t think of any other solution,” Harry cried, though he was still careful to keep his voice low, “And you’re so beautiful, and you’re kind, and pretty. I think it could be really good for both of us,” When she didn’t reply, a tiny frown pulled at his brows, “If you don’t want to, you can tell me. Nothing will change between us.”

Y/N was quick to shake her head, his words registering very, very slowly in her head. She was so suddenly taken aback— shocked, really, by his admission, and then his request— so much so, she’s beginning to think that this was all a part of some silly dream, maybe. Because there was no way in hell that Harry was not only a virgin, but was asking Y/N to be his first; that too, so casually, like he was asking her out for a coffee.

There were about a million things going through her head as she stared at his desperate face, and Y/N powered through to speak up, “It’s not that— not that I don’t want to, I just…”

“I’ll understand if I’m not your type—”

“No! No, that’s not it! You’re so… you’re very, um, nice. To look at. And talk to,” She said hastily. Y/N tried to keep her eyes on his face, but her heart was racing so rapidly that she was convinced merely looking at him for much longer would have her collapsing face-first onto the floor.

“So you’ll help me? I can repay you however you want; I can take you out shopping or we can go get dinner at a fancy place— whatever you want,” Harry earnestly offered. Her breath caught in her throat when he suddenly reached out to put his hand over hers, probably trying to provide some sort of comfort, yet all it did was make her malfunction further.

“Harry, I want to help you. I really do,” Y/N flipped her palm so his fingertips grazed her skin, leaving flaming trails beneath their touch, “Do you… are you sure you want me to be your first? D’you know what that means?”

“Y/N, sex is sex, and I want to do it with you, if you’ll have me,” Harry spoke so decisively, so strongly, the tone made her knees weak. If she wasn’t already sitting, she was convinced her knees would have given out beneath her the second the words left his lips, “If you want to say no, you can say it now, and I will never bring this up again. You will still be my friend, and I’ll view you no differently,” He drew a small heart on her palm, “But if it helps you make your choice, I want you to say yes.”

“Harry, we barely know each other,” Y/N reasoned.

“I know. That's why it makes so much sense. There’s no complicated history between us.”

Technically speaking, he wasn’t wrong.

There was no history between them at all, if that night at the Mexican food truck doesn’t count for anything. Plus, she’s been crushing on him for such a long time— it’s been almost seven months of her longingly staring at him from the counter, wishing to speak with him for even just a minute of her day. And he admitted he thought she was pretty too, so obviously there was a mutual attraction. 

The only thing Y/N was worried about was having to keep it casual. Harry didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, and she truly meant it when she said she understood his perspective. But Y/N wasn’t sure she was the right person for this, given the fact that what she felt for Harry was more than just physical attraction.

On the other hand, she was wondering if it could work in her favor. What if sleeping with him for one night with no strings attached was actually what she needed to get him out of her system? Y/N had never really been one for long-term, serious relationships anyway, so surely this would help her in some way or another.

The more she thinks about it, the more she realises she wasn’t opposed to giving it a chance.

Before she could help it, her mouth moved on its own accord. “Okay.”

Harry raised his brows. “Okay?”

“Okay, I can help you. I want to help you,” She said, “However you need.”

“You sure?”

Y/N waited for her brain to overfire—to tell her to say no, to freak out, to reconsider the entire thing.

It never came.

Instead, she took a slow, steadying breath.

“I’m sure.”

A long, relieved sigh came from Harry’s mouth when he finally slipped his hand into hers properly, “You have no idea how much this means to me, Y/N. I’m going to do my best to make it up to you, I promise.”

As Harry smiled gratefully at her, Y/N could only hope that, when all was said and done, she wouldn’t look back on this moment and wish she’d said no. She had no idea whether she’d be able to keep her feelings out of it, but for now, she chose to believe she was making the right decision.

After all, how badly could one night really hurt? 

-

Harry had a really, really nice house.

Y/N noted this as soon as she walked in, the scent of vanilla and fresh laundry and her favorite type of pasta hitting her all at the same time. His apartment was more spacious than she’d thought it would be, with massive floor to ceiling windows and bookshelves lining entire walls, a nice, marble-top kitchen and a soft sage green rug lining his living room floor. If he wasn’t already a successful author, Y/N would seriously suggest he consider a career in interior designing.

She told him this while he made sure she was comfortable— he took her coat, thanked her for the bottle of wine she brought for the occasion (which was mostly to help her deal with her anxiety than it was to pose as a polite gift), and guided her to the kitchen where he was working diligently on a sauce which was (allegedly) simmering since 3 in the afternoon.

All throughout the evening, Y/N was trying her very best to remain cool and in control of her emotions and actions. The circumstances under which they were were not normal by any means— on the face of it, it looks like Harry was this cute guy she was seeing who invited her to his place for a dinner date. However, if you peer beneath the surface just a tiny bit, you’ll realise that Y/N and Harry are not mutually exclusive, and even though they plan to have sex in a couple of hours, they were not allowed to let it be more than a physical thing. 

It was plainly two friends fucking, with no expectation of anything further to go along with it attached. A transaction, if you want to use Harry’s words; the reason why he’s asked her to come to his place for dinner first was because this was his way of “paying her back” for the “favor.”

That day at the cafe before he left to go home, he slipped Y/N his number, asking her to give him a call so he could save her contact in his phone. Later that night, she got the text— Harry was planning a nice, decadent dinner, wine and dessert at his place the night they decided to meet (and fuck).

The words on her screen made everything suddenly seem so real. This was actually happening. Y/N wasn’t dreaming when Harry asked her to take his virginity, and now he had picked out a date and planned the evening already. Time flew by that week, faster than it normally did in the bustling cafe. Nothing changed between her and Harry; he was still frequenting the cafe, still bringing her treats, and still as sweet as ever. You’d never guess that this was the same man that had asked her to fulfil such a naughty favour only days ago. 

Before she knew it, Saturday night had arrived, and Y/N had taken the longest everything shower of her life. Even then, she was still partly in disbelief that this was true. 

She put in extra effort with her hair, makeup, and outfit— picking out a short, flirty dress she saved for special occasions. Yes, she was nervous because she was headed to her crush’s house knowing that the night would end with him inside of her, but she was also nervous because she had to make it good. Had to make it worth it, at least.

After tonight, Y/N would become the one and only person Harry’s ever had sex with; and in her eyes, that was a pretty fucking prestigious position to hold. It meant that anybody he ever decides to do this with again (and she thinks about this even though it makes her belly twist with jealousy) will always be compared to her. And the things he’ll learn with her, he might one day use on someone else.

The mere thought of that makes her want to throw up, so she buried it away, and busied herself with perfecting her skin, moisturing intently and rubbing various oils on her freshly shaved body. Her hair she decided to leave down and around her shoulders, and her makeup was set to perfection. Y/N wasn’t going to risk letting Harry witness her streaky mascara again after that night outside the 7/11. After all this she drove over to his address and was welcomed by his handsome face at the door. He was smiling shyly, stepping to the side so Y/N could come in when he spoke, “You look so beautiful, Y/N.”

A simple compliment. The most basic one, really, though the effect it had on Y/N had to be studied. Her heart skipped at least three beats when she got a whiff of his cologne, trying to find the words to return his kindness when she said, “Thanks Harry, you too.”

Slow conversation flowed between the two of them; talks of the weather, if she found his address difficult to find, how the rest of his week went, etc. The elephant in the room remained unaddressed. Not once had Harry or Y/N even gotten close to mentioning the real reason why she was in his apartment all dolled up, or why he went through every effort to find the best ingredients for dinner tonight, knowing exactly what pasta Y/N preferred (which was something she revealed during one of her rambles at the cafe).

She loitered in the kitchen while he finished cooking and dished up the food. Harry suggested they opened the bottle of wine, and Y/N had never agreed faster. During the course of dinner she’d gone through two and a half glasses. A nice, electrifying buzzy feeling settled into her veins as they dug their forks into the small cheesecake Harry prepared for dessert.

Y/N was starting to believe Harry was just good at everything; writing, cooking, decorating, talking… There was seemingly nothing the man couldn’t do. The pasta was top tier, paired with crispy garlic bread, while the cheesecake was exactly the right amount of sweet. There genuinely had to be some sort of sorcery in those big hands of his, because she’d almost forgotten why she was there in the first place, too busy admiring his house and devouring everything he’d made.

Y/N made sure to vocalise her praises when they migrated to the couch, dirty dishes now gathered in the sink. Her third glass of wine which she was finishing off was cupped in her fingers, and Harry nursed his own drink, rings clinking against delicate glass.

As he sat next to her, warm and solid, Y/N leisurely let her eyes take him in; he looked easy as always, calm, relaxed against the back of the couch adorning black trousers and a fitted gray shirt. He smelled yummy too, woodsy with the faintest notes of lavender. Be it because of the alcohol in her system or the prospect of what the night could lead to, Y/N wanted nothing more than to climb onto his lap and eat him up entirely.

She set her glass down and shuffled a bit closer him on the sofa. “So,” She began, “How do you want to do this?”

At her question Harry’s eyes widened and he adjusted slightly. His own drink found its way to the side table as he nudged his glasses up. “Um. Whatever you want to do, you can do to me, really. I don’t mind,” He exhaled softly afterwards, “I’m also not, like, completely inexperienced. I’ve done other stuff.”

Y/N’s brows quirked. “Yeah?”

“Uh huh,” Harry swallowed around nothing. His lip was caught between his teeth as he stared her up and down. Goosebumps pimpled on her skin wherever he looked. “Do you wanna…” He spoke, weighing something up in his head very obviously, until he continued, “Can I kiss you?”

Y/N’s heart was racing a million beats a second as she nodded, “Yes.” Harry took that as his sign to twist his body towards her and trace his fingers against her jaw. His touch was feathery light, barely there when it cupped her cheek and pulled her closer. Y/N had inadvertently made her way towards him; their knees interlocked on the plush couch. 

She could smell wine and sweet strawberry as little puffs of breath hit her chin, and he instructed her, “If you want to stop at any point, I want you to tell me.”

“You too,” Y/N breathed. She didn’t waste another second, carefully slotting their lips together after what felt like years of anticipation. A tiny sound escaped his mouth when she pressed more firmly, and his hand on her cheek slipped down to her neck and tightened. His mouth was soft, like he’d applied lip balm when Y/N wasn’t looking. She slowly used her knees to waddle closer to him as his tongue flickered at the seam of her lips, silently asking permission to enter.

Parting her thighs, Harry assisted her to mount his lap comfortably. Y/N was careful not to sit crotch-to-crotch yet, resting just past his knees while he lazily licked into her mouth. Even though Harry said he was a virgin, he sure as hell knew how to kiss like a whore. The thought cycled through Y/N’s head as he kept moaning lowly into her mouth, now both his hands holding her head to angle however he pleased. 

Y/N’s whole body was buzzing with need when she experimentally bit his bottom lip and tugged. She didn’t expect Harry to have whined like he did— all desperate and slutty— chasing her mouth with his own as she pulled back. He kept coming back more, and barely gave Y/N a moment’s worth of reprieve to breathe and collect herself. She noticed his hands remained firmly cupping her face, so she placed her own over them and gently guided him to her ass.

Harry squeezed the thick flesh, simultaneously bucking his hips up to where she was already soaked. A wet gasp sounded when they suddenly parted— Y/N with a moan, and Harry with an apology, “Sorry baby, I— you taste so good,” He palmed her over her dress, “Make me so nervous.”

“Don’t have to apologise for that. I want you to feel good.” Y/N rocked her hips into his, a prominent bulge tucked perfectly between her clothed pussy, “Is that nice?”

Harry mewled again, and dropped his head on the sofa behind him. Y/N took the opportunity to kiss down his exposed neck, leaving sticky open-mouthed kisses until she reached his tatted collar bones.

She could come just from this, really; grinding against him, making out as he played with her ass and moaned all pretty in her hair. And it seemed like he could as well, yet Y/N continued her ministrations. She didn’t care if he came in his pants as long as it meant she could see how his face twists up in pleasure, and his kisses become more needy. 

His hand digging into her hips hard stopped her, and Harry cried, “If you don’t stop I’m g’na come.” Y/N emerged from his neck, feeling confused and a tad lightheaded as he rubbed their noses together, “I wanna come later— when we… y’know.”

“When we have sex?”

“Mhmm,” Harry hummed in agreement, “Can I— will you let me eat you out?” He asked, taking Y/N by surprise. Her swollen lips parted a bit, “S’the one thing I do know how to do— n’I can feel how wet y’are. I want to, please,” He begged with a cute little pout, glasses fogging up, “It helps me— helps me calm down.”

“Eating pussy makes you calm down?”

Harry suckled on her bottom lip for a moment before speaking, “It really does. I find it relaxing.”

Y/N was going to burst into a thousand pieces.

Who was this man sitting beneath her, asking to eat her out because apparently it’s good for his anxiety? This could not be the same Harry who she was intimidated by so easily; simply locking eyes with him from across the cafe would make her shake, and now, Y/N felt for the first time in her life what it was like to have the reigns completely in her hands.

She could get used to this, she thinks, when Harry’s hand snuck beneath her dress and stroked up to her waist, “Please?”

“Okay weirdo,” Y/N smirked playfully, “Since you want it that bad.”

A yelp sounded from her throat when Harry flipped her over, again, demonstrating just how strong he was with such practiced ease, it made her clit throb. Butterflies flooded her tummy as he pecked her lips once, twice, and then left wet kisses across her neck, “Thank you, thank you,” He mumbled, “Can I take this off?”

Y/N nodded, and within seconds her dress made a home on the sage rug. She wore a matching light pink lace set beneath, one which she picked out specifically with Harry in mind. Whenever she thought of him, she thought of gardenia flowers and rosey cheeks; to her, it made perfect sense to wear what she did.

And it seemed like Harry was a fan too, because he plucked the thin bralette with his teeth until the cup rested beneath her tit. Her nipple pebbled instantly, and Harry licked it a few times before suctioning around the bud. Y/N arched into him like a moth drawn into a flame, while Harry moaned like he was the one getting sucked on.

The other nipple got just as much attention through his fingers, which rubbed and tugged at it, soothed over by a chaste kiss when he popped off, “Y’got such pretty tits, baby. Wanna suck on them all the time.” 

Y/N didn’t get a chance to register his words or even catch her breath, when Harry skipped down to her mound, shoved the wet gusset of her panties to the side, and fit his whole mouth over her pussy.

She cried out loud, wedging a knuckle between her teeth to contain her noises as he immediately got to work, eating her so passionately; she’s never ever seen someone behave like this between her thighs— splitting her lips apart to drool on her clit, taking long inhales so he could suck on her for longer, digging his tongue inside her hole as if he wanted to be consumed by her.

Most of the sounds in the room came from her whining and moaning, and her pussy squelching— though at some point Harry began groaning against her too. At first he was thanking her for letting him taste between kisses to her clit, pausing as he pursed his lips to suckle. Then, when he licked and pulled back to see how strings of her arousal connected him to her cunt, he cursed lowly. Now, as he made no move to stop her from tightening her thighs around his ears and dragging him closer with a harsh hand in his hair, he moaned, the vibrations of which pushed Y/N to the edge.

She came hard— harder than she had in a while. Her hips kept grindning against his mouth and he was stuck on her throughout, never letting go of her clit for a single moment. He sucked and licked until she’d relaxed into the pillow, and even then, she had to use her grip in his hair to pull him back up to her. Harry parted with a wet sound and a whine, eyes blown out as he came face-to-face with her.

His lips were cherry red and swollen, slicked with his own spit and her arousal. It covered his chin and parts of his cheeks too, and Y/N didn’t think much of it when she stuck her tongue out and licked over his mouth. It was filthy; incredibly so, when she traced the shape of his cupids bow, kissed his chin, and cleaned herself off of him with her tongue. Harry whined, irritated that she wasn’t giving him a proper kiss. Though Y/N didn’t give him much to complain about as she rested back down and opened her mouth, tongue laying on her bottom lip like she was expecting something.

It took a few seconds for Harry to register what she was asking of him, but when it did, he groaned, “Fuck. You’re so hot.” He sucked her top lip gently, before giving her what she wanted and letting his spit drip into her mouth. Y/N moaned, swallowing it needily. 

“Pants off?” She asked. Her hands found the waist of his trousers, toying with the hem as she waited for his consent.

“Yeah— yes, please.”

They both worked to shuck the fabric off, and Y/N was pleased to find that Harry wasn’t wearing any underwear tonight. She was met with the sight of his rock hard dick, leaking and pink, with a thick vein running down the side of it. Just looking at it was making her mouth water. Almost instinctively her fingers wrapped around it, and Harry whimpered. 

“You’re so big, Harry,” Y/N praised. Harry dropped his face towards her chest, holding her waist firmly, “So pretty too. I bet you taste so good.” He bucked his hips into her fist as she spoke, and fucked her palm. Precum oozed from the tip and dribbled over her hands, making everything wetter and filthier. Y/N closed her fist tighter, urging him on. When Harry whined again, she tsked, “Such a needy boy.”

The sweetest sounds came from his mouth while he continued pumping. Y/N felt him throb hard, and she could tell he was about to come when he abruptly stopped moving, his own hand covering hers around his cock.

“You have to s—stop. Or else I’m g’na come,” He pleaded, “Can you please fuck me now? I wanna come inside you.” His eyes were wide and puppy-like, desperation and lust swimming in both his irises.

In that moment, Y/N couldn’t recognise him.

She’s never seen this version of him, and the sad part was that this might be the one and only time she would ever get to. As she stared at his fucked-out face, the realisation dawned on her; this was just her helping him write a scene for his book. A favor between two friends. It will probably never happen again, no matter how badly she wanted it to. Lying beneath him, almost naked and so, so vulnerable, she could feel the onslaught of tears poking at her waterline.

But Y/N couldn’t let them spill.

She wouldn’t— not when he continued begging her, reaching to the ground so he could pluck a condom from the back pocket of his trousers. That action brought her back to earth and out of her plagued thoughts; this was something she’d mull over and think about endlessly when she lay in bed for weeks to come, but for now, she had to focus on giving him exactly what he’d asked of her when he first made the offer.

Y/N took a slow, deep breath and pushed her palm against Harry’s chest until he sat up. She got rid of her underwear and swung her legs over his lap so her pussy was practically dripping on his balls. They both rolled the condom on together then tugged Harry’s top over his head so he was fully naked.

His skin was littered with numerous tattoos— each one telling a different story she was curious to uncover. Perhaps one day, when they had the time and opportunity, she’d make him tell her what they all meant. She loved listening to him talk anyway, so that would be another little treat for her to look forward to.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Y/N asked him one last time as she gripped him at the base.

“I’m sure,” Harry squeezed her hip, “If you want this, I want this.”

“Tell me if it’s too much or you want me to stop.”

With that, Y/N tilted him towards her hole, and slowly sunk down. Harry’s mouth fell open, soundless, and his eyebrows furrowed like he was in pain. The sheer size of him was making Y/N’s legs shake; he was thick and he was long, curved, so when her ass met his balls, her g-spot was prodded with every breath she took. Harry kept switching between looking at where they connected and her face, unable to decide where he wanted to settle on until Y/N put her hand around his throat and guided him towards a kiss.

She did it mostly to distract herself from the dull burn of having him so deep inside of her, yet it only made Harry throb and pulse. He was barely able to kiss back, and Y/N found out why when something warm and wet touched her cheek. She pulled back to notice that a tear had fallen from his watery eyes; the sight of which made her gasp. “What’s wrong? Does it hurt?” Y/N asked, wiping it away with her thumb.

Harry shook his head, “N— no. Feels…” He swallowed, breathing harshly and blinking away his tears, “Feels so good. You feel so good.”

She’d be lying if she said that didn’t make her squeeze around him, and she knew Harry felt it too when he moaned. “S’too good? Do you wanna stop?” She asked.

“No! No,” Harry rolled his hips up, “C—Can y’move a little?”

Y/N didn’t say anything in response, and instead began gradually shifting up and down his cock. She was soaking him; that much she could both hear and see very clearly. 

Harry was a virgin, so she wasn’t expecting him to last too long, but Y/N? She doesn’t think anything has ever turned her on so much. She’d barely begun riding him, and she could already feel the beginnings of another orgasm when Harry grabbed her bum hard; enough, that she was afraid she’d wake up the next morning with gnarly bruises.

To keep them both going for a while longer, Y/N set a cruel pace. Not too fast, and not too slow, as she put her hands on his and brought them up to her tits. That was all the permission Harry needed, because he started squeezing and playing till his hearts’ content. One palm slipped beneath the swell of her right breast which Harry cupped and brought to his mouth to suck on. At what point Harry started to meet her thrusts halfway, Y/N was unsure— his hips were slamming into hers, cock tucked so deep in her gut, she could feel it all the way in her tummy. 

Neither of them were quiet about how they felt. Where Harry groaned her name over and over again, and sung praises about how tight and nice she felt, Y/N whined and cried gibberish she couldn’t make sense of even if she tried. She was about to slide her hand down to her clit when Harry beat her to it, resting his fingers on her mound as his thumb rubbed her where she needed.

That was what ultimately led to her orgasm, along with Harry cooing at her, murmuring how pretty and kind she was for letting him fuck her, kiss her, and taste her… and wow.

Y/N could not believe this was his first time ever having sex. He did say he’s done other stuff before, but even still, she was astounded. Somehow he knew exactly what to say to get her wetter, knew how to touch her like he had days to memorise her body and not minutes. All of this could’ve been because Harry was simply a very, very fast learner—or perhaps Y/N was just incredibly predictable.

Either way, she was thoroughly impressed, and she was not going to deny this.

She sensed he was coming too when he fucked her harder, popping off of her nipple to smash his mouth against hers. It took her licking into his mouth for him to finally let go, pulsing and twitching inside of her as ropes and ropes of his cum painted the condom. He came a lot, and for a long time too; still fucking her throughout the entire thing. He gave her one last stroke and squeezed her tits, then slouched heavily into the couch. 

Y/N gave into temptation and palmed his beefy pecs greedily. A few minutes of silence had already passed, filled only by the sound of them catching their breath, before she finally spoke.

“S’that good enough for you?”

“The best,” Harry exhaled, glasses askew. His chest glistened with a thin layer of sweat Y/N had to refrain cleaning up with her tongue.

“Think y’can write that scene now?”

Harry giggled and wrapped a strong arm around her waist. A small yelp fell from her lips as he pressed her closer, her pussy still very sensitive on top of his dick.

“I don’t know. We might have to do that one more time so I don’t miss anything important,” He left a line of lethal open-mouthed kisses down her neck, “For the book, obviously.”

Y/N grinned, “Well, if it’s for the book…”

Yeah, she was definitely in more trouble than she thought.

MASTERLIST

Ko-fi <3

TAGLIST: @escapismatbest @triski73 @angeldavis777 @bethiegurl19 @hslotwife @myhuzzyharrystyles @eleanohoran @guaaafiiburg @readerdora @pronti-quasi-viarry @redwineandagingeralerry @tpwkalex-13 @satellitestompers23 @sparklejumpropequeen1113 @cherryskies-harry @solacestyles @imtryingtogetstable @dollyvuu @rosesxstyles @sstylezzz @biboliciousposts @harrystylesconcepts @ionlywritesadsongs @tpwkforever410 @madilee7802 @fangirl509east @indierockgirl @readingrockstar23 @whoopsieismelldaisies @jackedbygravity @jocelynlovesharrystyles @harrys-only-angell @abihst91 @magicalsugartitz @yeah-youremymedicine @withoutluv @lillrry @kissallthetimeharrystyles @oifukinloser @harryscherrysuckr @screamifyouwanttogofaster @0pheliam @brainfullsteve @angel-gelly @fivesecondsofprettymuch @danny-faye @aileen1237 @peachymelonsugrr @harryyloverrr @emlovesniallhoran @starlitlace @toosarcastic03 @fkingstyles @midnightmemories-1-d @everyscarisahealingplace @witch-rry

A/N: DANG THAT TAGLIST IS GETTING LONG LOLOL!! I HOPE U ENJOYED THIS ONE GUYS!! I HAD SOOOOOO MUCH FUN WRITING IT LOL ONE DAY I WAS BORED AT WORK AND IT WAS DEAD SO I CAME UP WITH THIS ENTIRE PLOT IN LIKE 20 MINUTES LOLOL BUT IT GOT ME OUT OF MY FUNK!!! U HAVE TO LET ME KNOW WHAT U THOUGHT ABOUT IT IF U LIKED IT OR HATED IT OR EVEN SAY HI IM NOT MEAN I PROMISE!!!!1 IF YOURE READING THIS ILYYYY <33

[messyemmy]

Bad Neighbours: Three (Harry Styles fic)

Premise: Harry despises the girl next door, and it's mutual. But Harry also really likes the girl he met online, and that, is also mutual.

Word count: 11.4k

Bad Neighbours Masterlist | Other Writing

🍑

It’s lunch time at the office, and Y/n has yet to leave her desk, far too enthralled in the hasty responses she receives from loverboy. She can’t remember the last instance she had time for lunch, and according to Loverboy's response to her mention of the fact, he’s in the same boat.

Effortlessly agreeing on the fatefulness of syncing up in the middle of the day, Y/n makes sure to mention her theory that a gap for food is a sure way to guarantee the day will be a good one. This theory also applies to catching all the green lights on the morning commute, and if her computer decides to take a day off from lagging.

Opting to snack on a CLUB sandwich, Y/n itches to ask loverboy about his job, and even more to tell him all about her own. Their non-verbal agreement to be sparing with personal information has been a blessing – less pressure – but as the chats stretch on into the late evening and she finds out more about him, the need to share herself has been stronger than ever.

Perhaps he feels the same; his next message seems to imply such.

Loverboy: Do you have any pets?

PastryPrincess: I have a cat, he’s a loverboy, just like you.

Loverboy: I’ll have to meet him so we can exchange notes.

As she slowly swings back and forth in her swirly chair, it’s getting harder to dismiss the possibility of moving this relationship into reality.

PastryPrincess: I’m certain he’ll love you. 

Honestly, Mac seems to gravitate towards the boys in her life – her dad is perhaps that chunky ginger's favourite human – and he clearly cares little if his owner's feelings are spared.

PastryPrincess: He’s been betraying me for lovies from others a lot lately.

Loverboy: Ah, a classic kitty.

Loverboy: I want one.

Harry’s sitting out in the sun, at a metal table on the third-floor balcony of his company's office, one half of a BLT in his left hand, the right typing out a clumsy response, fondly smiling at the thought of his new feline companion.

PastryPrincess: What’s stopping you? 

His neighbour would call the cops; that’s what’s stopping him. Well, that and the decent human being that he is feels like that would be a true betrayal of Y/n – a line she would never cross if the roles were reversed – he’d never stoop so low.

Besides, he likes sharing Mac with her; it’s less responsibility and more enjoyable to bicker over who gets custody for the evening.

Loverboy: I mean, I kinda have one. 

Pastryprincess: How can you ‘kinda have’ a cat? 

Harry huffs out fondly; he thinks that’s exactly what his neighbour would say. 

Loverboy: He’s a part-time tenant of mine. 

PastryPrincess: So he’s betraying you and his owner…

That’s exactly right. But Harry has a little secret about the way in which he and Mac actually started bonding, one that he can’t bring himself to speak aloud, no matter how frustrated his neighbour makes him.

PastryPrincess: Huh. Maybe my chonky boy is doing the same thing.

Well, if her cat is being lured into someone else's house by a carefully sprinkled trail of catnip, then yes, her cat has probably experienced what Mac has because that’s exactly what Harry did as another ploy to interfere with his neighbour. 

After the third time, he no longer had to lay a trail; Mac was happily entering through slanted windows, visiting Harry on his own accord, and eventually making himself comfortable on Harry’s lap as he lounged on the sofa or mattress. 

He can’t describe the calming feeling that spending time with this kitty has – it's a companionship that needs no words and no expectations, simply relishing in one another's company.

Suddenly, Harry thinks about PastryPrincess’s relationship with her cat, and how frustrating it must be to lose out on those precious loves. 

And then, Y/n intrusively makes an appearance in his ponders, realising that she might miss Mac when he’s snuggled up with him – he sure misses the goofy boy. 

It’s an uncomfortable realisation – one coated with sympathy and shame – and Harry knows that this feeling is a warning of the possibility of sticking with him well into the week, so he uses his most reliable method of dealing with confusing thoughts: outta sight, outta mind. 

Loverboy: Fyi, I’d never betray you for cuddles from someone else. 

PastryPrincess: So loyal. And I don’t even know the name of the man to thank properly…

Harry returns the sandwich slice to its container, far too distracted and far too hung up on the idea of spilling his guts and telling her every single little detail about him. Starting with his name. 

But something about their nonexistent pact of anonymity is still latched around his wrist with an invisible string of doubt, threatening to disrupt everything they’ve built up until now. 

Loverboy: Call me Sir Loverboy.

Loverboy: Yours truly. 

PastryPrincess: Well then, Sir Loverboy, you have won my favour. What do you intend to do with it? 

If Harry didn’t know better – and clearly he doesn’t – he would think she’s attempting to lure him into sharing more of his personal information, or attempting to expose her own, but even if it were almost entirely likely that this was the case, he isn’t sure his heart could handle the consequences if it weren't.

Loverboy: I’ll be calling up to your window at midnight.

Loverboy: Scale the building and give ya a smooch before I even get a proper look at you. 

PastryPrincess: Before or after you proclaim, “But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?”

Harry would recite Shakespeare’s entire bibliography if it made her happy. He’d write sonnets if it kept her on the line – if it convinced her to evolve this connection into one where he can say those romantic rhymes in person, where he can watch every little one of her features react to his profession.

Loverboy: Before. I’ll be far too busy loving on you for there to even be an after.

PastryPrincess: Feelin’ lovey dovey today, are we? 

Loverboy: You’ve got me cheesin’ all day, every day. 

It’s true. A mountain could crumble all around him, but a simple sentence from her would make a natural disaster feel like a cocoon of hope and reassurance.

PastryPrincess: Bet you’d love to see how red my face is right now. 

Dear God, he’s never allowed his mind to wander to ever bringing that possibility to the chat, and now there’s simply no way he’s gonna rest until his imaginative thoughts of the curves of her lips, the swoop of her lashes painting shadows along her cheeks, her eyes trained fondly on his own features.

Loverboy: You just get me.

Every little nerve within him sparks with the ache to slip through the screen and right into her arms – cradle her face between his toasty palms, glide his thumb along the hills of her cheeks, the pillow of her bottom lip. He wonders, is that how she feels right now? 

Loverboy: And if I knew better, I’d think you want to show me. 

Y/n has stopped rocking in her chair, body as still as this very moment, frozen on the words staring back at her, an anxious twist of anticipation in her tummy that confirms that yes, she thinks she quite likes the idea of showing her sweet mystery boy what she looks like – well, above the chest – if it means getting to see his, of course – satiating the blurry image conjured up in her head.

PastryPrincess: Does that make you nervous?

Loverboy: In a good way.

Good. They’re on the same page. Her body sinks back into the chair with relief.

PastryPrincess: Seems you do know better.

Loverboy: G’na show me that pretty face of yours, then? 

That stomach knot? Well, it tightens into one that is unyielding and taut with indecision. The desire to reveal herself and finally remove that feeling of something that’s… missing, is so, so tempting.

Loverboy: And before you object, I just know you’re beautiful.

And she just knows that he’s likely to be the most handsome person she’ll ever set her eyes on – there’s no way his features won’t match his enticing and incredibly endearing personality. 

PastryPrincess: Since you seem to know a lot these days, I’ll take your word for it.

Anxiety bubbles against the walls of her stomach, nerves riddled with excitement and complete terror prickling up her spine and swallowing her in a full-body shudder. 

Seeing each other face to face would make all of this… real. No going back, no more words and lower-body previews. The risk is so high, but it could also be the best one she’d ever take. 

PastryPrincess: As for my face… I might be willing to make a trade-off.

Loverboy: Well, I happen to be very fond of those.

And here she is trying to indulge in a relationship that is void of scheming and trickery, only for her to be the one to bring up the idea of an exchange. Has the boy next door really altered her perception of relationships to the point where it’s spreading, or has she always enjoyed the conflict and Harry just so happens to bring it out of her? 

But here’s loverboy admitting that he is just as fond of the back-and-forth, so she can only hope that this is just a human thing, and not a Harry x Y/n thing.

PastryPrincess: Why am I not surprised? 

But Harry sure is. Turns out that almost everyone in Harry’s life – including himself – is all far too invested in behaving like every day is April Fools.

Loverboy: Any ideas for this… trade-off? 

Harry would video call her if she simply asked him to. He has long decided that there’s not much he wouldn’t do to slip through the cracks of this imaginary boundary of theirs.

PastryPrincess: I’ll get back to you on that one.

Checking the time, lunch is over, and the afternoon promises to be a busy one, but Harry has a dreaded feeling that his head will be miles away from the computer screen, plotting the perfect compromise for the first exchange that won’t end with him grouchy and brainstorming acts of revenge.

🍑

A knock on the front door – timid and patient – and Y/n dreads who might be hiding on the other side. Because there’s this whole little routine she needs to complete before she deems herself mentally prepared to engage with other humans. 

Contrary to her enthusiastic and pleasant attitude in the presence of the neighbourhood residents, Y/n avoids as many spur-of-the-moment interactions as she can.

And right now, she’s still lazing about in her trusty red cotton shorts and well-worn, crinkled Red Rum tee, with plans to remain this way for the rest of this sweltering, sunny Sunday. 

Whoever chooses to interrupt her commitment to the lax lifestyle will just have to tolerate her underdressed, disgruntled persona. 

With the door swinging open, that lucky person is, of course, Harry, standing there in a pair of green short-shorts and a black t-shirt that does an excellent job at draping loosely over his upper body, so effortlessly, like it’s been painted on, like an artist spent countless hours arranging each crinkle to perfectly exposes the wings of his adjacent chest tattoos.

He looks sickenly good, sunnies sitting on the crown of his head, pushing back his stray chocolate curls that are growing out into soft spirals, framing his swooping cheekbones and jawline in a way that has a strange temptation tingling at her pursed lips, a foreign desire to glide them along the curves of his skin. 

It leaves her feeling more weary and edgy than enamoured and curious. Especially when his inked-up forearms flex naturally as he extends them her way, and her body acts on instinct, mouth pooling with salivating confusion.

Then she actually looks at what Harry is offering, a clear glass container housing a crumble dessert, garnished with the most golden, juicy peach slices, and Y/n’s almost choking on the mouthwatering need to be satiated in one form or another.

Then the obvious becomes a fully fledged thought, and she feels a mix of pride and disdain at the fact that Harry must be here to show off the result of his villainous and successful trade-off.

“So this is the product of my sweet baby peaches?” 

Harry only shoves the dish closer to her protective bubble, where her arms remain tightly crossed atop her chest, and her brows furrow cutely, reassuring him that he made a good choice coming over here.

“There’s more if you like it.” He softly smiles.

“That’s a reach.” Has she always been this adorable when stroppy and stubborn? 

“I think you’ll find it quite tasty.”

Harry knows she will. Everybody raves about his baking, and even more about his peach crumble. The only person on earth who would even question that is the person standing across from him. 

He often wonders if she’s as sceptical about everything and everyone else as she is about him just being in her presence. With the weary creases on her forehead, Harry can predict the next words that slip past her lips.

“What’s the catch?” 

“No catch.” He shrugs with a goofy smile. “It’s a peach offering.”

“You’re ridiculous.” But she wants to chuckle.

“So I’ve been told.” 

His sweet gesture is finally embraced as his neighbour removes the arm cage from her chest and reaches out to accept the container.

Her fingers unavoidably brush along his hand, and fuck, why are her hands so cold in such warm weather? And why does Harry want to wrap them up in his own until they're steaming hot?

She examines it with curiosity, painting her features, and Harry wonders what’s in the air today- what could possibly justify the sparks of endearment shooting up his spine at each of her sceptical reactions.

And he wants to keep talking to her- argument or not- because Harry doesn’t have many people to share his interests and, well, his life with. And the entire time he spent carefully and caringly constructing the crumble, he thought about giving his neighbour half. 

One, as proof that he had put those peaches to good use, and B, because it’s their little game, a game that Harry loves as much as he does baking, of course he wants to share his final result with her.   

“You got ice cream?” He ponders.

“Another trade-off?” She sighs with disappointment, and Harry finds that he doesn’t like that.

“No, just- it tastes even better with ice cream.” 

He stutters and then scolds himself for doing so. But it seems to do the trick at softening her suspicion into thoughtfulness. 

“Oh… Yeah, I’ll try that…Thanks?”

It’s like Y/n doesn’t know how to act in the presence of such a passive Harry, like all of her basic interaction skills are crumbling to match the dessert. It shouldn’t be that hard to trust him, right? 

But she thinks she’s been fooled enough times to employ many a precautionary boundary – even if all she can do is send him a quirked brow and familiar frown. He’s just making it so hard to fit him into one particular box – a box that determines if he’s trustworthy enough to let her guard down, especially when he starts up this bizarre kindness bend he’s on. 

“I like your top, by the way. Stephen King fan?”

Harry will never understand how much the two of them have in common, and why that tends to annoy the hell out of him. Maybe it’s PastryPrincess lingering in the back of his mind, but he feels the need to divulge said similarity. He also needs to know where he can get hold of one of these tees.

“Surprised to find out you are.” She counters.

“I strike you as the type to cower under the sheets, huh?” He is – but that’s nobody’s business. 

“More like the type to cry when the voiceover tells us Chris Chambers died.” She speaks from repeated experience.

“How’d you know Stand By Me’s my favourite?” 

He wonders if she feels the same – if she also wept with surprise and sorrow when she first watched the ending. And he’s about to ask, but Y/n’s weariness has her stating the obvious. 

“You’re being awfully pleasant.” 

“Don’t question. Just enjoy.” He advises, referring to the crumble and his sudden change in attitude.

“Thank you. I’ll return the dish.” 

She concedes, politeness finally returning to her orbit, and for perhaps the first time since he moved here, she finds herself able to treat Harry like any other friendly neighbour. 

“No rush, Peaches.” He smiles contently, taking a spacious step back. 

Harry hates the idea of leaving, but he does have his very own half of the crumble to indulge in while listening to the newest of his carefully curated playlists out in the summer shade of his garden.

“Don’t even think about making that nickname a thing.”

Perhaps she wants them to keep talking, but Harry thinks she simply might prefer getting in one last cautionary statement in for good measure. 

Either way, as he starts his descent of the driveway, she calls out a warning that sends sweet, satisfactory shocks straight to his heart. And he loves it.

“Oh, and Styles, we both know this little coup d'état won’t last long.” 

“Didn’t count on it.” He chuckles knowingly, sending her one last kind smile. 

Once Harry is out of eyesight, Y/n returns to the confines of her kitchen, placing the tempting container on the black marble countertop and returning to her oh-so comfortable couch, where she spends the next half hour eyeing it, torn between giving in and maintaining her usual, and proven successful, stubbornness. 

But Harry doesn’t have to know that she ate it, does he? She can say she gave it to a family member, or a neighbour, or whatever helps conceal the fact that she succumbed to tasting the twisted result of her own bartered peaches. 

No. Not a chance. Mac can eat it for all she cares. Right now, the only thing that concerns her is catching up on the latest episode of The Great British Bake Off.

And then Mary Berry announces the dish of the day to be fruit crumbles, perhaps a sign from the universe, she wonders. She also wonders, ‘Who am I to deny the universe's request?’ 

One bite. Just out of curiosity, and then she can get back to the show and forget all about this bizarre interaction – or, development. 

But it’s not one bite. It’s two, then three, and then she’s sitting at the bar stool, fork grasped in her chilly hands like it’s the only thing guaranteeing another taste. 

The crumble melts atop her tongue, awakening taste buds she swears have never been activated until this moment, soft, syrupy peaches convincing her that perhaps they were grown to be baked this way all along. 

In what is insane, impressive, and record-breaking time, the crumble is no more, and she shamefully scrapes at the glass for any remnants before hastily hopping off the stool and sulking off to the sofa like a scolded pup. 

Even with a belly full of sugary delight, every mention of crumble on the telly has her ruminating on this entire situation, but mostly about how someone so sour could bake something so sweet. 

The crumble haunts her slumber and taunts her as she washes the dish and strolls down the driveway in pursuit of his doorstep the next morning. Even after she gently places the dish on his doormat, knocks twice and runs back into the safety of her house, the crumble remains one of the only things she can think of for days to come. 

Harry answers the door mere moments after the hasty knocks drew him off the sofa, but there’s nobody in sight, and only after he looks left and right does he look down and notice the spotless dish containing nothing but a small folded piece of paper. 

Crouching down to inspect the letter, the dainty scribbled words have Harry’s smile widening with pride for proving her wrong and for successfully doing something that might make his neighbour hate him a little less. 

‘Pains me to say, but it was really fuckin’ good… Don’t hold it to me – Y/n.’

🍑

In Y/n’s defence, she made a hasty decision in retaliation for finding the vile, rotting corpse of a New-York-esque rat lying tauntingly smack in the middle of her dimly lit garage. 

What was she supposed to do, skip over the fact that there is a dead rodent residing on her property just because Harry seemed willing to be pleasant for what, a solid six days? 

She bets he just couldn’t help himself. Can’t even live up to his own implementation of peace. 

Well, at least that’s what she thinks as she rests atop her bed in wait for her neighbour's imminent reaction. 

And she won’t be waiting long, considering his classic ‘65 maroon Mustang has just rumbled its way up the drive, and he’ll be sure to find her thank-you ‘present’ in no time at all. 

The sweet sounds of sunset slip through the open window, birds making their final calls for the day, dogs barking enthusiastically, cars pulling into their driveways, and…

“WHAT?” 

Harry’s voice cuts through the serenity with a sharp, booming screech, and his neighbour’s smile is spreading into a cheeky grin. There’s a short pause, but she knows exactly what’s coming next – a battle cry demanding an explanation. 

“Y/N!” 

She gleefully rolls off the sheets and onto her feet, gracefully dancing her way over to the window that is only open to catch the chaos sure to unfold. Peering down into his yard, Harry practically hangs out of his living room window – as expected – glaring up at her gleaming grin.

“Yes, dear neighbour?” 

“Get him out!” It’s a firm request, but hints of how frantic he is seep through, “Now!”

So she snuck her rooster through his ajar window, what about it? It’s his fault for forever leaving things open. Is she well aware that Harry’s rivalry with Reaper is second only to his disdain for her? Yes, and that makes this all the better.

“Hey, you seem to want a pet badly enough to steal mine.” She shrugs sweetly, and Harry scoffs loudly enough for it to head straight for her heart with a spark of pride. 

“So, I thought, rather brilliant, I rate,” she jovially stalls, “you talk about Reaper quite a bit. Perhaps if you spent some time together, the two of you would hit it off.” 

“I don’t talk about him. I complain about his incessant caws… Or whatever they are.” Harry corrects, words coated in increasing desperation. 

Y/n beams down at him, so bright that Harry swears the light engulfs her and swirls like a halo around her being. 

And then the sound of something ripping has his head quipping back to his living room right on time to witness Reaper shredding the nearest pillow on the sofa. 

“Ah!” He almost wails, “He’s destroying my cushion!” Finally giving in with a pitiful pout, he says the magic word, “Help.” 

She vanishes from sight with such skill that Harry’s first assumption is that she’s choosing to ignore his call for aid. And he spends the next minute or two balancing on the rather sturdy windowsill, doing his best to keep his feet off the ground and away from the murderous beak of Reaper. 

When there’s finally a joyful knock on his door, Harry risks his ankles and bolts for the entrance hall, swiftly twisting the door handle, which is then followed by swinging the door open and pointing a disdainful accusation her way. 

“You monster.” 

She only smiles and gently pushes past him, the side of her forearm brushing against Harry’s black dress shirt-clad chest, and she angstily scolds herself for the shudder it prickles along her skin.

“If it’s bad enough for you to ask for help, I figure you deserve a break.” 

It takes a lot for her to mute those thumping thoughts – to ignore the melodic intrigue and desire – and begrudgingly make her way to his living room, the last known sighting of her delightful, cheeky Reaper.

But there’s a yelp so high-pitched it could make a dog bark, and Y/n quips her body just in time to see her brilliant rooster latching Harry’s fancy black pants between his remarkably sharp beak.  

“Not the slacks!” Harry’s too distraught to move, just sending his neighbour an adorable sulky face, plump lips parted, brows meeting his eyelids with perplexed panic. 

She casually strolls over, bending down and swooping up Reaper with one arm, and like a well-trained pet, he lets Harry’s slacks be free of his capture and settles comfortably in the nook of her chest and bent arm. 

“Oh, c’mon. He’s a sweetheart!” 

“You’re delusional.” Harry scoffs, tilting his body down to inspect his pants, extremely relieved to find that they aren’t hole-ridden.

“And what about it?” She counters. 

Harry’s about to get lured into an unbeatable stare-off, but the irking disappointment of their peace treaty coming to such an early end.

“So, the stalemate is over, then?” 

Y/n felt that same disappointment when she begrudingly entered the garage in pursuit of the power drill and was instead met with what could only be the devious doings of her ‘peacekeeping’ neighbour.

“Because of you.” Pointing her free hand, “I found the rat.” 

“That was weeks ago!” 

Harry exclaims, face swallowed in sudden awe, arms flailing around him like one of those tube-dudes from the car dealership down the way. How could a prank from another, what, five or six more pranks earlier, be coming back to bite him in the ass with such vengeance? 

“Your ‘pet’ should have eaten it by now. Or Mac.” 

“What reason would either of them have for being in the garage?” 

Her features scrunch in an adorably quizzical manner, bringing her hand back to join the other in cradling Reaper from the mean mister Harry. 

“Then you should have found it.” 

“That place is scary! I don’t go in there if I can help it.” 

She’s pouting in a way that Harry finds unfamiliar, one that lacks sarcasm or disappointment and resembles something more akin to adorable persuasion, and perhaps, self-pity? It’s almost enough to crack his defensive shell, almost.

“Not my problem.” 

“It was almost a skeleton and I had to bury it!” 

Her shiny left black loafer stomps the hardwood in dramatic protest. It’s kinda endearing when she gets all bashful and sensitive, and Harry wants to snatch hold of his heart and shake it until it stops fluttering with fondness.

“That’s… kinda cute.” 

“Not cute. Not cool. Not in the spirit of being more neighbourly.”

“There is a rooster in my house!” He wails in reiteration.

“C’mon, Reaper,” Y/n cooes, neck bowing to smile dotingly, “it seems mean Mister Harry doesn’t want to play.”

“Reaper, can you believe your owner couldn’t handle even a week of pleasantries?” 

Harry does a good job of pretending this conflict doesn’t make him feel an odd sense of sadness, but Y/n does the opposite of hiding her hurt, exhibiting that cute little frown that has Harry stopping in his tracks more and more. 

“I thought we were doing better! But you’ve made me sad.”

Cuteness doesn’t mend pillows or return the seemingly hundreds of dainty white feathers floating and scattered around the living room to their cushion cave. 

“You don’t know the meaning of the word.” 

“My feelings were hurt!” She reiterates, but all Harry sees is fucking feathers, and his tummy is far too grumbly to spend the next god knows how long gathering them all up. If she’s that adamant on war, who is he to turn he down?

“Oh, it’s on. It’s so on.” 

“Ooh, that makes me wet.” 

Her tone shifting to a sultry sigh, she stares at him in mysterious anticipation, and man, Harry can’t do anything to stop the instinctual clench of his stomach as his mind conjures up shadowy glimpses of the swoops and curves of her seemingly soft, bare skin.

He couldn’t hide the bashfulness blooming along the hills of his cheeks and nose if he tried, and from the way her eyes seemingly glimmer with menacing glee, it’s clear that his neighbour knows she’s wedged her way under his skin for good. Well, he can certainly return the favour. 

“So that new toy of yours clearly isn’t doing the trick, then?” He torts.

“Getting off on making you miserable needs minimal effort.” It’s then that Y/n realises Harry isn’t a subscriber, or her sweet loverboy, he’s a menace, and one who knows her secrets, “And, shut up about it.”

“Guarantee you’d get off better if you made me happy.” He shrugs – and they both know it’s probably true.

Putting a smile on Harry’s face would require going back to their very first encounter, when everything went to shit – for no good reason – but Y/n thinks he’s such a sourpuss that even if she avoided the same mistakes, he’d be likely to find a new one to whine about. 

“That’s impossible.” 

“If you were nicer to me, it’d be possible.” 

Harry, on the other hand, wonders about how things could have been if he hadn’t happened to be in a foul mood, and if his new neighbour hadn’t felt exactly the same. 

Would she have been friendlier? Was his grouchiness that pivotal in setting the tone for their relationship? But, he was so taken aback by her fiery persona, would he have felt the same had she made a less ‘clumsy’ introduction? 

Well, he knows for certain that she would have resorted to brattiness whether they started on a friendly foot or not. She seems to have made up her mind about him.

“And what are the chances of that, you grump?” She counters.

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me when I was screaming it earlier,” Harry rubs his temples in disbelief, “but leaving a rooster in my house is not very neighbourly!”

“That’s minimal compared to what you’ve done in the past!” 

“We’re going in circles.” They always are. “I want that rooster out of my sight!”

“Okay, Grumpy. Say goodbye, Reaper.” 

This new nickname of hers is already irking itches within him, yes, Harry can be very grandpa-adjacent – and he’s fine with that – but he prides himself on having a lighthearted approach to life, but it’s not his fault his neighbour only sees him before and after a torturous nine-to-five. 

He thinks he hears her whisper something along the lines of, ‘so cute’ as she beams down at her rooster with adoration that Harry finds oddly endearing, before she starts to travel down the hallway toward the front door. 

Her back to him, Harry can’t tell if the dread creeping under his skin is a result of her departure or the imminent task of gathering up all of those fucking fearthers. Nevertheless, his evening is off to an even worse start than his morning. And he won’t be letting her depart without one last quip.

“It’s a pity, y’know.” She stops in her tracks, curiosity arching her brows as Harry’s face remains coy as he continues, “Your peaches are incredible, I bet you taste just as sweet, if only your personality matched.”

If his words hit a nerve or a stir an excitement within, she doesn’t show it, and fuck, more than ever does Harry wish she would.

“Ha. It’s a pity you’ll never get to experience the second two.”

“Is that a challenge?” What is coming over him? She won’t humour it for even a second.

“I look forward to your counterattack.” 

Her smile is deceptively tender, her words – a threat coated in pleasantry and Harry thinks he’s losing his mind. He does nothing to stop her departure, body stiffening as his gaze follows her steps without daring to blink until she fades off into the orange rays of sunset.

Harry doesn’t even have the heart to look at the remnants of his cushion, let alone attempt to tidy up; instead, sighing with all the frustration in the world coursing through him, he sulks over to the couch and plops himself down, ignoring the dainty white fluff that takes flight on impact. 

His neighbour really did it this time. Honestly, it’s Harry’s fault for thinking a demon could ever be reasoned with. He should have known it would only end in an explosion of screams and feathers. 

At least he has one person who would never dream of doing anything to spoil his evening, and if he has a “sweet dreams, angel face” from her to prove it. So, Harry pulls out his phone and heads straight for his saving grace.

Loverboy: What’s the statute of limitations for first-degree?

He wonders what she’s doing right now. Probably lounging around after a long day of working hard doing… well, Harry doesn't actually know what she does during the day. 

Still, he likes to imagine trudging through the front door after another day of staying late at the office and finding her splayed out on his sofa, maybe watching something scary on the telly, or re-reading whatever quirky novel calls to her that day. 

If talking to her screen has the power to soothe all the bubbling frustration in his head and heart, there’s no way slinking into her arms wouldn’t simmer all of those troubles of the day into syrupy relaxation.

And just to prove it, his phone lights up with a ding, and Harry’s back begins to melt into the sofa with an ease that only she can provide.

PastryPrincess: Don’t say any more! I won’t be a good alibi if you do. 

PastryPrincess: Also, the aftermath is soooo much work. Keep that in mind. 

Loverboy: Maybe I’ll just get her arrested for unlawful neighbourly behaviour. 

What exactly could he get her charged for, though? Surely she’s done something that falls outside of legal bounds. But then there are the sketchy things Harry has done in retaliation.

PastryPrincess: And if she counteracts? 

Seems his online girl is one step ahead of him, as usual, and with such a hasty response, his chest vibrates the little chuckle he has at the idea of her scheming her own little crimes. 

Loverboy: You’ve thought about this before…

PastryPrincess: With my enemy? Of course. 

PastryPrincess: The Conclusion is that it’s a hassle and way easier to simply disrupt their daily routine. 

Loverboy: Well, I’m already doing that!

Loverboy: And it isn’t working!

At this point, Harry thinks there’s nothing he could do that would get under Y/n's skin enough to stop her from bouncing back with some well-plotted acts of revenge. 

PastryPrincess: Want some suggestions? 

Loverboy: I’m all ears.

Next door, Y/n rests on a curved white metal outdoor chair, a permanent smile plastering her features as she successfully observes Reaper pecking at the scattering of grains – a reward for a successful sabotage. 

And perhaps her near-grin might have settled by now, if it weren’t for the boy on the other end of the phone, reaching out with his woes and willing to take suggestions. 

If Harry were like that, they wouldn’t be in this mess. But, suppose she isn’t like that around him either.

Nevertheless, she revels in these moments where she can fully let herself come out of hiding and be embraced for both her sweetness and her devious side.

PastryPrincess: Have you thought about leaving something scary in her mailbox? 

One of her favourite pranks – especially when she stumbled across that massive spider residing in her own mailbox. And she had made peace with the little eight-legged creatures years earlier, but it was a safe bet to assume Harry wouldn’t feel the same.

Loverboy: Been there. Suffered the consequences. 

By far the worst mailbox gift was that spider. And Harry need not explain why. That was the moment he understood his neighbour knew no bounds, and he would have to step up his game if he had any chance of maintaining the upper hand.

PastryPrincess: Hiding something decaying on their property? 

Loverboy: Don’t even get me started. 

Harry’s still wracking his brain for any forgotten pranks that Y/n might stumble upon. Next thing he knows, she’ll be demanding the return of her garden gnome. 

And tough luck, Harry loves the little bastard and smiles fondly whenever he sees it in his own garden.

PastryPrincess: Think of something that would annoy the hell out of you.

His neighbour seems to have targeted every single thing she could think of to annoy him – things Harry hadn’t even considered would get under his skin. For someone who despises him, she sure does a bang-up job of understanding him as a person.

And this is why Harry is seeking advice from a third-party – someone with her very own self-proclaimed enemy, and someone who constantly proves the power of creativity. 

Loverboy: What would get you riled up? 

Y/n can’t help herself, and can’t find the shame in being suggestive.

PastryPrincess: The thought of seeing your cheeky side… 

It is true, though, she’s constantly wrapped up in conspiracies about what loverboy might be hiding beneath that sugary sweet, goofy personality. If things were based solely on their interactions, she wouldn’t believe he had it in him. 

But his villainous neighbour has her thinking otherwise. And now she can’t stop the skin-sizzling, wondrous desire to delve deeper into the layers of her loverboy.

Speaking of neighbours, Y/n draws herself back to the question at hand and reflects on her own relationship within the neighbourhood. She loves the people, and their always helpful and generous demeanour. 

And though she spends her Fridays enjoying the company of strangers behind the screen, her daily life consists of talking to, in her opinion, far too many people. Her social battery depletes faster than she can stop long enough to charge it back to one hundred per cent. 

Any more unplanned visits from literally any human on earth is enough to spoil her mood for at least forty-eight hours. 

PastryPrincess: And probably anything where I have to interact with people for longer than a minute. especially if I have to entertain.

The expanse of his cheeks is splotched red and stings with endearment from her first message, letting his mind wander to the possible thoughts she has of him – if she desires to know all corners and chasms of his being, as he does hers. 

Then Harry takes in her second reply and boom – they’ve struck the motherlode. He can’t count the number of occasions he witnessed his neighbour cringe at the unavoidable interactions with strangers and unplanned visitors. 

He can’t understand how everyone is so oblivious to the blatant aura of discomfort that radiates from her with such vigour; it's amazing nobody gets the hint. 

He thinks that perhaps it’s that devilishly heart-stopping smile that looks as welcoming as it does smooch-worthy. 

Loverboy: You might be cooking there.

And Harry has the perfect plan. One that blooms with butterflies of gleeful anticipation. One that is sure to not only get back at his vicious neighbour, but to guarantee her misery for the foreseeable future.

PastryPrincess: But you have to promise that you’ll give me credit during your impact statement.

Harry would write an entire essay about the wonderful woman who inspired him to scheme up the final blow that would take down the wicked witch next door, and he’d spend sentences upon sentences gushing over her personality, her calming and understanding energy, her ability to know him before he does himself. 

Loverboy: If you promise me a kiss on the cheek? 

PastryPrincess: Such a sweet, chivalrous boy. I can promise you far more than a kiss on the cheek. 

Loverboy: Only for you.

Y/n basks in the sunset glow, thinking about what it might be like to know him – outside of the confines of a digital screen – to witness and revel in her loverboy’s disdain for others. 

Is that odd? Yes, and she won’t be looking further into it anytime soon, because learning more about her mystery man is like a craving that can’t be satisfied. Like the peach crumble that’s been haunting her waking nightmares in pursuit of another helping.

PastryPrincess: I’m starting to get the feeling you’re telling the truth.

Loverboy: And are you as lovely to me as the other people in your life? 

Harry selfishly craves the confirmation that he’s her one and only – as far-fetched as that may sound. An invasive thought pops up, pondering if the girl next door has someone she lets her guard down around. 

Y/n, the girl next door, softly scoffs aloud, thinking of the man next door who receives nothing but bratty mouthiness and a mountain of inconveniences.

PastryPrincess: God, no. You’re my exception.

And Harry shudders with prideful reward, and it’s rather surprisingly followed by another as he concludes that he might just be his neighbours' exception, too – just a different kind. 

Loverboy: I’ll be whatever you want me to be.

Y/n can do nothing to bar the intrusive knocks of doubt that demand entry with the intent of filling her head with worries about not meeting his expectations, let alone him not meeting hers. 

PastryPrincess: Don’t say things you might regret, darling. 

Splayed on the sofa, Harry has no doubt that his internet girlfriend is everything he’s ever wanted, and she reaffirms it each and every day, but that demanding thudding on the door to his thoughts wishes to be welcomed in to reiterate the possibility of him being a let-down. 

Loverboy: Ah, the lady doth protest too much!

Loverboy: Silly girl, there’s not a chance in the world.

Suppose Harry doesn’t feel so bad after all. It’s just a pillow, right? He can deal with it tomorrow, and he certainly won’t be allowing his neighbour the extra blow of spoiling his Friday evening. 

Not when PastryPrincess is spending her time before the livestream scheming with him. It always has his blood pulsing with pride – the thrill, the arousal, the adoration – and this might be the only exception to how mournful he always is when they have to depart.

PastryPrincess: You’re bad news. 

PastryPrincess: Being so sweet nd distracting me from getting anything done.

He can’t even mull over being guilty for that. Pride and selfishness are twisting around him like red Christmas gift ribbons, turning his skin into wrapping paper that tightly holds his feelings of content in place.

Loverboy: Oh, please, you love it. 

PastryPrincess: Right, again.

Time edging forward is challenged only by the hollow grumbling in his belly, groaning for something to eat.

Loverboy: Well, princess, I do need to go and make myself look pretty before I tune in to another mouth-watering performance this evening. 

PastryPrincess: Naughty boy, you stole my line!

Harry’s chuckle exhales with overwhelming endearment, the type that sucks the sugar right out of his body and cries out for her sweet skin to satiate the dip in blood pressure. Now, he’ll be counting the minutes until he sees her again. 

🍑

She’s been rambling for around ten minutes, catching everyone up on the highlights of her week, mindlessly tracing swirls along her bare upper thigh, taking the time to respond and make each and every viewer feel important. 

And Harry hates to admit that a small part of him fears that he might not be as special to his girl as she is to him. 

To soothe that worry, he types out his first message of the stream and zones in on the soft lilt of her voice, enthusiastically reciting a story of a rollerblading incident that ended in a bruised knee and ripped jeans.  

Loverboy: Did you have a handsome knight to kiss it better? 

Her giggle fades out as she goes back to reading the side of the screen. 

Y/n’s been waiting for loverboy to say something from the minute she went live, and while she does love a good ramble and easily gets caught up in them, suppose she was just hoping for him to say something – anything – that would give her the wordless go-ahead.

“What are your guys’ thoughts on the whole ‘damsel in distress’ thing?” Y/n ponders her thoughts, lingering on her earlier rewatch of The Princess Bride.

“Like ‘I’ll save her from a tower guarded by a dragon’ type thing?”

Comments come flooding through, heart-filled emojis flashing across the screen in the mix of exclamation points and responses of ‘yes’. 

“Of course you like it.” She playfully drawls, scooching closer to the screen, “I should’ve known.” 

Y/n can’t stand the idea of needing help, let alone from someone she already feels vulnerable around. Like saying those four-letter words will make people see her differently – weaker, sensitive – like they’ll hold it against her or something. 

“What’s the draw? Is it like a ‘she’s so helpless, whatever would she do without me’ type thing?”  

Some of the responses pouring in are agreeing with that notion, and Y/n tries to employ the whole ‘to each their own’ thing, but it only works to solidify her weariness surrounding the concept of assistance being seen as a transaction.

Loverboy: Everyone needs a lil help sometimes.

Well, when he puts it like that, it doesn’t sound so bad. If the viewers were privy to her face, they’d question why her brows are so scrunched, bottom lip trapped between her teeth. 

Is this ‘no help’ policy worse than she thought? Sure, she could ask for assistance moving something heavy, or with directions, but isn’t it the same to just strain arm muscles and drive in circles? 

And even if the task is so minute that the average person wouldn’t even consider it lending a hand, why does it feel like she’s indebting herself for an eternity?

However, if that ‘debt’ is owed to loverboy, well, that’s a whole different story.  

“Yeah, suppose sometimes everyone needs a lil help…” 

And the comments haven’t stopped flashing across the screen, too fast to even make sense of the sentences, but those she can catch glimpses of are suggestively offering to do things she has yet to ask for. 

“Don’t be filthy. Or I’ll be sure to make it difficult for you.” 

Loverboy: I wouldn’t mind that… 

“Course you wouldn’t mind. It’s all about the chase, innit?” 

Harry, lying on the bed in a familiar position, laptop perched on his meaty, bare thighs, hopes she isn’t talking about him in particular. 

It’s never been about that, and now his stirring arousal is spiked with droplets of concern – that she might question his motives, and that other people in her life have done a cruel job of making her feel loved.

Loverboy: Only if I’m chasing you.

He wants to write out a paragraph about how he’d never take her tenderness for anything other than a display of trust, that he’d never ask for more than she was willing to give, and he’d spend the rest of his lifetime making up for the selfishness of others if she’d let him.

“Wanna take care of me that badly?” She coos, and Harry has a strong feeling she’s talking to him and him alone. “So valiant you are, hm?”

“I can be pretty noble too, y’know?” 

He does not doubt that. From their conversations, she seems anything but passive, and though she plays the role of a submissive sweetheart like she deserves an Academy Award, Harry has a strong suspicion that PastryPrincess would be quick to put him in his place – and he hopes that place is pinned beneath her as she rides him into the next century.  

“Fight for your honour… make life a living hell for anyone who messes with you…” 

A flash image in the form of his neighbour's cheeky grin almost stops him cold, but the girl on screen paints over it with gooey oil paint as her left hand strokes up and down her fleshy hip, her right hooking her fingers into the band of her white, frilly lace panties. 

Loverboy: Dying to see that first hand.

He’d sell a kidney. He’d sell them both. Her left hand quits creating palmy swirls on her skin and meets the band of elastic pressed into the pudge of her lower stomach to match the actions of her right hand. 

Hooking her fingers into the gap between the lace and her hidden skin, tauntingly playing with the wavy material, humming contentedly.

“Wish I could prove how good I can be for you in person.” 

Loverboy: Someday soon? 

“Someday soon.” 

Now there’s no way of denying that she’s been talking ot him all along. How the hell is Harry supposed to feel anything but hopefulness and reassurance? 

Moreover, with her fingers dangerously toying with the hem of the dainty lace barely hiding the sweet spot between her thighs.  

“Oh!” 

Her fingers unlatch themselves as her hands raise with excitement. She tilts parts of her body out of camera shot, her stomach stretching taut, turning the swoops of her moundy hips into a mountain that Harry has the sudden urge to summit. 

“Think you’ll be happy to know that the massage wand from that salacious store has finally arrived.” 

Her voice is distant, but her words are sultry as she finally lets everyone in on her chosen activity for the evening.

“You have no idea the lengths I went through to get this thing.”

Before Harry can let out a little impatient huff as he waits for her to return nearer, she does – innocently cradling the pastel blue massage wand in her hands and showing it off to the camera like an influencer trying on a beauty product. 

“Better be worth the trouble.” She grumbles, bringing the toy closer to inspect it for herself, turning it around in her hand to get a look at both sides. 

Loverboy: I think it’ll be well worth it.

He doesn’t need to see her face to know that her features are probably softly scrunched with curiosity, familiarising herself with the newest in her collection, possibly wondering what it will feel like, how best to use it, or something else inherently filthy.

But when her thumb glides along the buttons, Harry notices the pretty hue of her pink painted nails – no, not so much pink as… peach. 

Maybe it's simply the fruit intercepting his thoughts and tensed torso, but another picture of his neighbour blurs out everything, a visual of her from today, dressed in a lazily-rebuttoned oversized maroon dress shirt, the slope of her neck encouraging gazes to trail down to visit the divots of her collarbone, the pretty silver pendant that swung between the swells of her chest.

And then PastryPrincess’s enthusiastic voice slips past the stark and oddly captivating visual as she reads through more comments.

“You reckon? It’s so cute, isn’t it?” 

She always sounds so sweetly innocent, and it drives Harry wild. It’s like he just knows she’s putting on an act, but he can’t prove it. And the only way he insists on finding out is face-to-face. 

“I’ve never tried one of these before… Any tips?”

She’s playfully passing the toy between her palms, her voice luring the viewers – and Harry – into her little world of sugary submission. His palm aches to rest atop his bulging briefs, so needy at the thought of what’s to come. 

“Start slow… Have I ever been one to start at a ten?” 

Harry’s determined to follow suit. If she’s willing to take it at a relaxed pace, he should be able to do the same. However, it will be a desperate resistance regardless.

“Circular motions… I can do that.” She ponders.

“Are y’gonna help talk me through it, though?” She’s not one to prolong things for this long, and if Harry were privy to why the girl next door is doing so, he’d surely feel like the luckiest man on earth. 

“Don’t know if I can do it without you.” And if he were privy to that information, he’d know that she’s waiting for him to give her the green light. 

But his next message, an attempt to be as desperate as he possibly can through a screen, unintentionally grants her just that.

Loverboy: I’ll do whatever you like, remember?

She finally lets her body tilt away from the screen, this time letting her back sink into the matching lilac pillows, and her shoulders and up are the only parts of her that aren’t on display. She does it so effortlessly, like there’s not a chance in the world she’d accidentally reveal her face. 

But the moment her legs separate, Harry gets a hot sweat at the sight of her thighs bouncing on impact, and his hand is atop his throbbing cock before he can connect the movement with thought. 

She doesn’t waste time turning the wand on, letting it buzz on the lowest setting and taking a pause to let her hand acclimate to the motion. 

Harry’s gaze is glued to the screen, scared to blink and miss even a subtle movement as she softly remarks, “quick a strong thing, this is,” and his palm quickens its stroking ascent and descent, hips aching to rise from the mattress. 

She trepidly presses the massager to her lacy-clad clit, her muscles involuntarily twitching at the sudden contact. 

She certainly enjoys the vibrations, a lull buzz setting off little jolts that have the curves of her body reacting with haste, as she pushes herself up into the toy. 

With a needy little moan slipping past her lips, Harry huskily grunts and gives in to his desires, hooking his thumb into his briefs and roughly tugging them down his thighs. 

His cock thickens in his warm palm, and his head is a mess of desire and longing to replace his hand with her own. 

His strokes are cautious and patient, working to sync up with the massager that she guides in a clockwise loop. 

Of all the toys Harry has had the blessing of bearing witness to, this one seems to suit her best – at least that’s what it looks like as her thighs struggle to stay pressed to the sheets, gently bucking herself up into the vibrating head as her lips whisper needy whines and hums of appreciation. 

Harry’s hand is working on its own now, creating a rhythm that struggles to stray away from sloppy – gliding his thumb over his tip, his entire body clenching at the intense friction. 

He spreads the pool of precum and lets his finger circle his swollen head, rewarded with another shudder of arousal. 

His girl is moaning sweeter, and much more, than ever, finally gifting the audience – and Harry thinks, fuck them – the dripping, swollen view of her bare pussy as her free hand tugs the disruptive lace to the side. She hisses at the harsh contact of cool air, and though she’d probably love to give them longer to admire, the feral need to press the massager back up against the bud of her clit is fastly taking over. 

This time, she hums with satisfaction, and Harry wonders if she might be prone to getting a little bratty when she’s being denied the ultimate high. 

He thinks he’d certainly like to test that theory – to lure her to the point of desperation with no intention of return, to see just how far he could prod her before she snatches hold of him and makes him pay.

Safe to say, Harry feels he has the best view in the world, and the way his wrist hastens its upward motion, palm expanding as it heads down to his thick base, fingers curling hungrily.

The girl on screen, and next door, has made a stunning, glistening mess atop the massage head, and she promises to dampen it further as her forefinger blindly seeks the button that will surely be the buzz that sends her over the edge.

Harry hears nothing but the incessant whines of his girl as they start to create a rhythm of their own, quickening with the bucks of her abdomen, no longer able to keep her lower body on the mattress. 

Shamelessly, Harry can tell when she’s starting to reach the peak of euphoria – something about the way her muscles start to pulse like her heartbeat, about the way her tone elevates, speeds up, loses enthusiasm and veers towards begging.

He riskily trusts his thighs to balance the laptop as his left hand goes to cradle and knead at his balls, wrist twisting and straining as he tugs and strokes himself nearer and nearer to climax. And Harry doesn’t even notice that he himself is moaning now, harmonising with the instrumentals of slapping skin, dull vibrations, and PastryPrincess’s own syrupy sighs.

She’s practically chanting her pleasure for all to hear, and Harry pities her neighbours. With whatever coherence she still obtains, she manages to increase the vibration level once more, and hell, he has never heard anything as symphonic as the feral, all-encompassing whine that shoots straight from the speakers into the core of Harry’s entirety. 

“Please?” 

“Are y’gonna let me cum? She pants, her plea a mere murmur, so polite and timid that Harry almost misses it.

 

She asks it with everything she has left to give, and Harry’s curious as to her sudden need for permission. 

Suppose just as he finally thought he had a grasp on who she is, she spins him 360 and leaves him desperate to uncover and understand her latest manoeuvre. 

She’s holding on for dear life, and no words are needed to prove it. Harry thinks it’s borderline cruel to keep someone as well-behaved as her waiting, and just like the fanboy he truly is, he briefly uses his left hand to type out a hasty message to join the many others.

Loverboy: Yes.

Just like that, the neediest mewl squeaks from deep within her chest, torso clenching, as her legs shake weakly, too tired to even attempt clenching them shut.

And when Harry sees the way her toes curl into the dishevelled sheets, he’s set off for good, his strokes becoming sloppily frantic, thumb desperately brushing atop his tip as his vision starts to blur and all he can hear is her pretty little breathless giggles before his insides start to pulse with electric desire, and his body is enraptured with intoxication, warmth spurting and coating his hand and stomach, only capable of letting muffled grunts slip past his parched lips.

His entirety feels transported straight into her bed sheets, like her phantom hand is the one still slowly stroking his dripping cock instead of his own, like he could just reach over and his arm would surely collide with her bare torso. 

Instead, all he can cling to is the visual of her slack body, still trying to come down from what seemed to be a tremendous high, still sweetly laughing as she tries to catch her breath. 

Her hand raises and disappears off-screen, and the cutest yawn cannot be stopped from escaping her exhausted figure. The swirl of arousal still whirlpooling within his tummy is now joined by a stream of adoration, and Harry wishes more than ever that he wouldn’t have to sleep alone tonight.

He’s a complete mess – in every type of way – and has to work extra to avoid worsening things as he types out a final message, as his spare hand still lazily strokes at his tired cock.

Loverboy: Good girl. Get some rest now x

It takes her a good few moments to garner enough motivation to sit back up, and as with the end of all of her streams, she does a final sweep of the comments. The feedback is plenty, and if Harry asked, she’d tell him it’s getting harder to pay attention to all of them. 

But she hums sweetly all the same, and takes her time simply letting her body reacclimate to reality. 

“Get some rest?” Harry’s cheeks swell at the eager lilt in her voice. 

“Your wish is my command.” And there’s just something about how pliantly she takes his suggestions that has his cock ready to start throbbing again before it's actually even stopped. 

“Thank you guys for taking the time to join me, y’know it makes me so very happy.” Her words are becoming a soothing, slow blur as his hearing fades in and out. 

“If you’ve got any suggestions for next week, don’t forget to let me know.” 

Oh, Harry will certainly be letting her know. And even though he knows what’s coming next, it never makes it any easier, so he does his best to memorise the simplistic beauty that is her figure right now; relaxed and spent, and it’s more than enough to fawn over for the next seven days.

 “Bye-bye, my lovelies.”  Her hands wave in cute synchronicity before she blows a partially visible kiss and reaches forward to end the stream. 

The screen goes black, but Harry’s still coming down from a rush that seems to reignite and pulse through his veins over and over, like it never has before. His gaze is blurry from ecstasy, the room a glitch of navy and hardwood. 

The ringing in his ears was near unnoticeable, but is now so amplified that he definitely doesn’t hear the ritualistic start of soft blues rhythm slipping through the gaps of his neighbour's window in pursuit of sharing it with his bedroom. 

And he’s barely lucid at this point, swallowed by a thousand emotions and sensations all swirling around him in the silhouette of the woman from behind the screen, and how desperately he wants to collapse into slumber in her arms.

Harry needs to talk to her. Needs to delve deeper into this tense-free afterglow that he can only hope she feels, too.

He gathers the will to lift his head, ever so slightly, from the pillow, following his new lifestyle routine – searching for his phone. 

Thankfully, it’s nearer than usual, but before Harry can add that fact to his list of countless reasons to revel in satisfaction, his drowsy stare zones in on something white and fluffy, resting delicately just next to the phone. 

And Harry snaps back to reality swifter than a rubber band stretched too thin, then he hears the sound of Y/n’s chosen playlist of the evening lulling from afar, and Harry is on his shaky, exhausted legs, darting across the room to retrieve his walkie-talkie from the dresser.

The device is pathetically puny, clenched in his palm with bewildered petulance, his body still rushing with residual arousal, but his head is a foggy cloud of baffled smoke that wishes to spew from his nostrils with a high-pitched whistle.

Fucking feathers. Everywhere! Over.

The waiting period is taken up by the smooth and familiar tune of Miles Davis, a melody that rocks his tired body straight back into euphoria. But it’s not enough to distract from his disdain for his neighbours' umpteenth disruption.

Think of it as a display of my ever-dying love for you. Over.

Y/n theatrically coos through the speaker, and Harry hates that her sultry, gravelly voice only aids in lulling his lazy limbs. 

You’re not funny. Over.

Harry can’t bear standing any longer and decides to settle for sitting at the edge of the mattress, and just as his toes reach the cherry wood base of the bed, his neighbour successfully riles him right back up.

My boyfriend would disagree. Ov-

Boyfriend, huh? Over.

Harry’s stalking over to the window now, one hand holding the device up to his pursed lips, the other clumsily tugging at the string that operates his blinds, barely successful and pulling it far enough up to get a good look at the girl next door.

‘M just kidding. Over.

Her bemused tone scolds him for not recognising the obvious sarcasm that had coated her earlier statement.

Why don’t I believe you? Over.

Harry’s guts are what genuinely feels like twisting with a ribbon of jealousy that weaves along the trails of amorous pleasure that still maps all along the curves of his muscles and bones, blending into one eternal loop of tension. 

He’s never felt so… odd. Off–balance, almost literally, too far gone to put a name to this feeling, let alone dissect what the fuck it might mean.

Because you’re a sceptical grump. Over.

Harry only notices how he’s suddenly smiling, and just how wide, until his lips brush the speaker of the walkie-talkie, and he can’t even bother to fault himself for it. That’s tomorrow’s problem – just like the feathers.

Say it to my face. Over.

Y/n rises from the rustled lilac sheets to her wobbly legs, taking a chance in assuming her grouchy neighbour will be waiting behind the shut bars of her champagne blinds. And wouldn’t you know it – there he is, cute scowl, sleepy eyes and all.

You’re a sceptical grump. 

And you look tired. 

Isn’t it past your bedtime? Over.

If it weren’t for the shadows of night, she might have gotten a better look at how his face twitches at the implication of him needing sleep. Is there a reason she mentioned his sleepy appearance, or is he over-tired and over-sceptical after a day of deceptive jabs?

I am. It is. And so do you! Over.

He counters, and for a reason unknown to Y/n herself, even his thick, groggy whine is adorable. Well, it might be more than just adorable… It might be a bit… alluring. Or perhaps – and Y/n hopes – these feelings are simply residual adrenaline from the livestream.

Feel better now that you’ve ranted? Over.

She can see the silhouette of his shoulders slump with a deep exhale; it's rather cute, and she knows his helplessly unavoidable reaction is only stirring that frustration within at the fact that she’s right, once again.

Yes. But this isn’t over… Over. 

It’s never over, only god knows if it ever will be. And hell, Y/n hopes there never comes a day when her neighbour doesn’t inspire, excite, or amuse her. It’s a motivation that silently warps into a fondness for her enemy, a type of dynamic she wouldn’t trade for the world.

Sweet dreams, Grumpyboy. Over.

That pout of his is priceless, truly. And its followed intrusive thought of whether his lips stay puckered just like that when he’s splayed amongst the sheets, far off into slumber, but that’s for tomorrow’s inevitable crisis of self.

It’s getting harder to depart, but sleep is catching up with Y/n all the same, and there’s still one more thing she has to do before tucking in for the eve. 

Mmph, likewise, peaches. Over. 

She leaves before he musters the energy himself, her blinds winding down as an extra jab that Harry hasn’t the heart or morale to take to heart. He never feels anything other than anticipation for the next time they get to go at each other again. 

And then Harry gains enough alertness to understand that he’s missing more than just the forthcoming encounter with his neighbour; he hasn’t had the chance to praise pretty PastryPrincess for her out-of-this-world performance. Probably throwing something about how good she made him feel, as always. 

He’s back on the bed, swift like a cat, reclaiming his phone, and both surprised and disappointed that she beat him to it. 

PastryPrincess: What’d you think? 

What does he think? Harry can hardly think at all when she’s whining and moaning so sweetly; his brain is mush at the mere sight of her torso and belly involuntarily twitching with ecstasy. 

Loverboy: Blown away. Always am. 

He’s touch-starved and starved for her. The only other interaction that leaves his body burning with fiery anticipation is with his evil neighbour, and she’s made it abundantly clear that she wants nothing to do with him outside of rivalry.

Loverboy: You have no idea how badly I want to be the one touching you. 

PastryPrincess: It’s getting impossible to dismiss the thoughts myself. 

It’s starting to feel like a competition in itself – who will be the first to cave? To suggest crumbling that barrier of anonymity in pursuit of what they both know the other wants? 

And loverboy doesn’t know it yet, but his cam-girl is the master of doubling down, digging her heels into the dirt, sewing her damn lips shut as the only solution to stopping herself from blurting out her intentions. 

Loverboy: Any ideas for that trade-off? 

🍑

PastryPrincess: Oh, I have plenty. Maybe I’ll call you sometime and we can discuss them. 

Loverboy: Deal.

In my defence, I got SO CARRIED AWAY. Hopefully I've made up for it in length, and hopefully you guys enjoy and are excited for part four!! - Emmy xo

Taglist: @gem1712 @mellamolayla @ellastyles13 @teenwolf9-1-1lover @cherreigh @mads3502 @lizsogolden @natyk @mothersversiononly @hannah9921 @harryswifeyyyy @rpwprpwprpwprw @cowboylikeliv @angeldavis777 @daphnesutton @ellamariee @magicalmorg @sunflowervol2007 @stylesftcher @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @mema10 @maddiesalvatore1839 @aoxetic @this-is-tiny-mia @gem1712 @pops234 @fangirl509east @stylesftcher

[babyyhoneyyy]

U HAVE ME HOOOOOOKED THIS SERIES IS EATING TF UPPPPPPPP

[babyyhoneyyy]

Yeah I think it’s fine to be a little disappointed if this setlist has songs that fans at the other shows preferred but it’s genuinely not that serious harries always do the most lmao

yeah true like lets really step back and see what we r being mad at and what for….. and its not like the other shows were trash like he ate down with the outfits the vocals the fireworks but again like lets get mad at things that actually matter like its not that deep

[babyyhoneyyy]

damn they're complaining like crazy on twt about the setlist changes like is it that serious

omg yeah ive been seeing all the discourse and tbh i was a little irritated at first but then i found out that he didnt add any songs just swapped some out and lowkey for obvious reasons it makes sense to play esny and carolina in the us plus instead of both fl and golden they got kiwi and i think thats pretty fair 🤷‍♀️ and also at the end of the day its not that deep like lets not waste our energy getting mad at a multi millionaire who changed a few songs on his setlist lets use our energy elsewhere and channel that anger towards more pressing issues that actually make a difference in the world ykwim

[jezebelblues]

(𝟏) 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒 | 𝐇.𝐒 ⋆𐙚₊˚

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥.

𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐨𝐧, 𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐲? 𝐨𝐫, 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡, 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬.

𝐂𝐖: 18+ SERIES! age gap unspecified but everyone is legal, allusions to smut (in this part), fem!reader, innocent!reader, slight angst, not proof read.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 8.7k

❏ this is kinda just an introductory to this 🤨 but this also me testing the waters to see what kind of response it gets. i tried to give it a little more substance instead of just making it controversially young gf smut. but lmk if u only care for the smut fr. aiming for this to be a 3 parter possibly if anyone actually reads. okay bye love u

(be patient with me i do not have a writing schedule D: it’s just vibes over here)

there were things in life that demanded to be named. not as a matter of understanding, but as an act of survival. temptation. desire. guilt. words so small they barely held the weight of the emotions they described. words that felt inadequate against the reality of their presence, sharp-edged and infinite. harry had spent years pretending these things were separate—different flavors, distinct experiences—but now, in the quiet spaces between reason and instinct, he realized they were one and the same.

desire wasn’t the sweet fruit hanging low on the tree, waiting for him to pluck it. it was a persistent root that had grown into his bones, twisting through his ribs, wrapping around his heart. temptation wasn’t the serpent in the garden; it was the soil itself, fertile and dark, daring him to plant something reckless.

thou mayest. the illusion of freedom wrapped in the guise of agency. it was a promise of autonomy that demanded surrender. harry turned the phrase over in his mind like a stone, rough against his palm, smooth on the other side. it sounded noble, to choose. to be good, even when depravity tasted sweeter. but to choose implied that choice was ever truly his.

the idea unsettled him. if the end was written, if he was meant to fall, then what purpose was there in resisting? if the flame was always there, waiting for the moth, could he be blamed for burning?

but harry frowned at the notion, rejecting it like the apple beginning to rot. to believe it was inevitable was to strip himself of accountability. it was to call it fate instead of what it really was—a weakness he didn’t want to name aloud.

yet even as he denied inevitability, he could feel it breathing down his neck. the soft pull of gravity every time her eyes met his, wide and unguarded. her sweetness wasn’t like the syrupy fiction he had always known, too thick to be real. it was raw, unpolished, pure in its lack of pretense. he wanted to protect it, to shelter it, but how could he when his hands itched to touch it, to ruin it, to mark it as his?

guilt and desire were two sides of the same coin he couldn’t stop flipping. the choices felt infinite and yet singular, converging on her—the catalyst, the temptation, the embodiment of his undoing.

he tried not to touch her, not to look too long, but the world conspired against him. his name on her lips sounded like an offering. her laughter felt like a secret. the way she walked, talked, breathed—it all felt intentional, even though he knew it wasn’t. she was innocent of his thoughts. she had no idea the storm she brought to life in him.

and maybe that’s what made her so dangerous. because he had spent years building walls, convincing himself that control was his greatest virtue. but her presence felt like water—slowly eroding the stone, finding its way into the cracks he didn’t know existed.

he wanted to believe he had a choice. that he could walk away, untouched, untempted. but every step closer to her felt like destiny disguised as coincidence. her smile was a trap, but it was one he wanted to fall into, knowing full well there would be no escape.

harry thought of the apple in the garden. the lie it told about choice. the way it beckoned, its skin gleaming with the promise of sweetness. but the truth was, it wasn’t the apple that made him fall. it was the hunger that had always lived inside him.

thou mayest. the words tasted bitter now. because in the end, he knew he wouldn’t choose. he would only follow.

and maybe, he thought, that was its own kind of freedom.

— BOSTON

there were a thousand ways to love someone.

it wasn’t a single language. it was a mosaic of dialects, some of which he spoke fluently, others he fumbled through, and some he would never master. it came to him in whispers, in roaring applause, in soft apologies spoken under foreign moons. love, in its rawest forms, could be a sonnet sung aloud or the silence between breaths. it could bloom in the mundane, sprouting like ivy through the cracks of familiarity. but it could also unravel—untethered and wild—until it swallowed everything else whole.

now, though, it felt like a question he didn't know how to answer.

he had known it to be beautiful once, grand and uncompromising, like a symphony crashing through the walls of his chest. but now? now it felt softer, quieter. less a roar and more a whisper in the back of his mind, laced with something he couldn’t quite place.

april on the east coast was no season for romance. it was damp with promise, hesitant in its thaw. the skies hung low with slate-colored clouds, heavy but refusing rain, and the mornings were gray and cold enough to bite. it wasn’t exactly the kind of spring that painted postcards, but it had its own charm—the kind of charm that settled not in sight, but in sound. in the low hum of city life, the rush of trains cutting through tunnels, the steady rhythm of days repeating themselves.

this time, though, harry was restless.

juniper had left with a kiss on his cheek and a laugh in her voice, her belly round with new beginnings, her flight booked to london. “don’t let it go to your head,” she’d teased, pointing a playful finger at him. “just because you’re losing me doesn’t mean you’ll fall apart.”

he hadn’t fallen apart. not exactly.

but the void she left behind was wide, even if temporary, and it was her replacement who filled it.

YN arrived on a wednesday.

he had two days before the show. no real obligations until then, aside from this—meeting his new hair and makeup artist, seeing if she knew what she was doing before she had to work on him before a live performance.

he sighed, running a hand through his hair as he pushed open the door to his dressing room.

she was already there.

he paused for a fraction of a second, not expecting to see her yet. she stood near the vanity, back straight, hands clasped together in front of her, like she wasn’t sure what to do with them. on the counter beside her was a cup—one of those paper to-go cups, the kind that came from some overpriced café.

she turned when he entered, eyes widening slightly before she offered a small, polite smile.

“hi.” her voice was soft, a little hesitant. “i’m YN.”

he took a few steps inside, nodding once. “harry.”

she nodded back, exhaling quickly, like she was trying to steady herself. then, she gestured toward the cup.

“i got you a latte,” she started. “i—i wasn’t sure what you usually drink, but i thought it might be nice. to—y’know. start off on the right foot.”

he glanced at the cup, then at her.

she was nervous. he could see it in the way she shifted her weight slightly, in the way she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

it was a nice thought.

but he hadn’t touched dairy in years.

he didn’t say that, though. didn’t want to embarrass her. instead, he just gave her a small, appreciative nod.

he reached for it, offering a gentle smile. “thanks.”

she looked relieved when he took it, her smile relaxing a little.

harry held the cup, feeling the warmth of it against his palm. he could smell it, the sweetness of whatever syrup she’d probably had them put in. vanilla, maybe. something soft.

he set it down on the vanity without taking a sip.

YN didn’t seem to notice, already turning to grab her kit.

“so,” she breathed, glancing at him as she unzipped it, “juniper gave me some notes on what you like. she said you prefer a really natural look.”

harry nodded, lowering himself into the chair. “yeah. don’t like when it feels too heavy.”

“got it,” she murmured, more to herself than to him, before pulling out a few brushes.

he watched her in the mirror as she worked, as she moved with careful, practiced hands.

she was quiet at first, focused. then, after a minute, she glanced at him.

“have you always done your own hair?”

he blinked, caught slightly off guard. “what?”

“your hair,” she said, brushing her fingers lightly through the strands. “juniper said you’re pretty particular about it. that you usually style it yourself.”

he huffed a soft laugh. “yeah.”

she smiled a little, just a flicker, before returning her focus to her work.

harry swallowed.

this was fine.

just a job.

just another day before a show.

but the latte sat untouched on the counter, the scent of vanilla lingering in the air.

harry had a feeling she’d linger with it.

there was just something about her, something that felt unguarded. almost naive.

she wasn’t, not entirely—he learned that quickly. she had edges, sharp ones when needed, but she wielded them sparingly. the rest of the time, she was all soft hands and big eyes, a honeyed warmth that seeped into everything she touched.

and harry?

harry was careful not to touch her at all.

there was a distance he liked to keep, a careful line between himself and everyone else. not because he didn’t care—he cared more than he’d admit—but because he knew what could happen when he let someone too close.

still, she had a way of leaning past those lines. not intentionally, but like ivy, like roots. like something that simply grew.

by the time april had given way to may, harry found himself watching her more than he should.

she hummed when she worked, soft melodies that floated through the room like ghosts of songs she couldn’t name. she wrote everything down in a little notebook, scribbling furiously with a pen that always seemed to run out of ink at the worst times.

he’d caught her once, shaking it with a frustrated pout, her lips pressed together in concentration.

“you alright there?” he’d asked, the words slipping out before he could think better of it.

she’d blinked up at him, startled, and then laughed, “another losing battle with this pen.”

“you have t’tap it against your forehead twice.” he’d replied, biting back a smile.

her eyebrows furrowed, but she did it anyway—lightly tapping the clicky part against her head, glancing at harry before trying to write again.

of course it didn’t work. he was just messing with her—wanted to see if she fell for it, wanted to see if she’d listen.

it was easy to fall into moments like that with her.

too easy.

thou mayest. a soft hand offering an apple, a question left unanswered. but he had his own questions, ones that wrapped themselves around his throat and refused to let go.

there were a thousand ways to love someone, and harry had spent his life learning only a fraction of them. though sometimes he wondered if he’d been learning them for her.

— EDINBURGH

he had always thought of temptation as a slow build, like the simmering heat of a kettle left on the stove, a soft whistle at first that could grow into a shrieking insistence if ignored too long. but that night, in the quiet sprawl of his hotel suite, it didn’t simmer. it coiled.

the city welcomed them with a gray drizzle and jet lag that stuck to the skin like damp clothes. the flight over had been long, hours stretched taut over time zones and turbulence, and by the time he made it to the room, he wanted nothing more than to shed the weight of travel.

his suitcase lay half-open on the floor, a quiet surrender to the fatigue he couldn’t shake. a glass of water sat on the bedside table, untouched, condensation pooling beneath it. harry stretched out on the mattress, arms behind his head, eyes closed but nowhere near sleep. the city murmured beyond the window—a muted symphony of car horns and distant voices—and he let it play in the background.

his phone buzzed.

yn: did you get back to the hotel okay?

he smiled faintly at the screen, her name like a flame too warm to look at directly. his fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before he responded.

harry: all 10 fingers and toes. safe and sound.

harry: you get back okay?

the reply came almost instantly, her eagerness spilling into the space between them.

yn: mhmmm. i’m just brainstorming a few ideas for upcoming shows :) if you give me a penny, i’ll give you my thoughts.

a laugh huffed through his nose.

harry: consider a penny given, then.

he settled deeper into the bed, phone balanced in his hand as he waited. the seconds stretched into minutes, the screen dimming twice before the vibration returned. when it did, it wasn’t just one text, but a cascade—a waterfall of thoughts so uniquely hers that he could almost hear her voice speaking them aloud.

it was color theory, ideas layered with excitement, messily typed but earnest. how the blues of certain lighting might dull the warmth of his skin, or how curls framing his face might draw more focus to his eyes.

yn: does that make sense?

he hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

harry: absolutely. honored to work with such talent.

her suggestions were good—better than good, really. but it wasn’t the content that had his heart pacing against the walls of his chest. it was the way she thought of him in terms of details. the curve of his hair, the way light caught in his eyes. how she looked at him as if he were something to be fine-tuned, polished, perfected.

he set the phone down, staring at the darkened ceiling.

it wasn’t the first time he’d felt it, the pull of her presence. she had a way of moving through spaces as though she belonged in all of them. she was sharp where it mattered and soft everywhere else, a tangle of contradictions that didn’t feel contradictory at all.

he wasn’t blind to it, either—the closeness, the fleeting touches she didn’t seem to think twice about, the way her laughter lingered in rooms after she left them.

and yet, he couldn’t let himself fall. not into this.

his hand twitched toward the phone again. temptation was a voice now, low and insistent, curling in his gut. he thought of her in her room, probably cross-legged on the bed with her notebook splayed open and a pencil tucked behind her ear, her face alight with whatever new idea had struck her.

she was likely still wearing the hoodie from the plane, the one she had pulled over her knees to keep warm. she had smiled at him through the terminal, soft and shy, a blush touching her cheeks as she said goodnight.

his phone buzzed again.

yn: i think the messy curls could make your eyes look softer. i’m rambling, sorry! just a thought :)

it wasn’t fair, really. the way she existed so effortlessly, the way she lingered in his mind long after she’d left the room.

but temptation had a thousand faces, and tonight, it wore hers.

harry: never stop rambling.

— GLASGOW

it felt colder than it should have for may. the overcast sky hung low, gray and swollen, threatening rain that would inevitably come. harry didn’t mind it, though—he liked how the cold made his skin prickle, how it made the air feel cleaner when he breathed it in. but more than that, he liked how it kept everyone huddled indoors, tucked into the warmth of the stadium where soundchecks were already underway.

YN was perched on a stool near the mirrors, her knees pulled up just enough to keep her feet from dangling. she had been quiet all morning, focused, her delicate fingers meticulously painting tiny daisies onto the nail of his pinky.

“some steady hands there.”

she glanced up at him, and for a moment, her cheeks burned pink. “i have to. can’t mess up, right?”

“you could,” he mumbled, leaning forward slightly, his tone teasing. “might not mind.”

her lips twitched, barely concealing a smile, but she quickly ducked her head back down, letting her hair fall into her face like a curtain. it was something she did often, he noticed, as if she were hiding—not just from him but from something bigger.

he didn’t press. not yet.

“what color’s next?” he asked, tilting his head to look at the neat little bottles lined up on the counter.

“yellow,” she replied softly. “you said you wanted bright.”

“a sunshine yellow, then.” he watched her carefully as she reached for the polish, her fingers trembling ever so slightly before she steadied them again. “you’re sweet, you know that?”

her hand froze midair, and he swore he saw her breath hitch. she looked up at him then, her wide eyes meeting his, and he felt it again—that pull.

“what?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“you’re sweet,” he repeated, the corner of his mouth lifting into the faintest of smirks. “makes me wonder if anyone’s ever told you that before.”

she blinked, her lashes fluttering like the wings of a moth caught too close to a flame. “i–i don’t know.”

his smile deepened, but there was no malice in it, only warmth. “well, you are. just thought you should know.”

YN turned her attention back to his nails, her head bowed so low now he could only see the crown of it. the pink flush on her cheeks had deepened, spreading to the tips of her ears.

he liked that. he liked how easily she reacted to him, how her softness made him feel like he could step closer without shattering her completely. but he also hated it, hated how it clawed at his resolve, making him forget all the reasons he’d told himself to stay away.

when she finished the daisies, she leaned back, examining her work with a satisfied little nod. “done.”

“you’re sure?” he asked, lifting his hand and turning it this way and that, letting the light catch the glossy polish.

“positive.”

“looks perfect,” he said, though this time he wasn’t teasing. “thank you.”

her lips parted, just slightly, like she wasn’t sure what to say.

before she could speak, the sharp click of the dressing room door broke the moment, and jeff stuck his head inside.

“five minutes, harry,” he called, already looking at his phone as he spoke. “got people waiting.”

he nodded, his expression unchanged, though the moment felt heavier now, disrupted by the intrusion. “right. cheers.”

jeff disappeared again, the door clicking shut behind him.

he stood, stretching his arms above his head, and caught the way YN watched him out of the corner of her eye before quickly looking away.

“i’ll get you something from the vending machine.” he mentioned casually, already fishing into his pocket for his wallet.

her head snapped up. “you don’t have to—”

“hush,” he interrupted, grinning now. he stepped closer, reaching for her hand, and put four quarters into her palm. “you’ll need this. unless y’plan on charming the machine into spitting one out for free.”

her fingers curled around the coins, and she blinked up at him, her lips parting as if to argue. but she didn’t. instead, she offered him a soft, grateful smile.

“thank you.”

he only hummed as she slipped the quarters into her pocket and hopped off the stool, glancing at him one last time before heading for the door. when she was gone, the room felt too still, the faint trace of her perfume lingering like an echo.

he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. his nails gleamed in the fluorescent light, the little daisies smiling up at him like they knew something he didn’t.

meanwhile, the vending machines would glow faintly at the far end of the hallway, their soft hum breaking the quiet. YN shuffled closer, her shoes padding lightly against the concrete floor.

but the faint creak of a door opening behind her made her pause, her head turning toward the sound.

he was there again, stepping into the hallway and heading the opposite direction.

harry moved with the kind of unhurried confidence that made it seem like the space around him belonged to him and him alone. his legs carried him in long strides, the sharp crimson of his trousers catching the dull overhead lights with every step. the matching red suspenders hung loose, swinging lazily at his sides, as though he’d been interrupted mid-motion while shrugging them up.

his shirt was unassuming—blue and striped, halfheartedly buttoned. the fabric clung to the broad line of his shoulders before softening at his waist, tucked neatly into his trousers. the buttons stopped low, of course, just enough to reveal the sharp dip of his collarbones and a teasing stretch of bare skin below.

YN’s eyes lingered longer than they should have, tracing the slope of his jaw, the faint stubble along his chin, the way the fabric shifted across his back when he moved. it was unfair, really, how tall he seemed here, how he could fill even the emptiest hallway with his presence.

he hadn’t noticed her yet. his head was down, focused, his mouth pressed into a line of mild concentration. whatever jeff had needed him for was probably important, judging by the speed of his stride.

but then, as though he’d sensed it, he looked up.

their eyes met briefly—just a flicker, but it was enough.

harry’s pace slowed for a fraction of a second, his brows lifting in faint recognition as his gaze settled on her. he didn’t smile, not fully, but the corners of his mouth twitched like he might’ve.

YN felt her stomach twist, that now-familiar warmth creeping up her neck and blooming across her cheeks. she wasn’t sure why she felt caught, like she’d been caught looking when she hadn’t meant to.

“get your cola yet?” his voice carried down the hall.

she managed to shake her head, “not yet.”

“better hurry, then,” he nodded toward her, resuming his stride. “press’ll be crawling through soon.”

he didn’t wait for her response, his figure already retreating, his strides long and effortless as he disappeared around the corner.

YN let out a slow, shaky breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her fingers unclenching one by one. she glanced down at the quarters in her palm, their edges pressing faint imprints into her skin.

when she turned back to the vending machines, the glow seemed a little brighter, the hum a little louder, but the air in the hallway still felt heavy. she slid the coins into the slot one at a time, their metallic clinks echoing in her ears, and pressed the button for a coke.

her fingers closed around the bottle, and for a moment, she stood there, staring at the blurred reflection of herself in the machine’s plexiglass. her cheeks were still flushed, her heartbeat uneven—only harry could manage such a reaction without even doing anything.

he wasn’t even looking, she thought, shaking her head as she straightened up. he wasn’t even looking anymore. but it didn’t matter, not really. her stomach still fluttered like it always did.

she kept herself busy while harry was off handling whatever jeff had thrown his way. it was easy, most days—finding small things to do in the dressing room, small tasks that helped settle the nervous energy she always seemed to carry.

she tucked loose bits of makeup back into their designated compartments, straightened the mess of brushes and bottles that had accumulated along the counters. the quiet helped, too, though she occasionally paused, distracted by the faint voices coming from the small television mounted on the wall.

the scottish accents were thick and lilting, pulling her attention away entirely when she let herself linger too long. she’d tilt her head toward the screen, catching snippets of an old comedy show she didn’t recognize, before shaking herself out of it and returning to her task.

her coke was still cold against her palm, condensation slicking the skin of her fingers as she took small, absentminded sips. but when she ran out of things to tidy, out of ways to fill the silence, she left the dressing room, wandering through the backstage halls.

this was a habit of hers, especially in new places. she liked exploring, even if the halls all tended to look the same—narrow and gray, the faint hum of activity reverberating off the walls.

voices carried from somewhere distant, bouncing in ways that made it impossible to pinpoint their origin. she walked slowly, her free arm occasionally brushing against the rough cinderblock walls.

then she stopped.

her eyes caught on something hung up on the wall—a plaque with a faded photo and an inscription below it. she stepped closer, squinting to make out the worn text, her head tilting slightly as she read. it must’ve been a gift to the stadium years ago, a relic from a time before she was even born.

the faint hum of voices seemed to grow louder as she stared, but she didn’t move. her thoughts wandered as she read the plaque’s history, the drink cool in her hand, her sneakers shifting on concrete like she couldn’t bear to stand still.

but after a beat, she decided she’d seen enough.

she spun on her heel, ready to continue her aimless walk, but she bumped into something solid before she even realized she wasn’t alone.

“oh!” she gasped softly, jerking back slightly, enough to regain balance.

it wasn’t just something solid—it was someone.

harry.

his hand brushed against her shoulder instinctively, steadying her with a light touch that felt more deliberate than it probably was. he let out a breathy laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he glanced down at her.

“didn’t see y’there, sweetheart.”

the word hit her square in the chest—not the casual murmur of her name he usually used but something gentler, more pointed. he rarely called her that, maybe once every few days at most, and it always left her struggling to figure out if he meant anything by it.

she blinked up at him, still flustered, her heart kicking up in her ribs as she took a step back. he towered over her, as always, broad and imposing in such a narrow place. the suspenders she’d seen earlier were in place now, stretched over his shoulders, accentuating the sharp lines of his frame. and even though she’d only finished fixing his hair a short while ago, it already looked tousled, like he’d run his fingers through it more than once.

her cheeks heated, but she smiled anyway, nodding toward the plaque on the wall in an effort to distract herself. “was lookin’ at this.”

he followed her line of sight, the faint curve of his mouth lingering as he took a moment to glance it over. “from the old firm game,” he muttered, “back in ‘39.”

“oh.” she breathed, her eyes darting between him and the plaque.

“not to be confused with the old firm of ‘71,” he added, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked back at her fully.

YN’s eyebrows furrowed as she tilted her head, trying to place the significance.

he leaned in slightly, his shoulder brushing hers lightly as he continued, “–where a bunch of people died.”

the words were said so casually that it took a second for them to register, and by the time they did, he was already walking off.

she gasped, following after him, “what do you mean?” she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. “people died here?”

he glanced back at her briefly, his expression unreadable, though his lips still carried the faintest hint of amusement. “mm-hmm.”

“well…what happened?” she pressed, quickening her pace to match his.

instead of answering, he slowed just enough to turn toward her, his hand reaching out with an ease that made her breath catch. without a word, he plucked the coke from her hand, his fingers brushing hers for the tiniest moment before he raised it to his lips.

“stadium disaster,” he said finally, his voice calm, ending with the quietest of sighs from his swallow.

he handed the bottle back to her with the same ease, his fingers grazing hers again as the cool glass settled back into her hand.

“that’s it?” she asked, incredulous. “just stadium disaster? that’s all you’re giving me?”

he glanced down at her, “you’ve got a phone, haven’t you?”

“well…” she paused, the faintest of frowns on her lips, “you can’t just drop a bomb on me ‘nd walk away.”

he chuckled, pushing open the door leading back toward another corridor. “can’t i?”

YN opened her mouth to argue, but the door clicked shut behind him, leaving her standing there in the middle of the hallway.

she frowned further, tipping the bottle back to finish the last swallow before tossing it into the recycling bin with a soft clink. without much thought, her feet carried her toward the door he had disappeared through, her curiosity prickling like static under her skin.

it wasn’t that the news upset her, though the thought of people dying here was unsettling, sure. it was more that this stadium—the one they were standing in right now, bustling with life and noise—had that kind of history to it. stadium disaster. how vague. it wasn’t much to go on, and her mind raced with questions she couldn’t quite tamp down.

was it safe for harry to perform here? was it haunted, for god’s sake? and how did he know about it so casually, like it was the kind of trivia everyone carried around in their back pocket? was it some bit of history he’d picked up while preparing for the tour? or—she glanced down the hall, chewing her lip—was he just messing with her?

she pushed through another set of doors, the muffled hum of activity on the other side growing louder as it swung shut behind her. the hallway was wider here, brighter, with distant voices overlapping in a way that made it hard to pinpoint where they came from.

her eyes scanned the space ahead, searching for that familiar figure. he wasn’t hard to spot—tall and broad, the opposite of waldo.

“harry! wait, please!”

he slowed, turning his head just enough to glance over his shoulder. he smiled when he saw her, but he didn’t stop walking.

she huffed, her stride quickening against the floor as she caught up to him.

“s’not fair to tell me something crazy like that and leave me behind.”she mumbled, her voice low enough that only he could hear.

“like what?” he asked, feigning innocence as he glanced down at her.

“stadium disaster,” she repeated, rolling the words on her tongue like they didn’t make sense. “what does that even mean?”

he shrugged, his steps slowing slightly to match hers. “means what it sounds like, doesn’t it?”

“but thats not really an answer, though.”

he stopped then, turning to face her fully, and the sudden weight of his attention made her heart stutter.

“happened after a football match,” he said, his tone even, almost conversational. “old firm derby. too many people trying to leave at once—crush at the exit. sixty-six dead.”

“sixty-six.” she echoed.

he nodded, his expression steady, though his eyes softened slightly when they met hers.

“and…they still use the stadium?”

“course they do.” he shrugged again, slipping his hands into his pockets. “was decades ago. fixed it up after.”

“but how do you know all that?”

his lips twitched, just slightly, and for a moment, he looked almost sheepish. “read about it some time ago. thought it was interesting.”

“interesting.” she mocked, shaking her head, though her lips curved faintly into a smile.

“don’t look at me like that,” he mumbled, a teasing edge creeping into his voice. “you asked.”

she let out a soft huff, though the faint smile still tugging at her lips betrayed her. before she could think of a retort, harry turned and began walking again, and she followed, of course.

his casual indifference to the conversation left her buzzing with curiosity. she hesitated for a moment before blurting, “do you believe in ghosts?”

“ghosts?”

“yeah,” she nodded, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “you said all those people died here. i don’t know—places like that feel like they’d…hold on to something, don’t you think?”

his lips curved into a faint smirk, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes, something thoughtful. “you think this place is haunted?”

she shrugged, looking ahead instead of at him. “maybe. you don’t?”

“not really.” he said simply, his tone light but firm. “don’t reckon i’ve seen enough to believe in all that.”

she frowned, glancing up at him again. “you’ve never had anything weird happen? not even on tour?”

“plenty of weird happens on tour,” he said with a low chuckle, his hand briefly brushing the suspenders at his chest as though adjusting them. “but nothing spooky. unless you count jeff turning into a ghost every time i ask him to sort something out.”

YN couldn’t help but laugh, the sound escaping her before she could stop it. “that doesn’t count, harry.”

“then no,” he replied, his voice calm but edged with amusement. “can’t say i’ve had the pleasure of being haunted. you?”

her smile faltered, her gaze dipping to the ground for a moment. “no, but…i don’t know. places like this make me wonder.”

he hummed low in his throat, tilting his head as if considering her words. “like we’re all just leaving little bits of ourselves behind.”

“yeah,” she said softly, nodding. “something like that.”

they lingered in the doorway, YN a bit unsure whether to turn back toward the dressing rooms or find something else to preoccupy herself with. this was where harry was supposed to disappear, where their brief exchange would end, and where she’d return to her usual wandering.

but he didn’t move just yet. instead, he reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. the motion was slow, his rings glinting faintly beneath the fluorescents.

“you haven’t eaten today?” he asked, though the tone of his voice wasn’t really a question. it was low and steady, more like a statement.

her lips pursed slightly as she tilted her head, giving the question more thought than she probably needed to.

“mm,” she hummed, narrowing her eyes playfully as if she were weighing the truth. “no—yes!” she corrected herself quickly, a sheepish smile breaking across her face. “yes. i had breakfast and a snack earlier.”

his lips twitched, the corner of his mouth lifting as if he were fighting the urge to smile. he didn’t say anything right away, just kept his eyes on her.

then, without a word, he pulled two twenties from his wallet, “here.”

YN blinked again, her eyes flicking between the money and his face, confusion blooming across her features. “what? no, harry, i can’t—”

“take it,” he interrupted gently, his voice soft but firm. “go get something decent. don’t let mitch con you into eating crisps f’dinner again.”

she hesitated, the weight of his gaze pressing on her as she chewed her bottom lip.

“seriously,” he added, a faint smile tugging at his mouth now. “you’ll be doing me a favor. don’t want you passing out on me, yeah?”

her cheeks flushed slightly at his words, but after another beat of hesitation, she finally reached out and took the money, her fingers brushing against his briefly as she did.

“thank you…again.”

he only hummed, shrugging his shoulders casually—as if he didn’t just hand her forty bucks for a measly lunch.

and then, just as she thought he might disappear into the room ahead, he glanced at her again, his green eyes steady and bright under the harsh lights.

“don’t wander too far.”

she smiled faintly, her fingers tightening around the money. “i won’t.”

— COVENTRY

her hands were slowly starting to become his favorite greeting.

the way they moved with a gentle rhythm, purposeful but soft, like they carried a melody he couldn’t quite place. it was the third week of the european leg, the air damp with the kind of lingering rain that clung to the skin and made hair curl at the edges. backstage was bustling, but in the quiet moments, when she flitted around him with a quiet focus, all harry could see were her hands.

small, unadorned, sweet.

she was touching up his face, her thumb dragging gently beneath his eye to smooth out a smudge. her breath smelled faintly of spearmint and the watermelon candy she had earlier. her eyes stayed fixed on the task, as if this moment was just another stitch in the fabric of her day. but for harry, it was a tear in the cloth.

she was too close. he could see the faintest sheen of her skin under the lights, the curve of her neck, the way her collarbones shifted as she moved.

lust wasn’t a stranger to him. it had been loud before, all-consuming. but this was different. this was quieter, heavier. something he was trying to smother, yet it refused to die.

he went cold that day. avoided her gaze, clenched his jaw, kept his hands tucked into his pockets like they might betray him.

but it only made her more thoughtful.

he saw her the next morning, her hair clipped loosely at the back of her head, strands falling lazily like they’d escaped on purpose. the change was subtle, but in the way she crafted herself into something sharper, more focused. the clipped hair gave him an undisturbed view of her neck, the hollow of her throat, the delicate slope of her shoulders.

he was undone.

a thousand images pressed against his mind, unwanted but insistent—his hands spanning the column of her throat, bruises painted like watercolored violets blooming along her collarbones—an evidence of his claim—the curve of her jaw tipped back as she let out a sound meant only for him.

harry forced himself to retreat again.

she thought it was her breath next.

he noticed how she chewed bright green gum in a way that drove him mad, like it was an absent habit, the piece of gum rolling in slow movements. sometimes her tongue would peek past her lips as though she were about to blow a bubble but stopped halfway through.

harry had to sit down once after that, shaking his head like he could dislodge the thoughts from his skull. he thought of how her pretty lips would look wrapped around his cock. he could almost feel it—the warmth, the wetness, the sound. he wondered if she’d be as quiet as she usually was, or if she’d scream his name loud enough for the entire stadium to be reminded of who they’re here to see.

and now, she was kneeling by his side backstage, her fingers curling into the hem of his trousers to fix the cuff.

she smiled softly as she worked, her eyes flicking up to meet his for the briefest moment.

“you’ll trip over these on stage if they aren’t fixed.”

he swallowed thickly, nodding, unable to form words. the thought of her on her knees, innocent and sweet, flooded his mind like a storm surge.

“there.” she sat back on her heels, her hands brushing against his ankles as she admired her work.

he looked at her, bathed in the golden backstage light, her hair still clipped back, her lips parted slightly as if waiting for his approval.

he clenched his fists.

the flow of time bent around her, her presence a rippling disturbance in the current.

harry shifted abruptly, muttering something about needing to check on mitch, and left the room without looking back.

— MANCHESTER

the hotel was hushed, its grandeur dimmed by the evening hour. soft light spilled from sconces along the walls, pooling against polished floors, while the faint hum of distant conversation echoed through the lobby. most of the crew had disappeared within minutes, doors clicking shut as they vanished into their respective rooms, leaving the space cavernous and still.

but not harry. and not YN.

her room wasn’t ready yet—something about cleaning and turnaround, an oversight that had left her standing at the front desk with an apologetic smile and her suitcase at her side.

“shouldn’t be more than half an hour,” the clerk had assured her, but YN had waved it off, her soft it’s fine laced with the kind of understanding that always made harry’s chest tighten.

instead of heading to his own room, he had lingered. he didn’t know why, or perhaps he did and simply didn’t want to acknowledge it. either way, he found himself sitting in a low-slung armchair in the lounge just off the lobby, the soft leather cool beneath his hands as he leaned back and stretched his legs out.

she sat across from him, perched delicately on the edge of a matching chair, her fingers fidgeting idly with the zipper of her bag.

his eyes flicked to her now and then, his eyes catching on the faint curve of her profile, the way her shoulders lifted slightly when she let out a quiet sigh. she didn’t seem restless, exactly—just waiting.

the room was sparsely furnished, its decor understated but rich. in the far corners, small tables stood with chessboards carved into their surfaces, their pieces arranged neatly in expectation.

it was YN who noticed them first, her head tilting slightly as her gaze lingered on the nearest table. after a moment, she rose from her chair, her movements unhurried as she approached the board. her fingers brushed lightly over the edge of the table, tracing the grooves of the squares as if testing their texture.

harry watched her from his seat, his elbow resting on the armrest as his hand brushed over his jaw.

“do you play?” she asked suddenly, her voice soft but carrying across the quiet room.

he smiled as he stood, unfolding himself from the chair with an ease that made the movement seem almost languid, and crossed the room to join her.

“a bit.”

“teach me?”

he nodded, pulling out a chair for her. “sit, then.”

he sat across from her after she settled, her fingers resting lightly against the edge of the table as she watched him reach for the pieces.

his hands moved with practiced ease, his rings catching the light as he adjusted the arrangement of the board. his fingers brushed against hers briefly when she leaned forward to help.

“these are pawns,” he said, his voice steady as he pointed to the row of small pieces. “move one square forward, except on the first turn—then it can be two.”

she nodded, her brows furrowing slightly as she leaned closer, her eyes following the path of his hand. his voice was calm, measured, and she found herself drawn to the rhythm of it, the way he spoke as if the game were a story he was unfolding just for her.

“bishops go diagonally,” he continued, sliding one across the board with a smooth motion. “rooks in straight lines. knights—well, they’re tricky. they move in an L shape.”

her lips curved into a small smile as she watched him demonstrate, the pieces clicking softly against the board.

“like this,” harry muttered, his fingers brushing against hers again as he nudged her hand toward the knight.

her breath caught faintly, though she didn’t pull away. instead, she let her fingers linger, her eyes flicking up to meet his for a brief, unguarded moment.

“got it?”

she nodded, her throat tightening as she swallowed the knot that had risen there.

“show me.” he encouraged, leaning back slightly but keeping his gaze steady on her. “go ahead.”

she hesitated for a moment, her fingers hovering over the pawn in front of her as her concentration shifted onto harry—focusing on the way his hips bucked as he tried to get comfortable in his seat, the way his thighs spread apart, wide enough that his knees brushed against the legs of the table.

and it’s like he knew the reason why her cheeks flushed. he was still leaned back, his hands folded and resting against his belly as he watched her. just watched. his breathing was even, the tip of his tongue sliding between his lips as they part.

“you stuck?”

her eyes immediately snap back to the pawn. “no,” she murmured before she slid it forward.

the game moved slowly, each turn deliberate as he guided her through the motions. his voice stayed calm, patient, though the weight of his presence felt anything but.

she leaned forward more as the game progressed, her elbows resting on the table as she studied the board. harry mirrored her unconsciously, the space between them narrowing with every move.

her laughter broke the quiet at one point, soft and sweet, when her knight moved in the wrong direction and harry teased her gently about it. the sound lingered in the air, threading itself into the quiet like a melody, and harry found himself smiling despite the tension coiling in his chest.

she hesitated, her fingers hovering over a bishop as she tried to map out her next move. YN glanced up at him briefly, catching the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, and quickly looked away.

“what?”

“nothing.” harry replied easily, though his smirk deepened.

“you’re doing that thing,” she said, her lips curving into a small pout.

“what thing?”

“that thing,” she repeated, her hand gesturing vaguely toward him. “the… i-know-something-you-don’t thing.”

he huffed a low laugh, shaking his head slightly. “m’not doing anything.”

her pout deepened, but she turned her focus back to the board. she moved her bishop with careful precision, setting it in place with a soft click before leaning back slightly, a triumphant smile blooming on her face.

“checkmate!”

he didn’t move at first. he simply blinked at the board, his lips twitching faintly as he leaned forward, his hands resting lightly on the edge of the table.

“is it now?”

YN’s smile faltered, her confidence wavering as she glanced back at the board, her eyes flicking over the pieces. she felt him lean closer, his presence warm and steady, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the space between them.

“you’ve got my king in a corner,” he muttered, his tone calm but edged with something almost teasing. “but…”

harry’s hand moved then, adjusting one of his knights. the piece landed with a firm click, the move clean and calculated.

“check.”

YN stared at the board, her lips parting slightly as she tried to make sense of what had just happened.

“but—” she started, her voice trailing off as her eyes darted between the pieces.

he leaned back again, his smirk returning as he watched her. “close, though.”

her cheeks flushed, the warmth spreading up her neck as she let out a soft huff, her gaze dropping to the table. “thought i had it.”

he shrugged, already starting to put the pieces in its original places. “almost, sweetheart.” he breathed, eyes fixed on checkerboards of black and white. “s’just a part of learning, hm?”

she glanced up at him then, her eyes wide and uncertain, and he held her gaze for a moment longer than he should have.

before she could respond, the faint hum of footsteps drew their attention toward the desk. the clerk from earlier stood there, holding out a small keycard.

"miss YN?"

she blinked, startled for a moment before realizing what it meant. her room was ready.

he stood first, his movements unhurried as he straightened, his presence still commanding even in the small act of standing. he turned toward her, his hand brushing briefly against the back of her chair as he gestured toward the desk.

"guess that's your cue.”

she hesitated, glancing back at the chessboard, its pieces nearly in their original places, before rising to her feet. she smoothed her hands over her pants, her eyes flicking to his.

"thanks for staying with me.”

he nodded toward her, a small smile on his lips. “anytime.”

too close to the sun, he thought.

but god, wouldn’t she be worth falling for?

[jezebelblues]

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 .ᐟ ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

holy smokes!! i can’t believe i’m already making one of these for my page

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everything listed belongs to me !! thanks for stopping by n reading <3

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒

‎𐦍 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰 [au] | discontinued

pt 1 , pt 2

summer of 1979, where y/n just got a new position in the DEA with harry’s little crew in miami. but are there ulterior motives?

‎𐦍 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 [vamprry au] | ongoing

pt 1, pt 2

over a century adrift in darkness, he found his sun—not in the dawn, but in the quiet fire of her love, a light fierce enough to bind even eternity.

‎𐦍 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐫 (𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐝) | 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐄

pt 1, pt 2

we don't talk about it, it's something we don't do—cause once you go without it, nothing else will do.

‎𐦍 𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧 [college!h au] | 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐄

pt 1, pt 2

in which two broke college students ignore the fact that they’re falling for each other. (just because you ignore it, doesn’t make it any less real.)

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒

‎𐦍 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐟 | oct ‘24

y/n and harry are hold up in a record store due to inclement weather.

‎𐦍 𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨 [au] | oct ‘24

fall 1925. a journalist looking for a story, a jazz musician dancing with the devil.

‎𐦍 𝐥𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞 | oct ‘24

lovey sunday morning in bed that ends with him buried inside her.

‎𐦍 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 | oct ‘24

in which the world ends through your perspective, alongside your husband.

‎𐦍 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 | oct ‘24

in which a girl feels too afraid of commitment because of her past, and the boy who knows nothing of it, falls helplessly anyway.

‎𐦍 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 [au] | oct ‘24

florence 1583. a woman of fire, a man of fuel.

‎𐦍 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞 [daddry] | oct ‘24

harry passes the lime torch to his son. or in which you teach your son how to ride a bike.

‎𐦍 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 [au] | oct ‘24

and so a rockstar and a seamstress walk into a bar coffee shop.

‎𐦍 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬

in which you're a famous streamer n you finally let harry join one of your streams. (though the evening ends a bit differently than you expected)

‎𐦍 𝐬𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐥 [daddry] | oct ‘24

in which spiderman is so much cooler than dad

‎𐦍 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 | oct ‘24

harry struggles with his sobriety when y/n leaves him [angst+substance abuse] !!

‎𐦍 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 ‘𝟐𝟐 | oct ‘24

daddry request + niall

‎𐦍 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 | oct ‘24

drippin’ on me till my feet are wet

‎𐦍 𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 | nov ‘24

requested fluff / college!harry au

‎𐦍 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 [au] | nov ‘24

it isn’t about fruit

‎𐦍 𝐚𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐮𝐬 [demonrry au] | nov ‘24

and when he found her—her prayers trembling on her lips, her heart untouched by sin—he knew he found his altar.

‎𐦍 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐮 [au] | dec ‘24

now money’s not a problem but, in twenty years it seems you’ve forgotten malibu, ‘92

‎𐦍 𝐭𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞 | dec ‘24

harry is all soft n needy for you after a get together at your guys’ shared apartment.

liminal

𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄

.ᐟ 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐫𝐫𝐲

putting these in chronological order if ur into that :) if not, no need to read in order at all, it won’t effect anything <3

home

so not cool

june’22

slowpoke

𐙚 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧 !!

thank you sm again for checking this out!

— ash

[babyyhoneyyy]

reading all this x

[jezebelblues]

𝐓𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐀 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐄 | 𝐇.𝐒 ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛 (𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭)

𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬’ 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐂𝐖: smut18+ (piv) oral (f!receiving), softrry, drunkrry, needy!h, alcohol, fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 8k (I GOT CARRIED AWAY)

❏ before anyone anons me i made the gif 😧 and thank u for the request anon !! this was so fun to write :) i hope it met ur expectations

masterlist

harry was in the kitchen, holding a wine glass half-filled with straight tequila, his pinky finger looped over the rim like it was fine champagne. YN stood next to him, one hand on his arm, steadying herself—or maybe steadying him.

"you're a liability, you know that?" she giggled, her words slurring just enough to make him grin.

"me?" he huffed, leaning into her slightly, his drink sloshing dangerously close to the edge of the glass. "'m the liability? you've been clingin' to me all night, petal, can't walk straight without me."

she smacked his arm lightly, laughing. "it's 'cause you keep givin' me tequila! this is your fault."

he tilted his head, his eyes squinting like he was genuinely considering this. then he shrugged, nonchalant, dimples flashing. "s'pose you're right. but i reckon you love me for it, yeah?”

"love you despite it," she corrected, but she was smiling, her fingers curling into the sleeve of his shirt.

the flat was warm, soft yellow light spilling over cluttered corners and half-empty glasses, the air thick with laughter. it was the kind of late evening that felt like the exact middle of spring—windows cracked open, a cool breeze sneaking in, ruffling the edges of the curtains. someone had put on a playlist an hour ago, though the music had long since melted into the background, now just a hum beneath the chatter. the small group, crowded into the cozy living room, was exactly the right size to make the space feel alive but not cramped.

their flat always smelled faintly of cedarwood and something clean, though tonight it carried undertones of tequila and lime. he’d insisted on tequila because, as he explained with a wide grin and an unconvincing shrug, “s’just easier that way, innit?” no one really argued, though mitch had given a (poorly executed) rick sanchez imitation as a counter, something that harry didn’t quite understand, leaving him to furrow his eyebrows and dart his eyes around as he mulled it over, mumbling, “why are y’speaking like that? i don’t get it.”

now, hours later, harry was sprawled in the corner of the couch, long legs stretched out, a glass balanced precariously on his knee.

“i swear—i’m swearin’ right now—this is the last one.” he mumbled, lifting his glass as though making a toast. his speech was just a little slurred, the tips of his curls sticking to his temples. YN, perched beside him, nudged his side with her elbow, laughing.

“you said that half an hour ago, baby.” she teased, leaning closer to steal a sip from his glass. his free hand immediately looped around her waist, pulling her snug against his side.

“’s different this time,” he insisted, his voice dipping low, mock serious. “i mean it now. promise.”

“oh, you’re so convincing.” she smiled, her fingers absently running along the seam of his shirt, her touch light and familiar.

on the other side of the coffee table, mitch snorted, tipping his head back against the edge of the sofa. his hair, always a little unruly, had fallen out of whatever loose tie it had been in earlier. sarah, seated on the floor beside him with her legs crossed, nudged him in the ribs.

“you’re not much better,” she pointed out, gesturing to the glass in his hand.

“oi, don’t start,” he shot back, lifting a hand in mock defense.

the back-and-forth had been going on like this for the better part of the evening—easy, unfiltered, slightly nonsensical. everyone was comfortably slouched, shoulders loose, cheeks warm, the kind of drunk that makes the room feel like it’s spinning just the tiniest bit, but not enough to care.

harry had been stealing glances at YN all night, grinning at the way her nose crinkled when she laughed, her cheeks flushed from a combination of alcohol and the warmth of the room. she caught him staring at one point and poked his chest, her voice dropping conspiratorially.

“what are you looking at?”

“you.” he shrugged simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, blinking at her as if she was blurry and needed to come into focus.

YN rolled her eyes, though her smile gave her away. she parted her lips to speak, though harry cut her off before she could bother.

"you're all–” he gestured vaguely at her face, his voice lilting like he hadn't figured out the rest of the sentence yet. "and i'm–" another aimless wave of his hand, this time at himself.

"you're what?" she asked, tilting her head, the corner of her mouth twitching like she was trying not to laugh.

harry leaned closer, his knee brushing hers. his curls had started to flatten at his temples, damp from the heat of the room, and his cheeks were flushed in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol. “i’m in love.” his words were slightly sing-song, punctuated by the tilt of his head.

the room dissolved into chaos not long after, though no one could say for certain what triggered it. maybe it was the tequila. maybe it was just the kind of energy that builds when a group of close friends is together in one place, everyone feeding off the same shared sense of silliness.

“right,” mitch announced suddenly, sitting up straight and nearly spilling his drink in the process. “i bet—” he paused, frowning in concentration as though piecing the words together took effort. “i bet i could do more push-ups than you.”

he blinked, the challenge taking a moment to register. then his brows lifted, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“you’re jokin’, right?”

“nah, m’serious.” he leaned forward, setting his glass on the table with a decisive thunk.

“you’re both idiots.” sarah breathed, though she was already pulling her phone out, clearly ready to document whatever was about to happen.

YN groaned, burying her face in her hands. “please don’t encourage them.”

“what, you don’t believe in me?” harry asked, feigning hurt as he turned to look at her.

“you’ve had, like, seven shots of tequila, h.”

he held up a finger. “six. maybe five and a half.”

she looked at him, tongue in cheek, her eyes glimmering with amusement. “not helping your case.”

in the end, there was no stopping it. mitch had already shifted to his knees, clearing a space in front of the coffee table. harry followed suit, swaying slightly as he stood and then immediately dropping down to the floor.

“’s not fair, though,” harry slurred as YN slid a pillow beneath his fists. “i’ve got longer arms. more distance t’cover.”

“what kind of logic is that?” sarah asked, laughing.

“solid–“ hiccup “–solid logic.” he muttered, lowering himself into position.

for the first few push-ups, they were evenly matched. mitch, whose hair kept falling in his face, managed to hold his form pretty well, his elbows bending at clean angles. harry, despite the tequila, seemed entirely unbothered, his movements smooth and steady.

“oh, this is ridiculous,” YN mumbled, though she was grinning now, leaning forward with her chin resting in her palm.

“keep count.” mitch grunted, while sarah angled her phone to get both of them in the frame.

“seven,” YN called, her voice louder over the sound of their laughter.

“eight,” sarah chimed in.

“nine,” she smiled, though by this point, mitch was visibly struggling. his arms trembled, his breaths coming out in quick puffs, his hair falling into his mouth. harry, on the other hand, was still going strong, his movements punctuated by muttered comments.

“easy.” push. “light work.” push–hiccup. “this one’s for you, petal.” he added, shooting a quick wink at his girlfriend.

“oh my god.”

“thirteen,” sarah announced, though she sounded doubtful as mitch wobbled dangerously, his arms nearly giving out.

"how's he doin' that?" sarah asked, watching harry like he was some kind of anomaly.

harry started to strain just a bit, "core strength, love.”

"core strength my ass," mitch shot back, collapsing flat onto the floor. "he's built like a fuckin' slinky. bounces back."

YN laughed so hard she snorted, and harry immediately glanced up, his expression melting into something soft and dopey the second he saw her.

“i’m—i’m done.” mitch declared, already rolling over onto his back.

harry sat back on his knees, raising his fists in mock triumph. “and the crowd goes wild,” he said, grinning up at YN.

“you’re arrogant.” she sighed, though she reached for his wrist, tugging him back onto the couch beside her.

“what can i say,” harry mumbled, settling against her. “m’good at everything.”

the evening wound down slowly after that, the energy softening into something quieter, sleepier. sarah scrolled through the video on her phone, narrating bits of it for everyone’s amusement.

“look at mitch,” she said, laughing. “he looks like he’s dying.”

“i was dying,” mitch muttered from the floor, his arm thrown dramatically over his eyes.

YN reached for harry’s hand, threading her fingers through his, her voice low and teasing.

“are you proud of yourself?”

“very.” he murmured, his lips brushing against her temple.

and for a while, no one said much of anything. the playlist had shifted to something softer, the kind of music you hum along to without thinking. the tv, still on in the background, flickered faintly, casting shadows across the room. harry’s arm rested around YN’s shoulders, his eyes fluttered closed, his thumb drawing slow circles against her skin.

mitch was still on the floor, sprawled out like a martyr, while sarah waved her phone in his direction, wobbling as she stood.

"y'done, jesus christ?" she asked, her words swimming together in a way that made her laugh at herself. "need any help, or you reckon you'll just ascend back t'heaven on your own?"

“ha fuckin’ ha," mitch mumbled, lifting one hand in a weak attempt at a rude gesture. "perfectly fine, thank you."

"you're not," sarah replied, flopping onto the arm of the sofa. she nearly slid off, catching herself with a giggle before poking YN with her foot. "and neither's your fella."

YN glanced sideways at harry, who was leaning so far into her that she might as well have been holding him upright. his nose was tucked against her temple, and he was humming something under his breath—a soft, disjointed melody that might've been a song or might've been nothing at all.

"all good," he muttered, his words smudged around the edges. "better'n mitch, anyway."

"low bar.”

he opened one eye, a mischievous glint sparking through his drowsy expression as he glanced at mitch, then back toward YN. "m in love with you, y'know," he breathed, loud enough for the whole room to hear.

"we know.” mitch groaned from the floor.

"no, but like–” he pushed himself up slightly, though his movements were clumsy, his balance swaying like a tree in the wind. "like, really in love. like, proper. s’serious.”

“oh yeah?” she asked, though her hands flew to her cheeks, trying to cover the pink that bloomed there.

he reached out, his fingers fumbling to gently tug her hands away from her face. "don't hide from me," he pouted, his voice soft and warm. "can't handle it when you hide."

sarah made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan, shaking her head as she leaned over to prod mitch with her foot. "we need to leave before he gets worse," she said.

"worse? how can he get worse?" he replied, his voice muffled from where he was still sprawled on the rug.

harry didn't seem to notice them. he was focused entirely on YN, his gaze heavy and unflinching as he settled his head into her lap.

"you're so pretty," he hummed, his words slow and drawn out like he was tasting them for the first time. "have i told you that tonight?"

"a couple of times.”

"doesn't feel like enough.” he frowned, his fingers brushing against her knee like he was grounding himself in her. "you're... you're unreal. sometimes i look at you and i can't believe—" he trailed off, shaking his head like words weren't enough.

"he's gonna make me cry.” sarah whispered, half-laughing as she leaned into mitch's shoulder.

"you'll get used to it.” YN rolled her eyes, though she was still smiling.

harry frowned deeper, looking up at her. "don't roll your eyes at me. 'm being serious."

"oh, i know you are, dork.” she grinned, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead.

his eyes fluttered shut at the touch, a small, pleased sound escaping his lips.

"if i don't call an uber now, i'm never getting out of here.” sarah said suddenly, sitting up and reaching for her phone.

"why would you wanna leave?" harry asked, turning his head to squint at her. "you're comfy. stay."

"gotta leave before this turns into a whole bloody soft-core," mitch muttered, finally pushing himself into a sitting position.

harry’s eyes narrowed in slight confusion, his lips parting as he whispered the word soft-core in different tones over and over as if it might click.

mitch let out a noise that was half a laugh, half a sigh. "you’ll get it eventually, mate.”

sarah stood, brushing off her jeans as she looked down at YN. "you gonna be alright with him?"

she glanced at her boyfriend, who was still nestled into her lap, mulling mitch’s response still. "he's harmless," she shrugged. "just annoying when he's drunk–”

harry interrupted with a sharp clap of his hands that turned into a point in mitch’s direction, shoulders shaking in slurred, squeaky laughter. “s-soft–core porno!” he giggled, his cheeks flushed and eyes crinkled. “that was a good one. this guy.”

mitch rolled his eyes, waving harry’s laughter off before he looked at YN. “have fun with this fool in the morning.”

"love you.” he mumbled immediately, moving his hand to give her thigh an exaggerated squeeze.

"yeah, yeah.” she laughed as she pried his hand off her.

"alright, we're off," sarah announced, grabbing mitch's arm and pulling him to his feet.

"safe travels! love you guys!” harry called weakly, his words slurring together as he waved at them from where he lay.

YN walked them to the door, leaning against the frame as they stepped out into the hallway.

"text me when you're home.” she insisted, earning a nod from sarah.

when she turned back into the flat, harry was sitting upright on the couch, his legs tucked under him like a kid waiting to be told a bedtime story.

he pouted slightly, "you left me.”

“and you lived!” she smiled, as if she was astonished. “my boy’s a survivor.”

"barely.” he groaned, flopping dramatically back against the cushions.

YN crossed the room and plopped down beside him, nudging his shoulder with hers. "you're so much worse than usual tonight."

"can't help it," he shrugged, his head tipping to rest on her shoulder. "you bring it out in me."

"oh, so this is my fault now?" she teased, her hand sliding into his hair again.

he only hummed an, “mhm,” before he tried to push himself closer toward her.

"stay here forever," he mumbled.

"i already live here," she reminded him.

"no, like—forever," he insisted, his fingers brushing hers where they rested on the couch. "promise you won't leave me. not ever."

YN turned her head to look at him, her heart twisting at the vulnerable expression on his face. “baby, where's this coming from?"

he shrugged, looking down at their hands. "just love you so much it scares me sometimes."

"i'm not going anywhere.”

"promise?"

"promise.” she whispered, leaning forward to press her forehead to his.

his breath hitched, and for a moment, they just stayed like that, the quiet settling around them like a blanket.

"alright," he breathed finally, his voice shaky but lighter now. "but you have to keep scratching my head or i'll revoke your girlfriend privileges."

the flat felt too quiet now that mitch and sarah were gone, the absence of their voices leaving only the faint buzz of the tv and the occasional sound of cars splashing through puddles outside. the mess of empty bottles and glasses scattered across the coffee table didn't seem to matter. nothing did, really. just him. just her.

harry's lips found hers eventually, and god, it was all so drunk and messy. the kind of kiss where his mouth didn't quite find the right angle, and she ended up laughing against him, her hands pushing gently at his chest.

"you're so bad at this," she teased, her words soft and slurred, her face warm with the alcohol coursing through her.

he pulled back just enough to look at her, his brows furrowing dramatically, lips parted in mock-offense. "bad at this? me?"

"yeah," she said, biting back another laugh. “you're awful. terrible. completely hopeless."

"hopeless?" he repeated, his accent thicker, vowels stretching and tangling together. his hands slid down her back, settling on her hips with a grip that was just firm enough to make her breath hitch. "you're sittin' with me, kissin' me, tellin' me i'm hopeless. 's'not very nice, is it?"

"maybe you deserve it.” she grinned, her forehead leaning against his.

he made a low, disbelieving sound in his throat, but his lips were twitching, caught somewhere between outrage and affection. "you're trouble, you are. absolute trouble."

"and you love it."

"fuckin' right, i do," he said, smiling as his hands tugged her hips forward slightly, pulling her more firmly into his lap.

the movement had her tumbling into him, her face pressed against his neck as they both laughed, a breathless, bubbling kind of laughter that only made her feel warmer. his breath tickled her ear as he spoke again, voice soft but tinged with that familiar teasing edge.

"bet i'm not that bad at it," he murmured, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just beneath her ear.

"you are, though," she insisted, but her voice was quieter now, a little unsteady.

"mm, don't think so," he hummed, his mouth trailing clumsily down her neck, his stubble rough against her skin. "reckon you'd've gone t’bed by now if i was, wouldn't you?"

her fingers slid into his hair, tugging lightly at the curls at the nape of his neck. "reckon i'm too drunk to leave," she teased, but the way her voice caught on the last word betrayed her.

"nah," he said, one hand drifting under the hem of her shirt, his fingers brushing against her bare skin. "you're drunk, but not that drunk. you like me too much."

"you're so full of yourself," she whispered, laughing again, but it came out breathier this time, her body leaning into his touch without thinking.

he hummed, his thumb tracing slow circles over her side. "but y'don't seem t'mind."

she didn't. not one bit.

his lips found hers again, slower this time, a little steadier despite the alcohol making his movements clumsy. he kissed her like he had all the time in the world, like they weren't surrounded by a sea of half-empty glasses and the faint smell of tequila.

things felt hazy, lazier, punctuated by quiet giggles and the occasional whispered comment that sent them both into fits of laughter. his hands were warm and wandering, slipping under her shirt, tracing the curve of her waist, sliding up her back.

"you're gonna get me all tangled," she muttered when his hand accidentally caught the hem of her bra, tugging it sideways.

"oops," he said, grinning sheepishly, his fingers clumsily fixing it. "sorry, petal. too drunk f’precision, aren't i?"

"you're too drunk for a lot of things," she teased, leaning forward to press a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"uh-uh," he murmured, his hands settling on her hips again, adjusting them roughly, sloppily as he shifted her back to rest against the cushions. "not for this. not for you."

her chest tightened at the way he said it, his voice soft and so full of affection that it made her feel like the center of the universe.

the couch creaked under their combined weight, and harry was leaning too far into her, half on top of her, his body slumped and heavy in that jellied, boneless way. his mouth was pressed to her neck, leaving messy kisses between murmured half-thoughts, most of which didn't even make sense. '…m’tellin' you," he mumbled, his lips brushing against her skin. "you're too beautiful for your own good. s'gonna be a problem f’me."

"a problem?" she repeated, laughing breathlessly as her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, trying to steady him. "harry, you're literally falling over."

"no m’not," he insisted, though his weight shifted again, and his elbow slipped off the armrest. he caught himself just in time, his hand landing somewhere between the cushion and her thigh.

"you are!" she laughed a bit harder now, her body shaking with it.

he looked at her, all wide, glassy green eyes and flushed cheeks, his hair a mess of curls that kept falling into his face. "i’m not," he said again, grinning in that slow, drunk way that made her heart trip over itself.

then, as if to prove his point, he leaned in closer, nudging her chin with his nose before kissing her again, clumsily and so, so sweet.

"har–” she started, but she barely got the word out before his knee slipped, and suddenly he was gone, tumbling sideways off the couch.

it happened so fast she didn't even have time to grab him. one second, he was on her, warm and heavy and everywhere, and the next, he was on the floor in a heap of gangly limbs and laughter.

"jesus,” she gasped, leaning over the edge of the couch to look at him.

but harry wasn't upset. not even a little bit. he was lying on his back, laughing so hard his eyes squeezed shut, his chest heaving with it.

she covered her face with her hands, though she couldn't stop laughing either. "you okay?"

"all good.” he said through his laughter, his voice a little high-pitched from how breathless he was.

he rolled onto his side, one hand braced on the floor, the other wiping at his face as he grinned up at her. "just... miscalculated. s'all."

"think that’s an understatement, baby.” she shook her head as she sat up on the cushions, still giggling.

“see?” he pushed himself up to his knees with a dramatic groan, "you’re too gorgeous for me t'function right now."

she watched him, her laughter softening into a fond smile as he sat back on his heels, looking up at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

his hands, big and clumsy but warm, found her knees, gently pushing them apart as he shifted closer, his breath still unsteady from laughing.

"harry,” she murmured, a little breathless now, her voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a warning.

he shushed her, his fingers brushing up her thighs, just barely slipping under the hem of her shorts. "just…lemme,”

"lemme what?" she asked, though her body was already responding to him, her knees falling wider apart.

he grinned, tilting his head to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her thigh. "taste you," he slurred, his voice low and warm and so full of affection that it made her toes curl. "s’been all i can think about."

her tummy flipped, and she bit her lip, her fingers curling into the edge of the couch cushion. "you’re too drunk for this."

he shook his head, pressing another kiss to her thigh, this one a little higher. "no, m’not. i’m exactly drunk enough. look–” he gestured vaguely at himself, nearly losing his balance before catching himself on her leg. "perfectly steady."

she couldn't help it—she laughed, her head tipping back against the couch as she looked down at him.

his hands slid farther up her legs, feather-light and teasing, enough to make a heat pool between her thighs, harry gazing up at her through his eyelashes.

she tried to say something, but the words got caught in her throat as he leaned forward, his face so close now, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. the heat of him, the desperation in his touch, sent a shiver racing up her spine.

"baby–” she breathed, her voice softer now, less sure.

his eyes were hazy but so full of love it made her chest ache. "please," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, something that sounded dangerously close to a whimper. "lemme taste it, yeah? promise i’ll be good."

her breath hitched, and for a moment, all she could do was nod, her hands trembling slightly as they moved to his hair.

"yeah, petal?” he asked, his grin widening, and the sheer joy in his expression made her heart feel like it was going to burst.

“yeah.”

his hands were unsteady, but they were so careful, so sure of their purpose as they slid further up her thighs, the soft cotton of her shorts bunching under his fingertips. he was still grinning like an idiot, lips hovering just above her skin, his curls brushing against her as he peppered sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along the inside of her leg. "you're so soft," he mumbled, voice muffled against her thigh, his words sticky with alcohol and affection.

"it feels good.” she whispered back, her hands carding through his curls, tugging gently when his teeth scraped just a little too hard.

"you love me?” he asked, turning his head to rest his cheek against her, blinking up at her like a puppy who'd just been caught making a mess.

her fingers stilled in his hair as he looked up at her, all wide, glassy green eyes and flushed cheeks, his lips parted slightly as he waited for her answer. she bit her bottom lip, feeling the words catch in her throat as she stared down at him.

"you already know i do.” she murmured, her voice soft and shaky, her hands sliding down to cup his face. her thumbs brushed over his cheeks, his skin warm beneath her touch.

"say it, though," he slurred, a little whiny now, his lips forming into a slight pout.

"i love you, h.” she whispered, her voice trembling but firm, and his expression softened immediately, his eyes fluttering shut as he pressed his face into her palm.

"love you too," he muttered, almost too quiet for her to hear, though his words were followed by a sloppy kiss to the inside of her wrist, his lips warm and soft against her skin.

and then, without missing a beat, his mouth was back on her thigh, moving higher with a desperation that had her legs trembling.

"smell so fuckin' good," he muttered, his voice muffled against her skin. his hands slid up to the waistband of her shorts, fumbling slightly as he tugged at the fabric. "need these off, petal. lemme see you."

her breath caught in her throat, her cheeks flushing as she lifted her hips slightly, helping him ease the shorts down her legs. his hands were uncoordinated, tugging too hard at one side and almost making her laugh, but the intensity in his expression stopped her. he was looking at her like she was something sacred, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he pushed the shorts off and tossed them aside.

"you're s’beautiful," he said, his words slurring together as his hands settled on her thighs again, his thumbs stroking the soft skin there. "you know that? d'you even know?"

"you're drunk.”

"no such thing," he muttered, shaking his head as he leaned in, his lips brushing over her panties. "could be fuckin' blackout and i'd still want you more than anything. always want you, YN."

she couldn't help it—she whimpered, the sound surprising even herself as her fingers slid into his hair again, tugging gently to pull him closer.

he looked up at her with that soft, pleading expression that made her heart stutter. "gonna let me?”

her voice caught in her throat, and all she could do was nod, her fingers tightening in his curls as he grinned, his dimples flashing even in his drunken haze.

"that's m’girl," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her hip before hooking his fingers under the waistband of her panties and sliding them down.

the cool air made her shiver, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his mouth, the way he pressed soft, deliberate kisses to the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, working his way higher.

he let out a breathy laugh as he settled between her legs, his hands gripping her thighs to hold her steady. "smell like heaven. taste like it too, i bet."

she whimpered, her head tipping back against the couch as his tongue flicked out, the first slow, teasing stroke making her whole body jolt.

he groaned against her, the sound vibrating through her, and she couldn't hold back the moan that spilled from her lips, loud and unrestrained.

"that's it," he sighed, his voice muffled as his tongue moved against her clit, his hands tightening on her thighs. "that's m’good girl. so sweet for me."

his words were slurred and incoherent, broken up by the way he licked and sucked at her pussy like she was spilling honey, like he couldn't get enough.

her hands clutched at his hair, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as her legs trembled on either side of his head.

his tongue swirled and flattened against her until her hips bucked more than once, a shaking mess in his hands as he pulled her closer to his mouth—so close he could drown in her (not that he’d mind).

“fuck–” she moaned, a shaky exhale leaving her lips as he dipped lower, his tongue flicking against her hole, sloppy and eager.

he hummed against her, the sound low and rough and completely unselfconscious, like he couldn't help but lose himself in her. "could stay here forever," he muttered, his lips moving against her like a prayer. "live here. die here. s'worth it."

his hands gripped her thighs tighter as she let out the lightest giggle from his words, pulling her closer, spreading her wider. he kissed her deeper, his tongue sliding into her, slow and deliberate and so desperate it made her chest ache.

her breath hitched, her legs trembling on either side of his head, and he groaned like she was the best thing he'd ever tasted, like he couldn't get enough. "god, you're so good," he slurred, his voice unsteady as he pulled back just enough to look up at her, his lips slick and swollen. "so, so good, YN. d'you even know? fuckin' perfect, petal. can't believe you're mine."

the rest of his words melted into incoherent sounds, soft groans and murmured praise that blended with her own breathy moans as he delved back in to lap at her, circling her clit like it was the only thing that mattered.

her head tipped back, her body arching into his touch as he dragged her closer and closer to the edge, his movements clumsy but so desperate, so full of love that it made her chest ache.

when she came, it was sudden and all-consuming, her body shaking as she cried out, her moans spilling into the quiet room like music. harry didn't stop, his hands holding her steady as his tongue worked her through it, his own groans muffled against her as though he was enjoying every second as much as she was.

when her body finally stilled, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps, he pressed one last soft kiss to her inner thigh before leaning back, his face flushed and glistening, his grin wide and satisfied.

harry shifted up the couch with all the determination of a man who was too drunk to move properly but too stubborn to let that stop him. his arms framed either side of her, his body hovering as best he could, though it was more of a slow collapse than anything elegant. he grunted softly as he settled his weight, pressing her deeper into the cushions, their bodies flush in a way that made both of them shiver despite the warmth of the room.

she let out a quiet laugh, breathless against the way his curls brushed against her face, sticking to his damp forehead. he huffed at the sound, lips tugging into a sloppy grin before pressing them clumsily to hers. the kiss was slow and sweet at first-warm and gentle, his mouth barely brushing against hers like he was trying to memorize the feeling.

but then she shifted slightly beneath him, her fingers curling into his sides, and it was like something broke loose in him. the kiss deepened, messy and urgent, all soft gasps and the taste of tequila lingering on his lips. he kissed her like he was starved for it, as if every second that passed without her mouth on his was unbearable.

his hands roamed her body as if he didn't know where to settle, tugging at her waist, smoothing over her thighs, curling under her back like he needed to feel every part of her. his hips pressed against hers instinctively, and he groaned into her mouth, the sound loud and unfiltered as he broke the kiss just long enough to catch his breath, his forehead falling to hers.

harry looked down at her, his eyes blown wide, his chest rising and falling rapidly. he tried to push himself up further, but his movements were clumsy, his arms wobbling under his own weight. she couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped her lips, and he scrunched his face into a dramatic pout, shaking his head slightly like a sleepy puppy.

his hands fumbled at the hem of his jeans, tugging once before stopping completely, his shoulders sagging. he groaned softly, his head dropping to her shoulder with an audible thud.

"bloody things," he mumbled against her skin, though the words were barely coherent.

she smiled softly to herself, her hands sliding up his back, her fingers brushing over the waistband where he'd given up.

gently, she nudged at his hips, wordlessly guiding him upward until he sat back on his knees, his hands resting heavily against her thighs for balance. his breathing was heavy, his cheeks flushed pink, his curls damp against his forehead.

there was a quiet kind of helplessness in the way he looked at her then—needy and desperate, his lips parted, his brows furrowed slightly like he couldn't figure out how to do this on his own. she didn't make him ask.

her hands moved to the button of his jeans, quick but careful as she popped it open. he let out a soft, shaky exhale as she tugged the zipper down, his body trembling just slightly under her touch. the denim caught on his hips as she tried to push it down, and harry huffed again, adjusting his weight clumsily to help her pull the fabric free.

"lift," she murmured softly, and he obeyed without hesitation, planting his hands firmly on either side of her hips and raising his body just enough to let her drag the jeans down.

he collapsed back onto his knees with a relieved groan as the fabric pooled around his legs, his head tipping back, his chest rising and falling like he'd just run a marathon. she reached for the waistband of his boxers next, her movements slower this time, deliberate, her fingers brushing against the bare skin of his hips as she slid the fabric down.

his breath hitched at the contact, and he swayed slightly, his hands curling into the cushions beside her for balance. for a moment, he just stared down at her, his expression soft and hazy and so full of need that it made her stomach flip.

"there," she whispered softly, her hands moving to rest against his thighs, steadying him.

harry blinked slowly, his eyes dragging over her face as if he were seeing her for the first time. then, without a word, he leaned back down, his body pressing hers into the cushions again as his lips found hers.

the kiss was desperate now, sloppier than before, their teeth bumping together as they both tried to breathe and laugh through it. his hands slid beneath her, wrapping around her back like he was holding her in place, his chest pressing firmly to hers with every ragged breath.

he just rocked against her instinctively, his movements uncoordinated but eager, drawing a quiet gasp from her lips. harry groaned softly in response, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his lips brushing against her skin as he muttered something incoherent.

his body was heavy against hers, his warmth and weight overwhelming, but there was something grounding in the way he held her, in the quiet hum of his breathing against her neck. she threaded her fingers into his hair, stroking softly at the curls, and he shivered, his hips pressing closer against hers with a whimper that he didn't bother trying to hold back.

"feel so good," he murmured, his voice muffled and thick, each word dripping with need. "fuckin—love you. need–need to be inside.”

her chest ached at the way he said it, so raw and honest, and she pulled him closer, their bodies tangling together in the dim light of the flat. harry kissed her again, his hands curling around her waist, holding her like she was the only thing keeping him steady.

he was desperate and clumsy, but god, he was hers. every part of him, hers.

harry moved in desperation, his body heavy and warm against hers as he lined himself up, his forehead pressing to hers. his breathing was ragged, sharp exhales mingling with hers, their chests rising and falling in time. every movement he made was tinged with an uncoordinated eagerness, like he couldn't bear to wait any longer.

he pushed in slowly at first, a groan catching in his throat as he sank into her dripping cunt, his hands gripping at her waist, rough and unsteady.

her body arched instinctively beneath him, her breath hitching as the stretch of his cock pulled a quiet gasp from her lips.

he froze for a moment, his chest pressed to hers, his arms trembling just slightly from the effort of holding himself up. it was like the sensation alone had shattered him, that raw, shaky pause where the world stopped and all that was left was her.

a shaky exhale escaped him, his lips brushing against her cheek as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. he groaned low and drawn-out, the sound muffled against her skin, his grip on her hips tightening as though he was trying to catch his breath.

he started to move, slow and unsteady, his hips rocking forward with a rhythm that was anything but precise—clumsy and needy but so full of need it didn't matter. every thrust drove him deeper into her velvety walls, his body trembling with the effort, soft curses slipping from his lips as he moved.

his weight pressed her further into the cushions, the creak of the couch mixing with the faint, unrestrained sounds escaping them both—her breathless moans, his whiny, broken groans, sounds neither of them were capable of stifling. everything felt louder in the quiet of the flat, the slow slap of skin against skin, the occasional sharp intake of breath when he hit just the right spot.

her hands slid up his back, her nails scraping lightly against his skin, and harry's body jolted in response, his thrusts faltering. he let out a choked whimper, his face still buried in her neck, his lips pressing sloppy kisses against her skin between ragged breaths.

"fuck," he groaned into her ear, though the word wasn't clear, his voice so shaky and low it dissolved into nothing.

he shifted slightly, adjusting his angle, and the next thrust pulled a gasp from her lips—a sharp rut right against the spongy spot where she felt him the most.

her legs wrapped around his waist, holding him closer, and harry groaned again, his movements growing rougher, needier.

his arms shook where they braced against the cushions, his entire body trembling from the effort as he picked up his pace, the steady slap of his hips against hers becoming louder, more insistent. there was no rhythm to it, no finesse—just harry losing himself in her, fucking into her like he'd come undone, like his body couldn't stop itself from chasing the feeling of her pussy wrapped around him.

his curls brushed against her cheeks, damp with sweat, his breath hot and uneven as he nuzzled into her neck. the sounds he made were broken now—small, helpless whines and whimpers escaping him between harsh, ragged breaths.

her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging softly, and his whole body stuttered in response, his hips driving forward with a sharp snap that had her gasping, her voice loud and unrestrained. the sound pulled another whine from him, his hands slipping from her hips to drag up her sides, his thumbs stroking over the curve of her waist, up toward the swell of her tits, the sensitive bud that tightened with his touch.

the couch creaked with every frantic movement, the room filled with the echo of their ragged breaths and soft cries. harry's body never stilled, his thrusts erratic and desperate, his chest pressed tightly to hers their sweat-slicked skin sticking together.

his body tensed as he started to lose control, his pace faltering, his movements turning jerky and uneven. his arms gave out then, and he collapsed on top of her, his forehead pressing against her shoulder as his hips snapped into her, over and over, his entire body trembling.

her breath caught, her back arching as the pressure built between them, everything else blurring into the background—nothing but the feeling of his cock, the sound of him, the weight of him.

and then she felt him shudder, a broken groan ripping from his throat as he buried himself deep, the twitch of his length as he spilt himself inside her, his entire body going rigid. he trembled against her, his hands clutching at her waist as though holding on for dear life, his voice dissolving into breathless whimpers against her neck.

harry didn't pull away, didn't move. he stayed draped over her, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, his face still buried in her neck. his hands smoothed over her sides, shaking slightly as he traced soft, lazy patterns against her skin, grounding himself in the warmth of her.

the silence settled over them slowly, the only sound left in the room their breathing, loud and uneven as they both came down. harry pressed a kiss to her shoulder-soft, tender, nothing like the desperation from moments before.

"fuck," he mumbled finally, his voice hoarse and muffled. "m’addicted to your pussy. swear it."

she let out a soft, breathless laugh, her hands still tangled in his hair as she scratched lightly at his scalp. his whole body relaxed at the motion, a quiet, contented sigh escaping him as he melted further into her.

they stayed tangled together on the couch for a while, the quiet hum of the flat settling around them, their breathing slowly evening out. harry didn’t move much—just shifted enough to nuzzle his face further into her neck, pressing soft, lazy kisses to her skin like he couldn’t quite help himself. her fingers carded through his hair, slow and steady, the repetitive motion lulling him into a contented daze.

“you comfortable there?” she murmured, her voice soft, muffled slightly by the way her cheek pressed against the curls at his temple.

“mmh,” he hummed, the sound low and heavy. “too comfortable. can’t move.”

“i’m not carrying you to bed,” she teased, her lips curving into a tired smile.

he let out a quiet groan, a sound so dramatic it made her laugh softly, her body shaking beneath him. he lifted his head slowly, resting his chin against her chest as he blinked up at her, his green eyes sleepy and glassy.

“‘s not fair, you’re too pretty,” he mumbled, grinning softly. “don’t wanna leave you here.”

“stuck with me either way, baby.” she whispered, brushing his curls back from his face, her fingers lingering at his temple.

his smile softened at that, his eyes fluttering shut briefly as he leaned into her touch. then, with an exaggerated sigh, he pushed himself up, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated.

“alright,” he said, though his voice was still thick with sleep and leftover drunkenness. “bedtime. c’mere.”

before she could protest, his arms were already curling around her, one under her knees and the other cradling her back as he lifted her off the couch.

“harry—” she gasped, her hands flying to his shoulders as her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. “you’re gonna drop me.”

he scoffed at that, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip, pulling her closer against him. “m’gonna pretend i didn’t hear that.”

she sighed into him, letting her cheek rest against the crook of his shoulder as he carried her across the room, his bare feet padding softly against the hardwood floor. her fingers slid into his hair again, stroking gently, and he let out a quiet, pleased hum at the sensation.

he moved slowly, carefully, his steps deliberate despite the weight of the tequila still sitting in his veins. he was headed toward the bedroom, but as he passed the kitchen, something caught his eye.

a glass—half full of tequila, a lone lime slice floating lazily in the liquid.

harry paused mid-step, his arms tightening around YN to keep her secure as he turned his head, squinting at the glass like it had personally called his name.

“oh, for god’s sake,” she muttered, though her voice was warm and amused, her fingers still playing with the soft curls at the nape of his neck.

harry ignored her, shifting her weight slightly to free one hand, his arm still wrapped firmly around her waist. with the other, he reached for the glass, his movements slow and exaggerated, like he was performing a high-stakes maneuver.

“i can’t believe you,” she said, her laughter muffled by his shoulder.

“can’t leave it there,” he replied, lifting the glass to his lips and draining it in one go. the tequila burned down his throat, and he winced slightly, his face scrunching up before he set the empty glass back on the counter with a quiet clink.

“all better now?” she teased, tilting her head slightly to glance up at him.

“much.” he grinned widely, bunny teeth and dimples as he adjusted his grip on her again, turning back toward the bedroom.

he carried her the rest of the way, nudging the bedroom door open with his foot before stepping inside. the room was dimly lit by the streetlights filtering through the curtains, casting faint, golden shadows over the rumpled sheets and pillows.

harry eased her down onto the bed, following after her almost immediately, collapsing onto the mattress with a soft groan. she laughed as he pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her waist as he buried his face in her neck again, his legs tangling with hers.

“this is where i’m stayin’,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against her skin.

“good,” she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head, her fingers brushing through his curls again.

they settled into the bed together, the weight of the night pulling them under like a blanket, warm and heavy and sweet. harry’s breathing slowed, his arms still tight around her as if he was afraid she might slip away in the dark.

“love you,” he murmured, the words barely audible, slurred with sleep.

“love you too,” she whispered back, her voice soft as her eyes fluttered shut, her hand still tangled in his hair.

[babyyhoneyyy]

LOVELOVELOVEEE

[babyyhoneyyy]

Sugar, spice, and everything nice* | H.S

Harry is an author who’s a regular at Sunflower cafe, and Y/N has a crush (and a knack for helping cute writers who are virgins).

CW: shy author harry x barista y/n!!! U GUYS HAVE NO IDEA HOW HARD IT WAS TO KEEP QUIET ABOUT THIS LOL!! THE INSPIRATION HIT ME LIKE A TRAIN AND FINALLY GOT ME OUT OF THE WEIRD SLUMP I WAS IN!! H IS A BIG SWEETIE IN THIS ONE HE WEARS GLASSES AYYYY AND HES A VIRGIN SO BE WARNED FOR # SMUT !! ENJOY! TELL ME WHAT U THINK! AS ALWAYS MDNI!!

WC: 13k

PREVIEW:

As he sat next to her, warm and solid, Y/N leisurely let her eyes take him in; he looked easy as always, calm, relaxed against the back of the couch adorning black trousers and a fitted gray shirt. He smelled yummy too, woodsy with the faintest notes of lavender. Be it because of the alcohol in her system or the prospect of what the night could lead to, Y/N wanted nothing more than to climb onto his lap and eat him up entirely.

She set her glass down and shuffled a bit closer him on the sofa. “So,” She began, “How do you want to do this?”

At her question Harry’s eyes widened and he adjusted slightly. His own drink found its way to the side table as he nudged his glasses up. “Um. Whatever you want to do, you can do to me, really. I don’t mind,” He exhaled softly afterwards, “I’m also not, like, completely inexperienced. I’ve done other stuff.”

Y/N’s brows quirked. “Yeah?”

“Uh huh,” Harry swallowed around nothing. His lip was caught between his teeth as he stared her up and down. Goosebumps pimpled on her skin wherever he looked. “Do you wanna…” He spoke, weighing something up in his head very obviously, until he continued, “Can I kiss you?”

Harry was Y/N’s favourite customer.

She knew that, her coworker Aly knew that, even her manager Cody knew that— at this point, she’s halfway convinced he knew as well. 

How couldn’t he (or anyone else apart from the girl, actually) not see what was so blatantly obvious every morning as he walked in through those doors and strutted up to the counter with a notebook and laptop tucked under his left arm? Unfailingly, a cute pair of glasses were always either resting on his nose or pushing his chocolate curls back from his forehead— tendrils that looked so soft, Y/N is shy to admit she would give an embarrassing amount of money just to feel them one time.

And when her eyes locate him at exactly 9:15AM on the dot everyday, she wonders if he could see how her pupils expand the tiniest bit, and a smile threatens to stretch across her face as he greets her. 

The sad part was that their brief interactions never seemed to give them enough time to properly talk. Conversations were mostly centered around what pastry he wanted to get that morning to go along with his disturbingly strong espresso, or what brand of soap they just started using in the bathrooms because they left his skin feeling soft and smelling of strawberries. Sometimes Y/N would ask him what he was working on when he was glued to his computer for hours, or writing furiously in his tattered brown notebook, and he’d excitedly spill bits and pieces of his current project to her.

It was all very basic, very mediocre conversations you have with any regular, really, that comes into Sunflower cafe— mostly fillers to avoid long awkward pauses as the barista keyed in their order in the system or wiped down the counters with nothing in the background playing but the faint crooning of the old radio they relentlessly played. And yet Y/N would overthink every word she’s ever said to him, and vice versa.

Any outsider, reasonable person would safely assume her tiny little crush comes from the fact that he is very, very handsome. More than the average man that Y/N sees walk into the cafe or even stroll on the streets. With jade green eyes framed with thick, brown glasses and a rosy pair of lips, Harry Styles was as pretty as an angel fallen directly from heaven onto the earth’s soft grass— adorning features that Y/N thinks she’s only ever seen in paintings and other musings as such.

But what any other outsider, reasonable person doesn’t know, is that Harry Styles is one of Y/N’s personal favorite authors as well as her personal favorite customer.

His work was mostly fictional; focusing on genres such as romance, dabbled in with comedy and philosophical notes of self-improvement and all. She first picked up one of his books when she was fresh out of uni— spending her days off slouched on the bean bags in the public library to read for hours on end without interruption. When she began flipping through the introductory pages, she didn’t anticipate she’d become so enthralled by the way he wrote and the stories he told. His words had a way of immersing her entirely, making her forget that the physical world around her even existed. It was the first time Y/N truly understood what people meant when they said they’d ‘lost themselves in a book.’

Curiosity got the best of her, and after six hours spent in the library where she swallowed up two of his books in a single sitting, Y/N was tucked into her bed and googling the name “Harry Styles” with enthusiasm. She was pleasantly surprised to find that he wasn’t that much older than her— perhaps six or seven years, give or take— and his main office was shown to be around her city as well.

Maybe the universe was playing one big, fat prank on her when, after three days of searching for every book this man had ever published so she could binge-read them all, she was stopped in her tracks by the sight of him stepping into Sunflower Café, a thick coat pulled over his shoulders and his cheeks pink from the harsh winter air.

He was even prettier in real life than he was on her laptop screen. His eyes crinkled with kindness, and a gentle, polite smile graced his face as he greeted a stunned Y/N behind the counter. Somewhere between that first interaction and now— 9AM on a quaint Tuesday as she subtly awaited his arrival— she developed a giant, raging crush on the sweet author. It didn’t help that he was so soft-spoken as well; gaze never straying below the name tag on her collar, and a little dimple sporting his face whenever he thanked her. Then he’d settle in the booth on the far right end of the cafe, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the 9-10AM rush which trampled the poor staff.

And from her spot by the coffee machine, Y/N would steal glances at him staring down at his laptop with a furrow between his brows, and wonder what he was working on at that moment. She’d already caught up on his latest release— a 500 page novel about a group of friends who grow up together and then part ways to pursue their dreams before reconnecting again— and she’d do anything to get a small glimpse in that head of his just to know what he had in store next.

Y/N was yet to tell him she was a big fan of his, although she wasn’t sure she wanted to in the first place; merely because she didn’t want to scare the man away by coming off as a creep. So, she kept all of this hidden away in the crevices of her heart, not to be known or seen by anyone apart from those who read the clear signs themselves (namely Aly and Cody, thanks to the forced proximity and nothing else).

Today, as she scurried from customer to customer, hastily taking down orders and manically counting change so she didn’t mess anything up, all thoughts of Harry were shoved to the back of her mind (which was so very unlike her). She still clocked he’d be coming in soon, but normally she’d take a few moments to fix her hair or retouch her lip gloss before he came. Though now she couldn’t find a second of reprieve to collect herself until the bells jingled, and Harry came through the cafe doors. 

Her heartbeat stuttered when her eyes found him, watching as he ruffled his hair and slicked it back from his face. He was wearing a simple black long sleeve and blue jeans baggy enough to pool over his black shoes— even dressed so simply, Y/N thought he could easily give a supermodel a hard time. Wired headphones were plugged into his ears, and she could make out his sparkling eyes all the way from where she stood.

There was a short que he had to wait in before she could take his order. Since the cafe was a relatively small space, they only had room for one register at a time, so she couldn’t turn away for a single moment. Besides, she wouldn’t want to, in case she missed her chance talking to Harry and seeing him up close again; she’s only granted those pockets of time sparingly, and she liked to make the most of it when she could.

After minutes of back and forth with a fussy customer and then a regular who’d been frequenting the cafe for eight years, a subtle blush settled on Y/N’s cheeks when Harry stepped up to the counter.

“Hey, Y/N good morning,” He spoke, sniffling slightly. A small smile graced his rosy lips, “How are you?”

Y/N did her best to maintain eye contact with him, struggling to hold her own when he looked at her like that. “Hi, Harry, good thank you,” She tried to distract herself by glancing down at the screen, scrolling mindlessly across different drinks and pastries. “What can I get you today? Cody’s put out a fresh batch of pain au chocolat if you’d like one with your coffee?”

“I do love pain au chocolat…” Harry mused, staring at the specials above her head with squinted eyes. Y/N braved herself enough to look at his face, instantly taken aback by his unblemished skin and pursed lips. He was so unfairly pretty it made her chest ache.

“What would you recommend?” He questioned and snapped her out of her haze.

“Cody’s really good with chocolate, so I think you should get one. They’re yummy when you dip them in your coffee.” 

“Yeah?”

The word was followed by another one of his smiles, and Y/N was promptly killed all over again. Each passing second in his presence seemed to steal a little more air from her lungs.

“Uh-huh.”

Harry hummed, blissfully unaware of the effect he had on the girl. “Okay, we’ll do one of those,” He eyed the delicacies in the transparent case for a moment before coming back to her. “When r’you making those scones again? The ones with the dates and honey?” 

The ones he was referring to were those Y/N would make every couple of weeks when it was her turn to put out a bi-weekly special on the menu. It was a fan-favorite— especially Harry’s, seeing as though he tended to buy half the batch whenever she’d put out a new one. He wasn’t shy in the way he praised her baking, constantly telling her how perfect they were, and how they were his favorite treat in the whole city. That did wonders for Y/N’s delusional mind and love-struck heart; she had to keep reminding herself he was probably just being polite, and that’s all that was to it.

“Oh, I was planning on setting up a tray on Sunday. I can save you some if you like?”

Harry shuffled his laptop from one arm to the other. “Thank you, love, that’s very kind.”

“No problem,” Y/N replied, acting like the petname wasn’t making her blood rush, as she punched in his order to go back to the kitchen to Aly. “So a pain au chocolat and the regular espresso?”

“Yes, please. I’ll settle the tab as I leave— might be here a while. Mapping out my next novel.”

“That’s exciting,” Y/N exclaimed. She tried to keep her voice neutral, like she was not at all internally jumping for joy that Harry was working on his next piece.

“Maybe when the rush dies down, I’ll come over with another cup myself— that way you don’t interrupt your flow.”

“I would really appreciate that. Thanks, Y/N.”

Y/N noticed how he turned bashful as the words left his lips. Before she could think too much of it, he cleared his throat and changed the topic, “Hey, did you cut your hair?” 

“Oh,” Y/N’s fingers came up to graze the ends, “Uh, yeah, just a trim.”

“You look pretty.” 

He said the three words so simply— so calmly, Y/N would’ve thought he just asked her how she was, instead of lightening up her whole world with the easy compliment. The casual nature of the way it left his lips sent her nerves into frenzy; if he hadn’t been able to tell she was flustered before, Y/N was certain he could now, judging by how thoroughly she’d morphed into a tomato.

Plus, she barely even did much to her hair; only shaved off the dead-ends like she would routinely, and no one had noticed until now— not Aly, or any of her best friends.

Her heart was hammering in her chest as she formulated a reply. “Oh, thanks, Harry.”

“Yeah, no problem,” He backed away from the counter. 

Y/N pinched her thigh behind the opaque cabinets to bring herself back to earth. “I’ll be over with your stuff in a minute.” 

She caught the quiet “thank you,” he murmured in reply, along with the way he rubbed his nose with the back of his index finger, seemingly trying to hide the small smile tugging at his lips.

She stared after him for a second longer than she should have.

Maybe she was reading too much into it. Maybe she wasn’t.

Either way, Y/N found herself smiling too.

-

Y/N has decided she will never, ever go out drinking with her friends again.

Sitting there on the edge of the pavement with goosebumps trailing up and down her bare arms, she promised herself this as she tried again (yet to no avail) to book an Uber to go home. Of course, none of this would be happening right now if she’d just stayed in like she was hoping to, or even if Gina and Drew told her they were going to leave early that night and abandon the girl to fend for herself. 

It was times like this she really pitied herself; sad, cold, alone, moderately drunk with a shitty group of friends who left the bar without checking with her first, because they assumed she went home due to her headache.

An hour ago, Y/N went to the grimy bar toilets to splash cold water on her face to try and make the encroaching pain go away. She was there for fifteen minutes max, and when she came out and found the booth she shared with her friends empty except her drink on the table, her heart dropped low in her stomach. After sending Gina a text asking where they went off to, Y/N had to bite her lip to stop herself from cussing out the entire room when she replied that they’d gone bar-hopping ‘cause the one they were at had no cute guys to scout.

That part specifically, Y/N didn’t mind as much. Obviously, if her friends were going out with the intention to meet new people romantically, she understands why they wanted to check out different places and see what their options were. All she’s saying is she would’ve appreciated a little notice or a text or a call or anything which signalled they were changing hunting grounds. And when she brought it up, Gina just said they assumed she’d gone home because she wasn't feeling well.

In their defence, they weren’t normally like this; every other time they went out, Y/N was always stuck to Gina’s side no matter what the social situation was looking like.

Then again, that could just be because apart from tonight, Y/N was usually (always) the designated driver. Being the only one with a working car who was willing to spend her petrol and go without drinking for the whole night, she’d agreed months ago to take on the role.

It normally played in her favor, because she worked almost six out of seven days a week, and that meant she couldn’t risk the after effects of drinking too much on a night out— specifically dealing with a gnarly hangover, all while a pesky customer stood shouting their head off at her. That was a situation she was desperate to avoid under any circumstances.

But tonight was meant to be the exception; instead of taking her car, they all pitched in to get an Uber to the bar so Y/N could have a couple of drinks too. What she didn’t expect, was to end up like she had— lonely and cold by herself, stray tears staining her cheeks, for which she felt really stupid… why did the whole thing have to bother her so much? So what Gina and Drew assumed she’d gone home and went to a bar 20 minutes away from the one she was at? They were only looking out for her. Surely that’s all there was to it.

And yet her heart still wrenched painfully in her chest. Y/N blamed it on the alcohol she had and her post-period emotions (which Aly kept trying to tell her was not a real thing, but Y/N swears she turns into a completely different person every stage of her cycle).

Alas, her exposed skin was flushed beneath the hot summer air, her knees tucked into her chest, barely covered by the tiny dress she put on a few hours ago. She didn’t give up on her phone— still tapping and smacking; yelling at Siri to make the piece of garbage work, but she couldn’t catch a signal from where she was. The tears were making her vision blurry, and she was on the verge of giving up when a shiny, polished baby-blue car drove right past her.

She wouldn’t have thought much of it, if whoever was driving didn’t stop inches from where she sat and reversed slowly to be parallel to her. She was confused at first— frozen in place— before the panic settled in; what if her time had come, and she was going to get kidnapped and shipped off to another country to be sold for body parts? What if it’s an attacker who preys on young, innocent girls and steals them away to keep locked in his basement until she agrees to have his babies? Fuck, what if i—

“Y/N? What are you doing out here?” A familiar voice broke her out of her thoughts just as she was about to wrap her fingers around her small pepper spray bottle; a gentle tone which her brain was primed to associate with comfort.

A relieved sigh escaped her lips when Harry stepped out of the driver’s side— the same Harry who made her heart pound and her veins sizzle with want every time she set her gaze on him.

He looked more wound down than she was used to seeing him; wearing a loose green jumper and gray sweats to go with. On his feet were a pair of black slides, and his car keys hooked off of one finger lazily. She was too far gone mentally to even consider why he would be out at this hour in this part of town. That was a puzzle future, sober she would have to solve, when she wasn’t blinded by irritation towards her friends, and surprise for seeing the man she was unhealthily obsessed with at such a random time.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she recognised him, and she used her free hand to quickly wipe her wet face. “Harry?”

He rounded the hood to stand before her, “Are you alright?” Harry asked, planting his hands on his knees so he could crouch down to her height.

She was slightly taken aback by his close proximity. His cologne invaded all her senses, rendering it hard for her to focus on anything but his nearness— it  almost made her forget about the messy, dramatic mascara stains running down her cheeks. “Hi! Hey,” Y/N greeted with false enthusiasm, “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.” She waved her right hand unoccupied with her phone around, like she was batting away any apprehension he might have seeing her like this.

Even still, his brows knitted together in worry. “Y’sure? Why are you sitting by yourself alone on the sidewalk? It’s so late.”

“Is it? Huh,” Y/N looked around the dark street, like she was just now realising it was way past her regular bedtime. A glance at her screen and she read the time to be about 12AM. “I, um— I was trying to get an Uber.”

“Are y’out with anyone?” He asked, punctuating the sentence by cutely pushing his glasses back up his nose. 

Having his pretty face so close to hers and his sparkling eyes twinkling beneath the moonlight staring intently at her was becoming Y/N’s downfall. She wanted to kiss him silly so bad, she wondered if he could see the filthy thoughts swimming in her brain as she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Hmm?” She hummed dreamily, gaze saccharine as it didn’t stray from his, “No. Not anymore, at least.”

“C’mon, we’ll get you up.” He shook his head like he was almost sad for her, sighing, while he got up from his squatted position. Both his hands were held out to her expectantly.

It was a wonder how spending just a few minutes in his presence made Y/N basically forget about how she was hurting and crying moments before. Now, as she slipped her colder hands into his bigger, warmer ones, she couldn’t think of anything else but the way his grip swallowed hers entirely.

“Oh!” A surprised cry crawled up her throat when he tugged once, bringing her to a stand immediately— albeit on slightly wobbly legs. His casual demonstration of strength made butterflies erupt in her belly unannounced. Y/N gratefully squeezed his hands one time before letting go (very, very regrettably). “Thank you,” She breathed, noticing how they were standing basically toe-to-toe now. From this new angle, she spotted three freckles dotted on his face in the shape of an upside down triangle. 

Y/N was so close to reaching up to trace them with her fingers when her stomach loudly interrupted the moment. The growl was long and embarrassing— also very expected, seeing as though she hadn’t eaten in a long time; prior to coming out to town, Gina and her had split a pizza for lunch, however that was almost twelve hours ago now. They did nibble on some chips at the bar, but Drew stumbled and spilled most of it out on the waxy floors. So her tummy being angry about being left unsatisfied for so long didn’t come off as a surprise to her. She just wished it didn’t happen so awkwardly in front of Harry.

A chuckle came from his pretty mouth, and two dimples which Y/N wanted to poke formed on his cheeks. He nudged his shoulder against hers, and spoke, “Y’hungry?”

“... Yeah.”

“Let’s get you something to eat, hmm? Then I can take you home.”

“Harry, you really don’t have to. I don’t want to be a bother.”

He leaned over to get the door for her on the passenger side, ushering her inside with a hand on the small of her back. “Me leaving you like this on the street will bother me more. I’ll keep wonderin’ if you’re okay.”

Y/N stopped in her tracks at his words. She twisted her body so she could face him, a pout forming on her painted lips, “You’re so nice, Harry, really. I wish there were more people like you.”

And she meant every word too— he had no need to be this kind to her. They didn’t owe each other anything. All of this was coming from the good of his own heart, and the thought of that made Y/N more sentimental than she thought she could be.

At her moony-eyed state, Harry smiled shyly, “Yeah, yeah. I’m a joy to be around,” He muttered while again, pushing his glasses further up his nose. He tapped her back twice with the palm of his hand, gently signalling for her to get a move on.

“Now get in the car before you starve to death, love. Can still hear your tummy growling.”

-

“Why are you out this late? Been askin’ me for so long— I wanna know what my favorite regular was up to at 12 in the city.”

Harry ended up driving Y/N to a Mexican food truck a couple blocks away from her apartment building. She’d been living in the area for almost five years now, and she was devastated to find out she didn’t even know the place existed. How an authentic Mexican restaurant missed her radar was beyond her— Y/N was always on the lookout for new food places to try, especially those that wouldn’t break the bank, and this one was exactly that, she noted, as she nursed a 6$ plate of three tacos in her hands, complete with a steaming cup of consomé and two wedges of lime.

The food was amazing, be that because she was very hungry and also still a little drunk, or because she got to share it with Harry. He was the mirror image of her, leaning against the back of his car as Y/N stood to his left. He was down to one taco now, and judging by the way he ate them so fast, Y/N was inclined to think he too was starving like her.

The entire drive to the food truck was spent with Y/N explaining to Harry how she ended up in such a unfortunate situation; specifically, how Gina and Drew essentially stood her up for the night. Suffice to say, Harry was not happy at all when she reached the end of her story. A tiny frown scrunched his face as he tsked at her, telling her how the way she was treated was not okay, no matter how much Y/N tried to convince herself (and him) otherwise.

But she did her best not to dwell on it too much. If she did, that just led to the waterworks, and she has a little bit of self-respect left before she lets Harry see her like that. So, she swallowed up all these feelings and urges, put on a brave face, and let herself forget about the shitty night she had at the prospect of spending some time with Harry. Which she still couldn’t believe was happening, by the way— but it was, and unless she was so drunk she was imagining this entire thing, she wanted to maintain a good image in front of her little work crush.

Though the fact that she was still feeling loose-lipped and wobbly was not missed by Harry, who found her drunken words quite entertaining. At her question, he quirked an eyebrow and smirked.

“Favorite regular?”

Y/N nodded animatedly, gesturing with her free hand towards the car and the food truck just a few feet away from them. “This certainly bumped you up the list.”

“There’s a list?”

“There’s always a list.”

“What rank was I before?” Harry asked. He took a bite out of his taco, sticking his tongue out before it met his mouth like a child. The sight made Y/N want to giggle, but she refrained. He was doing so much for her already— he even paid for her food— so she didn’t want to tease and poke at his antics.

Instead, she finished off the food in her mouth, then spoke, “That’s very confidential information,” She swiped her chin with a clean napkin. “And you haven’t answered my question.”

Harry looked down at his plate, fiddling with the flimsy styrofoam with his thumb. “I was driving back home from the laundromat. Couldn’t find time during the day so…”

“So midnight laundry?”

“Midnight laundry,” He said definitively.

“Very efficient.” 

“I try to be.”

Y/N was happy with the way the night turned out, and how conversation flowed so easily between them. She was expecting it to be awkward like it could get in the cafe sometimes, but surprisingly it wasn’t. Even the silence was comfortable, filled only by the sound of her lime being squeezed over her last taco. 

“How’d you find out about this place? I’ve never ever had tacos this good,” Y/N dipped the tortilla in the consomé once, then twice, “I’m always looking for someone who makes them the way those people eat them on Tiktok and such. My food never looks the same,” It was steaming hot, and she blew a cool stream of air towards it before finishing her thought, “Not tonight, though. These are the best tacos I’ve ever had.”

Harry took a sip of his bottled soda, setting down his empty plate on the car. “My sister and I come here whenever she’s in the city. She used to date the guy who worked here like seven years ago— our yearly tradition of scarfing down ten of these in one sitting, unfortunately, lasted longer than the relationship.” 

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise. “You have a sister?”

“Yeah, she’s older than me. I’ll bring her ‘round the shop one day when she visits.”

“Yes, please. We’ll take good care of her.” 

Now that she thought about it, it made so much sense that Harry had a sister. That explained how he was so soft-spoken and attentive— qualities Y/N had always assumed came from having an older sister who spent years correcting your manners and reminding you to be considerate. He didn’t continue talking about her though, so she took that as her que to change the topic into something else.

As casually as she could, she hoped to maybe get a few crumbs on what he was working on now. Y/N chugged her orange soda to buy a couple seconds to compose herself, and then spoke, “Make much progress on your book?”

“Um, just sorting out the basics really. I like to character map and all before I begin writing the meat of it,” He said, gesticulating with his free hands, “Helps when I get to meet interesting people who inspire me a lot.”

“Yeah?” Y/N hummed with interest, “Come across a lot of those in this boring city?”

Something warm spread in her tummy when he laughed softly, nodding down at the ground. He didn’t meet her eyes, but then again, Y/N didn’t know if she wanted him to— standing this close to her and looking so pretty, she’s worried she’ll do something she regrets if he stared at her for too long. 

“I do,” He started. A smile stayed plastered on his face as he spoke, “But I don’t typically find them sitting on the pavement outside a 7/11 with mascara streaks at 12AM.”

The words made Y/N gasp, and a breathy scoff left her mouth when she shoved her shoulder against him playfully. “Hey! I was vulnerable! You can’t use that against me,” She exclaimed.

 “I thought you were very inspiring,” Harry giggled, “Really, I’m touched.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the little grin tugging at her lips betrayed her. “You’re actually mean.”

She focused on picking off the onions from her last two bites, wanting to carefully curate them so they were perfect. Now that she knew this place existed (and was so close to her house), she’ll be here all the time. A small part of her hoped she would run into Harry here as well as the cafe; those five minutes that she got to speak with him everyday were slowly seeming smaller and smaller.

She thinks she could hear him talk forever; not only was his voice deep and calming, but she liked the things he said, even if sometimes they were silly little jabs at her. Knowing that he felt comfortable with her enough to tease her like that was already making her heart flip behind her sternum.

Y/N took another bite before speaking, “Thanks for this. You didn’t have to, and you still did, and that meant a lot to me,” She tilted her head towards the plate and then the car so he knew what she was referring to. “Especially after what happened, y’know.”

“What do you mean, this is exactly how I wanted to spend my night,” Harry’s cheeks went slightly pink when he talked, gaze still not meeting hers, “Maybe it wasn’t what I was planning, but I’m glad it turned out like this. Of course, I’m not glad about what y’friends did and all, but I’m happy I ran into you.”

Every word that left his mouth tugged at her heartstrings. Maybe he was saying it just to be polite, so she didn’t feel bad about him having to take care of her, feed her, pay for her food, and drive her home— though she felt her waterlines flood instantly. Perhaps it was the alcohol in her system making her feel like this (Y/N’s always been a particularly emotional girl when inebriated), but she’s probably also still a little worked-up about what happened with her friends. Y/N wasn’t in a good place when Harry found her, and him staying and helping her through it meant so much to her, she’s worried she doesn’t have the words to express it.

“I’m happy you ran into me too,” She said through a pout. Without thinking much of it, Y/N leaned up to wrap her free arm around his neck and pull him down for a hug. The scent of vanilla and something fruity enveloped her senses as she tightened her fingers around his collar. Harry’s hand settled on her waist, and all Y/N could think about was how sober her would never have the guts to do something like this. She would probably pass out, actually, if something of this sort ever occurred— merely standing in front of him made her brain fuzzy, a hug would take her out.

Harry patted her waist twice. “Okay Ms. Sappy don’t go all teary–eyed on me again,” Y/N could hear the smile in his voice as it dropped lower, “Who would’ve thought you were such a crybaby drunk.”

Y/N shushed him, “Stop, let me have my moment.”

“Yeah, please do. S’not like a hot bowl of consomé is up against my stomach.”

Unwinding herself from his torso, Y/N took a big step back when the words left his mouth. He wasn’t wrong— she didn’t realise she was still very much holding her plate in her other hand which was awkwardly squished between their bodies.

Y/N covered her mouth with her palm, eyes rounded in distress. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay!?”

Harry pressed against his jumper, presumably where the consomé warmed him, and hissed jokingly, “I can’t really feel anything in the waist area, but I think I’ll live.” 

-

Harry came around to see Y/N often.

The shift was a gradual one— something that happened slowly and naturally. After that night when he took her out to get tacos, he ended up taking Y/N home right after. She invited him up to her place to be cordial (at least that’s what she told herself) but he politely declined because it was almost 2 in the morning.

The next day, Y/N was working the afternoon shift at the cafe. The past night was evident on her, taking form in deep circles beneath her eyes and a dull ache in her head which moved as she did. To top it all off, she hadn’t seen Harry come in either. She had half the mind to think that perhaps last night scared him, and he realised that Y/N was maybe a little bit weird. Her mind was racing as she served customer after customer, wondering if Harry decided to change cafes… what if he stopped frequenting Sunflower altogether? Surely she didn’t come off that strong last night.

She was on the verge of calling out for five to get some fresh air when the bells jingled and a familiar frame entered the room. A tiny breath of relief came past her lips as Harry stepped inside and walked right up to the counter.

Y/N wondered if he could tell from her face how glad she was to see him, because he smiled at her all big. That was when she noticed the thin red plastic bag hanging off of his right wrist, and he spoke excitedly, “Hey! I brought y’some more tacos. Figured you’d be going for y’break soon. They’re still warm,” He held the food up a little and wiggled his hand, then was interrupted by a yawn, “M’knackered though. Couldn’t get out of bed this morning— I haven’t slept past 12 in a long time.”

… Y/N was starting to like Harry a lot.

And if he kept this little act up— where he’s sweet and loving and kind towards her, bringing her lunch every other day and hanging out at the counter to ask how her day was, she’s afraid her meek heart can’t take it.

He made it a habit to bring her the tacos; it’d gotten to the point that Y/N was eating them at least three times a week now. If it wasn’t those, he was grabbing her one of her favorite drinks that she’d randomly mentioned in passing when he was driving her back to her place. 

The thought did occur to her that perhaps he was behaving this way because he still felt bad about what had happened to her. Maybe he pitied her for the way she’d been treated and thought he could step up as the friend she’d never really had. Yet Y/N was inclined to believe there was more to it than that. She wasn’t a little girl, and Harry didn’t need to fuss over her or treat her like one. She liked to think that maybe he was simply one of those people whose love language was acts of service or gift-giving—he did always seem particularly pleased with himself whenever Y/N smiled at him gratefully and told him how kind or generous he was when he brought her something.

Although concurrently, he also seemed like he valued quality time, considering how he began asking her to his table every time she went on her thirty-minutes. Though Y/N may be more to blame for that one, if she was being real. The first time he brought her something to eat, she all but forced him to join her, and split the meal with her on her break.

She was happy to learn that conversation still flowed, despite both of them being sober and of sound mind this time around. And she was even happier to learn that Harry didn’t totally despise hanging out with her. In fact, it was usually him, rather than her, who waved her over and invited her to spend her break with him at his table.

If she wasn’t so preoccupied with worrying about what she was saying or doing all the time around him, she’d have the energy to dwell on the reality of the situation— this was the same Harry she used to spend half her day staring at longingly from afar, desperately looking forward to the next time he came to the counter to exchange a few words with her.

However, now, as she sat across from him with her half-empty drink (that he’d gotten for her) and a croissant she was slowly picking apart, Y/N could sense that something was bothering him instead of her. The crinkle between his brows, the tense set of his jaw and the short, clipped responses he gave without ever looking away from his computer made it rather obvious.

Y/N brushed off stray flakey bits of pastry that stuck to her fingers, determined to make him talk about what was so obviously nagging him. “What’s wrong?” She asked abruptly.

Harry met her prying eyes for a second, and just as quickly returned to his screen as he nodded ‘no.’ “Hmm? Nothing,” He replied.

“I can tell something is bothering you. You got that look on your face.”

“What look?”

Y/N huffed, “Like something is bothering you.” 

“S’nothing. Just a… block,” Harry said, reluctance to speak evident in his tone. He avoided making eye-contact with her— whatever was on his screen was apparently more worth his attention than she was. But Y/N knew there was more to his story than he was letting on; she could tell by the way he shut down the second the words left his mouth, as though pretending she wasn’t there would somehow make her disappear.

Even still, she didn’t let up. Y/N took a long sip of her drink and then spoke, “A block? Like writer’s block?”

“Kind of,” He muttered, “Well, I can write if I wanted to, I just don’t know how to.”

“Don’t know how to write?”

Don’t know how to write this scene specifically.”

“Maybe I can help. What sort of scene is it?” 

Harry sighed. “S’okay, I’ll figure it out. Don’t wanna bore you.”

“You could never bore me,” Y/N reassured him, now leaning forward like she was going to tell him a secret, “Tell me. Unless you don’t want to?”

At this, Harry finally lowered his laptop screen, and Y/N could properly see him. Today he wore a soft looking black hoodie and jeans— again, appearing so effortlessly pretty, Y/N was a little jealous. His face was smooth, as if he shaved this morning.

“No, no, I do,” He shook his head, “I just— it’s a little embarrassing.”

“Now I wanna know even more,” Y/N drew out the last word, eagerly getting closer towards him on the table. The thought of something making a grown man like Harry embarrassed was sort of thrilling to her. As strange as it might sound, Y/N found herself oddly curious about what could possibly make Harry so blushy and bashful— especially when he was usually so composed around her.

 “C’mon, I’ll give it my best,” She pleaded, eyes wide.

Y/N noticed as Harry contemplated the idea before her, until he breathed deeply and pushed his glasses up his nose, seemingly having made his choice.

“Um— fuck. Okay,” He started, “So, I’ve been trying to write this scene for days now, but I can’t get it right. I’ve rewritten it so many times at this point, I almost want to scrap it altogether,” He waved his hands around as he talked, rings glinting beneath the cafe lighting, “But I can’t. It’s important for the story.”

“What kind of scene is it?”

“Um. It’s like a… it’s romantic.”

Y/N fidgeted with the plastic rim of her cup and hummed, “Romantic? You’ve written heaps of romance before, have you not? What’s so hard about this one?”

“I’ve never written it so… intensely,” Harry said. He was sitting up now, knees knocking into hers beneath the table, “Never got into the nitty gritty.”

“Nitty gritty?” She asked and raised her brows in question.

He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, exhaling softly, “Sex. I’m talking about writing the characters having sex for the first time,” He said, watching Y/N closely, who was trying her best not to let her jaw drop open in shock. Her cheeks were flaring up as he continued, “I’ve been trying, and I feel like I’m no good. Though I know exactly what the issue is and how to fix it.”

Out of everything Harry could’ve said, Y/N certainly wasn’t expecting that.

Sure, she’d read heaps of his books before, and she knew he was a good writer— he wrote romance well, and he was funny, he was good with dialogue, and he could really make you feel what his characters were feeling solely with his words… Yet now that she thinks back, she doesn’t recall anything of his that she's read which was particularly promiscuous; most of the time he’ll write a kiss or two in, but that’s about as far as he usually goes.

Despite that, Y/N still couldn’t understand why he couldn’t write it now. What could possibly be holding him back from finding the right words this time?

Y/N blinked twice, processing this new information as she cleared her throat, “Wow. Okay,” She rubbed a hand down her thigh anxiously, “So if you know how to fix it, why don’t you?”

“It’s not that simple, I— I’m a…” Harry began talking, only to pause briefly while he twisted his ring around his finger. Y/N was beginning to think the sentence was lost upon him when he went on, “Um, I’ve never really done it before.”

“Done what before?”

“I’ve never had sex before. I’m completely lost as to how to write it. I’ve tried reading about it and everything, but I’m just not happy with how it’s turning out.”

Oh.

Oh.

Y/N was at a loss for words.

She could feel her entire body begin to buzz, heat creeping up her neck and into her cheeks as he suddenly seemed determined to avoid her gaze. She was in disbelief. There was no way (in her head, at least) that Harry— as beautiful and funny and charming as she knew him to be— was a virgin.

She can’t accept the fact; her brain won’t allow it. Not as he waited patiently for a response, or as he nudged the tip of his shoe against hers as if he was reminding her he was still there, and could very much see how her lips had parted in shock.

“Oh… that’s um. That’s— wow,” Y/N said after a long silence, “Do you think if you do it— have sex, I mean— it’ll, um… it’ll help you’re writing process?”

Harry nodded enthusiastically, “It will help my writing process,” He said, “And I’m not saving myself or anything. The right opportunity just hasn’t shown up.”

“And you’re ready now? Like, if the right person came along, you wouldn’t mind loosing it to them?”

“I wouldn’t,” He pouted slightly, “But the thing is, I don’t want to do it with just anyone. I want it to be someone I trust, and I want them to be able to trust me too.”

Trying to appear as cool and nonchalant and unbothered as she could be (a stark contrast to her jittery nerves), Y/N picked the skin by her thumb. “Do you have anyone in mind?” 

“Well I don’t have many friends in the city. Especially those who’d be cool with something like this,” Using the back of his knuckle, he shoved his glasses further up, “I mean, I wouldn’t want to ruin a good relationship if we’re not on the same page about why we’d be doing it.”

“Yeah, I can understand where you’re coming from.”

“You do?’’

“Of course I do. You want to ask them, but you don’t want it to be this big monumental thing— it has to purely be a friend helping out another friend. No strings attached.”

Y/N watched as his gaze faltered, flitting between her own two eyes like he was mulling over something. She anticipated a question even before he opened his mouth, yet nothing could’ve prepared her for what he was going to say next.

“Would you…” He started, fading out as he looked down at his lap and shook his head,  “Nevermind.”

“What?”

“Nevermind it. Forget I said anything.”

“Harry. Tell me,” Y/N urged.

“Well, I was wondering if maybe you could do it for me.”

A beat passed.

“You mean if I could take your virginity for you?”

“Yes! It’d be so, so, so helpful for me, Y/N, really. I’m genuinely stuck here and I can’t think of any other solution,” Harry cried, though he was still careful to keep his voice low, “And you’re so beautiful, and you’re kind, and pretty. I think it could be really good for both of us,” When she didn’t reply, a tiny frown pulled at his brows, “If you don’t want to, you can tell me. Nothing will change between us.”

Y/N was quick to shake her head, his words registering very, very slowly in her head. She was so suddenly taken aback— shocked, really, by his admission, and then his request— so much so, she’s beginning to think that this was all a part of some silly dream, maybe. Because there was no way in hell that Harry was not only a virgin, but was asking Y/N to be his first; that too, so casually, like he was asking her out for a coffee.

There were about a million things going through her head as she stared at his desperate face, and Y/N powered through to speak up, “It’s not that— not that I don’t want to, I just…”

“I’ll understand if I’m not your type—”

“No! No, that’s not it! You’re so… you’re very, um, nice. To look at. And talk to,” She said hastily. Y/N tried to keep her eyes on his face, but her heart was racing so rapidly that she was convinced merely looking at him for much longer would have her collapsing face-first onto the floor.

“So you’ll help me? I can repay you however you want; I can take you out shopping or we can go get dinner at a fancy place— whatever you want,” Harry earnestly offered. Her breath caught in her throat when he suddenly reached out to put his hand over hers, probably trying to provide some sort of comfort, yet all it did was make her malfunction further.

“Harry, I want to help you. I really do,” Y/N flipped her palm so his fingertips grazed her skin, leaving flaming trails beneath their touch, “Do you… are you sure you want me to be your first? D’you know what that means?”

“Y/N, sex is sex, and I want to do it with you, if you’ll have me,” Harry spoke so decisively, so strongly, the tone made her knees weak. If she wasn’t already sitting, she was convinced her knees would have given out beneath her the second the words left his lips, “If you want to say no, you can say it now, and I will never bring this up again. You will still be my friend, and I’ll view you no differently,” He drew a small heart on her palm, “But if it helps you make your choice, I want you to say yes.”

“Harry, we barely know each other,” Y/N reasoned.

“I know. That's why it makes so much sense. There’s no complicated history between us.”

Technically speaking, he wasn’t wrong.

There was no history between them at all, if that night at the Mexican food truck doesn’t count for anything. Plus, she’s been crushing on him for such a long time— it’s been almost seven months of her longingly staring at him from the counter, wishing to speak with him for even just a minute of her day. And he admitted he thought she was pretty too, so obviously there was a mutual attraction. 

The only thing Y/N was worried about was having to keep it casual. Harry didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, and she truly meant it when she said she understood his perspective. But Y/N wasn’t sure she was the right person for this, given the fact that what she felt for Harry was more than just physical attraction.

On the other hand, she was wondering if it could work in her favor. What if sleeping with him for one night with no strings attached was actually what she needed to get him out of her system? Y/N had never really been one for long-term, serious relationships anyway, so surely this would help her in some way or another.

The more she thinks about it, the more she realises she wasn’t opposed to giving it a chance.

Before she could help it, her mouth moved on its own accord. “Okay.”

Harry raised his brows. “Okay?”

“Okay, I can help you. I want to help you,” She said, “However you need.”

“You sure?”

Y/N waited for her brain to overfire—to tell her to say no, to freak out, to reconsider the entire thing.

It never came.

Instead, she took a slow, steadying breath.

“I’m sure.”

A long, relieved sigh came from Harry’s mouth when he finally slipped his hand into hers properly, “You have no idea how much this means to me, Y/N. I’m going to do my best to make it up to you, I promise.”

As Harry smiled gratefully at her, Y/N could only hope that, when all was said and done, she wouldn’t look back on this moment and wish she’d said no. She had no idea whether she’d be able to keep her feelings out of it, but for now, she chose to believe she was making the right decision.

After all, how badly could one night really hurt? 

-

Harry had a really, really nice house.

Y/N noted this as soon as she walked in, the scent of vanilla and fresh laundry and her favorite type of pasta hitting her all at the same time. His apartment was more spacious than she’d thought it would be, with massive floor to ceiling windows and bookshelves lining entire walls, a nice, marble-top kitchen and a soft sage green rug lining his living room floor. If he wasn’t already a successful author, Y/N would seriously suggest he consider a career in interior designing.

She told him this while he made sure she was comfortable— he took her coat, thanked her for the bottle of wine she brought for the occasion (which was mostly to help her deal with her anxiety than it was to pose as a polite gift), and guided her to the kitchen where he was working diligently on a sauce which was (allegedly) simmering since 3 in the afternoon.

All throughout the evening, Y/N was trying her very best to remain cool and in control of her emotions and actions. The circumstances under which they were were not normal by any means— on the face of it, it looks like Harry was this cute guy she was seeing who invited her to his place for a dinner date. However, if you peer beneath the surface just a tiny bit, you’ll realise that Y/N and Harry are not mutually exclusive, and even though they plan to have sex in a couple of hours, they were not allowed to let it be more than a physical thing. 

It was plainly two friends fucking, with no expectation of anything further to go along with it attached. A transaction, if you want to use Harry’s words; the reason why he’s asked her to come to his place for dinner first was because this was his way of “paying her back” for the “favor.”

That day at the cafe before he left to go home, he slipped Y/N his number, asking her to give him a call so he could save her contact in his phone. Later that night, she got the text— Harry was planning a nice, decadent dinner, wine and dessert at his place the night they decided to meet (and fuck).

The words on her screen made everything suddenly seem so real. This was actually happening. Y/N wasn’t dreaming when Harry asked her to take his virginity, and now he had picked out a date and planned the evening already. Time flew by that week, faster than it normally did in the bustling cafe. Nothing changed between her and Harry; he was still frequenting the cafe, still bringing her treats, and still as sweet as ever. You’d never guess that this was the same man that had asked her to fulfil such a naughty favour only days ago. 

Before she knew it, Saturday night had arrived, and Y/N had taken the longest everything shower of her life. Even then, she was still partly in disbelief that this was true. 

She put in extra effort with her hair, makeup, and outfit— picking out a short, flirty dress she saved for special occasions. Yes, she was nervous because she was headed to her crush’s house knowing that the night would end with him inside of her, but she was also nervous because she had to make it good. Had to make it worth it, at least.

After tonight, Y/N would become the one and only person Harry’s ever had sex with; and in her eyes, that was a pretty fucking prestigious position to hold. It meant that anybody he ever decides to do this with again (and she thinks about this even though it makes her belly twist with jealousy) will always be compared to her. And the things he’ll learn with her, he might one day use on someone else.

The mere thought of that makes her want to throw up, so she buried it away, and busied herself with perfecting her skin, moisturing intently and rubbing various oils on her freshly shaved body. Her hair she decided to leave down and around her shoulders, and her makeup was set to perfection. Y/N wasn’t going to risk letting Harry witness her streaky mascara again after that night outside the 7/11. After all this she drove over to his address and was welcomed by his handsome face at the door. He was smiling shyly, stepping to the side so Y/N could come in when he spoke, “You look so beautiful, Y/N.”

A simple compliment. The most basic one, really, though the effect it had on Y/N had to be studied. Her heart skipped at least three beats when she got a whiff of his cologne, trying to find the words to return his kindness when she said, “Thanks Harry, you too.”

Slow conversation flowed between the two of them; talks of the weather, if she found his address difficult to find, how the rest of his week went, etc. The elephant in the room remained unaddressed. Not once had Harry or Y/N even gotten close to mentioning the real reason why she was in his apartment all dolled up, or why he went through every effort to find the best ingredients for dinner tonight, knowing exactly what pasta Y/N preferred (which was something she revealed during one of her rambles at the cafe).

She loitered in the kitchen while he finished cooking and dished up the food. Harry suggested they opened the bottle of wine, and Y/N had never agreed faster. During the course of dinner she’d gone through two and a half glasses. A nice, electrifying buzzy feeling settled into her veins as they dug their forks into the small cheesecake Harry prepared for dessert.

Y/N was starting to believe Harry was just good at everything; writing, cooking, decorating, talking… There was seemingly nothing the man couldn’t do. The pasta was top tier, paired with crispy garlic bread, while the cheesecake was exactly the right amount of sweet. There genuinely had to be some sort of sorcery in those big hands of his, because she’d almost forgotten why she was there in the first place, too busy admiring his house and devouring everything he’d made.

Y/N made sure to vocalise her praises when they migrated to the couch, dirty dishes now gathered in the sink. Her third glass of wine which she was finishing off was cupped in her fingers, and Harry nursed his own drink, rings clinking against delicate glass.

As he sat next to her, warm and solid, Y/N leisurely let her eyes take him in; he looked easy as always, calm, relaxed against the back of the couch adorning black trousers and a fitted gray shirt. He smelled yummy too, woodsy with the faintest notes of lavender. Be it because of the alcohol in her system or the prospect of what the night could lead to, Y/N wanted nothing more than to climb onto his lap and eat him up entirely.

She set her glass down and shuffled a bit closer him on the sofa. “So,” She began, “How do you want to do this?”

At her question Harry’s eyes widened and he adjusted slightly. His own drink found its way to the side table as he nudged his glasses up. “Um. Whatever you want to do, you can do to me, really. I don’t mind,” He exhaled softly afterwards, “I’m also not, like, completely inexperienced. I’ve done other stuff.”

Y/N’s brows quirked. “Yeah?”

“Uh huh,” Harry swallowed around nothing. His lip was caught between his teeth as he stared her up and down. Goosebumps pimpled on her skin wherever he looked. “Do you wanna…” He spoke, weighing something up in his head very obviously, until he continued, “Can I kiss you?”

Y/N’s heart was racing a million beats a second as she nodded, “Yes.” Harry took that as his sign to twist his body towards her and trace his fingers against her jaw. His touch was feathery light, barely there when it cupped her cheek and pulled her closer. Y/N had inadvertently made her way towards him; their knees interlocked on the plush couch. 

She could smell wine and sweet strawberry as little puffs of breath hit her chin, and he instructed her, “If you want to stop at any point, I want you to tell me.”

“You too,” Y/N breathed. She didn’t waste another second, carefully slotting their lips together after what felt like years of anticipation. A tiny sound escaped his mouth when she pressed more firmly, and his hand on her cheek slipped down to her neck and tightened. His mouth was soft, like he’d applied lip balm when Y/N wasn’t looking. She slowly used her knees to waddle closer to him as his tongue flickered at the seam of her lips, silently asking permission to enter.

Parting her thighs, Harry assisted her to mount his lap comfortably. Y/N was careful not to sit crotch-to-crotch yet, resting just past his knees while he lazily licked into her mouth. Even though Harry said he was a virgin, he sure as hell knew how to kiss like a whore. The thought cycled through Y/N’s head as he kept moaning lowly into her mouth, now both his hands holding her head to angle however he pleased. 

Y/N’s whole body was buzzing with need when she experimentally bit his bottom lip and tugged. She didn’t expect Harry to have whined like he did— all desperate and slutty— chasing her mouth with his own as she pulled back. He kept coming back more, and barely gave Y/N a moment’s worth of reprieve to breathe and collect herself. She noticed his hands remained firmly cupping her face, so she placed her own over them and gently guided him to her ass.

Harry squeezed the thick flesh, simultaneously bucking his hips up to where she was already soaked. A wet gasp sounded when they suddenly parted— Y/N with a moan, and Harry with an apology, “Sorry baby, I— you taste so good,” He palmed her over her dress, “Make me so nervous.”

“Don’t have to apologise for that. I want you to feel good.” Y/N rocked her hips into his, a prominent bulge tucked perfectly between her clothed pussy, “Is that nice?”

Harry mewled again, and dropped his head on the sofa behind him. Y/N took the opportunity to kiss down his exposed neck, leaving sticky open-mouthed kisses until she reached his tatted collar bones.

She could come just from this, really; grinding against him, making out as he played with her ass and moaned all pretty in her hair. And it seemed like he could as well, yet Y/N continued her ministrations. She didn’t care if he came in his pants as long as it meant she could see how his face twists up in pleasure, and his kisses become more needy. 

His hand digging into her hips hard stopped her, and Harry cried, “If you don’t stop I’m g’na come.” Y/N emerged from his neck, feeling confused and a tad lightheaded as he rubbed their noses together, “I wanna come later— when we… y’know.”

“When we have sex?”

“Mhmm,” Harry hummed in agreement, “Can I— will you let me eat you out?” He asked, taking Y/N by surprise. Her swollen lips parted a bit, “S’the one thing I do know how to do— n’I can feel how wet y’are. I want to, please,” He begged with a cute little pout, glasses fogging up, “It helps me— helps me calm down.”

“Eating pussy makes you calm down?”

Harry suckled on her bottom lip for a moment before speaking, “It really does. I find it relaxing.”

Y/N was going to burst into a thousand pieces.

Who was this man sitting beneath her, asking to eat her out because apparently it’s good for his anxiety? This could not be the same Harry who she was intimidated by so easily; simply locking eyes with him from across the cafe would make her shake, and now, Y/N felt for the first time in her life what it was like to have the reigns completely in her hands.

She could get used to this, she thinks, when Harry’s hand snuck beneath her dress and stroked up to her waist, “Please?”

“Okay weirdo,” Y/N smirked playfully, “Since you want it that bad.”

A yelp sounded from her throat when Harry flipped her over, again, demonstrating just how strong he was with such practiced ease, it made her clit throb. Butterflies flooded her tummy as he pecked her lips once, twice, and then left wet kisses across her neck, “Thank you, thank you,” He mumbled, “Can I take this off?”

Y/N nodded, and within seconds her dress made a home on the sage rug. She wore a matching light pink lace set beneath, one which she picked out specifically with Harry in mind. Whenever she thought of him, she thought of gardenia flowers and rosey cheeks; to her, it made perfect sense to wear what she did.

And it seemed like Harry was a fan too, because he plucked the thin bralette with his teeth until the cup rested beneath her tit. Her nipple pebbled instantly, and Harry licked it a few times before suctioning around the bud. Y/N arched into him like a moth drawn into a flame, while Harry moaned like he was the one getting sucked on.

The other nipple got just as much attention through his fingers, which rubbed and tugged at it, soothed over by a chaste kiss when he popped off, “Y’got such pretty tits, baby. Wanna suck on them all the time.” 

Y/N didn’t get a chance to register his words or even catch her breath, when Harry skipped down to her mound, shoved the wet gusset of her panties to the side, and fit his whole mouth over her pussy.

She cried out loud, wedging a knuckle between her teeth to contain her noises as he immediately got to work, eating her so passionately; she’s never ever seen someone behave like this between her thighs— splitting her lips apart to drool on her clit, taking long inhales so he could suck on her for longer, digging his tongue inside her hole as if he wanted to be consumed by her.

Most of the sounds in the room came from her whining and moaning, and her pussy squelching— though at some point Harry began groaning against her too. At first he was thanking her for letting him taste between kisses to her clit, pausing as he pursed his lips to suckle. Then, when he licked and pulled back to see how strings of her arousal connected him to her cunt, he cursed lowly. Now, as he made no move to stop her from tightening her thighs around his ears and dragging him closer with a harsh hand in his hair, he moaned, the vibrations of which pushed Y/N to the edge.

She came hard— harder than she had in a while. Her hips kept grindning against his mouth and he was stuck on her throughout, never letting go of her clit for a single moment. He sucked and licked until she’d relaxed into the pillow, and even then, she had to use her grip in his hair to pull him back up to her. Harry parted with a wet sound and a whine, eyes blown out as he came face-to-face with her.

His lips were cherry red and swollen, slicked with his own spit and her arousal. It covered his chin and parts of his cheeks too, and Y/N didn’t think much of it when she stuck her tongue out and licked over his mouth. It was filthy; incredibly so, when she traced the shape of his cupids bow, kissed his chin, and cleaned herself off of him with her tongue. Harry whined, irritated that she wasn’t giving him a proper kiss. Though Y/N didn’t give him much to complain about as she rested back down and opened her mouth, tongue laying on her bottom lip like she was expecting something.

It took a few seconds for Harry to register what she was asking of him, but when it did, he groaned, “Fuck. You’re so hot.” He sucked her top lip gently, before giving her what she wanted and letting his spit drip into her mouth. Y/N moaned, swallowing it needily. 

“Pants off?” She asked. Her hands found the waist of his trousers, toying with the hem as she waited for his consent.

“Yeah— yes, please.”

They both worked to shuck the fabric off, and Y/N was pleased to find that Harry wasn’t wearing any underwear tonight. She was met with the sight of his rock hard dick, leaking and pink, with a thick vein running down the side of it. Just looking at it was making her mouth water. Almost instinctively her fingers wrapped around it, and Harry whimpered. 

“You’re so big, Harry,” Y/N praised. Harry dropped his face towards her chest, holding her waist firmly, “So pretty too. I bet you taste so good.” He bucked his hips into her fist as she spoke, and fucked her palm. Precum oozed from the tip and dribbled over her hands, making everything wetter and filthier. Y/N closed her fist tighter, urging him on. When Harry whined again, she tsked, “Such a needy boy.”

The sweetest sounds came from his mouth while he continued pumping. Y/N felt him throb hard, and she could tell he was about to come when he abruptly stopped moving, his own hand covering hers around his cock.

“You have to s—stop. Or else I’m g’na come,” He pleaded, “Can you please fuck me now? I wanna come inside you.” His eyes were wide and puppy-like, desperation and lust swimming in both his irises.

In that moment, Y/N couldn’t recognise him.

She’s never seen this version of him, and the sad part was that this might be the one and only time she would ever get to. As she stared at his fucked-out face, the realisation dawned on her; this was just her helping him write a scene for his book. A favor between two friends. It will probably never happen again, no matter how badly she wanted it to. Lying beneath him, almost naked and so, so vulnerable, she could feel the onslaught of tears poking at her waterline.

But Y/N couldn’t let them spill.

She wouldn’t— not when he continued begging her, reaching to the ground so he could pluck a condom from the back pocket of his trousers. That action brought her back to earth and out of her plagued thoughts; this was something she’d mull over and think about endlessly when she lay in bed for weeks to come, but for now, she had to focus on giving him exactly what he’d asked of her when he first made the offer.

Y/N took a slow, deep breath and pushed her palm against Harry’s chest until he sat up. She got rid of her underwear and swung her legs over his lap so her pussy was practically dripping on his balls. They both rolled the condom on together then tugged Harry’s top over his head so he was fully naked.

His skin was littered with numerous tattoos— each one telling a different story she was curious to uncover. Perhaps one day, when they had the time and opportunity, she’d make him tell her what they all meant. She loved listening to him talk anyway, so that would be another little treat for her to look forward to.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Y/N asked him one last time as she gripped him at the base.

“I’m sure,” Harry squeezed her hip, “If you want this, I want this.”

“Tell me if it’s too much or you want me to stop.”

With that, Y/N tilted him towards her hole, and slowly sunk down. Harry’s mouth fell open, soundless, and his eyebrows furrowed like he was in pain. The sheer size of him was making Y/N’s legs shake; he was thick and he was long, curved, so when her ass met his balls, her g-spot was prodded with every breath she took. Harry kept switching between looking at where they connected and her face, unable to decide where he wanted to settle on until Y/N put her hand around his throat and guided him towards a kiss.

She did it mostly to distract herself from the dull burn of having him so deep inside of her, yet it only made Harry throb and pulse. He was barely able to kiss back, and Y/N found out why when something warm and wet touched her cheek. She pulled back to notice that a tear had fallen from his watery eyes; the sight of which made her gasp. “What’s wrong? Does it hurt?” Y/N asked, wiping it away with her thumb.

Harry shook his head, “N— no. Feels…” He swallowed, breathing harshly and blinking away his tears, “Feels so good. You feel so good.”

She’d be lying if she said that didn’t make her squeeze around him, and she knew Harry felt it too when he moaned. “S’too good? Do you wanna stop?” She asked.

“No! No,” Harry rolled his hips up, “C—Can y’move a little?”

Y/N didn’t say anything in response, and instead began gradually shifting up and down his cock. She was soaking him; that much she could both hear and see very clearly. 

Harry was a virgin, so she wasn’t expecting him to last too long, but Y/N? She doesn’t think anything has ever turned her on so much. She’d barely begun riding him, and she could already feel the beginnings of another orgasm when Harry grabbed her bum hard; enough, that she was afraid she’d wake up the next morning with gnarly bruises.

To keep them both going for a while longer, Y/N set a cruel pace. Not too fast, and not too slow, as she put her hands on his and brought them up to her tits. That was all the permission Harry needed, because he started squeezing and playing till his hearts’ content. One palm slipped beneath the swell of her right breast which Harry cupped and brought to his mouth to suck on. At what point Harry started to meet her thrusts halfway, Y/N was unsure— his hips were slamming into hers, cock tucked so deep in her gut, she could feel it all the way in her tummy. 

Neither of them were quiet about how they felt. Where Harry groaned her name over and over again, and sung praises about how tight and nice she felt, Y/N whined and cried gibberish she couldn’t make sense of even if she tried. She was about to slide her hand down to her clit when Harry beat her to it, resting his fingers on her mound as his thumb rubbed her where she needed.

That was what ultimately led to her orgasm, along with Harry cooing at her, murmuring how pretty and kind she was for letting him fuck her, kiss her, and taste her… and wow.

Y/N could not believe this was his first time ever having sex. He did say he’s done other stuff before, but even still, she was astounded. Somehow he knew exactly what to say to get her wetter, knew how to touch her like he had days to memorise her body and not minutes. All of this could’ve been because Harry was simply a very, very fast learner—or perhaps Y/N was just incredibly predictable.

Either way, she was thoroughly impressed, and she was not going to deny this.

She sensed he was coming too when he fucked her harder, popping off of her nipple to smash his mouth against hers. It took her licking into his mouth for him to finally let go, pulsing and twitching inside of her as ropes and ropes of his cum painted the condom. He came a lot, and for a long time too; still fucking her throughout the entire thing. He gave her one last stroke and squeezed her tits, then slouched heavily into the couch. 

Y/N gave into temptation and palmed his beefy pecs greedily. A few minutes of silence had already passed, filled only by the sound of them catching their breath, before she finally spoke.

“S’that good enough for you?”

“The best,” Harry exhaled, glasses askew. His chest glistened with a thin layer of sweat Y/N had to refrain cleaning up with her tongue.

“Think y’can write that scene now?”

Harry giggled and wrapped a strong arm around her waist. A small yelp fell from her lips as he pressed her closer, her pussy still very sensitive on top of his dick.

“I don’t know. We might have to do that one more time so I don’t miss anything important,” He left a line of lethal open-mouthed kisses down her neck, “For the book, obviously.”

Y/N grinned, “Well, if it’s for the book…”

Yeah, she was definitely in more trouble than she thought.

MASTERLIST

Ko-fi <3

TAGLIST: @escapismatbest @triski73 @angeldavis777 @bethiegurl19 @hslotwife @myhuzzyharrystyles @eleanohoran @guaaafiiburg @readerdora @pronti-quasi-viarry @redwineandagingeralerry @tpwkalex-13 @satellitestompers23 @sparklejumpropequeen1113 @cherryskies-harry @solacestyles @imtryingtogetstable @dollyvuu @rosesxstyles @sstylezzz @biboliciousposts @harrystylesconcepts @ionlywritesadsongs @tpwkforever410 @madilee7802 @fangirl509east @indierockgirl @readingrockstar23 @whoopsieismelldaisies @jackedbygravity @jocelynlovesharrystyles @harrys-only-angell @abihst91 @magicalsugartitz @yeah-youremymedicine @withoutluv @lillrry @kissallthetimeharrystyles @oifukinloser @harryscherrysuckr @screamifyouwanttogofaster @0pheliam @brainfullsteve @angel-gelly @fivesecondsofprettymuch @danny-faye @aileen1237 @peachymelonsugrr @harryyloverrr @emlovesniallhoran @starlitlace @toosarcastic03 @fkingstyles @midnightmemories-1-d @everyscarisahealingplace @witch-rry

A/N: DANG THAT TAGLIST IS GETTING LONG LOLOL!! I HOPE U ENJOYED THIS ONE GUYS!! I HAD SOOOOOO MUCH FUN WRITING IT LOL ONE DAY I WAS BORED AT WORK AND IT WAS DEAD SO I CAME UP WITH THIS ENTIRE PLOT IN LIKE 20 MINUTES LOLOL BUT IT GOT ME OUT OF MY FUNK!!! U HAVE TO LET ME KNOW WHAT U THOUGHT ABOUT IT IF U LIKED IT OR HATED IT OR EVEN SAY HI IM NOT MEAN I PROMISE!!!!1 IF YOURE READING THIS ILYYYY <33

[babyyhoneyyy]

I SUPPORT CEET FIC

WOOHOOO IM GOING TO SNEAK IT IN SOMEWHERE BUAHAHHA

[babyyhoneyyy]

Oh my god I once read a fanfic where he is roughly fucking her with her legs on his shoulders and sucking the entire foot and toes one by one and like the entire foot is coated with his saliva and it was hottt asfuckkkk

SAHAHAHAHAHA U GET MEEEEEE IM FERALYAYAYYAYAYAYAYYAYA AND HE ALWAYYYYSASS WANTS HER FEET LOOKING PRETTY IM TALKING PEDICURES EVERY WEEK ANKLETS HE PICKS OUT WHAT NAIL POLISH LIKE U GUYS U HAVE TO UNDERSTANDDD THIS IS HOTT

[babyyhoneyyy]

Honestly justice for feet fetishes. Write it!

YEAYSYSYYSYSYSYSY I WILL SNEAK IT INTO A FIC AND NO ONE WILL KNOW WHAT HIT THEM THEY WILL ALL DISCOVER NEW KINKS MUAHAHHA

[babyyhoneyyy]

Yes, Mr. Styles 2 | H.S

CW: sugar daddy ceo harry x pa!yn. hella yearning but a rich af harry who wants to spoil his baby! there's a little bit of violence so be warned!! minors please dni!!! ENJOY!!

WC: 12.7k

Read part one here.

PREVIEW:

This should have rubbed him the wrong way… it should have stopped him from entering his card details on the website and paying an extra forty dollars for gift wrapping and an extra two hundred dollars for overnight delivery.

But it didn’t. It was like his fingers moved on their own accord when he purchased the item and wrote out the small note he wanted her to have. The man could only hope Y/N didn’t take his gesture the wrong way, though he was unsure if there was any other way to take it. He hoped she saw where he was coming from; hoped she didn’t get offended and send the parcel right back to the post shop.

His doubts were eased when he came into work that same afternoon after the conference him and Mitch had attended and Y/N seemed painfully normal. Maybe even a bit happy, if Harry’s own eyes weren’t betraying him. She was chippier than usual—she looked nicer today as well, sporting one of Harry’s favorite items on her which was the matching pink skirt and blazer set she wore very rarely. Her hair was down and her cheeks matched the shade of her lapels…

She was always very beautiful, but today she was pretty.

Most of the day today comprised of her, Mitch and Harry locked up in his office brainstorming ideas, and fuck, he was finding it hard to cocentrate on anything apart from her scent which quite literally invaded all of his senses. She was driving him nuts and he was sure she had no idea of it.

Harry was always a very calm and composed man.

Having been in a prestigious leadership position from such a young age, he had to learn how to adopt to every sort of situation, no matter how uncomfortable or awkward it may be. Countless events, interviews, deals, meetings he would attend where someone would say the wrong thing that rubbed him the wrong way, and Harry was forced to hold his tongue before his brain caught up with him. Usually, he’d give the other person a cold stare, followed by a soft warning, or if they were superior to him somehow, like he was closing in on a deal and really needed the other person on his side, the most he would do was clear his throat and move past the topic as quick as possible.

Very rarely did he ever lash out at someone. The last time he did something close to that was when Jerry insulted Y/N right in her face, like she wasn’t another human with real feelings and emotions. Like her idea wasn’t actually genius and a massive hit when it was sent to Analytics the following morning. Like she was disposable—which in reality, most of his PAs have been, considering they didn’t last more than three months under Harry’s nit-picky demands. But still, that gave the man no right to treat Y/N like she was nothing but garbage. If Harry was being honest, that day, after a long time, he truly felt what it was like to have his blood boiling.

He only knew Y/N for a very short time, but (by whatever fucking miracle) she earned a soft spot in the heart of the otherwise cold and estranged CEO. Maybe it was because she was just sweet—eager to please and well-spoken. Or maybe it was because Harry, no matter how much he prided himself in being emotionless and not the relationship type, was developing a little (fat) crush on her.

Now this took a lot of guts for him to admit, so it shouldn’t be taken lightly. Harry almost never had crushes on people. Sure, he would think they were cute—he wasn’t going to deny a bit of eye-candy every now and then. He could appreciate a good-looking person. But it usually just stopped there. Never running below the surface—always skin-deep. This time, he didn’t know what it was about her (and he was too scared to explore any further) that made him feel borderline obsessive. She consumed his senses; most days, being the first person he looked for when he entered the office building and the last person his mind went to before he went to bed.

Heck, she was starting to show up in his dreams at this point. Most of the time, they were weird—like her and Harry would be riding unicorns into the sunset or fighting alien gorilla warriors (don’t ask him why, he has no idea what goes on in his subconscious). But what was weirder was that she was there, invading his every thought, asleep or conscious, and her fucking scent lingered in his office and then his clothes all the goddamn time, and it was driving him nuts.

He hated feeling this way.

It was like he was in shackles, and the key was in her hands, which she dangled right before his eyes like she was taunting him. And maybe in a way she was; surely she knew the effect she had on him. She was around him for eight hours a day, and she was normally a very observant girl, from what he learned working with her (the first time Y/N brought Harry his morning coffee, he took the lid off before drinking because he hated the sippy-cup they served it in, and ever since that once, he never had to take a lid of himself—she’d serve it to him just how he liked, without a single word about it exchanged between them). There was simply no way she hadn’t caught on to his schoolgirl crush. If not, she’d have to be the most oblivious person in the world.

Nevertheless, he was tired of this helpless feeling. He wanted to take matters into his own hands and get back control of the reigns. Not knowing how things were going or how they would turn out was Harry’s biggest nightmare, and he just couldn’t bear to live like this anymore.

So his solution (which he only gave about eight minutes of thought) was to offer her the arrangement. Hear him out for a second… he thought maybe his itch could finally be scratched if he just fucked her. Surely this whole crush thing was only happening because he wanted her in his bed… surely just having her in that way would make the pain go away. It would be just like a business arrangement—a give and take. In return for her body, he’d spoil her as much as she wanted. Frankly speaking, Harry had money to burn. Mountains of it, just accumulating with no true purpose. And Y/N was a girl with needs. She did tell him she was really desperate for the job because she worked at a shitty underpaying cafe, so she would appreciate this, right?

It was worth a shot, Harry decided. If the conversation didn’t go how he wanted it to, they could pretend like nothing happened and they would move on. Harry would just fuck Sophie instead and maybe that would satiate his needs (he knows it wouldn’t, but he literally cannot accept that right now because he needs this to work out. There was no desire to ever go through with plan B).

And if that kiss in his office meant anything to her, she had to at least give it some thought and consideration. 

Typically, Harry was never much of a kisser. He thought it was too intimate—it introduced too many emotions between two people. The kiss was always the central, pivotal moment in almost every rom-com he ever watched. Meeting each other’s lips, tasting each other, holding each other—it always held so much meaning, and if there was one thing Harry avoided in any romantic relationship, it was meaning. He just didn’t have the time or capacity to give it any priority in his life. 

But kissing Y/N was different. Maybe it was because he was thinking about doing it for a long time—ever since he first laid eyes on her, if he was being truthful. How could he not? She was pretty, she was smart, she was funny. She was obviously very good at her job. That was why he kissed her. It was more of a token of appreciation. At least that was what he told himself. And when she licked into his mouth and whimpered like that…he just couldn’t think straight. She’d single-handedly sent all of his nerves into haywire—his system was completely fried.

Now what Harry didn’t expect was to see Y/N wrapped up in another man’s arms the second he stepped out of his office to make the said offer to her. And that moment was precisely when he felt all the calmness and composure evaporate from his body within seconds for the first time in his life. He really had no right to feel that way—Y/N wasn’t his. A single kiss didn’t have to mean anything to either of them but fuck—it did to Harry. It meant way more than he would ever admit. He wondered how people could live like this; giving another person the power to control how they felt, how they acted… he never thought he would be in that position.

But here he was, watching the one girl he actually liked kiss her boyfriend, while he stood and watched like a sad puppy. For a second, he was wordless. His brain this time couldn’t catch up with him at all. Probably because this was something Harry seldom experienced… jealousy.

It took the two of them parting and smiling at each other for Harry to finally use his tongue. The boy was stuffing an obnoxious bunch of flowers into Y/N’s hands and was just about to say something (probably) sickeningly sweet to go along with it when Harry’s voice sliced through the air, “What’s this?”

The couple broke apart abruptly and Y/N looked at Harry with wide eyes, like a deer caught in headlights. Her face was bright red, and in any other circumstance, Harry would find that endearing, but right now, he couldn’t think straight. Not when that twat kept his arm around her waist possessively, like he was scared the girl would be snatched away from him. Luckily, they were in Harry’s fucking building, so when Y/N stuttered, “Mr Styles! This… this is my boyfriend, Landon. He was just stopping by t—”

He could say things like: “Let’s keep the theatrics outside the office, please. I need to see you privately. Sheila will escort him out.”

His tone was hard and borderline rude—it wasn’t like him to speak to her like that, when he was normally softer, more understanding. Harry didn’t like being this way, but something in him at that moment just didn’t sit right. And that something was this newfound hot, raging, jealousy.

The boyfriend—Landon—opened his mouth in protest but Harry didn’t stay to hear any of it, turning around and storming back into his office to page Sheila. He could see through the glass Landon and Y/N engaged in a heated conversation, and for a second she felt him looking and locked eyes with him, an unreadable expression on her face. Harry busied himself with his computer, clicking and typing emptily at a random email he pulled up and pretended to read. A few seconds later, Y/N (and that fucking haunting scent she carried) slowly crept into his room.

She was fiddling with her hands. Her face was riddled with guilt—what for, Harry didn’t exactly know. Putting his unreasonableness aside, he could at least admit that she didn’t do anything like, extremely wrong. Harry knew she was in a relationship when he kissed her, he knew she was in a relationship when he decided to ask her to be his sugar baby. 

He just didn’t care. Which is an awful thing to admit, he knows, but he had to give her the benefit of the doubt. Y/N wasn’t at fault. And there should be no reason for her to stand before him looking like that; like she’d committed a horrible crime and Harry was going to deliver her a sentence.

Despite all this, Harry remained stoic. 

“I’m so sorry, Mr Styles,” She started, “I didn’t know he was coming. I would never had let him come all the way up to my desk like that. And…and I guess I shouldn’t have kissed you either. It was a m—”

“The report from Analytics is ready.” Harry cut her off, schooling his expression into one of professionalism. He was a businessman through and through—he knew how to handle himself (or that’s what he told himself, anyway).

“Hmm?”  Y/N appeared genuinely befuddled. She met his gaze. “About your internal suppliers proposal.” Harry said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world—it should’ve been really, since she was the one who sent it off to the team to be evaluated. She must be way out of sorts if she couldn’t keep up with him; normally, she was always two steps ahead.

“Oh, right. How did it, uh— how did it land?”

“Good. You and I are going to present it to the board next month. We need a presentation, opening and closing speeches and stats. This is big, Y/N.” Harry said. Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, “Me? I’m going to be presenting to the board?”

“Don’t look so shocked. I’ll be there with you.”

It took a few seconds for the gravity of the situation set in—Harry watched as she went through about five different emotions—confused, scared, worried, happy and then finally, excited. A big smile stretched across her pretty face. “This is huge, Mr Styles. Thank you so much! I won’t let you down,” She exclaimed, akin to a puppy he just told could go for a walk in the park. Her joy was so contagious, Harry almost forgot the inner turmoil eating him alive. Almost.

Instead, he hummed, trying to look nonchalant; like he didn’t want to just grab her and kiss her again, tell her to break up with her boyfriend and become his spoiled plaything. “Mitch should be back next week from Taiwan so he’ll be helping us prepare for this.”

“Thank you,” She said, one more time. Harry felt his heart race as he drank her in—her hands were crossed sincerely behind her back, face tinged slightly pink from adrenaline. Her lips were still graced with a grin and her eyes were sparkling.

She looked beautiful.

“And I’m sorry. About Landon. And… earlier.” Y/N broke him from his trance, taking a step closer to his table. Harry didn’t let his face falter—he didn’t want her to think the kiss meant anything more to him than it did her—call him immature, but it was his first time dealing with emotions like these and he didn’t really know how to navigate them.

“It’s fine. Just keep your personal life and your work life separate. What happened was obviously a mistake.”

The words tasted sour on his tongue as he uttered them out loud; each one stabbing his heart separately. He didn’t believe anything he was saying, yet he said it anway, all thanks to his big fucking ego he couldn’t get over. The impact of them landed right before his eyes, as he noticed Y/N look almost hurt, but she was a smart girl, so she immediately wiped the look off her face. She set her lips in a straight line, “Yes, Mr. Styles.” She said, understandingly. 

When Harry murmured, “Good. I’ll send you an email with all the details for this presentation,” And diverted his attention back to his screen, Y/N took that as her que to nod and leave. And just then, with the weight of her presence finally leaving his space, did Harry release a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His heart pounded in his chest—a feeling so unfamiliar to him.

He cursed the moment he let his feelings get in the way of this otherwise very professional relationship and forced his fingers to type a real response to this email he was staring at uselessly for the past twenty minutes.

-

From the eight billion souls that graced this place that Y/N was able to call earth, there were about five people in total whose opinions she truly cared about. Who she knew that if they were ever to say anything critical to her, it would never be from hatred or animosity. These five or so people, Y/N fully believed, were the sole people she could trust with her life. Two of them being her mum and dad, one, her baby sister (who had the most brutal opinions, which hit so close to home sometimes, Y/N has to actively remind herself they’re coming with good intentions), her childhood best friend Zita who she only saw every two or three years since she lived on another continent, and Niall.

Y/N wants to say she’s known Niall for years, and they bumped into each other in high school and have been inseparable since—or they were sandpit besties, having grown up together in diapers—but none of that was true. 

Even though they might act that way with each other, given they were incredibly close, both emotionally and lowkey physically (because Y/N was just a touch starved thing and Niall was a massive cuddler), anyone who was introduced to both of them could never believe they only met about fourteen months ago when Niall first started working at Bluebird. 

He was very reserved when he first started—he barely spoke to anyone, kept to himself, always came on time and he was exceptional at his job. Unlike Y/N, he was actually happy working at Bluebird and he was saving up to get into a good culinary school. This information, of course, Y/N only sucked out of him after about three weeks of quiet, awkward shifts where neither of them talked much and just robotically did their closing tasks like the other didn’t exist. 

Well, Y/N did try to talk to him in the beginning—she asked him about uni, his previous work place, tried to make conversation about the weather and how bad traffic was that morning but he would give her half-assed replies, humming here and there, maybe mumbling some words of approval or disapproval but she never got a good conversation.

That was, until one night all the girls from the cafe decided to go get drinks after a crazy closing shift. They were having a crazy week anyway, and Mina was constantly talking about how she finally wanted to get completely fucked out of her mind because she was so tired; so that night, they threw all reason out the window, got in Mina’s little van and drove downtown to a nifty rooftop bar that was all the rage. 

About three drinks in, Y/N realised Niall was a fucking lightweight. 

That was the first time she saw him utter more than seven words in a row to a single person that was not a customer, and Y/N was completely taken aback. Niall was a different person entirely when he was drunk—when she brings up that pivotal night now, he says it was his alter ego that came out that night and just never left ‘cos it loved sweet Y/N too much.’

He was talkative, flirty, very touchy and very emotional. Y/N went out to let off some steam and have some fun dancing with her girls that night, but she ended up glued to Niall’s side, because apparently she was the only one he trusted when he was ‘vulnerable and broken’ (his words, not hers) listening to him talk about his ex work mates who always made fun of his accent behind his back and made him feel insecure about talking to customers. 

Things got out of hand, and Y/N was a very confrontational drunk, so when he told her this, she was right ready to go to his old restaurant and give them all a hiding. And this did wonders for sensitive, touched Niall, who teared up like she pepper sprayed him and held both of her hands to his chest, telling her how she was so special to him, how he always liked her but was too shy to say anything because he didn’t want to be bullied again. 

The night took an emotional turn, so they both ended up getting in the same uber and going home and the next Tuesday when they saw each other for the opening shift, things were very much the same. Niall was chatty, witty, funny, touchy and sweet, and after a few weeks of convincing him the others were not going to talk bad about him behind his back, he opened up to the rest of the girls too.

That was precisely how the two of them became best friends, and how Niall wormed his way into Y/N’s heart. He was one of the most treasured people in her life, and he felt the same way too. 

Which was why when he found out Landon was in town, he basically spammed Y/N’s phone with texts in all caps yelling at her to bring him ‘round to the cafe so they could “casually” meet and Niall could give his opinion on him—which is currently not that great, if Y/N was being honest.

The first problem was that Landon didn’t really know Y/N was friends with Niall like that… he always got jealous when she had male friends, and if he knew how close the two were, he would literally throw the biggest fit known to mankind. The other problem was that Niall disliked Landon to a great great degree. Y/N told him everything about her relationship—Landon’s conservative nature, his possessiveness, his desire to wait till marriage… and sadly none of that sat right with Niall. From the getgo he’d been telling Y/N she could do so much better than him but Y/N just never had the balls to do anything.

But maybe seeing him in person would change what Niall thought about him…or surely it would make his opinion just a tad bit sweeter.

Niall

im literally dying to see u 

Y/N hearted the text and rumpled her lips, tucking her phone into her back pocket as Landon squeezed her hand in his. She was oddly very, very nervous about this—she wasn’t a very good actor either, so she was worried she won’t be able to hide her friendship from Landon that well, but she had to give it her best. He must have sensed the nerves coming off of her like radio signals because he leaned down to kiss the top of her head, “You okay? Who texted you?”

Trying to appear nonchalant, Y/N gave him a reassuring smile, “Just my mum. Hey, this is where I used to work!” She tried to segway into the bit, slowing her step hen she reached the familiar path that lead down to the cafe. Landon raised his brows, “Charming,” he mumbled, eyeing the shop from the outside. His tone was weird and it was giving back-handed, but at this point Y/N was so used to his little gestures she didn’t say anything. “Let’s get a coffee, yeah? I need to use the toilet anyway.”

“Can’t we just go down to the mall? There’s this game you can only get at PopMart and they only have one—”

“Landon. Please,” Y/N tried to reason with him. She gave him her best ‘bored and over-it look’ and didn’t bother hearing his dumb protests before she tugged his arm into the cafe. The familiar scent of cinnamon chai and fresh croissants invaded her senses, the comforting blue and white stripped wallpaper and oak seating making her feel right at home. She spent so many hours holed up in here just dreading to leave, she never really got the chance to have a good look and admire it for what it was.

From behind the counter she noticed Niall’s familiar frame—his back was turned to them while he whisked a drink, and Y/N had to use the little bell by the tip jar to get his attention. When she did, he gave her a small, knowing smile. 

So far, so good.

“Y/N! We haven’t seen you for ages!” He exclaimed, recognition glinting in his eyes. Y/N gave him a grin, “Niall, hey, how are you?” Her tone was slightly rehearsed, but she hoped Landon wouldn’t notice how robotic she sounded to herself.

“Great, thanks, how are you? Is this your boyfriend?”

Of course that’s what he says.

Niall wasted no time—getting right down into the dirty business. This is what he was pining after her for, so he had to get his money’s worth. Y/N gave him a pinched look—one that said “I’m going to kill you the second I get the chance too” and turned to Landon, who was standing there silently like he didn’t realise there was a conversation happening.

“Oh, yeah, this is Landon. Landon, this is Niall. We used to work together.” She was anxious as she introduced them, looking between the two with worried eyes. Niall gave her a quick look, his eyebrows dipping just for a fraction of a second. “I can tell, Y/N,” Landon started, holding his hand out for Niall to shake, “Nice to see ya, man.”

Niall gave him a polite smile and shook his hand over the counter. Y/N was watching him closely, trying to pick up on any more hints about what he thought but he was doing a good job at schooling his expressions. “You too. So, are you just visiting?”

“Yup.” Landon nodded.

He didn’t say anything further, apparently ending the interaction right then and there. Just like Y/N expected (but hoped didn’t actually happen), the air turned awkward as her and Niall had a silent conversation with their eyes. Right off the bat, it wasn’t hard to decipher he wasn’t vibing with whatever was going on with Landon. “Can I… get you guys anything?” He spoke up, lips pressed in a thin line. Landon narrowed his eyes as he read the menu behind the counter, “Uhh… I’ll have a flat white, please. Y/N?”

“Hot chocolate?”

“Skim milk for her.”

Great. This was going just swimmingly.

Y/N was used to Landon’s rude comments but obviously Niall wasn’t, and he didn’t take this one well when his eyebrows dipped angrily. He looked right about to pop off at Landon when Y/N suddenly spoke up, “Yes! Skim milk for me. You know me, Niall.”

She gave him a look, her pupils wide and mouth agape. Niall appeared moments from jumping over the counter and pouncing on Landon, but hopefully Y/N’s pleading gaze would hold him back.

“Coming right up.”

His tone was dry and to the point. Y/N ended up paying and Landon took a seat down the far end of the store, and Y/N took the opportunity to pretend to slip away to the bathroom when she actually just wanted to talk to Niall. He didn’t waste any time seeking her out—right as Y/N turned the corner past the kitchen door, Niall wrapped his hand around her arm and pulled her inside the small, quiet toilet.

“Who the fuck is this fucking guy, Y/N?” He whisper-yelled. He looked genuinely disturbed—concern overcoming his features as he searchd her face frantically, “Like I knew your boyfriend was fucked but this is something else. This is some Jake Gyllenhal from All Too Well type shit.”

Y/N sighed. Deep down, she knew he was right, and she knew he was coming from a good place. Maybe this is exactly what she needed to take that step she’d been wanting to take for so long. Maybe this will finally push her over the edge and she will break up with Landon like she’s been wanting to for the longest time now.

“I know. I know, he’s terrible.”

“Terrible? He’s like, the worst!”

“I’m going to break up with him.” She said, finally. 

Niall looked relieved.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Because I happen to know of a hot CEO who’s pining after you—who you’ve kissed, by the way—who would jump at the opp—”

“This isn’t about Harry,” Y/N replied. This was a lie. Even if it wasn’t completely about him, it had a lot to do with him, anyway. A huge part of the reason she doesn’t feel the same way about Landon is because of that kiss with Harry… and the dinner… she hadn’t felt so cared for and so heard in such a long time.

“You keep telling yourself that.”

After that, Y/N’s phone began buzzing, and when she looked it was Landon wondering what was taking her so long, followed by him cursing her ex-workplace because they took ages to get their drinks. Y/N and Niall scurried away and apart. He busied himself with brewing coffee while Y/N took a seat across an angry Landon. Every now and then her and Niall would lock eyes and she could only read the disappointment in his expression.

When they get their drinks and she bid a quiet goodbye to Niall, Landon leaned down and attempted to whisper in hear, but she’s sure at least four people (including Niall) heard what he had to say.

“What a fucking weirdo. You sure he isn’t gay or something?”

Something told Y/N this breakup was going to take a lot out of her.

-

Being back at the office gave Y/N the reprieve she desperately needed, after being attached to the hip with Landon the entire weekend. Having her head down and fingers busy typing away on her monitors was her favorite way to drown out reality and enter into workmode, where she could exist on another plane entirely. Her days were always packed—starting off with grabbing Harry’s coffee and muffin, going over his day and moving things around if needed, replying to his emails, taking his calls, scheduling flights, meetings, appointments—the lot. 

When Y/N came in the following Monday, she thought things would be exactly like that. Business as usual. But when she greeted Harry with a smile on her face and a styrofoam cup with no lid wrapped between her fingers, she could immediately sense the vibe was off.

She noticed it in the way he avoided making eye contact with her, which usually was something he used to his advantage, knowing it made people bend and twist to his every command. Y/N tried to talk to him about swapping a meeting he had with someone for a dentist appointment which he was putting off for the past two weeks but even then his replies were minimal, and he basically told her to do whatever she thought fit as long as she kept him in the loop.

Which was so unlike Harry. He was a control-freak through and through—Y/N wasn’t allowed to move a single thing on his calendar without having at least a ten minute conversation with him but he was being weird so Y/N just didn’t say anything. And maybe she was being oversensitive and reading into the situation too much, but it hurt when he didn’t even tell her he was leaving when he went to get his lunch (which he didn’t tell Y/N to do for him like he normally did, by the way—another one of his weird antics of the day where he did whatever he pleased like she didn’t exist solely for his convenience).

Despite everything she busied herself with working on the board presentation due next month. The opportunity was a once in a lifetime one, and Y/N, when she first started at Grapejuice never thought she would be doing this. She was exchanging countless messages and emails with both Mitch and Harry, passing around drafts of the presentation and speeches she was responsible for, but nothing was sitting right. Maybe it was because of Harry’s limited input—he resorted to mainly reacting to all the texts with thumbs up or thumbs down and Y/N was going nuts tying to decipher his intentions.

Things only got worse when during a quiet moment on Wednesday while Harry was in a meeting, Y/N went down to the communal kitchen to make herself a hot drink. The day was bringing on a headache, and Y/N’s thoughts bounced from work, to Harry’s behaviour, to having to go back home to Landon, and to Niall’s constant texts asking if she’d broken up with him yet and if not, when she was planning to do it. So it was safe to say that Y/N was in severe need of a quick break.

She walked in to find Logan waiting by the microwave, scrolling mindlessly on his phone, though he shut it and put it in his pocket when he saw her coming, “Y/N, hey.”

Y/N gave him a tired smile and grabbed her favorite yellow mug and settled it under the Nespresso, “Hey Logan, how are you?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Hey, I’ve been meaning to talk to you but you’re always so busy…”

He paused, interrupted by the microwave beeping. Y/N waited curiously to hear what he had to say as he turned to open the door and carefully pulled out a bowl of what looked and smelled like cottage-cheese pasta. He set it down on the counter to cool, “You were saying?” Y/N reminded him.

“Are you alright?” 

Her brows dipped. Why would he ask her this? Did she look not alright?

“It’s just… Sarah told Becca who told Mika who told me that apparently your boyfriend came to surprise you at your desk and Mr. Styles called security on him and was like… jealous?”

“What?”

“No, it’s like…it’s not like that, like I don’t mean to worry you or like be a tattletale—I’m genuinely concerned, like are you alright? You…you seem a bit stressed and I don’t know if Mr. Styles is maybe taking something out on you, he’s been on edge all we—”

“Please stop talking.”

Her heart was near racing out of her chest.

If there was one thing Y/N hated the most in the world, it was being talked about behind her back—be it good or bad, she just hated the thought of being discussed while she wasn’t there to know how she was being perceived… and now knowing that technically the whole office knew of Landon and Y/N and Harry’s little performance last week… Y/N couldn’t do this right now.

“I’m sorry, hey, I don’t mean this in like a bad way, I’m only concerned.”

“I’m a grown woman, Logan, I can look after myself. Thanks for your concern, but I don’t need it right now,” With that, she left her cup, forgotten on the Nespresso and briskly made her way back to her desk. Maybe her tone was slightly rude, but she couldn’t find it in herself in that moment to care—there were a million things racing through her mind and neither of them were reasonable. She knew she wasn’t thinking straight enough to have a proper talk with Harry, but she felt like if she didn’t do it now, she’d never find the right time again. She didn’t want to loose her momentum. 

Thankfully, the client he was meeting with was stepping out of his office the same time Y/N stormed in. She gave him what she thought was a polite smile but she probably just looked crazy as she whizzed past him and entered Harry’s office. Clicking the lock shut, she attempted to gather the newfound courage she discovered to say the words she was memorizing the whole way up here.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?”

He was standing this time, rummaging through his file drawer probably because he had too much of an ego to call for Y/N and have her locate what he was looking for. Concern overcame his features as he turned to face her fully.

Y/N cut right to the chase. “Why are you punishing me?”

“What?”

She took a step closer. It was a challenge, keeping her emotions and thoughts in check but Y/N was a professional—she could maintain herself, especially when it came down to her self-respect. “You’re—you’re ignoring me, you’re not replying to me in full sentences, I’m trying to get this presentation sorted and you’re literally blowing me off. You won’t look me in the eye and you won’t treat me like I exist so I’m just wondering, Harry—Mr. Styles, why are you punishing me?”

Harry sighed. Y/N noticed as regret and confusion clouded his eyes. She would give anything just to glimpse into his mind and know even a drop of what he was truly thinking instead of trying to pick apart his facial cues.

“That’s not… that’s not true.”

“It fucking is! You’re being so weird it’s thrown me completely! I don’t kno—”

“That’s not what’s happening. I’m not punishing you, Y/N. At least, I don’t mean to.”

He set down the file he was holding and went to lean against his massive oak desk. She noticed how he fidgeted—cracked a knuckle and ran his thumb against the side of his nose like he did when he was nervous (which he seldom was, but Y/N observed him a lot and kept track of all his little quirks, and this was one she thought was particularly adorable but she would never admit that). 

“Well it sure as hell doesn’t feel like that.” Y/N scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest, “Listen, I don’t know what personal vendetta you’ve got against me—I can handle a moody boss, but when people start noticing and gossiping about it—that’s when it becomes a real problem.”

“Gossiping? Who’s gossiping?”

“That doesn’t matter! Just…just tell me what I did so I can apologise and we can go back to normal. Was it the kiss? Was it Landon? Are you mad I did—”

“Stop that.”

“---Then what is it, Mr. Styles!?”

“I’m sorry.” The words were quiet—Y/N barely heard them over the sound of her racing heart. 

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” He started, running a hand through his hair, “I’m sorry for being weird and I’m sorry for not replying to you properly when you ask about the presentation. I’m sorry people have been talking and I…I’m sorry for kissing you. That was a boundary I should never have crossed. This isn’t your fault. None of it is.”

Pretending like his words didn’t impale her like a steel plated sword, Y/N swallowed the knot in her throat. She could feel her own face get red hot with anger and adrenaline. She knew herself the kiss was a mistake but hearing him say it somehow hurt even more than she thought it would. Nevertheless, at least his apology soothed her nerves a little bit. At least know she knew he wasn’t mad at her per se… he seemed only frustrated with the situation, but Y/N didn’t blame him for that. She was sort of in the same boat.

“I crossed that line with you. I’m not completely innocent, Mr. Styles, but you can’t punish me for a crime we both commited.”

“Yeah. I was being unfair to you, and I’m sorry for that.” Y/N could tell the words were tough for him to say. He looked like he was actually in pain—a pinched expression on his face and a big furrow in his brows. She could only imagine what it was like for him; a wealthy CEO having to apologise to his very broke PA for his behaviour. The power dynamics were clearly imbalanced but Y/N admired how he didn’t pay it any mind and apologised to her with what she could only call sincerity.

There were a few seconds of silence as they both watched each other—the slight rise and fall of Y/N’s chest falling in sync with Harry’s own breathing. There were so many words left unsaid; sheathed in the heavy air of his office, never to see the light of day. If only either of them had the slightest bit of courage, and the storm in both their hearts could be tamed.

Alas, they remained standing quietly, both too afraid to say how they truly felt.

“We’ll go over your presentation at four. I can help you however you need.” Harry finally spoke up.

Y/N tried to smile, but it didn’t fully reach her eyes. She knew there was more she wanted to say but she just couldn’t figure out what and how to do it. It was like her heart was in staccato—unable to form a single, coherent thought. 

“Right. Thanks.”

With that, Harry gave Y/N a curt nod which she took as her cue to leave the heated room. As much as she was glad the conversation was over and out in the open, she couldn’t help but replay both his and Logan’s words in her head over and over again. The bit about Harry being jealous, him admitting to acting weird and saying the kiss was a mistake… God, she felt like such an idiot. This is why the number one rule when having a corporate job was to never mix business and pleasure. Her life was a whirlwind of bad choices and endless drama due to one fucking mistake she made.

Sighing, she settled at her desk to find her forgotten yellow mug sitting by her laptop. The cup was still warm, so whoever left it there must have just missed her—and next to it was a note on a pink post-it.

sorry 

- L

She crumpled up the piece of paper and got back to work.

-

The next morning, Y/N was up earlier than usual.

She wasn’t in much of a hurry to get to work anyway, considering Harry had a conference to attend at 9AM with Mitch where despite her asking a million times if they needed her to come, Mitch insisted he could sub her just fine. They didn’t need a third person to tag along, seeing as they were only gone for about two hours before arriving back at Grapejuice for the monthly Senior Leadership Meeting. All this meant she could take her time getting ready in the morning, maybe even have a better breakfast than a banana and a granola bar and even go for a jog if she could manage it.

Thankfully, Landon was still fast asleep when she crept out of the house at six in the morning with her running gear on and her headphones tucked into her shorts. Dealing with him was something she just couldn’t do at the moment—there was so much stuff on her plate—so much shit she needed to sort through before she could think about her current relationship and what would become of it. 

She started off her jog while on the phone with Niall, who yapped her ear off and begged her to get the breakup over and done with. Y/N filled him in on the events from yesterday and everything that went on between her and Logan and then her and Harry. Of course, the only thing Niall deduced from the whole conversation was that Y/N and Harry were fated soulmates and this was the universes’ way of bringing them together—create tension between her and Landon, add a sprinkle of jealousy rumors and then—bam, you’ve got yourself a perfect love story.

What was funny was that Niall sincerely believed everything he was saying was true, and somehow he even got poor Y/N thinking he might have a point. But then she would hold that thought right where she caught it and reel herself back in—she was living a real life. This wasn’t a book or a movie… no one sat writing her plot and making sure everything fell into place perfectly. If that were true, surely things wouldn’t be as hard as they were for her.

The rest of her jog was uneventful apart from her stopping to admire a pair of swans and then take a picture of the sunrise. By the time she was home it was only forty past, so she still had ages to go before she had to get ready for work.

However, her steps slowed outside her door when she noticed a large parcel laying on her welcome mat. It was wrapped up with white twine and the paper was that satisfying material she only saw in expensive gift stores. 

Confused, she picked it up, only to realise it was surprisingly lighter than she expected. There was no note or anything—no sort of ID with her address on it, or hint where it came from which puzzled her even further. She silently snuck into the house and noticed that Landon was still asleep—at least she wouldn’t have to deal with his thousand questions about the mysterious parcel, the answers to which even she did not have.

She couldn’t remember having ordered anything online in the past few weeks… and she hadn’t signed up to any of those monthly subscriptions which delivered food or makeup or whatnot to her doorstep every couple of weeks, so she was truly befuddled as to what was inside it.

Carefully she took a small knife and made a cut along the seams of the parcel. She didn’t know what was inside and she didn’t want to risk breaking it or tearing it just in case she would have to return it to the post office, since she was 99% sure this was probably just like a mistaken delivery or something. Slowly, she undid the intricate folds of the paper.

Under the wrapping was a white card, which was tucked into the middle of a pool of silky, red fabric. Y/N’s eyes nearly buldged out of her eyeballs. The garment was smooth beneath her fingers—like water from the stillest river. Merely feeling it beneath her skin told her it probably cost more than her whole month’s worth of wages, and then some.

She turned the note over first to try and get a hint about what it was and where it came from.

I hope you can forgive me.

H.

Y/N didn’t have to read it twice to understand what exactly was going on here. Within seconds, everything was clear as day to her—this parcel was from Harry and the dress was some sort of token of apology… which shouldn’t make Y/N feel the way it was currently making her feel. 

This was almost like a bribe.

He was buying an apology from her… but it just didn’t feel like that. She knew that was how she should feel… but she didn’t. She liked this. It made her feel wanted—like Niall was right and Harry truly was pining after her. Maybe she was getting ahead of herself but this had to be way out of PA and boss relationship bounds, right? Surely this was rule number two in the PA and boss relationship handbook—Don’t buy your PA expensive gifts to try and win her over after an argument.

Her heart and brain were entangled in a web of chaos and bewilderment—Like most things in her life as of recently, this made no sense to Y/N. Yet, she still set the card down and lifted the garment out of the box.

An audible gasp escaped her parted lips.

It was a long, floor-length dress with a slit that went all the way up her right leg to mid-thigh. The fabric was just as she felt it—silky and dreamy; something which could only be produced in the bestest of factories using the richest of materials. It had a drapey, heart-shaped neckline and thin spaghetti straps that would sit delicately on her collarbones. Y/N could already picture herself wearing it, with her hair done up and jewellery to go with it… the dress looked so out of place at her small little flat she was almost embarrassed just to be holding it up.

She was snapped out of her daydreams when she heard shuffling coming from inside her bedroom, followed by a call of her name. “Y/N! Are y’still home? Can you bring me a coffee, cupcake?” Landon was awake. Y/N tried not to roll her eyes to herself as she responded, telling him she would be right there with him. 

She was unable to hide her glee, though, having to bite her lip to prevent her mouth from spreading into the biggest smile ever. This was the nicest thing anyone had ever gotten her—she should want to give it back to him—want to tell him it wasn’t necessary; but the thought surprisingly never occurred to her. Somehow she believed she really earned this, after what the man had put her through the past week and a half.

Silently, she put the dress and note back under the wrapping paper and slid it in the cabinet over her fridge where she knew Landon would never look. This would have to be her little secret—if Landon found out, he would literally flip his shit, and Y/N couldn’t afford another one of his mental breakdowns. So, she kept her excitement carefully tucked away behind a giddy grin and put a pot of coffee on.

Somehow, work had just become the most exciting part of her day. 

-

When Harry was picking out what dress to buy for Y/N from the YSL website, even he wasn’t quite sure what he was thinking.

Harry was a grown, experienced man—he had seen his fair share of the world, so he knew exactly what the whole ordeal looked like—like he was trying to bribe her into forgiving him. Like he was trying to buy his way out of the situation he found himself in. This should have rubbed him in the wrong way…it should have stopped him from entering his card details on the website and paying an extra forty dollars for gift wrapping and an extra two hundred dollars for overnight delivery.

But it didn’t. It was like his fingers moved on their own accord when he purchased the item and wrote out the small note he wanted her to have. The man could only hope Y/N didn’t take his gesture the wrong way, though he was unsure if there was any other way to take it. He hoped she saw where he was coming from; hoped she didn’t get offended and send the parcel right back to the post shop. 

His doubts were eased when he came into work that same afternoon after the conference him and Mitch had attended and Y/N seemed painfully normal. Maybe even a bit happy, if Harry’s own eyes weren’t betraying him. She was chippier than usual—she looked nicer today as well, sporting one of Harry’s favorite items on her which was the matching pink skirt and blazer set she wore very rarely. Her hair was down and her cheeks matched the shade of her lapels…

She was always very beautiful, but today she was pretty. 

Most of the day today comprised of her, Mitch and Harry locked up in his office brainstorming ideas, and fuck, he was finding it hard to concentrate on anything apart from her scent which quite literally invaded all of his senses. She was driving him nuts and he was sure she had no idea of it. The only time either her or Harry acknowledged the present he sent her that morning was when Mitch excused himself to take a call, and they were both left alone in Harry’s office.

There were a few moments of just the tapping of their keyboards—no words exchanged between the two. Harry could practically hear her thoughts racing as she occasionally looked at him over her screen, biting her lip like she was contemplating when to say something and how to say it. He saw her resolve snap right before him as she gently folded her laptop slightly and spoke quietly, “Thank you. For the dress.”

Having not prepared for a situation akin to this at all, for a moment, Harry was at a loss for words. It took him a second to recollect himself, but when he did, he cleared his throat and met her eyes.

“T’was my pleasure.”

As if on cue, Mitch walked in right after and the moment was gone, both Harry and Y/N staring intently at their computers like the answer to the universe was just sent to them and they were the last humans left to decipher it. 

“What’d I miss?” Mitch asked, clapping his hands together.

Both Harry and Y/N replied in unison: “Nothing.”

The rest of the week was spent exactly like that—Harry, Mitch and Y/N working closely together and spending majority of the day just rewriting speeches, researching and looking at different variations of bar graphs, pie charts and flow charts. As much as he loved drowning himself in his work (and being trapped in a room with Y/N (and Mitch, he guesses)), the presentation was taking a lot from him—sure he’d presented to the board heaps of times before, but this time was different—this time, the change was massive. Switching to internal suppliers like Y/N suggested would flip the whole corporation upside down, so it was very important that everything they said had a purpose and contributed meaningfully.

At the end of the day, Harry was human, though, and humans needed breaks. He had to convince his mind and body that there was a life outside the four walls of his office and he was capable of thinking about other things apart from how many charts was too many charts and what color coding looked serious enough to be in a presentation this big.

So, Harry and Mitch, after one drawn out, draining Friday spent fretting over the closing speech which he was responsible to deliver, decided to go out and get some drinks to ease their nerves. The bar they went to was one which was quite popular in the city—often he would see students gathered there in bunches on the weekends, making noise and dancing on the makeshift dancefloor, but the drinks were good and the music was nice so Harry didn’t pay them much mind.

They went after work so they dressed down by ridding their blazers and untucking their shirts so they didn’t look out of place. Harry rolled his sleeves up to his forearm, which he now rested on the table casually as he nursed a drink between his ringed fingers. Conversation with Mitch was always easy—he’d known the guy for most of his life, having basically grown up with him. They went to the same high school and the same college—they were roommates back then, and living in such proximity really tells you a lot about the other person even if you didn’t ask for it.

He liked Mitch, though. He was smart in all his classes and a little bit quiet but Harry wasn’t bothered by that. He liked a bit of peace and silence, and besides, if he ever did want to get Mitch chatty, all he had to do was light a blunt and the rest was history. Of course, they haven’t smoked in ages now but they frequented the occasional drink or two.

The night was going just as they had planned. Harry got to think about something else since Mitch went on a spiel about this girl he was seeing who he wasn’t sure if she was as into him as he was her. Harry thought he gave pretty good relationship advice so he spewed out some wise words for Mitch—some bull that he didn’t even lowkey believe but people dug whatever he said so it was fine. Harry wouldn’t know if any of his relationship advice was any good himself, since he never had to use it for his own advantage.

But maybe he could put it to good use now, Harry thinks, when he noticed a special someone walking into the same fucking bar he was in. 

It genuinely felt like he couldn’t escape her. She was always on his mind, constantly, even when he didn’t think she needed to be; she was always around at work with her sweet fucking voice and tantalizing perfume; she was in his dreams, for God’s sake, and now she was here. On the arm of that fucking cunt she called her boyfriend. 

Harry hated that guy. He hated the way he waltzed in with a big smile on his face, like he was rubbing it in every guys face that he had the prettiest girl in the world by his side. He hated the way he held on to her, so possessively that his knuckles were basically white from his grip. And he hated the way he could do things Harry couldn’t, like kiss her on top of her head when she wasn’t noticing as they seated at a small booth on the far end of the bar.

Mitch must have noticed too because he pointed her out, “Isn’t that Y/N? Who’s she with?” He muttered the last bit to himself mostly as he looked at Harry with question. Harry didn’t meet his eyes, finding the ice swimming in his glass eons more interesting than what was going on, “Her boyfriend.”

“How do you know that?”

“He came in last week.”

Mitch made a long sound, like he just realised something, “Oooh. That’s the boyfriend.”

Harry cleared his throat, “Yeah. Now what’s this about Sarah being in a band? How’d you even meet her?”

He changed the topic swiftly, not wanting to think about or look at Y/N and Landon sitting all cute and cuddly in the bar right in his eyeline. The universe must be testing him or some shit, because Harry’s blood was quite literally boiling in his veins. He cursed himself for his fucking luck—the one time he tried to come out and get his mind off things and the one girl he couldn’t stop thinking about walked right in like she owned the place.

About half an hour passed of Harry and Mitch discussing Sarah and then Harry’s whole situation with Sophie when he saw Y/N get up out of her booth and walk towards the restrooms. She had to go past him for that, and as she did, not only did Harry get a whiff of her scent (which made him feel like a fucking dog, the way he was ready to roll over for her just to get another one) but she made eye contact with him. She was stunned at first, but then quickly masked her emotions with a small smile as she acknowledged both Harry and Mitch.

The moment stole the breath from Harry’s lungs, and he felt like he was living in a telenovella with how he was romanticising every interaction with her. He had to get out and get some air—the bar was beginning to get suffocating and he felt like he was trapped in a room and was being tortured by being forced to watch Y/N and Landon act like they were all in love and shit.

So, he softly excused himself from Mitch and made his way outside. Mitch thankfully didn’t suspect anything, since he himself could see how Harry’s face was a bit red. He probably thought it was the drinks and warm atmosphere that drove him outside but that worked perfectly fine in Harry’s favor. Even though apparently people were talking about him and Y/N in the office, he didn’t need Mitch butting in as well, and querying Harry about whether the gossip had any substance to it.

The night air had a chill that nipped at his already rosey cheeks. To his far right stood a bouncer who leaned against the wall and smoked a cigarette. Harry pulled his phone out to see if he could distract his mind but it was full of work emails he had to reply to and reminders he set for all his deadlines. He scrolled mindlessly through Instagram and liked a story his sister posted of a bagel spot she was trying and it actually looked really good—he swiped up to reply and ask where she got i—

“You fucking pervert.”

Harry heard the words first and then saw the fist flying in his direction but he didn’t react fast enough to miss it. A loud, nasty thwack sound erupted from his nose as Landon’s fist collided with it, making Harry’s head go back and hit the brick wall he was up against. For a second he was completely disorientated. His phone slipped from his hand and his fingers came up to swipe beneath his nostrils where they came back with blood.

The fucker just punched him right in the fucking face.

Harry was going to loose his shit. He practically saw red clouding his vision as Landon geared up for another hit, “You wanna stare at my girlfriend’s ass you fuckface?” All reason flew out of the window and Harry was now blinded by anger and his ego which wouldn’t let him go down without a fight. He didn’t waste another second in delivering a strike to his jaw which resulted in a gnarly crack sound.

Landon fell back on his butt and looked at Harry with wide eyes. The sight was one he would have laughed at if blood wasn’t streaming down his nose. He resembed a spanish fighter bull the way he charged towards Harry, probably to try and tackle him to the ground but the burly bouncer who stood a few metres away ran over and grabbed Landon before he could do anything.

At the same time, he could hear Y/N calling Landon’s name until she eventually stepped out as well. Her mouth fell open in shock as she took in the morbid sight before her. She couldn’t settle on who she wanted to look at—Harry, with blood covering the bottom half of his face, or Landon, who was thrashing in the arms of the bouncer and yelling profanities at the man. The bouncer had to drag him away and Y/N looked like she was at a loss for words.

“What the fuck did you do?” She asked Harry, voice cold. There were tears in her waterline as she traced his features with her soft gaze. 

“He punched me.”

Harry sounded unrecognizable to himself. It felt like his voice was coming from somewhere outside of his body and he couldn’t locate from where. He called after her when she stormed off in the same direction as the bouncer and Landon. Harry wanted to go after her and explain what happened because he couldn’t bear the thought that she might be angry with him, but he was stopped in his tracks when he heard Mitch call his name.

He turned to face his concerned friend. “What the fuck happened to you?”

Harry sniffled. “You should’ve seen the other guy.”

–

When Y/N and Landon decided to go out, she didn’t think her night would end up like this.

Her feet were pounding against the pavement as she ran after where the bouncer was hauling Landon out of the bar and on the sidewalk. Her boyfriend (embarrasing, she knows) was screaming and cussing, some directed towards the bouncer and most directed towards Harry (she has no idea why). Although Harry looked really hurt with the blood dripping down his nose, Landon looked worse; he had a massive bruise already forming on his jaw and his mouth was bleeding—when he parted his lips to talk, she saw how the blood smeared across his teeth.

The bouncer ended up dropping him on the footpath a ways from the bar, warning him that he wasn’t allowed back inside under any circumstances. Y/N finally caught up to them and stood towering over Landon, who was sprawled out on the ground like an upside down insect. “Y/N, baby…” He coughed. 

“What was that?” Y/N asked, trying to keep her voice cool and collected even though she was anything but. She was fucking angry but she didn’t say anything just in case Landon tried to bend the truth into something he thought she wanted to hear.

“T’was your boss… he’s a fucking pervert,” He paused to spit out a glob of blood and saliva, “He kept looking at you like you were a piece of meat.”

“So you hit him? You assaulted my boss because he smiled at me?” 

When he spoke, his words were slurring together, signalling he was not in the right state of mind at all. He was drinking a lot inside as well, so to some extent Y/N should have anticipated this. “Why are you getting mad at me!?” He yelled, trying to get up on his feet, “D’you wanna fuck him too, is that what this is about?”

Y/N scoffed in disbelief, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Landon, and I suggest you stop before you say something you can’t take back.” The wind whipped her hair around her face and Y/N looked up to see clouds forming, foreshadowing the rain she clocked when she checked the weather app earlier today.

Landon laughed dryly, “I fucking knew it. You want to fuck your rich boss. That’s why you’re always begging me to have sex like the horny bitch you a—”

Before he could finish the end of that horrific sentence, Y/N slapped him across the face. The impact was hard enough that he fell back against the pavement again and cussed her out. In that moment, Y/N felt no love or remorse or regret or anything towards the piece of shit lying at her feet before him. He was an awful man and she knew it from the start—it only hurt that it took her so long to do something about it. 

“You’re disgusting. Don’t come back to my house and don’t fucking call me again. We are done.”

With that, she turned and began to walk away. Behind her, she could still hear him yelling, “At least get me a fucking Uber you dumb bitch!”

But she ignored him and crossed her arms across her chest. The bar wasn’t far from the train station which she could take home so she headed in that direction. She would have called herself a ride but her phone was dead and besides, her head was a fucking mess of thoughts and emotions and her vision was blurry with tears which pooled in her waterline. Y/N was a smart and capable girl; she knew his derogatory words had no real meaning or anything, but she still let them get to her. He hit her right where it hurts; targeting her self worth and her self respect because he knew she treasured both those things the most.

To dramatise the moment even further, droplets of rain began falling from the sky and drenching her clothes. It was already cold out and the rain had no reason to hold back—it hit her with full force, each tiny drop felt like pinpricks on her heated skin. Her teeth began chattering as the rain and her tears mixed and trailed down her face.

She was just about to let it all out and ugly cry when a familiar sleek, black car rolled up right next to where she was walking. She slowed her step as it began following her gait and stopped when the window rolled down on the passenger side. “Let me drop you home, please.” It was Harry, and his tone was soft and his car was probably nice and warm and soft too. Y/N didn’t have it in her to put up any more of a fight—the night had taken too much out of the poor girl.

Wordlessly, she pulled the door open and sat inside. Harry already had the seat warmers on and the heater was on blast, granting her comfort and solace. His car smelled nice and there was low music crooning through the speakers. “I’m sorry about what happened,” He started, putting the car into gear as he began to drive. ‘I’m sorry’ seemed to be the only thing people were saying to her as of recent and it was kind of making her go crazy. She just wanted things to be normal again. When her life became such a mess, Y/N had no idea.

“I’m the one who needs to be apologising. My boyfriend was the one who assaulted you. Well, ex-boyfriend now,” She muttered, running her hands over her face. Harry looked like his ears chirped up, eyebrows raised as he turned to glance at her, “You broke up?”

“Five minutes ago, yes.”

Harry hummed, turning his blinker on to change lanes, “I would say I’m sorry about that too but I don’t think I am.”

Y/N had to giggle at that, swiping a thumb beneath her eye as she wiped a tear, “Yeah, don’t be. It was a long time coming.” She took in his side profile—he was beautiful, like he always was—the moon casting light over half of his face as he stared intently at the road ahead. He was toying with his bottom lip with his left hand and driving with his other, and she noticed the spot beneath his nose was clear—he wasn’t bleeding anymore.

“How’s your face?”

“He didn’t do much damage,” Harry said, biting back a grin. He looked at her to find her gaze already set on him and the gesture made Y/N blush and look away. “That’s good.”

The rest of the ride was full of silence and stolen glances. Having been to Y/N’s house before, Harry drove without any assistance which was impressive since he’d only ever been there once. Though no words were said aloud, her mind was still racing. Every now and then a tear would fall from her eye and Y/N would try to mask it though she didn’t think she was doing a very good job. She wasn’t upset about loosing Landon, if she was being honest… It was his words that kept stabbing her in the heart over and over again.

She kept thinking about what he said and wondered if any of it was true—she knew deep down she was worth so much more than what he thought, but he’d planted an annoying seed of doubt in her heart and she was unable to dig it up and chuck it away.

They stopped after the fifth song ended, like it was waiting for the car to match its tempo. Y/N didn’t want to leave the confines of his car. She knew the thought was weird and borderline pathetic, but she’d just been through a messy breakup and she just wanted someone to talk to and lean her shoulder on, and the rational part told her that Harry was 100% the worst person for this (he was her boss, lest she forget) but the irrational side (the one she preferred) wanted to ask him up to her house for a slumber party of some sorts where he could comfort her all night long.

Sadly the former part of her won this particular argument and Y/N turned towards Harry with a sad expression, “Thank you for the ride. You didn’t have to do this.”

Harry had his lip between his teeth and he watched her earnestly. She probably looked a mess with her red-rimmed eyes and mascara streaking down her cheeks so she got a little insecure when he looked too long and turned her own gaze away. 

“I’d do it a hundred times over if I had to.”

His words brought on a fresh wave of tears—why did he have to be so thoughtful and perfect and say exactly the right thing at the right time, Y/N didn’t understand. He was so exceptional, Y/N often reminded herself how lucky she was to be working with him in such close proximity everyday. However, she didn’t let those tears fall, setting up an imaginary dam to hold them back. Instead, she gave in to her irrational side and leaned over the console to give him a hug.

Her clothes were drenched and she was very cold, so the hug couldn’t have been as nice as she wanted it to be but she paid that thought no mind, because Harry was hugging her back. His massive arms came up around her shoulders which he pressed to himself, tucking her cold nose into the warmth of his neck. His scent was intoxicating—some cologne that she had to somehow find so she could spray it on her pillows because the comfort it was bringing her right now was out of this world.

When they broke apart she gave him another smile and muttered a small thanks before finally leaving his car. Harry stayed parked by her house until she was safe inside and her lock clicked shut and when she heard him drive off, the dam broke and all her feelings came gushing out like a fucking tsunami.

–

The coming Sunday, Y/N was swaddled beneath her duvet with Niall consoling her on facetime.

The night of the breakup, he was the first person she called when she got home and gathered herself enough to charge her phone and dial someone. Within twenty minutes, he was at her house with a tub of ice cream and two sets of clothes, already anticipating that he might have to stay a while to get the girl on the right track. They spent the next thirty-six hours watching comfort films, then Y/N would vent about her feelings, then Niall would try to come up with a solution to her problems (which always resulted in ‘fuck Harry’) then she would nap her tiredness away.

Turns out crying all the time really tuckered someone out, especially when the reason to cry was so fucking brutal. When Y/N told Niall about the shit Landon was saying, he was ready to find his ass and kick him to the curb a second time. Even repeating them to her best friend had her choking up, and it took a lot of reassurance from him to convince her even a little bit that what he was saying had no semblance of truth to it—it all came from a place of anger and hatred.

Those hours spent tucked into Niall’s side were what finally got Y/N out of bed and doing shit like cleaning her house and doing her laundry which she’d been putting off for the longest time now. Today, she planned on going to get some groceries when he called her just to check in but Y/N was doing heaps better so he didn’t seem too worried. Though he did offer to come over again, Y/N politely declined because she didn’t want him to get in trouble at work by calling out so much—that too at her expense.

So, she bid him goodbye and let him get back to his shift when the sound of her doorbell ringing forced her to drag herself out of bed. She checked through the peephole but no one stood outside, so she swung open the door. On her welcome mat was another parcel similar to the one she received a while ago with the dress sent from Harry.

Something told her he had something to do with this one as well as she bent down to pick it up. Excitement flooded her nerves. Y/N shut the door behind her and set the parcel down on her counter. This one was slightly smaller in size than the last, but Y/N had no complaints—she knew whatever was inside would most definitely take her breath away, if it was anything like the last present (?).

Carefully, she took a small knife and undid the seams. A velvet, rectangular jewellery box was sealed inside this time, making Y/N’s eyes go wide. If it was jewellery, Y/N couldn’t even imagine just how much it probably cost the man. Her hands trembled slightly as she clicked open the small golden latch and opened the box.

Within it revealed the prettiest necklace Y/N had ever seen in her life; it was gold, with a delicate chain in the middle of which was nestled a small, tear drop pendant. She didn’t have to deduce much to come to the conclusion that the pendant was a diamond—she could tell by the distinct twinkle and shine which erupted from it. Her fingers traced the piece in awe. 

She couldn’t believe he would do something like this. The dress was a shock for sure, but a diamond necklace? That was just absurd. Did Harry really have money to burn like this or was there a bigger conversation that needed to be had between the two? This time, Y/N was worried about whether she should be accepting such a divine gift at all.

When she found the familiar card hidden beneath the box, all apprehension left her body as butterflies began fluttering in her stomach.

The only teardrops that belong on your neck are made of diamonds. 

H.

Taglist: @escapismatbest @triski73 @fivesecondsofprettymuch @danny-faye @aileen1237 @peachymelonsugrr @harryyloverrr @emlovesniallhoran @almataylorsversion @toosarcastic03 @d4rlingstyles @sleekfatetower @honeyapaturairis @fkingstyles @midnightmemories-1-d @everyscarisahealingplace @witch-rry @angel-gelly @brainfullsteve @0pheliam @littlealonebutterfly @harryscherrysuckr @oifukinloser @kissallthetimeharrystyles @lillrry @withoutluv @yeah-youremymedicine @abihist91 @harrys-only-angell @jocelynlovesharrystyles @sparklejumpropequeen1113 @jackedbygravity

MASTERLIST

AN: BEHEHHEHEHEH YAYYYYYY I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY THIS ONE!!! if you did please please do let me know leave replies reblogs send asks because IT MOTIVATES ME TO WRITE MORE!!! ALSO ARE U GUYS SEEING HOW FAST I WROTE THIS OMFG I LOCKED TF IN BECAUSE ur girl wants to see if she can keep up a posting schedule if she ever decides to get on patreon TEEHEEE HEHE EJOY MY LOVES!!!! I LOOK FORWARD TO KNOWING WHAT U THINK!!

[babyyhoneyyy]

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[babyyhoneyyy]

You know I love you bestie but I’m afraid I can’t stand by you on the feet thing 😭

NOOO U HAVE TO SEE MY VISION THINK OF IT LIKE HES SO IN LOVE WITH EVERY PART OF U EVEN UR FEET TURN HIM ON

[messyemmy]

Bad Neighbours: One. (Harry Styles fic.)

Premise: Harry despises the girl next door, and it's mutual. But Harry also really likes the girl he met online, and that, is also mutual.

Word count: 8k

Bad Neighbours Masterlist | Other Writing

🍑

It’s not even eight a.m. when Y/n finds herself barefoot and stomping over the newly moved lawn in hot pursuit of her insufferable neighbour's front door.

The idea of making a fresh fruit smoothie had started her day on such a high that she found herself heading out into the back garden with the ingenious idea to add in some of those finally ripened peaches she had spent longer nurturing than her previous relationship. 

Her hard work had paid off, and this peach tree might be the first foliage she managed to keep alive longer than a summer. This moment right here was the reward for all of those weekends spent with her knees in the soil, pruning leaf after leaf, and remembering to collect leftover fruit and veg for a makeshift fertiliser. 

At first, the prideful tree comes into sight in all of its golden pink glory, and everything is as it’s supposed to be. Right up until she stands below the shade of the dangling fruit and suddenly notices that once again, someone has been helping themselves to her harvest. 

And sure, it would be fine- more than- if the person just asked. But what really makes it the blood-boiling opposite of ‘fine’ is the obvious and villainous culprit who hasn’t even bothered to hide his crime. His accessory to the thievery is the metal ladder peeking out over the reddish brick wall that evidently does a shit job at protecting her from the monster next door. 

Smoothie long forgotten, she doesn’t bother changing into something decent and carries her purple pyjama-short-clad legs in the direction of the suspect himself, who will certainly have already returned from his religious morning run and is more than likely in the middle of enjoying a totally undeserving bite of a juicy peach. 

Harry is indeed back from his run and has actually consumed two full peaches by the time the violent thudding against his front door alerts him to the consequences he had already anticipated, just as he had anticipated how sweet those well-treated peaches would be. 

He had long ago concluded that the punishment would never outweigh the crime, and man, Harry had been waiting for just over two years for the opportunity to finally present itself. He didn’t even own a ladder six months ago. 

The banging has grown louder and more frantic, which paints his features with a devious grin, and Harry takes perhaps the most leisurely stroll of all time, revelling in the fact that his little theft riled his torture victim up enough to interrupt her predictable morning routine. 

Serves her right for chuckling dryly and shutting the door in his face when he put aside his pride and asked to borrow some sugar. She knows he drinks tea every morning. Harry sometimes sees her scowling down at him as he enjoys a cuppa beneath the beaming sun. 

It was six months ago, and Harry finds his thoughts consumed with the menace next door, conjuring up all the possible ways he could settle further under her skin, little sabotages and inconveniences that are guaranteed to prick sour goosebumps up along her arms. 

Stealing her garden gnome had gone unnoticed long enough that she had replaced the little guy with a cream ceramic pot planted with a rosemary bush. Popping her tyre one morning was tragically anticlimactic as he watched, squinting and brows furrowing, as she got busy replacing it and was done within ten minutes, which made her neither late to work nor impressed with his childish attempts to get on her nerves. 

And before it starts to sound like Harry is a loony with far too much free time, his neighbour is no saint. Every trick Harry pulls is retaliated with something just as spiteful- if not worse. 

When she was informed by Beryl, the sweetest old lady across the street, that the garbage collection schedule had changed days, it shockingly took Harry two weeks to finally ask someone what the hell was going on. But, he asked the pest next door and she said they were on strike.

Week four, on a Tuesday morning, Harry prepared himself to take a third trip to the nearest dump, which was not ‘so near’,  when the familiar truck rolled down the street, and Harry sighed in relief. No need to add even worse of an aroma to his already tainted car. He was about to walk back inside when he decided to ask one of the men what caused the strike to conclude.. 

Needless to say, his car smelled of trash for weeks, and his neighbour got the short end of his frazzled bewilderment for a solid five minutes, and the gift of being ignored by him for another few peaceful weeks. 

On several occasions, he has opened his mailbox to some wicked surprise, ready to shoot out and attack him. 

There was that glitter explosion, which Harry attempted to figure out the mechanisms behind, but couldn’t catch a clue as it all hid beneath a thick layer of thousands of glimmering turquoise flakes. 

And then there was the massive, and freakishly hairy spider that he found resting atop his monthly catalogue. After his loud, high-pitched squeal alerted the entire neighbourhood, and his heart rate had returned to semi-normal, Harry spent the afternoon wondering where she even got the creature and naturally avoided his mailbox for a good while going forward.

Who initiated this frivolous rivalry that benefits absolutely no one? It’s hard to say, but it exists and consists mostly of cold introductions, miscommunications with a moving truck, and an accidental cat kidnapping.  

Well, it resulted in this dynamic: where Harry has been periodically observing the love and time she puts into that damn flourishing garden. If the lemons weren’t so far away, he would have snatched a bunch and with so many blooming, she would have been none the wiser. His mum put the same amount of care and effort into her veggie garden growing up, it was inconceivable that his neighbours' harvest would be anything less than mouthwatering.

Revenge is certainly a dish served sweet and fresh off the branch, with a satiating dessert of being scolded by his favourite person to loathe. Her incessant knocking has not slowed and has only increased in impatience,

“Styles!” She knows he’s behind that door, taking his time. It has her fist throbbing as it thumps against the hardwood with rejuvenated anger, “Open up!” 

Harry’s wide smirk only spreads further towards his smiling eyes as he unlatches the lock and comes face-to-face with Y/n- underdressed, face flushed, and angry as hell. 

Dressed in scantily short red running joggers and a black sweater that hangs lazily along his collarbones, he rests his back against the doorframe, laxly crossing his arms atop his chest as he finally gifts his neighbour with a greeting.  

“To what do I owe the displeasure?”

“I know what you did.” She accuses with both her words and her right arm that sassily hooks onto her hip while the other points at his smug figure.

“Darling, I do a lot of things.” She doesn’t even know about the dead rat he found on a walk and pathetically carried home, placing it beneath that new rosemary bush. 

“Y’need to be more specific.”

“My peach tree.” 

“What about it?” His voice lilts innocently. 

“I know you’ve been stealing my peaches.” She frowns cutely, and Harry is almost inclined to be nice and lie. Almost. 

“I have.” 

“Don’t try to-Oh.” His confession disrupts the speech she had so much time to prepare for in the time it took him to finally open the door. “Well… Stop. They aren’t yours.”

“They hang over into my yard. It’s fair game.” 

He merely shrugs, prepared to counter every accusation with such cheek and sanctimony that it’s sure to spoil not only her morning but, if lucky, her entire weekend. 

“You’re so full of it.” 

“I could say the same about you, sweetheart.” 

“Stop stealing my peaches, Styles!” 

She wonders if he can see the way her body stiffens under his stare, if he can hear the distant train whistle signalling that smoke will surely be spewing from her ears and nostrils if he says another word. 

“Why would I do that when they taste so good?” 

His flippant attitude has been perfected, finely tuned to poke and prod at her with the precise tools of retaliation, and Harry thinks he’d be a fool to waste this opportunity to point out how hypocritical she behaves.

“And while we’re at it, I’m tired of getting your mail. Call the post office and figure it out.” 

“Why would I do that when I have my very own jackass to deliver them straight to my doorstep?”

It’s a frightening surprise every time Harry feels his insides twist at the sound of condescending nicknames being thrown his way. Like some sick contradiction that he refuses to acknowledge but cannot help seeking out more of. 

On the odd occasion, he ponders if she might feel the same. If there might be a layer of excitement and fondness hidden beneath all of that teasing and sabotage. 

But then she gives him one last sharp stare that slices at his confidence with the promise of revenge on the horizon. That, and his confused guts, are a problem for the future. All Harry wants now is to eat a third peach in protest and read his new book out in the July sun. 

“Have a wonderful day, brat.” He sneers- a last attempt to really spoil it all. But she seems unbothered as her glossy lips stretch out into a smiteful smile,

“Likewise, Satan.”

Her bare feet are already departing the wooden porch and sinking into the dewy blades of grass by the time Harry finishes chuckling and calls out after her, 

“That’s ‘m name, don’t wear it out.” 

🍑

Perhaps Harry had failed to predict the true power of the peach because when Y/n semi-stomped through her front door, the words of Harry professing the deliciousness of his stolen goods were nagging at her and didn’t cease until she returned to the garden and picked the lowest fuzzy fruit. 

It was delicious. And enough to draw a sweet and sugary blanket over the confrontation she had just departed. Her day was mended, the weekend was on its way, and then there was the one thing, or person, who could and would help her forget all about the menace living five hundred metres away. 

Late afternoon, as she packs up and prepares to leave her office space for a couple of days, she finally has the chance to check her phone. Heading straight to her most recent chat, and re-reading the last message from last night, wishing her sweet dreams, dainty feathers tickle the insides of her chest at the sight of the little green circle indicating her loverboy is online. 

Her fingers are like the roadrunner dancing along the screen as she composes the question that seems to be on her mind more and more by the day. 

PastryPrincess: How’s my favourite boy? 

There’s hardly time to exit the chat because three little dots are already bouncing with an indication of his imminent reply. 

Loverboy: Better now that I know I’m at least one person's favourite.

She doesn't even notice how suddenly her brows swoop into a frown that matches her pouting lips; she lets her bag lazily slip from her wrist, ignoring the way it falls and settles beside her heels, too hung up on whatever her sweet loverboy is implying. 

PastryPrincess: Who do I need to fight?

Loverboy: My neighbour thinks I’m the devil.

Well, Y/n certainly knows what it’s like to have an intolerable neighbour. Someone who believes her to be some sort of monster simply because of a completely valid reaction she had to the sudden disappearance of the thing most valuable to her. 

Of course, her panic turned to relief when she found out the cat-napper was her new neighbour, Harry. And then that relief shifted to bewildered rage that she made sure to project it directly at the foot of his doorstep, chunky ginger kitty dangling in one arm as the other flailed about with frustration. 

PastryPrincess: To be fair, you are devilishly handsome. 

Loverboy: Don’t make me blush.

His response has her own face flushing with bashful warmth at the idea of her loverboy’s heart fluttering from her compliment. She’s curious, though, certain that if he continues talking, another opportunity to be sweet on him will surely arise. 

PastryPrincess: Why does your neighbour hate you?

Loverboy: That’s the thing! I haven’t done anything! 

Loverboy: … I think

Well, if Loverboy looks anything like his charming personality, and he doesn’t recall doing anything to piss his neighbour off, the reason for their disdain might be as simple as sexual frustration.

PastryPrincess: Maybe they have a crush on you?

Loverboy: Oh, I highly doubt that. She lives to despise me.

Hm, Y/n surely feels the same about Harry. 

Yes, he’s unbelievably and undeniably fuck-able. And in the past, Y/n has certainly put aside disdain for others in favour of chemistry. But there’s something so deeply annoying about Harry, it’s gotta be an anomaly that she sees his face and feels nothing but disdain. 

But again, that’s an anomaly. Loverboy is possibly the kindest person she knows, so encouraging and gentle, thoughtful, and she could go on and on. 

PastryPrincess: Who could ever despise you?

PastryPrincess: Perhaps she and I need to have a little chat.

Loverboy: Think you can take her? 

Bending down, she loops the handle of her tote back around her wrist and starts to make her way toward the elevator. 

PastryPrincess: I think we already know how well I can take things.

Loverboy: Naughty. Getting yourself worked up thinking about fighting for me?

The elevator dings, and the steel doors come to a slow open. Y/n’s gaze is so glued to the suggestive sentence staring back at her, for so long that the lift dings once more to impatiently alert that she hasn’t even pressed the button for the ground floor. 

PastryPrincess: No comment.

Loverboy: I would love a comment.

Tiny sparklers fuelled by eagerness fire at the walls of her stomach, encouraging her to construct a lengthy paragraph pertaining to all of the unfamiliar, but exciting, ideas and feelings floating around her foggy thoughts. 

Clarity catches her at the last second and encourages her to use this enthusiasm as a guide for her evening plans. 

PastryPrincess: You’ll never know…

The elevator dings one final time as the doors squeakily separate and the building’s entrance hall welcomes Y/n out of the elevator with anticipation strumming up her bones, starting a percussion that encourages her thudding heart to drum along, and finally, her nails join in, tapping along the phone screen.

PastryPrincess: Alright loverboy, I gotta go prepare for tonight.

Loverboy: I’ll be tuned in. As always. 

Reaching her car, thinking about how whole she feels after speaking to him. How soothed and assured she is whenever his words make their presence known. Slinking down into the car, she has an afterthought. 

PastryPrincess: I don’t think I could ever hate you. 

🍑

Gathering her bags and stepping out of the car, her shoes have barely touched the ground before Harry decides to make his presence known. Leaning against the wooden beam of the front porch, paper grocery bag still hooked around his wrist, he peers over the waist-high hedge that carries every disagreement within its leaves, and waits a moment longer for her to shut the car door and start the short stroll up the driveway before calling out for her attention. 

“Hey, neighbour.”

His greeting is returned with a scowl so sharp and stern that Harry is certain she has it reserved just for him- she does- but when it becomes clear that she has no words to spare and starts to walk further away, Harry grasps the easy and familiar tactic of garnering some negative attention. 

It’s like he can’t help himself. Like his day will only be satiated by an aggressive and sassy retaliation from his neighbour. If Harry thought she was a normal person and not the devil in disguise, he would treat her the same as his friends, maybe even offer her some of his baked goods, and pick her brain about gardening tips. But she’s not normal, and it clearly brings out the worst in him. 

“Aw, sweetheart, you shouldn't pout like that. S’alright to be bummed about having no plans on a Friday. Again.” 

It’s none of Harry’s business what she gets up to, and to say it irked her how much he seems to pay attention to her routine is an understatement. Partially because she can’t just put him in his place and confirm that she does indeed have plans, but mostly because it means she’s more predictable than she thought. 

And if Harry believes himself to be some sort of fast-living adventure-seeking man, it’s about time he finds out how incorrect that thought is. 

“Says the man who will certainly be spending his evening eating Thai takeout and watching Dragons Den.” 

“Might tug one out if I’m feelin’ frisky.” He definitely will. And he certainly won’t be thinking of the menace next door.

“You’re disgusting.” She scoffs. 

“You’d love to spend the night with me.” 

Over the weekend, Y/n will need to figure out why her neck is flushed and warming up at the sudden introduction to Harry’s sex life. It’s virtually impossible to think of that man without her guts twisting into a rage-tangled mess. 

But, he’s gorgeous and witty and always wearing far too little clothing: everything that should have her sink to her knees, yet only seems to further that bubbling frustration making itself present with every word that slips from his pretty pink lips. 

“I’d rather be trampled by an elephant.” 

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, sweetheart.” He only shrugs, turning on his heel and reaching into his pocket for his house keys. 

Sleeping with the enemy wouldn’t be the worst thing on a long list of embarrassing encounters that Y/n deeply loathes herself for. But she’s still recovering from her most recent escapade that she had not only settled for, but suffered dissatisfaction as a consequence, and that disaster was enough to shake those senseless thoughts of what Harry might be hiding beneath those shorty-shorts with a firm full-body shudder.    

Thankfully, Harry seems to be finished with his little moment of mockery and has disappeared into his house with the slam of the door substituting words of goodbye. 

With a little free time before her actual Friday plans, Y/n decides to reward herself with a hot bath so full that the bubbles balance along the edges, and when she strips down and sinks beneath the steaming water, they become holographic and airborne, floating and popping in all directions. 

Shoulders melting into full body relaxation, her thoughts gently swirl with recounts of the week, the messy articles she edited, the uncalled arguments with Harry, and the conversations with one particular boy who has her chest thudding with a type of eager elation that had evaded her heart for so long. 

A boy who quietly watched her Friday streams for several weeks before finally sending a message in the chat. So polite and encouraging, Y/n couldn’t quite figure out why a single sentence from some stranger, who always tipped with great generosity but seemed to demand nothing in return, was repeating itself on a loop the rest of that evening. 

It was a discerning feeling, so much so that she willed herself to forget about it and act like a damn professional. Well, as professional as the act of stripping down and pleasuring herself in front of strangers could possibly be. 

But Y/n’s willpower had weakened the moment she started paying attention to this particular and mysterious subscriber, and it was a week later when she found herself clicking on his profile, disappointed but not surprised to see how little information he offered. 

His display image is a ridiculously adorable white cat wearing a wizard hat, and perhaps that offered her more information than the measly list of his location and lack of even a short bio. Though he lives in the same city, that could be the case for many of her regulars, and, how was she supposed to recognise him based solely on an ivory cat? Just pray that he happens to be strolling down the street with a cat in tow? 

Still, this wasn’t enough to discourage her just yet, and, if asked, Y/n is sure to blame her post-Friday euphoria for guiding her frantic fingers straight to his chat, strumming up a simple message pondering his opinion on the livestream, an absurdly overwhelming anticipation running rampant at the hasty response dinging straight into the depths of her heart. 

Turns out, loverboy is, if possible, even kinder than when he sticks to his usual words of encouragement, and quickly proves himself to be perhaps the most intriguing person to have ever stumbled into her bubble. 

Now, Y/n has to make a conscious effort to acknowledge the many other viewers who love to push her back and forth, and thankfully, make up for it with how nicely they take care of her with egregious tips and the odd pricy gift. 

But does that mean that she definitely didn’t pick out her blue mesh lingerie set based on the fact that Loverboy had mentioned his fondness for it? Well, she pleads the fifth on that one. 

🍑

After successfully picking another useless spat with his neighbour, Harry is in one of the best moods. 

And it's not just because it's the weekend, nor because he was going anywhere- his neighbours' predictions about his routine were spot on- but because Harry was being truthful when he informed her of his intentions to end the evening on a high.

It's because every Friday night at 9, Harry gets to tune in to his favourite girl, PastryPrincess’ live stream. Does it say something that Harry’s favourite person is a camgirl? Probably, but he knows better than to think too hard about that. 

Harry had never intended for things to go any further than a one-sided relationship that consisted of him simply admiring her through a screen, but something happened in the last six months to change that. 

He never intended to draw her attention, never expected her even to acknowledge him. Now she knows him as ‘loverboy’, the mysterious man who tips far too much and always sends encouraging compliments in the chat.

It's unclear to Harry what he might have done to shift her perspective, but in a shocking and overwhelming turn of events, PastryPrincess sent him a message of thanks after a particularly naughty stream.

So, he responded, as sweet as ever, which she went on to profess herself. So, he replied to that, and she said something back, and now Harry finds himself checking his phone more than he cares to admit, all in hopes of getting to talk to her. 

So, catching Y/n on her arrival home was simply the cherry on top of an already delicious and promising sundae. And unlike Y/n, Miss PastryPrincess does an excellent job at helping him relax after another jaw-clenching week in the office.

He rushes through a container of Khao Soi, a steaming shower, and even has time to enjoy an episode of Shark Tank because he's already up to date with Dragons Den- not that his pesky neighbour needs to know that.

Harry makes a mental note to shut his blinds the next time he wants to simply sit and relax to the soundtrack of people putting their hopes and dreams on the line. It’s not his fault that his living room is perfectly angled to give his neighbour a wonderful view from her second-floor office. 

Nevertheless, she definitely doesn’t need any more ammo to fuel that machine gun of distaste that she carries for protection whenever exiting and entering her home. Does Harry plan on stopping the collection of belittling bullets he keeps so neatly in her name? Of course not. What would he spend his downtime doing if not living to annoy her? 

Besides, Harry already has a collection of love-infused arrows that he polishes with such timely and delicate care in preparation for the next time he talks to PastryPrincess. 

And God forbid his neighbour catches sight of his Friday night commitment, he would be at her torturous will until she inevitably kills his morale or simply gets bored and, hopefully, moves out. 

Off to the bedroom, Harry’s body bounces atop the king-sized slumber haven, laxly sinking into the soft, cobalt sheets, expensive and totally worth it. Laptop already resting atop the mattress, he mindlessly reaches for it, hand instinctively gliding around the mouse, opening up a new browser, logging in, and heading straight to PastyPrincesses' page. 

She’s always right on time. Looking like a painting from the baroque period, lying across her bed, face just out of frame, body shielded by a flimsy graphic tee that looks both well-worn and effortlessly enticing. 

Tonight, as the screen stops loading and glitches onto the image of her garnering a shirt that rests atop her upper thigh, simple white with the words ‘redrum’ splotched in red, moulding itself to drape the curves of her breasts.

Harry feels privy to secret tidbits that other viewers wouldn’t even think to envy. Recalls one-on-one conversations where she so easily offered up information about the person behind the sweet sighs and moans. 

A sense of superiority, of specialness, that PastryPrincess had seen something in him worth pursuing with personal intrigue. 

Private insight into her interests, her passion for movies, the ones that made her cry, or spooked, or downright puzzled. The love she has for birds, especially the ugly ones, and how badly she wants to learn to bake, but ultimately avoids doing so at all costs. 

And before you ask- because Harry certainly did- it was PastryPrincess who admitted that her first message had puzzled her just as much as his, and it was in that same breath that she confirmed this was new to her. 

But turning on that gentle, enigmatic personality was certainly not new. Her confidence exuded with such density that it was no wonder Harry constantly slipped back into the category of many others, trapped in a trance of fervour that refuses to set him free until her approval of release is granted. 

And fuck, it’s always worth it. Always leaves Harry a jello mess for the rest of the weekend, always alleviates his weekly woes and permits him to untangle the knots in his neck, to press his body into the sofa cushions and ignore any convenience that dares to cross his path. 

That includes his devious neighbour. His desire to rattle her bones is so far beyond reach as his own feel light as a feather, practically humming with humbleness, the craving to envelope peace. 

It seems like Harry’s neighbour is more than delighted to call a truce. Has her own ways of mellowing out and embracing the simplicity that is a couple of days' vacation from the real world. Whatever the reason, Harry looks forward to the weekend more and more each day, almost as much as he looks forward to resuming the feud first thing Monday morn. 

PastryPrincess’s timidly deceiving voice fills the silence of his room, prickling goosebumps up along his spine, blushing his ears with deep rouge. 

“How was everyone's week?” 

She does the usual and takes a moment to scan over some of the comments, stopping now and then to address specific responses.

“Aw, I’m sorry to hear that, Ace.” Harry can already imagine the sweet pout that accompanies her sympathetic words. He can almost picture her lashes batting lustfully as she offers her services, “ Maybe I can help relieve some of that stress.”

Harry’s already desperate to be singled out amongst the others, willing to clutch at anything to grab her attention. Even if it’s just the acknowledgement of her Stephen King-inspired shirt. 

Loverboy: I love the shining! 

She addresses him so quickly that Harry’s heart lurches in hopes that she was seeking out his message all along. 

“Loverboy, I never pegged you as a fan of horrors.” She coos in surprise before her voice deepens in a sultry rendition of Ghostface, “What’s your favourite scary movie?” 

Loverboy: Evil Dead!

Harry types with a haste that stems from keeping her attention trained on him, a need for her to see his reply before it slips away among dozens of others rolling in with their favourite films. 

She sees him, though. Of course she does. A soft gasp, her voice lilting with sudden enthusiasm, right hand disappearing off screen as she presumably gesticulates her revelation. 

“Evil Dead? No way, that’s my favourite, too!” 

Her giggles escape the small speaker and head straight for his steady heart, threatening to increase the thudding pace if she continues speaking. 

“Take off my top? Already? Wow, you guys really need a break, huh?” 

Yep, she got him, shot straight to the heart. Black briefs tightening as his bulge begins to swell and strain against the cruelly restrictive material. 

“Well, you know I aim to please…” 

She trails off, shifting her position from perfectly posed and ready to become an oil painting to an even further enticing angle where she sits upright, neck and face obscured from view, body resting atop her bent legs, thighs looking thicker and more delectable by the second.

And she makes no effort to take her top off slowly or seductively; instead, the material departs clumsily, exposing the curves of her smooth skin, guiding Harry’s gaze to trail from the dips of her waist, up along her bare abdomen, before settling on her chest, admiring the way the bralette cups and presents her breasts for his pleasure. He’ll make a note of telling her this little pantie set is definitely his favourite. 

She’s back to scanning the comment section, letting her hand aimlessly wander along the swoops of her upper thigh. 

“Today was a pretty slow day. Had another fight with my coworker.” 

Harry’s brows furrow at the sound of the word ‘fight’ entering the chat, besides the fact that she had failed to mention any discourse when they spoke before, he’s recalling what she did mention earlier. 

‘Fight’ is on a loop, lassooing his brain with an anticipatory itch to hear more about her affinity for getting into arguments. He can’t fathom it. He doubts anyone can. Nevertheless, his entirety now clings to the necessity of knowing more. 

“Maybe that’s why I’ve been thinking about this crazy idea all day. Thinking about how hot it would be to fight someone who disrespects my man.” 

Harry must have swallowed his heart. Why else would his stomach be thudding with something far stronger than a kaleidoscope of enthusiastic butterflies? 

If he had thoughts about who this sudden ‘man’ is, he need not ask because one of the most obnoxiously vocal and persistent subscribers beats him to it. 

“No, Bradley. I don’t have a secret boyfriend. Promise.”

For some reason, that dampens Harry’s spirit, he doesn’t know if her admitting to having a boyfriend would have been any better. But it does leave a tiny gap of nuance that Harry can use to challenge her confession.

Loverboy: Your man, huh? 

“Yeah. My man would be a real loverboy.” 

Harry exhales a sharp breath he hadn't noticed, it’s as shaky as his right hand as he lets it trail in descent from his resting with the other atop his chest in pursuit of his throbbing cock. 

He’s about to pose the question himself when it becomes clear that someone must have beaten him to it. 

“Who would ever wanna fight with me?” Her palm pressed to her chest, “You guys are too sweet to me.” 

Replies are pouring in, far too fast for Harry to read, and he has to wonder if she even has time to catch one or two. But she seems to do it with such ease, like she takes pride in looking after and pleasing her viewers. 

“It’s true, I am very sweet… but I can be mean if you like?” 

Harry’s thumb hooks onto the waistband of his briefs, tugging carelessly at the material until it settles lower on his waist and finally allows his cock to spring free with a harsh but welcoming sting of cool evening air. His palm cradles it with care, and unable to resist a little tease, he lets his hand move up and down his shaft at an agonisingly slow pace. 

Her hand slips from the hilt of her breast and settles atop her upper thigh, drawing lazy swirls along her skin. Harry can see it prickle beneath the dim orange-hued lights, shadows doing nothing but highlighting the heart-stopping silhouette of her body. 

She seems in deep thought, letting her fingers slowly inch nearer to the crevasse formed from where her closed thighs meet.

“Hm, maybe I’ll try that sometime soon…” She finally ponders aloud, “But I’m feeling extra sweet today. Just wanna make you feel good.” 

Her body raises slightly, allowing her legs to slip out of their position as her chair, splaying out in front of her and finally showing what everyone has been on the edge of their seats waiting for, damp panties slung along her hips as if they were crafted for her body in mind. 

“Is that alright?” She leans back against a fluffy purple pillow, taking it slow to ensure her face remains out of view, her hand edging toward the seam that sits along the swoop of her waist, accentuating her soft, fleshy skin. 

Harry rushes out a reply in the absence of her voice, encouraged by the barely audible hums and sighs slipping past her hidden lips. 

Loverboy: More than. 

And when she sighs out seconds after he presses send, it’s laced with gratitude for approval, so pliant, so gentle that Harry becomes inclined to believe it might be dedicated to him and him alone.

“You always take such good care of me.” 

He wishes he could take care of her. Knows what a good job he would do at making her moan out and writhe beneath him til she was drunk on the feeling of him buried inside her. Thinks he has an idea of just what would make her toes curl, how she prefers to be touched, kissed, where she’s most sensitive, and exactly how to ensure she ends the night saying his name on an endless and desperate loop. 

“Wish you were here right now, touching me all over, letting me be a good girl for you.” 

“Bet you’d like it if I helped you forget about the week, huh? I could get on my knees for you and suck you until you’re seeing stars.” She teases her fingers along the flimsy blue material, tugging it ever so slightly, “Maybe even let you fuck my mouth, if you like?” 

Harry would very much like that. If he had any inclination that she felt the same way (she does), he would do far more than slot his cock between her ideally perfect, plumped, and glossy lips. 

“I couldn't decide which toy to use tonight- oh, you guys are very opinionated.” She giggles cutely, and Harry squeezes his cock at the sweet sound. “No, Jessie, don’t even think about it.” 

“Had a feeling you’d act this way. So I’ve narrowed it down.” Her arm extends and searches along the lavender sheets until she finds her favourite toys, holding one up in each hand for the audience. 

“We have the fan favourite, my little Rabbit.” She wiggles the pastel pink toy in jest, before bringing attention to the baby blue toy in her left hand, “And we also have the tried-and-true Bullet.” 

Loverboy: Rabbit.

Harry rapidly adds his contribution to the imaginary poll and watches as it vanishes among the many others, his hand lending all of its focus to taking care of his aching, pulsing cock, desperately bucking with the need to be buried deep inside of her. 

For a moment longer, she reads through the informal votes, and Harry tries his best to slow his needy strokes down lest he find himself busting before she’s even done anything.  

“Hm, looks like we’re going with…” She takes a beat to let the anticipation threaten to boil over. “The Rabbit.” 

The sense of pride Harry feels is ridiculous; nonetheless, it engulfs him and wills his wrist to commit to making his cock feel as good as his head does, rhythmically gliding up and down as she awakens the little toy and lets it settle atop the damp mesh hiding what Harry’s watering mouth desires most. 

Her body jolts on instinct before her body needily bucks up into the toy, a thick, low moan sneaking past her lips. 

“Oh, fuck.” “That- that feels so good.” 

In a haze, she’s discarding her panties and getting back to work, guiding herself through a type of pleasure that Harry would sacrifice his life to bear physical witness to even for a single second. Especially when she vocalises the thought on her very own terms, dipping the tip of the toy past her entrance and wishing,

“Would feel even better with your cock buried inside me.” 

From that moment on, the stream becomes a blur of Harry’s gravelly moans synchronising with her soft, angelic ones, his chest is rising and falling in rhythm with his wrist, tugging and squeezing himself as she lets the toy fully sink inside her, hips raising to the ceiling in ecstasy. 

And it ends the same as it always does, with Harry covered in the remnants of pleasure, and PastryPrincess trying, but failing, to catch her breath, and to still her quaking legs. She checks in on her audience and thanks them graciously for choosing to spend their evening with her before signing off with an adorable little wave. 

It’s mere seconds after the screen turns black that a notification for a message from PastryPrincess pops up at the top corner of his browser. And Harry doesn’t hesitate to open it, forgetting where and frankly, who he is. 

Heart already thudding at a rate that medical professionals might find concerning, Harry’s chest thumps in tune, breathing becoming increasingly jagged when his hazy gaze absorbs her silly and overwhelmingly endearing question. 

PastryPrincess: Did you like it?

Of course he did, how could she think otherwise? There should be zero doubt in her cute little mind that he was merely one of hundreds who would be slipping off into an over-satiated slumber. 

Loverboy: Loved. 

Loverboy: Love the idea of you being possessive. 

Harry knows his thoughts are sure to be clouded by that simple sentence, “my man”, over and over until he’s physically ill and bed-bound, body cramping with the aching need to expel this lovesickness from his guts before it spreads to his blood, and inevitably eats at his brain until he can think of nothing but her. 

PastryPrincess: sent image.

Perhaps that was her plan all along. How else can Harry justify the rapid pace at which he loses the will to resist, to succumb to the disease of falling freely into her trap? 

How is he supposed to feel anything but the desperation to drop to his knees for her when he clicks on the image and is greeted by the most soaking, swollen, pretty pussy, still slick with overstimulation, on full display for Harry himself?

Loverboy: Fuck, tryna make me bust again?

His hand is already finding home on his suddenly, and unsurprisingly, risen cock, lethargically stroking himself tip to base as his stare returns to his new favourite image, letting his frantic gaze dart around each little detail, his lip trapped and aching beneath his teeth, mouth watering in desperation of soothing his thirst by drinking on her ‘til his body demands taking a breath. 

And, he’d rather pass out than stop for even a moment. 

PastryPrincess: My plan has been foiled… 

As if Harry hadn’t just covered his abdomen in thick arousal, his body begs to chase this high until he bursts with exhausted euphoria. His wrist quickens, a satisfied spark straight to his stomach with each glide along his tip, using his left hand to struggle out a response. 

Loverboy: You’re incredible. 

Loverboy: Would lap you up till my face is covered in you. 

PastryPrincess: You have no idea how badly I want that.

Her reply instantaneous, Harry’s thoughts stray to what she might be doing right now. Could she possibly be in a similar position? Lower body bare, pretty little hand trapped between her thighs, fingers swirling around her throbbing clit. 

Loverboy: Yeah? 

Loverboy: Are you this sweet to all of your subscribers? 

PastryPrincess: No, you’re my favourite. You already know that.

PastryPrincess: Was that photo not enough proof for you?  

God, Harry’s losing the ability to think straight. Able to do nothing but let his palm take the lead, press, and squeeze himself to the self-inflicted command to chase the high she hasn’t even asked for. To do good for her- be good for her. 

Loverboy: Just wanted to hear you say it again.

PastryPrincess: Maybe you’re the devil after all. 

Huh, Harry doesn’t quite mind that statement when it’s coming from her, though he can’t fathom the notion of being anything but a doting sub to her. Harry will commend himself later for the skill it took to type out a response. 

Loverboy: Only if you want me to be.

Loverboy: But you already knew that.

With the rapid pace at which he strokes himself, working his body up to the same incredible arousal he experienced minutes before, his laptop is slipping from his thigh as his limbs twitch with need. 

His ears are ringing and enveloping the dim room around him, and the faint backing track of her desperate, panting moans is increasing, louder and louder until Harry swears he can feel her presence right beside him.  

PastryPrincess: Just wanted to hear you say it. 

With those final words, Harry’s body goes into overdrive, acting on autopilot as his left hand joins the right, cupping his balls, right squeezing his shaft so adamantly. It’s too late to avoid his thoughts entering an imagination where she is the one taking care of him. 

Whispering tender, encouraging pleas for him to show her how good she makes him feel, begging him to make a mess all over her, to let her taste just how much he wants her. 

Harry slips over the edge, spilling his pleasure atop his hand, leaking down the tip of his cock until it pools at the base of his abdomen and joins his earlier mess. All because of her. Always because of her.  

And maybe it’s because this is the second time in such a short span that Harry has found himself submitting to a stranger on the internet, but he finds himself doing something he thought himself too shy to ever consider. 

He clicks on the option to send a picture, feeling like a teenager as he opens his webcam and awkwardly angles the laptop to capture his right hand cradling his sticky and still swollen cock, the only way he can truly profess the pleasure she derives. 

It’s no surprise that he hesitates for a moment, contemplating the intimacy of going through with his impulsive plan, but impulsivity wins as he takes a shallow breath and presses send. 

Loverboy: sent image 

Unlike his teen years, Harry isn’t left with agonisingly long minutes to fret over the many possibilities of how his risky pic might be perceived. She responds in an instant.

PastryPrincess: I take it back. You’re an angel.  

and Harry’s body graciously sinks back into the sheets, eyes lulling and burning with the plea to close and switch off for the night.  

PastryPrincess: Do I always get you this riled up?

Loverboy: Always. 

Perhaps Harry should consider showing her how good she makes her feel more often. For now, sleep is swallowing him whole, and he can’t submit until he cleans off and does his bedtime routine. 

He’s spent countless evenings pushing past burning blinks, hanging on to every one of her replies until the rooster his neighbour has the gall to call a pet starts to crow in ode to the rising sun. 

But it’s peak summer now, and that means that Harry has to do his daily run a lot earlier than normal, and he’s not ashamed to admit that he has learned the consequences first-hand. 

It pains him to be the first to say goodnight. But in this little imaginary world where she rests beside him, Harry can only hope she feels the same with his absence. 

Loverboy: Got an early morning, sweetheart. Chat first thing tomorrow? x

He lets the laptop slip from his legs completely as he carefully manoeuvres his way off the mattress, bare feet padding along the cool hardwood floors in pursuit of the en suite bathroom. 

Rushing through his routine- even sacrificing his nightly moisturiser, Harry slinks back to his bed, sliding his body under the summer sheets and taking a final look at his laptop screen. 

PastryPrincess: Sweet dreams, loverboy xx

Tummy fluttering at the mere mention of his pseudonym (one that now feels like a familiar nickname), as per usual, Harry vows to oblige her innocent request. 

Shutting the laptop and shoving it far enough away for his worry of damaging it to dissipate, Harry begrudgingly stretches his arm out to find the lamp switch. 

Darkness engulfs him with the promise of dreamland, and Harry’s skin starts to tingle as he slips further from reality. Seconds away from slumber, the audacious hum of music sneaks past his ajar window and disrupts almost all of his work. 

It’s hardly loud enough to be a targeted attack from next door; nevertheless, Harry squeezes his eyes in frustration as his same arm blindly fumbles around the side table for what he deems a necessary communication tool to deal with his neighbour. 

He’ll give her credit for this one. Forcing him to take one of the walkie-talkies, which god only knows where she purchased, seemed like another way to get on his nerves even without having to show her face. 

But it was quickly proven how much they came in handy. And how easy it was for Harry to take advantage of the privilege of pestering her for hours on end. It took him less than a week to figure out when she switched it on and off, and it has still not occurred to he knows.

Eyes still shut, Harry’s finger familiarly finds the voice switch, and perhaps more grouchy than needed, interjects with the actually soothing instrumental she had picked out. 

“Turn the music down. Over.”

It takes a good moment for Y/n to locate that bloody consequence of what was sure to be a good and beneficial way of voicing her complaints, and when she does, Harry takes great pleasure in her grumbles mixed with a soft bass. 

“Move out. Over.” 

Harry lets a chuckle slip and ends the spat. 

“I hate you. Over.” 

“Likewise. Over.” 

She does, but Harry concludes it’s not nearly enough for her to betray the passive, understanding, and considerate person she seems to be with everyone in the neighbourhood bar himself, because the music comes to a respectful halt, and Harry is enveloped in slumber once more. And this time, the distant echo of PastryPrincess’s voice welcomes him with open arms.  

Across the way, Y/n begrudgingly turns the music down to a whisper and readies herself for bed, letting herself be lured into unconsciousness. Her final thoughts consist of remarkable confusion at the juxtaposition of which Harry managed to contradict everything loverboy instils in her, ultimately, loverboy takes centre stage and invites her to meet him in dreamland- how could she possibly refuse?

🍑

[I've decided to make these shorter than my usual series- hopefully it'll help me get more of the story out with less of those massive gaps I tend to create. Let me know what you guys think!!]

Taglist: @gem1712 @mellamolayla @ellastyles13 @teenwolf9-1-1lover @cherreigh @mads3502 @lizsogolden @natyk @mothersversiononly @hannah9921 @harryswifeyyyy @rpwprpwprpwprw @cowboylikeliv @angeldavis777 @daphnesutton @ellamariee @magicalmorg

[babyyhoneyyy]

EEEEK I LOVED EVERY SINGLE WORD!! GREAT JOB GIRL!!!!

[babyyhoneyyy]

yesss and he sucks in them

TOE SUCKERR SOLE LICKER YES YEAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHDJDKSKK

[babyyhoneyyy]