prompt: YN is the leader of her community, the most powerful healer to exist. what happens when a mysterious knight summons her to the kingdom she vowed to never return to.
word count: 7.5k
warnings: angst, violence, mentions of parental death
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The Wildflower Forest started on the outskirts of Azurethra.
There was vibrant, overgrown nature that led into tall, larger than comprehendable trees that went for miles, and protected a small village that was sufficient on it’s lonesome. **
The people of Wildflower never stepped into the bustling city streets of Azurethra.
There had been rumored sightings but those were always told around fires and sleepovers because they had no reason to come to the city.
Technically, the kingdom of Azurethra ruled the forest but after years of tension and small wars, there had been a treaty agreed to that left the two from interacting or fighting.
The Village of Wildflower did not approve of violence nor war like the heathens of Azurethra.
The animosity ran thick and deep, The Wildflowers used to have a healthy, growing community that was getting bigger by the year.
The village had been thriving and prosperous until the first king of Azurethra had decided to settle on their land.
The Wildflowers were more than willing to welcome the new company, to share the beautiful land, and become an even bigger community.
That was not the vision of King Samuel, whom as soon as he realized the unique powers that these indigenous people had, he wanted them completely gone because he viewed their healing and magic abilities as blasphemous and solely the work of Lucifer himself.
Though The Wildflowers absolutely craved harmony and peace, they fought valiantly for their land which only worked to an extent.
Their magic abilities were no match for the brutish nature of the kingdom’s weapons of destruction and death.
After over half of their population had been obliterated by the king and his army.
They were left with no option but to retreat to the forest, miles and miles away from the new civilization, and atop a trectrous hill that most Azurethra people did not have the athleticism nor stamina to climb.
The people of Wildflower liked their small piece of heaven, they respected their land, and it blossomed beautifully and with abundance of everything they needed to survive without the reliance of the kingdom. **
It was absurd that Azurethran people viewed them as demonic, evil when their village looked like a picture of what the afterlife would be.
The vivid colors from the gardens, the flowers, the way the grass was always lucious and green despite how many children tumbled and rolled around on it. **
Just as the kingdom, there was the royalty that lead the forest’s village but it was viewed much differently.
The Mother was the leader of The Wildflower, it was the most powerful healer of the community, who had the strongest, most innate abilities to heal, cure, and create in a way that none other could.
It was always a woman, the mother of nature, which was passed down through bloodline.
Even though The Mother was the most respected, most worshiped being to them, she lived among them and acted no different or better.
She worked as hard (usually harder) than the villagers, she labored tiredly to keep their community beautiful, and she sat down to eat with them every night.
The Mother had been Helene for decades until her untimely death, in which her daughter, YN, had stepped in to lead the community.
YN was the strongest Mother to ever reign, her abilities in magic and healing had been uncanny from the time she was young, barely able to walk.
++
The Wildflowers began to panic, they had lost track of YN, who despite only learning the forest layout recently was extremely fast on her feet and though there had been many people around at the time, she had slipped away.
The villagers had scrambled to find the toddler, who could easily get lost in the expanse of the forest, and they were continuously calling her name to no avail, no response, met by the silence of the trees.
“I’ve found her!” April screeches, relief flooding through everyone’s body as they rush towards her voice but to what they find, they are left in absolute disbelief, it makes them fall to their knees in devotion to the little human.
YN, who had only recently celebrated her fourth trip around the sun, was stock still in concentration as she knelt beside a large, beasty elk whom had clearly gotten their ankle caught in a hole and had broken it.
The beast was unable to walk, laying on its side, and it had begun to succumb to nature as its breathing was shallow, uneven, and its eyes were starting to flutter as its spirit began to rise upwards.
YN had her tiny hand on its chest, over where his heart would be pumping to try to keep the animal alive, and her eyes were squeezed shut tightly.
There was no fear in the child’s body at being so close to such a creature, weighing well over a thousand pounds, and antlers that would easily kill if she’d agitated it but there was none of that in her steady breathing and posture.
“Is she-“ Callan begins to ask hesitantly, scared that the elk will harm the future Mother.
“Quiet,” Helene simpers as she watches with bright eyes, pride flowing through her veins as she watches her baby.
The villagers listen to The Mother, quieting instantly as they continue to watch the scene unfold in front of them.
YN pushes her hand further, harder onto the muscle of the animal, and then leans down, resting her forehead against their beating heart as she hums a low vibration against the brown fur.
Suddenly, the elk takes in a deep gasp of air, and the crowd of villagers watches in disbelief as the visibly broken ankle shifts until it appears uninjured.
The elk’s breathing is regulated, it’s eyes blinking in alertness before YN is stepping back and giving the beast room to stand.
The community of Wildflower looks on in awe as the elk stands, no signs of his previous near-death nor maimed ankle, it was healthy and strong once again.
Gasps are heard throughout the crowd as the elk takes a few steps closer to YN, all look towards Helene, but her mother is still nothing but calm, a small smile on her face as she watches the interaction.
The elk lowers its head, very carefully leans forward and nudges its snout against YN’s cheek before galloping away, back into the forest.
“Did she just….” Clover trails off, in disbelief of what they have just witnessed out of the child.
Healing abilities, especially with such large creatures, did not develop until teenage years.
The Mother, Helene, had not been able to perform such an act until she was sixteen years old and it had taken extreme practice.
This four year old had just healed the massive animal without instruction nor knowledge.
She was brilliant.
The embodiment of earth, beauty, love, healing.
YN peers curiously at the adults around her, who are just staring in adoration at the little thing, and quips unbothered, “Mama, I want sweets.”
++
That story describes The Mother best.
She was the strongest being that had ever existed within their people.
However, none would be the wiser as she presented truly as a goddess of beauty more than anything else.
Her hair was long, flowing down her back, and had a natural wave that reminded most of water.
Normally, her long hair was intricately braiding with flowers, beads, and other trinkets woven in between the plaits to keep it out of her face as she worked in the garden. **
She had a glow, a radiance that could not be replicated through her bright eyes, full lips, and perfectly shaped nose that made all of them admire her in such a way that would cause the nasty feeling of envy to appear.
All the people of Wildflower were beautiful beings but there was something so outlandishly striking about YN that none could even try to replicate because it was something intangible but at the same time so visually clear.
YN had a resemblance to her mother that was amplified.
It caused a deep ache in the hearts of her people when they were reminded that their Mother had been taken so cruelly from them, without justice or reason.
YN encouraged the village to practice forgiveness of the Azurethrans, to not hold onto the dark and sticking feelings of hatred and vengefulness as that’s not what they believed in their values and morals.
The Wildflowers did not understand always how YN could continuously preach that message when she had witnessed the murder of her own mother, she had been traumatized by these memories even though she does not speak of it.
YN had not been able to save her mother.
YN had to watch as King Samuel IV’s knights ended her life.
And YN had not been able to do anything about it except run the miles and miles back to her village to prevent it from happening to herself as she knew that if they knew how powerful the young girl was, she would have had the same fate as her mother.
The villagers questioned her teachings regarding Azurethrans on that subject because though none of them pointed it out, they noticed when she spoke of them that the clouds would darken and thunder would begin in the distance.
On the anniversary of her mother’s death, they knew to cover the plants that could be drowned because there would be terrestrial downpours that only YN could be the cause of.
The wildflowers would wilt that day, lose their vibrancy and begin to shrivel - only for the next day for them to appear as they always have.
Any other time, rain didn’t come unless the vegetation needed it.
++
The village had not had any interaction with Azurethra for the past decade.
After the murder of YN’s mother, they cut the little amount of ties they had holding them to the kingdom.
They did not go past the stone walls that kept Azurethra nestled inside nor did any of the citizens attempt to climb the treacherous mountains and foliage that acted as their walls to keep all the evil of the royaltly and their citizens out.
That was until one day.
Everything had been going normal, routine as it had everyday as of late.
Until chaos erupted among the villagers of Wildflower.
YN was in her cottage, she was cutting up fresh vegetables to make toss into a boiling pot of water - it was for one of the sickly children, down with a fever.
YN’s remedies always offered a definite cure because she was The Mother, she could heal every ailment except for old age.
There was banging at her front door, with sharp pleas from familiar voices, and it was so out of the norm for their normally quiet community.
Typically the only screams and shouts were from children playing or someone laughing joyfully at a joke.
This wasn’t a sound that YN liked to hear, which made her rush to the door and open it quickly, her people nearly spilling into her home with eyes as wide as saucers, as if they have seen a ghost, as they struggle to find the words.
They are all pointing in the same direction, back towards the line of trees, and it takes a moment until there is a figure emerging into sight.
It was someone that was tall, muscular in a way that none of her people were, and the thing that made it the most blatantly obvious that this was someone sent from the kingdom was the attire that they were wearing.
The rough silver of the material was shiny, reflective to the point that the rays of sun were bouncing off and blinding when they hit.
It wasn’t a material that they had in Wildflower, this was more modernized and unfortunately, YN knew what this meant all too well. **
The detailing was so exquisite that she did not blame the villagers for looking on in horrified awe as the man stepped out of the forest and onto the plush grass - it did not seem right that the dirty, harshness from his boot would step on their untainted ground. **
Everything about this solider was stark contrast to the environment that he had stepped into, he brought war and violence which did not exsist within the community.
Most Wildflowers, especially the younger ones, had never met anyone from Azurethra.
Let alone a knight.
And by the engravings on his armour, YN knew that this was King Samuel IV’s most respected, most trusted warrior.
The knight, even though from head to toe he was completely shielded, and YN could not see what he looked like - she could tell that he was a younger man based off his body and his gait.
That confused her even more because in years past the highest regarded night was older, and had served the king for many years to prove his worth.
This soldier must be a brute, ruthless, and had fought for the king, killed enough for the king that he had found this young man capable of leading others and protecting him - the thought made YN’s stomach turn as he approached closer.
On instinct, her people begin to crowd in front of her, creating a protective wall between her and this knight even though there is no doubt in anyone’s mind that this knight could take down the group of people easily if his goal was to get to The Mother.
The knight comes to stand in front of the wall of villagers, who are trying to disguise the quaking of their knees and the shakiness of their hands as they take in the appearance of this knight, this danger, this violence that represented the murder of YN’s mother.
Despite the love, understanding, and patiences that YN displayed to her people every single day, it is not to be mistaken for weakness.
YN exhibited a fearlessness that all admired, from the day she toddled up to that injured elk, and many other examples since then…YN was held an undeniable power in every sense.
“I need to speak with The Mother,” The knight’s voice is deep, startlingly so, and raspy as if he had not had a sip of water for a week.
His body was disguised by his uniform, the only thing that was visible was a small slit for him to see out of, and from that was the only detail of the knight.
Vivid green eyes, as vivid as the ivy that grows upon the side of the houses, and wraps around to embrace them.
They were green in the same way the foliage was and if he wasn’t Azurethran, YN would have thought that the gods had modeled the color after her nature.
How had he hiked the trials of the mountain in such a heavy coat of armour?
How had he not succumbed to the protectiveness of the forest to keep people like him away?
He should not have been able to just wander onto their land like a random transient passing through - he was here with a purpose.
“You will not,” One of the elders hisses defensively, an agreement echoing through the group as they stand closer together.
“You will leave us,” YN demands quietly, keeping her eyes on the knight’s, there is a sense of familiarity when their eyes meet but YN knows that must be her mind playing a trick on her.
She knows nothing of the Azurethran people, hasn’t interacted with any since she was a young girl but even then, her interaction was very limited when she accompanied her parents to the castle to discuss politics and what not.
“Mother,” Clover speaks with a frown, turning to stare at her, “He is unexpected, he is a knight. We should not all-”
Even though Clover was her elder, YN held the power when she raised her hand to silence her, “Enough. I will handle this. I would like you all to return to your duties now.”
YN felt an impending dread to see the knight, that much she could not lie to herself about because this has broke the ten years since they’ve last had interaction and never once have they met for good circumstances.
However, she would not let this knight, her people, nor any other member of the Azurethran kingdom know how much anxiety the kingdom made her feel.
She was stronger than that for herself, her people, and her mother.
The villagers are hesitant but have no option but to obey as they drag their feet away from her cottage, lingering looks of fear and curiosity at the visitor, and none are surprised when dark clouds begin to form overhead, they just pray for no rain.
“I need to have a discussion with you,” The knight informs her, his drawl was monotone and emotionless, just as he had been trained.
A soldier void of emotion, the only thing he knew was war and death, he didn’t interact elsewise and was in stark contrast to everything that YN represented.
“Do you not have manners of introduction? You know who I am but I have no idea who you- Hey! Don’t do that!” YN scolds sharply as she takes a step outside of her house with a hand to her chest as she makes a shooing motion with her other, “Back up! Now!”
There’s deafening cracks of thunder that echo overhead.
The knight does not back down but does not step any closer either.
That does absolutely no good as there is one of her beautiful bunches of tulips that were currently crushed under his foot, one of the many things that YN has put love and nurture to cross was simply being decimated under this brute’s foot.
It was symbolic in a way.
“You’re killing them!” YN accuses angrily, trying to calm her emotions as she feels a few raindrops hit her bare shoulders.
The anger began to ruminate in her tummy at the thought of this knight killing her beautiful, sensitive flowers.
“They are simply flowers, do not act as if they are humans,” The knight bleats dully, it was quite amazing how his voice stayed the same exact volume, tone for every single word.
YN has heard stories of how the king trained his knights, how he got them as emotionless as possible to be able to slaughter like they do, and this knight in front of her was a clear example of that.
“They are not just flowers! They are living creatures! With feelings, I can feel their pain! You absolute brute!” YN curses angrily, chest heaving as the thunder cracks once again.
The knight takes a step to the side, actually on the cobblestone walkway where he should have been in the first place but otherwise, unsurprisingly shows nothing even the beauty of his green eyes doesn’t sparkle like she would imagine they would.
“I do not believe in your witchcraft,” The knight replies blandly, his blinks are slow and unnerving as he stares right into her soul.
“Witchcraft?” YN’s voice goes high, affronted and downright enraged, “What I do is the most natural thing on this earth. You heathens who kill and oppress are closer to than devil than I will ever be!”
“I need to have a conversation with you,” He repeats, as if he had not already told her that.
“You’ve said as much,” YN deadpans, eyes darting up and down judgementally before huffing, “Come in.” **
The knight follows behind her, he has duck his head because he’s taller than the doorframe, and she scolds herself for wishing he would have smacked his head off the wooden beam above.
YN moves to pull out one of her chairs for the man, seemingly out of place in such a space, her cottage was cozy, light pale colors, and everything YN always imagined her cottage would look like when she was an adult.
The knight does not look around, instead his eyes are set on YN like she’s a target and his about to practice his archery skills.
YN moves to pull out her own chair, the thin strap of her flat dress falling down her shoulder, and she does not immediately fix it as she sits down.
“You are dressed salaciously. You should be covered,” The knight tells her, though she must not look that scandalous because his eyes do not dart to the side to protect her ‘exposed body’.
“Excuse me?” YN laughs in disbelief, she knew the Azurethransns dressed much more conservatively, women kept from their collars to toes covered, not displaying any of the natural beauty of their bodies but hiding it away for only their husbands to see.
People did not run around nude in Wildflower, well except for the little ones who occasionally refused to put on clothing and preferred to play in the water bare.
It was cool in the mountains despite the sun, there was a necessity for clothing but it never got a deathy chill that required thick fabrics of wool and such.
Most women dressed in light flowy, gauzy dressed that let them move around freely whereas men preferred linen pants and most of the time foregoing a shirt unless there was chill they may accompany the pants with a cotton shirt.
Every body type, shape, color was praised and admired in the village.
There was no shame or judgment.
Their bodies were viewed as beautiful, sculpted works of art made to suit them and provide them what they need.
Why would they work so valiantly to cover such a miracle?
“You heard me,” His tone only elevates with the slightest edge of sharpness, “You are dressed inappropriately, like most of the people in this village.”
“You may leave if it scandalizes you,” YN motions towards the door with an airy, carefree tone as she moves to pour herself a fresh glass of lavender lemonade, “I forget you knights have never seen a woman’s body or know anything about them. No wonder it’s so tough for you to be around ‘scantily clad' women -.”
“That is a myth,” The knight cuts her off, “It does not surprise me that you know nothing about our kingdom. The knights are free to associate with women as they please. You are solely trying to use your body for manipulation.”
YN tends to forget that the kingdom has such radical views about women, sex, and their own free will.
YN tilts her head, a coy smile playing at the corner as she blinks like a doe at him, “Is my body doing something to you, my liege? If it is that simple to sway you, for whatever you’re about to deliver, I do not mind sharing my body with you.”
It was scandalous, even for YN to say but as The Mother she held more than power with nature and her people, she held this intimidating but awe-inducing confidence in her sexuality and body that oozed from her every pore.
It does the trick to irritate the knight further, his hand slams down on the table, and his voice is loud, booming in the otherwise quiet cottage, “Enough of this. You are truly a witch. Now let me speak of what I need too.”
“Why, of course. The floor is yours, I’m all ears,” YN lets the condescension float in the room between them.
The tension had started building the moment he walked in, and it was thick enough that it could be swirling in clouds of smoke.
“I am here to retrieve you,” The knight tells her, eyes unwavering and serious, “The king is ill. None of the medications or remedies that the castle’s doctors have utilized has worked. We have outsourced to other kingdoms but no one has been able to offer a solution to his mysterious ailment. The king has requested your presence, to heal him.”
Neither of them startle when a vicious crack of thunder splinters overhead, the sound of rain pounding on her roof as her anger begins to make her vision blurry, “You have the absolute nerve! To come here, call our community blasphemous and demonic! Yet you want my help? That makes no sense.”
“Despite our views on your community. The council is desperate for the king to get better,” The knight continues, unshaken by the weather caused by YN, “You are their last hope for his recovery. They have heard of your…abilities and would like to see if it would work.”
YN knows she could heal the king, he was too young to be dying of old age, the only ailment she couldn’t treat but why would she help the man who murdered her mother?
YN says as much.
“You are asking me to heal the man who murdered my mother?” YN snarls as a flash of bright, blinding lightning flickers outside the window accompanied by another yowl of thunder, “You want me to save the life of the man who could not even bother to return my mother’s body to her home?”
“I understand what you-”
“No,” YN hisses, slamming down her glass hard enough that the glass splinters and crumbles in her hand, “You do not understand. If you did, you would not be in my home, asking this of me. How dare you.”
The knight sighs, “I did not want it to come to this….If you do not come with me, your community will suffer the consequences of your decision.”
That makes her eyebrows raise, “We signed a treaty. We-”
“There was a clause in the agreement. That if you, The Mother, were called upon, you would answer promptly and efficiently. Failure to do so would result in a void of the treaty and you will be solely under Azurethra’s reign again.”
YN signed the treaty when she was so young, newly appointed to The Mother, traumatized by how she’d lost her mother, grieving because she had lost her, and now had the weight of a whole village in her hands.
She remembers signing with a shaky curve to her name, unsure of what she was agreeing to but hoping that it meant peace.
YN knew that her refusing to go would mean the death of her people, her village would be back under the oppression of the crown, and everything they had worked for since rebuilding after Helene’s death would have been for nothing.
YN has to choke out the words, “I will come with you.”
“I know you will,” He replies in flat monotone once again.
“Under one circumstance,” YN raises her finger at him, “You will go outside and fix my flowers. I will not leave until I’ve healed them.”
The knight blinks at her, “I will not.”
“You will or I will make this entire journey an absolute hell on earth for you,” YN grits out through her teeth, “Go. Fix. My. Flowers.”
It’s a staredown for a moment, “You are quite unbearable.”
“My flowers are waiting,” YN points towards the door impatiently.
The knight stands suddenly, instead of striding towards the door, he walks over to her until they’re nearly touching and he stares down at her, he was even taller than she had originally thought he was now that they were this close.
“Do you understand who you are making demands of?” He warns that deep raspiness becomes more prevalent again as the words come out as a threat, “I am King Samuel’s IV highest regarded knight. I have killed more than make up your community. I will not hesitate when it comes to sinking my blade into flesh.”
YN steps forward, knowing that her body gives her an advantage against this prude man, her chest bumping against the plates of his armor, “I do not think you know who I am. Go fix my flowers, now.”
The knight raises his hand, covered in black fabric, and for a moment, YN thinks that he’s going to hit her but he doesn’t do such a thing.
He tucks his finger around the thin strap of her dress that was laid near her bicep and tugs it back until it’s on the curve of her shoulder.
“Any further and you would be exposing something I’m sure you wouldn’t like me to see,” He nods in regard to fixing her dress.
“Unlike you Azurethrans, I am not ashamed of my body. I was gifted. I would proudly show off any inch of skin, to anyone,” YN shrugs nonchalantly, it was true, why did the kingdom associate shame with their bodies?
The knight’s eyes narrow slightly before he’s turning in his heel, bursting out the front with far too much force, and kneels on the cobblestone.
With no finesse, he tries to coax the flowers to stand upwards but they simply fall in distress at being stomped on, lifeless and limp.
He realizes that he will not be able to get them to lift up, he makes sure they are off the path so no one else steps on them (they wouldn’t be so careless).
“This is the best I can do,” The knight motions towards the flower bed, standing up, and he must be so incredibly overheated in all the weight of silver.
YN goes to her flowers, getting down on their level, and she cups both of her hands around the damaged bulbs of their body, her eyes closing and she’s whispering under her breath.
The knight watches in utter stupefied shock when the stems start to perk up, the petals and bulbs starts to wrinkle and heal right before their eyes
And in less than a minute, the flowers are completely healed, and appear just as healthy as they were before with no reasonable explanation.
YN stands, brushing off the skirt of her dress, and glancing over at Harry.
“Witchcraft is nothing to be proud of,” The knight laments as he taps his foot impatiently, “We have a three day journey to the kingdom. We need to go now.”
YN bites her tongue on his harsh words, instead speaking surely, “I will speak to my people and then we can go. You need to learn patience.”
“Oh, I have plenty of patience, just not with you.”
++
“You cannot go!” Viola argues with a hand to her throat in horror, “You cannot heal that evil king!”
Her whole community was jittery and unsettled as she announces her department for Azurethra, rightfully so as they ask questions,
“I will not risk a war or an invasion of soldiers,” YN states firmly, in an assertive tone she does not need to use very often, “This is a decision I have already made. I will be no more than ten days' time. If I am, I have assigned certain men to come for me. Understood?”
They all hum in anxious agreement though it isn’t happily, they spend quite a bit of time hugging her, kissing her, and telling her positive affirmations as the knight watches in annoyance from the sideline.
“Come now, flower,” He orders, fed up with the departure party that was cutting into their daylight of travel.
++
“Flower! Flower!” The boy yelped in absolute horror, “You have to run! Now!”
“My mother!” YN cries back, the water in the glasses on the table begin to swirl in mini whirlpools of her emotion as she refuses to move, “I will not leave without my mother!”
“You must! Don’t you see? They’re going to end your life next! You must leave now!” He yells at her, she’s never heard that type of volume from him.
“You knew?” YN demands angrily, lip snarling upward.
His eyes widen, “What? No! Of course not. How could you even-?”
They’re cut off by the sound of a large chamber door unlocking and opening.
“Go! Now!” The boy insists, when she doesn’t love, he shoves her as hard as he possibly can, which sends her stumbling towards the opposite doorway.
++
YN squeezes her eyes shut, willing the flashback out of her mind, and out of her space because it had been quite sometime since she’s had a flashback.
It must be the mere thought of going to the kingdom that triggers those events to flutter back into her mind because she had suppressed nearly all of it.
YN does not remember much, not anything really of her childhood, all blocked out to avoid the trauma witnessing her mother’s death caused.
She only really starts to form memories once again in her teenage years after signing the treaty and becoming The Mother.
There’s suppressed memories that flood to the surface to provide her more insight to those events but it’s unwarranted and most of the time unwanted.
It subdues her in a way that nothing else does.
The sparkles leave her for a moment.
“Walk,” The knight interrupts her clouded thought, his hand gripping her arm and nudging her, gently albeit purposefully towards the same part of the forest he had arrived at.
“I need…” YN trails off, still feeling unsettled but she does not really need to bring anything with her, she can wash her clothes in the-
“Your villagers have already packed your necessities for you,” He sounds confused, it’s the first time that she notices her burlap pack over his shoulder.
“Oh,” YN replies dumbly, blinking harshly to get the scream out of her mind and following behind the knight who was walking brusquely.
They had a long journey ahead of them.
++
It is quiet, both with nature and the two of them.
The knight seems perfectly satiated with no speaking but YN was naturally a social being that cracked after the first hour of silence.
“What is your name?” YN asks because that’s the main question that was rattling around in her mind.
“None of your concern,” He replies without looking back, not willing to elaborate and going silent once more.
YN starts to walk at a sluggish pace, dragging her feet, and because he is walking so fast, it puts a noticeable space between the two of them.
That causes him to turn around.
“Walk faster.”
“I will walk this pace until I learn your name,” YN retorts, unbothered by how petulant she knows she sounds right now as she stares back at him.
“No.”
YN does keep walking but her steps manage to get even slower.
“Edward, my name is Edward. Now walk before I throw you over my shoulder and give you no option,” He tells her with a warning glance.
YN has a strong intuition telling her that he was not named Edward.
She had no reasoning behind this but something in her gut was telling her this wasn’t his name.
“Your name is not Edward, lying is unbecoming,” YN replies as she picks up her pace but stops short once again when the knight spins around.
It seems to be the first time she had gotten a real reaction out of him which even catches her off guard.
“What is my name then?” He challenges harshly, she wishes she could see more of his face.
“I…don’t know,” YN murmurs hesitantly, looking down at the ground as she tries to decipher why she feels this way, “I…”
“Do you know who I am?” The knight asks sharply, intrigued but demanding in a different way then he had before.
“From what you tell me…Your King Samuel IV’s knight,” YN wracks her brain but she knows nothing about anything from the kingdom and her memories are to shoved down into the depths of the dark to recall anybody from when she used to visit frequently with her parents, “You…I just know that is not your name. How would I know who you are? We’ve never met before today.”
The knight’s eyes almost flash a moment of emotion that she just does not understand why he’s reacted this way, it was alarming to actually get any type of emotional response out of him since he was trained to be void of such.
The knight does not respond but steps forward to tightly wrap his hand around her wrist, “Walk at a normal pace now or I will drag you by the wrist.”
It surprises YN that her instant reaction is not to yank her hand away, she allows him to wrap his fingers around her wrist as he gives her a yank forward to get her walking again by force before letting go.
“You did not answer me. How would I kno-“
“Stop talking,” He cuts in bluntly, in such a rude way that YN wasn’t accustomed to, none of her people spoke like this.
“I guess they don’t teach manners in Azurethra,” YN mutters under her breath as she walks behind him.
There was a beautifully crafted dirt path that YN’s grandmother had created decades ago so that people could travel up and down the mountain without constantly stepping on flowers and foliage.
YN noticed that the sky above the tree line was darkening, not to her own emotion but she knew the mixture of her villagers being distraught and the forest starting to detect her departure would lead to bad weather.
They remain silent for hours after.
YN was surprised that it took so long for the forest to act out, it did not like intruders nor did it like their Mother leaving either.
As the knight surveys a possible shortcut, it’s the first time that he moves to step off the dirt path, and suddenly, viciously a tree branch is flailing from the tree beside him and hitting his arm violently.
It manages to cut him between a space of his armor where there was black mesh, it was the first time YN could see a sliver of his skin and a red ooze from where he had been sliced deeply.
YN rushes over to the tree, firstly, and puts her hand on the trunk to prevent any further damage.
The knight is stoic as always, his hand moving to pat over it, YN could see that it had gotten him quite deeply, nothing superficial about it, and she was a bit in awe that he had not even made so much as a gasp or groan when it had happened.
“I am sorry,” YN begins as she steps over to him, “The…The forest does not like intruders nor does it like when I leave.”
“Am I to believe you did not use your witchcraft to summon that attack?” The knight responds calmly, dully.
YN frowns up at him, “I would never use my beautiful nature as weapons. Let me heal you.”
“No,” He replies, leaning down to scoop up a handful of dirt, and he packs it onto the cut to slow the bleeding, eyes not giving away any indicator of pain or discomfort.
“Please, I can -“
“I said no, now walk,” The knight’s voice is louder, echoing off the trees, and effectively gets her to stop talking once again.
YN does not have anything else to say to him, even though she has a million questions, still chewing over the conversation that they had earlier but he appears extremely more tense and on edge than he had earlier, which is saying something.
The sun is starting to fade into night, by the time this happens YN is exhausted from the extensive hiking, though she was athletic, in good shape, she wasn’t used to doing such for hours upon hours at a time.
Her thighs were aching, her body ready for a good night's sleep.
“I woul-“
“Stop talking,” He reminds her for the fiftieth time that day.
YN huffs, a bit brattily, and sits on the nearest rock.
“Walk.”
“I am tired, please. I need sleep,” YN nearly whines, digging her toes into the dirt, and blinking tiredly back at him.
She expects a fight, an argument about how they need to walk a bit longer or do whatever he thinks is best but she is actually taken aback when he is agreeable for the first time during this trip, “Okay. You may rest. We will find a good area for you to lay.”
“There’s a meadow up a few minutes,” YN tells him, she knew this land like the back of her hand, every creek, every meadow, every waterfall.
“Very well,” He nods before starting up again.
By the time they come to the meadow, YN can barely keep her eyes open and ready to relax onto the lush grass which sure, isn’t the most comfortable but it’s better than the hard dirt floor of the forest.
However, the knight is swinging the pack from his shoulders, and tugging it open to rifle around until he finds what he’s looking forward to.
He tugs out one of YN’s favorite blankets then proceeds to spread it out on the grass for her in an unusually kind gesture, “I asked them to pack you a blanket. I hope this one is fine.”
YN wasn’t expecting a blanket at all which warms her heart that he asked them for this, more thoughtful than she originally thought, and eagerly kneels before laying to get comfortable.
He isn’t done though, taking a dress that was in her pack and crumpling it up into a makeshift pillow before leaning down to tuck it under her head.
YN’s eyes are already closed, nuzzling her face into the soft fabric of her dress like a kitten, and curling her legs up a bit.
She swears that she hears the knight chuckles raspily, murmuring to himself, “Tired little flower.”
summary: harry styles, a fifth grade school teacher, meets noelle adler, a first grade school teacher, who just happens to be across the hall in room 115. harry has never been one to believe in 'love at first sight', but his inclination begins to question when he realizes that he can't stop staring at noelle in faculty meetings and begins to introduce her to his lifestyle outside of the classroom.
in an attempt to win her heart, will harry begin to question everything he's ever known about love? or will her own demons battle his in an attempt to keep them apart?
author's note: this is a story I begun a few years ago; it has about 6 chapters so far. I took it down from wattpad, & thought I'd give it a go with you all - figured you all would appreciate elementary school teacher LHH for a little bit. we'll see how it goes & if you all like updated chapter stories! I haven't gotten much reception from them in the past on here (with the exception from majesty, but even that doesn't have too much traction) - so we'll see how this goes, and I'll look to see if we can make these updates a regular thing... hope you enjoy <3
PROLOGUE
This is a story between a man with no inhibitions, and a woman who seeks for what she can't find. It's a true story, which makes it all that much more interesting... or so it goes.
We meet them separately, for their meeting hasn't occurred yet– not at this part of the story, however. But they're destined to meet, destined to find what each other have been looking for all along.
Neither a clue, nor a cause for their search, but a plan that the universe has set up entirely. That's the funny thing about the universe; the skeptics don't believe that the stars have anything to do with our future, but they'd be wrong.
Oh, how wrong they'd be.
See, in this story, the man and the woman struggle to make sense of their stories, their lives. They haven't imagined looking far beyond themselves to think that what they may need wasn't what they believed all along.
This is a romance story, sure But this story is more than that.
It's about finding the quirks, loving the journey, and celebrating the little things. It would be boring to say that this story came together in every aspect; Harry met Noelle, Noelle met Harry and the rest was history.
But let's start our story at the beginning. Some may call it love at first sight, but that's impossible for someone who believes that love doesn't exist to begin with. Well, real love, that is.
The man drops his keys when he steps out of his car, subtle cursing follows through his lips as he bends down to pick them up from the hot pavement. It's warm, it's nearing the end of summertime up in the cozy, seaside village, but there were still a few weeks of steaming, humid days ahead of them.
He wipes his forehead on the sleeve of his shirt, knowing that the temperatures are reaching higher levels today, so he is glad that he's inside most of the day in the stark cool air conditioning. His hair is pulled back into a bun, off of his neck. He had grown his hair long over the summer, a bit longer than prior years.
There's a box that sits in the back of his car, a small box of items that he had taken from the classroom last year. He knew that he would be in the same one this year, Room 113, so packing up meant including only his personal items.
The walk to the room isn't far from the front door; it's down the west wing and to the left. The hallways will soon be filled with laughter and screaming, a bit of chaos and roars of kids lining the halls as he navigates them as they run into his legs and he has to remind them to slow down.
It's his third year here at Middletown Elementary, and he wonders if he'll ever leave. It starts to feel a bit too comfortable, which the man doesn't enjoy too much. Being comfortable sets you up for the opportunity of being hurt; leaving now would mean that he could get out unscathed. Especially if something were to happen-- he wouldn't be able to say what that something was, mind you.
But he was always prepared to leave, to get out while he still could.
Flipping on the lights in Room 113, he notices that the name on the door exhibits his own: Mr. Styles.
He sets down the box on the desk; it's barren, only holding the computer monitor and keyboard provided.
The desks and chairs need to be rearranged to his liking, the posters need to be hung up, the string lights he uses for reading times need to be set up, the carpets need to be laid down for optimal class free-time.
There's a lot to do, and he's starting to feel overwhelmed by the list, even when he recognized that everything still felt in place from last year. He grabs a few folders from the box, filled with papers that he had from years prior that he planned to recycle and use again.
The cabinet is unlocked, filing systems that sit behind his desk as he starts to add a few files into the cabinet drawers. He misses the sound of the flip-flopped sandals that approach his classroom door.
"Excuse me?"
The man is interrupted from organizing the filing cabinet that he had started to put back together, adding in the coloring pages and vocabulary quizzes that he had gathered.
Something about the interruption is totally forgotten as he looks at the woman that lingers in the doorway to his classroom.
Soft and sweet, she's quite possibly the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on, and that would be the most wild idea he's ever had. It's a quick spark, which renders him speechless.
The shock is quick when he recognizes that his response is late; he'd been too busy wondering if his reality was real afterall.
"Oh, sorry– hi, yeah," The man stumbles out, standing from his crouched position at the cabinet by his desk. "What, uh, what's up?"
The woman looks a bit lost, out of place. The man can't seem to read her as he notices that a sheepish smile lays on her lips. He hadn't recognized her.
"I was in a hurry this morning, and I forgot to bring a stapler. You wouldn't happen to have an extra one I can borrow, would you?"
There's a bit of worry in her voice, as if she's nervous– possibly a bit frantic. It was only the beginning of the day, and the man believed that he would be working solo today as it was the first day to get acquainted in the classroom.
The man opens his mouth to speak, eyes glued on the way that the mid-length denim shorts sat on her porcelain skin in the sunny, late morning sunshine.
There's a silence for a moment, the man's eyes looking towards the only stapler that he brought that day.
"Here," He hands it to her, knowing that getting close to her feels like his lungs are losing air quicker. "You can have this one."
A soft smile is exchanged between them; and it's because of the freckles that litter her cheeks, the contrast of the browns and greens that elicit her eyes. The copper tone of her hair and softness of her facial features.
The woman's hair is pulled up in a ponytail, loose strands hang in her face to frame the oval shape.
She places her hands on her hips, the high neck tank top is complimenting her skin in a mauve color– the freckles that literally her skin with no rhyme or reason seem fascinating to the man.
"Sorry– you looked busy. I just– I'm Noelle, by the way. I'm new this year. It's actually– it's my first year teaching. Like, ever." She chuckles a bit at her words, almost like she's worried that the man would judge her for them, "I guess I'm a bit all over the place."
The man nods his head without much more questioning, giving her a promising smile, "What grade?"
"First. I'm, uh, right across the hall," She points with her thumb behind her, directing towards the room, "Room 115."
It was certainly a surprise to hear that she had taken over the room for Mrs. Hallens, but he figured that she retired and they replaced her with... Noelle. The man shifted his weight on his feet as he stood across from her.
"Ah, we're neighbors, then." He smirks at her for a moment before a wash of confusion crosses over his face, "Oh, sorry, my name. I'm Harry. I teach fifth."
The woman smiles, teeth bright and kind, "Glad to meet you, Harry."
She holds the stapler in her hands, lifting to gesture back to that conversation.
"Thanks again for this," She nods a few times, biting on the strawberry plumpness of her lips he definitely hadn't been staring at. The man shrugs his shoulders, nonchalant enough to show that there hadn't been an issue with it.
"Let me know if you, like, need help with anything else," he offers, his hands rest on his hips as he tries to act a bit casual, "It can be a bit stressful, but first graders are more stressed out than you are, trust me. Like when they say snakes are more afraid you than you are of them? Same goes for kids." He tells her, a bit of a smirk on his face and he means it with his full heart.
He figured she sensed that; a wave of calmness created a bubble over her.
The woman gives him a smile again, nodding her head at his words as she studies the stapler like it's the most important artifact on the planet.
"Yeah– yeah, you're right," she smiles back at him, her eyes laying on him and wonders why her heart races a bit faster, "Thanks, again."
Without another word, she's heading back towards the door to her own room. The man can see through the door clearly, watching as she unfolds the stapler to attach a few posters to the wall.
He senses a strange feeling, but he blames it on the heat. The air conditioning hadn't been properly turned on yet in the building, and the black jeans he chose this morning were already causing a bit of an issue when it came to sweating.
We all knew it wasn't summer heat he was feeling– no, it was more than that.
It was a feeling he'd never had before, a feeling he wouldn't be able to pinpoint on a map if given the opportunity. It felt bigger than life itself, stronger than most currents. Most writers couldn't identify it, poets had trouble putting it into words.
The man shook his head, draining the idea from it.
It was impossible, he thought. How could one look be all it took?
In that moment, he grappled with the realization that love, perhaps, wasn't an elaborate fiction but a profound and unexpected reality that had chosen him as its reluctant believer.
On the opposite end, the woman had walked back across the hall to where her own classroom laid. The papers and the posters littering the room in a chaotic sense; it matched the imagery in her brain.
But her mouth was dry and her heart was beating in a way that she knew would be shocking to her doctors. She didn't want to turn back to look because she was afraid of what she'd find.
Instead, her eyes shut as she reached her desk chair again. Her radiant spirit, the nervous energy that hesitated further as she set the stapler down on the desk.
The stars did that, you know? They forced together atoms with a centripetal force great enough to spark the greatest stories ever told.
The smile that landed on both Noelle and Harry; both across the hall from one another, and both unaware of each other.
The smile is where this story begins, but it is certainly not how it ends.
saw this picture, had to write something immediately — hot off the press, just for you hehe enjoy <3
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
You’re brushing your teeth beside him again.
It’s not the first time that you've done that—far from it, but something about this particular night makes the moment feel worthy of being remembered.
Harry’s standing next to you in the tiny bathroom of your rental villa, his skin still golden from the sun and his hair wild with salt and humidity; his curls starting to emerge at the root from the exposure to the heat.
He’s got a toothbrush dangling from his lips, foam threatening to escape the corners of his mouth as he tries not to smile too much at himself in the mirror. You hold your phone up, capturing the scene out of instinct.
Click.
He playfully rolls his eyes when the shutter sound goes off.
“Hope you’re not sending that to anyone. That’s top-tier blackmail, that is.”
You glance at the screen. The photo’s perfect; he's photogenic in a way that you merely can't describe.
His perfectly fitting t-shirt is rumpled from where he threw it on after his shower, damp at the collar, and a little crooked on one side. The linen pants sitting around his hips are low and loose, and there’s something sweetly disheveled about all of it as you prepare for dinner together.
“I’ll sell it to the press,” you say with a shrug, trying to keep a straight face as you rinse your mouth.
He chuckles, swiping at a bit of toothpaste foam with the back of his hand from it, then leaning in just enough to nudge your arm. “Can’t take me anywhere.”
“You’re in your own house.”
“Exactly. Even worse.”
You both laugh, and it’s a warm sound. Familiar, the happiness that is bursting around the small, tiled bathroom. It smells like mint and coconut conditioner and leftover sea breeze, like the beach never really left your skin even though you rinsed it off.
The villa had been a last-minute decision—his idea, of course. He’d shown you the listing one rainy Thursday in London, scrolling through photos of wide windows, string lights, and hammocks that swung over white sand.
“Let’s disappear for a week,” he’d said, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. “No work, no stress. Just you, me, and the ocean.”
You’d said yes because saying no to Harry was almost impossible. And now, four days in, your skin is freckled and your hair’s gone a bit wild and you haven’t worn real clothes since Tuesday. Only bikinis and linen shirts that you kept getting mixed with his in your pile of clothes that surrounded your suitcases.
He spits into the sink, grimacing dramatically— he was known for dramatics. "I think I got sand in my molars.”
You laugh, wiping your mouth with a towel. “Is that even possible?”
“Dunno. But everything tastes like sunscreen and fish and chips.”
You lean your hip against the counter, tilting your head as you watch him rinse. His profile’s soft in the low light; you notice that his nose is slightly sun-kissed, jaw shadowed with a bit of stubble from the lack of shaving the last few days.
There’s a tiny patch of peeling skin at the tip of his ear from where he’d missed with the sunscreen, and his forearm is still faintly striped from the crocheted bracelets he’d refused to take off in the water.
He catches you staring and raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“Nothing,” you murmur, pouting out your lip as you give him eyes that seem to gleam in his presence. “Just… you.”
That earns you a lopsided grin and a little shake of his head. The dimple expresses itself and makes you feel warmer than usual. He steps closer, resting his wet toothbrush on the side of the sink.
“You like me like this, don’t you?” he teases, voice low and teasing and full of cheekiness. “All brown and beachy. Bit feral.”
You scrunch your nose at him. “You’re not feral.”
“I’m practically wild.” He leans in until his forehead brushes yours, his voice nothing more than a whisper now, hands pressed to your waist that practically burn. “You should see what happens when I run out of moisturizer— I'm an animal.”
You snort, but you don’t pull away. You stay pressed forehead to forehead, his breath warm and minty and his hands, a bit damp from rinsing. sliding over your hips in that easy, familiar way that makes your stomach flutter.
“Mm,” he hums, tilting his head slightly. “Got all soft on me these last few days. Used to take you ages to relax.”
“You’re imagining that.” You press your hands to his chest, leaning back a bit in his arms.
Harry shakes his head. "I’m not. First day here you still checked your emails on the beach.”
“Once.” You argue.
“Twice.”
You roll your eyes, "Okay, twice.”
He grins in triumph, then brushes a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Now look at you. Barefoot. Sun-drunk. Smiling in your sleep," Harry cocks his head, "All those cheeky bikini bottoms you're flaunting are really turning you into someone else."
You pull back a little to look at him properly. “That’s ‘cause I have good company.”
Harry’s smile softens at that. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He sighs, dramatic again, and rests his chin on your shoulder. “Gonna be hard to leave.”
“I know.”
Neither of you say anything for a moment. The quiet isn’t heavy—it’s full, though. The kind of silence that stretches and wraps around you like warm sheets, thick with shared memories of late-night swims, sand between your toes, and early-morning pancakes eaten straight from the pan because neither of you could find a plate in the villa.
“I took a picture,” you say after a while.
“I know. Saw you.”
“Want me to send it to you?”
He perks up. “Only if you caption it with something flattering. Like, ‘my gorgeous man brushing his teeth with the grace of a tanned Grecian god.’”
“More like, ‘Bigfoot sighting.’”
He gasps, mock-hurt as he grasps at his chest. “Cruel. After everything I’ve done for you today—carried your beach tote, bought you three different kinds of ice cream, let you win at Uno—”
“You didn’t let me win.” You fight back, shaking your head.
Harry smirks, “I might’ve— could've played two Draw Fours in a row, but I spared you."
You both grin again, loving the ease of the moment. Then he grabs your phone, taps around, and pulls up the photo. His eyes linger on it longer than you expect.
“You really like it?” you ask, craning your neck to look.
He nods, smiling down at it. "Yeah. Looks like us.”
You step behind him and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his back. His skin is still warm from the shower, his muscles relaxed under your hold.
The familiarity of the muscles makes your stomach twist at all the time spent between the sheets this weekend alone .
“You make me feel like this could be easy,” you say quietly, wondering if he can hear you properly.
He twists slightly to glance at you. “What d’you mean?”
“Like all of it. Loving someone, living with someone. You make it feel… calm. I used to think I wasn’t the kind of person who could do that."
You didn't know you could be loved this way, which makes it harder for him to accept your self-doubt. But you start to see how easy it is, and everything becomes... different.
His expression shifts—soft, sincere. “That’s ‘cause no one’s done it right yet. ‘Til me.”
You chuckle, kissing between his shoulder blades. “So humble.”
He turns, arms slipping around you now, pressing you to his chest as he leans against the bathroom counter.
"I’m serious,” he says, kissing your hair. “Don’t care how messy it gets. I want all of it.”
“Even the part where I use your towel without asking and get it all wet?”
He groans, still smiling beneath it. “You do that again and I’ll break up with you on the spot.”
You grin into his shoulder. “That’s fair.”
Another beat of silence. This time, it’s him who breaks it.
“Stay,” he says.
You hum into his chest, knowing you're not moving for a moment.
“I am staying.”
There's a pause before you feel him shake his head.
“No, I mean… after. When we go back. Don’t go to your place. Just come to mine. Bring your stupid frog mug collection and your sexy little bathrobe and take over my bathroom counter with your serums and your tangled necklaces and just… stay.”
Your heart trips a little at his confession, your eyes leaning up to meet his.
“You mean that?” you whisper, a bit confused by the sudden intimacy of the moment.
He pulls back enough to look you in the eye, the cheeky grin faded into something gentler. “I do. I want all the days with you. All the brushing teeth and stealing towels and waking up tangled up and going to sleep to your snoring—”
“I don’t snore.”
“Sure.” He bites his lip.
You kiss him before he can say more, pressing your smile into his mouth. And he kisses you back like he’s already won, like it was always going to be you.
Later, you’ll crawl into bed with your legs still cool from the evening walk on the beach to grab sharks teeth, and his arms pulling you close before you’ve even settled. You’ll fall asleep with the hum of ocean waves in the distance and his breath steady at the back of your neck as you lay tangled in between his tanned limbs and skin.
But for now, you stand in the bathroom, his toothpaste-smeared grin fading into something real, and think: this is it.
This is love. Sun-kissed with hints of mint and ocean breeze.
Become immersed in a dark romance filled with love, lies and deception — a twist of how two people can become so involved when her innocent eyes lay on his devilish crimes.
content/warnings: darkrry, enemies to lovers, boss x stripper. Mature content, including but not limited to, detailed descriptions of sex, drug use and descriptions of violence.
"H-hello..?" I spoke shakily into the daunting air, the singular word hard to push from my body and burned my vocal chords.
Staring through the reflective glass, silence followed but the uncomfortable pit never left my stomach as my eyes waivered back to the once pristinely white ceramic sink now stained with the palest shade of red splattered across the bowl and the tiled backsplash. My breathing was heavier through my nose, breaking out in a sweat as I resubmerged my hands under the scalding water with a thick stream of steam filling the inches above my stained skin.
The feeling of eyes on me intensified as soon as my focus was away from the mirror, my senses burning as my body fought against entering flight or fight mode to defend myself. Or even trying to figure out if I was simply paranoid after what I witnessed earlier tonight, after hearing those words shouted with venom lacing his tone – instilling fear forever in my veins.
But the floorboards creaked a third time. The chance of it being coincidental dwindled quickly to nothing.
Someone was watching me.
My head lifted again quickly, gasping loudly at the sight of him in the reflection of the mirror standing behind me in the doorway to the bathroom with that sadistic grin curled on his lips that my mind won't ever forget.
Oxygen was knocked from my lungs that compressed tightly behind my aching ribcage, gasping to suck some back inside but breathing wouldn't work as I stare lips parted at the man who found amusement in my suffering. In scaring me until I struggled under his intense emerald eyes.
I spun around quickly, back bending over the edge of the sink to press myself away while my heart hammered in my throat and bile threatened to rise. His head tilted chillingly to the side, lips quirked deeper into a smirk of cruelty – he had me alone, he'd followed me.
He was going to kill me.
I was walking evidence to his crimes, he was imprinted on my skin that I'd desperately tried to scrub and now he needed to remove me.
Blood remained splattered across his face making his eyes seem even more bright from the stark contrast from the deep crimson, it was tousled through his messy curls that dangled over his erratic facial features. His white dress shirt was stuck to his tanned skin beneath with large patches of blood that soaked through the material with ease while a thin sheen of sweat now graced his hairline.
Pushing himself from his casual relaxed position against the doorframe, he sauntered forwards with slow well thought out steps while I stared paralyzed with fear but slowly sinking back over the sink as he got closer.
And when there were mere inches between us, my head tipped back against the slightly fogged up mirror to stare in horror. The sight of him towering above me would haunt me until my last breath. My mind couldn't focus, hazy with uncertainty, unsure what he was going to do to me especially after seeing the brutality of his previous actions.
Despite my deep-rooted terror currently pumping through my veins I somehow managed to find my voice in the situation to beg for my life. "Pl–please don't hurt me, I won't say–say anything." I shook my head desperately which only seemed to make his facial features more amused.
When he raised his hand slowly my mind expected pain but was shockingly surprised when his palm still drenched with drying blood cupped my jaw gently and leaned his face in closer so our noses were almost touching.
The stench of metallic blood was strong with his closeness, mixing in with the mintiness of his breath that fanned my face as he slowly lent into the side of my neck and I froze. His curls tickled my sensitive skin, breathing heavily but I could still feel his callous grin.
A devious whisper followed, "you promise, Princess?"
TRACE
a harry styles x original character one-shot
word count: 7,785
cw: this is the fluffiest thing I've ever written, but harry is very hot
summary: a shy writer commissions a tattoo from an artist who is way too hot to handle; she can’t stop staring at his hands while he works. and, he notices quite quickly.
tag list: @gotdrxnkonu @mads3502 @mellamolayla
reply to this story if you would like to be added to the tag list in the future! enjoy, and let my know what you think <3
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When something got into Lily’s head, it stayed there. It stayed there for a long while, and even though Lily had no intention of really ever getting a tattoo, something about the idea felt like a step forward. Lily had trouble with decision making; while that was a terrible quality for permanently inking skin, it had grossly taken over her brain that she just wanted to do something different.
All of her friends – the two that were the closest, really – had tattoos, a few actually. She didn’t want to just be like them, but she wanted to fit in, in a way. She wanted to be able to share experiences with people, even if it were in small ways that were her own decisions. While indecisive, she knew that she could at least say that she made the decision to walk through the front doors of a tattoo shop and ask for something that she wanted.
Or, at least, get their opinion on it first.
The bell above the door chimed, a soft, musical sound that echoed through the quiet shop. The décor caught her eye first – lots of art deco, prints on the walls, a leather couch that could have easily stepped out of 1970. Lily stepped inside, heart thudding hard enough she could hear it in her ears – she had been noticed by the girl at the front desk now, so she couldn’t just leave.
The air was thick with the scent of ink, leather, and something smoky-sweet that made the place feel untouchably cool. It was the kind of cool that lived in the margins of a life she didn’t know how to be part of, but she was trying her best.
Her fingers tightened around the crumpled piece of paper she carried; it had a few quotes that she’d picked weeks ago but hadn’t had the nerve to act on until now. They were all quotes from her favorite works, but she didn’t know where one would fit best, or where it would fit best.
The shop was dimly lit, but cozy. Exposed brick walls were plastered with art: flashes of color, delicate lines, portraits that seemed almost alive. A soft buzzing sound came from a back room, like a needle whispering against skin. It was sharp and delicate, and she appreciated the artistic value that these works of art held. Lily shuffled forward, swallowing hard as she approached the front desk.
Behind the front desk sat a woman with dark hair that sat on her shoulders, bangs higher on her forehead, and tattoos trailing up both arms like ivy. Her neck was inked with blues and oranges, delicate flower pieces that she could tell had beautiful delicacy. She looked up from her half-finished crossword puzzle, and her mouth pulled into a slow, warm smile — the kind that said, I see you, and it’s okay.
“Hi there,” She greeted, setting down her book. “Are you here for an appointment with someone?”
Lily swallowed, clearing her throat as she gave her best, confident smile back. “Oh – um, no I don’t have an appointment actually,” Her hands held the piece of her paper before she approached the desk, “Do I need an appointment?”
The woman shook her head with a smile, “You don’t need one, we do walk-ins. Do you have a design in mind?”
Lily raised her brows, “Um, yes. I do,” She placed the quotes on the desk for the woman to look at; she had chewed her gum a bit as she nodded.
“A quote is super easy – we can definitely get you in today. We only have one artist here today, so we’ll have to have him draw something up for you. Is this your first tattoo?" The woman asked, tapping her pen against the desk in rhythm with the low thump of music playing somewhere deeper in the shop.
Lily nodded, cheeks burning. She hated how obvious her nerves always were.
The woman leaned in a little, her voice lowering like they were sharing a secret. "No worries, love. You're in good hands here. Everyone has to do something for the first time every once in a while. I’m Kaila, by the way.” She stuck out her hand to help ease Lily’s nerves a bit.
“I’m Lily.” Lily answered, shaking Kaila’s hand before feeling a bit of relief from her prior anxiety. She still felt the rumbling of her heart against her chest, but it had started to ease.
“Well, Lily, I think,” Kaila checked behind herself, neck stretching to see behind the curtain where the sound of the tattoo gun was coming from. “I think we have our artist finishing up here in a minute. Let me check.”
Before Lily could even think to protest, the woman disappeared behind a beaded curtain that rattled softly in her wake. A few voices were heard – a deep, low voice came from that direction before Lily saw Kaila reappear from behind the curtain.
“He’s finishing up in a minute, so you’re welcome to have a seat. Here,” She handed Lily a large book, “Try and see if any fonts jump out at you while you wait.”
With a nod, Lily took the book in her hands before going to sit on the sofa. She had tried to steady her breathing, focusing on the drawings pinned to the wall — intricate vines curling around skeletal hands, bold quotes stitched into roses. She perused through the pages of the book, calligraphy of many sizes and curves. She bit her lip, feeling a bit overwhelmed with that decision. She was halfway through convincing herself to just leave when she heard a low, amused voice.
“Come back in a week or so, we’ll let that heal for a bit. Kaila will get you on my book,” Two men approached from behind the curtain; one had significantly shorter hair that had streaks of blue through bleach. It was so much more alternative than Lily could pull off, surely. His arms were coated in colorful ink and a bandage that coated the inside of his left arm.
The other man had shaggy brown hair, tortoiseshell glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose that held a small silver hoop. He was tall, had a short button-down shirt that held a checkered pattern, a tighter white t-shirt sat underneath it. The jeans sat on his hips with a baggie fashion, the Converse on his feet were filthy and worn to the point of unfathomability.
He was downright beautiful in a way that Lily should have run.
“It’s going to look so sick when it’s finished,” The brown-haired man told Kaila with a smirk. He joined Kaila behind the desk while she took the other man’s payment and got another appointment. Lily had been staring at the interactions, trying not to be obvious as she kept flipping through the book.
In a moment of staring, her eyes reached up to see that Kaila bumped the man with her shoulder, nodding her head towards Lily with a smirk. The man’s attention drew to her; Lily didn’t know what to do but smile back.
"You must be Lily."
She stood from her spot on the sofa, and the breath she'd been trying to catch abandoned her completely.
The man standing there looked like every fictional bad boy she'd ever secretly fallen in love with between the pages of her books. He was a vision of sorts.
His messy, dark hair fell into his green eyes, which crinkled slightly at the corners like he laughed more than he should. The tattoos crawled up his forearms in swirling black ink, disappearing beneath the sleeves of the button down that covered muscles that flexed when he pushed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.
And the way he looked at her — like he already knew she was nervous, and found it almost unbearably charming — made something in Lily's chest twist hard.
"I’m Harry," he said, his voice rough and lazy, the kind of voice made for midnight conversations and whispered secrets. He reached a hand out for a shake greeting, to which Lily reciprocated. The only thing she could do was smile back, barely able to form a word.
Lily swallowed, feeling her own pulse against her throat. She nodded, too flustered to trust her voice yet. Harry made his way back to the desk where Kaila stood, Lily followed.
“So, Lily,” Harry said, dragging his knuckles lightly across the counter as he leaned in; Lily took note of the way that his arms were coated with ink, each one telling a different story of a different time, she was sure. “Tell me about this tattoo, then.”
His mouth tugged into a slow, crooked grin, like he already knew she’d stammer her way through it.
Lily unfolded the paper with shaking fingers, offering it like a peace treaty as she slid it across the counter. Harry’s head turned slightly to be able to read some of the words on it.
“I… um, they’re quotes,” she said, forcing herself to meet his eyes, even though, in her mind, she was already completely in way over her head. “One’s from Jane Eyre - it’s, ‘Conventionality is not morality’, and then I have this Oscar Wilde quote, 'All art is quite useless’ which I just think is quite on-the-nose,” Her voice wobbled as she kept talking, making eye contact with him every so often to make sure that he was engaged.
“Oh, and then this one, from Anna Karenina, 'Yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking’. I think it’s just beautiful. I’m just not sure where I want it yet - or which one I want, I guess. I only want one.”
Harry took the paper from her, his fingers brushing hers — warm, calloused. He had marks on his knuckles, some scrapes, she could tell. Lily’s stomach flipped at the interaction, but she took in a deep breath to try and even out her breath.
He scanned the quotes, his brow furrowing slightly in thought, then lifted his gaze back to hers, softer now, like he understood more than he let on.
“We can take our time figuring it out,” he said, voice low. “That’s the best part.”
He rounded the counter, moving with a lazy kind of grace that made her toes curl in her boots. He stood close, leaning against the front desk as he studied the paper closely. He was close enough that she could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the tiny silver ring in his left ear.
“The decision on where to put it is mostly about if you want it somewhere only you can see, maybe,” Harry murmured, his voice dipping lower, sending a shiver down her spine as she thought of him seeing it. Of him painting it on her. “Or somewhere you can show it off, if you want the world to know you’re braver than you look.”
From behind the desk, Kaila watched the interaction and the way he spoke to her, a satisfied smirk tugging at her mouth as she picked up her crossword again.
Meanwhile, Lily felt her entire face heat, but her feet stayed planted. She couldn’t look away from Harry if she tried. “I-I’m down for whatever, really. I just – um.” She cleared her throat, fingers playing with her bottom lip as she tried to think about his suggestions.
Harry tilted his head, studying her like she was something delicate and fascinating, like he didn’t want to rush and risk breaking the moment.
"Here’s what we’ll do," he said, voice almost a purr. "I'll draw up a sketch so you can see it on you. No ink yet, just a little marker. It'll help you picture it."
Lily opened her mouth to say something — to agree, to flee, she wasn’t sure — but the words caught somewhere behind the pounding of her heart. Harry smiled like he already had his answer. He took the piece of paper that she had crumbled and written on.
"Come on back," he said, jerking his head toward the beaded curtain, where a tall leather chair sat against the wall, His hand brushed lightly against the small of her back as he led her over — a barely-there touch that made her skin tingle under her sweater.
She perched on the edge of the seat, feeling like a statue — awkward and frozen, almost like she was at the doctor’s office— as Harry grabbed a very fine-tipped marker from a nearby tray. He popped the cap off with his teeth, tossing it aside with a lazy flick of his wrist.
“Do you have a kind of an idea of what you want it to look like?” He sat on a chair next to her, a notebook in his hand as he sat the piece of paper on the notebook for reference. Before she could answer he had already started a freehand sketch of the design.
“Um, I think just more of a pretty font,” She nodded, crossing her ankles. “Maybe more of a like,” She shrugged, “Softer?”
Harry nodded, which let a piece of his hair fall over his glasses. “Just letting you know that I actually like the Anna Karenina quote the best. Don’t make that decision based on me, though. It’s your body.”
“Any reason?” Lily found herself asking, feeling that it was a bit bold of her to even create an open conversation.
Harry shrugged, with a smirk that revealed a dimple in his right cheek. “Guess no reason. It would make a boyfriend happy to see his girl wearing a quote like that, I think. It would be a good nod to a good love.”
Lily felt her cheeks flush a heat that made her shake her head. “I-I don’t – uh, there’s no boyfriend.”
Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep the smile from revealing on his face before he looked up from his notebook. “Good to know,” He shrugged then, “I think it’s the most poetic. Any reason you want a quote before a drawn art?”
Lily licked her lips, “I’m a writer, and I think having written works on me is like – I don’t know. It makes sense to me.”
With a nod, Harry understood it. “I get that, same with me and drawn art, I guess. Makes sense to me.”
Lily watched his continue to draw on the notebook for another moment before he seemed satisfied with how he had finished it. He sniffled, scrunching his nose before he lifted his head.
"Mind if I...?" he asked, gesturing vaguely to her arm. “Do you have anything on under the sweater? Or you can roll it up if it’s more comfortable.”
Lily took in a breath as she shook her head, as if it was stupid to wear the most clothes to a place where she needed to show skin. "Oh, yeah, of course.” Instead, she threw the sweater over her head, leaving her in a plain white t-shirt. A flush of her skin came back in a rush when she realized that she hadn’t put on a bra, leaving her a bit more intimate than she had intended.
She hadn’t thought this far – how stupid could she have been.
Instead of overthinking it now, she offered her forearm like it was some kind of ancient, sacred ritual.
“Just going to touch you,” He smirked, “Know that goes without saying, but I just want you to know that you can tell me to stop or let go whenever – sometimes people think they can’t do that, but just letting you know… you can.”
Harry’s fingers wrapped gently around her wrist, his touch firm but somehow careful, like he could feel the way her pulse raced under her skin, she was sure of it. Slowly, he pressed the tip of the marker to the inside of her forearm, right where the skin was soft and sensitive; Lily breathed out at the unfamiliar touch. His other hand steadied her, thumb brushing in slow, absent circles against her skin.
"Here’s one idea," he murmured, voice low and private. "Something you can glance at whenever you need it. Something just for you, but for everyone too."
Lily's breath caught as he sketched a delicate curve of letters along her skin, his hand feather-light, almost reverent.
Then, without warning, he lifted his hand to let his thumb touch her collarbone with a slight rub motion. The rest of his fingers grazed over her shoulder.
"Could go here too," he said, his knuckles grazing the edge of her shoulder. "Something that peeks out when you wear a wide neckline, if that you’re thing. A bit teasing."
The word teasing hung heavy between them, almost like he noticed the fact that her nipples were practically on display for the world. He didn’t make it known that he was catching glimpses, but maybe he was quite more of a gentleman than that.
Harry's eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for a moment, the air between them snapped tight like a wire. His hand was still at her shoulder, his thumb now resting on her skin like he hadn’t had any reason to let go.
Lily's skin burned under his touch. She swore he could hear her heart pounding.
"And then there's always..." His voice dropped even lower, tougher, more dangerous. He let his fingers trace — just barely — along the outside of her ribs, not quite touching, more of a whisper of suggestion. "...somewhere a little more private, if that’s your thing.”
Her breath hitched audibly; she flinched just a bit even though he hadn’t touched her. The smirk on his face was bitten back as he shook his head.
Harry grinned, wicked and beautiful, then. "No pressure," He said, sitting back as he ran his fingers to push his hair back but slowly, like he wanted her to feel every second of the space he left behind. "Just giving you options."
She swallowed hard, trying to understand the understated feeling of tension that laid between them. It was almost like he had the charisma of a movie star, but she knew that she shouldn’t feel special. Men like Harry didn’t look at girls like Lily.
"Maybe...” She managed, her voice barely above a whisper as she felt the way that her own hand ran her thumb over the site of her ribcage. “Maybe here, I guess. Will it hurt?”
Harry took a sip of the water cup that sat on his station; it kept him from showing the overzealous smile that would appear on his lips at the way that she suggested the private site. He started to smile; it widened like the sun coming up over some dangerous horizon.
"Good call," he said, picking up his pen, "And hey," he added, voice a soft scrape near her ear as he leaned in, "First tattoos are supposed to hurt a little. And I’m pretty good at making sure you’ll like it enough to come back for more. It’s an addicting kind of pain.”
Harry had moved towards the notebook, before he went to go prep the transfer. “Did you like the font of that?” Harry asked, referencing the quick sketch in the middle of her arm that he had given her for reference. “Size too?”
Lily took in a breath, staring at it before she bit her lip, “I think I want it a bit more… rougher, I guess. Nothing too professionally written, I guess. More like regular, messy cursive handwriting. And the size is good. Can we do it in a stanza? Overlapping each comma. You know?”
Staring at the work on her arm, Harry nodded at her notes. Letting his own hand mimic the way that she wanted it – the notes had given him a bit of a warmth in his chest to know that she was asking for exactly what she wanted. On the paper, he turned to show her his interpretation of her thoughts before he pushed his glasses on his nose.
“Something like that?” He asked, Lily’s eyes looked over the design. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth before she nodded and looked back at him.
Yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.
“That’s perfect.” Lily told him in all honesty; her vision, while very biased on the fact that she was unable to really decide on her own what she liked, was definitely brought to happiness with the way that he sold his design and where she should have it.
“Awesome,” Harry said, pleased with the way that she agreed without any further remarks. This step always took much longer, as people wanted their design to be something in their head – Harry had to figure out how to bring their designs to life, but he was creative in that sense. He could usually try to understand them by their character, getting to know them a little bit before designing it.
He just knew that Lily would like this, without knowing her at all.
“So, I’m going to go trace this for you really quick so I can get a stencil. Grab a soda of something out of the fridge, make yourself comfortable. This shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes or so,” He told her, “It will take more to prep and clean you up than anything else. Also, assuming you want black ink?”
Lily let her hands fold in her lap before she nodded at his instruction, “Yes, black is good.”
With that, Harry stood from his own seat before taking his work over to trace it for stenciling. While they were apart, Lily took the moment to let out the largest breath that had been holding back in her lungs. She shut her eyes for a moment, trying to steady herself.
Now, she lay back against the leather chair, her sweater discarded on her lap as she tried to play with a loose string. Her eyes shut in a few flutters before she laid her head back and stared at the ceiling. She turned her head for a moment to stare at the way that Harry’s back arched over the small desk that held the stencil he was carefully tracing.
She didn’t know what to do with her hands – she grabbed her purse, taking her phone out of her purse before she brought up her text messages with her best friend, Tess. She rolled her lips into her mouth before she snapped a quick photo of the set up where the ink and tattoo gun were held.
Lily: Going under the knife… or gun?
Lily: Also… the artist could not be cuter if he tried
“Okay, this is where you need to stand up so we can make sure it’s straight.” Harry’s voice took her out of her phone, startling her a moment before she nodded. She moved herself out of the leather chair, placing her feet on the floor, using her hands to make sure that her silk skirt was straight.
“Also, the cowboy boots are sick, by the way.” Harry complimented her with a bite of his own lip. Lily noticed their height difference when she looked from her boots up to him; the shine of his nose ring caught her eye before she blushed at the compliment.
“Thank you- I, uh, thrifted them in Shoreditch a few weeks ago,” The genuine brown leather hit against her calves as she showed them off a bit, “Thought they were fun. My first time wearing them.”
“You pull them off well.” Harry nodded. There was a slight tension as Lily cleared her throat; shaking her head, they found the moment of silence to be too much. Harry broke it.
Reaching over his station, Harry worked silently at the little rolling table nearby, snapping on a pair of black gloves with a crisp snap. The sound made her flinch — not from fear — but something deeper. Anticipation, maybe.
"Alright, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice so low and easy it crawled over her skin like smoke. "I’m gonna clean the area first, and then I’m gonna to lay the stencil where I think you’ll like it. If you don’t like it, we can do it again.”
Lily nodded, even though her throat had gone bone dry.
Taking a seat in his chair, Harry rolled closer, a small squeeze bottle and cloth in hand. She stood taller than him now, but she would have to admit the view from above may have been just as good – if not better.
“So, just lift your shirt up – which are we thinking, right or left?” He watched as Lily took the edge of her shirt in her hands before she looked between them, incredibly indecisive, but also without a care, so she just stated, “Left, I think will be better.”
Harry wheeled himself to her left ribcage, using his glove to push her hand up a bit to show more of her skin.
“You doing okay?” He asked; when he received the nod of her, he used his thumb to brush the latex over her skin before using the wipe to clean the area. Lily flinched at the chill of the cool wipe before Harry looked up at her – she had been staring straight ahead.
The antiseptic was cool against her overheated skin, making her jerk slightly when he swiped it along the curve of her ribcage. He steadied her with a gentle, gloved hand at her side.
"Sorry," Harry said, grinning, "It's always a shock at first."
Lily could barely breathe, acutely aware of everywhere he touched — even though he was professional, methodical, only exposing the small area he needed to work on.
Still, the intimacy of it — the way he had to tilt and maneuver her slightly toward him, the way his hands bracketed the sensitive space just beneath her breast — it felt like too much and not enough, all at once.
"There we go," he said, voice all concentration now. "Now stay real still for me, okay?"
She nodded again, uselessly, because the second the stencil met her skin, she swore she could feel him — the heat of his body, the careful drag of his focus on the straightness of the stencil. She could have sworn his face was close enough that a few strands of his messy brown hair brushed against her bare side.
"You're doing good," Harry murmured after a minute, his breath ghosting over her ribs. "Very good."
Lily squeezed her eyes shut. She was utterly doomed.
When he finished the stencil, he sat back just slightly to admire his work, pulling off one glove with a snap to smooth the tracing paper carefully against her skin. The backs of his fingers skimmed her ribs — feather-light, deliberate — and when he looked up, the green-gold of his eyes darkened.
"You sure you wanna stop at just one?" he asked, voice roughened with something almost tender. "Because, honestly, you wear ink way too well."
She swallowed hard, daring to glance down at the delicate tracing tucked along her ribcage, just under the swell of her breast. She drew in a breath, “Let’s see how much this one hurts first.” She let out a breath of a laugh.
Harry — still sitting beside her, still half-smiling like he knew every thought flying through her head — looked like pure, heart-wrecking trouble. Harry’s grin turned wicked. He peeled off the second glove and stood, flexing his fingers, muscles shifting under the ink that wrapped his own arms like stories written just for him.
"You never know," he said, voice a promise. “You might like a little pain.”
Turning to his station, Harry grabbed a bunch of unopen supplies that were sterile, and he turned to prep the needle and machine, leaving Lily alone on the chair — heart racing, skin burning, body already craving the sting of his touch.
The buzz of the tattoo machine filled the space again, a steady sound that somehow made Lily’s heart race even harder. Harry sniffled, looking over at her before he cleared his throat.
“I think we’re going to have you lay on your back,” Harry went to maneuver the chair to lay flat; Lily moved with it, laying down on her back before Harry shook his head. “Hold your arm over your head.”
Harry leaned in close, resting his newly gloved hand flat against her side to steady her. The spot was so sensitive — right under the curve of her breast — that when the needle first kissed her skin, she gasped and instinctively arched slightly away.
"Hey, hey," Harry murmured, his free hand held at the underside of her breast, right at her ribs– which gave him a bit of unease at first. "Easy, sweetheart. You're alright. Deep breath for me, yeah?"
Lily swallowed hard, her face burning, but she nodded. She focused on breathing through her nose, trying to ignore the feel of his palm anchoring her, the heat of his body so close it was dizzying. Her eyes stared at the ceiling, knowing that each moment felt more and more difficult.
"You’re doing great," he said, voice low and soothing. "First tattoo’s always the hardest. Especially a spot like this. Let me know if you need to stop.”
She let out a shaky laugh, the sound barely there. "Y-Yeah, I guess I don’t do things halfway."
Harry’s smile widened — not mocking, but warm. Proud, even. He adjusted the machine in his hand and carefully started again, the fine line of the quote beginning to take shape along her ribs.
Harry’s mouth curved into a slow, appreciative grin. "Figures. You’ve got that stubborn look about you."
The machine whirred as he carefully pressed the needle into her skin again, beginning the delicate line of the quote. "What's the quote from?" Harry asked after a minute, his voice soft and warm, keeping her distracted as he worked.
"Anna Karenina," Lily said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "It’s about... someone seeing you. Even when you think you're invisible."
Harry’s hand paused for the briefest second before he resumed, wiping gently at her side with a cloth.
"Sounds like it means something to you," he said, glancing up at her with a flicker of something real in his gaze.
She shrugged, the movement small against his steady hand. "I just... sometimes it feels like... if you're quiet, people don't really notice you. But when they do..."Her voice trailed off.
Harry's smile softened, a little less cocky and a little more sincere. "They’d be bloody stupid not to notice you," he said, almost too low for her to hear.
Before she could say anything, he leaned back in to finish the script, his concentration fierce, brow furrowed. His hand was careful, stabilizing her, and even through the sting of the tattoo, all Lily could focus on was the way his touch felt: steady, grounding, almost reverent.
"You’re holding up better than most," he said after a few minutes, wiping away a smear of ink. "Some people swear and curse the whole time."
She gave a breathless laugh. "Maybe I'm just too shy to complain." She knew very well that it hurt – it hurt more than anything she had done, but she laughed at the idea that maybe she just needed to stay quiet.
Harry chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. "I don’t mind a little shy," he said, his thumb rubbing slow circles into her waist without thinking. "Means you don't bullshit."
She swallowed, heat rushing to her cheeks. As he finished the final strokes, he leaned in even closer, his breath ghosting against her skin.
"And it’s the quiet ones," he murmured like it was a secret, "who usually end up being the most unforgettable."
Lily's breath hitched, her entire body tense — not from the tattoo, but from him.
"I know you marched in here scared outta your mind," he said, carefully wiping away excess ink with a cloth. "And you still picked one of the hardest spots to get tattooed. You sat through it like a champ."
Lily didn’t know what to say to that, but the smile pulling at her mouth was uncontrollable.
Harry kept working, his touches careful, respectful — but God, she could feel him everywhere. His hand steady against her waist. The occasional brush of his knuckles against her ribs when he adjusted the angle.
The warm breath from his mouth when he leaned closer to focus. It was overwhelming in the best, most terrifying way.
"You from around here?" he asked, glancing up again as he shifted slightly, bending lower to reach the final curve of the quote.
"Yeah," she said, her voice a little stronger now. "Grew up about fifteen minutes away. You?"
"Born here," Harry said, grinning as he dabbed gently at her side. "Escaped for a bit. Came back when I realized not everywhere has diners open 'til 3 a.m."
Lily laughed softly at his remark. It surprised them both— the way it slipped out of her so easily, warm and bright. Harry looked at her like he wanted to bottle the sound; she hadn’t showed as much emotion than from that little, stupid remark.
"You're loosening up," he said teasingly, switching out a cartridge on the machine to do the finer details. "Almost like you’re not terrified of me anymore."
"I was never terrified of you," she said quickly, eyes wide.
Harry just smirked. He leaned in, his voice dropping conspiratorially as he waited for the color to rise on her cheeks the color of fire. Somehow, he already knew the buttons he needed to press.
"Then why were you blushing so hard you looked ready to faint when I walked over?"
Lily opened her mouth — and then shut it, mortified. She knew that her cheeks could not have been redder than they were in this moment.
Harry's laughter — warm, deep, good — filled the studio space that they were sitting in.
"Don't worry, sweetheart," he said, his knuckles brushing her side again in a way that felt far too deliberate to be accidental. "You’re not the first to get a little shy. You just wear it way cuter than most."
Her heart fluttered so violently she was sure he could feel it vibrating under her skin.
"You're... very confident," she muttered, staring at the ceiling like it might save her.
Harry tilted his head slightly, the machine buzzing softly again as he started on the delicate flourishes of the script, intricate details were needed as he stared deeper onto the inked skin.
"Suppose I have to be," he said, easy with a shrug to his shoulders. "People are trusting me to carve something into them forever. Can’t really be shaky about that." He pulled back for a second, wiping gently again, then leaned closer to blow softly on the ink to dry it.
The puff of air against her raw, sensitized skin made her shudder. Harry grinned like he noticed, like he was tucking it away somewhere private.
"Almost done," he said softly. "You’ve been a dream to work on, Lily."
The way he said her name with a slow, deliberate tone made her stomach flip. When he finally clicked the machine off and peeled his gloves away, the quiet that fell was almost deafening. It hadn’t been too long then, but Lily had missed the feeling already.
He sat back on his chair, running his hand through his messy hair, looking her over like he was committing the sight to memory.
"Alright," he said, voice a little rough, "moment of truth. Want a mirror?"
She nodded, and he passed it over carefully, brushing her fingers with his own in the exchange.
Lily angled it, looking down to be able to see where the writing sat on her skin. It was raw, her skin, red around the darkened ink that was now visible and permanent.
The quote curved perfectly under her breast, right on the ribcage, elegant and understated — exactly like she had imagined it in her head a hundred times. She knew that this would help her, this would connect her with her peers knowing she had gone through this experience.
"It's..." She swallowed hard. "It's really beautiful. Thank you."
Harry's smile softened, all the cocky teasing bleeding out of him until he looked almost bashful at her complimented admission.
"Hey," he said, reaching out instinctively to squeeze her hand that had been holding the mirror in place, fingers brushing along softly as he let go. "Thank you for trusting me. Let me bandage it up for you, and we can send you on your way.”
Lily nodded at that, biting her lip as she kept looking at the mirror while he grabbed the bandages. Harry wiped the ink again, giving it a sheen as he gave her instructions for aftercare. He handed her a small paper bag that included a lotion, a soap wash, and instructions for first time care of a tattoo.
"You mind if I grab a quick photo?" Harry asked, twirling the tattoo machine cable loosely between his fingers as he started to clean up his space; he was trying to act nonchalant about getting the photos, knowing she could possibly say no – but hoping she would just say yes. "For my portfolio. Only if you’re cool with it. I know it’s a spicy spot."
Lily blinked at him, heart still pounding. His smile was easy, but there was a gleam behind it, something playful, like he already knew she wouldn’t say no.
"Okay," she breathed, before she could overthink it. “Yeah, sure.”
Harry grinned a gleaming smile that allowed his dimples on display. He grabbed his film camera from under his station – of course it was a film camera, Lily thought.
"Stand up over here for me," he said, nodding toward a spot near the exposed brick wall where the late afternoon light pooled golden through the windows. “Better lighting.”
Lily slid off the chair, legs slightly unsteady, the fresh sting of the tattoo a thrilling reminder that this was real. Harry watched her cross the room, head tilted like he was studying a living piece of art. His gaze dragged over her with an intensity that made her toes curl inside her boots.
"Just... pull the shirt up a bit,” he said, his voice going rough at the edges. "Show it off."
Her fingers fumbled at the hem of her shirt, tugging it just enough to reveal the tattoo.
"There," he murmured, camera drawn up to his eye, voice a velvet scrape "Perfect. Hold still for me, pretty girl." he said, almost under his breath as he concentrated on getting the perfect shot.
The first snap of the camera echoed too loudly in the quiet shop. Lily's heart thudded against her ribs as Harry moved around her, finding angles, framing her tattoo, but it didn’t escape her that his eyes kept straying back to her face. Her mouth. Her flushed cheeks.
"One more," Harry said, voice low and rough now. “Chin up. Look at me."
Lily obeyed, realizing that her face would now be in the shot before she even thought about it, tilting her face toward him — and the look that passed between them nearly set the air itself on fire. For one breathless, infinite second, it didn’t matter that the camera was between them. It didn’t matter that she was shy, or new to this, or that her heart was beating out of control.
All that mattered was the way Harry was looking at her. It was almost like she was already his favorite work of art.
The camera clicked. Harry dropped it to his side without a second glance.
He stepped closer again, too close — the kind of close where all she could see was the glint in his hazel eyes and the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"You killed it, Lily," he said softly, with the hint of humor coating his tone. “First tattoo... and you already look dangerous."
Her cheeks flamed, but this time, she didn’t look away.
"Guess I’ll have to find an excuse to see you again." He murmured, trying to keep it between them, even though Kaila was just at the desk behind the beaded curtain. “If you want to, I mean.”
Before Lily could even straighten up, a warm hand closed gently over hers.
She looked up — right into Harry’s eyes. Up close, they were even more devastating — a messy green-gold, framed by thick lashes, flecked with something reckless and soft all at once.
“Y-You want to see me again?” Lily asked, almost like the words coming from him weren’t real. They couldn’t have been; there was nothing intriguing enough about her that would allow a man like this to be interested in her. But the way that his eyes shone behind the glasses as he looked at her held a truth that she couldn’t deny.
"I’ve got about an hour before my next appointment," he continued, like he hadn't just tilted her whole world off its axis. "And I was thinking maybe instead of a payment, you could just... walk to get a coffee with me instead."
Breathless, Lily opened her mouth to speak, letting a breathless laugh escape her. “Oh, uh,” She shook her head, but watched Harry’s smile start to fade as if she was denying him, “Oh- I mean, yes. I would… I would like to do that. But you’re sure you don’t – I mean, I can pay you for your work.”
Harry smiled wider, clearly delighted by the reaction he was pulling from her.
"No, really," he added, even though they both knew there was nothing casual about the way he was looking at her right now. Harry reached over to the chair, handing her the sweater. "I wasn’t expecting this today, so I’ve kind of already been paid. In a way.”
Kaila snorted quietly behind her crossword, drawing Harry’s attention. This time his cheeks reddened at the reaction.
Lily hesitated for half a heartbeat, then found herself smiling, small but real. Maybe a little reckless as she pressed her tongue into her cheek.
"Okay," she said. "Coffee sounds... good. I like coffee."
Harry’s grin turned into something full of promise as he nodded, finding his cheeks hurting from the smile emitting from him.
"Yeah?" he said, stepping back just enough to snag his jacket from the hook by the door. "Good. I know a place.”
Lily pulled the sweater over her head, pulling it back over her frame as she looked up at him. “Do you mind if I freshen up really quick?”
Harry perked up, “Oh, sure. The restrooms over there.” He pointed towards the back, “I’ll meet you at the front.”
Lily moved her way towards the restroom, taking her small purse as Harry grabbed his jacket and sunglasses before going towards the counter where Kaila was sitting with her crosswords in front of her. Harry blew out a breath and raked a hand through his messy hair. The slow smirk on her face was overtaking her smile, Harry caught it immediately.
"You good, Casanova?" Kaila asked without looking up, flipping her pencil between her fingers. “I’m surprised you were able to keep your hand steady enough to get good ink out of it with how jacked up she made you.”
Harry leaned his elbows onto the counter, head dropping between his arms with a low, muffled groan. "I’m gonna marry her.”
Kaila snorted so hard she almost dropped her pencil. "You talked her into coffee, not a courthouse wedding."
He peeked up at her through his messy hair, a cocky but boyish grin tugging at his mouth. "Coffee first. Courthouse second. I’m a gentleman, of course. I do nothing without second thoughts."
Kaila rolled her eyes, laughing under her breath. "Well, just don’t scare her off with your strong puppy energy. She’s sweet. You don’t get a lot of that. You don’t usually throw yourself at girls, it’s a lot of the opposite, so I can tell she’s going to challenge you."
Harry straightened up a little, something serious flickering across his face for half a second. "I know," he said quietly, “That’s hot.”
Kaila softened, just a little, watching him. Then she shook her head and went back to her crossword, voice light again. "Go easy, Fabio. Try not to spill coffee on yourself this time."
Harry flipped her off good-naturedly just as the bathroom door opened, and he immediately turned around, smoothing his jacket down like he'd been standing there casually the whole time. Kaila bit her lip to stifle another laugh.
When Lily came back into view, cheeks still a little pink and hair a little mussed from the day but pulled back into a clip now, Harry couldn’t stop the wide, helpless grin that broke across his face.
“I’ll be back, Kai.” Harry walked in front of Lily, he held the door open for her, a little old-fashioned but somehow so natural it made Lily’s heart ache as she moved out in front of him.
The bell above the shop door jingled as they stepped out into the late afternoon sun. The sidewalk was still warm, the city humming around them. For a few seconds, they just walked, side by side, the silence between them not awkward, but tentative — fragile, like the first brushstroke of something beautiful about to begin.
Harry glanced sideways at her, his voice a little lighter now, teasing again. "So, Lily," he said, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walked. "Tell me something about you. Something I wouldn’t guess."
Lily looked down at the ground, shy, but the corner of her mouth twitched up. After a beat, she said softly, "I once won a spelling bee because I memorized an entire Russian novel in case they picked a word from it."
Harry laughed, a rich, warm sound that made her grab onto her sweater sleeves a bit tightly. "Let me guess," he said, grinning as he walked sideways to face her. "Was it Anna Karenina?"
She laughed too then — a real, bright thing that made her feel lighter than she had in months.
"Maybe," she said, pretending to be coy. "Maybe not."
He bumped his shoulder gently against hers, careful but playful. "Oof, you’re going to keep me guessing,” He bit his lip, “I like it.”
They rounded the corner together, the coffee shop coming into view — a cozy little place with fairy lights strung up in the windows.
And for the first time in a long time, Lily felt like maybe she wasn't invisible after all.
prompt: YN is learning she has no self-preservation. It’s why she keeps running into her stranger. A man who won’t tell her anything, gives her instructions, and occasionally isn’t downright awful.
word count: 9.5k+
warnings: h is obviously not a good person, violence, blood, medical stuff, mean H, dark H
author's note:
I upload a piece of writing every 1-2 days.
There are multiple other parts of this up and will be updated this month
I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 2
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———
YN was too kind.
She knew that.
It’s why she became a nurse, to help others in their time of need, and that’s exactly what she did in the emergency department of her local hospital.
When she was walking down a back alley one night (she knew it wasn’t safe but it was such a quicker shortcut after a thirteen hour shift she couldn’t ignore it even if it was one in the morning).
YN’s half-asleep on her feet when she runs into quite the scene, a man who has to be around her age was dressed in dark jeans and a black tee shirt.
There was blood dripping from his jaw and his bottom lip was swollen up, already bruising under the drying blood.
He had just tossed something into the dumpster before slamming the lid shut with a deafening echo and despite the warning signals, YN can’t ignore him.
“Oh my goodness. You’re bleeding, sir,” YN jumps into nurse mode, hurrying up to him and without permission, tilting his head gently to the side.
The man narrows his eyes at her, clearly taken aback, and takes three big steps away from her reach towards the opposite building.
He makes a show of spitting out a mouthful of blood onto the pavement before wiping his mouth crudely with the back of his hand.
His voice was deep and scratchy, it matched his appearance, his accent thick and rough, “M’fucking fine. Back off and mind your own god damn business.”
YN is used to fiesty patients, it doesn’t phase her much as she examines him from afar now, “I’m a nurse.”
The man sneers at her, “Surprisingly, I’m not fucking blind. I don’t want your help. Run the fuck along now, little miss hero.”
YN glances down, still in her scrubs, of course he would see she’s a nurse, and distraught at this man refusing help.
She’s tired, she’s overworked, and the fact that she knows she’ll perseverate on this if he doesn’t let her help makes her choke out a frustrated sniffle.
The brunette man, with a scowl of impatience scoffs of disbelief, “Are you really about to fuckin’ cry?”
“I jus-just want to help. I lost tw-two patients today and couldn’t-couldn’t save them,” YN begins to tear up now, wiping her eyes, it was always a hard day when she lost patients.
Two today.
An older woman with a heart attack.
A teen in a car accident.
“Fucks sake,” The bloody man groans under his breath, his eyes darting up and down the alleyway, “You’re going to cause a scene over this, aren’t you? I don’t have bloody time for this.”
He stomps towards her which makes her freeze but he stands in front of her with a agitated flick of his hand, “If you’re going to do your nurse shit, do it! I don’t have god damn time for your cry baby act. Of course, I get my plans ruined.”
YN obviously doesn’t know what he’s talking about but he seems like he has places to be and she’s holding him up.
Where on earth could he go with his face looking like that anyways?
“I-I don’t have anything with me,” YN stutters after a moment, this man was intimidating as he had major height advantage, he appeared lean but his muscle definition proved he was strong.
“Okay, then see ya’,” He grunts lowly, moving to turn on his heel but YN grabs his wrist without thinking to stop him.
“My-uh, my apartment,” YN’s throat is dry, what the fuck is she doing, “I have the stuff at my apartment up the street.”
“Did your parents never teach you stranger danger? Inviting a man you’ve never met, bleeding, up to your apartment?” He asks with an eyebrow raise, wiping his continuous bleeding wound with his shirt, flashing a sliver of his carved abdominal muscles.
“You need help,” YN replies unsurely, her behaviors are so uncharacteristic but she felt drawn to help this stranger.
A small group of people pass the corridor of the alleyway, with laughs and drunk words, and the man she’s standing with perks up at high alert.
“Fuck,” He hisses angrily, that seemed to be his favorite word, yanking his hand out of her grip and muttering so softly YN doesn’t know whether she heard him right, “gonna get me caught.”
“Stand over there and turn around,” The man demands sharply, YN wasn’t used to being talked to that way but she finds herself walking towards the edge of the alley and turning away.
YN hears rustling, the dumpster being open and closed again, and a few unidentifiable noises before she hears his footsteps approaching.
His hand on her shoulder is tight as he spins her around, “If I let you fix me up, will you leave me the fuck alone and more importantly, never mention this to anyone?”
YN’s brow furrows, “Why can’t I tell-“
The man hisses in agitation, fingers digging into her skin more has harshly, “Answer me.”
It’s the first time that chills are sent down her spine at his gritted words, everything in her is screaming to run, her fight or flight triggered.
“I-I won’t tell,” YN agrees breathlessly, skin tingling when he lets go and pushes her forward, not aggressively but enough that she stumbles.
“Then move already,” He orders and when she tries to turn around to look at him, his hand comes to her neck, keeping her facing forward.
Whatever he was doing in that alley, he really didn’t want her to see, and he didn’t seem like he was open to answering questions.
YN keeps trying to justify why she’s letting a bleeding, angry man into her home as she shakily unlocks the door.
There’s no justification.
She’s putting herself in so much danger.
It had to be something about how attractive he was that made her trusting that he wouldn’t hurt her, like he was too pretty to be deadly.
A trick of the eye, maybe.
He stands in the entry hall, unmoving, and uncomfortable as he doesn’t look around, keeping his gaze on her.
“I want you to know that I’m only allowing you to do this so that you don’t run around and squeal, alright?” He reminds her, voice a bit louder to scare her.
YN nods.
“I also know where you live now, stupid girl,” He shakes his head, like he’s in disbelief YN was such an idiot, “I won’t hesitate to come back.”
She was.
Stupid.
Now her fingers were trembling as she accidentally drops her keys.
“Bat-bathroom,” YN whispers as she pokes her thumb in that direction, “Uh, my supplies.”
“I’ll stay here. I’m not coming in any further,” He crosses his arms, akin to a cornered animal who’s about to be trapped.
YN hopes he doesn’t see when she nearly trips over her own feet as she makes her way to her small bathroom, her nursing/first aid kit was under the sink.
He’s standing in the exact same place he was before, he hadn’t moved an inch, and fuck, he’s scary.
“Um, can you please sit there?” YN points nervously to the entryway bench, not coming closer until he begrudgingly sits on the edge.
“Hurry the fuck up,” He snaps at her suddenly, shaking his leg impatiently and the abruptness makes her jump, “I haven’t got all day, miss lil’ hero.”
It doesn’t sound like an compliment rolling off his tongue.
YN pulls out a cotton pad, soaking it with antiseptic fluid, and shakily says, “This is going to sting a bit. I’m just cleaning it first.”
He doesn’t acknowledge her but he does flinch when she puts her fingertips on his jaw to move his head more to the side.
When she applies the pad, if it hurts, he doesn’t give anything away, his eyes don’t even blink as he sits with his hands on his knees.
After get a fresh cotton pad and drenching it again, she moves onto his lip, and she’s so on-edge, she stumbles over his foot and falls forward.
The man grips her hips hard, pushing her back upright, and appears even more agitated as he huffs, “Chill the fuck out, alright? M’not going to do shit to you. I don’t even want to be here. You’re the one who dragged me to your apartment. Stop being so fuckin’ dramatic.”
YN’s not going to cry despite her bottom lip quivering.
YN’s father was a calm quiet man
She didn’t grow up with brothers.
She wasn’t used to being treated so bluntly, so rudely by anyone, let alone a stranger she was trying to help.
“Are you about to cry?” He asks in surprise, a cruel laugh leaving his throat as he smiles widely, he has dimples, “You’re such a delicate little flower.”
Again, it was definitely an insult.
YN’s throat contracts as she pushes down tears and it wasn’t just because of him, today was hard and she was tired.
“You don’t need stiches. The cut on your jaw is superficial, just a lot bleeding ,” YN determines as she uses a butterfly bandage to close the wound tightly.
YN tilts his chin towards her, his eyes were striking in how green they were as they blinked up at her from under dark lashes.
They were just as frightening as they were beautiful because there was something about meeting his gaze that was like staring at a hungry lion.
YN starts to dab at it with the pad again as it slowly oozes.
She can feel his gaze on her face, it’s making the hair stand up on her arms.
“Skin is just uh, irritated. Nothing major,” YN tells him, holding pressure to stop the bleeding, “How did you get this banged up anyways?”
That triggers him.
He stands up suddenly, making her stumble backwards, and he steps into her space until her back is up against the wall and he’s cornering her.
“I don’t know what bad luck I was dealt to have to deal with such a nosey bitch in my business but you better stop asking questions,” He warns as she can feels his breath, he smelled surprisingly good like citrus and sage.
“I’m sorry,” YN chokes out, it was feeling harder to breathe now.
What the fuck did she get herself into?
“For fucks sake, calm your ass down,” He grunts as he directs her to sit on the bench he was just on, “Stop being a god damn drama queen.”
YN can’t reply, simply nods and stares at the ground.
Why did she let this man in her home?
She needed her head examined, clearly.
He squats in front of her, eyes deadly intent, “I’m going to leave right now. You’re going to keep your mouth shut. If you talk about anything that you saw tonight, I’ll have no problem visiting here again.”
YN nods again, watching him stand and he’s still looking at her as he sighs, hand on the doorknob and says, “Do not ever invite a stranger into your house again, you stupid girl.”
+
YN wishes that she didn’t think about that man again.
But she does.
Over and over.
Every time she walks past an alley.
When she walks home at one in the morning.
But months pass.
No signs of him.
It was a big city.
She didn’t know whether he lived here or not, hell, she didn’t even get his first name during the interaction.
Six months and no signs.
YN dreams about him three separate times.
One of which make her question her sanity.
+
“Be quiet f’me,” He whispers against her lips, hand wrapped around her throat, “Don’t want to hear you unless you’re moaning pretty.”
YN’s staring wide eyed at him, trying to beg with her eyes as he brings her lips to his by the grip on her neck.zzz
“Gonna show me what a nice lil’ pet you can be?” His dimple is popping as he licks her lips before squeezing a bit tighter, “Can’t wait to feel your cun-“
YN wakes up by her alarm, heart pounding, and a hand coming up to touch her throat, the ghost of where she felt his fingertips.
She takes a very cold shower that morning before work.
++
Matthew was nice enough.
He was an emergency medicine doctor which is how they met in the unit.
They rarely worked the same shift but in passing, he had managed to pull YN aside and ask if she’d be interested in going on a date.
YN wasn’t necessarily jumping for joy but she was bored, life was pretty mundane at the moment, and her romantic life was nonexistent.
He was overly cocky, the type of doctor who liked to wear his scrubs into the grocery store so everyone knew his title, corrected people when they didn’t address him with Doctor first.
She didn’t realize that this is how she would meet her stranger once again.
++
The first date was in the afternoon, at a coffee shop in midtown and he had picked the spot.
“I come here atleast once a day,” He laughs as he orders a large black coffee and a bran muffin of all things, “Same ole’ routine.”
“I’ve only been here a handful of times-“ YN pauses when she catches a familiar flash of green, knowing the color distinctly.
She’s been dreaming of it.
Her stranger.
He was sitting in a booth, in the furtherest spot back in the corner with a coffee and a pastry that hadn’t even been taken out of the wax paper.
YN’s heart seizes, blinking twice to make sure that she is not imaging this, that it isn’t just a look alike man.
His unsettlingly intense stare, the scowl etched on his face, it was no doubt the man who had been invading her thoughts for the last six months.
He doesn’t break eye contact first, YN glances back to her steaming chai tea first, lying easily, “Sorry, thought I saw an old friend.”
“Yeah, I run in to quite a few here too,” Matthew agrees without notices her slight shift in demeanor as she forces herself to focus on their conversation.
YN gives herself permission about three minutes later to let her eyes flit across the room, back to that corner.
He was gone.
His coffee and pastry gone.
There was already a new couple sitting there.
YN is half-convinced that she imagined it in the first place, how did she not see him get up and walk past her?
Had that couple been sitting there the whole time?
“I’m so sorry, Matthew. I have to run to the restroom, excuse me a minute?” YN smiles, hoping it doesn’t come off as forced as she stands up and heads towards the back.
YN goes into one of the stalls, sitting down for a moment and just taking a deep breathe because she can’t figure herself out right now.
YN can’t sit in her forever which she wishes she hadn’t even agreed to this date.
When YN unlocks the stall door, she begins to let out a scream when there’s a figure leaning up against the sink, waiting for her.
The person rushes forward, clamping a hand over her mouth as citrus and sage overwhelm her senses .
“Shut the fuck up, right now.”
Why does YN almost slump in relief at the harsh words?
Maybe because this proves that she didn’t conjure him up in her head.
To confirm that he was as startlingly handsome as she has been remembering him to be in the last months.
Even more so actually.
“Are you going scream when I take my hand off?” He asks pointedly, his lips were near her ear, whispering but seeming so loud.
YN shakes her head vehemently that she won’t.
She should scream.
She’s not going to though.
He takes a few steps back, no longer even close to touching her, and once again, he looks angry at her as complains, “Lil’ fucking drama queen.”
This is definitely her stranger.
YN just stares at him, eyes as wide as saucers.
“Why are you here with him?” He asks with the same agitation, his fists were clenched against his sides tightly.
“Do you know Matthew?” YN was confused by his question or why he would care.
“What did I tell you?” He snaps at her, taking a step forward again like he wants to grab her, “Don’t ask me questions.”
“Why can you ask me then?” YN doesn’t know where the confidence is coming from, puffing up her chest.
It gets finished quickly when he brings his hand up to hold her chin, “It’s different. Now answer me.”
YN’s blood pressure must be through the roof right now as she manages to find her voice, “I’m on a date with him.”
The stranger doesn’t like that answer.
His fingertips tighten on her skin before releasing, his tongue peeks out to run over his bottom lip, “I recommend you stay the fuck away from him.”
“Why?”
“You clearly have no sense of self-preservation so I’m trying to save you a lot of trouble in the future. End the date, make an excuse, and don’t go out with him again.”
“I want to know one thing,” YN request as she chews on her bottom lip.
“No.”
“What’s your name?”
“Harry.”
They stare at each other.
YN can’t decipher if he’s being truthful or not.
As he did the night they first met, her puts a firm hand on her shoulder, and guides her towards the bathroom exit.
With his lips touching the shell of her ear, he reminds her with a hiss, “Go do exactly as I say. Leave and go the fuck home.”
He pushes her forward, she puts her arms up to avoid smashing her face off the door, and pushes it open, tripping out into the hallway.
YN legs are wobbly as she makes her way back the table, “Matthew, I am so sorry. I’m really not feeling well.”
“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” He teases as he stands up and pushes his chair in.
No, I just saw my stranger.
“Would you like me to walk you home?”
“Nope. I’m good, don’t want you coming down with whatever bug I have,” She replies with a dismisses wave of her hand, willing herself not to look back towards the bathrooms.
“I’ll text you to reschedule. I hope you start to feel better soon. Please text me if you need anything,” Matt smiles genuinely, a concerned expression on his face.
Why didn’t Harry want her to be around him?
How did he have the right to order her around when he wouldn’t answer simple questions?
YN’s mind is reeling as she walks home.
It’s like she expects to see her stranger, watching her walk home but there’s no sign of him, and just like that he disappeared into thin air.
++
YN visits the coffee shop multiple more times.
He’s never there.
Matthew texts her multiple times checking on her, offering to bring her soup or medication, and telling her what a good time he had.
In an act of defiance, against her stranger who has only come into her life twice but has occupied her mind ten-fold, she agrees to another date.
It’s not as if Harry will find out but it still felt freeing to actively disobey his warning.
And so when Matthew asks…
Matthew: If you’re feeling better, I would love to take you out this weekend.
YN feels a sense of guilt that she’s thinking more of her stranger than Matthew when she replies.
YN: I would absolutely love that. Just let me know how to dress. :)
+
That is how she finds herself inside of a nice restaurant on Saturday night, dressed in a satin dress and strappy heels that she hadn’t worn in ages.
Matthew had picked her up in his run of the mill, base model sports car, that was flashy but in quite an unimpressive way.
He was dressed in a nice suit and managed to get reservations at an exclusive, small restaurant in the heart of the city.
Matthew and her were sitting at a two person table toward the back.
Next to them was a round table with place settings for six that was yet to be occupied, the notecard only specifying, ‘Styles, Party of Six.’
They are being poured their first very expensive glass of Pinot Noir when a group of men, somewhat boisterous and rowdy for the setting, are seated at the round table next to them.
“And so Doctor Flint told me that the cadaver ligament we were to use was lost. How on earth do you misplace a body part?” Matthew laughs whilst he tells her this story from the old hospital he worked at.
YN was trying to focus but she hears a voice that is eerily familiar.
“Settle down. This isn’t a fucking bar.”
The hair on the back of her neck stands straight up.
Her stranger.
This isn’t a coincidence.
It can’t be.
YN refuses to look up, past Matthew’s head because she’s terrified of what she might see or more like what she knows she’ll see.
“He put it in the employee fridge! Can you believe that?” Matthew honks out a laugh, slapping the table like he just told the world's funniest jokes.
“That’s insane,” YN agrees, forcing a fake laugh out of her suddenly dry throat, “Sounds like it could be a scene from a movie.”
YN knows that he’s watching her.
It’s the untold feeling that’s inkling up her spine.
She feels in danger for the first time.
Real danger.
How on earth is he sitting across from her?
Is he following her?
That had to be the only answer.
Had she acquired a stalker by helping him all those months ago and the coffee shop just sparked it again?
But that does equate to what he warned about Matthew?
YN convinces herself that she didn’t hear his voice, that it’s all in her head, and she’s going to look up to confirm that she was in fact going insane.
After a deep breath, YN tilts her chin up and gazes directly into the eyes of the man she was praying wasn’t staring back.
Her stranger was positively fuming, he was leveling her with a downright murderous glare that actually made her concerned for her safety.
YN darts her eyes back towards Matthew and ignores Harry for as long as humanly possible as he chats on with his friends.
Everything is working out until her date excuses himself to the restroom, before the main course comes out.
Fuck.
YN anxiously pulls out her phone to distract herself.
Until someone is plucking her mobile right out her hands, a thumb pressing into the nape of her neck as a warning to keep looking forward.
“Bathroom. Five minutes after he gets back,” Her stranger leans down to speak into her ear, he moves so sleekly that she’s never even been alerted he got up.
“My pho-“
“You’ll get it back when you meet me in the bathroom,” Harry tells her before he’s standing up and walking back to his table, slipping her cell into his suit jacket pocket.
Did he really just steal her phone?
YN digs her nails into her palm, keeping an eye on the clock after Matthew sits down, waiting until the five minute mark before excusing herself.
There’s only a single bathroom which when she pushes through the already cracked open door, her stranger is leaning against the counter like last time.
YN takes the initiative to lock it behind her.
She shouldn’t but she does.
“Give me my phone back,” YN demands, unsure of where the bravado is coming from as she steps further into the room.
Harry doesn’t give her a wicked smile, his lips are tight, and his jaw is clenched.
He is absolutely pissed.
“What the fuck did I tell you last time, stupid girl?” Harry’s volume is louder than she anticipated, making her jump in surprise.
YN doesn’t respond, the heart palpitations that were now the norm for her interaction with this man are in full effect.
“Come here,” Harry orders furiously, moving away from the counter.
YN stands her ground.
“I said come the fuck here or I’ll smash your phone right off this god damn floor,” He threatens as he watches her, lip twitching in displeasure at her not listening the first time.
YN really would rather not pay for a new cell phone at the moment and slowly, she drags her feet towards him.
”Yeah, I don’t have time for your lil’ drama queen bullshit tonight, darling,” Harry sneers as he grabs her by the waist, moving her forcefully until he can pick her up and sit her on the sink counter.
YN readjusts her dress, she’d heard a slight rip but she wasn’t going to point that out at the moment.
Harry’s hand comes to her jaw, gripping it and forcing their eyes level, “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Is that what this is? Or do you lack any semblance of common sense?”
It’s hard for YN to talk with his hand holding her jaw, her words jumbled when she garbles out, “Why are you following me?”
His brows furrow in confusion, “You think I’m following you?”
”What are the chances that you show up in two places that I’ve been? While I’m on a date? Unless you’re following Matt….” YN trails off because that would make no sense, it was much more likely that he was following her around.
It was clear Matt had no idea who Harry was because he hadn’t recognized or acknowledge him at the coffee shop or at dinner when Matt would have definetly seen him when he was returning from his bathroom break.
Harry grip tightens enough that she squeaks, trying to pull away, and he hadn’t even seemed to realize he was using much force because it instantly loosens again.
Oddly, he reaches his thumb out to run along her jawbone, and it’s half comforting, half annoyed when he mutters, “You’re fine. Stop.”
She was pretty far from fine at this point.
”Are you that desperate for a lay?” Harry asks bluntly, he was standing in between her thighs and if anyone would have walked into this room, they would be under a much different impression than what’s actually going on.
”Excuse me?” YN gasps, affronted at his questioning.
Harry rolls his eyes at he reaction, his thumb was still rubbing against her skin but his grip had him in control, “I specifically told you to never associate with that guy. Here you are a week later, dressed up all pretty f’him, and what…you gonna let him take you home?”
If YN didn’t know any better, there sounded like some jealously in his tone.
”I don’t know what was going to happen after dinner,” YN bites out, trying to exercise her jaw muscle against his fingertips, “Maybe I would have let him take me home and fuck me.”
Harry’s eyes darken, his pupils dialating further in his anger, and his hand moves from her jaw to the side of her neck, thumb ghosting over her pressure point as a silent threat.
”Can I tell you what I think?” Harry murmurs, with the smallest hint of a smile like he’s cracked the code to something.
”You’re going to anyways,” YN mumbles, her own annoyance flooding her body.
”You’re not even into him. I think you agreed to this date just to spite my warning, huh? Tell me I’m wrong,” Harry’s voice is deeper, smoother, and downright dangerous.
”I do-“
”Tell. Me. I’m. Wrong,” He recites each word distinctly, his teeth gritted as his eyes dart from her eyes to his grip on her throat to her lips back to her eyes in a vicious cycle.
YN bites at her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth as she doesn’t know why Harry is so good at figuring her out but now she doesn’t feel like she’s in a position to lie either.
She avoids it by saying, “I don’t know you. You won’t let me ask questions. Why should I trust you? There was no reason not to go on another date. Why because of your ominous warning?”
”Yes because of my fucking warning,” He snaps back at her, stepping further between her thighs until their chests are nearly bumping and his familiar scent is lingering against her, “I know what I’m talking about. Stay the fuck away from him.”
YN shouldn’t push his buttons.
She should oblige, agree, and then avoid him for the rest of her life.
But as always, she goes against all those natural instincts and eggs him on further.
”Well then who would I go home with tonight?”
Harry doesn’t appreciate that comment.
Not by the way he’s moving to wraps his fingers around her wrist and tug her off the counter, “I’m taking you home now.”
“Wait, I-“ YN responds in surprise, not resisting his hold as he helps her onto her feet, her high heels were not made for this type of activity.
”No, you want to keep playing with me? You’re going to lose, every fucking time,” Harry retorts as he begins to lead her towards the door, “You’re going to go home to your own apartment, by yourself. Use your fingers, a toy, I don’t really care but you’re not going home with that guy.”
YN feels awful that Matthew is sitting out there, their main courses about to be served, and it will be the second time that she is ditching him when neither had been her intention.
“My dress,” YN stops moving, right as his hand is on the doorknob, “You fucking ripped it. I cannot go outside like this.”
It was true, from the stretch of the countertop, the already high-cut slit on the right side of her dress was now up to her hip, flashing the obnoxiously red lace she had on underneath.
Harry’s eyes move down with a cluck of his tongue, “Really fuckin’ desperate, huh?”
But before YN can defend herself, he’s shrugging out of his suit jacket and wrapping it around her waist, tying it in the front, and it hangs enough to cover at least where her underwear is flashing.
”There, now come the fuck on. I have shit to do,” Harry retakes her hand, tight and firm as he opens the bathroom door, and instead of going towards the dining hall, he’s going further back into the hallway.
He’s letting them out of an emergency exit into an alleyway.
She expects him to dismiss her, to tell her to get home, and to not contact Matt again.
Instead, what actually happens is that he continues walking with her, out of the alleyway and towards the streets that will lead to her apartment, seeing as he definetly didn’t forget where she lived.
YN was cold, goosebumps breaking out along her arms as her bare arms hit the windchill, her jacket left at the restaurant.
“My jacket,” YN points out, pauses quick enough that Harry nearly bumps into her from where he was following closely behind.
His hands come to her shoulders, encouraging her with a bit of force to keep walking, “I’ll have one of my friends grab it.”
YN hated walking in these heels, it’s why she had spent the money on the Uber.
“It’s cold,” YN complains as they’re about halfway there, he’s only a step behind her, ready to grab her at any moment.
“Walk faster then,” Harry replies in a bored tone, his hands once again moving to her shoulder to give her a light shove forward.
YN wants to scream, maybe unstrap her heel, and hit him with it because he was truly the most incorrigible person that she has ever met in her life.
Her stranger stays silent until they make it to her door, he easily ignores the unflattering comments YN makes under her breath, only receiving a shove or push as a response.
When YN fumbles for her keys, Harry waits like he’s invited in, and YN doesn’t have the will right now to fight.
As soon as they get in, Harry shuts the door behind them and she plops on her couch to start unstrapping the heels.
Her hands are shaking.
She wants to blame the cold but she knows it’s her nerves.
“Pathetic, shaking like a leaf,” Harry huffs as he watches, kneeling down and smacking her hands away, heavy rings stinging her skin, and he begins to undo them himself, “Can’t even get your own shoes off and you want to act like you're tough with me.”
YN watches, heart in her throat at the sight of her stranger kneeling in front of her, his hand wrapped tightly around her ankle as the other fusses with the straps.
Why does she get this deep pitted urge to rile him up, just when he starts to act calm?
“I’m going to see Matthew again,” YN wishes her words had come out with a bit more confidence even though they were a downright lie.
Harry stops his actions, blinking up at her with an unreadable expression, “No.”
“You can’t-“
Harry lunges upward, eye level and angry once again, his teeth were gritted as he went to his usual means of control.
A firm grip of her chin.
“I can. I am telling you I can. Leave it the fuck alone and move on. You don’t even like the bloke,” Harry calls her out, it’s a statement, not a question.
“I haven’t even got to know him-“
“Nor do you need to. Stop fuckin’ around because you’re making my life harder by doing this. And I really don’t like when people make my life harder. Especially spoiled lil’ drama queens,” He’s getting agitated enough that his grip gets harsh, painful, and she flinches in response.
Just like last time, he loosens his hold and his frown deepens, “M’not going to hurt you. Don’t have to act like that.”
“Yes, as you squeeze me. I don’t even know who the fuck you are,” YN pulls out of his grip, he allows it but his other hand is still on her ankle.
“It doesn’t matter who I am,” Her stranger argues, “Bottom line. Stop. Fucking. Up. My. Plans.”
”I don’t even know what they are,” YN shots back, she felt like they were talking in riddles at this point.
”Go to work, do your cute little nurse shit, and come home,” Harry repeats through clenched teeth, he finally moves to take off her other high heel.
”Forever?” YN snorts sarcastically, wriggling until she can untie his suit jacket from around her waist, making it a point to toss it next to him on the floor.
She felt even more satisfaction when she realized it was a Gucci piece.
Harry’s eyes stay directly staring into hers.
”Until I tell you elsewise,” He replies cryptically, “You’ve ruined enough things f’me. I need you to stop or m’going to have to do something to make you. Don’t try to think you’re smart and defy me. I’ll know.”
YN’s head is spinning, “You’re telling me I’m not supposed to date or have a social life until you say so? A stranger I don’t even know?”
”If you want to stay out of danger. Yes,” He replies like it’s that simple, he’d taken off both of her heels by this point and didn’t seem to realize that he was still holding her foot, thumb pressing into the arch on the bottom.
”This isn’t fair,” YN feels her throat tighten.
Fuck, she was not going to cry.
”It doesn’t have to be fair. Life isn’t fuckin’ fair, darling,” Harry’s voice is venomous as he speaks, his accent was distinct and each word was enounciated harshly.
”Maybe I should just risk it,” YN slouches back into the couch, kicking his hand off of her.
”No, you won’t fuckin’ risk it,” Harry leans up, his hands on either side of her knees, and it would be an intimate position giving any other circumstance, “You need a date that bad? Having a dry spell, pet?”
There’s a roughness in his voice that makes her want to close her thighs.
God, what the fuck is wrong with her?
She is quiet literally being threatened by a stranger and she feels arousal pooling in her belly?
She’s going to fucking die at this rate.
”You said I can’t go out. It doesn’t mean that I can’t have someone come back to my place,” YN is fucking with him at this point, to rile him up even further when she should be doing the exact opposite, “My sex life counldn’t possible interfere with your ‘plans’.”
Harry’s jaw flexes under his skin, if looks could fucking kill.
”Do you need a lesson?” Harry sits up, his hand shifting to her hip and it sends a shockwave through her.
His fingertips were ghosting over the exposed red lace, lightly, curiously.
”A le-lesson?” YN stutters, eyes wide and god, she wanted to spread her legs further.
”Yes, a lesson. To keep you in this god damn house,” Harry reiterates as his fingers slip underneath the thin fabric near the waistband, snapping the elastic against her hips and making her jump, “Do I need to show you how to use your fingers? Buy you a god damn toy? Something because I need you to stay in this fuckin’ house and I don’t know how many different ways to emphasize it.”
YN knows how to use her fingers but there’s something about the texture, calloused roughness of her stranger’s that make her want his instead.
She wasn’t some sex-hungry feign.
Her currently dry spell had been lasting over the past year.
It was something in particular about her stranger that made her realize just how long it had been.
She wasn’t made uncomfortable by his finger wandering by her hip.
Despite how threatening, how out of line this man was, for some reason she felt like she could trust him not to hurt or take advantage of her.
She had never been this risk-taking in her entire life.
And this isn’t normal risk-taking.
”I know how to use them,” YN bleats back, heart jumping when his thumb rubs over the thin skin of her hip, his hand slipping just underneath the fabric of her dress, “Just don’t like to.”
“Then you’re not doing it right,” Harry shakes his head, a bit more solemn and quiet for the moment as he watches his hand.
There’s a pause.
A long enough moment of silence that it reels Harry right back into reality.
He straightens up before standing, kicking her shoes aggressively out of his way as he storms towards the door, “You better fuckin’ listen to me. It really won’t end well for you if you don’t.”
“When will I -“
When will I see you again?
When can I not be a prisoner in my own house?
Why am I going to be a prisoner in my own house?
What the fuck is he trying to protect me from?
What plans am I fucking up?
There’s all those questions and more on the tip of her tongue but she can’t even get the first one out before Harry is cutting her off.
”You’ll know. Now lock your fuckin’ doors and go the fuck to sleep.”
YN also doesn’t know anyone who used the word ‘fuck’ as much as her stranger.
But she finds herself listening as he slams the door on his way out, trembling on it’s rusty hinges, and locking it behind him like he couldn’t manage a way in if he really want.
YN didn’t know exactly what he was up to, but it wasn’t good.
++
It was six days until YN had to face Matthew.
YN had been surprised that she hadn’t received any text or calls.
Then she goes into her settings, realizing that while Harry had stolen her phone that he’d manage to block his number, delete their conversation, and delete his contact information on top of it.
Fucking dick.
YN can’t avoid Matthew in the cafeteria.
As she’s waiting in line for her salad to be made and he strides right up to her with a displeased expression she’d never seen on his normally smile-laden face.
”If you didn’t like me, you could have just said so before standing me up twice,” Matthew tells her, he’s trying to keep his tone casual as he acts like he’s reading the nutritional facts on the back of his energy drink.
”I am so sorry,” YN doesn’t look at him, looking directly at the woman making their food instead as she works, “It’s…this isn’t like me. It has nothing to do with you, I promise. I’ve just had some….issues that had unexpectantly popped up.”
Matthew scoffs, slamming his tray down a bit too aggressively, “If you’re going to lie, at least make it beleiveable. Do you know how lucky you were that I gave you a chance? I’m a fucking doctor. You’re a nurse. You should be chasing me, not elsewise.”
YN squeezes her eyes shut because it’s not worth starting a fight in the middle of their workplace, “Matt, I’m really just trying to enjoy my lunch break on my fourteen hour shift. Please, just leave me alone. Like I said, I’m sorry about what transpired. It’s on me.”
Matthew surprises her by ducking to whisper in her ear, “You are a no one, YN.”
++
None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for her stranger.
She wouldn’t be feeling so useless.
Alone.
It had been four months since she’d seen her stranger.
Not one trace of him.
Despite the fact that she had been listening, she didn’t go out on dates, and she didn’t bring anyone home.
A nice nurse anesthetist named Paul had wanted to take her out on a date, YN was somewhat interested but turned him down gently, stating that she wasn’t ready for a relationship.
It made her angrier as the months went on.
She hated her stranger.
She missed her stranger.
++
It’s takes four and a half excruciatingly isolating months until something changes.
YN had a ten hour shift tonight which wouldn’t have been bad but she hasn’t had a day off in nearly two weeks and she was run ragged.
YN had the next three off to recuperate which would start by passing out immediately in her bed after showering.
When YN unlocks her front door, her eyes are heavily lidded as she locks it behind her, flipping on the switch, and kicking off her black tennis shoes.
”It’s ‘bout fuckin’ time.”
YN drops her water bottle, her phone, and her purse - causing all the contents to start to spill and roll out.
”Jesus Christ, so jumpy, m’little drama queen,” He laughs meanly as his voice doesn’t come any closer.
YN hasn’t looked at him yet but has a sneaking suspicion that her stranger is sitting comfortably on her couch after breaking in.
She should be worried as to why he’s here.
Instead she feels a flair of anger bubble up in her chest, “Four and half fucking months. You let me be alone with nothing and no one for four and a half months, Harry.”
When she turns to face him, her anger quickly dissipates when she realizes that he’s injured.
He’s shirtless, which YN doesn’t have time to let herself look over his tattoos, his rippled muscles, any of it because he’s currently holding his balled up white shirt to his eyebrow.
There was barely any white fabric to be seen, sodden with dark red blood.
“Oh my god,” YN gasps as she steps over her spilled items, rushing towards the couch.
There were streaks of blood trailing down the side of his face, leaving a trace all the way down to his pecs where it finally dried.
“I’m fine. I just need you to do your lil’ hero act on me, okay?” His teeth are stained red from where his bloody lip has poured into his mouth.
YN feels awake suddenly, rushing to her bathroom to retrieve her kit, and running back to her living room just as fast.
“Harry, I don’t-“ YN fumbles, nearly dropping her supplies, going completely scatter-brained in panic and the shock of seeing her stranger after so long.
”Hey,” Harry replies, loud enough to make her jump, and with his free hand, he does what he always does, grips her chin and levels their eye contact, “Stop freaking out. Isn’t this what your fuckin’ job is? Do you do this at the hospital?”
YN shakes her head, “This is different.”
“Well then act like it’s not,” Harry’s hold on her isn’t as rough as it normally is and she has a creeping suspicion that he’s smeared his blood on her face but that was the least of her concerns.
YN goes to her kitchen sink, scrubbing her hand thoroughly before tucking her hands into a pair of latex gloves before she’s removing his destroyed shirt to examine the actual injury.
It wasn’t the worst that she had ever seen but it was far more serious than the injuries that he had the first time that she saw him.
”I’m going to do the same thing as last time. I’m going to clean it first,” YN informs him through shaky breath as she soaks a cotton pad to begin to swipe over the split skin gently.
Harry, once again, doesn’t show any type of reaction that it’s painful.
He only continues to stare at her face as she does her job.
When the cut is completely cleaned up, YN’s able to examine it better, and realizes that he definitely needs stitches.
”You need at least five or six stitches,” YN tells him after taking a step back, peeling off the gloves, “Do you want me to drive you to the hospital?”
Harry doesn’t move, his chest is moving steadily, calm as ever.
”No, I want you to stitch me up,” Harry replies like that’s a normal request.
”I don’t have numbing medication or pain medication, I-“
”I don’t need it. Will you come the fuck on?” He pushes, sitting up a bit straighter, and he has no right to get annoyed at her right now when he’s the one causing all of this.
YN knows she shouldn’t do what he’s asking.
Shouldn’t give in to another one of his demands.
But she does.
”Fine,” YN lets out a long exhale, digging through her kit for another pair of gloves and the material for sutures.
”Wait f’a minute,” Her stranger interrupts her, hand coming to grip her hip, and bring her attention back to him, “I don’t want you fuckin’ shaking while you do it. I need you to calm down, okay? Everything is fine, right? You know that.”
”I don’t know that,” YN frowns as she rummages through her kit, ignoring that he wants her eyes on him, “I don’t know anything anymore. I don’t even know you but I’ve listened to you for the past five months.”
“I know you have,” He replies simply.
Was he watching her?
”And nothing bad happened to you, did it?” Harry prompts, squeezing her hip encouraging her to look at him.
YN begrudgingly does, surprised by the softness on his face, his normal harsh frown lines had dissipated.
”No,” YN agrees honestly, “I have just been lonel- never mind.”
She finds herself choking up on the word, tears threatening to spill because she’s tired, confused, and fucking lonely.
Harry’s eyes are unreadable like the usually are, they’re concerned and his squeezing turns almost into a gentle massage of her plush right there.
”I’ll fix it, okay?” Harry sighs as YN tugs on another pair of gloves, “I need you to continue to listen to me, follow my instructions, and I’ll make sure you’re not lonely, okay?”
YN doesn’t believe him for a moment but doesn’t have the energy to argue, “Okay.”
Harry knows that she isn’t buying it, “I mean it. I stick by my fucking word. I’ll fix it if you continue to listen.”
YN nods in agreement, carefully taking the curved needle from the sterilized packaging and threading it through the suture material, “You’ll need to come back here or go to the doctor in about a week and a half to get these remove. They don’t dissolve.”
”Okay,” Harry acknowledges but he’s more subdued, like something about YN complaining about her loneliness had stuck with him.
”Sit back,” YN orders as she’s ready to start work and when she leans over, she not only realizes it’s a shitty angle but her lower back is screaming at her from being on her feet for an unreasonable amount of hours today.
Harry must recognize it, surprisingly perceptive for how cold and disconnected he can be, “C’mere.”
YN should put up a fight.
YN should do a lot of things that she doesn’t.
Harry pulls her in until she’s sitting in his lap, thighs straddling over his closed ones, and she rests her bum on the thick of his quad muscle.
It actually was a much easier angle to do what she needed to do.
Her strangers hands come up to steady her hips, resting in the dip above her hip, and his hands were massive, his fingertips nearly reaching her bellybutton from the way that they were splayed.
”It’s going to hurt. Try not to flinch or anything,” YN mumbles, ignoring the butterflies that were starting to go crazy in her belly.
The roles are reversed when YN grips his chin to keep his head at the angle she needed it as she decided how to go about this.
She can with one hundred percent certainty say that she’s never sat on a patient’s lap while giving them stitches.
Harry doesn’t so much as flinch as she begins, his eyes were studying her face the whole time, hands firm around her waist, and unrelenting in their grip to keep her steady.
The only noise in the room is their breathing, more so YN’s, and a sharper intake from Harry when she has to pierce the needle through his sensitive, bruised skin to pull it shut.
”D-done,” YN replies after she ties the thread of neatly, snipping it with a small pair of scissors before sitting back, her back was still aching.
Harry hadn’t said anything during the whole thing, he doesn’t smile but he isn’t frowning either as he moves to hold her chin, his favorite thing apparently, and his thumb swipes over her bottom lip.
It was oddly intimate.
”Thank you,” Her stranger tells her sincerely, no teasing or harshness.
YN nods, swallowing because she should get off of his lap but she feels planted where she’s at.
Until she can’t help the massive yawn that has her eyes watering, bringing her hand to cover her mouth.
”S’time to get you to sleep,” Harry decides as he stands up and positions her on her feet, “You need to stop workin’ so much. You’re going to die of exhaustion.”
How does he know how much she works?
YN’s too tired to question it further.
”Need t’shower,” YN mumbles back, rubbing at her eye.
”It can wait, you’re ‘bout dead on your feet. Hold on,” Harry disappears down her hallway, she can hear him going into her bathroom like he just has full permission to explore her house.
He comes out a moment later with a damp washcloth, without asking, he begins to wipe at her face, and when the white fabric starts to stain red - she’s alarmed before she realize that it wasn’t her own blood that had dried on her face.
”You can…um, you can shower before you leave if you want,” YN offers as she allows him to wipe her off, moving down her jawline and throat.
She expects him to turn it down.
”I might actually take you up on that. This…this wasn’t part of my plan for the night and I still have things to do. I’ll lock up on the way out?” Her stranger tosses the washcloth on her kitchen counter.
”Yeah, m’going to go to sleep,” YN waves her hand at him, her eyes were starting to close without her permission as she drug her feet towards her bedroom.
”Jesus Christ, I’m fucked.”
YN hears him mutter that under his breath, not meant for her to hear, and she doesn’t know what it means anyways, it was probaly about his plans that didn’t go his way.
After she changes into her pajamas, YN realizes that Harry doesn’t have a shirt on, and she rifles through her drawers until she finds a shirt from an old boyfriend that would fit him.
She folds it, leaves it right in front of the bathroom door, and goes back into her bedroom.
Underneath the covers, she tries to sleep but instead finds herself listening to her stranger.
He must drop a bottle in the shower at some point.
Then the water’s being shut off after awhile.
A bit of shuffling and the door opening.
What she doesn’t expect is when he steps into her doorway, leaning against her doorframe, in the shirt that she had left for him.
”Bye,” He replies simply, no ‘thank you’ or anything.
YN sits up, “No, not ‘bye’. When…when is this going to end? I can’t keep living like this, Harry. I -“
”I said I would fix it, didn’t I? So stop bitching,” Harry snaps, the calmness that had settled between them had disappeared, all the softness that he’d shown just a bit ago had been lost now.
YN frowns at him, “I’m so nice to you. I don’t understand why you treat me so poorly.”
”If you think I’m treating you poorly, you don’t want to know how I treat others,” Harry laughs, the cruelty seeping back into each syllable, “You’re just a sensitive lil’ drama queen.”
”Fuck you,” YN shoots back for the first time because she had been overly nice and accommodating for a man she didn’t know anything about.
The frown lines are back, his scowl set where it normally was.
”Goodnight, my queen,” Harry smirks as the insult rolls off his tongue.
”Get the fuck out,” YN’s voice is quivering but not from fear or upset, from rage.
”My pleasure,” He agrees easily, stepping away from the doorframe and disappearing down the hall.
YN’s too tired to have anymore thoughts after she hears the front door click closed.
What. The. Fuck
++
The next morning, she’s awoken to an obnxious pounding on her front door.
There’s no way that it would be her stranger, right?
He would have let himself in if it was anything like last night.
She had never even questioned where he got the injury from.
When she makes it to the front door, there’s no one in front of her peephole which confuses her, and makes her unlock it to open it up.
There’s a massive cardboard box on her front mat, with small holes poked into the sides, and her name scrawled on the top of it in what looked to be boyish handwriting in marker.
YN hears rustling of all things.
Which makes her kneel down to open the loosely shut box.
When she hears the most feisty mewl of her life.
After opening the flaps, there’s two black kittens inside with a blanket surrounding them.
They were jet black with sleek, shiny coats and bright green eyes- looking up at her expectantly.
Two kittens on her doorstep.
YN is confused but she brings them inside.
When she looks in the box for any explanation, there’s a small note that is in the same handwriting as the scribbles on the cardboard.
Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.
Note: Harry is mean/uncouth in this, though things do get better. He doesn't treat anyone around him with much respect at all. Expect to not like him much at first. Also, this is set in the 1800s England, and while not completely historically accurate, I did my best to keep it as accurate as possible.
Ch. 2 Word Count: 8,759
Ch. 1 Warning: genitalia rubbing (with some dirty talk), discrimination, manipulation and coercion, corruption kink, humiliation, jealousy
It's Good to Be King Masterlist
. .
Y/n had insisted that Phoebe leave the library to get some rest. It was the middle of the night and while her new friend (she refused to think of anyone as being her assistant because that was– well, it was preposterous) told her she wasn't tired, she could tell that the girl was.
"I'll be another hour and then off to bed myself. There's no reason for you to suffer."
"Madam, I'm not allowed to leave you alone to wander the castle. I could get into trouble."
Y/n placed the brand-new book down onto the table that she had in her hand. It was a book that contained drawings of anatomy (amongst other things) by a fellow named Charles Darwin. She imagined it might come in handy to help her understand the mechanics or even just the names of some of their— bits. She had no idea if the book was what she really needed or not but it looked promising.
"But you're so tired. Why can't he just keep watch?" She pointed at the guard who stood in the library's entryway.
Phoebe cleared her throat and looked toward the man. "Are you allowed to be alone with Her Majesty?"
Y/n let out a squawk at the way she was addressed. "Good heavens! Her Majesty? Please, madam is enough. Y/n would be even better."
"My apologies. If it suits you, I will address you as you please." She turned back toward the man. "Can you, George?"
"Yes. If she's only another hour, I'll see to it that she makes it to her room well."
"Thank you, sir," Phoebe said politely before looking toward Y/n. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. Please go on. I'll make haste and be off soon."
The library was gorgeous. It was almost magical. She rarely got her hands on any new books and often was left to read the same two she had in her possession over and over again. But the castle had the most decadent library in the world, she imagined.
Her issue was, though, that most of the books had nothing to do with intimacy or engaging in intercourse whatsoever, which she was in desperate need of. She could think of no other way to help prepare herself for the eventual poking she'd have to endure. The book on anatomy could be educational, though she was looking for something a little more risqué. But then she came across a weathered paper book with the sewn binding edges coming undone at the tops. The name Fanny alone harkened images of feeding the pussycat–if you will.
Fanny Hill.
She glanced at the guard on watch to ensure he hadn't seen the book she'd pulled from the case and her face heated as she opened up the first page. Her eyes widened at the full name of the book: Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure. Closing it quickly she tucked it under the new one and smiled.
It was exactly what she'd been searching for.
"Think I'm ready to go to my room now."
At night the castle was well-lit inside. She wondered how much fuel must have been used (and the cost!) to keep the large spaces bright the way they were. Oil lamps and burning fireplaces guided their path until she was at her doorway.
She didn't know the protocol for greeting or dismissing people but she bowed her head slightly and thanked the man before entering her room, the tall wooden door closing behind her with a heavy clank.
Her fire was freshly stoked and there was more fruit in a bowl on a side table with a glass pitcher of – water? She placed the books down on the table and lifted the pitcher to her nose to sniff. There was no scent. Had she been given fresh water to drink?
She wasted no time in pouring a bit into the heavy baluster glass on the tray next to the water. Lifting the rim to her mouth she took the smallest sip. Water! Pouring more into the cup she guzzled half the glass in one go.
Smiling to herself she placed the heavy glassware down and picked up her books along with an apple. She could get used to the luxuries of living in a castle. When she turned toward her bed she noted it was ready for her to climb into, the blankets turned down and her pillows all fluffed and sat in a row. Then there was the matter of the night dress draped over the bottom edge of the bed.
She looked down at the dress on her body and frowned. It was going to be quite the task to get it off, what with all the underthings tied tight around her middle and strapped over her chest.
Her outer frock wasn't too difficult to remove but she did wish Phoebe was there to help. She struggled a little with the fasteners and the bows and reached around the back to unpluck every tiny porcelain button. But when it was finally off she let out a sigh of relief.
Except she was not even halfway done. The ties and the clasps and the lace stays on the corset were impossible to work apart when she could hardly get her fingers properly aligned with the ribbing at her back.
She groaned in frustration and fell back into the bed, giving up at once. It was useless. She was going to be stuck wearing the uncomfortable things until morning when she could find Phoebe. Never again would she allow anyone to stick her into such garments. She'd rather walk around in the nude! Well, maybe not, but right then she certainly felt that way.
Y/n was used to the underthings she normally wore. They were easy to pull on and off as needed. Not the fancy, silky, ribbed garb that currently adorned her body. With a huff, she pushed herself up to sit and leaned into the feather pillows. At the very least, her bed was a soft heavenly thing. And the apple was juicy and crisp.
She found herself bored with the Darwin book but appreciated the graphics. Most of them were useless for her particular quest, though. It was the Fanny Hill book that had her back tingling and her breath caught a time or two. She'd lost track of the hours as she turned page after page of the filthy book and kept looking toward the door to make sure no one knew what she was doing.
Of course, as titillating as the book was, soon, she found herself unable to keep her eyes open and she fell asleep just like that, sitting over her blankets, apple core browning next to her knee, with the book opened to a scene with two females enjoying one another in a way Y/n had never once heard of before.
.
"Madam. Madam Y/n…"
She was jolted awake, her eyes pried open to see the kind face of her new friend Phoebe standing over her. Quickly closing the book in her lap she tucked it under the blanket and sat up.
"You poor thing," Phoebe spoke as she took the old apple core and placed it on the small table next to her bed. "You've kept your drawers and corset on all night. Here, let me help…"
The relief she felt when the terrible hard corset was peeled from her sides was immense. She moaned and inhaled a breath like she hadn't been able to breathe properly until just then.
"Oy, thank you. I never want to wear that again!"
Phoebe laughed. "We have to get you dressed for the king at some point today, madam. I'm afraid you've no choice when he calls for you."
She held her palms outward toward the girl and shook her head. "I will not wear that thing. I can't stand it!"
Y/n felt like a child throwing a fit but she'd never worn anything so uncomfortable in all her life. She had marks dug into the skin at her sides from the stiff ribbing and pleated fabric. Even then, touching the grooves in her skin, it hurt.
"I believe we—"
A heavy knock on the door had both young women turning toward the noise. Y/n pulled the fabric of the dress over her breasts as it opened and in stepped King Harry.
"Your Majesty," Phoebe said as she lowered her head.
Y/n took a step back toward her bed feeling hot embarrassment that the king was seeing her in such a state of undress. She looked away but the sting of his gaze on her bare arms and neck felt like fire singing her blood.
He sauntered casually into her room and placed himself in the chair near the table where the fire was slowly dying. "Continue as you were."
Phoebe looked at Y/n and darted her eyes toward the dress she'd crumpled up at her bosom and reached for her shoulder to have her turn her back. "Just the chemise then. It's much softer, and we'll put the dress on after. Yes?"
Y/n nodded turning her head to see the girl in her periphery. "Yes. Thank you."
"You needn't thank her. She's your assistant. You're the queen consort to be. Act it."
She lifted her arms up when Phoebe slid the chemise over her head and responded. "She's of the noble class, My Lord. I'm just a beggar. It's only right to speak to her with respect as—"
"Noble class… a beggar. Pish! The class system is a farce. Everyone in the kingdom will bow down to you and your family once you're crowned Queen. Respect is due where I demand it, not where the aristocracy thinks it belongs."
Phoebe pulled the bow at the back of the chemise around her waist before she bent and helped her out of her drawers that she'd been in all night. It felt good to air out a little and she was thankful that Phoebe had waited to help her out of her bottoms until the chemise was draped over her backside so she was hid from the king's searing gaze. The girl held the dress up and slid it over her head before helping her put her arms in. Y/n didn't quite understand what the king meant but she was intrigued by his words about the class system.
"My family. I need to let them know where I am and—"
"The boy you were with on the street yesterday has already sent word. Your family will be at the castle for dinner tonight. I'm sure they'll all be happier than a lark once they arrive. As long as they're well behaved they will get along here fine."
She was turned around as her friend quietly adjusted her dress and attached the collar. Now she could see him directly and her eyes must have deceived her because even though he was the most ill-mannered person she'd ever met, his face riveted the eyes. His brilliant complexion and well-turned jaw were of note. Even the hair on his head was attractive. She appreciated that he didn't wear his hair in the formal old way as most men of the upper classes did. He had a rebellious edge to him that was uncommon for royalty.
Yes, she had seen him up close (all of him) the evening before but it was as if she'd forgotten the fine, pleasing details of his features. It was difficult to think him so dashing when he was so rude. And the smile that drew up on his face as he looked her up and down from his spot in the chair made her palms sweat.
When he winked at her she looked away quickly. Handsome as he may be, he was awful. Just awful.
"Leave us. I need a moment alone with my new wife."
Y/n would have corrected him if he weren't the all-powerful king. She wasn't yet his wife but she knew there was little she could say to make him listen regardless.
Phoebe left the room, quiet as a cat and Y/n stood next to her bed, watching as her king stood and walked right up to her and grabbed her hips, turning her to her side as he looked her over. "This is better than yesterday, isn't it?"
Y/n looked down at her dress and where his hands were on her as she inhaled. "I think so. I dislike the corset."
"As do I. You've no need to wear all that. The kingdom will have to get used to the new method of things."
She was surprised that he agreed. Looking up at him as he turned her to face him, he plucked at her collar. "But this is a nuisance. Would you like it off?"
Nodding she reached up to touch the collar that had been tucked into the bosom of her dress and Harry reached in to untie the laces with deft fingers. She held her breath, frozen, as he quickly released the fabric and pulled it from the top all without grazing her breasts. She imagined he was going to make an advance but he kept his fingers respectfully away from her. Which was another surprise for her.
"There we are. How did you find your bed last night?" He glanced at her rumpled blankets and she followed his gaze. The indecent book she'd been reading was only partly tucked away and she knew it before it even happened, that he'd reach around her for it.
"Fanny Hill: Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure." He quirked a brow at her and licked his lips. "What's this?"
"A book." She reached for it but he held it away from her and grasped her wrist.
"Ah, ah, ah… I'm still looking at it." He pushed her hand back down to her side and kept his eyes on her like he was curious. "Tell me, can you read?"
She swallowed thickly. Yes, she could read but was it wise for him to know that? He likely preferred a wife that couldn't read which might explain why he chose her from the street. Most men liked their women without education. But, it would be difficult to hide that she couldn't read at all and she wouldn't want to pretend either, especially when she so enjoyed doing it when she could.
"A little." She compromised.
"And you found this in our library here?"
She nodded looking from the book to the king as he narrowed his eyes over the pages, flipping through them.
"I asked him if he was afraid of a lady, and with that took and carrying his hand to my breasts, I pressed it tenderly to them; they were now finely furnished, and raised in flesh so that panting with desire, they rose, and fell, in quick heaves, under his touch."
The king read a short passage, squinting up from the page at Y/n with a grin, and then continued as her face grew hot that he knew what she'd been reading.
"And now glancing my eyes towards that part of his dress which covered the essential object of enjoyment, I plainly discovered the swell and commotion there. I stole my hand upon his thighs, down one of which, I could both see and feel a stiff hard body, confined by his breeches, that my fingers could discover no end to: curious then and eager to unfold so alarming a mystery, playing as it were with his buttons, which were bursting ripe from the active force within…"
Y/n turned and covered her face. She could hardly believe he was reading out loud the same words she'd read in her bed that had her wiggling and tensing the slightest the night before.
"Did you enjoy reading this smut? Did it remind you of my own swell from last night?" His words were spoken very near to her ear as he stood behind her. She kept her face covered and shook her head no. A lie. She wasn't ready to admit to him all the strange emotions she'd gone through the night before. And certainly, she'd never let him know about the odd fantasy she'd had of him after reading certain bits in the book. Imagining Harry standing tall above her with his cock in her face made all the blood in her limbs race to her head.
She felt him place his hand on her hip. "You did like it. I could see it in your eyes. Do you know what I did when you left my chambers last night? Can you imagine what a man with a big swell under his breaches might do when he's all alone?"
Pulling her hands from her face she turned her head but didn't look at him directly. "You called someone in to help you with it?"
She was sure that was what he was going to say. He'd eluded to it the night before so it only made sense he'd find someone else to sate his desires when she wouldn't.
"Oh, you dim little girl. There was no one else I wanted for the task but you last night. My future wife…" he spoke the words close to her ear as ran a finger down her neck, still gripping her hip. "I had to deal with the undertaking all alone after your refusal. I've never had anyone deny my request as you did."
She pushed a shaky breath from her mouth as she closed her eyes. The sensation of his warm finger trailing the length of her neck up to her jaw and back down stimulated her blood, sending it to churn hotly under her flesh. His deep voice against the shell of her ear stoked a strange ache in the pit of her belly.
Strange… well, she understood the ache truth be told. Virgin, she may be, but innocent of feelings of lust, she was not. She recognized her body's natural reaction to her king but it confused her. Perhaps it was due to that book, stuffing all those improper ideas into her brain. Desire was something she'd known before but explaining the function was foreign. She'd never acted on desire before and now, she had to contend with a man who wanted her to act on his.
Her body, of its own accord, pushed back into his chest and she arched her neck into his touch. The pad of his finger drew lazy paths but soon was replaced by a moist warm and plush mouth. She pulled in a breathy gasp when she realized he was kissing her. But the feel of his solid form behind her, pressing his hips to her rear made her limbs nearly give out.
Harry grunted a laugh against her neck as he held her up with his arm wrapped around her front to keep her securely in place. "Do you like my mouth on you?"
Yes! She did and her pounding heart was proof of it. "No."
He laughed and squeezed her tighter into his chest as he ran his tongue along the space behind her ear. "You say no but your body says yes. Shall I release you? Or shall we continue?"
She didn't want him to stop but she couldn't possibly want it either. Could she? What was she to say? If she told him to stop then would he remove her from the castle and find another Queen? Then what of her family who was newly offered shelter and provisions by the king himself? She couldn't go and ruin it but if she said yes would he take what he wanted from her without permission? Would God smite her at once for her wayward acts?
"You are not yet my husband."
The rattled moan he let out as he pressed a warm kiss to her jaw, setting her skin to flame. "But you are mine. Yes?"
She looked at her unmade bed and down at his arm that was tight across her middle. She'd never felt such a longing to engage in her shameful needs as then. Even the night before, reading the sort of smut she'd read, she felt the pull of wanton thirst but resisted it still. With the king, though, his mouth smoothing against her skin, his body, hard, warm, granite, at her back, her soft bed beckoning, the vision seared into her memory of his member (a pretty one at that).
"Yes, my King. But it's indecent until God binds us."
"Not even God himself can stop us. You needn't deny yourself of base urges. We're all just animals, Y/n, seeking the same delicious release. Have you experienced it before? Felt the elation of your lust during climax and wetted your fingers when you got excited?"
She'd never been more embarrassed in her life. Shaking her head she grunted when he pulled at her and sat at the edge of her bed, bringing her with him to sit between his legs, her back to his chest. "Never? Not once?"
His hand bunched the fabric of her dress, slowly pulling at it, exposing her leg. "Never."
"Pity! It's one of life's finest pleasures. An indulgence you must know."He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and pressed his face next to hers as he looked down at her dress and the skin of her knee.
"We don't need to disgrace God for you to know such pleasure. You can remain a virgin still, until our wedding night."
She watched his large hand squeeze at her knee and drag slowly upward revealing her thigh inch by inch. "Would you like that? I can show you how good it feels. Give you something new to crave."
She was terrified and eager all at once. But the thought of ruining herself before she was wed and the stories she'd been told about how badly it would hurt had her unsure in her answer. "I'm… I'm scared. It hurts, doesn't it?"
"If you've never tried it, how would you know it hurts?"
"I heard my aunt telling her friend about it. They both agreed it was awful. Women's bodies aren't built to enjoy it. Only men can have pleasure in it. Otherwise, it's sinful. It's how God created us."
Harry chuckled and pulled at her to bring her further back into her bed, his breeches pulling up as he moved with her and leaned himself back, her body still against him and between his legs. "My little feather-brained girl… Well, maybe you're not so feather-brained as you can read, but you've been led astray. Let your king show you the truth so you can know the mountain of pleasure you're capable of. Yes?"
She felt so exposed. Without her drawers, she had nothing to hinder his hand from sliding up her thigh to her secret little tulip. It was something she rarely even touched herself for fear of betraying God and her own body. So to feel a man's hand on her flesh, hot and searching, it had her heart pounding so hard she thought it might crack through her chest.
"I'm… I feel faint…" She placed her hands on his forearms as he helped her spread her thighs apart.
"I swear I will do no more than make you feel like a queen right now. Let me show you how delicious it is. Or shall we stop?"
He tucked his chin over her shoulder to peek down at her as he pulled her dress and he could feel her wiggling into him. She was not well-versed in the truth of biological functions, but rather, as Harry understood it, had a deeply ingrained fear of God and Anglican Christian teachings. He was not shocked to know this, as the Church of England influenced most of the ongoings of society, especially the poor with its reprehensible practices that only hindered education and growth.
Poor thing.
"Let me see your hand," he spoke quietly, turning his arm to face his palm up. Y/n slid her palm into his and he slowly pushed her hand between her legs. "I'll show you how to do it yourself. Consider it a gift."
She felt his large, warm hand over the outside of hers as he nudged her fingertips into the soft fleshy inner parts of her thigh and guided her to her private quim, tucked away under layers of fabric. He couldn't see it but he could feel the heat radiating from it.
"Take your finger and touch. Give yourself a chance to explore."
Y/n inhaled shallowly as she did what he said. He squeezed her thigh, dangerously close to where her fingers were touching herself. She'd not touched it often. A quick rub to clean or to scratch, and maybe once or twice for curiosity's sake, but never like this.
It was warm and moist and fleshy bits moved and bent away from her touch with ease. Dragging her digit up and down she only grew bolder with her exploration knowing he couldn't see her and neither could anyone else. But the sensation of what she was doing didn't falter. She was keenly aware of the illicit act and that her king was dragging his fingers so close to where she was it made her feel fuzzy and hot.
"How does it feel? Describe it."
Closing her eyes, as if somehow that would hide her shame, she opened her mouth and did her best to tell him the way she felt under her fingertips. "Like a stiff jelly. Strange… A little moist. Warm crevice that folds and splits. It's… It's difficult to say…"
"That sounds about right to me. Bring your fingers upward, to the very top of that split. What's there?"
Drawing her fingers upward she pushed her labia apart and felt her hair scattered over the outer edges of her lips and inward to a fleshy fold. "It feels much the same. I can feel the hair there, and a soft thing at the center with none."
"Press that little merry bit gently. Small circles."
She already had been. Once her digit rubbed around the space she remembered her brief investigations from before. The tingle it sent throughout her groin felt connected to her inner turmoil.
"Yes."
He smiled as he ran his fingers along her inner thigh. "Yes? Yes, what?"
She gulped her saliva and nodded. "Yes… I feel it."
"You feel it. What do you feel?"
"It's just skin and gelatin."
"It's much more than that, little mouse. That's the key to your desire. The more you press her and play with her, the more you'll feel. She'll come alive underneath your fingers. Soon, you'll be able to juice her and she'll make a mess of your fingers but you won't want to stop."
"Juice her?" Y/n blinked in confusion.
"Yes. Like a citrus. She'll gush the better she feels."
It was already feeling like something so lascivious that she had to pause before she got carried away. It felt… well it was quite nice. But it was sinful.
"You've stopped, yet you have so much more to learn. If you continue you'll see what power you possess over your own body. You can reach the agony of bliss by persisting."
The agony of bliss. Y/n knew this phrase as a fake for women. To come to bliss from meddling with her bits or participating in amorous congress was impossible! Only men could be flooded with that kind of pleasure.
"It cannot be done. I'm sure of it," she whispered and turned her face in toward his, catching the outline of his face so close to hers.
"It can be done. Don't be stubborn. Allow yourself to find the truth. Would you like me to take over for you and show you?"
"But God—"
"No more talk of God. He's not here with us. He never was." Harry reached for her fingers and pushed them back against herself, circling slowly as he spoke. "I am the one here with you now. You will seek my presence, and you will acquiesce to my will."
Slowly, she let herself relax into him and laid her head back against his shoulder as he guided her movements. She wasn't ready to confess to anyone how delightful it felt. And the more he moved her fingers around the wetter she indeed got, just as he said she would.
Harry craned his neck over her shoulder, hoping to see her wetted queam but the fabric of her dress cost him a good view. He could however see her soft thighs spread and as he leaned outward and looked at her face saw pretty parted lips and closed eyes as her chest rose and fell patterned in lust. Then he heard the smallest whimper that had him quickening his fingers and staring at the side of her face in awe.
His own bits were enlightened by the heady wetness under his fingers and soon she slid her pelvis upward and she'd let go of her finger's movements in favor of grabbing onto his forearms to let him take over. He groaned when he had full access to her cunt-lips. And the little button he'd knocked into was swollen and slick.
"You have a delightful quim, Y/n. So warm and full of life, aren't you?"
She arched her back and panted as he slid lazy fingerprints to her sex. She hadn't felt anything like it but she was both thoroughly aroused and embarrassed. Even the wetness that leaked from her was audible as Harry moved his long fingers over her crevices.
When she gasped a breath he murmured against her ear—there's my good little mouse—and he pushed himself against her for his own relief. His cock was hard, and nudging it against her backside provided him with a bit of satisfied deliverance. His bride-to-be was stubborn but she was ripe. What a pleasure to have chosen her over anyone else. It was by chance that he had seen her the day before and now he was certain that he'd been right about his selection.
(When wasn't he right?)
And oh! Y/n was sure she would be sent straight to the pit of hell for all eternity but the sudden need to see it through and know the carnal pleasure King Harry promised, overwhelmed her existence. Nothing could stop the pull of her desire to climb the mountain's peak and throw herself down into the rough and unknown valley below. Dangerous it may be, but her new willingness to gaze into the depths and explore the truth burned in her stronger than any lake of hellfire could.
He rocked against her slowly and moaned as he worked her wetness. With one hand steady, gripping at her soft thigh to hold her open, he could feel her muscles straining, shaking as she humped toward his fingers. She liked it. He knew she would. Her skin was warm and her desperate inhalations turned into mumbled nonsense.
Oh! Oh my! Fooo… Hee ooohhh…
"I want to see you let go. Come into my hand, mouse," Harry's shaky breath against her face inferred to her that he was also aroused.
Everything in her body was aching and pulsing as she writhed into his fingers for more. Her soft pearl was coated in cream, the king's fingers smeared with accurate strokes around her quim and pressed into the knob of her pleasure as temptation slid through her tummy and seeped from her.
"You're going to crave a strumming from me like this every day. And once you let me show you what it feels like to have your insides pricked and your belly tickled with my staff you'll be begging me for it."
The limn of her vision turned red and spotty and rushing blood drummed in her ears, muffling the dirty things he said to her. She could not resist the pull of her orgasm as she let out a wobbled cry. Her whole body was beating and throbbing and her insides were molten, sweet jelly.
Harry tossed his head back and parted his lips in ecstasy as he rolled his hips up and down and finally, his vital spend coated the inside of his breeches. He pumped hotly against the fabric and squeezed at her skin in his release. He flushed hot as the girl in his arms moaned and slid into his hand.
Y/n had melted into him and her legs gave out, falling flat to the bed between his thighs as she closed her eyes. She felt like an explorer. Someone who'd discovered a coveted, secret treasure that no one else had ever known. When she felt Harry's mouth against her neck she smiled in satisfaction and relief.
The shocking realization that she was still in his arms in the castle and not struck down to ash by God was almost equal to the sensation of her orgasm. Why had God not taken action upon them? Flitting her eyes open she saw a drizzle of sunlight shining over her body and Harry's as they sat on her bed, as if the sun would still rise and the day would continue to tick on as normal. As if they hadn't just participated in something so vile.
But her feelings of narrow escape turned into shameful regret when she felt his hand brushing against her skin and he grunted behind her as he moved. She shot forward and turned to look at him and found his pleasant face all flushed and at ease. How could he be so casual?
"What have I done?" She spoke to herself as she climbed away from him and smoothed her dress down to cover her legs.
Harry draped his arms across the feathered pillows and watched her with an amused expression. "What is it now?"
She got to her feet and shook her head as she spun away from the vision of the handsome man spread out on the bed she'd just been in. "We've sinned! God will find his vengeance on us soon!"
He laughed and sat up. "Does it appear to you that God cares what we just did? You are still alive and well, mouse. And I am just as healthy and whole as before."
"That doesn't mean he won't repay us with his anger."
Getting off of her bed he pulled her back into his chest and grinned as he spoke quietly.
"You are no woman of virtue, Y/n. Do not pretend you didn't enjoy yourself. The only shame you should be feeling is that you have been led to believe that your pleasure is a sin. Soon, you'll be begging me for more."
She huffed as she jerked herself away from him and stepped toward the table with the pitcher of water, placing her palms down on the wood. She heard him walking away toward her door and glanced at him as he turned before opening it.
"I'll find Phoebe to bring you your breakfast. You still need plumping."
. .
His wife-to-be could read. Harry almost couldn't believe it but she had a book on her bed that she'd been reading (naughty little thing) and he tried not to show her how surprised he was by that revelation but he was quite taken aback. Thanks to The Enlightenment, it was becoming more common for women to read but the lower classes weren't educated in that way quite yet. In truth, he couldn't have been more pleased to learn that his little mouse had some brains after all.
The middle-class proletariats and the wealthy gentry would not agree that this was a good thing. Their Christian morals led them to believe that only those of rank should have the ability. Someone poverty-stricken with the skill wouldn't know how to control their urges and read the right things. They'd balk at a woman of poverty reading just as much as they'd soon balk at the idea of Y/n being their queen. He couldn't wait to introduce Y/n and her family to the public.
The Lord Mayer had only heard that Harry had found a wife, not who the girl was just yet. He smiled as he imagined the look on his face when he met her and the family at dinner. Of course, his council would be there as well and he knew they'd have a fit over it.
"Sir, Y/n's family has arrived. They have been shown their quarters, warm baths drawn, and wardrobes ready. Dinner will be served in one hour and a half," Fred spoke. "And Y/n… Well, it seems she's unhappy with the dressings she's been given. Something about the unmentionables being too tight. She refuses to wear the appropriate clothing."
"My wife may wear whatever she pleases. If she doesn't like the underdressings then she does not need them. Tell her assistant to stop trying to force her to comply or else I'll find her a new one."
Fred quietly left the sitting room where Harry was enjoying a warm fire and a stiff gin. He'd go and help Y/n dress himself if she wasn't so squeamish around him. Though, he did enjoy their morning tryst, he knew she'd need time to get used to her new setting.
"You!" Harry spotted a worker scurrying past the room and stood from his chair.
The young man stopped and looked at the king with wide eyes as if he were in trouble. He bowed his head quickly. "My Lord."
"Whatever task you've been given, forget it. Your new duty is to go into the library and find as many smut books as you can and have them delivered to the Rose Room before the end of the day."
The man nodded. "Yes, My Lord."
. .
Y/n was as shaky as a feather as she stepped into the Great Hall with Harry by her side. Her mother and father stood quickly, followed by her sisters, and then finally her grandmother. She noted they were all washed and wearing fine clothing. Her sisters wore big grins as her mother wobbled out a sob (the woman could tend to be a bit dramatic).
They'd never seen one another dressed so nicely before. It was a new world for all of them. Her grandmother had a large pearl pin in her hair and rouge on her cheeks. Her mother's linen yellow gown looked perfectly fitted for her. Y/n's father looked regal and influential in his dark blue tailcoat and silk cravat, while her sisters were adorned in colorful muslin with full skirts.
But Y/n… All eyes were on her as she walked toward the royal table, arm tucked into Harry's. Her extravagant velvet gown was a soft green color that matched the king's eyes. The ruffled bust was nearly draped from her shoulders, her neckline on display. The skirt of the dress was full (but not as full as it would have been if she'd worn the proper gear) and there were sewn-in patterns in the shape of vines and flowers in dark green. She was a vision.
Harry's chair was pulled out first and he sat at the head of the table as Y/n sat to his right. The long table was draped in white linen cloths, topped with silver and gold platters and plates, and crystal glassware. Lavish flower centerpieces were spaced out between the covered dishes and the room smelled divine.
There were seven men that sat with them, all scrutinizing the king's pick. They'd never heard the last name of her family as it was not common in high-class society. Which could only mean that the king had not selected advantageously.
"Y/l/n… Where does that name hail from?" One of the men spoke as the servers began to plate food for everyone.
"Does it matter?" Harry barked as he shot his gaze across the table to the man who spoke out of turn.
"Of course it does. The kingdom is relying on a favorable match. And to my eye, I do not suspect these people have any clue of the standard we must uphold. We must maintain—"
"You will keep quiet about your opinion, for it does not concern you who I marry or why."
"Your Majesty, with all due respect—"
"You too will not speak on this matter." Harry raised his voice at the other man who'd chimed in. "Let us enjoy our dinner, yes? No more talk of class or agreeable matches. I am the king and I have made my choice. I'm not interested in hearing your insignificant drivel."
Y/n's carving of meat was plated before her and she nearly gasped at the spectacle. She looked up at the man who'd served it and before he could step away to carve a portion for her father who sat to her right Harry stopped him.
"Give her twice as much as the rest of us, and the fat too."
Y/n looked at the king, down to her plate, and then back at him again. "Why? I can't possibly eat—"
"You need the fat. You have been underfed for too long."
"Enjoy it, dear. The king is right," her father spoke quietly to her.
She leaned forward and looked at her mother who sat on the other side of her father and reached across to take her mother's hand as she'd begun to cry. "Don't do that, Mother. There's no need for it."
Her mother inhaled a sob and nodded. "I know. I just can't believe this is happening to us. What did we do to find ourselves in such favor? And you!" She wobbled out a shallow cry. "Who knew you'd caught the king's eye? We didn't realize he'd been courting you!"
Harry chuckled and looked at Y/n as she tried to calm her mother while her plate was piled high with meat and roasted potato. Her sisters whispered amongst themselves, discussing their outfits and the jeweled pins in their hair as the Lord Mayer sighed in displeasure.
Y/n's family was a nightmare. They were unfit for such a designation and looking at all of them The Lord Mayer was sure they were as well behaved as street dogs. Her father began eating his food before the king even took a bite of his own, the mother was sobbing like a lunatic, tears falling onto her plate, and her sisters were whispering and giggling like they were playing child's games at the royal table.
He stood from his spot, his chair sliding back and he slammed his hands down onto the table. He was provoked to finally speak his peace. "This cannot go on! What a disgrace to Thornekeep to have these commoners assigned a place amongst royalty. I will not stand for this mockery! Your father—"
"My father is dead!" Harry stood from his chair and loudly spoke over the Lord Mayer's voice. "Sit down or leave at once! You will not insult these people or I will have your head!"
"You do not have that kind of power, yo—"
"The Bloody Code says I do and I will evoke it should you say another damned word against them. Leave! All of you!" Harry pointed toward the arched opening that would lead them from the Great Hall.
The council and Y/n's family all stood up quickly. "Not you. Just the blunderbusses who think themselves worthy of their titles," Harry spoke.
The men all mumbled unintelligible things under their breath as they left their untouched food on the table and scurried away in haste. When it was just Harry and Y/n's family at the table he smiled. "Please, enjoy your supper."
The king had to admit, he quite enjoyed the liveliness of the dinner once the council and Lord Mayer were gone. Y/n's family was not trained in the usual way of the upper classes and so their etiquette was unrefined at best. They slurped and laughed and chatted like they were at a pub. Even Y/n was a messy eater as he watched her once wipe her hands on the skirt of her dress. And halfway through, the young girls were chasing each other around the table and using the linens to play hide and seek underneath.
When the dinner was finished and the family had all left the table and were taken back to their quarters Y/n's chair was pulled from behind and she stood to take Harry's arm as she looked up at him before he led them out of the Great Hall. She spotted the guard who'd taken her to her room from the evening prior and greeted him kindly.
"Good afternoon, George." She smiled at the guard.
Harry stopped and looked at his guard and down to his queen-to-be. "Do you know one another?"
Y/n nodded looking from George back up to Harry. "Yes. Last night in the library. He stood guard."
"And how do you know his first name?"
"Phoebe called him by it."
Harry looked at his guard, releasing Y/n's arm as he stepped forward. "And what do you think of my wife-to-be? Dashing isn't she?"
George flicked his sight to Y/n before fixing it to Harry. "My Lord, she'll be suitable for the kingdom."
"No, she won't, which is why I picked her. But tell me. Did you see the books she selected?"
"No, sir."
Harry let his shoulders relax as he looked down at Y/n and pulled his arm around her back, clutching at her hip. "Your assistant introduced you to him? Why is that?"
She didn't understand the inquisition at first. "Because Phoebe was tired and I told her she could return to her room to rest. She asked George if he could help me back to my room after I was finished."
The edge of his mouth flitted up before it dropped back into place. "Is that so? You two were alone in the library?"
Y/n looked from George to Harry, suddenly realizing her error. "Well, only for a bit. I sent Phoebe away. It was quick. And then I went to my room. Nothing mo—"
"Did you invite him into your room as well?"
"No! Of course not!"
"Do not raise your voice at me," he snapped.
"Sorry," she whispered and looked downward.
"Did he touch you?"
"No, My Lord."
"I'd wager he wanted to. Isn't that right, George? Pretty thing such as this can be quite tempting when the night has come. Have yourself a good look at the future queen, then?"
"No, sir."
Harry looked at Y/n and she felt his cold demeanor pouring icy down her frame as he grasped the nape of her neck. "Why not have a gander now, George? Don't be timid. Go on. Look at her. The curve of her neck and soft cheeks arouse thoughts of youth and beauty. The way her chest rises heavily under such scrutiny is quite stimulating to the eye, is it not?"
Y/n swallowed and kept her sight forward on the silk flock wallpaper as Harry held her still. The moment was unpleasant with Harry scrutinizing and intimidating his guard. George remained silent as her heart rate ramped up wildly.
"You're not even looking at her. Why is that? Is it because you're only bold enough to glimpse at what's mine when I'm not in party? While I was sleeping in my chambers my wife-to-be was alone with the night guard. Look at her."
She tried to pry away from Harry's hold and scowled at him for his rough behavior with George. George hadn't done anything wrong at all and yet here the king was, berating him and acting like a foolish cracked twat.
The guard hesitantly looked at Y/n, keeping his eyes above the line of her neck as he remained silent.
"What do you see? Hmm?" Harry practically snarled.
"Sir, I see your bride-to-be."
"That's right. Mine. Your station will be with the front guards from now on. You are not to approach her or talk to her ever again. Do I make myself clear?"
"Do not punish him! He did nothing wrong!" Y/n balked and once again, tried pulling herself from Harry's grip.
Harry squinted down at her and scoffed. "If I say he did something wrong, then he did." He released her arm, making her tumble back a few steps as he looked at Phoebe. "Take her to her room. Do not let her come back out for the night."
"You're awful!" Y/n bellowed at him. She'd had such a wonderful dinner with her family and even began to feel warmth from the king as he'd stood up for her family with such fervour when they'd been insulted by the council.
Harry merely let out an annoyed laugh at her as he looked back at George. "Tell Niall he's been promoted to your position and send him here to set up. Go at once."
If there was one thing she'd learned about the king in her short time knowing him, it was that he both infuriated and confused her to her core. And there was the matter of the way he aroused her curiosity as well, but that was a thought for another day. Because at that moment, she wanted to strike his pretty face with her fist as hard as she could muster.
When Phoebe opened the door to her room she flung herself inside and began to pull at her dress as tears worked their way down her cheeks. "I hate him! I hate him!"
"He can be quite crude at times," Phoebe offered.
"He's awful! I will… I will…" She balled her fists and shrieked loudly as she bristled in anger. "I will not marry such a devil."
"Here, let me help you," Phoebe reached for her gown and worked the buttons at the back to allow her to finally pull it off, leaving her in only her chemise and drawers. "Better?"
Y/n nodded and rubbed at her face. "Yes, thank you." She breathed and sat down on the chair near her fireplace. "I need to be by myself, I think. Will you come back in an hour? Please?"
Phoebe smiled softly. "Of course. Whatever you like. I'll return in one hour."
The silence of the room surrounded her as she closed her eyes and laid back into the chair to breathe and to think. She wasn't used to the ways of the upper class and she certainly wasn't used to being bossed around as the king did to her and to everyone else. But, she could admit, she enjoyed the lavish things around her. Her bed in particular was of note.
She looked toward the perfectly made, pillowy cloud across the room and sat up quickly when she saw a basket on the floor next to it. She hadn't seen it before. Standing from the chair, she walked toward it, assessing the contents, and realized it was full of books!
Plucking one of the bindings up to inspect she inhaled softly when she realized what kind of book it was. Flipping through the pages she smiled and then looked down at the basket again and bent to see another book of smut and then another, and yet another.
She sat at the edge of her bed and stared toward her fireplace. There was no question to her who'd sent the books for her. Phoebe, could not only not read but wouldn't dare do such a thing. The only other person who knew about the smut book she'd gotten from the library was the same man she wished to give a thorough thrashing to.
The king, Harry Styles, had sent a basket of books to her room. And Y/n wasn't sure how that made her feel. She wanted to hold onto her rage for a while longer but as she pulled herself into her bed and opened up one of the books to read, she felt a sliver of her anger disintegrate. Perhaps things weren't perfect, but certainly, anyone would agree, it was much better than sitting out in the cold seeking small kindnesses from strangers who thought her no better than a street dog.
. .
Thank you for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like 💕
thank youuuu, i had it on my twitter originally but recently changed it on there but didnt wanna give it up yet so i thought why not change mine on here since i haven’t in ages
anyways sorry for the long answer…. thank youuuuu 🥰🥰🥰
Warnings: enemies to lovers (because WHY NOT), panicked Harry, car accident, hospital visit, etc.
Summary: Two environmentally friendly people carpool to work and almost kill each other every day. Harry brakes too much. She lets people go when it's not their turn. She gets crumbs all over her car. Harry listens to really boring podcasts. Harry thinks she's beautiful even if she's annoying. She thinks Harry is unbelievably sexy even if his opinion of her music is rude.
It’s for the environment. It’s for the environment. It’s for the environment.
Every day he waited for her to get to his car he had to chant it to himself that it was worth it. “We’re not going to fight today,” he mumbled to himself as she left the apartment building. It was exactly one building next to his and so it made sense.
She looked really pretty. She always did. It was brutal on his psyche because he wanted to like her. He was desperate to like her, but she was just so... annoying. But her hair was half up in a clip, pieces spilled from it almost artfully. That was the only way he could describe her: art. Harry wasn’t sure if she wore makeup, he suspected she did but if he found out she was naturally that stunning he wouldn’t have been surprised either.
Her dress pants looked perfect on her legs, not quite painted on but close. Her bright blue button down was tucked in and complimented her complexion so well. She wore a pair of heels to complete her look which he knew she didn’t like doing so he was bracing for her complaints—she was much more of a flats person; but she felt she had to wear them to be taken seriously. She looked professional, beautiful, but approachable.
Harry took a deep breath trying to quell the frustration, anxiety, and adoration he had for her before she got in the car. We’re not going to fight today.
“Hi,” she greeted quietly.
“Hi,” he answered as she got settled. She put her coffee mug in the cup holder, her lunch bag and work bag went to the floor by her feet. Harry much preferred her weekend look, and he was sure she did too; sweatpants, a hoodie or T-shirt, sneakers or slippers was much more her style and she wore that just as beautifully as she did her professional outfit.
Jesus Christ it was going to be a long week. How was it only Monday?
“Do y’have a presentation today?” He asked as she finally settled herself into the passenger seat.
“Yeah, why?” Harry noted she was immediately distrustful and did his best to ignore it because he was trying, with everything in him, to be polite and kind. More than he usual.
“Y’look nice,” he shrugged.
“As in I don’t usually look nice?” She asked defensively. “Are you playing a trick on me? Is this a joke?”
That was short-lived. He sighed and looked at the ceiling for help like the answer to this complicated woman was going to be there, finally. “No, s’not a joke. Y’always look nice, love. But y’look extra nice today.”
“Oh,” she pouted, the pucker between her eyebrows making itself known. He was used to seeing it and he found it cute since she looked so serious and her face was just so sweet it almost didn't make sense for her to look so grumpy. But Harry knew better. “Thank you,” she murmured, surprise laced in her voice. “Sorry... I’m nervous,” she explained.
He frowned. “M’sure you’ll be fine.”
“Mm.”
They didn’t speak for several moments. Silence was a lot better for them. Less of a chance to argue with one another. “How was your weekend?” She asked. Small talk was typically safe. As long as there wasn’t a lot of details.
“Good, finished m’book,” but he didn’t offer what he read because he knew they didn’t share the same taste in book genres and she would probably wrinkle her cute little nose in distaste. “How was yours?”
“Fine, visited my friend,” but she didn’t say which one because he would just tell her how she was being used for her money and networking to get into nice restaurants. The silence continued for another few minutes. She scrolled on her phone then pulled her laptop out of her bag. There was about forty minutes until they reached their office so maybe she would go over her presentation.
Harry would have offered to listen to it, but from experience, she would argue every point of constructive criticism he had to offer—only because he had done the very same. In actuality, her presentation was probably perfect. There was no need for her to be nervous. But as she had explained many times over, she was a woman in a corporate office with a bunch of men who didn’t trust her. She had to work twice as hard to get things done her way.
The silence was interrupted by her stomach growling loud enough for Harry to hear it. He sighed and rolled his eyes like it was a major inconvenience for him. “What, Harry? What?” She grumbled.
“Why don’t y’jus’ eat before y’leave?”
“I told you, I’m nervous about my presentation today.”
“What’s your excuse for the other days?”
“Happy Monday,” she grumbled and put her head on the window. But of course, at that moment Harry stomped on the brake as he was wont to do. Meaning her head all but smacked off the glass. “Ow! For God’s sake, Harry! You don’t have to slam on the brakes!”
“I’m not,” she pulled the visor down to look in the mirror to inspect her forehead as if it was going to create a bruise instantly. “My God, you’re dramatic,” he muttered under his breath.
“You drive like a grandma,” she retorted.
“What, safely?!” He hissed through his teeth. He wanted to actually slam on the brakes. Her stomach growled again only further fueling his annoyance with her. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he pulled off the closest exit and headed for a nearby coffee shop so she could get a pastry or something for her.
“We don’t need to stop.”
“You need t’eat something. Sounds like y’trapped an animal in there.”
Her cheeks felt warm with his comparison. “That’s so fucking rude Harry.”
“I don’t care, y’need t’eat!”
“I’m not hungry. I’m nervous about my presentation.”
“S’gonna be a shitty presentation if y’stomach keeps growling over the sound of your voice.”
She inhaled deeply, closed her eyes and turned to look at the window. “I’m too nervous to eat; thank you for caring in your overbearing, aggressive way, but I won’t eat anything. I’ll eat a granola bar from my desk when we get to the office,” she explained.
Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head but returned to the highway after their tiny detour. “You’re sure?”
“Yup. Can’t eat in the car anyway and I don’t want to be any later than we already are.”
“Late,” his eyes were going to get stuck trying to look at the back of his brain. “You’re ridiculous.”
The spat simmered tensely in the silent air between them. They went a whole four minutes without arguing. That had to be a record, even for them.
*
The drive home was much less tense almost always. Usually, they were both too drained to speak to one another, so it made it a lot easier to tolerate the other person’s existence.
So, it was Harry’s fault that they argued again on the way home.
“How was your presentation?” He asked politely.
“Fine,” she shrugged.
“Jus’ fine?” He frowned. “Y’were all worked up ‘bout it this morning.”
“Yeah, because no one takes me seriously,” she snorted, but her laugh didn’t have a trace of real humor in it.
“Right, so it was just fine?”
“What are you looking for here Harry?” Her irritation was evident in her voice.
“I don’t know, a better adjective? Y’got through t’them? They hated it? Fine makes y’sound like a teen coming home from school.”
She rolled her eyes. “They’re going to table my idea for another day,” she sounded exhausted, and Harry was tired too, so in hindsight, he was willing to take the entire blame for the argument and subsequent tense ride home.
“How do y’feel ‘bout that?”
“What do you even care for, Harry? What’s with the interrogation?”
“Forget it,” he sighed. “I was jus’ making conversation. Y’didn’t even ask how my day was.”
“How was your day?” She snapped.
“Fine.”
Her hands clenched into fists in her lap, and she inhaled deeply. “Don’t talk to me,” she grumbled.
“Fine by me.”
*
She drove every other day; it was their routine. It saved wear and tear on their cars and since her car was a hybrid, they really saved on gas and were doing their part to save the environment. If either of them had a car appointment or stayed home sick, then the other one would of course drive and they would pick up the following day, right where they left off.
When she drove, however, Harry was even grumpier, somehow. Though, it seemed impossible someone could be grumpier. But she made him leave an hour earlier than necessary. Harry was already awake and ready but he very much enjoyed a gradual wake up. He liked the time in the morning to do the daily NYT crossword puzzle and to meditate or workout before going to the office.
He did not like arguing an hour earlier than normal.
“It’s for the environment,” she mumbled to herself as Harry approached. He was otherworldly handsome. He looked like he should have been a model, not a financial wizard. His hair was perfectly messy, his eyes sparkled, and his entire frame was just meant to tempt her. In a suit (which he wore every weekday), he looked fan-fucking-tastic. Everything ironed crisply, his tie perfectly straight. He was sincerely hot—there was no other way to describe him.
But his weekend look? When she saw him out and about lounging in joggers and T-shirts that clung to every muscle in his torso? That was her favorite version of him. They usually ran into each other on nice weather days when they both wanted sunshine and air. Harry jogged a lot. She would read on the bench in front of her building. Sometimes they saw one another at the grocery store. But given they spent two hours every day in an enclosed area and argued for nearly the entire time, they were not spending any more of their weekend doing the same thing, so not much more than a polite hello was said between them.
“Good morning,” he murmured as he got in and settled his bag at his feet. Harry didn’t have a presentation to prep so he was planning on sleeping and meditating this morning with his head propped against the window.
“Morning,” she answered softly.
“Sleep okay?” He asked. “The rain and wind woke me a lot.”
“Same,” she agreed. “You’re going to try and sleep then?”
“Mmm,” he hummed. “S’that okay?”
“Yeah, of course.”
It felt less tense today. We’re not going to argue, she thought to herself.
While Harry slept, she remained focused on the road. Her mind making a mental to do list for when she arrived at the office. She knew Harry hated getting there early, but her brain focused so much better without people constantly bothering her.
For a company that clearly had it out for a woman in finance, they sure did need her a whole lot.
She had music on low that she sang quietly along with while Harry slept. If it bothered him, he didn’t say anything today.
Even with Harry sleeping most of the way, it had to be a record that they didn’t argue all the way until they were a mere five minutes from their building. Naturally, their getting along came to an abrupt end. A truck roared in front of her, cutting her off and merging with very little space between them so it could get to the next lane and off at the next turn. It made her gasp and slam on her brakes at the same time. Instinctively, she tossed her arm out to save Harry from whiplash, her arm pressed to the front of his body. “What the fuck!?” He shouted and jolted awake.
“Sorry! Sorry! I was—” She dropped her arm quickly and her hand went back to the steering wheel quickly, hiding the shake she felt in it.
“Were y’letting someone randomly go again?”
She had a penchant for being too polite on the road—it was Harry’s least favorite thing about her driving habits. “N-no—” her palms were sweating against the wheel, her heart pounding as she gripped at it tighter. She parked and felt a wave of frustration and worry fall over her. Even some embarrassment as Harry yelled at her.
She hated being cut off by another driver. It made her so nervous. She wasn’t a car person, but hers was her baby. She didn’t want anything to happen to it and if being a little extra nice and cautious on the road would keep it safe, then she would do it.
“S’more dangerous t’be polite,” he grumbled. “Jesus Christ.”
“I’m sorr—”
“Jus’ another reason we should get here so fucking early,” he snapped. “Forget it,” he shook his head and got out of the car and headed into the building without looking at her again. Still shaking, she pouted, took a few calming breaths and composed herself before she followed Harry’s path to their office building.
*
On the ride home she stopped for coffee and kindly purchased Harry one as well without asking—but when he heard her order it at the drive-through, he felt the argument from the morning disappearing slowly from his mind. “Thanks,” he mumbled from beside her.
“You’re welcome,” she figured less would be more in talking to him—especially after their morning.
But it didn’t help that she let two people merge in front of her as they got on the highway—almost like she was still nervous from this morning. Harry sighed heavily, like he was personally inconvenienced by her kindness to other drivers. She ignored it and continued home. Harry watched as she bit into a powdered donut she got. He rolled his eyes.
“What?” She asked through a mouthful, the sugar floated all over herself and her gearshift. He shook his head.
“S’a messy donut.”
“It’s my car,” she pouted. It was hard to take her seriously when she had powdered sugar all over her mouth. She was pretty adorable with sugar all over her cheeks, though, Harry would give her that.
“If y’want t’trade y’car in, they like it to be clean.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not getting rid of her ever.”
He just shook his head again. Some mornings she ate a breakfast sandwich and Harry watched the crumbs of her croissant rain on her outfit like confetti while she drove with one hand on the wheel. His car was pristine while hers was not. There were half empty water bottles in the back and random pieces of her “emergency” kit strewn about in the boot of her car in a way that Harry doubted would ever help if there was truly an emergency. There were blankets and reusable grocery bags all across the backseat—there was just no order. Which was so weird because she was one of the most organized people he knew.
“Y’know y’shouldn’t use plastic water bottles,” he rebuked as he caught sight of another one on the floor behind him.
She sighed. “I recycle them, Harry. Do you honestly think I don’t care about the environment when we carpool every day? Do you think that arguing with you for an hour and a half every day is because I hate the environment?”
“Forget it,” he sighed not wanting to argue. “How was your day?” He asked trying to recreate the tension free car ride that was present first thing this morning before they fought in the parking lot.
“It was okay,” she shrugged but immediately, Harry knew it was a lie. He quirked one eyebrow at her in disbelief and her unsure tone. With a bigger sigh, she relented. “I got yelled at for something that wasn’t my fault and then I didn't even get an apology when they realized it wasn’t.”
Harry frowned. “Did y’say something?”
“Did I try to hurt the male ego?" She shook her head with another eye roll. "Harry, I would never.”
He smirked and looked out the window. She was funny. Even if she was annoying. “Y’have no problem hurting my ego.”
“I hurt your ego?” She asked in surprise. He shrugged and nodded with a smirk still on his lips. That cute little wrinkle between her eyebrows pinched together and made itself known again. Harry once more was overcome by how adorable she was. He didn’t understand her question. Or why she cared. But he wished he had paid closer attention to her reaction because she suddenly looked so upset. “I didn’t know that,” her voice was soft. “I’m... I’m sorry, Harry,” and it really sounded like she was.
He blinked. “S’fine,” he shrugged one shoulder. “I know y’don’t mean it.”
“I don’t, truly.” It felt really important that Harry knew that. Maybe it was her crummy day. Coworkers continued to not trust her nor believe she was capable of doing well, which made her feel worse. God why did she continue working where she wasn’t wanted? Where she wasn’t appreciated? She was still a little shaken from her almost accident and her uncanny ability to piss Harry off. She was suddenly very forlorn over the idea that she had hurt Harry in any way. “How...how was your day?” She asked tentatively her voice catching.
“It was good,” he nodded, but he was looking at her suspiciously and the sound of anxiety coating her words. “Ordinary... Nothing t’really report... Who yelled at you, by the way?”
“No one, it’s nothing,” she shook her head quickly.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Then jus’ tell me, love. S’not a big deal.”
She sighed, irritated, dejected, and tired of arguing. “Do you know Jason?”
Harry scoffed. “He’s a prick and can’t add two plus two. Don’t let him get t’you. Sorry he yelled at you.”
It was one of the nicest things Harry had ever said on her behalf. “S’not your fault,” she mumbled.
“Yeah, but he shouldn’t. M’sure y’do everything perfectly. He’s probably jealous and stupid and everything else.”
“Thank you,” her voice was still soft. Her eyes felt misty at his kindness. Harry being nice on top of her shitty day was so overwhelming—too overwhelming.
Harry noticed right away. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, m’fine,” she nodded, wiping at her cheek.
“Y’don’t look fine, love... Why don’t y’pull over? I don’t want you t’drive if you’re emotional. S’not safe.”
She sniffed. “It’s fine. I’m just being overly sensitive. Not a lot of sleep and... It just... it wasn’t a very good day,” she swiped her hand beneath her nose and wiped her below her eye again while her words got caught in her throat a few times as she spoke.
“Hey,” his voice was gentle. More gentle than it ever had been toward her. “Please, love... jus’ pull over,” he encouraged quietly, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Love, please,” he pleaded. “S’okay t’be emotional.”
“No, it’s not,” she whimpered but pulled to the shoulder of the road at the same time as she heaved on a shaky breath. Cars whizzed past them and Harry watched her closely. “I work in a sea of testosterone, and I’m never appreciated, never respected, and I can’t be emotional,” she fanned her hand in front of her eyes trying to will the tears away. “Especially in front of you.”
“Me?” He pouted, anger took the forefront of his mind, but he had never seen her like this. He felt bad because she was so upset. So, he refrained from snapping back at her.
“You’ll just use it against me or save it for a rainy day to embarrass me.”
“Is that what you really think?” He tutted, his voice devoid of emotion.
She sniffled again. “Yeah... you yelled at me this morning... I didn’t mean to jostle you like that but someone cut me off and—”
She was still upset about that? That seemed like a lifetime ago. Yeah, Harry was irritated, but he felt bad she was holding onto something so small all day. It wasn’t that big of a deal. Her day must have been really shitty if she let one of their arguments take hold of her emotions all day long.
“Hey... hey don’t cry. M’sorry—I shouldn’t have—it doesn’t matter... But y’have t’know, I would never do that, love. M’sorry if I’ve made y’feel that way,” he soothingly rubbed her arm up and down. “S’okay,” he reassured her. “M’gonna drive the rest of the way home. Jus’ slide over for me, love, yeah?” He asked and before she could protest, he was getting out of the car and going to the driver’s side. Not that she really wanted to protest.
But she would have if they were in a parking lot or on a non-highway road. She tried the door handle but Harry shook his head as he approached the driver’s door and jutted his chin to the passenger seat again. Again, she might have argued, but she didn’t want Harry subjected to the busy traffic for any longer, so she awkwardly slid over the console as Harry stayed pressed to the side of the car.
One small piece of her brain realized the most handsome man she knew wasn't letting her get out on the traffic-side. It was a protective, chivalrous moment that made her stomach do a somersault.
Once in the passenger seat, she brushed the powdered sugar that was on the driver's side just before he sat and got powder all over her pants. “Why don’t y’nap or something?” He suggested quietly and pulled into traffic again without any other fanfare.
“Alright,” she sniffed. “Thanks, sorry again.”
“No problem, love,” he mumbled and drove the rest of the way home in silence. He hoped she felt a little better by the time he parked and gently shook her awake. He didn’t say much other than he would see her tomorrow and returned her keys to her. “Have a good night, love,” he murmured as he gathered his belongings and left before they could return to their natural instinct of arguing with one another.
*
After her mini meltdown she was really hopeful that they had turned a corner in their arguing. She couldn’t remember who started the first argument so long ago. When they realized they lived near one another and worked at the same place, it only made sense to carpool. But she didn’t know they would find fault in every little thing.
Harry was constantly late. (But he wasn’t. Not really. He was on time. Which may as well have been late in her book.) It made her insane. He braked too hard—just like the other day. His choice in podcasts was too real and scary at times (she couldn’t get on the true crime train). His favorite book genre was history, which was fine, but he often made fun of the lighter romance novels she liked. There was the no eating in the car rule. And of course, there was his constant backseat driving—it was never-ending.
It's for the environment. She reminded herself.
It was another long day. Her meetings didn’t go well. Her coworkers undervalued her worth and if wasn’t for the fact that her main supervisor gave her stunning reviews and the money was so good, she would have quit ages ago.
Harry was irritated, and she wasn’t sure why. She had cleaned her car over the weekend. She even had it detailed so it was as pretty as Harry’s car. All her blankets were neatly folded, water bottles recycled, and she organized the trunk. There was a new air freshener and everything.
And yet, Harry was still annoyed. He turned the fan off. Twice. She adjusted the settings, they hadn’t even left the parking garage, and he still turned it off. “S’hot.”
“It’s not hot,” she grumbled.
“It feels like m’sweating. Gonna have a heat stroke.”
“Well, I’m cold.”
“Of course you are.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
It seemed Harry’s day wasn’t too good either as he was just as willing to argue and just as willing to stand his ground. While they argued they continued turning the temperature knob from one extreme to the other.
“You’re gonna break it!” She whined.
“You’re such a brat.”
Her neck snapped to face him. Her cheeks felt hot with embarrassment. “A brat!?” Her voice was three octaves higher than normal. It felt like the car was shaking.
“Yes, a brat who throws a fit when y’don’t get your way. All the time. Y’want t’leave an hour earlier. Y’want t’eat in the car. Roll the windows down, no now up. Y’want t’listen t’your dumb radio station that is ninety-percent ads. You’re. A. Brat.”
She did slam on her brakes at his explanation. She pulled toward the sidewalk right outside their office building. “Get. Out.”
Harry stared in disbelief. “You’re joking,” he cackled.
“I’m tired of arguing. You’re such a dick to me all the time,” she smacked her hand on the steering wheel. “I had a bad day, and you clearly had a bad day and you can’t leave well enough alone! So yeah. The environment can spare two less people carpooling. Get out of my fucking car, Harry Styles before I run us both into a telephone pole.”
“You’re so judgmental and so ridiculous—”
“Get out!” She practically shrieked.
Harry glared, yanking his stuff from where it sat at his feet. He got out of the car, slamming her door hard. He wouldn’t be surprised if it got stuck shut or if the whole frame shook as he did so. She peeled off the curb leaving Harry to fume. They never fought like that. Almost all their arguments always ended in a quiet “good night” or “have a good day.” Never did she shove him out of the car.
He was simmering with anger. He paced a few steps on the sidewalk trying to calm himself to figure out what to do. Maybe he could call her back. An Uber was going to cost a small fortune to get back home. Worth it, he supposed. God, she drained the life out of him.
He was breathing heavily. Good riddance. It was a dumb idea trying to carpool with someone that made him infuriated. Incensed with the feeling of being right, he scrolled on his app for a new ride.
Before he could submit his request for the most expensive Uber in the history of the world, all anger left his body—floated away as if it wasn’t even there in the first place.
There was a screech of tires and a sickening crunch of metal. Harry looked up just in time to see her car do a full 360 before landing upside down in the middle of the intersection. Her car teetered back and forth as it balanced on the roof. His jaw went slack as he watched the car of the pretty girl he was just arguing with crunch in the middle of the roadway. He was practically ready to strangle her himself but he never wanted—
“Oh my God,” he whispered to himself. Before he fully grasped his own movements he was sprinting into the middle of the roadway.
Without knowing what else to do, he knelt to the ground in a spray of plastic, metal, and glass, his face was almost pressed to the ground as he tried to peer into the only available space. “Baby? You with me?” He asked looking at the terrified, shaking girl. There was blood pouring from her hairline, her hands gripped the steering wheel around the deployed airbag like she was still driving.
“H-Harry?” She whispered. A switch flipped inside him. He wanted to rip the upside-down door off and yank her out. He wanted to hold her. All those annoying things she did, they didn’t bother him anymore. She was so pretty, so sweet, and so funny. The mere thought of her injured, terrified him and broke his heart. He didn't know he felt that way and he was mortified that it took this to realize it.
“M’here, love. M’here, you’re okay, just focus on me,” he was shaking as he dialed on his phone for the emergency line. “There’s been a car crash in the intersection outside of Prosperis Financial,” he said. “There’s at least one injured party.”
“Harry,” she whimpered.
“I know. I know, my love. I know,” he cooed.
God how could he be so stupid? How could he get out of the car? How could he take so long to get out of the car? If they just didn’t fight, they would have been through the intersection and—
“Harry, my head hurts,” she interrupted his spiraling.
“I know, kitten, I know,” he repeated.
“A-and my leg hurts really bad,” she whispered a small break in her voice. She was shocked and in near tears.
“Don’t move your neck, baby,” he ordered.
“I’m scared,” she cried.
“I know, love, I know, m’scared too. But m’not going t'leave you for one second, baby, okay? You’re going t’be fine, everything’s going t’be fine,” he sounded pretty reassuring considering he was freaking out too.
“I didn’t—I didn't see it,” she sniffled.
“S’not your fault, kitten. S’okay. You’re okay, love. Just breathe, and keep talking, yeah?”
“I didn’t mean to yell at you...” she croaked, the anxiety in her voice broke his heart. He hated she felt she had to say it. “I don’t mean to, ever. I-I don’t know why—”
“Shh… we’re not talking ‘bout that. S’okay, my love. We’re okay,” he promised. She could argue whatever she wanted. Harry was in complete agreement. She was right. Every time. He did brake too hard. She wasn’t too nice to others on the road. She could eat in the car or have the heat on in the middle of the summer. Whatever she wanted.
“Okay... I'm sorry,” her voice sounded quiet.
“Help is coming, baby. M’not gonna leave your side, yeah? Jus’ hang on a little bit longer. I know—”
“I’m sorry I eat in your car sometimes,” she whispered her voice cracking more as she apologized for things that no longer mattered. “I’m sorry I’m a brat—”
“No, no, my love. You’re not a brat... shh...” he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her figure, clutching the wheel like she was scared to let go. His heart was aching to do something more, beating too loud in his ears. He wanted to keep her talking. Wanted to rip her out of the car and make sure she was alright. She could do whatever she wanted in his car for the rest of her life. As far as he was concerned, he would be driving her every day for the rest of time. She was never getting behind the wheel again. “S’okay, baby. Whatever makes y’happy.”
She sniffled. “Harry, I don’t feel very good,” she mumbled. “My head hurts.”
“I know it does, kitten,” his voice cracked hearing the exhaustion in her voice. “I’d trade with y’in a heartbeat,” he mumbled.
She sniveled. “I wanna get out.”
“I know, my love. M’trying. They’ll be here soon.”
“I’m scared,” her voice was soft again.
“Baby, I know,” he groaned. Where the fuck was the ambulance?!
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m glad you weren’t in the car,” she whispered. His heart shattered.
“M’not, kitten. M’not glad at all,” he shook his head.
“I think I’m going to pass out,” she warned and then her neck went limp.
“Baby?” Her hands slid from the steering wheel and her head lolled to the side. “Shit!” Harry reached through the broken glass, but the angle was too awkward, and he couldn’t see and reach at the same time. “Kitten, love,” his voice pitched an octave higher with hysteria quickly flooding him. “Baby? Open your eyes! Please,” he begged. “Kitten? Come on,” he muttered reaching blindly for her again. “Fuck,” he croaked.
“Excuse us, sir,” an EMT was finally at his side pushing Harry out of the way. He covered his mouth, sitting back on his heels as they pulled the car to its wheels once more. There was a flurry of movement as they pried through the metal and glass to get her. He choked on his breath as they removed her and he swallowed hard, his heart felt broken as they put a brace around her neck and lifted her onto a stretcher—still unconscious much to his horror. “Are you the boyfriend? Coming on the ambulance?” the paramedic asked.
“Yes,” he answered immediately and filed in behind them.
*
Harry called her mom and sister. They were on their way. He paced the waiting room with the biggest teddy bear the shop had to purchase while he waited for her surgery and tests to end. It felt endless. Harry thought he had aged ten years during the time he was there waiting.
He also got her a balloon—a heart shaped one that said get well soon. He got flowers. And chocolate too. Once he saw her pretty eyes open again and her family was present, he was going to get her a coffee and breakfast sandwich too.
His clothes were dirty from lying in the street, the knees of his slacks had the tiniest holes and rips. His cheek had a few cuts and scratches from pressing it to the ground while he spoke to her upside-down body.
“Are you the boyfriend?”
He shook the thoughts of seeing her bleeding, terrified body away from his mind at the sound of someone speaking to him.
It was hard to believe only yesterday he would have shuddered at the thought. “Yes,” he answered instantly, not caring in the slightest that he was lying for the second time in several hours about their relationship status. “Is she alright?”
“She’s fine,” the doctor stated. Harry sighed with relief, dragged a hand through his hair and swallowed around the relieved tears that filled his eyes and cut off the voice in his throat. He coughed awkwardly.
“Can I see her?” He asked. “Please?”
“Yes, she’s just coming out of the anesthesia,” he explained and tilted his head toward the hallway. Harry grabbed all his presents for her and followed. “She’s a little out of it still,” he warned.
“But she’s okay?” He repeated like he didn't believe the doctor.
“Yes, she’s fine,” he knocked and opened the door.
“Oh, your boyfriend is here, miss,” an older nurse smiled at her as she fiddled with her pillows and the IV stand.
The sweet girl looked high as a kite, her eyes wide, the cut on her forehead stitched. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” she frowned. That cute wrinkle between her brows appeared and Harry wanted nothing more than to smooth it away and ease the tension she felt.
“You might want to rethink that,” a woman smiled at Harry with a wink. “He’s very cute and he brought you gifts.”
“Hi, kitten, baby,” he cooed and crouched beside her bed.
“You’re my boyfriend?” She mumbled in surprise. Her eyes were so wide with the loopy medicine, and he smirked, tears filling his eyes again.
“Yes, my love,” he didn’t even feel like he was lying. To her nor to himself about their relationship. It made sense and he truly adored her so easily. He was grateful for the switch in his mind, he just wished a car accident wasn't the cause.
She smiled, self-satisfied. “I knew you liked me,” she mumbled.
He chuckled and leaned forward to press his lips against her forehead. “Y’okay, baby?” He asked.
“They gave me medicine,” she explained holding up her arm that had three or four needles sticking in it.
“Easy, kitten,” he grabbed her outstretched arm and cupped her hand in both of his with a chuckle. He brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed her knuckles as the nurse pulled a chair up beside her for Harry to sit in.
“Harry," she said suddenly. Like he wasn't listening to her or paying attention to every little movement. "I broke my leg,” she pouted.
“M’sorry, kitten,” he was livid she was injured but with pain meds she was so cute and adorable that he almost chuckled at the way she sighed and frowned about her situation.
She glanced at their interconnected hands. “Have we been dating long? I didn’t know I had a boyfriend. Do I have amnesia?”
He snickered, kissed her fingers again. “No,” he shook his head. “S’quite new.”
“Oh,” she blinked and a smile grew on her face. “I like that you’re my boyfriend,” she sighed dreamily. “Isn’t he hot?” She asked the nurse who was checking her vitals again. Harry rolled his eyes, smirking and looking away from her and the nurse at her appraisal. It was good to know she felt affected by his presence as well. He liked her loopy thoughts and he hoped they would remain true when the medicine wore off. “Did you call my mom?” She asked curiously.
He nodded, cleared his throat as he focused on more important facts and not worrying about their fake relationship status. “Yes, she’s on her way with your sister. I need t’call them, actually,” he pulled his phone out.
“How did you get their number?”
“I looked them up on social media,” he mumbled keeping hold of one hand as he pressed the phone to his ear.
“Harry?” Her sister’s voice asked alertly.
“Hi Thea, she’s okay. M'sitting with her now. She’s loopy from the anesthesia but she’s awake.”
“Tell her to get me coffee,” she whispered loudly. Loud enough for her sister to hear through the phone. Harry smiled.
Thea sighed with relief and snickered. “Sounds like her,” she mumbled. “Thank you, Harry. We’re about twenty minutes out.”
“Of course,” he assured her. “You’ll tell your mum?” He asked.
“Yes, I got it.”
“See you soon.”
Harry placed his phone back in his pocket and watched her loopy mind work through something on her extremely expressive face. “Are you going to kiss me?” She giggled.
Harry laughed. “Later, baby.”
“When’s later?”
“When you’re a little coherent, m’love.”
She blew a breath through her lips making them sputter. “S’not fair.”
“I know,” the smile remained on his face knowing she was okay, and she wanted him to kiss her. It was a bit wild that the switch flipped so rapidly. This was someone he argued with for over two years every day and now he wanted to kiss her, hold her, and never let her go.
“Can I take a nap?” She yawned. “I’m sleepy.”
Harry turned to the nurse. “Can she? Does she have a concussion?”
“Shockingly, no concussion,” the nurse said reading the chart. “You can nap for a bit.”
She closed her eyes instantly. “Night Harry,” she sighed. “I love you.”
He felt his cheeks warm. Ignored her sweet words regardless of how much he would like them to be true. “Night, baby,” he chuckled and pressed another kiss to her forehead as she drifted to sleep without letting go of his hand.
*
When she woke up the next time she was staring at Harry in awe. “Thea, I’m fine,” she rolled her eyes. The anesthesia had worn off a bit and she didn’t seem to remember she said I love you nor that Harry claimed to be her boyfriend. While she was hesitant to believe that Harry was really there for her, she was glad he was. She was foggy on the details but there was no mistaking that she felt a pull toward him. Maybe it was the kindness he showed her.
“You live in a fourth-floor apartment. You’re not fine. And your car is trash.”
Harry sat quietly to the side of the room while her mom and sister doted on her. Her mom was on the phone with the insurance company taking notes and questioning a lot. “Well, what am I supposed to do? I don't have a choice, I have to figure it out,” she shrugged.
“Figure what out? You’re going to just stay in your apartment for the next six weeks? You’ll go insane. And what if there’s a fire?”
“The chances of me getting in a car wreck and have my apartment catch on fire is probably astronomically small.”
Harry chuckled from his spot, but the sisters ignored him. “You hate your job. Why don’t you just quit and move back home for a bit?
Back home? Harry thought. Not next door? That wouldn't work for Harry's already obsessed heart. “I have a spare bedroom,” Harry said in offering. “First floor apartment in m'building next t'hers,” he was speaking to Thea and not her.
She and Thea both turned to look at him. “I cannot—” She started.
“Really?” Thea interrupted. “You won’t mind? She’s going to need... a lot of help.”
“I can handle it,” he assured her. Thea knew they drove together. She was also well aware that her sister and Harry argued every day. There was no way Harry was going to survive taking care of her if they couldn’t spend more than five minutes in a car without arguing with one another. She watched Harry, bewildered by his kindness toward her. His willingness to take care of her and let her be a burden when he couldn’t stand her most days. “Are y’alright with that, love?”
It might have only been minutes between arguing and her accident, but the change of heart in herself over Harry was something to be admired. Harry was there almost before her airbag finished deploying. He kept her as calm as he could while they waited for the ambulance and promised her it would be okay. He reassured her that all their arguing didn’t mean anything and she softened. She felt herself melting for him. All the little things he did no longer bothered her. He really didn’t slam on the brakes. It was rude of her to want to eat in his car and make a mess. Perhaps it was too hot in her car and she was a little too mean about his favorite book genre.
Am I in love with Harry? She thought to herself. “If...if you’re sure... That’s an awful lot of time to spend with me,” she reminded him wondering if it was only her that was warmed by the near-death experience and she was imagining the knight-and-shining-armor-complex.
“Happy to,” he nodded and remained in his seat.
Harry was holding her hand when her sister and mom arrived, he gave her a gentle shake and called her kitten. Kitten your mum s’here. His voice was so warm and soothing. He didn’t remove his hand until she opened her eyes and his kind smile was a sweet greeting. He cupped her face and brushed his thumb against her jaw. M’gonna sit by the window while they visit, yeah?
“Do you ladies need anything?” He asked standing. “Coffee? Tea? Food?”
“All set, thank you Harry,” her mom smiled around the phone.
“I’m good too,” Thea nodded.
“Baby, all good?”
She nearly choked on her own spit hearing the pet name directed at her, in front of her family. “Yes,” she murmured then shook her head. “Um... maybe just water?”
“Sure, love. Be right back.”
“I thought he hated you,” Thea was smiling excitedly.
“I thought he did too,” she shrugged a shoulder.
“You’re just going to live with him?”
She smirked. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, right?”
*
Harry carried all her stuff into his apartment and settled it in the spare room. He made sure she was safe in his apartment while he went with her sister to her place to get a suitcase of her clothes from next door. Harry was going to take her to get a new car as soon as the insurance check came through. He helped her to the couch and made sure she felt comfortable. Her foot was propped on a pillow as she stretched out on his furniture. For six weeks they were going to live together.
“Are y'in any pain? Do y’need anything?” He asked making sure she had the remote, a book, water, and blanket all within reach.
“M’fine,” she nodded.
“You sure y’don’t need anything?” He frowned.
“Harry,” she reached for his hand and held it. “Could you sit with me?”
His frown deepened. He crouched beside her, sitting on the coffee table close to her. He squeezed her hand. “What’s wrong?”
“Thank you for being there for me,” she whispered. “I was very scared.”
“Course, baby.”
Her heart skipped a beat with the sweet name again. “Do you like me?” She whispered.
“Was I unclear?” He asked, reaching for her face. His hand fit her cheek perfectly and he rubbed his thumb on her lower lip. The way his eyes softened as he looked at her was the stuff of her romance novels. His eyelids lowered and the smile on his mouth was equal parts sexy as it was innocent. “S’a little selfish of me inviting you here while you recover, don't y'think? S'a reason for it, love."
She cleared her throat, trying not to melt under his touch, his gaze. It seemed impossible. “But... we—we,” she took a deep breath trying to get the sentence in her head to form in her mouth. “Argue so much.”
“S’maybe we could try not arguing.”
“I feel like we’re incapable—”
He interrupted and normally she would have been mad, but his words made her feel hot, burning, like she wasn’t going to get relief unless he kissed her. “Jus’ gotta find a different way t’keep our mouths entertained, kitten,” he leaned forward and stopped when their lips were all but a millimeter apart. “May I?” He asked politely.
“Uh-huh, yes,” she nodded, her brain short circuiting just a hair. Her lips brushed his as she nodded, creating a spark of electricity unlike anything she had felt before. He moaned quietly at the contact. The sound was short-lived, and he tilted her chin and slid his lips over hers.
She gripped at his shirt by his shoulders, pulling him toward her. She felt herself opening to him: her mouth, her brain, her legs. She wanted him all over her and he couldn’t get close enough. It felt insane that less than twenty-four hours ago she would have strangled him for breathing too loudly beside her in the enclosed space of his car and now she wanted him breathing too loudly because of her kisses and more.
He caressed her jaw and the back of her head, tugging her hair ever so softly so she tilted her head back further. “S’nice, baby,” he sighed softly and trailed a path of kisses down her throat. “Knew we could not argue.”
She laughed and nodded. “Guess that’s what’s been missing.”
He chuckled. “Mmm,” he hummed in agreement. “Worth it,” he shrugged one shoulder and dove back in for another heated kiss, making her moan quietly into his mouth. His lips were warm, soft, firm, and perfect. It was a quick path to addiction, and she was happy to have him as her drug.
“Y’said y’loved me when y’came out of anesthesia,” he practically giggled as he pulled away.
She gasped. “I did not.”
“You did.”
“NO.” She slapped a hand over her warm, embarrassed face. “No I didn’t. You're lying.”
“You did, kitten. So sweet of you,” he winked.
She groaned and turned away from him. “I should have just gone into a coma.”
He laughed stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. “It was cute. You were all loopy.”
“I am not cute. I’m an adult woman and I’m not cute.”
“You’re adorable, actually. S’probably why m’obsessed with you.”
“You only knew you were obsessed with me twenty-four hours ago.”
He shrugged. “And I can’t get enough,” he assured her with a wink. “Now, m’thinking I’ll kiss you for another long while and then I’ll make you dinner?”
Her heart fluttered. “I like you a lot better when we don’t argue," she agreed.
He chuckled. “Me too, kitten. Me too,” he mumbled but followed through on his promise to kiss her again and not argue.
--
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From me: last part for now 💕 thank you for all the support on this 😍
Warnings: violence Kael, some injuries, anger, some fluff and reassurance.
Summary: She is trying her hardest to keep Harry out; but would it be that bad to let him in?
Has Harry mentioned how much he hates Kael Crowe?
Harry had his hands in his pockets while they skated alongside each other. With gloves on her hands, she held them out slightly at her sides for balance. From someone looking at her, she probably still looked like a toddler when she skated. But she didn’t need Harry to skate backward in front of her anymore, which was a win in her book.
The chill in the air made her nose red and she looked so cute. She was all bundled, nice and warm. Harry wanted to find mistletoe even though it was well past Christmas. Granted, he would have done just about anything to kiss her. She bit her lip when she concentrated, especially while skating. The same expression when she focused on the eye piece of her camera making sure the picture would turn out perfectly. Harry swore his smile was going to split his face in half just looking at her.
Unlike her, Harry looked so at ease. She loved seeing him on his used skates, the ones that he clearly had for years and weren’t for the show of his games and because of his sponsors. He looked so tranquil and happy. The ice was his happy place. It almost seemed more natural for him to be on skates than it did on solid ground.
Also unlike Harry, she was not smiling. Especially not smiling like the joy was going to burst out of him like a princess singing a song.
“Y’look more comfortable on y’skates.”
“Mm,” she shrugged. “It’s getting easier.”
Harry noted that she had seemed a bit more introverted the last couple of days—a little more withdrawn. Something was clearly bothering her, and he couldn’t quite place it himself. Callie flirting with her didn’t even faze her (although it certainly fazed Harry). When she directed the guys to pose, her smile didn’t reach her eyes. She didn’t joke about Asher’s good side (or lack thereof, in Harry’s opinion—especially when Asher insisted that she tell him he had a good side). At The Locker Room she didn’t laugh as much, and she didn’t invite Harry inside when he made sure she got home safely. “Rookie, is something wrong?”
“No.”
But she answered way too quickly. Immediately, Harry did an about face, turned to skate in front of her, gliding backwards so effortlessly. One eyebrow quirked up in question. “Talk t’me, Rookie,” he encouraged.
She took a deep breath. “We’re going to play The Wolves,” she reminded him. Harry had seen the schedule; he knew the game was coming up.
What did that have to do with anything? “Yeah,” he nodded. “So?”
She stopped skating, executing her little stop perfectly. Harry was so proud of her abilities and how much better she had gotten with practice over the last couple of months. Still, she looked upset. She rolled her lips into her mouth as she worked through whatever was going through her brain. “I don’t want you to get into it with Kael.”
Harry shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Is that what you’re worried ‘bout? Why you’ve been so quiet the last few days?” She shrugged and looked away from his face. “Rookie, do y’think distancing yourself from me for a couple of shitty days is going t’make me less likely t’fight that sorry excuse for a man?” She glanced at him briefly, her cheeks turning pink under his assumption. His very correct assumption. “Bunny,” he frowned.
She sighed heavily. “It’s just... you’ll get in trouble, and I don’t want that, and I don’t want you to get hurt. I can barely handle it when you get checked into the boards. I’m always worried you have a concussion,” she grumbled.
Harry felt a tug in his chest over her sweet words. “You like me, Rookie," he wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.
She glared at him. “Shut up, I do not.”
“You care about me.”
“I care about you the same way I care about Niall or..." he was praying she wouldn't say it. But she was feisty--one of Harry's favoirte things about her; so of course she was going to say it. "...Kian.”
He scoffed and narrowed his eyes at her. The flirtatious smile left his mouth. “S’not the same way y’care ‘bout Callie, Rookie. Not even a little.”
“You’re so ridiculous about Kian, Harry.”
“Stop calling him that. And quit distracting me,” he grumbled. Taking a deep breath he shook his head of thoughts regarding his least favorite teammate (which was a real shame because other than Niall, Harry loved Callie). Sighing, he smirked again as he watched her avoid his eyes. “You like me, Bunny.”
Her cheeks turned pink. “Of course I like you Harry,” she rolled her eyes as she mumbled the sentiment.
“Yeah, but you like-like me.”
“Are you six?”
He ignored her fake insult and leaned in to peck her cheek. “I like-like you too,” he whispered in her ear.
She shoved him gently, but her cheeks remained flushed with color. “You’re insane.”
He took her hand and tugged her toward him to continue skating. “I don’t care ‘bout Crowe,” he said quietly. “I don’t want y’worrying ‘bout me over him. The last time we saw him... hopefully that got the message across,” he squeezed her hand. It was nice to pull her along now that she could skate better. He liked holding her hand. Touching her in general was one of his favorite past times. “M’worried ‘bout you seeing him again.”
“Well, I’m going to wear my number eleven jersey,” she smiled brightly at the thought. Harry thought he had won MVP, the championship game, all rolled into one. “So maybe you’re right. Maybe he’ll get the message.”
The face-splitting grin was back. “Yeah?” He spun again so he was in front of her, this time he pulled her flush against him. It would be so easy to lean in and kiss her. “Didn’t think y’would be one t’make someone intentionally jealous.”
She shrugged. “If you don’t want to be part of my plan, I could always wear Niall’s jersey, or Lang’s, or even Cal—”
“Do not finish that thought, Rookie,” he growled and pressed her face into his body where she laughed silently against him, shaking as she giggled. “You’re mine.”
*
The arena where The Glacier Wolves played truly felt like enemy territory. There was something palpable in the air; you could practically taste the venom coming from both teams. The last time they played, the whole team was pissed at Kael. She tried to keep her distance, but she felt the stares of the guys coming from every angle. Harry’s name and number were all over her body. She kept to herself staying by the media and press at the other end of the rink so that she wouldn’t distract the team.
“Is she good?” Charlie asked Harry.
Harry glanced toward the other end, finding her immediately in black and silver. “Think so,” he shrugged hoping it wouldn't be too obvious he was in love with his coach's niece.
“Styles,” Charlie’s voice was deeper somehow, filled with intensity. Harry looked at his coach. Instantly he swallowed nervously, seeing the seriousness on his face that clearly had nothing to do with hockey.
“Coach?”
“You’re going to take care of her?”
“With my life, sir,” Harry vowed.
Charlie ran a hand over his face and then through his hair as he pushed it back. Harry could see the anxiety all over his face. “You hurt one hair on her head, I’ll bench you for the rest of your career.”
Harry smirked and nodded. That wouldn't be a problem. Harry would welcome it. Plus, he appreciated the approval. “That seems fair t’me.”
“If you hit Crowe a little too hard today, I’ll look the other way. Or chip in on the fine.”
Harry smiled brightly. “You got it, Coach.”
*
Kael found Harry on the ice almost as soon as the game started. Both started essentially in the same position as the puck was dropped between Asher and Kael’s teammate. It was the matchup of the league. Every news outlet was talking about it leading up to the game. Two of the biggest names in hockey. Old rivals playing against one another just like old times. The shit-talking that ensued made him crazy but he tried to keep his cool for her.
Each time he was checked into the boards, he remembered her sweet face saying she worried about him. Harry didn’t want a single penalty (well, that wasn’t true. He wanted to knock every single one of Crowe’s teeth out). Instead, he caught a glimpse of her at the glass the camera lens pressed through the cutout for the media. His jersey with his name and number all over her.
He wasn’t going to fight Crowe.
Fortunately, Harry’s team was having a hell of a time doing it on his behalf. Collectively there had been almost one full period worth of penalties. Callie cheered from the penalty box when Asher laid Crowe into the boards. Their level-headed captain even got sent to the box for two minutes with a smile on his face. Niall didn’t let a single one of Crowe’s shots get past him. And maybe Niall tripped him up when he got too close to the net.
As such, the Chargers played short-handed almost the entire second period, yet they were still winning at the second intermission.
It didn’t stop Crowe from his onslaught of shit-talking despite being down. He told Harry how terrible he was, how shitty his stick handling was, and that he kept missing obvious shots. All his comments seemed to be a projection of how terrible he was playing and perhaps it was because the pretty photographer wearing Harry’s jersey added it to the mind games in Kael's head.
Maybe Harry would have to rethink the whole jealousy ploy she had going on. It was a nice touch (especially when he wasn’t subject to the feeling).
Harry smirked as he stood across from Crowe while they dropped the puck. Almost immediately Crowe slashed at him. Earning zero penalties and no looks from the ref. Harry growled but remained calm. He was only keeping calm for her and only her. Otherwise, he would have added himself to the penalty box. It would mean more to Crowe than it did to Harry if he lashed out about the pretty photographer.
There was only a minute left in the game and Crowe’s team was down by two, so it was sure as hell a win in the Chargers book. But Harry wasn’t celebrating until the piece of shit was off the ice.
With no one in the Wolves’ net, Harry stole the puck away from Kael and slapped it directly into the back of the net. He grinned brightly as his team cheered and tackled him, pressing him into the glass right near the pretty girl who had the camera pressed to her face. He winked at her amidst the madness and Harry couldn’t help but notice how big her smile—not even the camera obstructed how joyful she looked.
As the buzzer signaled the end of the game, Harry and his team skated for their bench. They were happy to win, but they were all thrilled to get off the enemy’s ice.
“Enjoy my sloppy seconds Styles.”
Harry could take the comments about his effort, his ability, his looks, anything.
But he would not, under any circumstance, take criticism about the lovely girl at the other end of the ice.
Harry skated right in front of Crowe standing almost the same height as him, marveling happily at how he was a couple inches taller than his opponent. “What the fuck did you say, Crowe?”
“Harry!” Niall shouted skating back onto the ice almost instantly. Camera flashes from every angle ensued.
“Styles!” Ray shouted from nearby.
“It’s not just talent and ability you want from me, you have to take my girl?”
“She’s not yours, you piece of shit,” Harry was gripping his stick tight, talking through gritted teeth.
“Harry!” She screamed—her voice was far away but Harry could pick it out of a sea of people.
“You couldn’t find your own girl, had to take mine. Don’t worry, I stretched her out for you. She’s a good lay—” Harry dropped his stick and gloves with a quiet thunk on the ice. By then his teammates made it to him, Callie and Asher lunged for him holding him back.
“Crowe, walk the fuck away!” Asher snapped. Harry pushed against him as he got in the fray; he could only imagine what the announcers were saying as they watched two of the top players in the league get dangerously close to fighting after the game had ended.
“Charlie!” She shouted, her voice was closer but not close enough.
“Harry don’t do it,” Callie begged. “Walk away," he tried to plead calmly. "Go get her and you can take her—”
“That’s right listen to every one of your teammates and that naggy bitc—”
Right as he clenched his hands into fists, he felt her soft, delicate fingers wrapping around his hands. She was on the ice. Unsteady and standing in front of him in just her boots. “Hey, look at me,” she begged her eyes a bit wild.
“Bunny—” He started his teeth clenched together. "Get out--"
“Cute, well you got one thing right, Styles. She’s a dumb little puck bunny.”
She shoved Harry as much as she could while he tried to get away from her gentle touch. “Sweetheart,” Asher warned.
Crowe laughed. “You sleeping with the whole team, baby? One whole team to replace me?”
She spun on her heel, nearly sliding to the ground, but Harry caught her by the elbow because he was certain his first priority would always be to take care of her no matter what. “Your problem is with me, Kael,” she snapped. “So, if you’re going to pick fights, pick it with the person you have an actual problem with, you coward.”
“I’m not the one calling you a puck bunny, baby. They are. You must like it if they all call you one,” he teased with a shrug. He knew she didn’t. She said it all the time while they dated. “That’s what you get for riding dick like it’s your job, Bunny,” his tone was antagonizing. Who was he trying to get a rise out of? Was it Harry? It couldn’t have been. Harry was already pissed. Was it her? Maybe. She already hated him.
“Get off the fucking ice!” Charlie shouted.
No one moved. Except Harry who was dying to get his hands on Kael.
Kael took his helmet off and looked at her. “You’re nothing but a groupie, baby. When Harry’s done with you, you’ll come crawling back. You have nothing.”
She was shaking, perhaps as badly as the rest of the team was. She wanted to smack him across his stupid fucking face, but she was trying to remain composed with so many cameras on her. This was already going to be a PR nightmare, and it was all her fault. Although she was sure none of the guys would care, it bothered her. Just another reason to add to how she fucked with the team’s energy and made everything different since her arrival.
“Kael, just stop. Leave me alone,” she hissed.
“Or what, baby?” He taunted. “Your group of fuck buddies will go after me?”
“Watch it,” Harry snarled still straining against Callie and Asher.
“Let’s go,” she whispered, pushing her hands into Harry's chest behind her. He slid backwards a little to create more space between them. “This isn’t worth it,” she said loud enough for Kael to hear.
However, he wasn't accepting their escape. Their way to take the higher ground. But before she could get away, Kael grabbed her arm, hard.
Time seemed to stop for a moment. Truly, suspended in disbelief as she gasped. "Ow, Kael!” She yelped.
“Oh, fuck no,” Harry growled lowly.
“Shit,” Callie grabbed at Harry harder and yanked him back before he could kill Crowe on a live broadcast.
Niall and Lang stepped forward as Asher helped Callie hold Harry back. “Let go of her fucking wrist, Crowe,” Niall said putting a hand on her back.
“You have two seconds to let go of her,” Lang added at the same time.
“Let fucking go of me,” Harry thrashed against his teammates.
She bent awkwardly trying to get her arm back, gasping at the pressure he pitted against her so effortlessly. “HEY!” It was Ray who shouted. “That’s enough! Crowe, let go of my niece or I’ll kill you!”
But Charlie was already on the move, next to Crowe in the blink of an eye. He was shorter than the bulky, built hockey player on skates by a head or maybe even two. Without hesitation he reached for Kael’s neck as if he were the same height and pressed on the space between his neck and clavicle. Within seconds, Kael was gasping, he dropped her arm instantly.
There wasn’t a break in his movements, everything fluid like he was skating on the ice as Charlie shoved his niece backwards making her lose her balance, but Harry caught her just before she hit the ground. “Everyone off the fucking ice!” Coach yelled.
Harry had never been so relieved to have her in his embrace as he skated off the ice, pushing her forward quickly even though he wanted to kill Kael.
“Are you alright, Sweetheart?” Callie asked.
“Shut the fuck up, Callie,” Harry snarled.
“Harry,” she whispered.
“Jesus, Styles, I just wanted—”
“Shut. Up. Don’t ever get in my way like that Calloway, not when she’s—”
“Harry,” she repeated stronger as she nearly had to race to catch up to them on their long legs—even with skates. She grabbed his hand, still balled into a shaking fist. She gave it a gentle squeeze. “Kian isn’t the bad guy here,” she reminded him. Harry glared at his teammate, shoulders heaving with each angry breath. After a moment he nodded, his jaw flexing tautly as he did.
“Sorry, Callie,” she whispered, squeezing his arm which made Harry huff out a breath and look away. He strongly considered snapping his stick in half. Again.
“It’s okay, Sweetheart. We all get a little crazy about you,” he smirked. “Harry,” he nodded and headed into the locker room. She turned to Harry to remind him that his teammates weren’t the problem, ever.
“Are you alright?” Charlie asked, catching up as they stopped in front of the locker room.
Harry stared at her unsurely waiting for her answer with bated breath. She nodded, putting on a brave face. “Yes.”
“You’re sure?” Harry asked, taking a heaving breath. His hands were still shaking at his sides.
She nodded. “I’m fine,” because she was. There might be a bruise on her arm from the grip he had, but she wasn’t in pain anymore. He didn’t break anything (which was a horrifying thought) but it wasn’t any less true. “Please go change, I want to get out of here,” she urged. Harry’s eyes flicked to Charlie before he went into the locker room after his teammates. She twisted her wrist once he was out of sight. Charlie narrowed his eyes at the movement.
“Are you—”
Quickly with an awful realization, she touched her neck. “Oh fuck, I left my camera,” she grumbled rubbing her hand over her face.
Charlie was staring at her just as unsurely. “I’ll have someone go get it.”
“No, it’s fine,” she shook her head. “I need the walk, the air,” she sighed.
“I have a press conference. I can skip it. Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Positive. I’m sorry I caused all this,” she frowned. “I really feel like you didn’t ask for any of this with the team.”
“Hey Sweetheart?” He put a hand on her shoulder. “I always hated Crowe,” he smiled. “You were way too good for him. If the whole team got in trouble for hurting him, well, that would be worth it in my book. If he ever touches you again, I think the whole team will kill him.”
“Well, we have a whole season to prepare for that,” she smirked sadly. “Thank you, Uncle Charlie.”
“Anything for you Sweetheart. Go take a few breaths,” he squeezed her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Wish you slapped him; you earned it,” he winked over his shoulder as he headed for the media room.
She smiled and took several deep breaths calming herself as much as she could as she walked back down the tunnel to the rink. She had been in the very arena hundreds of times. It never felt like home. Not the way The Arctic Chargers arena felt. In a shorter amount of time at that. The idea that she had ever thought she could live her life in this arena feeling like she was less was crazy. Especially when Harry and the entire team made her feel so important.
She said hello and waved to people she recognized from her days spent watching Kael. Her new media friends said hello as well. She waved to the man driving the Zamboni and snagged her camera off the visiting bench that she dropped there when she saw Kael antagonizing Harry from across the rink. She couldn’t believe she nearly lost it in all the commotion; but she supposed for Harry, it was worth it. It could have been a lot worse.
Following Charlie’s advice, she continued breathing deeply. Hoping to calm herself from the inside out. She was glad she didn’t hit Kael. As much as she wanted to. With her luck, he would have pressed charges or something. It would have played right into his act.
Hopefully everyone saw the way he grabbed her wrist.
For several seconds, she sat on the bench, her head between her knees breathing and collecting herself. Harry looked murderous. She hoped he showered and felt better. She would have to thank Callie and Asher again for holding him back before he did something terrible.
Sighing, she stood, headed for the locker room once more. Relieved there would once more be a whole year between now and the next game she would have to see Kael next season. She was going to forget about any of her stuff at their old apartment. He could have it. It didn’t matter. As long as she had her camera, she could make everything else work. She looked at the screen to continue calming herself. As soon as the boys were ready, they would head to the hotel and get some sleep before a red eye flight home. Her hotel room bed sounded like heaven (even if it was going to be missing a number eleven in her blankets).
She was so ready for this day to be over.
Right as she exited the tunnel and headed down the hall toward the locker room, she was shoved against the wall, hard. She didn’t know how the guys got checked into the boards all the time. Even with padding on that had to have hurt—and multiple times? Forget it. She felt an ache all over her back. The air in her lungs was displaced and she moaned as she tried to breathe through it. It felt like her body was one giant bruise in a matter of seconds.
Kael held her in place. His eyes dark and his face expressionless. “You’re a lot more vulnerable without a hockey team behind you.”
She gaped, as he easily yanked her camera from her grip and dropped it to the ground. Her eyes watered at the sound of all the mechanical pieces cracking. She whimpered. “Kael,” she gasped as the air slowly returned. “Let me go.”
“You were good for my image, baby,” he crooned. “Didn’t you like living the luxurious lifestyle?” He skimmed the back of his finger along her cheek. Other than a helmet and gloves, he was still in all his gear, skates, and pads, so he towered imposingly over her. She whimpered again. “You have no power here,” he reminded her pinning her in place by pressing close to her. If anyone walked by, they would think it was just a heated form of foreplay. His legs caged her in. His body holding her in place.
His hand closed around her throat.
“Stop,” she begged squirming to get away from him.
“You’re pathetic. You think just because your uncle is a coach and your new boyfriend is a sorry excuse of a look-a-like for me that you can do whatever you want,” his voice was low, threatening. If it wasn’t immediately following a game maybe someone would have seen the interaction. But instead, the players were in the locker room, coaches in the media room, other workers in the arena. It was just the pair of them. “You’re nothing, baby. You’ve got nothing.”
He was good. Waiting until she was most vulnerable. Even if she was lucky enough for someone to come by, she was certain he made it so he didn’t look like he was harming her or speaking terrible things to her.
But she was right there. Hearing every menacing word. Every word meant to cut her deeper than any physical harm he could cause her. “You’re nothing but a groupie, baby. You’ll always be a dumb puck bunny.”
“Please,” she croaked, gasping for breath. Her squirming wasn’t enough, he was too strong, and Lord knew how long until the boys would come out of the locker room and Charlie out of the press conference. No one was coming to her rescue.
She clawed at his arms, but the pads protected him. Everything was protected which seemed like a metaphor she couldn’t quite put together right now.
Everything except the hand on her throat.
She bent her head at an awkward angle allowing air to flow just enough. Thrashing against his hold hoping he would slip just a bit. He didn’t notice she was trying to reach for his hand. He must have assumed she was trying to escape. It didn’t have to be a lot she just needed something to give.
When it did finally give, she wasted no time. His hand moved just enough so that she could bend her neck completely. Once she could, she bit down as hard as she could on his finger.
She bit so hard that she tasted blood.
“What the fuck!” He growled yanking away instinctively. She didn’t waste a second and bolted. He was on skates, and she was in her boots so for once in an ice arena she had the speed advantage, and she wasn’t going to lose that.
Without really noticing where her feet carried her, the locker room burst open before her. She couldn’t even see because her eyes were blurred over with tears. She choked out a sob as the door shut behind her.
“Bunny?” Harry sounded concerned, curious, and confused all in one little word that she hated so much (especially right now) but loved when Harry said it.
“Oh hell,” Asher whispered. It was quiet then, no one moving, or speaking.
“Harry?” She cried, unable to see as she wiped uselessly at her face to rid herself of the tears and she pressed her other hand to the top of her chest trying to stop her heart from flying out of her ribcage and soothe the ache and burn of knowing his hand was on her neck. The other hand went to her mouth. Her face tilted down, and her hair fell in front of her face.
If the team was naked, she wouldn’t even know. Her vision wasn’t clear enough to see an inch in front of her.
“Bunny?” He repeated, his voice closer, his hands gently caressing her face. A massive juxtaposition to how Kael held her moments before. “Kitten,” he turned her neck ever so gently inspecting every inch of her face. “What happened?”
“H-he broke m-my camera,” she sniffled and swiped at her eyes. With a little more clarity, she could see Harry was half undressed, just his practice jersey and compression pants on him. He was sweaty and never looked hotter and she was a goddamn wreck.
“I’ll kill him,” but it was Niall who growled out the sentiment. Before another word could be uttered, she heard the locker-room door open.
“Oh fuck,” Lang was quick to follow.
“Bunny,” Harry crouched slightly to meet her gaze. “Kitten, what happened?” He repeated. She shook her head, her cries catching in her throat again. She buried her face into his chest and sobbed. Harry cupped the back of her head, curling around her protectively the way he always seemed to when she cried. “Fuck, Bunny,” he frowned. His lips found her ear. “Did he touch you?” He asked.
She nodded. The rest of the team must have already anticipated what she was upset over, because it was even quieter than when she entered. She felt Harry start shaking again. It started from the center of his body outward. She imagined his toes were shaking. Fully vibrating with anger. “I’m gonna kill him,” Harry’s voice was so low and so terrifying she shivered.
“Please don’t leave me,” she sniffled.
He groaned and tightened his grip on her. “Y’killing me, Rookie,” he mumbled.
“I just want to go home, please,” she begged her voice breaking.
His heart broke. “We’re heading to the hotel soon, and I’ll drive y’home when we land, Bunny, I promise,” he assured her. The thought of leaving her alone was repulsive. Almost as much as this whole moment with Kael.
“No... take me home with you,” she whispered.
Well, if there was one way to keep him sane, he supposed that would be it. “Take you home?” He repeated. “My home?”
She nodded. “Please, I don’t want to be away from you.”
Make that, two ways to keep him sane.
*
She refused to say what he did specifically. He didn’t do anything but hold her in the hotel bed until the team left in the middle of the night for their red eye flight. He sat next to her on the bus and the plane, carrying her stuff and wincing every time she sniffled. He combed his fingers through her hair, refusing to let go of her for anything other than the bathroom. He made sure she drank enough water and had medicine for all the aches she endured.
Charlie was fuming in his seat. Between what happened and her lack of response about what happened, he may have sent Harry several messages regarding how he would enjoy going to jail if Harry hurt her. He ignored those messages for the time being. But he did pay attention to the one where Charlie said he was looking into getting the security footage pulled before Kael could swipe it from the arena.
The team had no problem messaging Kael. The coward left before anyone could find him. Niall found her camera shattered to bits on the floor. Callie pulled the memory card from the wreck but there wasn’t anything that could be done to save the equipment.
Except of course, Harry ordered her a new, top-of-the-line camera while she showered in his bathroom.
After what felt like hours but was only maybe half at most, she finally exited the bathroom. Harry turned from lying on his bed to sitting on the edge watching her immediately. Her eyes were red-rimmed, hair damp. She looked adorable even when she was sad, and it was so unfair. She was wearing a T-shirt Harry pulled from one of his drawers. It had the Chargers logo across the front, and he wished more than anything it had his name on the back.
“Did that help?” He asked.
She nodded but held the towel out to him. “I don’t know where to put this,” she avoided his gaze which had to be next to impossible because Harry couldn’t tear his away from her. He took the towel and tossed it toward the corner of the room where his hamper lived, although he hadn’t done laundry in a week, and so the towel fell off the side to the pile beside it.
“Bunny,” he murmured. “Look at me please,” he whispered.
She shook her head, her eyes welling with tears. “I’m so embarrassed, I’ll cry again.”
“Y’have nothing t’be embarrassed ‘bout, Rookie, love,” his voice was gentle, he reached for her hip and pulled her toward him, opening his legs so she fit between his thighs. “What did he do?” He asked, keeping one hand on her hip and the other traveled up her arm, cupped the side of her neck and slid along to her face.
“You’ll get mad,” she whispered.
“M’already mad, kitten,” he reminded her.
“What is with you and the animal names?” Her voice was soft.
“You’re an adorable creature, Bunny, I don’t have a choice,” he smirked, spoke just as quietly as she did, but not falling for her dodging what he wanted to know. “Don’t distract me,” he brushed his fingertips softly along the outline of her face.
“You’ll be mad at me.”
“Never, Rookie. M’never mad at you,” he hoped he sounded as reassuring as he wanted to be. It was true. He was never mad at her.
“I bit his finger,” she mumbled. “Really hard.”
Harry tilted his head. “You what?”
“He...” she swallowed and pressed her face into the space of his shoulder and neck hiding. “He was choking me,” her voice was so quiet Harry had to strain to hear it. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the anger to stay at bay so she wouldn’t be scared. “And I couldn’t move and... and I just needed the right angle, so I bit his finger. Really hard. I tasted blood,” she explained.
Harry chuckled despite everything. “Good girl,” he pulled her to him and squeezed her tight. “And y’came t’me?” he mumbled thoughtfully cupping her face watching her eyes. He brushed his thumb along her cheek. It was selfish of him to ask when she was hurt. But he couldn't help it. She was his whole world whether she knew it or not and he needed to know.
“I didn’t want anyone else,” her skin turned the slightest pink. “Is that okay?”
Harry’s heart softened. “Yeah, Bunny. S’really okay,” he assured her, then he pulled her back against his shoulder, tucking her into his embrace. “The guys couldn’t find him... the coward,” he snipped.
Harry felt a smile on her lips warm his skin. He grinned half-heartedly and swayed her gently. “For the best,” she admitted. “I like your room,” she whispered glancing around. “Maybe I will take it.”
“S’fine with me,” he shrugged.
She stared at him pointedly. “I don’t want to live here for free.”
“Oh, come on, Rookie I have a hundred rooms with nothing in them.”
“I won’t live here for free.”
“Fine, but you’re not paying rent-prices. Y’can buy groceries or pay the electric bill. Or maybe the Internet bill. But not all three.”
She laughed and shook her head. “You’re insane.”
“And you’re keeping the car.”
“Certifiable.”
*
“Harry, are you awake?” She whispered.
“Mmm,” he hummed sleepily. Her soft voice in his bed was going to haunt him for the rest of his life. It was the first time they slept in his bed. Harry was a lot of things, and it was evident that possessive was a major one. He loved sleeping in her tiny bed when there was no room, so she always ended up burrowing into his side. Still, there something about having her in his room, his bed, wrapped in his blankets that made the Neanderthalic part of his mind undeniably happy. He kept space between them, as he always tried to maintain when they shared a bed. But he felt a compulsion to hold her hand between them as he stared at the ceiling unable to sleep thinking about how much he hated someone who hurt the pretty woman beside him.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Bunny,” he whispered quietly shaking his head. “Y’never have t’thank me. Not for that.”
“I do though,” she sounded like she was nodding. “I don’t know why you like me so much. Like... from the start... and still. I’ve been nothing but trouble.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t think s’true. And does that matter from the start?”
“I don’t know... it never really happened to me before...” she trailed off. “Kael and I were just around each other for a while—got to know each other and it made sense. Then we were together for a really long time... I never had someone just like me for me, right away without knowing anything else about me. I guess I’m just worried that if... if you do like me—and I do believe you when you say you do—it will change because it changed for him. I’m not that special, you know? I’m not a celebrity. I just take pictures and—”
Harry sighed, if he was visible in the night, she would see him rolling his eyes at the ceiling and shaking his head. “Y’know I had a bunch of contacts for women for all the different cities we visit, right?” He interrupted. It wasn’t the best segue in conversation, and it probably wasn’t a nice thing to hear when he was trying to convince her he liked her infinitely more than he ever liked anybody. Especially after the day she had.
There was a slight pause. If she said something like that to Harry, he would be jealous for days and would probably have to break another hockey stick. So, he was well aware he needed to give her a second to think through her emotions. “Yeah...?” Her voice was quiet again. Unsure.
He reached beside him for his phone on his nightstand. He unlocked it, turned the brightness down, blinking awkwardly against it so he wouldn’t hurt her eyes as well. He opened his messages and handed it to her.
There were a good number of unsaved numbers listed in the threads. Many had the same start of each message previewed before clicking on it. I am deleting your number because I’ve met—
“Harry,” she said softly.
“Open one,” he offered.
She shook her head. “Harry, you didn’t do anything—I don’t want to go through—”
He reached over and tapped on one of the messages.
—a really lovely girl and I want to take it seriously. I won’t be contacting you anymore... You were a great person to know. I wish you all the best. Xx Harry
“Harry,” she whispered breathlessly.
Only some had answered. From what she could see, most who had responded thought it was sweet; they understood where he was coming from, it was kind of him to reach out and not leave them hanging. Some were less happy for him but since they all knew what they signed up for, none appeared to be outright angry or derisive. Harry took his phone back and opened his contacts. If the unsaved numbers were to be believed, he should have had plenty more contacts listed. Instead, it was just teammates, coaches, his family.
And hers. Rookie 📷🐇
She bit her lip.
“I think ‘ve been waiting for you, Rookie, love. I never wanted someone more,” he put his phone back. “M’not kidding. I’ll wait forever,” he promised. She felt her face crumple in half. Emotional over and in complete disbelief that someone so kind and sweet was willing to wait for her when he could truly have anyone he wanted. Someone way more talented and beautiful than her. "Go t'sleep, Bunny," he whispered softly and pressed a kiss to her temple. "We can talk 'bout it tomorrow."
*
Harry made sure she had everything she needed for the day; he snuck into her phone to turn her alarm off. He put a note on the bedside table. No work today. Enjoy playing hooky, Bunny. But please stay so I can see you when I come home. She wished she had her camera so she could take a picture of the note, but her phone would suffice for now. She dreaded the thought of purchasing a new camera. But she needed to deal with one thing at a time. First of which meant breakfast and coffee. She headed to the kitchen after using the bathroom.
The doorbell rang at the exact same time. She peered through the window and saw a man in a black shirt with a green apron. She tilted her head. “Rookie?” He asked tentatively.
“Uh... yeah?”
“Here you go,” he handed her a drink—her favorite coffee and the man left.
She blinked. “How many times have you been here?”
“I was instructed to come every half hour with a fresh drink and wait five minutes until you answered,” he explained backing toward his car. She smirked sipping it. It was delicious.
“Did he pay you at least?” She called tapping her fingers against the plastic.
“Excessively!” He shouted with a grin, pulling his door closed. She smiled, closed the front door, locked it, before heading for the living room sipping her favorite kind of coffee from her favorite guy.
*
She heard the garage door open around five and the door creak from the mudroom attached to the garage to the house.
“Do you like chicken noodle soup?” She asked. “I know that sounds silly, because it’s a classic. But because it’s a classic, there was a time when I was in high school, and I swear I was sick for a month and all I ate was chicken noodle soup. I haven’t had any since, I think. But on a whim, I had some last week, and it was literally the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten,” she explained while Harry took his shoes off. She grabbed the bread she was toasting out of the oven, and she smiled as he slowly made his way to the kitchen.
He looked around the room for a moment. “Did y’clean?” He asked ignoring her rant about soup, he ran his finger along the thin side table that was directly next to the counter. It looked dusted, and the little trinkets were placed back on the table just so.
She smiled sheepishly and nodded. “I know you hate when I do stuff like this, but I was really bored. I shouldn’t be allowed to have a day off. Idle minds, you know? I also figured you must not have time to clean often with your schedule. This place isn’t even that dirty, and I think I’m the one that tracks in all the snow and dirt from the pond,” she explained.
He stared at her as she spoke, dropped his small duffle bag beside him.
She blinked at his weird stance as she stirred the soup in the big pot she was using. “Are you mad?”
His gaze was unmoving from her face. He tilted his head toward the laundry room, the sound of the dryer humming from the hallway. “And laundry?” He asked.
Now she felt like she was in trouble. “Well... you had a mountain of it in your room and I was finished cleaning. Which meant I was about to go insane due to boredom again,” she shrugged. “You’re mad,” she frowned. “I was just trying to do something nice.”
“Dishes?” He jutted his chin toward the empty sink.
“That’s on you for leaving them. You know I love dishes.”
“Grocery shopping?” He hummed.
“I figured if I’m going to live here, I may as well chip in since you won’t let me pay for—”
“What’s this?” He asked looking at the picture frames face down on the kitchen table. He picked one up and inspected it. She had selected several photos. Some of the team, some from her series of photo. There was even one of Marc and Michael. But naturally, the one he picked up was one of the photos from the gallery night.
Harry’s arm wrapped around her waist, his hand resting on her hip. While she looked at the woman holding his phone camera, Harry was gazing down at her. His smile was full of adoration. She picked it to be framed because even though the camera didn’t get a look at his pretty green eyes for one photo (which was truly a loss), she felt like the most beautiful thing in the world with the way he looked at her.
“Oh, I thought they were cute pictures, and we could put them—” Harry put the frame down, turned toward the stove and flicked the burner off. “Harry...? What are you—”
He then faced her; he slid his hands along both of her cheeks. Gently, he tilted her neck, so her eyes met his. “My pretty, pretty Bunny,” he murmured brushing the tip of his nose against hers. Her breath caught in her throat. Whatever smart remark she was going to make about him being bossy or extra was stuck on her tongue. His gaze dropped to her lips and then she was overwhelmed by the color green again. Her face felt hot with a blush that she couldn't stop and she was only seconds ahead of what his intention was. “Y’can tell me t’stop, Rookie, love. I don’t want t’rush it.”
“Please don’t stop,” she whispered.
“Oh Bunny, y’never have t’beg for me, ever,” his voice was deep, gravelly. Filled with desire and wanting.
And he wanted her.
Harry had waited a very long time to kiss her. But these last few seconds leading to their first kiss felt like a literal eternity, but finally his lips met hers.
She moaned softly, a quiet almost-whimper, nearly the exact moment his mouth touched hers. He was so gentle; it felt like his lips were hardly moving and the drag of his mouth was so sinful she could feel it burning. It burned her lips and every other inch of her skin. Her mind was so entranced with the feel of Harry’s lips between hers, the way his tongue slipped gently along the seam of her mouth, carefully coaxing her open so he could get a better taste of her.
Harry knew she would taste delicious. He didn’t know it was going to be so instantly addictive. But he shouldn’t have been surprised.
She was a little unsure how it happened—too distracted by the feeling of the prettiest man in hockey kissing her, but she was lifted to the counter, her legs around his waist. His hips flush against the edge of the counter. With one hand, he cupped the back of her head, his fingers winding in her hair. The other was at the small of her back, pulling her toward him.
“God Bunny,” he groaned and peppered kisses along her jaw and down her neck. “I’ve wanted this for s'long.” She shivered feeling overwhelmed with his desire. Harry had a way of making her feel special and she should have known kissing him wasn’t going to be the exception. She was nearly out of breath and didn’t know how Harry could keep kissing her. “You’re so perfect,” he whispered into her throat.
“Harry,” she whispered.
He moaned. “Oh, Rookie, y’say m’name like that m’gonna be done for. What d’you want, Bunny? Y’can have whatever y’want... anything. S’yours.”
She laughed silently, her shoulders shaking as his mouth worked across her collarbone to the other side of her throat. He was so tender and intentional in his kisses of where Kael hurt her, and he took all that pain away. “Nothing, I just... like—”
He groaned again and brought her lips back to his, kissing her so passionately it ached. “I like you so much, Bunny,” he whispered, his mouth dragging along her skin. “I don’t want you t’go. Please don’t close yourself off from me. I’ll do anything.”
She felt bad that he felt like he had to beg for her attention. He had it, and he always had it. If she was honest, since the very first time she met him. “I won’t, I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.
“Oh, thank God,” he sighed and pulled her toward him. He wrapped his arms beneath her, supporting her weight and carried her to his room.
“Harry, baby, you gotta slow down,” she giggled.
He moaned or growled. Perhaps a little of both. He tucked his face into her neck again. “Y’call me baby, m’not gonna live.”
She laughed. “Oh, you have to.”
Carefully he laid her back on his mattress. Yeah, he slept beside her the night before. He had snuggled with her in her own bed several times as well. This was different. This was all her walls finally down. Her vulnerability and trust were on full display. Harry was the luckiest man in the world to witness it. To be trusted to take care of her. He didn’t know how anyone could betray such a sweet, perfect person.
“M’gonna kiss every inch of you,” he promised.
“You’ve been awfully patient, Harry. Don’t you want to jump to the good stuff?” Her cheeks warmed once more as she asked.
He shook his head. “No, not even a little. I want every single second of you. Every single kiss. I’d wait forever for you, Bunny.”
She didn’t deserve him, but she would happily keep him. “You’re too good,” she whispered cupping his face and stroking her thumbs along his cheeks. He rested his forehead against hers as he hovered beside her.
“M’not Rookie. You’re too good. Exceptionally intelligent, creative, and deliriously beautiful. My schedule is all kinds of fucked,” he reminded her. “I never had a girlfriend because I can only give you five months.
She smiled. “I’m literally with the team all the time, Harry.”
“But when y’open your studio, y’won’t be.”
“I’m not opening a studio,” she laughed shaking her head, her nose bumping his.
He rolled his eyes. He wanted to kiss her, hold her, and very much wanted to make her come all over him. But this was important to him because she was the most important thing to him. “Of course you are, Rookie. Y’have too much talent t’be wasting it on a group of rowdy hockey players.”
There was a wave of pride that bloomed over her. His unwavering support and constant belief in her. She grinned. “Harry Styles," she sighed. "You’re incredible. Number one twice for sure.”
He chuckled softly, ducking his gaze slightly at her compliment. It meant more than any other time he heard it because this was her saying it. “Thanks, Bunny,” he smiled and kissed her again lingering and holding her face in his hands like he never wanted to let go. “You’re pucking perfect.”
--
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Summary: Harry is determined to break her walls down even if he has to do it slowly.
Harry didn’t force her to move out (yet) even though he wanted her to. But he spent a lot more time on the bad side of town now that he beat up Kael. Michael ogled over the pretty car he left with her. “If you don’t sleep with him, I will,” he muttered around a drag of his cigarette when she first parked it in front of their building.
“Get in line!” Marc shouted from the doorway waiting for her to enter.
She rolled her eyes. Fortunately, Harry was a few minutes behind her, so he didn’t hear their crass thoughts. “Great game, man,” Michael nodded.
“Yeah! You were close to getting a shirt-trick!”
Harry chuckled, putting his hand on her lower back as she covered her eyes. “You’re embarrassing me, Marc. It’s a hat-trick.”
“Close enough,” he shrugged.
“It’s not—”
“Thanks, mate,” Harry laughed and nudged her forward cutting her off from rebuking Marc. Harry liked the guys in her apartment well enough, but he wanted her to himself in the privacy of the apartment that smelled just like her. In whatever way he could have her, which meant just being friends.
When they got to her place, she went to her dresser and pulled out a set of clothes and headed for the bathroom without another word. Harry looked through the photos spread on her counter. The same ones from her series that she was already insisting on would never be.
He looked through the other photos too. The ones on the fridge and wall (his still centered right above the water and ice dispenser) her talent was incredible. He heard the shower turn on and then the door opened immediately. “Do you want to shower?” She asked tossing her clothes in the hamper. Instead of her normal rink outfit, she was wearing a pair of leggings and T-shirt.
“With you? Of course, Rookie,” he didn’t look up because he knew that line of thinking was dangerous, and he didn’t want her to get mad at him. She snorted.
“Go,” she rolled her eyes with a sigh. He wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her cheek sloppily. “Gross you’re all sweaty!” She shoved him.
“Manly,” he tugged his sweatshirt off and tossed it at her.
While Harry showered, she busied herself making tea and organizing items for tomorrow. She knocked on the door to give Harry a set of sweats he left the last time he was over. “Y’joining me?” He asked excitedly.
“Leaving clothes for you to change in to,” she opened the door briefly and set them on the sink counter without looking inside.
“Break m’heart, Rookie,” he sighed and continued showering.
She shook her head with a smirk. Harry was funny, adorable, sexy, and sweet in a way that should have been illegal because it was just not fighting fair. She wasn’t going to fall in love with another hockey player. Not one that was one of the top names in the league. Instead, she admired the pictures she took of him. How handsome he looked, the defined jawline, the way his hair curled with sweat. His smile, the dimples. “Hey Rookie, do y’have deodorant in here?”
Oh God, this was too domestic. She should have suggested driving to his place. At least there she had her own guest room to create a boundary. Albeit an arbitrary, dumb boundary that did next to nothing. “In the drawer beneath the sink,” she answered.
She shivered slightly in her freezing apartment but refused to turn the heat on. She grabbed the sweatshirt on the back of the couch to put on over her T-shirt. The tea was almost ready, and Harry exited the bathroom. He came around silently and tugged the hem of the sweatshirt. “Looks nice on you,” he mumbled and smoothed his hand down her back. She didn’t realize she had grabbed the very sweatshirt Harry had tossed at her. She shivered again and stepped away from him.
“Stop it.”
“Stop what?” His smile was anything but innocent.
She shook her head and elbowed him out of her way, before heading to the couch with her cup of tea. Harry followed her with his own cup of tea. He pulled her legs into his lap, placed a blanket on top of them, and then ran his hand up and down her shin. “Y’know, Rookie, y’don’t have t’make all these boundaries. M’not going t’push you.”
“They’re for me,” she reminded him and focused on finding a show to watch before she inevitably fell asleep on the sofa.
“I know,” he sighed and sipped his own drink. His hair was still damp, and his soft curls fell a little awkwardly around his pretty face. “But m’not gonna hurt you... Would rather die than hurt you,” he gave her leg a squeeze.
“I know,” she mumbled.
He grinned. “Good. M’glad y’know that. That makes me happy.”
With the show selected, she set her tea on the coffee table and shifted in her spot. “I think the Wolves might be the most chauvinistic, most terrible team in the league,” she reached for a throw pillow, rotated until her head laid in his lap. He put one hand on her side and rubbed it gently.
“I couldn’t agree more,” he murmured and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
She yawned and sighed. “You smell good.”
“S’your deodorant,” he reminded her.
“I know, that’s why you smell good.”
He chuckled, shook his head, and sipped his tea again.
*
The team took up the entire airport bar. Or at least most of the team. Callie and Asher were among the hungover from the night before, so that group stayed at the gate with their eyes closed. They were within view of the bar so at least there wouldn’t be any issues, and the rest of the team could jump at a moment’s notice to help them out. She was seated beside Lang and showing him the pictures she took of last night's game. They were heading back home after a three-day stint going through a series of away games in the same vicinity the first. The guys were exhausted from traveling and only getting to a hotel for no more than one night at a time. All that travel, with all their stuff, was exhausting. She was exhausted too. A lot of the media posts needed to be out each night by a certain time. Submissions for the news outlets had to be in by midnight for the following morning. She felt tired and hadn’t even strained her body the way they had. As such, she didn’t have a drink at the bar, merely some coffee to try and get her mind to work a little faster for the plane trip home.
She sat on one leg to lean over Lang while looking at the photos on her camera screen.
“Hey Sweetheart, do you want a drink?” Niall called a ways down the bar. She shook her head.
“Thank you, though.”
“Are you sure? Harry’s buying!”
“Oh yeah?” She smiled and looked at number eleven with a grin. “Lose a bet?”
He rolled his eyes. “If y’want a drink m’paying,” he shrugged. She wondered if he would pay for her just because (even if he didn't lose a bet)
“I’ll take you up on that.”
Her head snapped up unwillingly. A pretty girl stood beside Harry’s seat. She had long hair that didn’t have a single strand popping off her scalp in a mess of frizz. Her smile was stunning, practically blindingly beautiful. Her makeup was flawless and expertly applied. She didn’t look exhausted from days of travel. She garnered the attention of every pair of eyes on the team.
Including hers.
“Oh... hi,” Harry said standing quickly. “Do y’want t’sit?” He asked.
Her chest flamed with jealousy. She looked back at her camera and sat on the seat hoping to make herself smaller beside Lang. Thankful for the big hockey player beside her and he blocked most of the visual of their interaction. If only Callie and Asher were sitting beside her too so she wouldn’t have to hear them talk. Although she imagined even if they were around her making their jokes, they too would have been stunned to silence by the beautiful woman sitting by Harry.
“He doesn’t like her,” Lang murmured quietly in her ear. She felt a flare of hope warm her body. Then the doubt took over, she shook her head.
“Doesn’t matter,” she shrugged hoping her voice didn’t betray her with how shitty it felt. In an attempt to distract herself further, she put her camera back in the bag. “He’s not mine.”
Lang snorted, then chuckled under his breath. “Sure Sweetheart, sure.”
At that moment her phone vibrated, which supplied her with the distraction she needed from feeling like shit watching Harry. Do you want me to boot and rally to flirt with you? Make Harry jealous?
No thank you, Callie. That seems like a bad idea. For a lot of reasons.
I do nt meed to rhrrow uyp. I c sann f;lirt. with yoou righht n ow. I kjust ca nt open m. y eeyes m. uch.
Thank you Asher, that’s alright. It’s not a big deal. He can flirt with whoever he wants.
You know he WANTS to flirt with you, right?
She didn’t respond to Callie because it was just making her grumpy to think about it. “Hey Sweetheart, are you still going to the little convenience store? Can you grab me something to read for the flight?” Niall asked. She was too tired to think about moving but she was grateful for another attempted distraction. Harry was clearly engrossed in his conversation with the pretty woman. At least he was kind to speak quietly.
“Yeah, I was just going,” she stood up and reached in her purse to pay for her coffee. “It’s all set, Sweetheart,” Lang assured her. He took her camera bag off her shoulder. “I’ll watch this with my life. Just go,” he winked.
“Thanks Cap,” she smiled.
“Ugh, Styles is a lucky man,” he grumbled as he hoisted the bag on his shoulder.
She scurried away feeling infinitely better as she walked further away from the pretty woman and the equally pretty hockey player. There was no right to feel jealous. Harry wasn’t her boyfriend. He didn’t owe her anything. He could talk to any woman he wanted, and it didn’t have to affect her.
But it didn’t mean that it didn’t affect her.
She was looking at books for Niall hoping to find something she would want to read in case he didn’t like her fake selection. Then she moved onto the snacks looking for a way to eat the emotions she was feeling. Stupid Harry and his stupid pretty face. She couldn’t even blame the woman because Harry was so pretty it seemed inhumane to not flirt with him. She was the weird one. Not letting him in and not letting him be her boyfriend because why? She was stubborn. Didn’t want to get hurt again.
Harry wouldn’t hurt her, right? Not intentionally. Granted she never really imagined Kael hurting her either. Not cheating on her, anyway.
The exhaustion was getting to her. Her mind spinning aimlessly trying to make sense of her own thoughts seemed next to impossible. Harry was handsome, charming, talented, and overall perfect. Of course, a woman he knew would flirt with him because he was in town. They didn’t have a game the next day, maybe he would stay.
“Rookie.”
She continued looking at snacks, picking up the chocolate covered pretzels that were so overpriced she wouldn’t have gotten them even if she was starving. But her jealous heart wanted chocolate. “Oh hi,” she mumbled. “Do you want something?”
“No, Rookie,” he came over to her and put a hand on her back. It felt warm and safe, and she practically melted into his touch instantly. “Are y’alright?”
She nodded. “Course. I’m just tired.”
“Are y’sure?”
“Why would anything be wrong, Harry?”
He pressed his lips together and shrugged. “Y’got up in a hurry.”
“Mm... well, the flight’s going to be boarding soon. We should probably get back actually,” she turned for the register.
“Rookie,” his voice was gentle.
“Anything else?” The cashier asked.
“That’s it,” she tapped her phone to the payment kiosk, but it declined. Of course. She closed her eyes and turned her face to the ceiling. Pain behind her eyes started to ensue. From unshed tears or a coming headache, she wasn’t sure. Either way she sighed deeply, hoping the ground would swallow her whole.
“Here, I have it—”
“Harry, stop it.”
“Rookie, just let me pay for it so we can go back—”
“Forget it,” she abandoned all her items and headed back for the gate.
“Rookie, Jesus!” He shouted. She was already half way back to the gate before he caught up to her (the bag of items she left behind surely paid for by him in hand). Some of the team was already boarding. She grabbed her camera from Lang without so much as pausing and cut the front of the line (not that anyone minded), and headed down the tunnel to the plane. “Rookie, stop it,” he grumbled.
Callie had a seat open next to him, his head resting against the wall beside the closed window and she flopped into the seat beside him. He opened one eye briefly and smiled. “Hi, Sweetheart.”
“Get out of this row,” Harry snapped. His voice was closer but slightly out of breath. He must have been hustling down the boarding bridge and she felt bad because sure, she was mad (not even at him) but he was tired too.
“Harry, I’m not—”
“Not you. Callie, get up.”
“Harry, he’s not feeling wel—”
“He’s fine. Calloway.”
“Styles, I’m going to throw up,” he moaned.
“And she’s not taking care of y’the whole flight. Get up.”
Callie groaned and hauled himself out of the seat into another empty row a couple seats behind. Almost instantly, she tried to get out of the row but once Callie passed, Harry blocked her. “Sit down, Rookie,” he ordered.
“Quit being so bossy—”
He didn’t move. Eventually she sighed, and Harry waited until she was seated in Callie’s now empty seat. Harry sat beside her almost triumphantly. She fiddled with her seat settings and air settings all while ignoring Harry. “Rookie,” he said sweetly. “C’mon Rookie, talk t’me.”
“About what, Harry?” she rubbed her eyes. “I’m exhausted. You’re exhausted. Just let me sleep on your hard, uncomfortable shoulder so I can complain more when we land.”
Harry sighed, shook his head. “Here’s your bag of stuff,” he plopped it on her tray table.
“Thank you,” she mumbled and sorted it quickly. She tucked the bag of chocolate-covered pretzels that she knew she put back before Harry got there into the back of the seat in front of her. “Niall,” she called quietly.
“Yeah, Sweetheart?” His voice came from in front of her and she tapped on the shoulder of the person in front of her.
“I think you’ll like that one,” she told him as the book was passed forward.
“Sounds good, Sweetheart, thank you!”
She had no idea why he was thanking her when he was the one that had her go get the book as a distraction from the jealousy she was feeling. She ignored Harry’s stare, warm on the side of her face while she got settled. Harry put the neck pillow around him and pulled a blanket from his carry-on before clipping himself into his seat.
The pair of them sat in silence during the safety demonstration and the takeoff information. She gripped the arm rest tight as they took off and Harry gently pried her fingers from the plastic and cupped her hand in his. Softly he squeezed it and brought it to his lips to give the back of her knuckles a kiss. Her heart softened and she felt idiotic for feeling so jealous. Tears pricked her eyes overwhelmed with too many emotions that didn’t make sense, all exacerbated by how tired she was.
Quietly, she sniffled. So softly that she didn’t think Harry had heard it even though her head now rested on his muscular shoulder that wasn’t like a pillow at all. The hum of the plane’s engines surely drowned out any emotion she was feeling and therefore any noise she was making. But after a moment, Harry carefully coaxed her head down until her ear rested against his heart. The arm near her draped around her and his lips brushed softly against her earlobe. With the other hand he pulled the neck pillow from him and dropped it to his lap to keep her propped up.
“Rookie,” he hummed quietly into her ear. “I don’t like her. I would never want t’make y’jealous. Y’know that. I cut all that stuff off,” he reminded her. “M’sorry you were upset. I was only being polite and nothing more. M’sorry we’re both tired,” his voice was so quiet and warm. It ached her in a way couldn’t describe all over her tired body. “You’re the only woman I think ‘bout, Rookie. Y’have nothing t’be jealous of whether we’re a couple or not,” he promised. “M’gonna wait as long as y’need,” tears spilled from her eyes because his reassurance was so sweet and so unnecessary. She didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve some hot hockey player to denounce all women for her. They weren’t a couple, and he shouldn’t have to worry about making her jealous. She sniffled a little louder. “Don’t cry, Rookie. Y’breaking m’heart,” his other hand found her cheek and brushed his thumb along her skin until it wiped away a tear or two.
“She was so pretty, Harry.”
“You’re beautiful, Bunny.”
“She doesn’t look poor.”
“Money isn't anything.”
“She looked like she belonged with you.”
“You are the one I want.”
Her lip trembled and she tried to keep the tears from breaking out further into a loud, noisy sob that would make the whole team wonder what was happening to her. “Go to sleep, Bunny. I got you,” he promised quietly. His fingers combed softly at her hair and not even the thought of her uncle seeing her snuggled in Harry’s lap was enough to move her from her comfy spot.
“I won’t have anything to complain about if I don’t lay on your shoulder,” she whispered, covering the small sniffle with her words.
Harry chuckled. “M’sure you’ll find something t’complain ‘bout, Rookie.”
*
It was a rare weekend that the team didn’t have any games. It was the perfect weekend for working a double at Louis’ on Friday and Saturday. Friday went off without a hitch, she made great tips, the guys kept her entertained, and she didn’t feel utterly exhausted when she got home at two in the morning.
Harry came in on Saturday right around four when the second half of her shift was starting. “What are you doing here? I thought you guys were having a watch party of the games or something.” She quirked an eyebrow at him and scanned him briefly as he was dressed much too nicely for The Locker Room.
“Come with me,” he smiled and tilted his head toward the exit.
She snorted. “Very kidnappy of you, Styles. I’m working,” she rolled her eyes delivering drinks to the table in front of her. “Not all of us have a talent that makes millions of dollars a year.”
“Harry Styles,” the man at the table gaped as she set the drink down.
Harry waved and nodded at the fan but continued following her. Harry chuckled. “I already told Louis m’taking you.”
“But the tips tonight, Harry. I won’t—”
“I will pay you myself, Rookie. Let’s go,” he ordered.
“Why are you dressed like that? It’s not game day.” He glanced down at his all-black outfit. Button down, suit coat, slacks, and shoes. “I’m not going on a date with you,” she said.
“I’ll go!” A woman called from nearby. She huffed out and rolled her eyes. Harry chuckled at his favorite jealous lady.
“Don’t remind me, but s’not a date, Rookie. Jus’ come with me. S’a surprise.”
“I can’t go in this uniform.”
“If y’make more of a fuss y’won’t have time t’change. M’trying t’get y’home with enough time t’put on something more upscale.”
“I don’t have upscale clothes, Harry. Not anymore. I had to sell most of them.”
Harry figured as much. When the team had fancier events, she had one dress that she wore, it was stunning and made her look like a princess. It was a royal blue that made the flush of her skin look utterly intoxicating, but as such it didn’t take long for Harry to notice it might be the only dress she had for fancy events. “I bought you something.”
“Well, now I really don’t want to go.”
“You’re a piece of work, Rookie,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Can y’jus come with me?”
She paused slightly at the bar as she got a tray of water situated for the next table. “Is it super expensive?” She asked, leaning against the bar.
“I got it on sale—almost killed me. I was told I could return it even if y’wear it,” Harry rolled his eyes.
“What color?”
“Black, so we match. And everyone will know you’re with me.”
“You’re possessive,” she shook her head. But her cheeks felt warm knowing how much she liked the idea.
“Only ‘bout you, Rookie,” he winked. “C’mon.”
*
Harry hurried to her side of the car and helped her out of the seat. The dress fit her perfectly. It didn’t quite touch the floor and hugged her like a second skin. She was gorgeous before she put on the dress. There wasn’t a word to describe how she looked with it on. Harry was nearly speechless as he handed his keys to the valet, and they approached the building. “Styles,” he told the man at the door. He checked them off a list and were ushered inside.
“What is this?” She asked.
Harry shrugged and held his arm out for her to take. Fortunately, she did. “Jus’ something I saw, thought y’would want t’see,” he steered her toward the entrance to the room on the right of the entry way. A line of people meandered as they walked into the spacious venue. A man at the threshold offered them each a glass of wine, Harry handed one to her and then held his own.
“Is this... a gallery?” She blinked.
“Yes,” he smiled. “I saw an event for it on Instagram. I figured we had the night off,” he shrugged.
She smiled. “That’s really sweet, thank you Harry. This is nice,” she admitted and gave his arm a gentle squeeze. Harry was grateful that she liked his surprise. “I think I’m not quite up to snuff. My hair and makeup should have been a little bit... more done up for this place.”
“Y’look perfect, Rookie. Seriously. Prettier than all the art on the walls,” he winked at her. She laughed softly and shook her head at him. “Tell me ‘bout the stuff y’see. I like art, but m’not sure what m’supposed to be seeing,” he murmured to her.
Harry could feel her grinning beside him. She was so pretty in her element. She was gorgeous all dolled up, but Harry really did prefer her in his jersey. Or even her regular rink outfit. That’s where he thought she was prettier than anything else. “Another lesson?” She asked.
“Think y’owe me one for the skating lessons, yeah? I know how t’make hot chocolate now.”
“You can see whatever you want to see, Harry. That’s the beauty of art. It’s individualized.”
“Yeah... but I know there’s supposed t’be a purpose—artist intent or whatever, right?” He may have Googled some lingo over the last couple days in anticipation of taking her. She smirked.
“Yes...” she smiled. “Alright, but you have to tell me what you see before I give you the lowdown,” she shrugged.
The place was filled with beautiful art. Photos, paintings, sculptures. There was a multitude of media and an abundance of people. There was a quiet humming from people milling about. If Harry received any stares from being recognized, he didn’t acknowledge them. For a while it was just the two of them, eating small yummy hors d’oeuvres, sipping wine, and giggling quietly about the artwork.
“What’s your favorite so far?” She asked.
As the night wore on, Harry continued to fall harder and harder for how passionate she was about all things art. The way she spoke about photos, color, angles, and perspective had him in awe. She was so interesting. Undeniably knowledgeable. The way she viewed a painting in multiple ways at once was fascinating.
“Oh, I don’t know, Rookie. There’s so much talent here. M’not sure I could choose. What’s yours?”
“I loved the beachscapes over there,” she tilted her head toward the other side of the room where a series of photos capturing the same spot of a beach over the course of a year lined a section of the wall. “The beach is so pretty.”
“Mm,” he hummed. “Are you hungry for more than these little bites?”
“Are you asking me out?”
“Always, Rookie. Y’don’t have t’kid ‘bout that.”
She smirked. “We could stop and get takeout on the way home?” She offered.
He nodded with a smile. “Are you having fun?” He asked.
“Tons, thank you. This is really lovely.”
Harry smiled proudly. “Y’know, Rookie, love, y’should work in a museum giving tours.”
She smirked sadly. “It doesn’t pay well, but that would be the dream. Or to own a studio,” she shrugged.
“A studio,” he repeated.
“Yeah. Something for people to create. Host gallery nights like this,” she sighed dreamily. “My family was a little skeptical of my art degree. I’m in my suffering artist phase right now,” she explained.
Harry opened his mouth to speak again but before he could respond his name was shouted from across the room. “Harry Styles!”
“Even at an art gallery with people who mostly know next to nothing about hockey, there are people who know you,” she shook her head in disbelief and sipped her wine. Harry chuckled, took her hand in place of it remaining on his arm and tugged her alongside him.
“Mr. Howard,” Harry nodded. “Pleasure to see you,” he used his freehand to shake. “This is my friend, Charlie’s niece,” he gestured introducing her and she was surprised to hear him say friend. She figured Harry was apt to make a girlfriend joke. But she didn’t recognize the man so perhaps he wouldn’t have taken kindly to Harry’s antics. “Mr. Howard owns the Polar Bears team,” Harry explained.
“Nice to meet you. You’re having a great season. I thought it was a shame Ray and Charlie didn’t steal Damon Winters before you got him in the draft. He's going to do extremely well over the next few years,” she said sweetly, releasing Harry’s hand to shake as well. However, the second she let go of his hand it felt twenty times colder than the ice rink and she regretted it. Harry couldn’t help it, he smiled with pride of his cute crush who knew so much about hockey and looked like a model. She was the entire package and Harry was lucky to be standing beside her.
The older man chuckled his eyebrows rose in surprise. “I’ll be sure to tell Charlie all about how he should have you on the scouting team the next time I see him... I figured you must be the star of the show,” the older man smiled sweetly. “We were just discussing who was going to go home with your work.”
She tilted her head and blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry, Mr. Howard, you must have me mistaken with someone else. I don’t have work in this show.”
“So modest,” he smirked. “Harry, you saw it, right?”
“Uh... yeah,” he chuckled awkwardly and put a hand on her lower back, the warmth returning instantly. “We hadn’t made it over t’that side of the show yet,” he smirked. She turned to look at Harry, in utter surprise.
“What are you—”
“Oh, I won’t spoil the fun, then. Nice to meet you, love. Harry, try not to take out my whole team next week,” he smiled and sauntered the other way.
“What’s he talking about?”
“Oh, who knows,” Harry shrugged.
“Harry, stop it. Seriously.”
“S’not a big deal, Rookie.”
“What did he mean my stuff was in the show?”
Harry sighed and sipped the last of his drink. “I may have... submitted your hockey series.”
“You what?!” She pulled away from him and turned so they were looking at one another head on. Her eyes were wild but beautiful. Her face froze in surprise. “Why—how did—when...? Harry! What did you do?”
“Well, I did see this gallery on Instagram. I reached out and asked if they were taking submissions. They said it depended on the quality, to be honest. It’s not exactly amateur hour here.”
“Harry my stuff is amat—”
He ignored her and interrupted before she could finish her incorrect thought. “I sent a couple from the series and they immediately wanted to put it up,” Harry continued. “S’no big deal. Y’had it all numbered, I jus’ needed t’print it and put it in frames. I brought some of your extras too because they liked the idea so much. Then I jus’ invited some people I know in the league.”
She put a hand to her mouth. “Harry...”
“Are you mad?” He asked in shock. “Rookie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean t’upset you. I jus’ wanted t’show y’how talented you are. But y’won’t take m’word for it. Thought if y’saw how much people loved it that didn’t know you, y’would believe me. Believe in yourself.”
“Where is it?” She whispered. Her eyes turned glossy, and Harry felt like shit for making her upset.
“Rookie, I’m sor—”
“Where?”
“It’s right over—” He gestured vaguely to the left of the room. She marched over in her pretty shoes. Harry followed after her feeling like a dick for doing it without her permission. In his head, she was going to be overjoyed. Happy. Harry sucked at predicting her emotions. This was almost as bad as making her unintentionally jealous.
“Charlie is lucky to have a talented niece like you on the team to take pictures like this,” was the first thing he heard as he approached.
“Are you selling this? It would look great in the entrance of the rink.”
“The Chargers should pay you more.”
“Do you want to come work for The Titans? We’ll pay you more.”
Behind the Bench from Behind the Lens was typed neatly in bold and on the frame to the left of the group of photos that constituted as her series. The eye followed it naturally, from the locker room to the empty rink, to the pile of ice. The scoreboard. All of it flowing beautifully like it was a dance.
She thanked everyone for their compliments. She gave out her number, happy to sell her pictures. Each person barely noticed Harry’s presence as she networked and looked at her photos in awe. “Charlie couldn’t make it?” Mr. Howard asked.
“It was a spur of the moment decision,” Harry shrugged finally reminding the people he knew from work of his presence.
“Oh Harry, I forgot you were here,” he chuckled. “She’s talented, hmm?”
“Extremely,” Harry put his hand on her back again as he gushed proudly over her. Not that it was his job to do so or his right, but it wasn’t going to stop him from doing so. “Thank you for coming.”
“I’m not really an art gallery kind of man, but my wife happened to see the pictures you sent and said they were stunning,” he smiled. “You’ve got quite the eye, love.”
“Thank you,” she said, her voice full of gratitude.
As soon as Mr. Howard left, Harry caught the arm of a caterer. Before she could ask him more questions about how he got her work in the show. “Excuse me, Miss,” Harry asked the waitress carrying a tray around. “Would y‘mind taking a couple of pictures for us?”
“Of course!” The woman smiled taking Harry’s phone. “These photos are stunning. Did you do them?” She asked.
“She did,” Harry wrapped an arm around her waist pulling her toward him. “Smile, Rookie. I know y’don’t get in front of the camera much,” he smirked. The waitress was kind to take several shots of the pair of them. It felt nice to hold her like she was all hers. He enjoyed making her feel like she was a star because she was.
After several photos and more praise from onlookers, the gallery was finishing up. As everyone started to leave, other artists were taking their items off the wall. Harry stood beside her, gazing at her work as they had looked at everyone else’s. “Tell me, Rookie,” he whispered softly. “What are we looking at?”
She swallowed. “Um... You first.”
“I see love in a sport that’s violent.”
“Love is pretty violent sometimes,” she whispered back.
Harry turned to look at her as she gazed at her own photos. The awe on her face was priceless. Harry wished he had his own fancy camera to capture how perfect she looked. “Love isn’t violent, Bunny. Maybe the way it feels inside is violent. But love isn’t supposed to be violent.”
“You put pictures in an art gallery for me,” her eyes filled with tears. She put a hand to her chest. Her pretty elegant chest draped in a black fabric from a dress that Harry bought for her (on sale) so they could match and because he knew she would hate an expensive one.
“I think you’re incredible, Rookie. Should be earning millions for your talent,” he was certain he could watch her for the rest of time. “Look how talented you are,” he put a hand on her shoulder.
She turned into his chest, sniffling and crying into her hands against his shirt. “I’m sorry,” she croaked.
“Don’t cry,” he chuckled. “Aw, Bunny, this is a good thing!”
“Harry it’s so sweet,” she wiped her eyes. “So supportive. I never—” her voice cut off and she sucked her breath in shakily.
She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Harry knew what she meant. She never had the support Harry was offering. The frames had to have cost hundreds of dollars. The time to put them all up had to have taken up some of his precious time from hanging out with the guys along with who knew how many emails he sent to get the owners of hockey teams and media specialists out to this small showing.
Harry cupped the back of her head and leaned forward to press his lips to her ear. “Rookie, I believe in you. Always,” this was easily one of his favorite ways to hold her. Even though it only happened while she cried. And she had only cried on the plane where he got to hold her like this as well. She didn’t cry often, but his strong girl letting the tears flow every now and again made him feel happy she was willing to be vulnerable with him. “Did I do okay, Bunny?” He asked, she could hear the smile in his voice.
She nodded and smiled sadly. “Pucking perfect.”
--
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Summary: Harry is very hot. Very sweet. VERY protective.
“Hey everyone,” she greeted brightly. “How’s everyone today?” She asked while setting down a tray of eight glasses and two pitchers of water on the table.
“Wonderful, baby, so excited to have you.”
She nearly knocked the glasses over (fortunately, since they were water glasses, they were only plastic). She made eye contact with him and felt her heart completely stop for a few beats. Kael smiled wickedly in return.
Fuck.
She kept her smile in place. “What can I get you to drink?” She asked. After eight years, she already knew what he wanted so she focused on his teammates.
“We were hoping to see The Chargers tonight,” Kael told her. “Do they come here often?”
She didn’t respond. “We have a few specials tonight, so if you have any questions, please let me know,” then she sauntered away to place the drink order.
“Already know what I want, baby?” He called. “That’s so sweet!”
She ignored him. Taking deep breaths she headed to the kitchen. Louis wasn’t in yet. Harry didn’t know she was working. Which meant the rest of the team thought she wasn’t working too. Marc and Michael probably had their suspicions that she was with Harry. So, no one knew she was there. Not really.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
It was probably just going to be an hour. He had his team with him. It wasn’t like they could have a private conversation in the middle of a restaurant. Yeah, he would probably tease and torture her for the better part of that hour, but she could be civil. She could pretend. She had for ages. He didn’t know she was working for The Chargers—she was sure he had an idea that she might be. But the afternoon set it in stone.
He was such a dick. It was the first time she had seen him face to face since she moved out. Everything about him made her skin crawl and she hated it. Every touch and kiss between them seemed tainted now. All those good memories, dates, hockey games, everything felt ruined. Each interaction was colored now with the hindsight that he didn’t love her. Not the way she did. Not the way she expected him to love her for ever and ever. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t deserve that. She knew she didn’t deserve that.
So why did he make her feel undeserving of it ever again?
*
Kael and his teammates came and went fortunately. Just as she predicted. Only a little over an hour. She refrained from speaking directly to Kael and focused on the group as a whole.
When Kael left, she was well past the feeling of relief. There should have been a stronger word for how liberated she felt. She used the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, and took a moment to process everything. It was just like Kael to come in and make her feel like shit without even trying. Louis was supposed to be in, so at least she had that going for her.
“Hey love,” Louis called. “Everything good?” She probably looked a little shaken, so she wasn’t surprised he asked. She felt shaken.
“Good,” she smiled assuredly. She flitted around the room, ducked behind the bar, and went about her day. It was a busy night, and she wasn’t going to let Kael sour her shift that he had next to nothing to do with. So she didn’t. The next hour ticked on quickly and she was feeling more herself as the time stretched between Kael’s departure and the present.
“Hi baby,” he cooed.
Her arms felt numb almost instantly, she was lucky she didn’t drop her tray. Her fight or flight swept her and just made her freeze. She turned as she had earlier in the day and looked at him. “Hi,” she said curtly. He was alone, which made her nervous.
“I figured you must get a break soon. I’d like to talk.”
“Not for a while. And it’s busy,” at least that wasn’t a lie. “So I might not take one tonight.”
Louis was hurrying about from kitchen to back room, to front of house. It was busy as it could be, but she wanted to keep an eye on him. If Kael got her alone, she wasn’t sure she would be able to control her emotions as well as if she had someone that knew she was not in a situation she wanted to be in just by looking at her. Louis wasn’t Harry, but he would know all the same that she was uncomfortable.
Kael smiled brightly.
Well, at least someone that cared ifshe was uncomfortable.
“I’ll wait,” he offered.
“Great,” she deadpanned.
She went to the back room and wished that there was a group of Chargers there. If she called any of them, she knew they would break curfew and be there for her in a heartbeat. The thought of Kael anywhere near her would make Callie incensed for ruining her day. Niall would be protective in his own way and focused on her. Asher and Lang would get her away from The Locker Room and make sure Kael never set foot there again.
She could hardly imagine what Harry would do to him.
But she lied. She told Harry that she wasn’t working. The routines the boys had had in place prior to her arrival with the team had been disrupted more than she ever anticipated. It was nice they cared but it wasn’t fair to them to upheave their lives for her. She was just the photographer for the team. Their coach’s niece. They didn’t ask to have someone they needed to babysit.
She was an independent, self-sufficient person.
“You okay, love?” Louis asked.
She nodded and flitted around the room taking order and tried not to think about the feeling of Kael’s stare on the back of her head.
*
It was perhaps another hour, and Kael was true to his word in staying put. Fortunately, The Locker Room remained steadily busy. She didn’t have to lie about not taking her break. She foisted him off on another waiter who grew a little tired of him asking for her each time he went over. “Baby,” he snatched her hand as she went by.
She pulled away. “Kael, I’m busy,” she marched away before he could reach for her again.
Without warning a multitude of memories where he snagged her hand over the years filtered through her mind. His grip tight on her arm or hand. Never in a way that any outsider would notice. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she whispered to herself. She was going to call Harry. His wrath would be well worth it. At least Kael was scared of Harry and the team. Especially if he was outnumbered. She was shaking a little as she headed for the kitchen hoping to catch Louis at least.
“Hey,” Kael said grabbing her again as she passed too close to his table. This time he caught a real hold of her arm and pinned it to the table. To any other onlooker it would look like he was just keeping her in place holding onto her hand in almost a romantic kind of way. No one would see how his fingers dug into her skin, how she was feeling the ache of the hard wood against her knuckles and wrist bone like she just lost an arm-wrestling contest. “I just want to talk.”
She wanted nothing less. “Hey, Louis!” She called quickly and loudly enough so that he would be able to hear her over the din of the whole place regardless of where he had gone off too.
Within seconds Louis was there from the back room.
Harry was right beside him. His eyes narrowed at the sight of her arm on the table. Her mouth popped open in shock. She had no clue he was there. Most obviously, she didn’t want him to see this. “Oh fuck,” she whispered and tried to pry her hand away from Kael’s. She squirmed slightly as he refused to release her. He cupped his other hand gently on top of her arm trying to get her to stop.
Harry wasn’t supposed to be here. He was only supposed to come to her rescue because she couldn’t figure out what else she was to do. She was going to hide in the kitchen and wait.
Harry wasn’t supposed to be around Kael.
“Styles,” Kael practically sang. He didn’t release her arm. “Didn’t know you were here. Tough loss today. I hope it’s the same tomorrow, to be honest.”
He didn’t take the bait. His nostrils flared. “Let go of her hand Crowe,” Harry snarled stepping closer to him.
“We were just talking, right baby?” Kael smiled and took his free hand to cup the side of her face. She turned her face away and brushed it away from her skin.
Harry continued to approach him—up close and personal. If they were on the ice the cages of their helmets would have been touching. “Let her go, right fucking now,” his shoulders were heaving.
“It’s fine,” she croaked. Harry didn’t even acknowledge her.
Was he trying to keep it together? Not make a scene, maybe? Harry was quick to anger—like most hockey players. He probably would have torn Kael limb from limb by now if this wasn’t a local place where fans and the rest of the team went.
“Let go of her,” her he repeated, his voice was so deep. His body shaking.
“Harry, I’m fine—”
He ignored her still and Kael continued keeping her in place despite her squirming. She wanted to whimper as he squeezed her tighter and pressed her hand harder into the table. To the untrained eye, you wouldn’t know. But Harry was watching like this was his favorite movie and they were at the climax of the plot. He saw the way she winced and her body bend slightly as he pressed harder. “Mind your fucking business, Styles,” Kael shook his head. “This doesn’t involve—”
“She is m’business. Especially when you’re fucking hurting her,” the whole bar area went silent as they realized one of their favorite celebrities was about to punch the lights out of one of the best names in hockey. “If y’don’t let her go, m’gonna rip your hand off, Crowe. And m’gonna enjoy it,” he promised shaking his head. “Let go of her.”
She wanted to move more but was utterly terrified. Harry could get in serious trouble. Kael wasn’t particularly dangerous, but his grip was making her whole arm ache. Harry’s threat made her stomach swoop; he was so ready to protect her. Of course that was nice, but she wanted to cry. Hurting one of the top professionals in the league (even if Harry was also at the top) was a great way to get a hefty suspension and fine if he was caught.
Just another way she was going to upend his perfectly normal, happy life.
“Harry, stop,” she begged.
“Yeah, Harry, stop,” Kael mimicked. But she inhaled sharply, pulling and moving again uselessly to try and get away from the grip he had on her wrist. She whimpered despite herself as the pain continued. “Mind your business Harry,” he snarled. “M’talking to my girlfriend.”
Harry didn’t acknowledge the comment. “Stop fucking touching her, Crowe.”
“She’s mine. I’ll do whatever I want to her.”
Harry stared at him, his gaze flicking to her wrist still pinned to the table. She was still squirming, looking to get away. Louis reached for her and Harry put his hand on his chest and pushed him away. He walked to the bar, grabbed a shot of whatever the bartender was pouring. His head tipped back as he sucked the liquid down. The quiet clink of his glass hitting the bar was the only sound in the room. Silently, Harry plucked the rings he wore when he wasn’t playing hockey off his fingers. He tucked them into the inside pocket of his jacket. It felt like the seconds were ticking by in slow motion. Not even the pain from Kael’s tight grip on her hand was enough to draw her attention away from Harry’s movements.
She swallowed, her eyes pleading with Harry not to do it. It wasn’t that bad. She could take it. The pain she was feeling now was hardly anything in comparison to what he could do. This was nothing.
“One more time, Crowe... Let go. Of her,” Harry’s voice was even. Measured. It had the tone of I’m not asking again.
“She’s mine, Styles. Find someone else to stalk.”
Harry smirked, shook his head, and his eyes flickered to hers for only a second. Then they were back on Kael. “Oh. No. No she’s very much not yours.”
As slow as the seconds had ticked by, they all came rushing back at full speed; maybe time even sped up. Harry delivered a lightning-fast punch to Kael’s nose causing him to gasp and drop her hand as he instinctively reached for his face. With the toe of his boot, Harry tipped his chair before Kael could get his bearings, and he fell flat to his back. The chair broke into pieces with his weight. He gasped, trying to right himself and protect his nose from bleeding everywhere. Harry reached down before Kael could get a grip. He yanked him up by the collar and front of his shirt. A stupid, ugly orange and blue sweatshirt that Harry was delighted to wrinkle hard in his hands. Before Kael was barely on his feet, Harry hauled him backward. Shoved him hard into the bar so the edge dug into his spine, no doubt. Without pause, Harry delivered a solid punch to his cheek, a heel stomp to his foot, and knee to his stomach.
Kael bent forward, gasping for air and Harry’s breathing was as even as if he was sleeping.
Her hand went to her mouth and the other to her stomach as she tried to hold herself together. Everyone looked in pure shock. Surely someone was supposed to try and stop Harry. Even if he was a hockey player for the town that everyone loved. But given he incapacitated Kael in a matter of thirty seconds it wasn’t like anyone wanted to try and stop him. Even Louis was speechless and looked in horror. “Are y’gonna touch her again?” He didn’t say anything, which was the wrong answer as Harry twisted him in an instant, pressing his face down into the bar, pulling his arm back behind his body. “I said, are y’gonna touch her again?”
“No,” he rasped.
“M’letting y’keep your hand. Don’t make me regret it,” he snapped and shoved him a final time into the bar. He dropped a few hundreds on the bar for the damage and his drink. “Louis, keep the change,” he muttered over his shoulder without sparing another glance at Kael. “S’time t’go, Bunny,” he murmured lowly for no one else to hear but her. He placed an arm around her waist, and tugged her toward the exit. Every pair of eyes followed them.
“B-but m-my shift—”
Without missing a beat, he grabbed his wallet from his back pocket and stuffed it in the front pocket of her apron. “Let’s go,” he repeated and ushered her outside.
Harry opened his passenger door and gestured for her to get in.
She looked nervous, which made Harry uneasy. This strong, brave woman who bantered with unruly hockey players and dealt with fans and drunk patrons looked a bit lost. “What about my car— I mean... your other—”
“Get in the car, Rookie,” he ordered.
She followed his direction. Harry waited until she was safely buckled inside before closing her in. He locked the door for the short walk around his car, only unlocking it so he could slip inside. Once seated and buckled, he turned the car on and immediately exited the parking lot. After driving in silence for several moments Harry dropped his hand on her thigh like it was an instinct.
He didn’t ask if she was okay. Which was kind of him, because how could she be? Her heart was thudding in her chest, her wrist hurt, and her brain was a mess. Harry’s hand on her leg should have made her uncomfortable given he didn’t ask. But it was almost too comforting, and she dreaded the idea that he would have to let go of her eventually.
“Don’t y’dare cry over him, bunny,” his voice was tight.
She sniffled, not realizing she was, in fact, crying. She swiped her hands across her cheeks. “Sorry,” she whispered looking toward the window.
Harry shook his head and sighed. His hand squeezed her leg while he pressed his head back into the seat hard—if the head rest wasn’t there and he didn’t have to watch the road, she was certain his eyes would be facing the ceiling of his car, searching for strength somewhere above him. His jawline seemed sharper than ever as he clenched his teeth. “Y’don’t have t’apologize.”
“Thank you,” she croaked quietly. “For doing that, I...” she swallowed hard. “I don’t really know what I would have done,” she admitted. The scenario didn’t seem to play out in full if Harry wasn’t there. Yeah, Louis would have helped, but this was different. Harry didn’t say anything. She pulled his wallet out of her apron and placed it in one of the cup holders between them. “I don’t want—”
“It’s yours.”
“Harry, it’s not that—”
“Bunny, I haven’t stopped thinking ‘bout you all afternoon. Since I met you, really. I can’t stop. I used t’think ‘bout nothing but hockey. But s’like you’re the only thing on m’mind now. M’happy when I see you around the rink taking pictures. M’happy when y’try t’skate on m’pond. I love our lessons, and I want t’have y’in my house all the time. M’happy when you’re around. Happier than I’ve been in years, and I didn’t even know I wasn’t completely happy. I can’t have one-night stands anymore. I tried, I did. You’re a long shot. I know that. Someone who deserves a guy so much better than a hot-tempered hockey player as evident by the piece of shit that hurt you in so many ways,” His voice is quiet. “S’not a secret I like you. A lot. If we can only be friends and roommates—because m’sure as hell not bringing y’back to that sorry excuse of an apartment—then s'what I’ll do.”
There was only a brief beat of silence while she contemplated all he said. “I worked really hard on my apartment,” she whispered.
This seemed to soften him a little. He sighed. “It’s adorable, Bunny. It is. But m’constantly worried you’re going t’be kidnapped, robbed, or worse. You can move in this week,” he insisted. “I have the day off after tomorrow and I was going t’spend it at the gym t’lift with the guys so we can pack and move your shit all the same instead.”
“Harry, I don’t think that will work... I have to pay out the rest of my lease if I move out early.”
“That’s bullshit,” he scoffed. She didn’t say anything. Because she kind of agreed that it was bullshit. But she couldn’t move in with Harry. Not when he just admitted he liked her the way she did. It set her heart into a dramatic flutter. Being legally bound would hopefully be enough of a reason for Harry to agree to let her stay until her lease ran out. Then she could figure out her next steps. “Fine,” he decided after a moment. “The black debit card in m’wallet will take care of it.”
She snorted unable to hide her shock. “Harry, you can’t—”
“M’done arguing with you ‘bout this, Bunny.” She frowned and looked at her hand, turning her wrist and wincing ever so slightly. “Is your wrist okay?” He asked.
She shrugged and answered instinctively. “It hurts; but I’ve had worse,” she gasped at her own mistake almost instantly. “Oh fuck, I mean—” she stopped speaking. It didn’t matter. It was too late. Harry saw through it and understood exactly what she meant. He clenched the steering wheel tighter and he swallowed. The bob in his throat looked like he was drinking a glass of nails.
“Did he ever hurt you like this before?” Harry’s voice was an octave lower than she ever heard it. His eyes narrowed as he stared forward.
She didn’t want to make matters any worse, so she didn’t speak. Didn’t move. For several seconds, the car seemed so silent it was as if the tires weren’t even on the ground anymore or if she was breathing.
“Harry,” she whispered eventually.
Harry took a deep breath not liking the tone of her voice and pulled off to the side of the road.
“What are we— Harry!”
Before she could understand what was happening, Harry was outside and opening his trunk and the car doors locked her inside. Instantly, he pulled out one of the back-up sticks he had in case his two in the locker room broke in the middle of a game (or if he wanted to practice while he was home on the pond out back). He slammed it hard on the pavement multiple times grunting as he did until the stick snapped. Then he grabbed a second and repeated this process again, swearing and cursing like he was imagining Kael was under the stick.
Once satisfied with his destruction, he collected the broken pieces and dropped them in the back before sitting in the driver’s seat again, his breathing only slightly elevated.
She stared at him wildly. Her eyes were wide and beautiful. “If he touches you again, m’killing him,” he said simply. It was a promise. His breath was heavy from the exertion.
She nodded; Harry put the car in drive and continued back toward his place. His hand went right back on her thigh, which she still found comforting and warm, even though she had only had the luxury of his hand on her for no more than a few minutes. “Okay,” she whispered hoping there wouldn’t be an again to speak of.
Harry let the silence linger again. “My apartment is the other way,” she reminded him.
He rolled his eyes. “I just told you, Rookie, y’not living there anymore.”
“Oh my God, Harry. You can’t be serious.”
He snorted. “No. I am. As a heart attack.”
“Harry I can’t move in—”
“Of course, y’can. I have like five bedrooms. Pick one. Pick three for all I care.”
She swallowed. “What if I pick your bedroom?” She was attempting to lighten the mood, maybe. Harry wasn’t sure. Or maybe she was trying (and failing) to be annoying. But Harry was never annoyed by her. He was amused at worst. She was adorable. Every little thing she did was adorable.
“Then it’s yours,” he shrugged. He was hardly home during the season anyway. With his niece, Mum, and Gem out of town, he wasn’t home much in the off-season either. He could easily move into another room if she wanted his. In fact, he probably would give her his room. It wasn’t the only one with a bathroom, but it had a nice tub that he knew was being wasted without proper use and it felt like she deserved a relaxing night to soak in the tub until she got pruney and everything else that stressed her in her life disappeared.
“I thought you didn’t bring women home to stay,” she reminded him.
“Never had one that I wanted t’bring home,” he shrugged.
She pressed her head to the window. He was quick. Didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll stay tonight, but I’m not moving in. My uncle is going to kill you.”
He shrugged. “S’a long line of Glacier Wolves who’ll want t’kill me before him.” She giggled softly under her breath. Harry glanced at her peripherally and smirked at the little smile that graced her lips. “M’niece is over a lot in the off season,” he told her. “Gem and Mum come by too. So s’had women there before.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Then, yeah. Never had a woman I wanted to bring home,” he repeated. Harry parked in his driveway, turned to her, his hand still on her thigh and honestly, she never wanted it to move.
“Are we still friends?” She blurted. He just admitted he liked her. It was no secret she liked him too. It could make things very awkward going forward so she wouldn’t blame him if he really didn’t want to be friends any longer.
“What a weird fucking question, Rookie,” he shook his head.
“Can you just tell me?”
“Yes, we’re still fucking friends. Despite the fact I would love t’be more.”
She closed her eyes. “He really fucked me up, Harry,” she whispered. “He... he wanted some trophy girlfriend that doted on him and worshipped him for being a good hockey player. He didn’t want me to be my own person. He didn’t want me to have my own hobbies or interests. Like I was nothing, a nobody—”
“Rookie,” he whispered.
“—and I just let him treat me that way. Because it was easier than confronting it—”
“Rookie.”
“—So I don’t want to keep falling for you because you... you’re so talented and you will overshadow me and you should. But it’s so fucking cold living in the shadow of someone else and I don’t think I can do it anymore.”
He winced. “Bunny,” he wanted her to stop.
“I don’t love that nickname either,” she sighed. “I want to. It’s cute and it’s even cuter when you say it. But the connotation of being a puck bunny is just more of what Kael insinuated and I don’t—”
“I don’t think you are a puck bunny. S’not why I call you that. Y’wrinkle your nose like a bunny when y’concentrate. S’the first thing I noticed when I met y’taking pictures rink-side. And you’re always going and going like the little Energizer bunny. But mostly, s’because you’re so fucking cute like a bunny. S’honestly nearly nauseating sometimes.”
Her heart skipped a beat. She swallowed trying to keep all the feelings of falling for another hockey player at bay. “So, I make you sick?”
He smiled. “Excessively.”
“And you want me anyway?”
“Excessively,” he whispered cupping her face. She leaned into the touch, closed her eyes, and sank into the way his hand caressed her cheek for a moment.
Sighing, she opened her eyes and looked at him shyly. “You probably know that he cheated on me,” she reminded him. “And the worst of it, I don’t know if it was the first time, and I don’t want to know. Because I already felt stupid for letting him belittle me and letting me forget parts of myself.”
Harry tilted his head back fully staring at the ceiling for a moment. “Yeah...” And now Harry knew this wasn’t the first time he had hurt her either. Whether it was intentional or not.
“And...” she swallowed. “I don’t think you’re like him... if you take anything away from this conversation, please know that I think you’re nothing like him. You’re up front about most of everything. He kept things from me. But... you’re you and you could have any woman you want in any city you want. I don’t fault you for that—I really hope you know that... but I don’t want to be a number anymore, Harry. I don’t want to feel like an idiot, and I don’t think you would intentionally make me feel like an idiot but—”
“Bunny,” he interrupted, turning back to gaze into her eyes so intensely it felt like everything around them disappeared except for the space between them. The seriousness in his green eyes made her stomach flip. They seemed darker. Like the color was changing to a darker shade to explain how serious he was and how he meant every word that spilled from his mouth. “I think you’re brilliant,” he whispered. “In every facet of your life. I’ve thought about nothing but hockey m’whole life. It has been eat, sleep, and breathe ice, pucks, and sticks. The second I met you, every thought has been ‘bout you,” he reminded her. “If I never played another game of hockey, I really think I would be okay s’long as y’were around.”
Her heart felt like it was broken and whole all at the same time. It was too sweet. She bit the inside of her lip. “Well, I don’t want that,” she whispered. “You’re quite good,” she reminded him.
He chuckled. “The point remains, Rookie... I want you t’have everything y’could possibly want. I want t’do anything I can t’help y’achieve anything y’want t’do.”
She looked at her lap. “I can’t believe you went to get a drink.”
“I really didn’t think y’would be there... was hoping I’d run into Louis and maybe he would know if y’were okay. Y’never answered my texts. Didn’t tell me y’made it home.” he frowned. “Why did y’lie t’me, Bunny?”
She took a deep breath. “The whole team has been so nice to me,” she whispered. “I’m not really used to that...” she trailed off. “Callie got so many penalties, you had to interrupt your post-game cool down to walk me to your car, everyone wants to take shifts to watch me... you have to drive me home, give me one of your car... I’ve seriously disrupted your lives... and it was all just too much today. I don’t want to bother you guys. You didn’t sign up to have a kid or a pet you need to watch. Uncle Charlie didn’t have to give me a job with a hockey team. I feel like I didn’t earn anything. It’s so sweet that all of you care, but it’s weird for me...”
God, she was cute. Even sad she was cute. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Y’haven’t disrupted our lives,” he promised. “We’d do this for anyone.”
“That’s comforting I suppose.”
“C’mon, s’late... we have a game tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Harry,” she whispered.
“Course, Rookie,” he squeezed her leg one more time and then got out of the car. (As she predicted, she hated the feeling of Harry’s hand anywhere else but her thigh.)
Entering his house, Harry kicked off his shoes and headed down the hall toward the bedrooms. She texted her group chat with Michael and Marc as she flopped onto the couch until she got more direction from Harry.
I’m at someone’s house for the night so don’t worry about me.
Michael reacted to her message with a thumbs up.
It better be a HOT hockey player.
Michael reacted to Marc’s message with a thumbs down.
Good night, Marc!
I want every INCH of detail
That earned a vomiting emoji from Michael. I do NOT want any details.
GOOD NIGHT MARC
*
Harry hated that he had a big house. If they were at her apartment, they could have been squished in her bed right then. She wouldn’t be down the hall and half of Harry’s mattress wouldn’t have felt so cold. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. Fortunately, his phone vibrated almost immediately. Like she somehow knew he was awake.
Are you awake?
M-hmm
Can we get breakfast, please?
Harry would throw himself down a set of stairs for her if she asked. “You could jus’ come in here t’ask,” he called.
“I’m creating boundaries!” She answered from a guest room. “Besides this bed is comfy and I don’t want to get up,” she giggled.
“Well, I don’t want boundaries,” he grumbled to himself. He wondered if she slept without pants on. Not that it mattered. He was turned on by the thought of her naked in his bed or if she was in a full snow suit.
“What did you say?” She called.
“Nothing,” he grumbled and pressed the palm of his hand over the front of his shorts willing the blood to rush anywhere but his dick at the thought of her in a goddamn snow suit. “I just have t’shower,” he mumbled.
“Okay, I’ll be here,” she sighed, and Harry could picture her snuggling herself further into the mattress. Maybe it was for the best she was in another room. If she was there looking all cute and cuddly on his bed, he would have to quit hockey. He would probably spend the rest of his life worshipping her on his mattress in every possible way.
Plus, his dick would never be anything but hard.
“Jesus, fuck,” he sighed to himself under the spray of the warm shower. He tried to think about anything but her pretty self in the other room. In his house. In his bed. In his clothes. She was probably changing into her uniform from the night before, so at least he wouldn’t see her in the shirt and shorts he gave her to wear for bed.
He shook his head and focused on shower and not what it would feel like to press her against the tile or—
“Fuuuuck,” he touched his forehead against the tile. Hockey. Defense. Goals. Niall. That’s good. Niall, gross. Callie—FUCK Callie. Asher owes me ten dollars for betting Lang wouldn’t say “good effort” in their pool game the other day.
His shower took twice as long to shower because he had to actively think about something other than his pretty friend. Once he was out, he slipped into a pair of sweats and one of his long sleeve practice shirts. As he put on his deodorant, he realized it took him an embarrassing amount of time to realize what she was doing as he got dressed. “Rookie, you are not,” he called as he hurried down the hall.
“Not what?” She asked innocently.
“Doing my dish—Rookie, what the hell!”
“They were just there! And I was bored, Harry. Plus, you didn’t say I couldn’t!”
“I told you last time.”
“Well yeah, but that was last time.”
“Please stop,” he begged and rubbed a hand over his face. “We’re supposed t’be going t’breakfast.”
“Well, I figured while you took two years to get ready,” it couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes max but maybe his effort to not think about her in his shower took longer than he thought, “I would make myself useful,” she shrugged and set the final dish on the drying rack beside his sink. She turned the water off and ran the dishtowel over the counter and edge surrounding the sink. She turned, leaning against the counter. Her black and silver uniform top for The Locker Room was on her again. Her leggings from the night before clung to her legs like a second skin.
He wondered how she could look so cute after working a hectic, busy shift, then slept all night and it barely looked like she had a hair out of place. “What?” She asked looking down at her shirt. “Do I have something on this? We’ll have to stop at my apartment first if I do. I’m not going out with you to breakfast when you look hot and I look like trash,” she frowned.
He snorted. “Y’don’t look like trash, Rookie.”
“Well, do I smell or something?”
“No,” he shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You’re beautiful. Stunning really,” he shrugged one shoulder and reached out to touch her face. He skimmed his thumb along her cheek wishing he could lean in and kiss her until they were both breathless. He smiled softly enjoying the way her cheek warmed under his touch. For someone so snarky, she was awfully shy. “Let’s go,” he tilted his head toward the main hallway. He made his way before she could read into it as he was sure she was wont to do.
Harry opened her passenger door and smiled wickedly at her as she got in. “What?” She asked, her eyebrows pinching together.
“You think I’m hot,” he sang.
“Shut the fuck up.”
Harry chuckled, closing her inside.
*
Kael didn’t play because he was injured. The report sustained it happened at practice the day before but everyone on The Chargers bench knew. Kael kept his gear on but moved to the end of the bench for the starters and lines of his teammates that would be playing. He hardly cheered, hardly moved.
The rest of The Wolves sent death glares to everyone on the team. Harry was checked into the boards more times than he could count. But every time he caught sight of the pretty photographer twirling her wrist in between photos, he felt grateful for each hit. She continued to take pictures, placing her camera into the cutouts of the glass around the ice.
Kael hid from pictures from his own media specialist, the news outlets, and even the fans during the game and in between periods.
“Coward,” Asher growled as they left the ice and headed to the locker room at the end of the game. The group that typically resided in the back of The Locker Room was livid when they found out from Harry that Kael hurt her. They too must have seen the way she twisted her wrist around between pictures. Harry wondered if she noticed she was doing it. It ate at him that it wasn’t the first time that piece of garbage hurt her. There was nothing Harry could do—well, maybe if he ever did figure out time travel, he could. But for now, he could take the hits from Kael’s stupid team and make sure the pretty photographer was okay.
Besides.
He may have had a tough game physically, but Harry was truly on cloud nine.
“Sweetheart, you good?” Lang called from the front of the line heading back toward the locker room.
“I’m good!” She answered.
Harry didn’t even care that Niall was walking alongside her and not him. Or that Callie gave her arm a squeeze when he walked by. It didn’t bother him that Asher was as irate as him either.
Because the word Styles was on her body. It was purposeful. If Kael paid attention, he would see it. He would know she supported Harry, regardless of how outlandish it was (or wasn’t) that he defended her last night. Harry knew the second he saw it, that Kael was going to look at the pretty girl with his number on her and start fuming in his seat. Maybe that’s why his team aimed for him so vehemently throughout the game as well.
Whatever, Harry could take it.
It was well worth it to see his name on her jersey.
Harry realized it was his time to shine after they went out for breakfast. He drove her to get her car at Louis’. He followed her home to the shady apartment building. He wasn’t in the mindset to leave her for any bit of time given the night before. Maybe not for a good few days either if he had it his way. They had away games coming up so they would be all but trapped together on a plane, a bus, and in a hotel so that was in his favor.
He really hoped she would be in a nearby room at the hotel. Or better yet, there wouldn’t be enough rooms, and he could share his with her.
“Why’d you choose eleven?” She asked when she came out of her room after getting ready. She was fluffing her pretty hair and tugging at the hem of the jersey that she had put on. It took a moment to register in Harry’s mind that she was talking to him and was anticipating a response. In her mind, it was no big deal that she was nonchalantly wearing his name and number. That she was by far the prettiest thing he had ever seen. The sweetest person he knew.
He swore his heart skipped a beat as his vision refocused on the lovely girl wearing his name on her back.
He cleared his throat. “S’the first number I ever got,” he shrugged. “But now I say m’so good, m’number twice.”
She grinned and laughed quietly under her breath as she put earrings on with The Chargers logo. “I like that. You are very good. I’ve seen a lot of hockey myself. I like to think I’m a good judge of ability.”
When Harry was younger, he thought if he could have a superpower, he would want to time travel. As he got older it changed a bit, he wanted super strength so he could be the strongest hockey player. Read minds so he could predict the movements of opponents on the ice. Since he met her, he returned to the tried and true: if he could time travel, he could figure out twenty seconds after he kissed her if she hated him or kiss him back, he would have done it right then.
He smirked. “So m’the lucky one today?” He asked pulling on the sleeve.
“I don’t know, does wearing someone’s jerseys constitute as lucky for the day?”
He nodded. “Yeah, very much so, Rookie.”
“Then sure; you’re very lucky, Harry,” she rolled her eyes.
Harry had to bite the inside of his lip to keep his smile from splitting his face in half. He turned away slightly and caught sight of a string of pictures on her little kitchen bar. “What’s all this?” He asked, picking up a photo and inspecting it. It was one of the ones she took while Harry was practicing before the rest of the team showed up. Another photo she got laying down on the ice of Callie’s skates when Harry wanted to rip his teammate’s arm off for holding her so close that day. One from Niall’s empty net. Another of Asher’s locker, his jersey on display. A close up of the C on Lang’s jersey. One of just the empty rink—no fans, no players, nothing.
“Oh... I don’t know,” she looked away shyly piling them together. “I was playing with the idea of making a series of photos,” she flipped one over to indicate the back showed the number three in the line. “You guys are attractive and stuff, but I thought there was a lot of beauty in the little things behind the bench, you know? It’s not just fights and points. The rink is so pretty,” she shrugged.
Harry grabbed her hand before she could stack any more of them away. He looked at each of the pictures painstakingly selected from the hundreds of photos she took each day. The way the light shone off a helmet, the way a shadow fell on the bench. “They’re beautiful, Bunny. Why don’t y’do it?”
“Do what?”
“Make it a series?”
She shook her head. “No... I don’t know. Not many people care about sports photography,” she shrugged. “Not like this anyway.”
“Rookie, I think every team owner and manager in the league would pay t’have this set in their arena.”
“No way, there’s not a single headshot of a star player. In sports, the only thing that really sells by far is you guys and your pretty faces,” she patted his cheek. “It’s tragic, I have some incredible photos of a few baseball diamonds at sunset. But there’s no fans and no players so it just wouldn’t sell well.”
“Show me,” he urged.
She sighed and put her jacket over “We’re going to be late, Harry. Uncle Charlie is already going to be annoyed with me that I’m wearing your jersey. And so will the rest of the team.”
“They all had their turn, Rookie, y’made me wait forever,” he grumbled. They didn’t have to be annoyed. They didn’t have a crush on her the way Harry did. They all knew that. His teammates were his family, but they made him cranky no less; teasing him about how smitten he was about their photographer.
She smiled sadly. “Harry,” she sighed. “I’ll show you another time.”
“Promise?” He pleaded.
“Promise?” She repeated in disbelief. Harry was nearly thirty years old and sounded like he was in kindergarten.
“Promise you’ll show me,” he said pointedly.
“Alright, yeah," She shook her head, sighed with a smile still on her lips. "I promise.”
--
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“Do you like feeling out of control of your body?” Oh, so she had definitely heard him right.
“I mean like. . .like I guess it depends on the context?” Her mind is whirling, spinning wildly, flinging around, knocked off its axis, and careening like a piece of rock flying through space. Why did she say that — why did he ask that?
Harry laughed – it’s a real thing; something she’d only briefly heard a couple of times when they were out with each other last week. This one doesn’t last very long, but it truly is a gleeful sound, as he shakes his head quietly to himself, “Depends on the context, huh?” He repeated, and Y/N didn’t think she’d ever seen him so amused. It makes something twist in her belly, low and deep, that she’d rather ignore.
or
Harry thinks Y/N is cute and Y/N is having horny nightmares
part 1
(18K+ words)
ii.
“He said what?”
Y/N has always believed that there were people who liked sitting on the floor and people who avoided it at all costs. She had always been a floor sitter, for as long as she could remember. When she was younger, she’d play on the floor with all her stuffed animals and dolls. Then she got a little older, and laid on her stomach over the purple faux fur rug she begged her parents for (only for her cousin to spill wine right in the center of it on a summer visit) while she pretended to do homework and study, but listened to music and daydreamed about her crushes. And when she was in college, she’d have her legs spread out on the floor surrounded by notes she actively ignored while stalking her (now ex) boyfriend online. Then she went to culinary school, and there really weren’t a lot of options to sit on the floor in the kitchen, yet somehow she always found herself with her bum on the linoleum after cleaning up, waiting for her food to be finished in the oven.
And now she was sitting on the floor of her bedroom overanalyzing every interaction she’d had with her boss.
The thing is, she knew the whole point of her taking home his shirt to get the stain out was so that her spilling the drink on him didn’t plague her every thought this whole break they had – but that actually did very little to help. It wasn’t just spilling the drink that tormented her, but every waking moment she spent thinking about the whole night. From the second Harry plopped down in the booth across from her, to the moment he’d let her door swing shut behind him. Each memory twists, spins, and dances along the forefront of her brain to the sound of Beethoven's 5th Symphony because she’d recently heard it in a commercial and it’s stuck in her head. The music swells, crescendoing, Harry’s carefully curating a lettuce wrap and making her eat them, then there’s a lull of sweet violins and he’s smiling at her dancing with Niall with his drink in hand, and they start beating on the kettle drum around the time Harry’s pulling his shirt off, saying she flusters easily, calling the side he saw of her cute.
Just a month ago, Y/N would have expected cats to pose a coup against the government and throw the whole country into a state of chaos and fish-flavored treats before believing that Harry would have ever even thought anything about her existence. Apart from annoyance, at least. Despite Harry going out of his way to email her professor and let her know that he wanted Y/N to study under him, she often wondered if he even liked her. Technically, you didn’t have to like someone to work with them or to teach them. He’d seen promise in her and seemed like he wasn’t particularly fond of her as a person, but she’d accepted that with relative grace for the last year. Again, there were moments when she wished for a closer relationship with him but she’d given up that dream about five months in when he still hadn’t referred to her by name and Adam and Niall were already sharing inside jokes.
So to think now that he had smiled at her with dimples and called her cute? It doesn’t even feel real.
The morning after, her head was throbbing and she was convinced that the mushrooms Harry had cooked on the grill were actually psilocybin and she’d had a psychoactive hallucination for the rest of the night (because that had seemed more likely than any of what she was remembering). Then she sees his shirt, soaking in her sink where she’d left it the night before, and it feels a bit more tangible. Her face feels hot because now she’s completely sober and embarrassed over every single word she uttered. Then it feels like her cheeks might melt off when she thinks about how she saw his bare torso, and how she knows his nipples pebble quickly when he’s cold, and how he has laurel tattoos leading down to his dick like it’s a prized possession.
With a face hot enough to melt ice, she diligently works to get the stain out of his shirt. There’s a concoction of many different laundry agents that her mum had to teach her when the grass stains from playing outside turned into the blood stains of an angry uterus. It works well to get the brown liquid out of the shirt, maybe even making it whiter than she started. For a quick, pathetic second she wishes she hadn’t started soaking it last night so she could have pressed her nose to the fabric and seen what it smelled like – but then she wipes that thought from her brain and pretends she never had it.
The rest of the day she forced herself to tidy up, do laundry (that wasn’t Harry’s), and go grocery shopping in preparation for the threatening snowstorm. She prepped a roast that she would throw in her slow cooker the following morning, then snuggled with Hazelnut and a hastily made sandwich. Every couple of minutes an image of Harry from last night doing something flashes through her brain like a strike of lightning that she’s desperate to ignore. It could have been worse though, she decided, that maybe her brain had finally taken mercy on her and stuffed this down into a locked box.
Until Niall called her just before she started to get ready for bed.
“Okay, I think I’ve allotted us both plenty of time to get over the hangover,” he started, “Now what happened when you and Harry left the club?”
So that’s how Y/N found herself stretched out on the floor, phone pressed to her ear, Hazelnut taking it upon herself to sit heavily on Y/N’s chest and make it a little harder to breathe. She’ll blame Niall for prying open the box she’d just tried locking and sealing (even though she did a poor job of locking and sealing it in the first place) because it’s incredibly hard to act like it didn’t happen when she’s recounting it to Niall. Niall, who gasps at everything, from Harry opening the car door for her (a tiny gasp and a murmured, “He totally wants to fuck,”), to him peeling off his shirt, (a louder gasp, another murmur, only this time a question, “Oh my god, did you guys fuck?), to him more or less calling drunk-easy-to-fluster Y/N cute.
“He said what?”
Y/N covers her face with one hand, “That the side he saw of me last night was cute.”
“Oh my god,” she can picture Niall’s face, mouth ajar, his hair pressed from his forehead by the fluffy polka dot headband she forced on him – she’d just heard him spit the toothpaste out of his mouth, so she knew he was washing up for bed, “Y/N he is trying to fuck you. This isn’t even me being delusional.”
She swallows, “I mean, it’s a little delusional, all he did was compliment me,” she plucks at her bottom lip, sighing, readjusting her hips with a grimace because they hate the floor sitting agenda, “If you can even call it that. Now that I repeat it, it sounds like he was making fun of me.”
The faucet turns on, on Niall’s end, “If Harry were any other man, I might believe you and think it was just a compliment,” he sounds like he’s drowning while she speaks, so he must have moved on to washing his face, “But he isn’t just any other man. This is Harry – I don’t think he does or says anything that isn’t deliberate. Taking off his shirt, saying you’re flustered easily, calling the side he’d seen of you cute – this man wants you to slobber on him. Or maybe he wants to slobber on you. A mutual slobbering.”
Y/N laughs and the movement of her chest annoys Hazelnut enough to peek her eyes open at her but not to move off, “I don’t know, I just keep replaying like every moment and hating how I responded and reacted. Like. . okay, let’s say we aren’t being delusional and he does want to sleep with me – I definitely blew it. I was not sultry or seductive and I sounded like a dumbass.”
“Honestly, I don’t think that’s what he wants at all,” she could hear him splash more water on his face, “Not to speculate, but I think he wants someone easy to fluster and cute – both of which you are. I don’t know much about him besides that he scares the fuck out of me, but from how he was last night, he just seems like the type to tease and taunt. He probably went home and got off thinking about your face after he said it.” The water turns off, “What kind of car does he drive? Was it nice?”
She knuckles at her eyes, “It was so nice – some kind of SUV, but it had seat warmers and drink warmers. And he didn’t ask what I wanted to listen to, but he picked a playlist that had a suspicious amount of artists I listen to.”
“He’s probably stalking your socials,” Niall deduces, “Or he’s listening when we think he isn’t. Think about how many times we’ve been talking in the kitchen with him around. He probably knows more about you than you think.” Niall sighs, “Alright, babe, I need to put on this face mask and get ahold of Adam – he called like 3 times while we were talking ‘cos he wants me on League. You should probably start looking for toys around Harry’s size to train, ‘cos how long has it been since you’ve slept with anyone? You’re practically a virgin now.”
“Oh God, goodnight Ni.”
Y/N clicked off the phone, flopped it down on the floor beside her, and made no move to get up. Hazelnut doesn’t either, barely even stirring when Y/N covers her face with her palms again and groans. Delusions aside, it was a little helpful to have spoken it out loud – the thoughts had been vibrating, pushed up against her skull, ready to seep through her ears had she kept it to herself any longer. Niall had put more things to think about in her head though – the possibility that Harry wanted to sleep with her, for one.
There’s no way – she knows there’s no way. . .but. . .but like, was there a way?
No. No there wasn’t – she’s being silly. The other night Harry was just looser than he was when he was in the kitchen, that’s all. Adam had even said he was excited for them to see who Harry was outside of his role as a boss, so maybe this is just what he was like. He’d been kind to Niall too – he certainly hadn’t been feeding Niall as diligently as he was feeding her, and maybe when she would look over she’d catch his gaze more often than Niall did but he was looking at the both of them, right? Just watching his subordinates have fun. No thoughts other than being able to relax and show a side of himself that he doesn’t allow outside of the kitchen. His attitude must have just been softened by good food and his glass of whiskey, or whatever. Or maybe it was all about the vibes – which had been immaculate that night – he might have just been in a good mood too.
He probably just felt guilty because she told him that he was scary and that contributed to her whole passing out thing. And, despite prior interactions and feelings before he’d started being the tiniest bit more gentle – Harry was someone who had a heart and a conscience. There’s a chance that he didn’t necessarily want to come off as scary, but his austerity and desire for structure and success made him come off that way.
So, once again, she tries to carefully pack away the night and the thoughts of him looking at her in any way other than his apprentice that he’s become at least the tiniest bit fond of. Or, at least, one that he cares about even a little.
If she goes and looks at eight-inch, silicone dildos – well, that’s her business.
. . .
Snow blankets the ground by the time she goes back to work.
The weather had been all over the place the last couple of days, so she was happy that they had them off, even if it meant she couldn’t do much with her time but rot away inside. Clouds couldn’t decide whether they wanted to spit out freezing rain, sleet, or snow until they settled for big, fluffy white flakes that refused to melt along her window panes. Sometimes a random, intense gust of wind would rattle the glass and pique Hazelnut’s attention but otherwise, her flat had decided to be kind to her and withstand the intense weather. Her furnace stayed warm and her water heater kept running, and even though a few times her service was a little spotty, things remained in relative working order.
Being stuck inside did very little to soothe her overactive brain but each day that passes, last Friday seems like a distant memory. Something closer to a dream – at least that’s what she’s going to pretend like it was. And after a near treacherous time getting from her flat to the restaurant in the still icy cold weather, all she could think about was how to warm her frostbitten hands. Despite coming in later in the day, the sun did very little to warm anything where it was hidden beneath the clouds. Y/N finds herself wishing hopelessly that she was back in her bed, pressed up against Hazelnut’s warm little body, but no matter how many times she closes her eyes, she opens them to see nothing but practical snowy tundra in front of her.
Because the universe has something against her, the first person she sees when she steps through the door is Harry. He doesn’t drop to the floor and kiss her feet like Niall seems to think he’d do, but he does give pause when he usually wouldn’t. Head tilted, eyes curious, “You seem cold.”
Y/N can barely get a laugh out, her lungs frosted over and stiff, “Yeah,” she agreed, “It’s freezing outside.” He continued to stare at her, and. . .well, yeah, things have changed but haven’t really. The stare he levels her with makes her mouth move while her brain tries to catch up, turning into a fumbled, rambled mess of words, “That’s um – I don’t really like driving when it's snowy and icy like this, so I have to take the subway here. And they haven’t really taken care of the sidewalks well enough, so there’s still a lot of snow to walk through and I don’t have snow boots so my shoes are like. . .like sopping wet, so I’m pretty cold, yeah. I’ll warm up soon though, being here – s’always hot in here.”
Harry looks displeased, brows knitted, “You don’t have boots?”
“Um, no? I’ve never really had boots for the snow since we – it doesn’t get that bad, that often.”
They are quiet for a moment, an awkward tension thick in the air. Y/N was stupid for even considering that Friday night might change their dynamic because this is much of the same. Weird breaks in the conversation, uncomfortable periods of heavy silence, and Y/N feeling stupid after every word she spoke. It must’ve been the shots and the presence of Niall and Adam who very rarely let the mood get unpleasant. It had nothing to do with her, with Harry realizing anything – yeah, maybe he found some aspects of her cute, but she’s also still not entirely sure she didn’t hallucinate that.
“You’ll be with Oliver today,” he changed the subject abruptly, motioning toward their saucier standing at a station she rarely gets time at – it would be good for today, considering all the different, intricate sauces and gravies they have on their seasonal menu around dinner time, “His shift ends soon. When he leaves, I’ll take over with you.”
That’s all he says before pivoting on his heel and disappearing into the kitchen, leaving Y/N to trek to the coat room so she could disrobe her winter garments.
The day goes as a typical day goes – the evening is busy, busy, busy but Oliver is nice and helps remind her of the basic principles Harry had taught her about sauces. How to get the right consistency, the proper flavoring, and what to do if it doesn’t turn out right the first time. He’s not much of a teacher but in this case, Y/N doesn’t need a teacher, just a guide – that’s the only reason why Harry would allow her to be following someone else. The first part of her night goes relatively fast with the number of people desperate to eat their food after being denied it for several days. She thinks the second half of the night slows, but only because Oliver is smiling at her regretfully when he tells her he’s clocking out and Harry will be covering the rest of his shift.
It isn’t bad – it’s the same as before, which should be good, but Y/N can’t help being a little bummed about it. For all she’d convinced herself that Harry didn’t want her like that, there was a sliver of her that still hoped that she was wrong. That Niall had been correct in his interpretations and Harry was actually chomping at the bit to slobber on her, or with her, or mutual slobbering – whatever he’s said. That he pulled off his shirt in front of her because he wanted her to think about it for days and days and days. That he was teasing her because he wanted his dick inside her too.
Alas, this wasn’t a movie. Or a show. Or a book. If it was, then she thinks the setup for them to have a riveting, whirlwind romance is there but sadly, this is real life. Harry was nice to her because she was drunk, had recently called him scary, and she’s pretty sure he knew she was crying when he yelled at her last time.
Being the same as before meant he was still making an effort to encourage her more, which is nice. Y/N guesses she’s most glad that he isn’t trying to prove to her that their dynamic hasn’t changed by being rough with her again. When he tastes the bordelaise sauce she prepared, he nods his head, “It’s good,” he complimented, “Add a bit more pepper and it’ll be better.”
She still feels like she’s glowing when Harry verbally compliments her food, no matter what the compliment is, it’s much better than just a grunt and a pissed-off look on his face. Y/N tries not to show too much that she’s gleaming, but she feels the stretch on her cheeks long after he’d disappeared to answer Adam calling for him. Like being praised by a kitchen deity; or a kiss of favor by a kitchen king.
Harry’s freshly washed, unstained shirt has been folded neatly in her bag all day, waiting for the perfect time to hand it off to him. She knew better than to do it in front of the other staff because gossip runs through this place like a grease fire, difficult to snuff out. Y/N might have been saved for the fact that the number one runner of the rumor mill, in charge of oiling all its gears, is Niall – but he’s a sucker for a good story. If someone got him going, he’d probably reveal his whole theory about Harry wanting to sleep with her.
It’s easy to find the time to give it to him because she and Harry are always the last in the kitchen. Everyone cleans up, but Harry specifically delegates her to help him with storing what’s left, putting in orders for the inventory diminished by their day of work, and tidying after they’ve tidied. A double tidy – to make sure everything is actually clean.
On a normal day, Y/N would be whining about this, but it does allow her to hand him his shirt after they’d finished.
“Harry?” She called to him, still feeling a little weird not referring to him more formally while they were here. Harry hums from where he was tucked away in the office so Y/N ambles her way over. She reaches into her bag and has it set out on her hand before he even turns around from the file cabinet he’s digging in, “I – your shirt,” she says, very intelligibly, of course, “I have it.”
When he turns around, he seems surprised – like he must have forgotten about it, “Oh?” Tentatively, he takes it from her hand, unfolding it. An impressed look twitches at his eyebrows, “You really got the stain out.”
“You didn’t think I would?” Y/N pressed, pulling her bag more firmly over her shoulder.
“I didn’t know if you could,” he countered, carefully folding it back up, “Brown liquor is notoriously difficult to get out of clothes – a white shirt at that. Are you sure you don’t want a career in dry cleaning?”
Y/N huffed a laugh through her nose, eyes rolling as she turned on her heel, “Very funny. Goodnight, Harry.”
“I hope you aren’t planning on taking the subway again,” he mentions before she can get too far. It does make her pause, twisting back to face him, head tilted because. . .well, how else was she supposed to get home? “It’s dark and even colder than when you came in. You’d be lucky to make it home without a cold.”
She tugs at the end of her scarf, “I – well, I don’t really like spending money on Ubers though, and their prices skyrocket in this kind of weather, so –”
“So I’ll take you home,” he answers definitively, “Let me get my coat.”
Harry disappears toward the coat closet before Y/N can even register what he’s suggested. Or rather, what he told her was going to happen. There had been really no room to argue and, honestly? Y/N wouldn’t have argued, to begin with. The thought of trekking through the snow and ice while a thin layer of frost formed over her eyes seemed horrific, and she’s certain her toes almost froze to the point of snapping off on the way here. She couldn’t even find it in herself to do a polite, pretend denial of it. One of those, “Oh no, I couldn’t ask you to do that? Really? Okay, only if you’re sure!” Instead, she just follows Harry out to his car and tries not to eat shit on the pavement when her feet catch on the patches of ice.
He pops the car door open for her and waits until she’s fully seated before shutting it and walking to his side. Y/N realizes that she’s much less suited for a car ride when she isn’t a couple of drinks in, so her blood is sort of roaring in her ears. Harry shivers when he gets in and keys the engine to life.
It’s quiet while they wait for his car to warm up. Y/N wondered if it would be too awkward to ruffle around through her purse and grab her phone, so she could at least look kind of busy, and not seem as socially inept as she did right now. Or maybe Harry just thinks she’s tired – which isn’t a lie. Y/N is sleepy; it weighs heavily on her bones, especially after having so much time off. It’s hard to return to being a productive member of society when she’d lounged around with Hazelnut for the last few days.
“Why didn’t you ask Niall to bring you home?” Harry inquired, finally, piercing through the silence.
Y/N hums, shifting in her seat, pleased by the seat warmer melting heat into her bum, “He and Adam were g’na have one of their League nights, so I didn’t want to make them wait for me.” It’s true – Y/N’s always there earlier than everyone and later than everyone because Harry is her mentor and those are the hours Harry works. That would’ve meant an additional 30 minutes eating into their weird little cult video game thing, and at that point, they’d try to drag her with them to make sure they didn’t lose any more play time. Y/N loves them but she doesn’t need to be involved.
“League?” Harry sounds confused and Y/N sighs – maybe he does hear a lot in the kitchen, but he blocks out a lot too. Y/N wishes that was an option for her, but Niall will just debrief her on everything anyway, so it’s better to listen for the first go around.
“League of Legends,” she replies, “Their game that they go bananas over – don’t ask me to explain it, I don’t understand a thing and Ni will go on about it for hours if you let him. Once we tried ecstasy together and he made me listen to a 40-minute spiel about this show based on it. The show was good though, so I get it.”
Y/N doesn’t realize her slip-up until Harry hums softly, “Ecstasy, huh?”
The blood drains from her body, flushes from her face, down her chest, through her belly, spinning out of her legs, and through the bottoms of her feet. Oh my god – how the fuck did she let that slip? Maybe she could’ve said that when she was drunk and could use that as an excuse, but now? Completely sober? What if Harry gets rid of her on the spot? Pushes her out of the car? No chef training under him is going to have experimented with ecstasy a year ago.
“Oh, I – um – that’s – that was a lie.”
“A lie?” He repeated, “You know how I feel about liars.” Her face pulls into a look of true and utter distraught panic, opening her mouth to explain herself, but she’s cut off, “Just kidding,” his face does not suggest he’s joking at all, apart from the tiniest twitch of his mouth, “I don’t care what you do and try, as long as you don’t come to work impaired by any measure,” he slows to a stop at a light, then briefly turns to face her, “Understand?”
She nods, eyes wide, nervous, “I – yes,” she tells him, “I’m sorry for – still, I didn’t mean to tell you that. And I don’t want you to think I do it regularly! We just wanted to see what it was like – or at least I did, the last time Ni did it was in UNI during a rave, and I definitely get why people do it at raves because – yeah. But I haven’t done it since.” Y/N kind of wishes someone would shove their hand over her mouth to make her stop talking (Harry, preferably, but she thinks that would probably make her moan). She’s just stuck in the perpetual need to impress him, and finding out that she and one of his other learning chefs did ecstasy and then talked about a video game for 40 minutes is like. . .not impressive at all.
Harry’s gaze darts around her face like he’s looking for something. Or maybe he’s just registering that she’s freaking the hell out. Whatever it was he finds, he turns back to the front and slowly eases the car past the light once it turns green, “I won’t judge you,” he finally says, “I’ve done it before.”
Y/N had never once learned anything personal about Harry in their time together. Everything she knew about him was based on old interviews and untested hypotheses because picking his brain was impossible. He was someone who believed that work was for just that. . working; there was no time for gossiping, sharing anecdotes about each other’s lives, discussing interests, and through that somehow decrypting their political ideologies. So Y/N knew nothing about him, except for the amount of salt he thought necessary to add to certain dishes and his preferred method of slicing onions.
So this was – riveting information, actually. A tidbit – a small sliver into Harry’s life that she’d never been granted before. She takes it in, and – greedy as she is – wants more.
“You have?” She turns to face him more, “That’s – that’s crazy! When did you?”
Harry pulls right, driving down a relatively quiet street. For a Thursday night, there wasn’t as much hustle and bustle as usual, but that makes sense with all the snow. Nobody wanted to risk breaking their front teeth on the pavement because of poorly shoveled and salted walkways, “My second year of culinary school,” he replied, “After a particularly grueling semester. Someone in my class offered it to Adam, who then offered it to me.”
“That’s – whoa,” she says, very intelligibly, and she thinks she hears Harry puff through his nose an amused noise, “Did you ever do it again?”
He shook his head, “No. I don’t like feeling out of control of my body.” Then, he tacts on, “Do you?”
Y/N stilled, blinking at him.
Did she hear him right?
“Huh?”
“Do you like feeling out of control of your body?” Oh, so she had definitely heard him right.
“I mean like. . .like I guess it depends on the context?” Her mind is whirling, spinning wildly, flinging around, knocked off its axis, and careening like a piece of rock flying through space. Why did she say that — why did he ask that?
Harry laughed – it’s a real thing; something she’d only briefly heard a couple of times when they were out with each other last week. This one doesn’t last very long, but it truly is a gleeful sound, as he shakes his head quietly to himself, “Depends on the context, huh?” He repeated, and Y/N didn’t think she’d ever seen him so amused. It makes something twist in her belly, low and deep, that she’d rather ignore.
“Why do you – um – why do you ask?” Her face felt hot.
There was a smile on his lips that she’d never seen before – taunting, goading, before he answered simply, “No reason,” with a pleasant-sounding sigh, even though Y/N thought that there was definitely a reason, but there was certainly no way that the reason is the reason that she was thinking about. Because if it was then. . .then that would mean that maybe her and Niall’s grandiose delusions had more accuracy than they originally thought. And if that were true, then that would mean Harry is thinking about doing the naughty, despicable, filthy things that Niall has been prophesying for weeks now.
The rest of the ride is quiet, though it’s not very long – just five minutes of Y/N fidgeting with her fingers in her lap before they pull into her complex. Harry remembered the way from the last time he dropped her off – she’d only realized at the end of the trip that she didn’t have to direct him once. He pushed the car into park, then turned to face her, still seeming humored, his eyes tickled with an emotion she doesn’t see often from him. So infrequently, in fact, that she didn’t know what emotion it was. . .just that it wasn’t the typical, aloof gaze that he normally leveled her with.
“Thank you,” she gathered her purse in her lap and gripped the straps like they’d keep her from saying something stupid, “Have a sweet night, or good dreams, or – have, um – christ,” the grip hadn’t worked, “Have a good night.”
Harry nodded politely toward her, “I’m sure I will,” he replied, “You too.”
As Y/N took the elevator to her floor, walked to her door, ambled her way through her flat while she started shedding layers, and made her way to the bathroom (all while Hazelnut slithers around her ankles), her mind raced. Niall had heard from his friend’s, dog’s, cousin’s, owner’s sister (or whatever) that Harry was a freak, hadn’t he? That he was into different kinky dynamic play, how his dick is huge, he edges people for weeks, he fucks nasty. Did he actually want to do that with her? Why else would he ask a question about her opinion on feeling out of control of her body?
Or – fuck, did he really just want to know if she did other drugs? And then she accidentally made it weird saying it depended on the context. Like, seriously – what other context could there be? Drugs, alcohol, or giving your body to a kinky sadist and letting them make decisions over it? She seriously thought her face could melt off from how much heat it held, despite the way glacial winds battered against her cheeks while she walked to the front door.
Of course, she updated Niall, after her shower, when droplets of water were still clinging to her skin and she avoided stepping out of the bathroom because she knew it would be freezing.
Ten minutes later, she gets a reply (probably in the middle of a snack break, or a piss break – they have one scheduled in every thirty minutes of their gaming).
OH MY FUCKING GOD!!!!!!!
He might as well just tell you he wants to fuck at this point, he’s being so obvi
Should you show up to work in a collar and buttplug or would that be too much?
. . .
The thing is – Harry is a professional.
There are no lingering gazes or suggestive questions during work hours, nor are there references or insinuations that they’d ever spent even a moment together outside this kitchen. Again, unless being scrutinized by the razor-sharp eye of the deluded, their relationship dynamic hasn’t changed by much. However, Harry is much more giving with compliments, or soft praises to encourage her. She roasted a rack of lamb the other day and when Harry tasted it, accompanied with a careful hum and a pissed-off face, he verbalized, “This is good,” with a nod of his head, “It can be even better next time. We’ll work on the seasonings together.”
So that’s nice – because Y/N doesn’t necessarily want to be the source of kitchen gossip. For example, when one of the servers that used to work there started hooking up with Vivian, their saucier, only for Vivian to find out the server had a wife. Then she found out at the beginning of their shift one day, promptly cried about it to the other kitchen staff (the kind of inconsolable sniffles that were hard to stop), and as Y/N recalls, Harry had said something like, “Take the day to compose yourself, we don’t need tears in the sauce.” Which. . .could he have been nicer about it? He sure could have, but the more she grew to know him, the more she realized that this was Harry being nice.
(He’d run the sauce station that day, had Y/N follow him around like the imprinted duckling she acted like, and – mysteriously – the server quit a couple of weeks after that.)
The moral of the story was – if people were fucking at work, they kept quiet about it. As long as nobody brought the drama and theatrics of their relationship into the kitchen, and so long as their meals never paid the price of the emotional toil an argument in the break room could have – Harry didn’t care what anyone did. Though Y/N isn’t sure if he knows who is rendezvousing with who. He doesn’t care to concern himself with petty things like that – or so Y/N thinks. It’s just the vibes he gives off.
Does he give off the vibe of someone who would fuck an employee? Well. . .Y/N and Niall have differing responses to this question. If you ask Niall, Harry is frothing at the mouth to stick his hands down Y/N’s pants in the pantry room and make her beg for him to spit on her tongue. If you ask Y/N – yeah, Harry kind of does seem like he’s into that, but she couldn’t be positive that he wanted it from her. Or, maybe he might, but he’d realize how inexperienced she is in kink and that could be a turn-off. Who wants to have to teach someone how to fuck the way they like it? That’d probably be so aggravating, especially for him. Up until recently, she thinks he barely liked teaching her anything to begin with and that was the basis of their relationship.
“You’ve clearly haven’t read enough corruption kink literature,” Niall flicked her ankle, Y/N’s foot resting on his thigh while he carefully brushed the nail polish over her pinky toenail (Y/N helped him get rid of his calluses and ingrown nails in a very grueling “at-home-spa” day last week, so this was his repayment – he was surprisingly very serious about it and doing a great job), “I’ll send you some recommendations.”
Y/N sighed, dropping her head against the back of her couch, and narrowly avoided landing on Hazelnut (who lifted her head and glared momentarily before going back to sleep), “He’s been – like, you know how he has me come in on off days to practice?” Niall hummed a small nod, “Beyond a few subtle things I’m definitely reading into, he doesn’t mention anything crazy at all. I’m starting to feel like he just wants to fuck with me.”
“Fuck with you, fuck you – it’s the same difference,” he shrugged, pressed the brush back into the bottle and dunked it a few times, “Harry is a serious guy, yeah? He’s not going to interrupt prep or cooking with clear signals that he wants to blow your back out. It’s why he only does or says shit kind of blatant outside of that environment – his personal and work life are separate.” Niall tilted his head to the side, “I’d say you’re one more outing from the work setting away from him having you call him Daddy, but that’s just my hypothesis.”
With her unpainted foot, she nudged his knee and ignored him when he clicked his tongue, scolding her for it, “Shut up,” she sighed again, “Ugh, I want to fuck him.”
“In due time,” he murmured wisely, “Now stop moving your damn foot before I paint the whole toe.”
Niall did have a point and it did stand with Y/N’s – Harry is a professional through and through. There’s no way he would hint anything at work, right? At least definitely not during working hours. She guesses why she’s frustrated, is because there aren’t many opportunities that involve her and Harry outside of the kitchen. So they’re basing all these theories off the whole two times something kind of happened, and it would probably be an outstanding amount of time before they were alone outside of the restaurant again.
Unless Adam could convince him to come out for dinner and drinks again, but – well, Y/N doesn’t see that happening any time soon.
. . .
Y/N was in a bad mood.
It was mostly hormonal, she knew that; this morning she woke up to her period which had been looming over her with threats in the form of symptoms. Her breasts were tender, her lower back ached, and the fatigue was so intense it was hard for her to stay awake for more than a couple hours at a time on her off days. Plus she was horny and hungry, in equal, large, thought-consuming amounts which was the biggest red flag (no pun intended). Still, she could have had an LED sign light up on her ceiling that said YOU’RE PERIOD STARTED!!! and she still would have worn the same shocked, annoyed expression when she wiped after peeing.
Thankfully she’d only bled in her underwear, but still, she was annoyed that it forced her hand to start laundry. And all she wanted to do was eat a breakfast sandwich, take a bath, and crawl back into bed but she needed to be at work in a couple of hours. There were errands she needed to run, Hazelnut had a vet appointment, and she thinks she promised her neighbor she’d change the batteries in their smoke alarm (it was an older couple, who had no business standing on a chair to reach it). A list of things that were daunting on a normal day, but even worse today, and she had to work a busy shift on top of that.
Things have been hectic at work lately – it always is after the holidays, so they’ve been running around like crazy. Even Harry and Adam have had to jump in even more than they already do, preparing dishes, cooking the meat, sauteing vegetables, and the like – because they’ve been getting slammed. Both during the day for lunch and at night – Y/N wonders if the rich were trying to quell their seasonal depression with fancy meals or something. So she knew that having a nice, easy night wasn’t promising, and while she woke up in a foul mood already, that did nothing but worsen it.
Then, to add icing to it, her ex messages her again and she should really just block the dumbass’s number but something in her heart won’t let her. So there was that too.
Still, she goes about her business in the morning and when she gets to work, she puts on that she’s doing just fine. Y/N had always been a firm believer that you shouldn’t make your bad mood other people’s issue, so she tries to keep it to herself as much as she can. And she’s good at it too – only Niall notices that she’s more grumpy than normal, and it wasn’t for anything but the sound of her laugh being just a touch different. Niall is very in tune with the people he considers himself close with, so a tonal shift of any kind has his brain dinging. He seems to know the root of the issue before Y/N could disclose it (sometimes she wonders if he has a tracker on his phone to keep up with her dates) because at lunch there’s a piece of chocolate and two paracetamol waiting for her in the breakroom.
Everyone else doesn’t seem to notice anything wrong either, save for Harry, maybe. It feels like his eyes are more keen on her today than they typically are on her, following her around the kitchen. Or maybe he’s just in super mentor mode and is making sure her dishes are being prepared correctly, even in the fast-paced environment of a dinner rush. Either or, every time she looked up his eyes bore into her with the same apathetic glare he always had and she always darted her gaze away quickly (could he at least look a little happy when he saw her? Why did he always seem so unimpressed?).
For the most part, he leaves her be, too busy with his own shit to have time for any additional hovering than normal. He sticks close by so he can taste or correct a technique, but far enough that Y/N can zone out a bit – fall into the methodical structure of making mass amounts of potage aux legumes and let the rest of the night zip by. He’d barely spoken to her today, but once two hours ago, when he tasted the soup.
“The taste is good,” he told her, “The consistency could be smoother but this isn’t a bad start. Try pureeing less at a time and it will improve.” It does take a knock at her confidence but he rebuilds it rather quickly the next batch she makes when he stirs it and hums approvingly.
By the time the end of the day rolls around, she’s dog-tired. The exhaustion only weighs heavier in her bones when Harry grabs her attention as they are cleaning, “Stay after tonight.” That is all he says, and she immediately wants to flatten her face into a pillow and scream but instead, she nods and replies, “Okay.” with little fuss. Despite how extra fussy she feels.
Soon enough, Niall is squeezing her shoulder and telling her to message him when she gets home, and Adam is threatening Harry to not stay here too late. Really, this is no different than any other day – Harry typically expects her to stay until he tells her to go, but a request like this must mean he’s planning something. She just couldn’t figure out what, considering his normal “teaching her something new” days are the days the kitchen’s closed. Y/N thinks she’d be more annoyed about staying if Harry were anyone else but – well, it’s Harry, after all. Even in a foul mood, she is appreciative of any extra time he wants to give her to instill some of his knowledge.
They finish tidying – or, Y/N finishes tidying. She wasn’t sure what Harry was doing until she turned around to find that he had a variety of ingredients out, some in their respective measuring cups, some still in the packaging. The confusion must show on her face, because without so much of a hum to question him, Harry is explaining what she’s looking at, “We’re going to make a slice of cake.”
Y/N tilts her head, “A slice of cake?”
“A big slice,” Harry nods resolutely, “Do you like chocolate?”
She blinks, his eye contact undeviating, “I – yes? Yes, I do.”
“Good. Let’s begin.”
It’s. . .weird. Y/N’s very confused because Harry has never given any indication that he’s interested in desserts at all. Of course, she knew that he was capable of creating pastry dishes, but he always seemed to prefer savory dishes – his owning a restaurant like the one he does was proof enough of that. A weird fact that she’d picked up about chefs in general is that once they find their flavor they tend to stick there. A chef who prefers searing steaks and curating the perfect plate for dinner typically fumbles through baking a cookie made from scratch. She’s unsure why that is, but it has happened enough times for her to make note of it.
Harry, as always, seems to be perfect at all things. He moves around, showing her what order to add the ingredients, the consistency it should be after mixing, and how to perfectly melt the chocolate – all with the practiced ease of someone who bakes every day. Maybe he does when he gets home, but she hardly believes that.
Harry just belongs in the kitchen. Every aspect of cooking, of baking, of creating something delicious for people to consume and enjoy – seems to be a craft that he’s perfected somehow. Y/N knew that if culinary school hadn’t worked out, she would use her business minor to do. . .something. Having a degree would make it easier to get hired at some random skyscraper building, doing desk work 9-to-5. She would’ve made do with that – it wasn’t her dream by any means, but she could still find happiness somewhere, even if it wasn’t at work. There were still holidays to cook for her family, friends who wouldn’t have survived off more than the fries in her university cafeteria, and neighbors who appreciated her replicating old school dishes from their childhood.
But Harry? No. . .there was nothing else he could do. He didn’t fit anywhere else – or at least, she thinks he is too stubborn to fit anywhere else; his heart, his body, and his spirit all belong near pots and pans. At least that’s what she thinks – she’s honestly quite sure he’d agree.
It doesn’t take too long, and when he slides it into the oven to bake (she’d never seen a tin that was cut into multiple slices before – and they only filled up one of the six), she wonders what they’ll do while they wait.
The answer is clean up, which she should’ve seen coming, but that only takes a little while. As she’s wiping off the soap suds from her hands, Harry is prompt against the counter they’d been working on. The area they’d utilized is wiped down, sparkling, and smelling faintly of the cleaner he orders in large shipments (the boxes are heavy, Y/N knows firsthand). She doesn’t know what they’ll do – hopefully not stare at each other for the remaining 15 minutes of the bake time – so she searches for questions about the baking process to fill in the empty space.
Harry beats her to it.
“How is your mood today?” He inquires, his fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against the counter.
“My mood?” Y/N repeats, and he nods, “Oh. . .well. . .I mean – why do you ask?” The question seemed kind of cryptic to her. Did she have a huge blood stain on the back of her bottoms? It sounded like the kind of thing you ask someone before you potentially tell them something that would put them in a poor mood. How is your mood today? Because just so you know, I’ve been staring at a blood spot the size of a small country on the back of your pants, just so you know – it’s probably been there since about midday.
“You were different today,” he tells her, “You’re typically more bubbly. You seem to be in a poor mood – am I right?”
Y/N is shocked. Like, legitimately – if anyone had told her a couple of months ago – or, arguably, even last week – that Harry would notice any sort of change in her mood, she thinks she would have popped a lung from laughing so hard. Because the very idea of Harry paying enough attention to her to even recognize what her baseline was is hard to believe. So hard to believe that it’s actually kind of hilarious, the thought – like imagining a llama baking a cake.
She stares at him for probably a little too long to be normal, the gears cranking and turning in her head before she finally thinks to reply, “Oh!” Y/N shakes her head, then realizes it looks like she’s disagreeing with him so she fixes it to a nod, and in the end, her head just looks like it’s wobbling and knocking her brain around (it feels like it too), “I mean, yeah I wasn’t in a great mood today? Was it that obvious? I thought I was doing a good job hiding it.”
“You did well,” he countered, “I was just paying close attention today.”
Y/N’s breath catches in her throat, “You were?”
“Mhm,” he nods, “Is there something wrong?”
She sighs, shoulders sinking, “No, not really, just – tired, I guess? It’s like. . .personal or whatever,” she says, but then motions to her uterus and forgets that she’s trying not to be blunt and continues, “My period, so like I’m just tired. And my ex messaged me which was annoying, then I had a busy day so there was just. . .a lot stacked against me today.”
Harry’s mouth opens around an “Ahh, I see,” before the oven beeps. He holds his finger as if telling her to put a pin in the conversation before he goes to retrieve it. Harry brings it to the counter they were at to cool. “And it’s been busy today, so I’m sure that was no help.”
She shrugs, her face feeling hot when she realized she might have been too open, “It’s – that’s life I guess. Sorry for telling you that, by the way,” she wanted to melt into the ground, form a puddle that he mops up then pours down a drain, “You probably didn’t want to know that.”
“I asked you, didn’t I?” He rebuts, “If I ask then I want to know the answer. I appreciate your honesty.” Harry pulls the icing that they made closer to them, “This is my second time hearing about your ex. Why does he keep messaging you?”
“Ugh,” Y/N flops her body further against the workbench, groaning, noting that the pressure of the edge pushing against her lower abdomen is nice – Harry’s big ass hand against it would be nice too, probably, and warm (she would be imagining that later while she was in bed), “It’s stupid because he’s always just asking me for restaurant recommendations, or wondering if I can get him a table and a discount here, like – he’s so annoying about it.”
Harry hums again, thinks for a moment, then replies, “Pardon my language, but why don’t you tell him to fuck off?”
Y/N laughs a little, humorlessly, “I – I’m not sure,” she plucks at her fingernail, “Maybe then because that makes me the bitter ex-girlfriend? We ended things mutually with no hard feelings. . .or, like – he thinks it was no hard feelings at least.”
There were plenty of hard feelings, actually, Y/N was just good at pretending that there weren’t. They had dated for three years, the longest relationship she’d ever been in and the most serious she had ever felt about another person romantically (at least next to her long-standing celebrity crushes – that was an untouchable love that no man in her life could ever come close to). Y/N thought things had been going well, enough that she was starting to wonder if they should talk about moving in together. There had never been any glaring red flags that something was going on, that his eyes were wandering, that when he was with her he was thinking about his new coworker who understands him on a deeper, personal level than their relationship could have ever gone – according to him, at least.
Y/N remembers how it felt with her hands in his, the way he stroked her knuckles, how he made a big deal of looking empathetic like the situation wasn’t his fault, to begin with, “I never physically cheated,” he promised, “But emotionally. . .emotionally I haven’t just been yours for a couple of months now.”
“How long?” She’d inquired, her voice steady as she could have made it. She wanted to cry but she didn’t, because. . .well, Y/N knows how to hold them in, you know? And she’d rather feel them burn behind her waterline than let this stupid fuck see her upset.
“Six.”
She remembers pulling her hands away, slipping them from his grasp, with a soft frown, “Okay,” she wanted to shove him off the chair he was sitting on, “Thanks for letting me know.”
It probably hadn’t been the reaction he was expecting. Part of Y/N thinks that it hadn’t been the reaction he wanted either; who didn’t want their girlfriend to grovel at their feet? Beg to be chosen? Remind him of all their time spent together and why he shouldn’t throw that all away. That’s the reaction he wanted – to be sought after and fought for, but she didn’t give him that. And she thinks, maybe, every time he just pops up and asks her about recipes to impress someone, or to get him a reservation and money off at a high-class restaurant – he thinks he’ll get that big reaction. Almost like he wants to feel justified in what he did – his bitter ex, he had to break up with, it just wouldn’t have ever worked, like see how hostile she got when he just asked a question?
Harry watches her, as she relives the moment, with furrowed brows, “What a prick.”
Y/N laughs, “It’s fine, it’s whatever,” she waves her hand, “This place is way too ritzy for him to afford anyway, so at least I don’t have to worry about him showing up.”
After the cake cools, Harry carefully transfers it to a decorating board. He shows her how to spread the icing so it’s a smooth finish, where to add the slices of strawberry, and the appropriate and classy amount of whipped cream to dollop on top. “Ready to try it?” Y/N nods, probably the most enthusiastic she’s been all night. Harry only grabs one fork, and she’s confused – did he not want to try it himself? Or was he going to indirectly kiss her again so she could think about it like a loser for two weeks nonstop?
Harry slices into the desert, a spot that has the right amount of ganache icing they made, that shows off the fluffiest most moist part of the cake, it gets some of the strawberry and some of the whipped cream too. She’d never witnessed someone so methodically get every aspect of desert into one bite, nor had she ever had them present it to her either. Hovering near her mouth, waiting for her to part her lips – which she does – so that he can slip it inside.
For as careful as he was getting all the right parts of it onto the fork, he was not very careful in the transmission – or maybe Y/N’s coordination is just worse off than she thought because some ended up on her lips and chin.
But the cake is delicious; what she’s chewing and swallowing down is divine. As she looks for a napkin she whines, “That’s so yummy,” with a frown, “It’s a waste to have to wipe any of it from my chin.”
She expected a huff from his nose, maybe. The way he shows he’s a little amused by her before taking to the rest of the cake and having a bite for himself.
Instead, Harry’s hand raises to her face.
Y/N freezes – like a predator has just spotted her in the forest foraging for seeds. She can’t read him (could she ever?) exactly, as his fingers carefully cradle her jaw. Her breath sticks in her throat when the pad of his thumb swipes over the mess on her chin in a way that’s almost too tender for how fast her heart races. Has he ever touched her before? Have Harry’s fingers ever gotten anywhere near her face?
She’s dizzy when he swipes it up, over her bottom lip, resting carefully at the seam of her mouth. It’s his turn to still, waiting quietly, patiently, for her to make a move, but Y/N is seriously frozen! Her brain is not computing a single bit of stimuli right now and she thinks she’s malfunctioning, blinking at him, not pulling away, not getting closer.
Harry wears the tiniest, smallest smile at the corner of his mouth, “Open,” he orders, and Y/N’s lips part automatically – did he plant a chip in her brain or what? His thumb sinks between them and rests on her tongue, sweet from the chocolate, salty from his skin – his skin – that she’s tasting, because his thumb is in her fucking mouth! “Suck.”
Was she really doing this? Yes, absolutely. Somewhere, hardwired in her brain is the desire and need to listen and enact every instruction he’s ever given her. Even if that instruction is to suck on his thumb while the rest of his fingers splay out over her jaw, and her heart was hammering like a rabbit's, and the gleam in his eyes resembled a wolf’s.
Y/N is tentative about it; honestly, it’s probably way less porn-y than it could have been. She wishes she had the wherewithal to bob her head, make it sexy, something for him to remember and dream about later – that would make him want her more. But it isn’t like that. She is shy, the way she curls her tongue around his knuckle, how she pulls him deeper into his mouth with careful each careful suck. The icing is long gone by now, but she doesn’t want to let go or look away from him and how he stares at her mouth.
The only thing that gets her to let go is when Harry starts to pull away, and even then – she grazes her teeth along his knuckle when he withdraws. A whine bubbles in her throat when she swallows thickly, wanting more, but it’s like Harry reads her mind. With one hand, he grabs her wrist as if to keep her still, and with the other, Harry pulls a slice of strawberry from the cake and offers it to her, holding it at her mouth. This time he doesn’t have to instruct her to part her lips, she just does it, and he seems pleased as he feeds it to her. Watches her chew, rubs his thumb along her bottom lip, and once she swallows, urges her mouth open again.
She opens up as wide as he wants her to and lets him carefully prod his fingers inside of her mouth. Harry uses his index and middle fingers, sliding against the ridges of her teeth, petting the inside of her cheek, and sliding down her tongue again. When he does that she tries to close her lips around him again but he clicks his tongue, “Ah ah,” he shakes his head, “I didn’t tell you to do that, did I?” This time she does whine, pitiful and needy. Something wanting curls low in her gut and she thinks she might pass out because she really hasn’t taken a proper breath in like three whole minutes.
But she lets him explore her mouth and feel what he wants to feel, and she isn’t sure what his motive is. Maybe just to prove that he could – perhaps just to see that Y/N would do anything he told her to.
Eventually, he finally pulls his fingers from her mouth. With the ones not wet from her spit, he caresses her cheek with his knuckles, sighing, “Hm, it’s time to go home,” he murmured, “You had a long day.”
What? That was it? Wasn’t he supposed to. . .Y/N doesn’t know, she thinks he was supposed to like –bend her over the table and fuck her or something, right? That’s usually where these things go, don’t they? The hot, sexy mentor throws his sweet little mentee down and stuffs her full. . .or something like that.
Harry must notice her confusion because he laughs – a bright sound from him that’s rare to hear. She’s used to the puffs through his nose and the mild look of amusement, not something so outwardly jovial, “What is it?” He inquired, “Expecting something else?”
She blinked at him.
“Oh, uh….no?”
“Okay then,” he nodded, “I’ll pack up this cake for you.”
. . .
Y/N hasn’t stopped thinking about it.
She doesn’t think anyone in their right mind could stop thinking about it., honestly. The ghost of his fingers still weighs in her mouth, poking and caressing all the spots hidden from his eyes. His gaze, staring at her curiously but knowingly, all in the same glance – like he knew she would let him do it but wondered how far she would let him go. And Y/N isn’t coy; there’s no cat-and-mouse game with her. She would have taken anything he put into her mouth without a second thought, probably, just because Harry was the one telling her to.
Did he like that, or was that a turn-off? This was only one of many questions plaguing her every waking thought, along with her subconscious, that had been unhelpfully supplying scenarios in her dreams, all of which ended with her legs spread and needy. A recurrent theme in every naughty dream is that she can’t see Harry at all, but she knows that it’s him – she could feel him, his aura, the true, honest-to-god vibe that he just emitted from being near. And just as soon as he’s about to come into view, crawl up her body, unzip his trousers, and finally let her see what the hell he’s been hiding in there. . .she wakes up.
It’s a cruel joke, and one she has a feeling would make Harry a little giddy. Honestly, it's more like a nightmare, really. A horny nightmare.
She hadn’t told Niall about this recent development yet because it had suddenly gone from fun, delusional daydreams to horny, lingering nightmares. How was she going to explain to Niall that Harry had poked around in her mouth but then didn’t fuck her? Honestly, she was like. . a little embarrassed about how easily she gave in. How much better would it have been had she trailed her tongue around his knuckles, grazed her teeth against the skin, hummed, and maintained eye contact but with a twinkle that bespoke her playful, confident demeanor? Harry probably would have had no choice but to fuck her then. . .like it might have been a need at that point, had she really pressed forward and been sexier.
The next day, Harry is painfully normal. Not even a glimmer in his gaze would suggest he even made a cake with her yesterday (one that she had already consumed when her belly was aching with cramps and her mind was aching with questions), let alone shoved his fingers in her mouth. Y/N tried her best to act the same: indifferent and calm. But when Harry stands beside her, when he tastes the soup she was preparing and murmurs his praise, when he accidentally touches her arm as he’s reaching for the ladle – goosebumps pimple all over her body. She stiffens, her heart races, she thinks maybe she could pass out, and her mouth feels significantly empty (and she’s significantly upset about it).
But nobody else seems to notice. The person would have been her delusional partner in crime, but when lunch comes around, and all he has to talk about is the Grammys and how he’s been farming for gold in League – well, Y/N knows she’s not being obvious. At least not to anyone but Harry, who could probably smell the tension on her when he was within 400 meters of her, like a shark sniffing out blood in the ocean.
All she received as acknowledgment for the night before was a question right after lunch when Y/N had just left the storage room carrying two large containers of chicken broth. They’re balanced on top of one another, and she keeps them stable with her hands and her chin on the top of the second container.
“Did you enjoy the rest of the cake?” He inquired, appearing out of thin air and taking them from her easily, holding them close to his body “Or are you saving it?”
Y/N’s face felt hot at the memory, especially when she admitted, “I finished it already.”
“Ahhhhh,” he seemed pleased, “Yeah? It must’ve been really good then.”
She nodded, her breaths felt thin in her throat, “Yes,” she agreed, “Thank you again, for that.”
Then Harry tilted his head, “Which part?” Either he’s just a pro at pretending to be aloof in all situations, or this particular situation didn’t leave him as giddy, breathless, or frazzled as it did her. She’s more inclined to believe the latter as his gaze sits still upon her, undeviating, and. . .well, he didn’t look like he cared much what her response would be.
Before she could answer, Adam came barrelling out of the kitchen, “Y/N!” He’d exclaimed, and he seemed so frantic that it had Y/N’s heart kicking in her chest – what could be wrong? “Please settle this between Niall and I. He’s making an absurd claim that my leather club pants are outdated and tacky but –”
“That’s because they are,” Nill emerged after him, “When was the last time you saw someone in leather pants for a night out, and it wasn’t a Groovy 70s-themed event?” He tossed his arms up, “Just buy a fitted trouser if you want to show off your ass! Ask Harry where he gets his.”
Harry had disappeared from her side in the fuss, so Y/N never got to answer – though she didn’t know what her answer would be. Thank you for noticing I was in a bad mood? Thank you for making me a slice of cake under the guise of teaching but you actually just wanted to do something nice for me? Thank you for saying my ex was a prick? Thank you for putting your fingers in my mouth and then implanting what will easily be months worth of wet dreams?
Other than that, he hadn’t brought it up, and it had been a full week. Y/N was going crazy thinking about it over and over and over again, mouth feeling painfully empty. Every time she swallowed, she imagined the weight of Harry’s fingers on her tongue, how much space he’d occupied, how she thought he would’ve kept going even if she started drooling all over him. Y/N hadn’t even thought about actual dick-in-vagina penetration with her ex as much as she was thinking about Harry putting his fingers in her mouth, like – seriously, she’s feeling a little pathetic.
Still, she persists through her days, cooks, cleans up, pretends like she isn’t itching to crawl into his shirt, and refuse to leave. . .let’s Niall talk about his campaign in league with Adam (whatever the fuck that means). Y/N figures that either something will happen or. . .it won’t. She sure as fuck wasn’t going to bring it up – like, what if he regretted it? Maybe he thought about it and decided it wasn’t what he was looking for. Maybe he wanted something different, someone different, someone prettier, who was sexy and didn’t ruminate about a two-minute situation for seven days.
Y/N is kind of abandoning all hope one night when everyone had left the kitchen, and only she and Harry remained. It was quiet, reminiscent of how it was just a month or two ago, with Y/N stuck in a loop, wondering what Harry was thinking when he was silent like this. He made his way around the kitchen, tidying, marking things off on his sheet, carefully storing what could be preserved.
There are so many thoughts roaming around in her head that she’s barely paying attention to what she’s doing, which technically shouldn’t be a problem because she’s just cleaning. But maybe when she’s cleaning the stove she should be just a little extra careful. Even if it’s been a while since it’d been on, a burner that’s been scalding hot all day typically takes quite a while to cool down. The light near the dial warning of its heat was still illuminated, but Y/N wasn’t paying any mind to that. So she isn’t extra careful like she should be and she ends up accidentally burning the side of her finger on the burner grates.
She flinches, cursing low to herself and gripping her finger.
“What happened?” Harry, who had just been across the kitchen, was suddenly at her side when Y/N turned to toss the wash rag in the sink. She’ll admit that it made her yell, startled by his agility and wondering if he should have looked into being a private detective, or a spy even. His eyes widened at the volume of it, echoing through the kitchen.
“Shit!” She breathed out, holding her fingers from the pain, then both of them held to her heart, feeling it slam against her chest, “Harry, you scared me!”
Harry is firm but gentle in the way he reaches out to her; his fingers slide down her forearm to get a grip on her wrist before guiding her to the sink. He twists the faucet on, and a soft, cool stream flows from the nozzle. When Harry can identify which finger she hurt, he carefully pulls it to sit beneath it. At first, Y/N hisses, her body jerking, but Harry’s grip on her is so steady that she barely even budges and that. . .she’s real enough to admit that it does something for her. But what doesn’t do something for her these days – she’s really easy to work up lately, and she knows the man holding her so tightly right now is the one to blame.
“You need to be more careful,” he scolds her after a little while, and when Y/N turns to look at him, she realizes his face is much closer than she thought it’d be. Her gaze darts back down to her finger as she clears her throat, “You aren’t normally clumsy like this. Are you alright?”
She nods quickly, “Yes, yeah, sorry I just – got distracted,” she shrugs, “I’m a little tired.”
Harry stares at her for a moment, holding her finger beneath the water – it really isn’t necessary for him to stand there but she wasn’t going to complain about him holding her hand. Even if this is a little more clinical than how she’d like it, she’d take this – how big his fingers looked compared to hers, the way they swallowed her hands up when they’d move from her forearm, stretching out over her knuckles. They’re warm too, and surprisingly soft. She’d expected more callouses from him, but they were smooth like he’d used a sugar scrub on them. And because her pervy brain couldn’t do anything but haunt her, she tried to remember if they felt that soft in her mouth too.
“You’re always saying that,” he clicked his tongue, “How tired you are.” Yeah, Y/N guesses she says that a lot, but the thing is – she’s never said that to Harry directly before. To complain about being sleepy in front of Harry would have been like trying to piss him off on purpose. It’s just a rule of thumb not to whine or moan about how busy you were or how tired you are to Harry. Honestly, it was a rule of thumb not to speak unless spoken to when it came to him during work hours. The only person to break this regularly was Adam, and Y/N was second to that, only because she had just recently gotten comfortable calling him over to ask questions about the dishes she was preparing.
So how Harry had been hearing her complain about being tired, she wouldn’t know. That’s something she only thinks about or fusses with Niall over. Maybe she’d said it once or twice to the other staff in the kitchen this week because it had been extremely tiring, but she couldn’t imagine speaking loud enough that Harry would have heard her.
“I’m just having trouble falling asleep lately I guess,” because my sexy as fuck mentor is all I can think about, and it’s haunting my dreams – Harry hums again, “Even when it’s busy here and I’ve been running around all day, I just kind of. . .stay awake when I’m home. Hazelnut doesn’t help, she loves playing until late. I have to tire her out.”
Harry smiles a little, at what Y/N believes to be the thought of Hazelnut, but then he opens his mouth, “It seems like you need something to tire you out too, hm?”
It was a loaded statement to make, and Y/N is immediately reading into it.
So she could either stumble over her words, or she could try something – to propel this further. To make him understand that she wanted this too if he did – that it’s all she can think about. That she wants his stupid, dumb, soft fingers filling her mouth again. Pressing at her gums, the back of her teeth, stroking along her tongue, making her feel dumb and needy because she wants it to be his cock so badly, but she’ll take whatever he gives her.
“Are you. . .are you offering?”
It could have come out more confident, for sure, but the message comes across clearly. Harry, once more, allows a smile to twitch at his mouth when he looks at her – a brief thing that makes her insides stir up as he slips his hands from hers.
“That depends,” he answers, turning off the faucet, “Are you a good girl?”
Y/N’s breath feels like it leaves her lungs but she somehow manages to speak, “I – yes,” she pouts her mouth, “You know I am.”
Another hum, “You’d let me fill up your mouth with my fingers again?” It’s his only true mention of it happening, and Y/N thought she wanted him to be direct about it, but her heart slams against her sternum hard enough that it might crack it. Her ribs rattle with each beat, and all the blood in her body is surging this way and that. Every cell in her body shivers and vibrates in anxious excitement.
“Yes.” She agreed urgently.
“What else would you let me put in your mouth?” Harry goads, but Y/N doesn’t mind playing into it. She’s never been one to play hard to get, really, and maybe that makes her look extra desperate and extra pathetic, but she doesn’t care if it gets her what she wants. Right now, she’ll look as pathetic and desperate as she needs to, if that’s what Harry likes – if it’s what finally pushes him.
Y/N wheezes, practically, “Anything.”
That does make Harry chuckle, the smile returning only this time much bigger, and she sees that dimple again – honestly, she might scream if he doesn’t fill her mouth up quickly. Harry’s palm is soft when it cradles her cheek tentatively and slowly before he introduces his thumb to the corner of her lips, “Anything, huh?” He repeats, pressing down into the tender flesh of her mouth, firm enough that it pushes her bottom lip against her teeth, “You’d let me fuck my fingers in your mouth right here again if I wanted, right? You’d drool all over them like the messy, greedy little puppy you are. Open your mouth.”
A sound leaves Y/N, something like a whine and a gust of breath leaving her lungs again, and she’s so worked up she feels herself squeeze around nothing. She parts her lips instantly and feels strings of spit stretch and snap with her mouth as it opens and Harry slips his thumb inside of it. Y/N should wait for him to tell her to suck again, probably, but she can’t help it – she wants to, so badly, and she’s been thinking about it, and his thumb actually feels really good in her mouth. Does she have an oral fixation? Wouldn’t have that arisen at some other point in her life? She isn’t sure and she doesn’t care either, not when Harry’s tender hold turns a little sterner.
“I thought you were good, hm? Who told you to start sucking?” He inquired but he makes no move to make her stop, and only huffs a laugh when she whimpers around the thumb in her mouth, “Looks like you wanted this badly, hm? This is what’s been keeping you up at night.” He doesn’t say the last sentence like a question, more like a statement, and he’d be right so there’s nothing for Y/N to pop off and correct him for. She nips around his knuckle, and pulls his thumb in deeper, and she doesn’t know what to do with her hands – so one of them – the one that isn’t burned – grips onto his wrist to keep him from moving it.
Harry does start to slip his thumb from her mouth, but before she can protest it, Harry slips his index and middle finger into her mouth. Now the sound Y/N makes is a little more gleeful, a content hum, and really, since when is she into this? Y/N has never had the urge for something to fill her mouth up like this before, but she needs it more than anything – maybe it’s just because she’s ovulating. She’s always been a bit ravenous during this part of her cycle, and Sabrina Carpenter’s lyrics have started making a lot of sense over the past couple of days, so that would add up. But she needs this more than anything right now.
Embarrassingly enough, Harry must be able to tell, if the way he murmurs, “You really like this, hm?” is anything to go by, “You’ll need training, won’t you? To be a really good girl for me. I’ll teach you how I like my puppies to act. Do you like the sound of that?”
She nods, her mouth full, her eyes threatening to close, her cunt clenching around absolutely nothing and leaking into the cotton covering her. The whole thing should be extra humiliating, but it only turns her on more. A puppy, huh? That’s what he’s into? Y/N could do that – she could wag her tail and bark too if he wanted, she’s just as big a pervert as he is – she might be an even bigger one.
Harry seems. . .endeared? Fond? Y/N doesn’t know if she’s just seeing things, but she hopes that’s what he’s feeling right now. He doesn’t seem disgusted or annoyed, at least, and that’s reassuring to her.
“You’ll need to let go of me for a second,” he murmurs, “We need to go to my office.”
It’s with a mighty sense of will that she’s able to pull away, ultimately more embarrassed now that she wasn’t actively doing it. Harry looks at her lips for a moment longer than she was expecting before guiding her to his office. Y/N had only been in here a couple of times before, one of which when she first came here, Finley by her side as Harry told them all the things he didn’t like and all the things that they would do. When he outlined their schedule, when he was so scary Y/N was regretting accepting his offer, while she wondered if she had what it took to be a chef studying under him.
And now he’s pulling her in here, pushing the door closed behind them, and offering his fingers back up to her mouth. Maybe Y/N is a greedy puppy, because she takes them back in and this time she does bob her head once, pulling them deeper, down to his second knuckle. Her throat convulses at the intrusion, rejecting it, and it makes her shudder as she withdraws some. The saliva in her mouth is on another level right now, but Harry doesn’t seem to care at all. She wonders what he’s thinking about – wonders what he wants from her. Was he getting off on this too?
Y/N looks down, but her view is obscured by his hand. Even if it wasn’t, he uses his other hand to tilt her chin up, “Ah ah, eyes above the belt, Pup,” and the nickname – wow, is it possible for her to cum untouched? She kind of thought stories like that were bullshit but the curl of arousal in her belly is so intense, it feels like there’s no way that it isn’t a possibility.
Harry’s free hand moves from her chin, down to her top. The black button up she has tucked into her bottoms is carefully pulled up from beneath her trouser band, and the button of her trousers follows shortly after. Harry works with a precision only someone with experience could move with, dragging the zipper down, pulling the fabric out, entirely. The tips of his fingers graze along the delicate waistband of her underwear, before he stretches the elastic and slips his fingers in.
When he feels how wet she is, he cusses.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” it’s the first time he’s sounded truly affected by anything, and Y/N bristles with it, humming around his fingers, “Such a messy pussy. All from sucking on my fingers?” Her hips move without her say, bucking into his touch – his fingers are cold in comparison to her scorching insides and she wants more of them. Wants him to rub her clit, wants him to tuck them inside of her, wants to ride them while he sits there with them still and makes her do all the work. She wants, and wants, and wants so viciously that it feels like she might go crazy.
Harry plays around in her wetness a bit, slipping his fingers through it between her folds before slipping the pad of it up to her clit. It’s swollen, flicking beneath his fingers before looping soft circles over it. Y/N moans, her brain fizzling out for a second, all soap bubbles from the sink filling the grooves. It’s the only thing that’s gotten her to stop sucking this whole time, her mouth falling open around it. She wonders if he could feel her pulsate and squeeze around nothing if he liked it, if he liked how she felt. She wonders if he’s hard, and she wants to touch so badly she doesn’t know what to do with herself.
“There you go,” she shivers, his voice is placating like he really was talking to a greedy dog. It’s humiliating in the best way for her and makes her leak more – could he feel that? “Poor thing, all this worked up over a little treat. How cute.” It’s the first time he’s called her cute since after the Korean barbeque, and Y/N is suddenly reminded of that entire night. How he’d made sure she was fed, how he took care of her after, drove her home, calmed her panicked drunk self about the stain she’d left on his shirt. How soft we were with her led to all of these delusions that might not have been delusions in the first place. He did want her, at least in some way. Maybe not in all the ways Y/N wanted him, but still, something was better than nothing. Maybe she could fuck this out of her system and actually sleep without her subconscious bullying her.
It goes from feeling good to feeling really good in just a couple of spins. How all orgasms do, it’s building, and building, and building, until suddenly things are feeling great, and there’s a point where there’s no turning back. That’s where she was at – her teeth dig into his fingers, which is not helping the puppy allegations in the slightest, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind it. He seems amused, tickled, and a little too joyful for someone who hasn’t even gotten touched yet. This alone should have rang alarm bells in her head, but it didn’t, because her head was full of cotton after her brain finished melting from her ears.
So when Y/N knows it would only take a couple more circles of his fingers before she would cum, and he pulls his fingers away – well, she’s shocked. Shocked and horrified and appalled. The look must be written all over her face because Harry’s biting down on a huge smile then, dimples and all, slipping his fingers from her mouth too.
“Wh-why?” She asks, and the distress is palpable – enough that Harry even gives a small, pitied laugh while he thumbs at her bottom lip, “I was almost – I almost –”
“Mm, I wasn’t ready for you to do that yet.” He tells her, and Y/N frowns – nobody had ever snatched an orgasm away from her before. Honestly, her ex just seemed stoked that he could get her there every once in a while. Y/N hasn’t even done that to herself.
“But I was!” It sounds whiny, even to her own ears, and Harry still seems pleased with himself.
“I thought you were a good girl, yeah?” He rubs his fingers, wet from her spit, on his shirt. The fingers wet from her, he merely drags his tongue across right in front of her because he hates her guts and he wants her to suffer before continuing to speak, “Good girls wait for their treats. Are you going to be a well-behaved puppy or not?”
Y/N feels frazzled and overwhelmed and so needy she could scream. She’s starting to think that maybe she was right from the start – maybe he was just fucking with her.
Still, she relents, “You hate me,” she accuses him, but Harry just laughs again, like she’s just the most amusing thing in the world. Probably like when you’re watching your dog look at its reflection for the first time or when you put them in socks and they walk funny. Harry takes it upon himself to rebutton and zip her pants while she pouts, her arms crossed over her chest, “You really do, I knew it.”
Harry doesn’t bother to tuck her shirt in, “You’re fussy when you’ve been edged,” he murmurs, “Poor thing.” He calls her again and plucks at her bottom lip again, only pushing on it until she sucks the pout back into her mouth, “Alright, let’s put some cream on your burn and bandage it.”
The contrast between what they were doing five minutes ago and what was happening now – honestly, was kind of funny. If Y/N was in the mood to find humor in anything, then she’d be laughing, but she’s still feeling a bit huffy over it. She rubs the cream on her little burn while Harry cuts a sliver from the bandage, then helps her loop it around her finger carefully, “Take it off in the morning and air it out,” he murmurs, but then slips the cream and the rest of the bandage in her pocket, “If you do this for three days then it should heal up nicely, and barely scar.”
“Okay,” she nods, “Thank you.”
Harry looks like he’s thinking about something when he’s staring at her, watching as she tucks her shirt back in at least a little bit and addresses her hair that had been smashed between her head and the wall, so her bun was all fucked. When she’s finally halfway righted herself, she finally looks back at him, blinking, waiting for him to speak.
“Be careful on your way home, Puppy,” is what he decides on, and Y/N feels her face get hot all over again, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
. . .
“Why in the f-u-c-k am I just now hearing about his fingers in your mouth?” Niall is staring at her across the table at a Greek restaurant where she should definitely not be explaining this story. She couldn’t help it, though, because her brain-to-mouth filter is nonexistent when it comes to being with Niall, even when they’re in public. And all Niall had to do was say, Any new Harry stories, I need something to preoccupy my time with – and she was explaining everything.
She did cower beneath his glare, a little, “Because I kind of felt pathetic and stupid because he wasn’t doing anything about it afterward, and he wasn’t bringing it up so I was like – well, guess he decided that I was ugly and – ow!”
Niall, who had kicked her from underneath the table, is staring at her with crossed arms, “Call yourself ugly again and I’ll kick you harder.”
Pouting, she reaches down and rubs at her shin, “--and I was like. . .licking my wounds a bit. But then he did it again so –”
“He did it again?” Niall exclaimed.
“So I was like – well, I better tell Ni,” she finished, then nodded, “It was – Niall, it was crazy! I’ve never been so horny in my life, which is insane, because it was after I burned myself so –”
“Okay, hold the fuck on,” Niall’s pretenses of keeping his language somewhat appropriate for a dine-out setting are lost almost immediately, “Start from the beginning of the night, after I left with Adam.”
Y/N does – she explains it all. From he burning her finger, to Harry sending her off with soaked panties and stuff to treat her wound, and everything that happened in between. Niall is good to tell stories to, even if they aren’t very interesting ones because he’s a very active listener. He gasps, he asks questions, his eyes widen, his brows furrow, his mouth falls agape in shock and he scoffs at the right moments too. By the time Y/N finishes the story, you would’ve thought Niall had gone through it as well, with how flustered he seemed.
“Oh my god,” he’s holding his head in his hands, “I can’t believe you were getting felt up while I was begging Adam to wax my ass for me.”
“Please, Ni, nobody wants to see your balls from that angle when they aren’t planning on fucking you.”
“Oh my god, he is a fucking freak, my sources were correct.” He ignores her, then his head darts up, “Wait, so showing up to work in a collar and a buttplug wouldn’t have been too much! God I understand kinky fuckers so well, it’s like my brain is hardwired for it.”
“Your brain is hardwired for it, because you’re also a kinky fuck. Did you forget?”
He ignores her again, “Wait, so how do you feel about the puppy thing? Is it a turn on or do you actually hate it?”
Y/N had been mulling over this for a couple of days now, “I think if anyone else did it, I wouldn’t like it,” she explained the conclusion she’d come to at 9PM one night, when Hazelnut was lying on her belly, purring, her eyes shut but her right paw kneading her nails just below Y/N’s breast, “But with him it just like. . .feels right? Like I couldn’t imagine him treating me any other way.”
“You’re so right, this is like – this makes perfect sense for him,” he nods.
“What do you think I should do though?” Y/N asks, her hands squeezing around the glass of water she’d been preoccupying them with, “Like – how should I be sexier? What would make it hard for him to keep his hands off me?”
Niall is good to ask, not only because he knows how a guy’s brain might work but because he is sexy. He’s coy and flirty, and every person that he sets his sights on to date ends up obsessed with him. When he’s dating someone, or even when he just has a fuck buddy, he’s always covered in love bites and hickeys, and they’re messaging him nonstop while he ignores them in favor of snapping those medieval torture hair ties with the balls attached to them on Y/N’s head (when she wanted to try a ‘cyberpunk’ hairstyle that didn’t even work out). If anyone knew how to lure Harry, it would be him.
“Don’t do anything differently,” Niall tells her instead, shaking his head, “Clearly, whatever you’re doing does have him worked up.”
Her brows dip, “But I feel like I just come off like a. . .like a. . .”
“Big virgin dummy?”
“Hey!”
“Maybe Harry likes big virgin dummies,” he teases, pulling his straw to his mouth, taking a sip of whatever fruity lemonade he’d ordered, “Listen, Harry is like. . .at the risk of sounding cliche, not like other men. I don’t think the same tactics would work for him. If he wants a “dumb little puppy” to train, then you fit the bill, Sweetheart.” He slides his drink away, “Not to say that you’re dumb or that you even come off as dumb. But you clearly space out when he’s trying to talk to you, listen to what he says, and have this cute deer-in-the-headlights look about you. Plus, you’re good at your job and followed his lead when he acted like nothing happened between you two.” Niall leaned on his hand, “You’re probably pretty interesting to him.”
Y/N runs her thumb over her brows to relax them, “Okay, if you’re sure,” she replies, "I'm like, worried I’ll make the wrong move and he’ll snap out of whatever spell I accidentally cast on him – hey!” He kicks her again.
“You’re cute and funny, there was no spell involved,” Niall scolds her, before a smile pulls at his cheeks, “I can’t believe he’s going to edge you! I’m so giddy right now, I could squeal.”
She hides her face in her palms and shakes her head, “Stop! I’m so – not giddy about that! I know he’s going to be mean.”
“That’s the fun part isn’t it?” Niall pulls at her wrist, “No stop hiding, we need to look up collars and measure your neck when we get back to your place.”
. . .
Another week of nothing passes. The air outside is still cold for the most part, but they’ve come to the part of winter where there’s a fake promise of spring for a week or two. Just before the area plunges back into the icy tundra that torments them until the actual solstice. Still, Y/N enjoys it while she can – opens her windows, and accepts the fresh, warm-ish breeze, and the sun that blares through the glass.
So she starts her day in a pretty good mood. She and Niall are back on the mornings now, but this day in particular Harry isn’t coming in at 5 AM so he relieves her of her 5 AM duties as well. He will be seeing her promptly at 6 AM, however, which. . .okay, yeah, it’s only an hour but an hour is still an hour! Plus the sun was so pretty the day before, Y/N sat outside and soaked it up so she’s high on vitamin D and vibes.
It must show on her face when she walks in, and Harry instructs her to start preparing the vegetables for the day (they’re already washed and waiting for her on the cutting board).
“You’re awfully cheery this morning,” he made note, and Y/N shrugged.
“Is that a bad thing?” She asked.
Harry looked like he was considering it, before shaking his head, “Carry on then. Be in a cheery mood.”
So she does. She even kind of hums a little until Harry side-eyes her, and then she stops humming. Even with the new development in their dynamic, Harry is still intimidating as hell and kind of scary, so she doesn’t want to annoy him or bother him. By no means did she believe that him having his fingers in her mouth and his hand down her pants gave her any special treatment. If Mora gets a glare when she starts singing and cooking the steaks, then Y/N sees herself as no different.
They move harmoniously, as they always do. Adam and Niall come in loud and bright like they always do. Everyone else filters in; the mood is light and airy, and Y/N is excited to start cooking.
The good vibes continue until around 2 PM when there’s a complaint about Y/N’s plate. And the vibes diminish entirely when she walks out to speak to the customer to see what’s wrong, and she sees the same annoying prick that is always there bothering everyone. She hadn’t seen him since the last time he’d come and stirred a fuss. When Harry initially yelled at her, and then she went and cried in the food storage closet. Y/N still remembers how horrible it felt to be accused and scolded for something that she hadn’t even done, and she has a feeling that the same thing is going to happen again today. Because no amount of being a cute, dumb puppy is going to stop Harry from being upset when the state of his business is questioned.
“Oh, what a surprise,” the man says, this time with a different woman sitting across from him, “It’s you again. You think they’d have put some sense into you since the last time.” He raises his hand, this time another piece of hair, another color so far from her own that she could have screamed over it. The only thing that is a little confusing is she doesn’t remember plating this. Y/N was supposed to prepare the seared salmon, but Harry had told her she was needed in the sauces to help Niall. She’d been a little confused but didn’t question it, because any chance to hang out with Niall in the actual kitchen was pretty fun but they’re always at different stations.
So Y/N didn’t make this one, because she hadn’t made salmon today, but it must have come from her station for the waitress to come get her.
The manager is at her side, opening his mouth to apologize again but another presence emerges to the left of them. Y/N turns to see Harry, her heart hammering – was he going to remember that she hadn’t prepared that dish? Or would he have forgotten? This is. . .not a good look, being in the same position as she had been before, even if this time it definitely, without a shadow of a doubt, could not have been her fault. The piece of hair was long in length – longer than Harry’s, and the wrong color too. But he hadn’t noticed the color last time – he’d probably been so mad at her that he was blinded by it.
“Thank god you’re here,” the man shook his head, looking disturbed, “Another piece of hair. You should really look into monitoring the women who –”
“You planted that.” Harry cut him off.
The man stops, blinking.
“Wh-what? That’s absurd?” He exclaimed, “Why would I have done that?”
Harry has the same, impassive look on his face that he did the last time they were in this position, but this time he shrugs, “You tell me. Why would you plant your date’s hair into a dish that I prepared?”
The color drains from the man’s face, “What?” His eyes darted between Harry to Y/N, “When I asked the waitress she said –”
“She said that chef Y/N made it,” Harry filled in the blanks, “But the thing is, Sir, I’ve been hearing a lot about you since you’ve been here last. How you’re always bothering the female staff, how you seemingly only enjoy the food and leave a good tip if it was a male chef, or if you had a waiter as opposed to a waitress. How you’re always here with different women who look uncomfortable in your presence. So I imagine that you saw your food, asked who cooked it – as you always do – heard it was a woman’s name, and thought that you could get a free meal again, correct?”
“Excuse me –” The man was red now, bright red, looking enraged, but Harry continued.
“But I had the hostess alert me when you came in, and I made sure that I was the one to prepare your plate. This –” he plucks the hair from the hands, holding it between his fingers, then holds it up to his head, “Is not my hair. It’s not the same length or the same color, and I was the one to cook the fish, plate the dish, and have it sent out to you. It’s not the same color as your waitress; hers is bright pink, and Chef Y/N has never come into contact with your plate. This does, however, look very similar to your date’s,” Harry holds it out now toward the woman who looks embarrassed to be sitting across from him now, and it is a perfect match – if he dropped it onto her shoulder, nobody would have questioned where it came from, “You planted it.”
“I – I did not –”
“I don’t like liars,” Harry takes another step closer, withdraws the plate from the table, “And I won’t stand for you harassing my staff anymore. Get the fuck out of my restaurant.”
It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, which is unusual for this time of day, with this amount of people seated and eating. Y/N is staring, wide-eyed, and flustered by the whole situation when Harry pivots from the table, “Y/N.” He says her name and it startles her from her trance. She’s worked with him long enough to know that this means he wants to speak to her, so she trails after him, her heart slamming against her chest.
Harry drops the plate onto the kitchen counter and directs Y/N into his office. Adam catches her gaze, looking distressed – he must think she’s about to get yelled at again. Honestly, maybe she was – Y/N doesn’t know.
He closes the door behind them and Y/N tentatively sits in the chair across from his own at the desk. Harry doesn’t sit though, instead standing beside her, his arms crossed – oh she was definitely getting yelled at –
“I’m sorry.”
Y/N is confused instantly.
“Wait, what?”
Harry takes a deep breath, “I don’t want you thinking that the only reason I did all of this is because of the change in our dynamic,” he explained carefully, “And I want you to know, going forward, how I treat you will not change no matter if we are friendly outside of the kitchen or not. I know you understand this, yes?” Y/N nods, eye gaze locked onto his own, “But after last time, I inquired about this particular customer and heard a lot of stories that I wish would have been shared with me before. Then you cried – and for all I’ve yelled at you, you’ve never looked like that afterward. Never seemed so distressed or sad either, it’s when I first got a feeling that something was off. So I wanted to apologize to you because you deserve it. I should have heard you out and asked you what happened instead of assuming the worst and berating you.” His gaze is softer than she’s ever seen before, despite how angry he just was – it melts her insides and makes her insides swirl with an emotion different than the usual, horny demon that tries to overtake her, “So I’m sorry.”
“Oh – it’s,” she raised her hands, “It’s okay, I –”
“It isn’t,” he replied, “It isn’t okay at all. I’m sorry.”
Y/N swallows thickly, nodding, “I – okay,” she replies, “That’s – I accept? Honestly, I forgot about it like a couple of weeks ago, so I promise I’m not holding onto it or anything! So I accept your apology.” She answers, and she doesn't necessarily know what to do with her hands so she holds out one of hers for him to shake. Y/N isn’t sure why – she’s just a loser, and panicking, and her boss was just really fucking hot out there, so she isn’t sure what to do with herself.
Harry entertains her at least, and meets her hand with his own, shaking it once, “Alright,” he agreed that it was settled on, “Are you okay? I know the situation was uncomfortable.”
She smiles, nodding, “Yeah, it was – it was kind of uncomfortable, but you were really cool out there,” she told him, “Like, badass and cool. That dick has had it coming for a long time, and you told him off so it was. . .it was pretty cool.”
This makes Harry laugh, and he doesn’t let go of her hand. Instead he squeezes hers, warm against his palm.
“You’re cute,” and even if he’s said it before, it still makes her shiver, that he thinks her bumbling and fumbling through her words and sounding stupid was in any way endearing, “Do you have plans tonight?”
Y/N shook her head, “Nothing besides – well, Hazelnut and I may watch a movie.”
“Tell Hazelnut you’ll need a raincheck,” Harry told her, “You’re coming to my flat.”
Warnings: I have a feeling you will all be requesting a much FASTER update. Angst, fluff, shitty ex-boyfriend, the usual. Some violence which could b triggering. Please be kind to your mind.
Summary: Harry hates Kael. To be fair, most everyone hates him.
“Did y’bring your skates?” Harry asked. He was taking shots into the net for about an hour and a half at the time she had arrived. She was just a little over half an hour early to their practice. He paused to skate over to her. She was putting water bottles into place, clipboards, and other things that her uncle needed for a successful practice. Once everything was where it was supposed to be, she took her camera and took a practice shot of the ice behind Harry littered with pucks.
She frowned and looked away at her camera using it to divert his attention ever so slightly. Her cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink. “They’re in my car...”
Her unease wasn’t lost on Harry. “Do y’want t’go get them and I’ll help y’for a bit before practice?” He asked, leaning on his stick propped against the board.
She shook her head. “No thank you.”
He tilted his head at her. “C’mon, Rookie. You’re not going t’learn if y’don’t try.”
She sighed. “It’s not that... it’s just...” she looked up at him. “I’m still pretty embarrassed about it and I don’t want to do it here in front of everyone and everyone try to help...” She explained. “Like Uncle Charlie will give his two cents and honestly, I’ll be overwhelmed and I’m already nervous about it. The whole team watching would be even worse.”
Harry hadn’t really thought of that. But he wished he had because that meant that he could have a private lesson with her. One-on-one time with her was easily his new favorite thing. It happened a little more frequently since the night he followed her home. When he brought the used skates to her, she ordered pizza, and they played several rounds of Cribbage together. On a morning off from practice, he happened to be going by her place (of course going out of his way to be nearby) he did yoga with her before ordering breakfast to be delivered to her. Evenings where she worked at Louis’ he placed himself at his regular table and smiled at her as she came and went from kitchen to fluttering around the room waiting on everyone.
But on game days, whether they were home or away, she stayed her distance. He suspected she knew about his habits and his hookups. Which made him feel bad in a way he hadn’t worried about in ages. Harry was very comfortable with his sexuality. He liked having sex. He enjoyed making someone else come and yeah, he enjoyed that aspect for himself too.
But since he met the pretty photographer, he didn’t like it as much. Didn’t find it nearly as satisfying. Even though he wanted to.
Harry had a pond out behind his house. A pond that was very frozen in this chilly winter air. She hadn’t been to his place yet. Her pretty being all over his house seemed like a brilliant idea. It made him want her more.
Harry never wanted a girl the way he wanted her. For him it was always a one-night stand at their place, so he had the freedom to leave. They knew what they signed up for. But she invaded every little part of his mind. Thoughts of camera flashes and smiles. His picture on her fridge. The picture she texted him of herself that he saved as her contact photo. Her wearing Niall’s jersey. The cookies she made for her neighbors. Her rundown car. Her piece of shit ex.
“Would y’want t’come t’my place? I’ve got a pond out back.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Harry,” she admitted. Her voice was quiet, but she made direct eye contact with him. She always did, even if the conversation was difficult.
He frowned. “Why?” He asked.
“Because... you’re... you.”
“What’s that mean?” His eyebrows pulled forward as he tried to think through her logic before she said it.
“It means...” she looked at the ceiling like the answer would appear there. “I am not going to be seen with you at your place when you’ve never brought a girl home.”
He blinked. “How do y’know that?” She shrugged but busied herself with her camera taking pictures of the bench. She took Harry’s gloves from him and put them in a specific place. He felt utterly annoyed when he realized why she might have known. The frustration came over him before he could stop it. “Did your stupid ex tell you ‘bout m’reputation or something? Is that it? S’why y’don’t let me in fully? Y’think m’a piece of shit too?” He asked quietly. It sounded a little too accusing. He didn’t mean to. But it was unfair. Plus, he thought they were friends. The kind of friends like he was with Niall.
Because honestly, Harry didn’t think he could be good enough for her. Maybe he was projecting what he felt. She deserved a good boyfriend who would be able to devote all his time to her. She didn’t deserve someone that got a crummy five months to be in a relationship who had to worry allthe time about him because he had never had a steady girlfriend before.
She brought the camera from her face down to rest against her stomach on the strap around her neck. Once more, she looked him straight on. It was intoxicating. Brave. Beautiful, of course, always.
“I don’t think you’re a piece of shit, Harry Styles,” she said very clearly.
He blinked. “You don’t?”
“Why would I think that? Because you sleep with women who clearly want to sleep with you? You’re entitled to whatever you want with whomever you want as long as they fully consent, Harry. I don’t really give a shit. I just refuse to date a hockey player because an actual piece of shit cheated on me for who knows how long which I did not consent to. It’s obvious you’re charming, talented, intelligent, and very handsome,” she paused briefly, took a deep breath. “Any girl would be lucky to have you, Harry Styles. I just won’t be her.”
She brought her camera back to her face. She seemed unaffected by his stunned expression. He swallowed and it felt like a rock was in his throat. “That was an awful lot of compliments, Bunny,” he hummed. She continued taking pictures, but Harry saw the way her cheeks turned another shade of red under his gaze. He leaned closer towards her. “You think m’handsome?” he teased.
“A blind person would know you’re handsome, Harry. Don’t be a dick about it.”
“Charming?”
“Are you getting off on this or something? Is your ego not big enough?”
“I just didn’t know you thought that ‘bout me. I thought y’jus’ kinda tolerated me and m’overbearing presence.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why would I hate you?”
“No reason.”
But he answered too quickly. It was the reason that hung in the air over and over. She turned from her camera and caught his gaze again. “You’re nothing like Kael, Harry. I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel that you were,” her voice was extremely gentle, like she was speaking to someone with a baby napping in the room. It made him feel all over. Every cell in his body vibrating with emotion.
The breath he released was more relieved than when he found out he was being drafted to the Chargers. Harry wanted her all over his house. Wanted her in his room and not even for sexual reasons. He just wanted to see her there after any game. Wanted her to wear his jersey. Teach her to skate better. Hang any of her photographs in his house like a museum paying tribute to her talent. More than that he wanted pictures of her in his house—so many pictures of her.
*
On nights when the team had curfew because of early morning practice or a game the next day, she did not of course. Harry broke curfew almost every single day after learning where she lived. He asked her to move in almost every time he followed her home ensuring she got home safely in her crappy car.
You shouldn’t break curfew. You’ll get a big fine. Marc and Michael keep an eye on my arrival.
It’s fine. I have the money.
Harry was territorial about her and especially her safety.
Look, I don’t want to be weird, but we’re friends... Evander said you... had plans tonight with someone...
Harry wanted to kill his teammate. Who? He tried for the funny remark so he wouldn’t lose his fucking mind at the thought of her thinking about his late night hook up.
You’re ridiculous.
Making sure you get home safe is more important than having an orgasm.
...
Sorry, FRIEND. Thought we could talk about orgasms.
R I D I C U L O U S
😇
Go puck yourself Harry.
God, you’re hilarious Rookie.
Good night, Harry. Thanks for worrying about me. It’s... actually kind of nice.
Yeah, of course. Good night, Rookie.
Harry didn’t have plans that night. Not unless pining over his coach’s niece in the privacy of his own bed was a plan.
*
Charlie was currently taking his anger out on the guys, which was extremely unfair because they had no idea it was because of her. She wished she could have been surprised. Instead, she quietly took pictures, feeling bad for their poor lungs. They were breathing hard and heavy as they struggled with the conditioning drill.
“Five minutes!” Charlie snarled.
They all collapsed on the ice in their spots. Players on the bench were slumped and moaning in pain and they were already on a rest. She glared at her uncle holding two six-pack water bottle carriers as she stepped onto the ice. She nearly slipped twice. Harry didn’t even move to help her, which meant they were in really tough shape.
“Thanks Sweetheart,” Asher heaved.
“Coach, is something wrong?” Niall asked, chugging his water. Off to the side of the rink Callie was throwing up into a trash can. A quiet ‘pussy’ came from an equally green-looking Lang. Only Niall could get away with asking because he was the nice one of the group. But even still, Uncle Charlie silenced him with a glare.
“He’s mad at me and taking it out on you,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry guys. Uncle Charlie, can you stop punishing all hockey players on my behalf?”
“Sweetheart, don’t,” he shook his head once paying no mind to the team that was half dead on the ice before him.
She sighed heavily. “You’re being mean, Uncle Charlie. It’s not their fault!”
“It’s the reputation they’ve given the game,” Coach Wheeler agreed.
“What reputation?”
“Uncle Charlie is mad he picked me up from my apartment. He’s not keen on where I live.”
“It looks like a meth lab.”
“My apartment is not a meth lab.”
“You have a drug dealer living on the first floor.”
“Michael is super nice! He watches my car and—”
“Jesus,” Niall murmured. “Sweetheart—”
“Don’t even bother, Horan. I tried everything. She is insistent, she doesn’t want a single hand out from anybody. Which is why you’re all paying the price. What kind of asshole makes someone as sweet as her—”
“Uncle Charlie, can we not air my relationship out in front of the whole team?”
“If we’re doing suicide sprints because of fucking Kael Crowe I want to be moved to the Lightning,” Callie groaned referring to the minor team affiliated with the Chargers. “What the hell, Coach!? Take it up with Crowe!”
Exhausted agreements resounded from the ground. “You all better treat women with respect. There is zero tolerance for it,” Coach Wheeler grumbled.
“Sweetheart, do something please,” Lang begged standing to where Callie was previously, vomiting promptly into the trash.
“Uncle Charlie, can you cut them a break? They didn’t cheat on me.”
“Oh, for the love of God,” Asher moaned. “Permission to cross-check when we play him?”
“Permission granted,” Uncle Charlie shrugged.
“Jesus,” she sighed and rubbed her forehead. Harry was still breathing hard, but surprisingly didn’t say anything. She was certain he would have something to say about Kael or her stupid choice. Everyone seemed to.
“First one’ll be for you, Sweetheart. Second one’s for me,” Asher winked.
“Why’d he pick y’up?” Harry asked quietly. It was interesting, it was the first thing he said after all the time spent trying to remember how to breathe. It was like he already knew the answer. He also didn’t rat her out for knowing beforehand about where she lived. Although she suspected he knew the punishment would be far worse if Charlie found out that Harry knew where she lived and said nothing.
“Car wouldn’t start,” she shrugged handing him a bottle of water. “It’s a piece of shit, but it’s all I can afford,” she admitted quietly. The conversation was just for the two of them. “I’m on a budget,” she reminded him.
Harry liked how open she was with him. When she told him and Niall that she couldn’t skate and that she got nervous about it, it was vulnerable in a way he didn’t expect. He liked how she said she wouldn’t date him (even though it broke a piece of him) and still managed to compliment him. Each time she mentioned she wasn’t swimming in cash made him feel like she trusted him. He thought of her cold apartment, her used skates, and her broken down car.
It was a shame she wasn’t going to like him as much after her next comment.
“Coach, if I let her borrow one of my cars while hers is in the shop, can we call practice early? I’ll drive her to and from games. Won’t let her out of my sight until she’s safely in the building.”
“I’m not convinced it’s a safe building.”
“Jesus Christ, Sweetheart, where are you living?” Niall sighed.
When Coach said the name of the building and the street just into the bad side of town, everyone moaned again. She shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s the right price and no one bothers me. I use you all as a threat.”
“Oh, for the love of God,” Callie groaned. “Coach, we’ll take shifts, anything. Make it stop,” he begged. Lang returned from throwing up in the trash can and took water from her.
“I don’t need shifts of you guys watching me,” she rolled her eyes. “No one bugs me, they know I work for the team and that I could have twenty scary hockey players there in a matter of minutes.”
Harry smirked. It was obvious he liked the sound of that. “Coach?” Harry prompted.
“Harry, I’m not taking your car, for God’s sake!”
“Oh you don’t have a choice, Sweetheart,” he snorted.
“Uncle Charlie! You’re not getting one of your players to babysit me!”
“Then you’re responsible for their lungs bursting.”
She pouted, glared at her uncle, and marched off the ice. Snagging her camera from the bench as she did. It was childish, petty, and made her look like an idiot, but she was too mad to care. Harry sighed. “Coach, she’s a grown woman... y’could have at least asked her if she was okay with that...” Harry reminded him. Charlie leveled Harry with a stare.
“She’s the best person I know,” Charlie explained. “That piece of shit Crowe never deserved her. It kills the whole family that she doesn’t see her own worth. We watched her take care of him and put her life on hold for him. She doesn’t let people take care of her. Maybe because she doesn’t know how,” he shrugged. “So if she needs tough love to do that, then so be it.”
Harry followed her off the ice. He walked slightly awkwardly on his skates but found her outside one of the offices sitting on a bench, putting her items away in her bag. “You’re not giving me your car,” she grumbled.
“Rookie,” he sighed.
“I don’t need you saving me! This is just like when you yelled at Kael.”
He rubbed the back of his head. “We’re friends, right?”
She glanced at him. “...yes,” she said tentatively.
“Y’know how y’always worry ‘bout me drinking water? Making sure I eat dinner? Texting me t’make sure I get home after following y’home?” She didn’t look at him and fiddled with the laces of her boots. “Y’can ignore me all you want, but s’what friends do. We care ‘bout you and want t’do all the nice things y’do for us.”
It looked like she was piecing together what he was saying. But not fully wanting to accept it. “You’re really going to let me borrow your car?”
He smiled.
“I guess I could... have a skating lesson... assuming your car is at your house?”
Somehow, he managed to smile wider. “Yeah, Rookie? Great... I’ll go change and tell Coach. Be out in a minute.”
“Don’t be weird about it, Harry. I don’t want anyone to think you’re my favorite. Because you’re not.”
He chuckled. “Sure thing, Rookie.”
*
Harry hurried to her side of the car and opened the door when they arrived at his house. She grabbed her stuff from the back—it was everything she had to pull out of her car and toss into her uncle’s when he picked her up. Harry grabbed his duffle bag, as well as a small bag of groceries of items she needed to make the hot chocolate she promised after the skating lesson. “M’gonna put this stuff away and sharpen your skates,” he said holding the pair by the laces tied together as he opened the door. “Here’s the key if y’want t’throw your stuff in the car,” he grabbed it off the hook near the doorway and then headed further into the house. With the key in hand, she headed back outside and unlocked an extravagant car she would never be able to afford. Sighing, she put her stuff in the trunk, locked it, and headed back toward the equally luxurious house.
To be fair, it wasn’t a mansion. It was a nice home. It was clear Harry took great care of it—or paid people to take great care of it. Following the sound of something scraping against the blade, she found Harry in his kitchen, sitting on a breakfast bar stool at the island. The kitchen was stunning. Marble countertops, white backsplash, black hanging light fixtures, white cabinets with black hardware. There were green curtains in the window. The appliances were all black. It belonged in a magazine. It was practically pristine.
The only thing she found interesting was Harry’s sink was filled with dishes. The dishwasher looked clean, it was open and completely full as well. How many dishes did a person living by themself have? She spun the key on her finger as she approached him, setting it on the counter. “When’s your birthday?” He asked randomly.
“February eleventh,” she blinked.
Harry smiled that really beautiful way of his. The one that made the dips in his cheeks deepen. His eyes seemed brighter. “S’near mine.”
“I know.”
“You keeping track of me Rookie?” He was full-on beaming.
“No, but I added everyone’s birthday to my calendar after Ray’s. Figured I would make treats if I had the time,” she explained. “I remembered yours because it’s in February like mine.”
“Can’t y’jus’ let me believe y’like me?”
She ignored him. “How do you do it?” She asked pointing to the skate.
He held the little tool out to her—a little rectangle with a space for the blade to slide between. “They don’t sell skates unsharpened, even used ones. So they’re already pretty good, but I feel better doing it myself. I wouldn’t want t’put y’on skates I haven’t ensured were good to go,” he explained and waited until she lined up the blade with the tool. “Jus’ stroke the blade in the same direction a few times. You’ll feel a little resistance. S’how y’know it’s working. The duller the blade the more resistance you’ll feel.”
“Like this?” She asked making sure she didn’t mess up her new skates.
“Yup, that’s good,” he monitored the motion.
“Thank you,” she murmured quietly.
“Course, Rookie. S’what friends are for,” he shrugged simply.
But it wasn’t that simple. Kael would never sharpen her skates for her. Wouldn’t even offer. It’s why she basically stopped skating—didn’t bother to continue because he didn’t care. He never asked if he could help teach her. There was no way he would willingly give his car to her either or offer to follow her home from a game. Most of the time they were at the same arena he didn’t go home with her. In case he wanted to go out with friends.
She felt the emotion building in her throat because she knew Harry had plenty of options. But she didn’t want to be an option. It wasn’t Harry’s fault. Honestly, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It just wasn’t... the right time. She was too broken and fucked from her ex. Harry was too talented and charming to deal with a steady girlfriend and he shouldn’t have to. He was young, handsome, and had ample time in his career and life to have fun before he settled down.
“Ready?” He asked interrupting her sad thoughts. Harry was sweet—really sweet. The kind of sweet she always wanted Kael to be. She shook her head to rid herself of thoughts of how nice it would be to be Harry Styles’ girlfriend. It wasn’t going to happen. He replaced the guards on her blades. “Pond’s out back,” he told her gesturing to the back slider that led to a porch.
“Your house is beautiful,” she told him.
“Thanks, Rookie, love,” he smiled. “Mum was insistent it be my first investment,” he explained.
“Smart lady.”
“The very best,” he affirmed.
Nope, she wasn’t going to fall for a man who was kind and adored his mother. Not one bit.
The back deck overlooked a decent sized yard, but it was the pond that was by far the feature of it. She could picture beautiful sunsets, and she wished she brought her camera with her. There was a layer of light snow on the ground, the bare branches. It was like a Christmas movie scene. It left her a little breathless and Harry paid no attention to it. Totally used to the beauty of his own yard.
“Y’okay?” He asked over his shoulder. He noticed her pause as he continued walking toward the little pond. Harry kicked his boots off and put on his skates while sitting on a little wooden bench. They weren’t the pair he wore at the rink. These looked a little more worn in and scuffed. Well-loved, was the best description. He laced them quickly and expertly. It must have been second nature to him. With the guards still on his blades, he stood in front of her. “Put these on,” he handed her a pair of socks from his sweatshirt pocket. They weren’t the ones he bought her, which meant they were either his or another set he had bought her just for the occasion.
Nope. Not falling in love with him. Not at all.
“Your backyard is beautiful,” she said. “I wish I had my camera.” She untied her boots and stuck her feet in the skates. Almost immediately, Harry carefully hoisted her left skate between his thighs. He held her foot in her new-used skate (with the guard still in place) and tied the laces tightly.
“I can grab it after the lesson,” he offered and worked on the laces. “S’that feel good?” He asked. “Or is it too tight?”
“No, I don’t like my ankle to move.”
He chuckled. “Y’want it t’move a little, Rookie.”
She shrugged while he tied the other skate. Once done, he pulled the guards off and held his hands out for her to take. She took a deep breath and tried not to think about how large Harry’s hands were and wrapped around hers so easily. They were warm and comforting. He bent and took his own skate guards off. “I know y’can skate a little, so I don’t want t’push you,” he headed for the ice. “Jus’ do what feels comfortable.”
She barely skated at the rink. Skating on a pond seemed like a bad idea. Sitting on that little bench watching Harry? Maybe taking pictures of him as she did? That seemed like a good idea. Comfortable, to his point. “Is the pond deep?” She asked tentatively.
He frowned and waited at the very edge as she stood just off the ice. “Bunny,” he hummed gently. “I would never let y’get hurt, so no,” he promised. “S’not deep. S’very safe,” he assured her. “C’mon,” he held his hand out. Tentatively, she took it. Fortunately, she was used to him holding her elbow while she walked or skated around.
“Harry, I really don’t want to embarrass myself,” she warned.
“M’not going t’make fun of you, Bunny,” his voice didn’t have any teasing in it. Harry was dressed in a pair of black pants and a gray sweatshirt. He looked cozy and pretty as always. His voice was too soft and made her feel safe. Which wasn’t a bad thing except for her heart. “Jus’... take little steps. M’not going t’let you fall.”
It was becoming increasingly clear that it was too late for that.
She listened, taking small steps. Harry skated backwards while facing her, holding his hands out for comfort but not holding onto her. “You’re leaning too far forward, Rookie. Y’want t’keep your weight over your skates while y’step. S’going t’change a bit when y'take your steps but s’what you’re trying to maintain,” he explained. He watched her feet as she adjusted to what he said. “Don’t stare at your feet,” he offered kindly. “I know s’hard, but it’s tough on the balance,” they glided silently for a few minutes. “Y’okay,?” he asked glancing at her face. She nodded. He smiled gently. “Okay,” he took hold of her hands again and tugged her gently. “When y’stop, just tilt your foot inward just a little,” he used his own feet to demonstrate. “You’re doing great, Rookie,” he promised. “Feel easier on the figure skates?”
She nodded. “Yeah, it’s definitely easier to balance.”
He grinned, excitement covering his features and all she had done was take fifteen little steps or so. “Okay let’s keep going. We’re jus’ going t’focus on keeping y’comfortable today. Getting used to the balance and stopping,” he continued facing her and skating backwards as he pulled her.
“How do you skate backwards?” She asked.
“You gotta walk before y’can run, Rookie,” he chuckled knowingly. She rolled her eyes.
“I meant you, Harry.”
He shrugged. “I’ve been skating m’whole life.”
“Since you were three and before you could walk?” Most every hockey player she knew had the same story. Skating was more important than walking. It was romantic in a way. A first love of sorts. Harry seemed no different in that respect.
He nodded with a shy grin. “Something like that.”
“You’re very graceful.”
“You’re so forthcoming with the compliments today, Bunny. S’nice,” he pulled her toward him. She wasn’t really skating since Harry was just guiding her, but it felt nice to be on the ice without fear of making a fool of herself. “Try stopping.”
“I’m supposed to be skating not stopping Harry.” He smirked and looked at her pointedly. So she executed her little stop and Harry’s smile brightened.
“Lovely, Rookie. Do you want t’try on your own?”
“Sure,” she sighed feeling defeated before starting but it was the only way she’d get better. Harry let go of her hands but stayed the same distance from her (which was no more than five inches away). She took little steps moving at a glacial pace. She really wondered how she could have been using the wrong skates for so long. It felt so much safer and easier to be on the figure skates than it ever had been on hockey skates.
“You’re doing great, Rookie,” he assured her. She felt embarrassed because she was in her late twenties and Harry was treating her like a child. Not his doing, though. It was in her head it felt that way.
But they skated for a while quietly, just listening to the gentle cutting of the blades on the ice. Harry put his hands out just in front of him as a gentle reminder he was there, letting her have the comfort of grabbing him if she needed.
Naturally, her toe hit a divot in the ice at that moment which made her lose her footing. Harry snagged around her waist quickly to keep her upright. “Whoops,” the entire front of his body was pressed to hers. “Y’okay?” She nodded, not wanting to think about how nice Harry was and how warm his body felt. She pulled away as quickly as she could once she regained her footing. “The ice doesn’t get resurfaced like the rink,” he admitted shyly. Like it was his fault.
“You don’t own a Zamboni?” She gaped. “I can’t believe it!”
He chuckled, moving away from her slightly. She couldn’t believe how much colder it felt even though he only held her for no more than forty seconds. “Do y’want t’keep skating?” He asked.
“Yes,” she nodded. Because honestly? She didn’t want to leave just yet.
*
Eventually, they got off his little ice rink. She didn’t fall thanks to Harry catching her two more times around the waist. Each time she sent an electric current right through her heart. He was gentle, kind, and encouraging. Imagining him doing the same thing with his baby niece made her ovaries ache so much she had to think about anything else.
“Did you have a dinner party?” she asked pointing to his sink.
“No,” he sighed. “I jus’ hate dishes,” he shook his head.
“Do you want—”
“Don’t you dare,” he glared at her and headed down the hall toward another room. She smiled and shook her head.
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to make hot chocolate with a mess in the sink,” she called.
“Don’t make it then!” He sounded far away. She couldn’t believe he stayed at her tiny little apartment when she could hardly hear him from a few rooms away. “We can go out t’get some or we y’can jus’ stuff from the dishwasher, Rookie. But don’t touch the sink!”
She rolled her eyes and shifted, through the clean dishes, pulling a sauce pan from it. Harry returned with a bag. “Can you get me chocolate chips, sugar, and cocoa powder? I don’t want to dig through your cabinets—what’s that?”
He looked at her pointedly. “Y’can go through the cabinets,” he shrugged. But it was starting to feel a little too domestic. Now they were at Harry’s house which meant she was done for. At least when they were at her place, she wasn’t subject to the overwhelmingly intoxicating scent of Harry. He found the ingredients and placed them on the counter. “Open it,” he shrugged.
It was a large bag from the pro shop at the arena. She peered in and then looked up at him. “Harry.”
“S’not a big deal, Rookie. Don’t make it a big deal,” he suggested. “What do y’need for whipped cream?”
Inside the bag were jerseys. Langford, Calloway, Asher, and Styles. Her heart felt too warm. Her eyes stung a bit over the thoughtfulness yet again. Skates, jerseys, socks. Harry was too sweet. He wasn’t fighting fair. “Sugar, vanilla, and heavy whipping cream...” she mumbled. Swallowing the emotion she felt, she opted for a joke. “No Horan?”
“He already got his turn,” he grumbled slightly bitter.
She looked at the jersey brushing her fingers over his last name. “It’s too much, Harry.”
“I get a discount,” he shrugged. “On behalf of the team, throw out all your Glacier Wolves stuff,” he grabbed the next set of ingredients and eyed her from across the kitchen island. “What?”
“Even the sweatshirt I’ve worn so much I’ve got it to maximum comfort?” He pressed his mouth into a line and stared at her pointedly. “Alright I’ll throw it out, you’re so bossy.”
He smirked and turned to the stove, turning the dial to light the burner. “Okay Rookie, time for my lesson. Show me how t’make hot chocolate.”
*
It felt like Harry was becoming her very best friend, which scared her. Kael took up so much of her life it left her very little room for friends. The friends she did have... ended up not liking her and talking behind her back. “Hey Rookie,” Harry smiled entering the locker room to drop his stuff for game day photos. “Ugh,” he sighed looking at her jersey and the smile melted.
“Hi, Harry,” she waved with an impish grin.
“Hi Sweetheart,” Asher greeted. “You look beautiful today,” he cooed.
“Shut the fuck up, Asher!” Harry yelled from the other side of the door. Asher winked at her and headed inside the locker room.
“He’s so jealous,” Callie shook his head. She smiled, shook her head, but she could feel her cheeks heating up with color. “Nice jersey, Sweetheart!” He shouted, no doubt enjoying his number on her this time. Only she knew that Callie would be more extra about it than Niall ever could be.
“You can shut the fuck up too,” Harry growled from near the door.
“He must not think I look beautiful,” she laughed quietly.
“Oh Jesus,” Lang snorted filing inside.
“What did she say?” Harry asked.
“Nothing,” Lang chuckled.
“Those are fighting words, Sweetheart,” Niall chuckled heading in after his team.
After the game day pictures were posted to the appropriate social media outlets, she headed inside the arena. She filed down to her spot near the other media. She smiled and waved to people she had been chatting with regularly. They all greeted her as if she was a real media presence and not just the coach’s niece with a camera.
She took a few pictures of the empty ice adding it to her mental portfolio of this sports series she was looking to do. It was peaceful for a moment, the images forming in sequence, her ideal lighting. The way everything would come together to tell a story. It was something she was really excited about—
“Hey, baby.”
She didn’t turn immediately. Surely, she misheard. Her body felt a wave of anxiety run over it. She didn’t flinch, didn’t turn. For several seconds, she focused on her breathing and nothing else. A minute. She just needed a minute to collect herself. Turning slowly, she smiled politely.
“Kael.” His feet were on top of the seat in front of him. Some of his teammates were milling behind, a few rows back of him. He looked relaxed and uncaring of how fucked up it was that he was there. Coming up to her while she was alone. “You guys are in town early,” she stated.
He nodded, standing up and heading to her. She busied herself by inspecting her pictures making sure they looked okay on the screen. Her hands were shaking. Not because she was worried about what Kael might do but because she was angry. Kael was her least favorite person and he made her uneasy because of all the fucked-up things she let him do to her. “Nice jersey. Sleeping with Calloway?” He asked, sweeping his hand across the top of her back. It made her want to crawl out of her skin.
“No,” she clenched her jaw. She wanted to leave as little to the conversation as possible. But she couldn’t. Because Kael didn’t own any part of her privacy anymore. Part of her wished she was sleeping with Callie if only to rub it in his face. But she couldn’t pretend that any more than she could say she didn’t have a crush on Harry. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Right, sure...” he smiled slowly. “You look beautiful, baby. Even in an ugly jersey.”
She loved this jersey so much. The only jersey she would love to wear more than Callie’s, was Harry’s. Not that she would ever say that. “What can I say, orange and blue just wasn’t my color,” she shrugged. “And Kael? Stop calling me baby.”
He put his hands up. “Just wanted to say hi... I’m in the area today... tomorrow and the following day, too... thought you might want to catch up.”
“Sweetheart!” Uncle Charlie called.
She turned looking at her uncle, Ray, Callie, Niall, and a couple of the younger players staring at her from across the ice. “That’s my cue,” she said making her way back the way she came.
“You work for the team?” He asked, surprise evident in his voice.
“Yup.”
“Good old Uncle Charlie helped you out?” He wondered.
“Uh-huh.”
She walked around the edge of the ice noting every pair of eyes of The Chargers following her.
Kael followed her as well. “Do you want to get dinner, love?” He asked.
“I have to work tonight; thanks though,” she said over her shoulder wishing she could have cut across the ice. It would have been nice if she could have shown him that she could skate a bit now.
No thanks to him.
“What about tomorrow after the game?”
“Working again,” she shrugged.
“Lunch?”
“Busy.”
She was much closer now to her uncle and the guys. Their gazes felt warm on her, so she looked at her camera as she walked.
“C’mon, baby. You’re the one that wanted to talk.”
“To get my stuff back, Kael,” she sighed without looking at him. God she wanted to be done with the conversation. Why couldn’t he take a hint?
“Technically it’s my stuff.”
Ugh. That would do it. She spun on her heel. He was right behind her so now they stood only inches apart. This was the guy she seriously saw herself marrying because they had been together for so long. She was going to have children with him. So many days and nights spent at his arena wearing ugly orange and blue. Taking care of his every need and not asking for anything in return. All the other things that she didn’t even want to think about let alone speak into existence. Putting her life on hold for him because he deemed himself more important than her hobby. Now, he was going to continue holding her stuff hostage? Just for some weird power trip?
No. Not anymore.
“I don’t want anything you bought me, Kael,” her tone was biting. Teeth clenched. “I want my stuff back.”
He snorted. “Then go to lunch with me, baby,” he grinned sweetly.
“Hey Kael, we need her for pre-game pictures,” Charlie came up behind her putting a hand on her shoulder gently. She shrugged it off, she was independent, goddammit. She didn’t need her uncle or a hockey team to defend her in front of Kael. He already thought she was weak. She didn’t need to prove him right.
“I am not negotiating for my stuff,” she told him, her tone still angry.
“Sweetheart,” Charlie grabbed her shoulder a little more securely.
“Hey Charlie, sorry. Just trying to catch up with our girl here,” he smiled charmingly at her uncle. She rolled her eyes and marched around Charlie, toward the tunnel back to the locker room. “Tell Callie he’s a lucky man, baby,” he shouted.
“Fuck you Crowe!” Callie was immediately moving toward him as she pushed past. “You’re a piece of trash!”
“Hey!” Ray yelled. The other players yanked him back and away from one person who could fuck up the simplest of things with just a couple words. Kael smiled walking back the way he came. Like he didn’t cause a scene or anything.
*
Callie got three penalties in the first period. Lang had to talk him down because he wanted four. But that would have been bad for the team, and they weren’t even playing Kael.
Harry was fuming, bouncing his knee as he sat seated in front of his locker. “I hate that stupid prick,” Callie growled. She was seated on a chair outside the locker room looking at her camera. It didn’t seem to bother her much that Kael was around. Or maybe she was just continuing to be brave. It was kind of hot the way she stood up to him outside the ice rink. He wished he had known. He would have loved to have punched Kael. He was lucky Harry didn’t hear until he heard Callie yelling.
They lost the game one to nothing. No one blamed Callie because the goal wasn’t even during his penalties nor when he was on the ice. “I can’t wait for the game tomorrow,” Asher sighed. “Still allowed to cross-check?” He asked looking at Charlie and Ray.
Ray shrugged. “If you must.”
Harry wanted to strangle him. The moment he heard one of the younger players say Crowe’s name, he wanted to run to her, shove her behind him, and punch his stupid fucking face. “Harry?” Niall asked quietly from beside him.
“Yeah?”
“You good?” He asked.
“Yup,” he nodded.
“Look, he’s just trying to get a rise out of her,” he explained. “Maybe you.”
“He doesn’t know I like her,” he mumbled.
“You do like her?” Niall chuckled. “I knew it.”
He rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”
“Everyone decent?” Her voice called.
Harry perked up hearing the voice of the sweet girl he was falling for rapidly by the second. She entered holding a hand over her eyes. “You’re good, Sweetheart,” Lang assured her.
“Bummer,” she muttered dropping her hand. Harry smirked despite how mad he was as a quiet chuckle sounded throughout the room.
“Gross, Sweetheart. They’re my players,” Charlie shook his head.
“Well, you and I have the same taste in men then, Uncle Charlie.”
Another round of laughter. “You okay?” Charlie asked leaning against his office door.
Harry was staring, Niall beside him staring as well. The whole team was watching to be fair. “Yeah... he was just... hovering, signing autographs and stuff...”
“Fuck him,” Callie growled. She glanced at him briefly. Harry wanted to kill him for getting her attention today in the form of his jersey on her. It shouldn’t have been such a concern for Harry, but it was. He liked her so much and it was so unfair he wasn’t good enough for her. At least he was the one that bought the jersey for her.
“It’s not a big deal,” she shrugged looking anywhere but someone else’s eyes.
But it was a big deal, Harry was fuming in his seat. His leg still bouncing.
“What did he say to you?”
“Nothing,” she shook her head.
“Sweetheart, if—”
“Can someone walk me to my car?” She asked.
“I can!” Callie chirped.
She frowned. “Callie, really, any other day. But... with the jersey—”
He frowned. “I hate Crowe.”
“Join the club,” Charlie said.
She sighed. “I’ll walk you out,” Harry quickly tossed a sweatshirt over his practice shirt and a pair of sweats on over his compression shorts.
They didn’t speak as they walked to her car. Harry’s car. She put her belongings in the back seat. “I took the night off. I’m pretty exhausted,” she told Harry leaning against the driver door. “So you don’t have to worry about me.”
But he did. Because it seemed to be the only thing he did. “Oh. S’nice,” he murmured. “Are you… do y’want company or are y’jus’ going t’bed?”
“Probably just bed,” her voice was tired. “Maybe Marc and I will watch a game so he can study.”
At least there was one man in her life he didn’t have to be jealous of. “Well, we have an early curfew anyway,” he mumbled. “Do y’want me t’follow y’home?”
She shook her head. “No. Thank you.”
“Anytime, Rookie,” he gave her arm a squeeze. “Let me know when you’re home,” Harry ushered her into the car and let her go on her way. He headed back for the arena feeling fairly defeated. But at least she was safe.
*
Eliana lived close by and expected very little of Harry. She was a nice person. She was a nurse at a local hospital and had hours that lined up with Harry’s every so often.
Harry was a fucking mess.
“Are you okay?” She asked
No. He wasn’t. He wanted the pretty photographer. Wanted to know she was home safe. Wanted to go to her apartment and wake Michael and Marc up and murder them for not protecting her when they said they would. Even though she was in all reality probably fine.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “I’m gonna go,” he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “It’s not you.”
She smirked. “I didn’t think so, Harry. I hope you’re alright.”
“Jury’s out.”
She rolled her eyes, pulled the covers up to her neck. “Just lock behind you please.”
Harry tried calling her. Not even caring how ridiculous he was. He was past the point of caring. He couldn’t even sleep with someone else, and he’d done nothing more than hold her hands or her elbow. He refrained from cuddling her at their sleepover beyond feeling the heat of her body while she slept.
Harry had called her every hour since he walked her to her car. Hopefully she was just asleep. She did say she was exhausted. Maybe if he drove by and saw her car, he would feel better?
Taking a deep breath, he shook his head. He couldn’t follow her like that. It was different that first time. He never intended to follow her into her apartment building. His rationality left him because he was so worried about her. Now that he was okay with her living arrangement, he didn’t want to look insane.
A drink. One drink and he would be home by curfew. Something to take the edge off. Make him forget about his worry.
Harry parked in the first available spot at The Locker Room. He waved to the regulars, said hello to some fans, and headed to his usual table. Force of habit. “Hey Harry,” Louis smiled bringing Harry a drink. “Didn’t know you were coming in; she figured you had curfew.”
He tilted his head at Louis, his thumb pausing on her name in his message threads once more. “Hmm?” He hummed. “She’s... here?” He asked.
“Yeah,” Louis pouted slightly. “She’s been here since five,” he hummed like it was obvious.
“Hey, Louis!” She called from the other room. Her voice hitching slightly in alarm.
Why would she lie? Louis raced to the other room. Harry followed quickly because the apprehension in her voice was enough to bring all his worry immediately back to the forefront of his mind and he expected the worst truly. Because she didn’t seem to be very scared of anything. She lived in a seedy part of town and worked with violent hockey players.
So what could be in the main room that would make her sound so worried? A drunk guy who was getting into it with another person? A handsy guy who thought she was pretty? A girl who didn’t like her decision to cut her off?
None of his thoughts had considered it might be Kael. Who had her wrist pinned to the top of a table, his hand wrapped tightly around it keeping her in place.
Harry’s vision turned red.
She gaped meeting Harry’s gaze. “Oh fuck,” she whispered.
--
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