Hii I am Erin. I write Harry Styles fan fiction for Black women. But I invite for everyone to read. Please enjoy! And please give feedback
Series
King Harry and The Nanny part 1, part 2
Harry, the King, is married to Queen Charlotte, and they have two children, Anastasia and James. Y/N, the new nanny, accompanies the royal family on a weekend trip to a wedding. However, a powerful snowstorm leaves Harry, the children, and Y/N snowed in together for the weekend, setting the stage for a significant shift in Harry and Y/N's relationship.
Prince Harry part 1, part 2.
In the quiet town of Albridge, Y/N's bakery, "Daisy's Confections," becomes the talk of the town, even catching the attention of Prince Harry. Disguised as "Henry," Harry sneaks out of the palace to visit Y/N’s shop and quickly becomes captivated by her charm and passion for baking. As their friendship deepens, romance begins to blossom. However, Harry's royal duties and hidden identity threaten to complicate their growing relationship, leaving them both wondering if love can overcome the obstacles of status and secrecy.
Love in Fine Print (Ceo Harry and Assistant)
Y/N, Harry Styles' assistant, arrives at work after a rough night, revealing she has nowhere to go. Concerned, Harry steps in, offering her a place to stay at his home. As they live together, the lines between their professional and personal lives blur. Their connection deepens, filled with unspoken tension, stolen glances, and playful moments, but secrets linger between them.
Y/n returns after missing, Part 1, Part 2,
Four years after the mysterious disappearance of flight N-47, Y/N Rose returns to a world that has moved on without her. Once a rising fashion designer, she had left behind dreams, a flourishing relationship with Harry Styles, and close friendships, only to return to a reality where everything has changed. Harry, now a solo artist and in a relationship with her best friend Kendall, had mourned Y/N’s loss deeply, never fully letting go of her memory. Their reunion is emotional and filled with unanswered questions, but the passage of time, unspoken feelings, and new complications create an uncertain path forward for all three. As Y/N navigates the shock of her return, she faces the painful realization that the life she once knew may no longer exist.
Harry proposes to girlfriend who is not Y/n Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
Y/N and Harry have been best friends for years, with an unbreakable bond even after Harry started dating Kendall. Though secretly in love with him, Y/N never confessed, feeling like she wasn’t good enough. When Harry tells her he plans to propose to Kendall, Y/N is devastated but hides her heartbreak. As emotions run high, a night of comfort and vulnerability leads to unexpected consequences, leaving Y/N torn between her feelings for Harry and the reality of his relationship with Kendall.
This is kinda a sneak peak of the story. I keep rewriting it. So I just decided to post the first part
The story is about Y/N, who was recently in a really bad accident that caused her to lose her memory. She can’t remember the last five years of her life, including her boyfriend Harry, who she’s been with for almost four years. Before she met Harry, Y/N was a man hating fem lesbian, and now she’s waking up to a life she doesn’t remember choosing
Side note all my stories y/n is a dark skin black woman.
Y/n had been in a coma for three days.
The accident itself had been brutal violent enough that the details still made the nurses’ voices drop when they spoke about it. A truck had slammed into her car, sending her body hurtling through the front windshield. Her head struck the concrete with devastating force, leaving her with severe head trauma. The doctors hadn’t taken chances. They placed her into a medically induced coma almost immediately, giving her brain time to fight its way back.
Her hospital room looked nothing like a hospital room anymore.
Flowers crowded every available surface bright, fresh, overflowing. Most of them were from Harry. He knew she loved flowers, had once told him they made her feel alive, Cards were tucked between vases, handwritten notes spilling out words she couldn’t yet read.
Her body lay still beneath thin white sheets, wrapped in layers of bandages. The harsh hospital lights drained the warmth from her usual glowing brown skin, leaving it dull and fragile-looking. Michelle had carefully placed Y/n’s bonnet over her hair, refusing to let even this steal more from her daughter than it already had.
Harry barely left her side. He brought his laptop every day, playing her favorite shows and movies on low volume. the ones she once joked could “bring her back from the dead.” He watched her face while they played, searching for any flicker, any sign.
Jessica and Clark took a different approach. They leaned close and whispered updates, as if Y/n were only sleeping.
“They’re doing a Wicked karaoke night at the bar,” Jessica murmured one afternoon, knowing Y/n would have dragged them all there without hesitation. Her favorite lesbian musical. Non-negotiable.
For three days, someone was always there. No empty hours. No silence. Harry hadn’t gone home once until Michelle forced him, gripping his shoulders and telling him firmly, If she wakes up, I’ll be right here. I promise.
Today started like every other day but somehow felt different.
Michelle sat beside the bed, eyes half on Y/n and half on the hospital TV as The Price Is Right played softly. Harry sat next to her, quietly guessing prices under his breath, pretending the normalcy didn’t feel surreal. Earlier that morning, the doctors had removed Y/n’s feeding tube. Her brain waves were more active now. More hopeful.
Jessica sat on the window seat, locked in an iMessage game war with Clark, who groaned dramatically every time he lost.
Then—
A sound.
Soft. Rough. Barely there.
Everyone froze.
A faint groan slipped from Y/n’s throat.
“What—” Harry breathed, standing so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor.
“Ugh… why is it so bright in here?” Y/n groaned, her eyes squeezed shut as her hand lifted weakly toward her forehead. Her fingers brushed the gauze there, confusion flickering across her face even through the pain.
“Oh my goodness—she’s awake!” Michelle cried, grabbing Y/n’s hand with trembling fingers. “Clark, go get the doctor!”
Clark was already moving, bolting out of the room.
Y/n shifted again, the light pouring in from the window making her wince. “Can someone…” she mumbled, voice dry and scratchy, “…close those damn shades?”
Jessica sprang up immediately, pulling the blinds closed before rushing to the bedside. As the room dimmed, Y/n slowly opened her eyes. Her vision was blurry, swimming, but shapes came into focus.
Her mom on her left.
Jessica on her right.
Harry standing at the foot of the bed, frozen like he was afraid she might disappear if he moved.
“Still bossy,” Jessica muttered softly, a shaky smile tugging at her lips.
“Thank you, Jesus! My baby is awake!” Michelle cried, her voice cracking as relief flooded out of her.
Y/n winced. “You’re… so dramatic,” she mumbled, squinting up at her mother as she rubbed at her eyes.
She took a breath, her head throbbing. “Where am I? What’s happening?”
The door opened then, a doctor stepping in with Clark close behind him.
“Good morning, Ms. Y/n,” the doctor said warmly. “I’m Dr. Ryan. How are you feeling?” He snapped on a pair of gloves as he approached the bed, and Jessica shifted aside to give him room.
“I’m okay,” Y/n said slowly. “Just… really confused.”
“That’s completely normal,” Dr. Ryan replied, adjusting the bed so she could sit up more comfortably. “You were in a very serious car accident. You’re safe now, but your brain has been through a lot. I’m going to check your vitals and ask you a few questions, alright?”
“That’s fine,” she murmured.
He shined a light into each of her eyes, watching carefully. “Can you lift your arm for me?”
She did as told while he wrapped the blood pressure cuff around her arm.
“What’s your full name?”
“Y/n Y/L/N.”
“Do you know where you are?”
“The hospital.”
Satisfied, he removed the cuff and clipped a pulse oximeter onto her finger. Then he lifted a forehead scanner to take her temperature.
“Can you tell me today’s date?”
Y/n frowned, concentrating hard. “It’s… January. I don’t know the exact day, but—it’s 2021.” She paused, a dull ache blooming behind her eyes. Everything past that felt foggy, unreachable.
The room went quiet, glances exchanged between everyone present.
Dr. Ryan nodded calmly. “Can you tell me who the people in the room are, and how you know them?”
She looked first at the window seat. “Jessica and Clark. My best friends.” Then her gaze shifted to the woman gripping her hand. “That’s my mom.”
Finally, her eyes moved to the man standing at the foot of the bed.
She squinted, studying him. “And… that’s Harry Styles.” Her brow furrowed. “I’m not really sure why he’s here. I saw him and just assumed he was visiting sick kids or something.”
Jessica’s head snapped toward Harry.
His face fell.
He stepped closer, moving to her side and gently taking her hand. “Come on, love,” he said softly, desperation threading through his voice. “You’ve got to remember me.”
Y/n immediately pulled her hand back. “Um—can someone please explain what’s going on?”
Dr. Ryan straightened. “Y/n, it appears you’ve lost some of your memory due to the impact of the accident. You’re experiencing retrograde amnesia. You’re missing roughly the last five years.”
The words landed heavy.
“I’m going to have a nurse come in shortly,” he continued. “We’re also going to prepare you for an MRI, just to make sure everything looks good physically. I’ll check back in soon.” With that, he excused himself and left the room.
Silence followed.
Y/n let out a slow, defeated sigh. “So… you’re telling me I’m going to be twenty-nine this year?”
Jessica burst out laughing.
“And,” Y/n continued, eyes narrowing slightly, “I didn’t get back together with Morgan? Why isn’t she here?” She looked straight at Jessica. Morgan her ex-girlfriend. A year and a half together. Broke up during COVID when Morgan wanted to move across the world and Y/n wanted to focus on her career.
“Y/n,” Jessica said gently, “you and Morgan haven’t talked in years.”
“That’s impossible,” Y/n shot back. “We talk all the time. Even after the breakup.”
“Morgan has a new girlfriend,” Clark added quietly.
Y/n scoffed. “Of course she does. Great. So I’m almost thirty, single, and in a hospital bed. Do I at least have a job?”
Jessica smiled. “Yes. You’re a celebrity stylist. And… you’re not exactly single.”
Y/n frowned, scanning the room. “If I’m not single, then why isn’t my girlfriend here?”
“Because you don’t have a girlfriend,” Michelle said gently, resting her hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You have a boyfriend. Harry is your boyfriend.”
Silence.
Y/n stared at him. Messy hair. A bit of facial hair. A worn T-shirt and black joggers. He looked exhausted. Wrecked.
“But… I’m gay,” she said flatly. “Like very gay. I don’t just dislike men, I kind of hate them.”
“Well,” Jessica jumped in, “you were one hundred percent gay. Then you started working for pretty boy over here, and he won the war.”
Clark nodded thoughtfully. "Now you're still kinda gay. Harry isn't exactly the straightest man ever... so now I would say you're like 85 percent gay. 10 percent bi and 5 percent straight."
Y/n blinked.
“…That’s not helping,” she said.
“Y/n,” her mom said gently, squeezing her hand, “five years is a long time. Things change. People change.”
“Not me,” Y/n shot back immediately. “I’ve been stubborn and bossy my entire life. I hated men from birth.” She spoke with absolute certainty. “When I was five, I started a feminist alliance at school. Taught the girls that men don’t hit girls because they like them and how to hit back.”
“Oh, I remember that,” Jessica laughed. “You made Clark audition five separate times just to be our friend because he was a boy.”
“Exactly. Clark is the only man I’ve ever tolerated,” Y/n said, flicking him a look. “And even then, most days he’s still too much for me.”
“Hey!” Clark protested, pouting.
Jessica nudged him, lowering her voice. “She’s going through something. Let her have this.”
“I’ve never even kissed a man,” Y/n added, glancing around the room like she expected someone to correct her.
“Well,” Harry said, arms crossing, “you’ve kissed me and you’ve been known to enjoy it.”
She scrunched her face instantly, pure disgust. “Absolutely not.”
“You live with him, Y/n,” Michelle added casually. “You’ve done a lot more than kiss him.”
“Mom!” Y/n gasped, horrified.
“What?” Michelle shrugged. “I’m not stupid. You’re both consenting adults.”
Y/n turned her attention fully to Harry. “How long have we been together?”
“Three years,” he answered quickly. “It’ll be four in May.”
She glanced down at her left hand, then back up at him.
“So let me get this straight,” she said slowly. “You somehow managed to pull me away from women, I’ve been with you for almost four years, I live with you and you haven’t proposed to me?”
Clark burst out laughing.
Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. His face flushed, words tangling into quiet stutters as he searched for an answer that wouldn’t come.
Y/n groaned softly, closing her eyes and pressing her fingers to her forehead. “All of this information hurts,” she muttered.
Y/N didn’t look up. “Nope. Still breathing. Sadly.”
Jessica raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. Given that when I walked in you looked like a deer in headlights.."
Y/N cut her off. “Nothing happened.”
Jessica’s lips curved with a smile. “Didn’t say it did.”
“Then don’t look at me like that.”
“I’m not looking, I’m observing. Big difference.”
Y/N scoffed, dunking the tea bag harder than necessary into the mug. “Well, observe somewhere else.”
Jessica tilted her head, clearly not buying it. “So are you sure theres nothing you wanna tell me???"
Y/N turned slowly. “Nope, Nothing happened.”
Jessica paused. Smiled slightly. “Suree.”
Before Y/N could fire back,Harry reappeared arms full of firewood and shirt now in place, much to Taylor’s disappointment, if the way she sighed softly was anything to go by.
He dropped the logs beside the hearth and crouched down again, expertly stoking the embers.
Taylor floated to his side like a moth to a flame.
“So…” she said, crouching beside him. “You build fires? Thats a good quality to haveee.”
Harry gave a polite laugh, eyes on the logs. “Well, I don’t enjoy hypothermia. That’s why I’m making sure we don’t freeze.”
“That’s sweet,” she said, her voice dipping into something sugary. “I’d love to learn. Maybe you could teach me sometime?”
Y/N stared down into her tea like it had personally betrayed her.
Jessica didn’t miss the way her best friend’s jaw clenched. Or the subtle way her grip tightened around the mug. She said nothing. Just leaned on the counter and observed.
Harry lit the fire again, the glow spreading slowly across the room. Taylor sat back on her heels, still watching him.
Y/N blew on her tea.
The front door burst open in a flurry of wind and noise—boots stomping, laughter echoing through the entryway as Mitch, Dan, and Lauren spilled inside, dusted with snow and glowing from the cold.
“We made it!” Mitch grinned, dropping his bag with a dramatic thud. “The whole crew’s officially here!”
Y/N glanced up just as Dan peeled off his coat and made a beeline for her. She offered a polite smile.
“Hey, Y/N,” he said, stepping closer, “sorry you had to survive being stuck up here with Styles. That must’ve been… rough.”
Y/N gave a short laugh, eyes dropping back to the steam rising from her mug. “Oh, you have no idea…”
Her voice trailed off, distracted by the memory of quiet firelight and a British accent reading over her shoulder. She shook it off.
Dan leaned in a little. “You know, maybe we could—”
“Tea,” came a familiar voice behind them.
Harry appeared like a shadow, stepping smoothly between them, eyes on the kettle. “Is there any left?”
Without looking, Y/N shoved her mug into his chest. “Take mine. Hope it burns your mouth.”
She spun on her heel before he could reply, walking straight into the living room.
Behind her, she heard Harry chuckle. “Someone’s in a mood.”
She didn’t respond. Just bent to help Lauren and Jessica unpack snacks from their bags, ignoring the smirk she could feel burning into the back of her neck.
After that, the cabin came to life.
Music drifted low from someone’s speaker. Drinks were poured, Laughter broke out in waves as people shed coats, claimed spots on the couches, and passed snacks around like old traditions.
The power was finally back on. The lights were low and warm, the fire was lit. Y/N settled on the couch between Jessica and Lauren, Mitch and Dan flopped onto the floor below. Harry lounged in the recliner, long legs sprawled comfortably, while Taylor perched neatly on the armrest beside him, angled just enough to be seen.
Y/N glanced over and saw Taylor leaning a little too close to Harry, whispering something that made him smile, her stomach twisted just a little tighter. But she was confused of why she seems to be so caught up on Harry all they did was cuddle each other, She studied his face as his dimples popped out from something Mitch said, his green eyes sparkled when he laughed. Y/n found herself starting to smile. Like his smile was infectious.
Then Taylor whispered something to him. Y/n smile immediately went away.
Jessica noticed.
Didn’t say a word.
Just sipped her drink. And watched.
“Okay guysss, let’s play truth or dare!” Lauren announced, raising her cup like a trophy. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, cheeks flushed from wine and victory
A chorus of groans followed.
“Come on,” she insisted, undeterred. “We are all grown adults at a literal sleepover. Truth or dare is practically a requirement. Not only is it a tradition. It’s a law.”
"I guess if you put it that wayyy." Jess said sarcastically, earning a few laughs.
The game began lighthearted and harmless. Lauren dared Mitch to dance seductively to a boyband song, he performed a very committed version of Bye Bye Bye that had everyone doubled over. Someone asked Jessica to reveal her high school crush-spoiler: it was their substitute teacher. Dan confessed he once accidentally sent a flirty text to his mom. The room filled with laughter, teasing, and fake shock.
Then it landed on Harry.
“Truth or dare?” Lauren asked, voice syrupy sweet and far too innocent.
Harry lifted his glass and took a slow sip, his gaze never quite meeting anyone’s. “Truth.”
Jessica perked up like she’d been waiting for this moment. “Have you ever kissed someone in this room?”
Y/N’s eyes rolled before her brain could stop her. She reached for her drink again, hiding her face behind the rim.
There was a long pause.
Then Harry glanced at her. Just a flicker, but it was enough. Enough to make her throat tighten. Enough for everyone to catch it.
“Yes,” Harry answered simply, with the kind of cool confidence that made it so much worse.
A chorus of exaggerated gasps followed.
“Oooooh!"
Y/N kept her expression blank. She took another slow sip. Ignored Jessica’s elbow nudging her side.
“You kissed Harry?” Dan asked, eyes wide.
Y/N sat straighter. “Harry, you know good and well we didn’t kiss,” she snapped, her voice pitched somewhere between flustered and furious. Harry just shrugged, smug. He didn’t confirm. But he also Didn’t deny it either.
“I knew you guys did something while snowed in,” Lauren chimed in, wagging her finger before taking another sip. “Two beautiful people trapped in a house? Come on. Basic science. Of course y’all couldn’t keep your hands to yourselves.”
“I didn’t do anything with Harry,” Y/N declared, standing abruptly.
"Suree you didn't." Jessica Added
Y/n looked over at Harry "tell the truth you asshole." She didn’t realize she was still holding one of the couch pillows until she hurled it directly at him.
He caught it with one hand, laughing loudly. “Alright, alright...fine,” he said between chuckles. “We didn’t kiss.”
The group booed in mock disappointment.
“But maybe ,” Harry added, eyes twinkling as he looked straight at Y/N, “maybe I just dreamt about it.”
Another round of laughter erupted.
Y/N rolled her eyes and muttered, “I’m going to the bathroom,” before marching toward the stairs. Her footsteps echoed sharp and fast, irritation practically radiating off her.
No one noticed Harry rise from the recliner a bit later, slipping away as casually as if he were grabbing another drink. But he didn't turn towards the kitchen, he turned to the stairs. No one, except Jessica. Her gaze followed him toward the stairs, lips twitching. She didn’t say a word. Just sipped her wine, eyes glinting with quiet amusement.
Upstairs, Y/N didn’t bother closing the bathroom door. She braced herself over the sink, splashing a bit of cold water onto her face in quick. It did nothing to slow her racing heart.
Why did he always manage to get under her skin?
Why did she keep letting him?
Her breath caught as the door creaked wider. She looked up, wide-eyed, and met Harry’s reflection in the mirror.
He leaned casually against the frame, curls falling into his face. His voice was softer than usual. “You okay?”
Y/N spun, clutching the edge of the sink like a lifeline. “Why do you care?” Her eyes narrowed. “So you can annoy me again?”
Harry shrugged one shoulder, his smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re just so easy, it’s too fun not to.” He took a step closer, slow and deliberate.
Y/N didn’t move, though her pulse spiked in her throat. She tilted her chin up, eyes locked on his. “Glad to know I’m your entertainment.”
“Entertainment?” he echoed, his voice dropping low. Another step forward, and suddenly there was hardly any space left between them. The air felt too heavy, too charged.
His gaze flicked down to her mouth before lifting back to her eyes. The smirk deepened. “I think it’s cute when you get angry.”
Y/N’s breath caught, her fingers curling tighter around the edge of the sink. He was close enough now that she could feel the warmth radiating off him, confused wanting to push him away, but his warmth seemed so familiar.
Harry’s eyes stayed locked on hers, the smirk softening into something more dangerous. “Even cuter when you’re confused,” he murmured.
Y/N blinked up at him, wanting to say something or anything. Any slight remark about his stupid cute smirk, or his stupid beautiful green eyes, or his stupid cute dimples . But nothing came out. She just stared up at him.
Before she could recover, he leaned down, closing the last inches like it was inevitable. His mouth brushed hers gentle at first, just enough to test if she’d pull away.
She didn’t.
She deepened the kiss, his hand finding the curve of her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek as though he couldn’t help himself. Y/N’s grip on the sink loosened, her fingers lifting to his chest, clutching at his shirt like she needed something solid to hold on to.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, foreheads brushing.
Harry’s grin returned, softer now, his voice a husky whisper. “Knew you wouldn’t stop me.”
“Gotta get back,” he murmured, brushing his curls off his forehead. “Before they think we’re killing each other… or worse that we’re actually friends.”
The corner of his mouth curved as if he’d just won some private game. With that, he stepped away, slipping out.
Y/N stayed rooted to the spot, dumbfounded.
Her fingers rose to touch her mouth like she couldn’t quite believe it had happened.
She came back downstairs. No one noticed but she did notice Jessica eyes on her. With a smirk on her face.
They all kept going. Mitch and Taylor were locked in a competitive card game of uno, slurring accusations of cheating while Lauren heckled them from the couch. Jessica was half-asleep on the couch next to Lauren, legs tangled in a throw blanket, but still chiming in with snarky commentary every so often.
"Ahh I wouldn't play that if I was you." Harry said sitting behind her. Fully able to see her cards from where he was sitting. She turned and looked up at him. With a playful glint in her eyes.
"You don't know what you're talking about dimples." She said, as she played a reserve card.
"I do, you should know Im an uno pro." His smirk prominent.
"Don't listen to him. He's trying to get you to lose." Mitch mumbled throwing out his card.
“It’s all about confidence, Styles.” Taylor smirked, flipping a green reverse, then a green skip, and finally tossing down her last card. “Uno.”
Mitch’s jaw dropped.
“No way.”
Taylor leaned back triumphantly, flashing a grin at Harry. “See, pretty boy? Confidence. You should try it sometime.”
The word confidence hit a little too close to Y/N’s simmering jealousy. The way she grinned towards him. Like he was already hers.
Her jealousy bubbling over.
Y/n let out a scoff.
Everyone turned to look her way.
"Harrys never had a problem with being confident, some say too confident."
Harry’s brows lifted, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Too confident?” he repeated, his tone teasing, but his eyes were locked on Y/N. “You’d know about that, wouldn’t you?”
Y/N crossed her arms, meeting his gaze with one of her own. Not having a useful comeback.
"Lucky for me. I like them confident." Taylor interjected with a big kiss on Harrys cheek. Harry froze immediately making quick eye contact with Y/n.
Y/n stomach flipped at the sight of her kissing him. That shut her up. She didn't want to say anything else.
"Wayy to be subtle Tay." Jessica said, earning laughs from the group. Harry gave Taylor a polite smile. Y/n refused to look back at him. Especially with Taylor glued to his hip.
“I’m going to bed,” she said suddenly, her voice sharper than she meant it to be.
Lauren groaned from the couch, head dangling off the armrest. “What? Nooo—it’s only two!”
“You’re such a grandma,” Jessica added, smirking.
“Exactly,” Y/N said, forcing a playful lilt that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Grandmas need their beauty sleep.”
She didn’t wait for more teasing. The laughter trailed behind her as she took the stairs two at a time, each step echoing against the wood. When she reached her room, she slipped inside and shut the door softly behind her.
Peace. Finally.
The firelight downstairs was gone now, replaced by the soft amber glow of the little lamp on her nightstand. She pulled off her hoodie, leaving it on the floor, and crawled onto the bed, burying herself beneath the covers.
She looked over at the book resting on the night stand. The warmth brought the memory of him reading beside her just a few nights ago, lips curling around the name Darcy like it mattered more than it should’ve. She grabbed the book. Lying down on the bead with the book in the air as she read.
“The heart wants what it wants. It doesn’t care about logic or morality or the number of obstacles in its path. It just wants.”
She swallowed thickly, curling deeper into the warmth of the blanket.
Then came the knock.
Soft.
"Come in." Y/n said, knowing it was Jessica. Placing the book in her lap as she set up against the headboard.
A breath of silence passed.
Then the door creaked open just a crack at first, as if the house itself was holding its breath.
She looked up, expecting to see Jessica. But it wasn't Jessica.
It was him.
Harry slipped inside and shut the door behind him like it was routine, like it was no big deal that he was strolling into her room after midnight.
His curls were wild, cheeks flushed from the wine. His hoodie now gone. Just in a white Tshirt. and his mouth. God, his mouth, was curled in that familiar, infuriating grin. The one that meant he was about to get away with something.
He tilted his head. “Still up"
Y/N stared. “I think you’re in the wrong room.”
“I don’t think I am.” He sauntered in without invitation, eyes scanning the book in her lap. He flopped onto the bed beside her like he belonged there, one arm tucked beneath his head,
"Shouldn't you be flirting with Taylor?" She said now looking down at him.
"Ehh, shes not my type."
"What is your type?" She asked dryly.
"Girls who act annoyed when I'm around, But secretly they love my company."
Her jaw flexed, but she said nothing. Because he was right.
He stretched like a cat, muscles shifting beneath the cotton of his shirt, completely at ease.
“Read to me.”
“No.”
“Read to me.”
"Okay. Then I read then." He said, taking the book in his hands.
"Fine I will read it." She said taking the book back. She rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky I like the book.”
“I’m lucky you like me.” He added, the me. Like he was correcting her.
“You wish,” she shot back, flipping to the marked page. She laid on her back, holding the book above her as she read. He rested his elbow on the pillow. His head resting in his hand looking down at her waiting for her to read.
She read.
Her voice filled the space between them, low and careful. The lamp’s glow haloed them in warmth, making the world outside the door feel impossibly far.
“I watched Dex as he leaned against the counter, laughing at something Marcus said, and my stomach twisted. It shouldn’t have. But it did. I hated how easy it was for him to smile. I hated how familiar he still felt.”
Harry didn’t speak. But his smirk faded, his jaw slackened.
“Some part of me wished I could reach out and rewind. Take it all back. But a much bigger part wanted to keep going. Wanted him to touch me again. Wanted to feel wanted.”
The air in the room grew still. Dense.
She could feel it then. his gaze. Lingering. Heavy. Like his eyes were a tether and she was the only thing holding him in place.
“There are moments when the world feels suspended, like time itself is holding its breath. And I knew, knew that if he leaned forward and kissed me, I wouldn’t stop him. I’d kiss him back.”
Her voice cracked
She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t.
She turned the page with trembling fingers, but her throat was too tight to continue. Every word pressed into her chest like a secret she didn’t want to admit.
She slid down the book. Just to show her eyes.
“I…” Her eyes flicked up, finally meeting his. “This is a bad idea.”
Harry’s gaze didn’t waver. His voice was softer now, no grin, no games. “I don’t think so.”
She should’ve pulled away then. Should’ve rolled over, shut the book, pretended this was nothing. But she stayed frozen.
Because she wanted to hear what he’d say next.
“I know you want me,” he said.
She let out a breath, half a laugh as she shut the book lying it on her stomach. “You’re so full of yourself.”
His grin reappeared, faint but undeniable. And then he looked at her mouth. Then back at her eyes.
“I want you too,” he murmured.
Her heart dropped to her stomach.
“You’re still an ass,” she whispered.
“I know.”
Then he leaned in.
Slow.
Unapologetic.
Like he’d already made up his mind.
She kissed him back.
It was hesitant at first, then hungry. Her hand found the edge of his jaw, thumb brushing the stubble there. He tilted into her touch, deepening the kiss, one hand resting lightly on her thigh.
He didn’t push. Didn’t demand.
Just held her like he didn’t want to be anywhere else.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, their foreheads rested together like neither of them could quite let go.
Harry’s chest rose and fell against hers, his voice low and rough. “Do you wanna… finish the book?”
Y/N blinked, dazed, still tangled in the green of his eyes. “Yes—um… if that’s what you want.”
“I do,” he said without hesitation. His lips curved into something small and real. “But only if you let me read this time."
Her throat tightened. She nodded anyway, barely above a whisper. “Okay.”
That made him smirk. “Who knew one kiss could make you so obedient?”
Her head snapped toward him, scandalized. “Excuse me?”
Before she could launch into a full retort, he slipped a hand beneath her, tugging her closer until she was half draped across him. She landed against his chest with a soft gasp.
“Shhh, love,” he murmured, grin tugging at his lips. “Once you hear my sweet British narration, you’ll be out in minutes.”
Her laugh escaped before she could stop it, bubbling against his shirt. She rolled her eyes but gave in, resting her head on his chest. Her legs shifted over his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Harry reached for the book now resting in between the two, flipping it open to the dog-eared page.
Harry cleared his throat dramatically, holding the book just above her head. “Alright then. Where were we? Ah, yes—Dex, being a right idiot again.”
Y/N smiled against his chest. “He’s not an idiot. He’s just… confused.”
“He’s spineless,” Harry countered, flipping the page. “If he wanted her, he should’ve said so ages ago. Instead, he’s just a pushover. He loves whoever loves him.”
She laughed softly, swatting his stomach. “You’re harsh.”
“I’m honest,” he said, voice smug but warm. His arm tightened around her, tucking her closer. Then he returned to the text, reading in that low, steady cadence that wrapped around her like another blanket. Every so often, he paused to grumble.
“See? Rachel’s clearly settling here. She deserves better.”
“Better like… Marcus?” Y/N mumbled.
“Absolutely not. Marcus is a prat.”
She giggled, hiding her smile against his shirt. “You’re very in tune with each character.”
“And you,” he said, tilting the book slightly toward her, “are meant to be asleep by now. But no, you’re arguing with me over fictional men.”
Her reply came slower this time, her voice already thick with drowsiness. “That’s because you’re wrong…”
“Am not,” he muttered, flipping another page. But when he looked down, her lashes had already fluttered shut. He started to read again.
Her breathing evened out, warm against his chest, her fingers curled lightly in the fabric of his Tshirt. Harry stilled, the book slack in his hands, watching her settle into him like she’d belonged there all along.
A soft smile tugged at his lips. He pressed his mouth to the top of her hair, lingering for a heartbeat longer than he should.
“Sweet dreams,” he whispered into the quiet.
Then he set the book aside, letting his arm curve protectively around her as her steady breaths carried them both toward sleep.
This is slowwww burn. Enemies to lovers. I love a good slow burn
7k+ words
Y/N’s breath puffed into the frozen air as she slammed her car door shut, the sound echoing across the quiet clearing. Snow crunched beneath her boots as she stepped forward, scarf pulled tighter around her neck, eyes lifting toward the cabin nestled between towering pines.
It was bigger than she expected—three stories of rich timber and stone, with a wraparound porch and smoke curling lazily from the chimney. Warm golden light spilled from the windows, glowing like a promise against the cold gray sky. It would’ve been the perfect winter escape—if he wasn’t coming.
She sighed sharply, her breath fogging up her glasses. Of course Harry Styles was coming. Of course he had to be part of this.
The group trip had sounded great in theory: a week in a mountain cabin with friends, no work, just snow, booze, board games, and long mornings in pajamas. Y/N had needed the break—desperately. And it might’ve been just what she needed, if it weren’t for the single walking migraine that came bundled with dimples and a British accent.
Harry Styles was a menace. A flirty, smug, utterly infuriating headache of a man who lived to push her buttons. He always knew just what to say, what look to give, how to hover one second too long. Every interaction was a tug-of-war—one he acted like he was enjoying a little too much. She swore he only said her name like that—low and drawn out—just to make her skin crawl.
And worse? It worked.
She’d made sure to arrive first. If she had to be stuck here all week, she’d at least claim the best room. Hoisting her duffel bag onto one shoulder, she trudged up the porch stairs and brushed snow from her sleeves. The front door creaked open with a gentle push—unlocked, just like Mitch promised.
Inside, the cabin was warm and still, filled with the soft glow of firelight and the scent of cedar. Thick beams crossed the ceiling, a stone fireplace crackled quietly at the far end of the room, and plush rugs softened the dark wood floors. She stepped in slowly, letting the quiet settle over her like a blanket. For just a moment, it was perfect.
Then the front door flew open behind her with a burst of icy air.
“Don’t tell me you beat me here,” called a voice that made her jaw tighten on instinct.
She didn’t even need to look. She knew that voice.
Harry Styles stepped inside like he owned the place, snow dusting his boots and curls poking out from beneath a black beanie. His cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, eyes bright and full of mischief. That stupid, irresistible grin was already on his face.
“Unfortunately,” she muttered without turning around.
“Wow,” he said, unzipping his coat. “You came early. That’s cute. Trying to set up booby traps before I arrive?”
“Actually, I came early so I wouldn’t have to see your face for a few hours.”
He let out a laugh that was far too delighted. “God, you missed me.”
“I missed peace.”
Harry strolled farther in, glancing around like he was already rating the decor. “You know, the more you insult me, the more I’m convinced you dream about me at night.”
“I don’t dream about clowns.”
He raised a brow. “That’s weird. I dream about you sometimes.”
Y/N turned slowly, fixing him with a glare. “You’re disgusting.”
“And yet,” he said, gesturing around them with mock innocence, “here you are. Sharing a roof with me.”
Before she could snap back, her phone buzzed so did Harry’s . Then again. Then a third time. She pulled it out and opened the group chat.
Dan: Roads are closing—storm’s worse than they predicted
Lauren: They won’t let us past the ranger checkpoint
Mitch: They’re putting us up at this little lodge halfway up the mountain
Jessica: We’ll have to wait out the storm, prob can’t get to the cabin tonight
Dan: You guys hold it down. Try not to kill each other
Lauren: Or worse... hook up lol
Y/N: I hope the snow swallows you all
She stared at the screen. Then slowly looked up. Harry was already grinning. “You have got to be kidding me.” She said under her breath.
“Just us,” he said, arms outstretched like it was a dream come true. “In a beautiful, secluded cabin. Four bedrooms. And yet, I know you’ll still find ways to bump into me.”
“In your dreams.”
Harry waggled his eyebrows. “Exactly.”
Y/N groaned and turned for the stairs. “I’m claiming the biggest room.”
“Already did.”
She froze. “Excuse me?”
“I was here first,” he said, smug. “Technically. I parked in the back, took the back stairs. My bag’s already on the bed. Mountain view, window seat, king bed. Super cozy.”
“You sneaky little—”
“Now, now,” he said, holding up his hands like he was diffusing a bomb. “Still three other bedrooms left. Unless, of course... you want to share?”
She turned slowly, her glare sharp enough to cut glass. “I’d rather eat a blue jean jacket.”
He burst out laughing as she stormed up the stairs.
Y/N flung open the second bedroom door with more force than necessary. It wasn’t as big as the master, but it would do—queen bed, soft blankets, a little window with a snow-covered view. Most importantly, it was far enough away from Harry’s room that she wouldn’t have to hear him breathing.
She tossed her bag onto the bed and sat down, still bundled in her coat. Outside, the snow was falling faster now—thick, heavy flakes swirling in the wind. It was almost hypnotic, the way it danced through the air, piling higher along the porch and creeping up the trees.
They weren’t going anywhere tonight. That much was clear.
She had just finished unpacking when it happened.
Click.
The heater cut off.
A strange silence followed—no humming refrigerator, no subtle buzz of electricity. Just the low crackle of the fire from downstairs and the eerie groan of the wind pressing against the walls.
Then darkness.
Y/N paused, mid-step, her pulse skipping as the reality settled in.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, flicking the light switch a few more times.
Nothing.
From downstairs came Harry’s voice: “Power’s out!”
She rolled her eyes and shouted back, “Thanks, Sherlock!”
She quickly changed into some pjs, looking in bag for some kind of light source besides her phone to save battery.
Nothing.
Just a book, a portable charger, Yarn, and her pride.
The wind howled again, louder now, rattling the window beside her like a warning. The room was already getting colder. Upstairs suddenly felt very far away from the fire—and far too close to the storm.
With a grumble, she grabbed her phone and her book and headed downstairs.
The living room was dim, lit only by the fireplace’s faint orange glow. Harry was crouched in front of it, sleeves rolled up, feeding a fresh log into the flames. Sparks popped and danced up the chimney, and the heat slowly returned to the room.
Y/N stopped at the bottom step, arms crossed over her chest.
Harry looked up. “Look who finally decided to join me.”
“It’s freezing upstairs,” she said flatly. “And I don’t feel like being trapped in a horror movie setting alone.”
“Sure. That’s why,” he said, grinning. “Not because you missed me?”
She gave him a look. “I’d rather sleep outside.”
Harry stood and brushed off his hands. “Suit yourself. But unless you want to become a human popsicle, this fire is your best friend now.”
She walked to the far end of the couch and sat down stiffly, curling her legs under her. “Don’t talk to me.”
“No promises,” he said, disappearing into the kitchen.
A few moments later, he returned with a cardboard box and a lighter. “Found these in the drawer next to the fridge. Candles.”
Y/N took them wordlessly and began lighting them one by one, placing them across the room—on the mantle, the windowsill, the coffee table. Warm golden light flickered to life in small halos, casting long shadows and softening the edges of the cabin.
The room shrank around them, cozier now, quieter.
She picked up her book, flipped to her dogeared page, and began reading. Harry dropped into the armchair closest to the fire, his long legs stretching out in front of him as he stared into the flames.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke.
Outside, the storm roared like an angry beast, but inside, all was still.
Until—
Growl.
It was faint, but unmistakable.
Y/N froze, eyes locked on the page. She tried to play it off by flipping to the next chapter like nothing happened.
Harry opened one eye. “Was that… you?”
She didn’t answer.
“That was your stomach,” he said, grinning.
“It was the wind.”
“The wind doesn’t sound hungry, Y/N.”
She snapped her book shut. “Do not start.”
Harry stood with a stretch, heading into the kitchen. “Relax. I brought food.”
“Oh good,” she called. “Protein bars and bad decisions?”
“Funny. But no,” he said, rummaging through his bag. “Tonight, we dine like kings.”
He returned with two packs of instant ramen, a small pot, and a grin that made her immediately suspicious.
“You brought ramen?”
“Laugh all you want, but I knew we’d end up needing it. Mountain weather waits for no man.”
“I’d rather starve.”
Harry shrugged and headed toward the stove. “Suit yourself. But when you faint from hunger, I’m not catching you.”
She didn’t reply—but her eyes followed him as he knelt beside the wood-burning stove, coaxing the flames higher. He looked completely in his element, sleeves pushed up, focus sharp, hands steady. It was annoying how competent he looked.
And how good.
She turned back to her book, scowling at the page like it had personally offended her.
Behind her, she heard the familiar sound of water heating. Then the soft rustle of plastic as he tore open the ramen packets.
“Just so you know,” Harry said, “I’m making two bowls. Because I know you. You’ll pretend you’re not hungry, then creep into the kitchen at midnight like a raccoon.”
“I won’t.”
“You will.”
The scent of ramen filled the room, savory and warm. Her stomach growled again.
“I’m not eating that,” she said, sharper this time.
“Didn’t say you were,” he said casually, pouring noodles into the steaming water. “But I’m placing one bowl near you and walking away. What happens after that is between you and your integrity.”
Y/N didn’t answer. But her eyes flicked toward the stove. The ramen smelled criminally good. Salty, warm, comforting in the way only cheap noodles could be when you’re snowed in, half-frozen, and pretending not to starve in front of your nemesis.
Y/N tried to ignore it.
Harry stirred the pot slowly, adding the seasoning packets like he was cooking for a five-star review. When the noodles were ready, he ladled them into two mismatched ceramic bowls and grabbed a pair of forks.
He approached the couch and, without a word, set one steaming bowl down on the coffee table in front of her.
She glanced at it.
Then back at him.
“It’s not poisoned,” he said, settling into the other end of the couch. “But if it was, honestly? I’d be impressed with myself.”
She glared. Her stomach growled again.
He wiggled his brows. “You gonna eat it or dramatically waste it to prove a point?”
Y/N let out a low groan and snatched the bowl. “I hate you.”
“You say that,” Harry said, twirling noodles onto his fork, “but you’re eating my food. Sitting in my firelight. Basking in my radiant charm.”
“Basking in your delusions.”
They both dug in, the room quiet except for the clink of forks and the soft whistle of wind outside. For a long stretch of time, they didn’t speak. Just ate. And sat. And didn’t hate it.
The silence felt different now.
Not stiff.
Not hostile.
Just… warm.
Y/N leaned back into the couch when her bowl was empty, curling the blanket tighter around her legs. Harry remained at the other end, his posture loose, gaze on the fire.
“You know,” he said, voice soft, “if this storm keeps up, I’m calling dibs on the big blanket tomorrow.”
She didn’t look over. “I’ll smother you with it.”
He chuckled, low and rough. “Sounds romantic.”
They lapsed into silence again, but this time it was laced with something unspoken.
Something new.
The fire crackled, burning low and golden. The storm continued to rage outside, but inside, it felt distant. Muted.
Eventually, Harry stood and gathered their empty bowls, placing them in the sink before returning to the couch with a heavy sigh. He dropped beside her again, lounging like it was his right.
She gave him a look. “You have your own space.”
“And yet,” he said, propping his feet on the coffee table, “this couch is cozy. Candle-lit. Warm. And you didn’t tell me to leave.”
Y/N rolled her eyes and turned back to her book. She flipped a page, pretending to be immersed in the story—but his presence was louder than any paragraph.
After a few minutes, he tilted his head toward her.
“What are you reading?”
She didn’t look up. “You wouldn’t care.”
“You don’t know that.”
“It’s not a comic or a sports article, so…”
He smirked. “You’re adorable when you’re judgmental.” She ignored that.
“Come on,” he said, nudging her with his foot. “Read it out loud.”
She glanced at him, confused. “Why?”
“I don’t know. Your voice is nice. And the wind sounds like it’s trying to eat the house. Distract me.”
She raised an eyebrow. “No.”
“You owe me.”
“For what?”
“For feeding you. I could’ve made one bowl. I made two. That’s sacrifice.”
“That’s survival.”
“Still counts.”
She sighed, long and theatrical, then flipped back to the top of the chapter. “Fine. But if you interrupt me, I stop.”
He grinned and held up both hands. “Scout’s honor.”
Y/N cleared her throat and began reading, her voice steady and calm. The flickering fire beside them cast moving shadows along the walls, and Harry leaned back, watching her with quiet interest.
For once, he didn’t interrupt.
He didn’t tease.
He just listened.
She wasn’t used to that—not from him. But something about the way he was looking at her made her cheeks warm. Made her voice wobble just slightly before she caught herself.
She read until the end of the chapter, then gently folded the corner of the page and shut the book.
“There,” she said. “Happy?”
Harry blinked slowly, like waking from a dream. “That’s where it ends?”
“Yes. Thats the end of the chapter."
“That’s criminal. Rachel’s about to ruin her life.”
“You were actually paying attention?”
“Obviously. She slept with Dex, Darcy's Fiance. There’s no turning back now.”
Y/N stared at him. “You know all their names?”
“I’m invested,” he said seriously. “You roped me into a soap opera.”
She laughed before she could stop herself—a soft, reluctant sound that made Harry smile wider.
“You’re ridiculous,” she muttered.
“And you,” he said, shifting closer, “are kind of cute when you read."
She scoffed. “You’re pushing it.”
He held out his hand. “Give me the book. I’ll read the next chapter.”
“You?”
“I have a British accent. It’ll be very dramatic.”
She rolled her eyes, but handed it over.
Harry adjusted on the couch, stretching his legs out with the book in his lap. He cleared his throat with exaggerated flair.
“Chapter Nine,” he announced in a mock-theatrical voice. “The morning after, I woke up feeling guilty… but not quite guilty enough.”
Y/N groaned, pulling the blanket over her face.
“Regret.”
“Shh. I’m reading.”
To her surprise, he wasn’t half bad. His voice, while occasionally dramatic for effect, dipped low and smooth at the right moments. His pacing was steady, and when he didn’t know a word, he rolled right through it like it didn’t matter. And it didn’t—not when he made the story sound like it belonged to him.
She peeked out from under the blanket and studied him quietly.
Harry’s curls had fallen into his face again, his lips moving softly with each line. His brow furrowed a little when the main character said something reckless. His mouth twitched into a smirk when the tension in the story spiked. He was... focused. Softened by firelight. And honestly, kind of beautiful.
Y/N blinked that thought away immediately.
Nope.
No.
Absolutely not.
But then he stopped again—mid-sentence—and raised his brows with that familiar, knowing grin.
“Oh, this one’s good,” he said, holding the book up like it was evidence. Then he read, “‘I knew I was flirting. And I knew he was flirting back. But I also knew I wouldn’t stop.’”
Y/N groaned. “Okay, that’s enough.”
Harry looked over the top of the book, grinning. “You sure? Sounds familiar.”
“In what world?”
“In this cabin. Right now.”
“You are delusional.”
He laughed, eyes crinkling. “Maybe. But you’re smiling.”
She rolled her eyes, trying to hide the curve of her mouth. “Back to reading, pretty boy.”
Harry paused. Blinked. Then slowly smiled—this time softer. More real.
“You think I’m pretty?”
Y/N opened her mouth. Closed it.
There was something in the way he said it—like it wasn’t a joke this time. Like he really wanted to know. And with the firelight flickering behind him, casting a golden glow on his skin and catching in his lashes, she couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t.
She looked away, fingers tightening slightly in the blanket. “Shut up.”
Harry chuckled, but the grin he wore wasn’t teasing now—it was warm. Gentle. The kind of smile that lingered, even after he turned back to the page.
He cleared his throat and read on, but Y/N wasn’t really listening anymore.
Because now she was the one sneaking glances.
And for the first time since they’d gotten snowed in…
She wasn’t sure if she hated it.
She turned her attention back to the fire—but it was no use. Her eyes kept drifting back to him. To the way he absently tapped the side of the book with his finger.
She didn’t realize she was slipping until her head gently tilted toward the arm of the couch. Her eyelids blinked slower. The warmth of the room, the steady cadence of his voice, the way her body had finally stopped fighting—all of it lulled her deeper.
By the time Harry flipped the next page, she was completely still.
He glanced over.
Y/N was curled up in her corner of the couch, her face relaxed, her lips parted slightly in sleep. One hand still held the edge of the blanket, like she’d tried to fight it, but lost.
He smiled to himself and lowered the book.
“You couldn’t hang, huh?” he whispered.
Carefully, he set the book down on the coffee table, then turned back toward her. She looked peaceful—peaceful in a way he’d never seen her. All the snark and sharp edges melted off, just warmth and soft lashes and slow breaths.
Harry hesitated.
Then he reached behind her, grabbed the throw blanket and gently draped it over her. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake.
He paused a moment longer, looking at her.
He’d spent years getting under her skin.
Teasing her, pushing her, watching her snap back at him with fire in her voice. And yeah, he’d loved every second of it. But this? This quiet moment, where she trusted him enough to fall asleep beside him?
It undid something in him.
“Goodnight angry,” he murmured.
He considered heading to his room, giving her space—but the warmth of the fire, the soft light of the candles, and her presence just a few inches away kept him still.
So he stayed.
He shifted gently onto his side of the couch, pulling the blanket over himself, careful not to disturb her.
And for the first time since arriving, Harry didn’t feel like pretending he didn’t care.
He closed his eyes, the storm still whispering outside, and let sleep take him too.
//
Y/N stirred in her sleep, the creeping chill tugging her gently out of her dreams. Her nose twitched. Her fingers flexed, brushing against something warm and solid.
That was the first clue something was… off.
The rest hit her all at once.
There was a strong arm wrapped snug around her waist. A warm chest pressed up against her back. A leg—oh god, someone’s leg—tangled over hers. And she wasn’t cold. Not really. Not where they were touching. She was actually kind of… cozy?
Still half-asleep, she nestled into the warmth, letting herself enjoy it for a moment. Whoever it was, they were warm and still and—
Wait.
Wait.
That scent.
Cedarwood. Laundry detergent. Trouble.
Her eyes snapped open.
No. No, no, no.
She shifted her head slowly, heart beginning to race as her gaze dropped to the pale arm curled tightly around her midsection. That was not her blanket. That was a man. And that—
“Oh my god,” she whispered, her voice rasping out into the quiet.
In one sharp motion, she jolted upright like she’d just discovered a tarantula in her bed.
The blanket flew off, and Harry groaned behind her, arm flopping where she’d been.
“What the—”
He blinked up at her, bleary-eyed and confused, his curls a mess and his voice thick with sleep. “Why’d you move? We were warm.”
Y/N stared at him like she was trying to manifest fire from her pupils. “Were we cuddling?!”
Harry yawned. “It’s called body heat, sweetheart.”
She scrambled off the couch like she’d been electrocuted. “No. Nope. No, no, no.”
Still lounging on his side, Harry propped his head up with one hand, a crooked smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“For what?”
“For saving your life. It’s called survival cuddling.”
“I’d rather freeze to death.”
“You didn’t seem to mind a second ago.”
Her mouth opened. Then closed. Because damn it, she had liked it just for a second. Before she realized who it was. Before Harry’s obnoxious charm showed up at full volume.
She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders like armor. “I must’ve been sleep-deprived. Or delusional.”
Harry stretched lazily, unbothered and still shirtless. “I’m a great cuddler, Y/N. It’s okay to admit that.”
“You spooned me like a heat-seeking missile.”
He grinned. “You were the one radiating warmth.”
She gave him a flat look. “You’re not cute.”
He shrugged. “You did call me pretty last night.”
“That was sarcasm.”
“Sure it was.”
Before she could fire back, a frigid gust whistled against the windows, and they both turned to glance at the hearth. The fire was completely out. Just ash and cold logs.
Y/N sighed and rubbed her arms. “Perfect. Now we’re actually gonna freeze.”
Harry sat up and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll get more firewood. Don’t go passing out without me.”
“Trust me,” she muttered, stalking toward the kitchen. “You’ve cured me of any desire to sleep.”
As he disappeared into the hall to grab wood from the closet, she watched him go—shirtless, annoyingly tall, and still wearing that smug grin.
She scowled.
And yet, the ghost of warmth where he’d held her still lingered. And for some reason… that annoyed her most of all.
By the time Harry dragged himself off the floor and toward the stack of firewood in the back room, Y/N had wrapped herself in a blanket so tightly she looked like a grumpy little burrito—warm, silent, and very much Not In The Mood.
The cabin was freezing—again. The fire had gone out overnight, and without power, the chill seeped into everything that wasn’t pressed up against the hearth.
She didn’t say anything as Harry disappeared down the hall. When he returned with an armful of logs, she watched from the couch—quietly, like a cat perched on alert. He didn’t speak either, just dropped to his knees and got to work rebuilding the fire.
It only took him a few minutes to get it going again—he was weirdly good at it, crouched low in his hoodie and sweats, sleeves pushed up, curls falling into his eyes as he coaxed flames from kindling like he did this all the time.
And maybe he did.
Which was somehow more irritating.
Y/N pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, biting back the part of her brain that wanted to compliment him. Or at the very least... thank him.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
"Fire’s back," he said finally, brushing ash from his palms as he stood. The fire crackled again, warm golden light spilling across the cabin floor. “You’re welcome.”
She didn’t look up. “Congratulations on fulfilling basic survival instincts.”
"You really know how to say ‘thank you,’" he muttered, walking past her toward the kitchen. “And to think I was sensing improvement.”
Y/N didn’t respond. Instead, she reached into her tote bag and pulled out a tangled skein of golden-brown yarn and her favorite crochet hook—slipping into rhythm the moment the yarn touched her fingers. Hook. Pull. Twist. Loop. Her mind began to settle. A scarf, maybe. She didn’t care what it was. It was something to do with her hands while her brain spun in circles.
Across the room, she heard the familiar rustling of a duffel bag being unzipped. Water clinking into a small pot. The stove creaked open—still warm from last night—and a match hissed to life. No eggs this morning.
Just ramen. Again.
It was weirdly comforting.
She didn’t say anything, but her stomach did.
Harry didn’t even turn around. “Didn’t even argue this time. Growth.”
“I’m reserving my insults for later,” she said coolly, not looking up from her stitches.
“Save your energy,” he called back. “You’re gonna need it to slurp this world-class noodle masterpiece.”
“You mean boil noodles and dump powder in?”
“Gordon Ramsay’s shaking.”
Y/N rolled her eyes but kept crocheting. The crackle of the fire, the bubbling pot, and the smell of salty broth slowly warming the room—it was peaceful, in a weird, very not normal way.
Twenty minutes later, he appeared at the edge of her vision, holding out a ceramic bowl with a fork sticking out.
She eyed it warily.
“It’s not poisoned,” he said, nudging it closer.
“Unless you count sodium as a weapon.” Y/N took the bowl with a soft grunt of thanks, still not meeting his eyes.
Harry dropped onto the floor beside the couch, cross-legged, cradling his own bowl. “We’ve officially peaked. Noodles by candlelight.”
“You’re romanticizing instant ramen,” she muttered, digging in.
He slurped dramatically. “That’s because this is romantic.”
She smirked, barely.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, the kind of silence that was… not awkward. Not quite comfortable either. Something in between. Something new.
Y/N peeked at him once. Just once.
But of course, he caught her.
“What?” he asked, noodles hanging out of his mouth like a fool.
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“You were staring.”
“I was judging.”
“Same thing,” he said, swallowing. “But go ahead, admit it. I make excellent apocalypse noodles.”
She considered. “They’re edible.”
“High praise,” he said, mock-bowing his head.
When she finished her bowl, she set it aside and reached for her yarn again. Harry leaned back on one hand and watched her fingers move.
“So… that your new scarf?”
“Maybe.”
He watched a little longer, then added, “You always crochet when you’re annoyed?”
She didn’t look up. “It’s either this or fight someone.”
He snorted. “You’re full of sunshine.”
She kept going, calm and rhythmic. “Crochet doesn’t talk back. Doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t leave its socks everywhere.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “I do none of those things.”
“You flirted with a squirrel yesterday.”
“That squirrel was asking for it.”
Y/N choked on a laugh and shook her head. The moment stretched, softening like dough under a rolling pin. No tension. No snark. Just two people thawing—slowly—beside the fire.
Harry tilted his head, eyeing her half-finished piece. “Make me something?”
She looked at him like he had sprouted antlers. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Because I’ll wear it. And think of you every time I do.”
“That’s supposed to make me want to make you something?”
His grin widened. “Come on. I’d look good in something you made.”
Y/N paused, stared at him, then muttered, “A muzzle.”
Harry laughed—really laughed. Not one of his smug little chuckles or sarcastic scoffs, but a genuine, warm burst of amusement that crinkled his eyes and curled his dimples.
She wasn’t used to hearing that kind of laugh from him.
She definitely wasn’t used to liking it.And that unsettled her more than the blizzard howling outside. It cracked something open in her chest, something quiet and hesitant and unfamiliar.
They fell into an easy silence after that. The fire glowed steadily now, golden and soft, casting lazy shadows on the cabin walls. Their ramen bowls sat empty on the floor beside them. Y/N’s yarn moved between her fingers like it had a heartbeat of its own—loop, pull, twist, repeat. Soothing, steady. But her eyes kept drifting, flicking toward him more often than she wanted to admit.
Then Harry leaned forward and picked up the book they’d started the night before—the same one she’d read to him by candlelight. His thumb brushed over the dog-eared corner he'd folded down before he fell asleep.
“I could read a bit more,” he said casually, already flipping it open. “Unless you’re too busy knitting me a muzzle.”
“It’s crochet,” she corrected, without missing a stitch.
He smirked. “Still not denying it.”
“I’m considering gag options.”
“Charming,” he murmured with a grin, already settling back into the couch. He adjusted until he was half-reclined again, legs stretched out and the book open on his lap. The firelight danced across his face and the worn paperback, softening both in a way that made her throat tighten unexpectedly.
Y/N didn’t stop him.
Didn’t tease.
Didn’t even roll her eyes.
Instead, she just kept crocheting as his voice filled the room again—low and warm and surprisingly steady, each word threading between them like another row in the blanket between her hands.
The fire crackled quietly, a low hum behind Harry’s words. Outside, the wind pressed against the windows like a whisper, muffled by thick snow. Inside, everything felt smaller. Closer.
Safer.
Before they knew it Time clicked away, Harry read without pause, his voice dipping with tension, rising with humor. The tips of his fingers tapped the page as he spoke. He didn’t rush. Didn’t perform. It almost felt like he forgot she was there—like he read for himself.
Y/N curled her legs beneath her and tried to focus on her stitches, but her hands were stiff with cold. The blanket wrapped around her wasn’t cutting it anymore. The fire helped, sure—but her body craved something more immediate. Something warm and alive.
Something like the man sitting next to her.
She told herself it was just the temperature. Just comfort. Just necessity.
But her body was already leaning before her mind caught up.
First, her shoulder brushed against his arm.
Harry’s eyes flicked to her, a quiet glance, but he didn’t stop reading. He didn’t flinch or shift away. Instead, he adjusted slightly, tilting the book so she could see the page better. His posture relaxed, the corner of the throw blanket brushing her knee now.
It was a silent invitation.
She didn’t pull back.
A few pages later, her knee nudged against his.
Then the blanket slipped off one shoulder, goosebumps rising instantly along her skin.
Without missing a word, Harry reached behind them, grabbed the thicker throw blanket draped over the couch, and gently, wordlessly laid it across both of them. His hand grazed her arm in the process—warm and steady, grounding her like an anchor.
Y/N’s breath caught.
It was subtle.
Barely anything.
But somehow… it was everything.
She didn’t lean away. Didn’t speak.
She just listened—to the story, to the fire, to the steady, deliberate rhythm of his voice beside her.
And when she finally let her hook fall into her lap, resting her yarn beside her, she didn’t even notice her head tipping onto his shoulder.
She should’ve shifted. Should’ve made a sarcastic quip. Should’ve rebuilt the distance they’d so carefully maintained since the moment they met.
But instead… she let it happen.
Harry didn’t speak. Didn’t tease.
His arm moved slowly behind her back, slipping across her shoulders and resting with gentle weight along the curve of her body. He didn’t squeeze. Didn’t pull. Just held her—warm and patient, as if he’d known all along she would fold eventually.
He read on like nothing had changed.
But it had.
Y/N sat curled beneath his arm, blanket pooled around them both, the steady rise and fall of his voice softening into something she hadn’t let herself feel in a long time—safe. It wasn’t the story anymore that had her full attention. It was him. The way his chest moved beneath her cheek. The slow cadence of his breathing. The warmth that radiated off him like a second fire.
Her fingers twitched slightly beneath the blanket and—without meaning to—came to rest lightly over his chest.
Harry’s voice faltered for half a second. Barely noticeable. But she heard it.
He cleared his throat, blinked down at the page, and continued reading.
The book was hitting its emotional stride. Rachel was unraveling. Dex was making excuses. Darcy was still in the dark. The drama should’ve made Y/N roll her eyes—but now, it felt different. Like every word was being read not just aloud, but to her.
Specifically.
Intentionally.
And yet, it wasn’t performative. There was no smugness, no smirk on his face. Harry wasn’t playing a role anymore. He was just a boy reading a book, holding a girl who used to swear she hated him.
Somewhere around the middle of the chapter, her eyes started to flutter shut. Not from boredom. Not even from sleep. But from the calm—the peace—that had settled deep in her chest.
Her head dropped fully onto his shoulder. She felt his muscles tense just a little. Then relax again.
She didn’t mean to nuzzle closer.
But she did.
And he didn’t stop her.
His hand shifted slightly, brushing up her arm until it rested at the bend of her shoulder. The pads of his fingers touched her like she might disappear if he held too tight.
She didn’t.
She stayed.
By the time he finished the chapter, the room had gone quiet again.
He glanced down at her.
Y/N was still awake—barely—but her eyes were half-lidded, lashes brushing her cheeks, mouth parted the slightest bit. Her fingers were still resting against his chest. Her body tucked along his side like it had always belonged there.
Harry closed the book slowly and rested it on the table.
He didn’t say anything.
Didn’t want to break the moment.
Instead, he looked at her. Really looked.
She wasn’t scowling.
Wasn’t rolling her eyes.
Wasn’t biting back a sharp remark.
She just looked… soft.
Warm.
Real.
Like someone he hadn’t fully met yet—but wanted to.
He exhaled slowly and let his head fall back against the cushion. One arm still around her, his other hand drifted beneath the blanket and found her wrist, thumb brushing gently against her skin.
///
The room was quiet now.
Outside, the wind had calmed, settling into a gentle hush as snow drifted steadily from the sky. Inside, the fire burned low—an amber flicker casting long, slow shadows across the wood-paneled walls. The candles had melted into puddles at their bases, the scent of wax and cedar still hanging faintly in the air.
Y/N stirred.
She blinked slowly, breath catching as her brain registered warmth. Not just from the fire—but from beneath her. Around her.
Soft cotton brushed her cheek.
A rhythmic rise and fall pressed against her ear.
She was warm—warmer than she had been in days.
And then… she realized why.
She was in Harry’s lap.
Her entire body, tucked up in the fetal position, was curled over him like he was a makeshift mattress. Her head rested against his chest, right over his heart. One of his arms cradled her back, the other resting lazily on the armrest. Her legs were folded across the couch cushions—but she was definitely on him.
Panic flared first. Sharp and fast.
She jolted upright a little too quickly, like she’d just realized she’d been snuggling the devil himself. “Oh my god,” she breathed.
Harry, still half-asleep, cracked one eye open. His lashes were mussed, his curls a soft halo around his face, and his T-shirt was wrinkled from the weight of her cheek. He looked far too good for someone just waking up.
A crooked smirk curved his lips. “Well, well,” he murmured, voice deep and sleep-slicked. “Look who decided to wake up.”
She stared at him, still trying to get her brain to reboot. “I—I didn’t mean to—”
“You were out cold,” he said, stretching slightly beneath her. “Didn’t move when I shifted. Or when the fire popped. Or when I put the blanket back on you.”
“I—” She paused, biting her lip. “I thought I fell asleep on the couch.”
He blinked. “You did. I just happened to be part of it.”
She groaned and flopped forward again, face hitting his chest with a muffled thud. “God. This is humiliating.”
“Disagree,” he said lightly, his fingers brushing her arm through the blanket. “You’re surprisingly cuddly.”
“I’m cold,” she mumbled into his shirt.
“You’re clingy,” he corrected.
“You’re annoying.”
“And yet, here we are.”
His arm was still around her—loose, casual, but firm enough to remind her just how close they’d gotten. Her hand was resting on his stomach, blanket slipped halfway off her shoulder, and she hadn’t even noticed.
She thought about pulling away again. She really did.
But the fire was barely burning, and his chest was warm, and his voice sounded like home in a way it had absolutely no right to.
So she stayed.
Harry didn’t say anything more. Just shifted a little to give her more room, then leaned his head back and exhaled softly through his nose. His fingers trailed slow, absentminded circles on the back of her sweatshirt—barely-there movements, rhythmic and comforting.
Y/N's pulse thudded louder in her ears.
This wasn’t just convenience. This wasn’t just about staying warm.
It was something else.
Eventually, she whispered, “You’re not… what I thought you were.”
Harry tilted his head just enough to glance down at her. “No?”
“I mean, you are. Kind of. But also not.”
He chuckled. “That clears it up.”
She pulled the blanket higher. “I mean… I thought you were all talk. Just ego and flirting and jokes.”
“I am.”
“But you’re also…” She trailed off.
Softer.
Sweeter.
Steadier than she wanted to admit.
Harry smiled lazily. “You can say devastatingly charming. I won’t stop you.”
She elbowed him lightly. “Shut up.”
He laughed again—low and genuine—and this time it tugged something loose in her chest.
For a while, they didn’t say anything. Just laid there, tangled under the blanket, breathing in sync.
Y/N’s eyes began to droop again. Her fingers curled loosely into the hem of his T-shirt. Harry’s hand never stopped tracing her back. The fire crackled, and somewhere between the silence and the comfort, she let herself drift off again
/
The morning sunlight crept in slow and honeyed, stretching long arms across the hardwood floors and casting warm halos around the quiet room. The fire had burned down to ash, leaving only a faint smell of smoke and the chilled hush of a new day. But still, there was warmth.
Because of him.
Y/N stirred, her face nestled against smooth cotton and bare skin. Her cheek rested squarely on Harry’s chest—his shirt nowhere in sight. One of his arms was tucked behind his head, the other curled tightly around her waist, anchoring her to him. Her thigh draped across his, tangled under the thick blanket that had slipped slightly to reveal the sculpted lines of his stomach.
She blinked slowly.
Took in the rise and fall of his chest beneath her ear. The way his hand rested just beneath her ribs. His scent—soap, firewood, and something inherently him.
And for the briefest, most dangerous moment… she smiled.
It was peaceful. Soothing.
Safe.
And then—the creak.
The front door groaned against the cold.
Voices.
Footsteps crunching snow on the porch. A laugh. A loud, familiar one.
Her heart stopped.
She jolted upright like she’d been electrocuted. “Oh my God—”
Harry stirred, a low sleepy groan rumbling in his chest. “What—?”
She was already wriggling out of his arms, panicking, shoving the blanket aside with a flurry of limbs and regret. Her bare foot hit the cold floor. “Shit, shit, shit—”
“Y/N?” he mumbled, voice gravelly and dazed.
Too late.
The door flew open with a ding from the old bell overhead, and cold air rushed in.
Jessica stomped into the cabin first, wrapped in a marshmallow of a puffer coat, cheeks flushed from the snow. “Y/N! You’re still alive!”
Y/N, halfway to standing, scrambled upright and grabbed the nearest throw blanket, hugging it around her like armor. She forced a tight smile, trying not to breathe like she’d just been sprinting across landmines.
“Hey,” she choked out. “Glad you made it safely.”
Behind Jessica, a second girl stepped inside—shaking snow from her coat, eyes bright and curious.
Taylor.
Long, shiny waves of chestnut-brown hair framed her face like a shampoo commercial. Her skin glowed against the cold, and her bright blue eyes immediately scanned the room like she was taking inventory of the space—and the people in it.
Y/N felt her stomach twist.
Not because Taylor wasn’t nice. But because she was perfect. The kind of effortless pretty that made you question your own reflection. And the way she looked at Harry when her eyes landed on him?
Well. That said enough.
Harry, who was only just now sitting up, blinked blearily, shirtless and still blanket-wrapped. His curls were messy. His voice was thick with sleep. “Morning…”
Taylor stopped mid-step, jaw slightly slack.
Jessica’s brows rose as her eyes ping-ponged from Harry’s bare chest to Y/N’s flustered appearance.
“Did we interrupt something?” Jessica asked, too casual to be casual.
Y/N snorted—too loud, too fake. “No. No! God, no. I was just… up early. Reading.”
Taylor blinked slowly, eyes still glued to Harry like she hadn’t heard a word. “Hi,” she said, smiling. “You must be Harry.”
Harry rubbed his eyes, squinting toward the sound of her voice. “Uh… I think so?”
Jessica smirked. “He’s usually a little more charming once he’s fully conscious.”
Taylor giggled, stepping farther into the room, but Harry’s gaze had already drifted past her—landing briefly on Y/N.
She wasn’t looking at him.
She was looking anywhere but him.
Still, he caught the way her fingers clenched tighter around the blanket at her chest. The flush across her cheeks that wasn’t from the cold.
Y/N turned her back quickly, darting toward the kitchen, mumbling something about tea.
Jessica didn’t miss it.
Behind her, Harry stood, blanket slipping down slightly as he stretched. His skin glowed in the morning light, shadows cutting across his arms and torso like artwork. Taylor’s stare was hungry. Obvious.
“Ohh its so cold in here” Taylor sad sweetly.
Harry yawned and reached for his shirt.
“Yeah. I’ll go grab some more firewood.”
As he padded past, Taylor turned to watch him, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip just slightly.
Y/N, from the kitchen, poured water into the kettle a little too forcefully.
Jessica leaned against the counter, one eyebrow cocked. “You good?”
“Peachy,” Y/N muttered.
Jessica smirked. “You’re glowing.”
Y/N gave her a look. “I’m actually coming down from high after thinking someone was breaking in to kill us.”
“Uh huh.”
Behind them, the door creaked again as Harry stepped into the back room to get firewood, and Taylor moved a little further just to watch him.
Y/N stared down at the tea kettle, face tight.
Jessica studied her best friend for a moment, then casually said, “So You and didn't kill each other?"
a/n: here's something a little sweet and heart warming with soft harry being the sweet little baby he is, i hope this fluff blurb makes you happy. love you guys <3
wc: 1695
warnings: mentions of deceased parent
--
Days like this were Harry’s favorite.
The smell of the fresh rain drizzling down to water the trees, humidity that anyone else might complain about but Harry loved. Sure, it meant sadness for most people but for Harry, it meant growth and serenity. Each raindrop seemed to cleanse the very atmosphere, purifying it from worries and accumulated dust, washing away the problems from moments before the nature’s symphony. The air that was once stifling and heavy, now felt light, crisp, and cool.
He walked from the parking lot to head towards his flower shop. Sidewalk sprinkled with some people like him – under their umbrellas and coats coddling them away from the slight chill the rain invited.
“Excuse me!”
Harry kept walking, admittedly a bit distracted with the sound of the pitter patter from the rain hitting the pavement, not realizing the woman behind him was trying to call his attention.
“Sir! Excuse me!”
This time, Harry turned his head, finding a young woman with her hands wrapped around her body and drenched pointing to his umbrella.
“Do you mind? Just until I reach the flower shop. I parked too far and forgot my umbrella. Sorry just – it’s cold. Wet, very wet.” She rambled on, an apologetic smile on her face as if she was burdening Harry for wanting momentary shelter from the curtains of rain.
Harry smiled as he moved closer to her, “Don’t mind at all. M’actually headed to the flower shop too. What are you looking for? We have new shipments today and I ordered some new flowers that are in season.”
Harry’s always been so friendly and kind, not leaning into finding any harm in anyone’s intention of speaking to him or approaching him. Maybe it was a bit much for some people but hey, sharing his umbrella with a person and how could he not make conversation when they’re just inches away?
(Y/N) on the other hand, hated the rain. It meant sadness. It meant another day where the skies cried with her over how much she missed her mum. Her best friend. Her confidant. The world seemed to be just as sad as her from how often the skies cried with her – dreadful and muddy as it made every step a battle against the sucking muck.
It didn’t help that she left her umbrella today and she needed those flowers before she went to go visit her mum. But she wouldn’t miss it for the world. No matter the shine, the rain, the wind. She’d sit on that grave as the rain fell in a relentless downpour if she had to.
To make it worse, she wanted to try this new flower shop and the parking she found felt like it was miles and miles away from her car as the rain trickled down her dry body and making her a proper soaked towel.
God bless the man that allowed her to hide away from the rain until they reached the shop. He seemed so kind and genuine, giving her a smile that was so graceful – a delicate curve that carried with it elegance and joy. It was sweet and it made (Y/N) feel warm inside unlike the rain’s cold drips that made her body shiver.
“I usually get her a bouquet of sulfur and pink cosmos, if you have any.”
She stayed by the door, cautiously looking around the shop riddled in concentric shelves holding beautiful flowers and arrangements. It smelled so nice, soft yet alive. (Y/N) didn’t want to wet the wood floor any more than she already had, keeping her body at a close distance to the exit door.
Harry noticed and immediately walked over to her with a coat he usually left under the register, handing it to her with a soft smile, “Don’t worry about that. Walk around and look as you please. I’ll mop up after. M’Harry, by the way. Let me know if you need anything.”
She wasn’t sure if he even responded to her as to what flowers she wanted but he seemed busy at work with the yellow and pink puffs she asked for, working on a bouquet behind the counter.
(Y/N) could tell he took care of his flowers. Not a single wilted petal or a dead flower. They looked beautiful and full of life, ready to illuminate any room or bring a smile to anyone’s face. She hoped it did the same to her mum in heaven every time she showed up with her favorite flowers.
“May I ask who these are for? These are special flowers – beautiful and harmonious. Special person you’re getting them for.”
A smile perked the commissure of her lips, not realizing that her mother’s favorite flowers meant something so sweet and so in sync with what their relationship was – still is and forever will be.
(Y/N) walked closer to the counter, eyes now focused on his hand cutting the stems at an angle before perfectly arranging them at a height where they bloomed so generously.
“They’re for my mum. I visit her every Sunday with her favorite flowers, even if the ones from the week before are still perfect and blossoming.”
He had long, slender fingers. A cross tattoo etched on the back of his palm, a pastel yellow chipping away from his fingernails. It matched him, she thought. Tender and refreshing like the smile he gave her when he allowed her to hide away under his umbrella.
Harry didn’t need more explanation to understand what the flowers were for. And though his mum was alive and well, thank God, it resonated deep in him because cosmos happened to be his mum’s favorite flower too.
“Cosmos are my mum’s favorite too.”
A soothing silence fell over them as he finished up the bouquet, wrapping the stems with a rubber band, then the brown kraft paper, then the cellophane.
“This one’s on the house today. I hope you have a good visit with your mum and take my umbrella. The weather won’t get any better until later in the evening.”
His generosity made (Y/N)’s eyes water. He didn’t know her, didn’t know her name, yet his kindness wrapped her up in the warmest, tightest hug of sweetness that squeezed tears out of her. There was sincerity in his kindness that was unmistakable, a genuine desire to help others that radiated from him, and anyone can see that.
“Thank you.” She croaked out, holding in a sob that she thought would come later when she sat atop her mother’s grave but instead, this sweet stranger was nearly pulling it out of her.
-
Harry couldn’t seem to get the woman out of his head days after. He could remember seeing her eyes welled up in unshed tears, her lips trembling a sad testament to the emotions churning behind the surface. Harry just wanted to hold her, feeling compelled to promise her that everything will be okay and that one day things will get better.
He hoped she’d come by again this Sunday, maybe talk to her some more and try to make her smile again in any way he could. But luckily, he didn’t have to wait until Sunday.
The last thing he expected was for her to show up in his shop again on this Thursday afternoon, a basket of muffins and his umbrella filling her hands. She looked happier today, sporting that same apologetic smile as she nearly struggled with the door as she stumbled in, a silly little giggle leaving her lips as she tripped on the way to the counter towards Harry.
“This is my proper thank you for your kindness – and your umbrella. You don’t know me, don’t know my name, if I’m a good person, or a bad person. Yet you unhesitatingly treated me with such generosity and-and some sort of empathy that just nearly cured my sadness,” she giggled with a soft sigh following, scooting the basket of muffins closer to him.
“I don’t need to know a person for me to be kind. And besides, I knew in the bottom of my heart that you needed it and it was no problem for me to give you what my heart is full of. Thank you for the muffins, petal.”
(Y/N) huffed out a small laugh, softly shaking her head in disbelief that someone so perfect could exist. Someone so soft and emotionally intelligent, so beautiful and cautious. “You’re unbelievable, y’know that? I’ve never met someone so polite from the second I’ve met them and really, it warms my heart more than I can say. I –“ It was like the woman had a drank a truth serum before she came to see him.
“I left here on Sunday even seeing the rain in a whole different way. I told my mum about you – about the stranger that gave me his umbrella and gifted me flowers because I looked like a sad, wet mess. And I just knew you didn’t do all that out of pity. It means a lot to me.”
Harry could only smile at her. She was so cute, honestly rambling off again about whatever she felt with no filter on her mouth. It was sweet and it made Harry feel good that his kindness meant so much to her. It reminded Harry of the exact reason why he was the way he was.
“Well, I do hope you come by here often and I promise I’ll always be just as kind and sweet, petal.”
(Y/N) felt her cheeks warming up, her heart racing at that nickname again, finding it even a little funny given that he sold flowers. She wanted a different reason to come by the flower shop, perhaps to see him more often than just Sundays where she’d usually be a mess and crying again.
Before (Y/N) could respond, Harry disappeared behind the small hallway that led to the back, then returning with a beautiful chocolate cherry sunflower, Harry handing it to her with a hopeful smile.
“Every petal of this flowers will leave with a promise of your return. Come see me again, petal. I’ll be happily waiting to see you.”
I don't know what to post. Ive started sooo many new stories. But I have soo many second parts I haven't uploaded. So heres a poll of what should I post
Snowed in part 2
The soccer player part 2
New story!
Voting ended onSep 9, 2025
Please answer! I need some motivation. The new story is about a city girl and farmer Harry.
Haven't quite finished but I wanted to post another slow burn.
5.7k words
Harry had never really noticed her before.
His life was always loud, girls flirting, guys hyping him up, professors praising his soccer stats like he was already a pro. College for Harry was practices, parties, and the occasional class he barely listened to.
Y/n’s life was the opposite. It was just class, home, homework, and watching her favorite shows. She didn’t party, and the only person she really talked to was her roommate, Becca.
That afternoon, Harry was messing around on the quad, kicking a ball back and forth with his mates. One overpowered kick sent the ball flying.
Straight into someone’s head, knocking her headphones off.
“Bloody hell—” Harry muttered, already jogging over.
The girl turned, rubbing the side of her head. She had these big, curious brown eyes behind slightly crooked glasses, dark brown skin that glowed in the sunlight, and hair in a beautiful afro that was dented because of the ball. Her sweatshirt was a size too big, sleeves half-covering her hands.
He bent to grab her headphones for her. “I am so sorry, love—didn’t mean to—”
She looked up at him, and for the first time, Harry Styles the campus golden boy was struck speechless.
“It’s… fine,” she mumbled, barely above a whisper, taking the headphones he handed to her. Her other hand fixing her glasses.
“Bro, you good?” one of his teammates called, tossing him the ball. Harry barely heard him. His eyes were still following her retreating figure in the over sized sweater.
He had no idea why he suddenly wanted to know everything about her.
//
The next morning, Harry strolled into his lecture, half expecting the usual scene of girls waving him over, saving him a seat.
Instead, his eyes landed on her.
Sitting in the third row, perfect posture on her laptop, completely absorbed in typing. There were colorful stickers all over the cover disney characters, space, some random anime characters and she was sipping from a ridiculously oversized pink cup.
She glanced up for a split second, eyes catching his before darting back to her screen.
Harry made his way over to her. He slid into the row, ignoring the stares and groans from his soccer mates that he usually sat with.
She was typing furiously, clearly too into her notes to notice him hovering. Class barely started and she was already deep in her notes. Harry leaned slightly toward her, putting on his best smile.
“Hey,” he said casually, voice low and smooth. “This seat taken?”
Her hands stilled on the keyboard. Slowly—so slowly—she turned her head toward him. Up close, Harry noticed how her long lashes curled just a bit at the ends, how her lip gloss caught the light.
“N-No,” she stammered, tucking her hair behind her ear as if that would hide the fact she was nervous
Harry dropped into the seat with an easy grin. “Good.”
She immediately went back to her laptop, posture a little stiffer now. Harry leaned back in his chair, resting his elbow on the desk like he had all the time in the world.
“So…” he started, tilting his head toward her screen, “you always type this fast, or is it just ‘cause you’re sat next to me?”
Her fingers paused. She blinked at him, clearly caught off guard. “What?”
Harry smirked. “S’just—I’ve never seen anyone that focused on a lecture before. Makes me wonder if you’re trying to impress someone.”
“I’m not.” She said firmly, eyes dropping to her screen again.
“Oh, so you’re just naturally a genius then?” he teased, leaning closer like they were already friends. “Great. You can help me pass this class.”
That made her look at him again, brows furrowed like she wasn’t sure if he was serious.
Harry chuckled under his breath, running a hand through his messy curls. “Relax, love. I’m joking… sort of. But if you are secretly top of the class, I might have to bribe you with coffee.”
"or maybe bribe you with anime stickers. You seem to like those." He said. Y/n immediately looked at him.
"Ohh anime is the way to your heart. Noted." He said,
"I didn't say that." She said, as she focused back on her laptop.
"But you didn't deny it either."he said, Harry noticed the way her lips twitched like she was fighting back a smile, and he leaned forward on his desk, resting his chin in his hand like he had all the time in the world just to look at her.
“So… what’s your name, then? Or should I just keep calling you ‘love’?”
She finally looked up at him, eyes narrowing slightly. “Why would you even call me that? You don’t know me.”
Harry grinned. God, she was cute when she was annoyed. “Fair point. But it suits you.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Mm, it does,” he said confidently, leaning back in his chair like he’d won.
She rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath (idiot) as she kept typing.
Harry tilted his head, feigning offense. “Oi, was that an insult?”
“No,” she said quickly, not meeting his eyes.
“Yes, it was.” He was grinning now, leaning closer again. “What’d you call me?”
“Nothing,” she insisted, her voice just a bit higher-pitched now.
Harry smirked. “Liar.”
“I’m not lying!”
“You’re totally lying.”
The professor stop lecturing and gave them a look to hush. Y/n nodded looking back at her laptop. Harry mumbled a sorry.
She huffed, finally turning to face him fully. “Do you always annoy people in class?”
“Only the ones I like,” he shot back without missing a beat.
Her jaw dropped just slightly, he could tell she didn’t know whether he was joking or not.
“That’s—That’s dumb,” she said finally,
Harry bit back a laugh. “So, you’re saying you don’t like me, then?” he teased.
“I don’t even know you,” she muttered, her fingers a little clumsier on the keyboard now.
Harry grinned wider, absolutely loving how flustered she looked. “Guess I’ll just have to fix that, won’t I?”
She glanced at him then, eyes narrowing like she was trying to figure him out. "My name is Y/n" she mumbled.
Harry’s grin widened like he’d just won some kind of game.
“Y/n,” he repeated slowly, letting the name roll off his tongue. “Yeah… suits you better than ‘love.’ Still might call you both, though.”
“You really don’t have to call me either,” She said, at this point she completely stopped typing. Harry distracted her too much to even try to type.
“but where’s the fun in that?” he teased, leaning on his arm to face you fully. “So, Y/n… you always sit up front like this? Is that why I’ve never seen you before?”
“Maybe you’ve just never paid attention to anyone who isn’t obsessed with you,” you shot back without thinking.
Harry’s eyebrows shot up, then a slow, amused smile tugged at his mouth. “Ouch. So you have heard of me.”
“I think everyone has heard of you,” she muttered.
“Right, campus celebrity and all that,” he said dramatically, pretending to flip his hair. “Glad to know I’ve made an impression.”
“You hit me in the head with a soccer ball,” she deadpanned.
Harry laughed, leaning closer. “True. But at least I got your name out of it. Worth it, I’d say.”
She gave him a look, “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re fun when you’re annoyed,” he said, smirking. “Think I might have to keep doing it.”
You shook your head, muttering, “Please don’t.”
Harry leaned back in his chair, still grinning like he’d figured out the best secret in the world.
“Oh, I absolutely will.”
The professor dismissed everyone, and the room instantly filled with the sound of laptops shutting and chairs scraping against the floor.
Y/n quickly stuffed her laptop into your bag, desperate to escape before Harry could say anything else that would make her nervous.
But of course, Harry noticed.
“You’re leaving without saying goodbye?” he teased, slinging his own backpack over one shoulder as he stood. “Cold, Y/n. Really cold.”
She glanced at him briefly, adjusting her bag strap. “Goodbye, Harry.”
He grinned like she just told him a secret. “See? You do know my name.”
Y/n rolled your eyes and headed toward the door, but Harry easily fell into step beside her.
“Where you headed?” he asked casually, hands shoved into his pockets.
“Somewhere that’s not here.”
“Ouch. You’re breaking my heart, Y/n.”
“You’ll survive,” she muttered, walking faster.
Harry kept up effortlessly, that same cheeky smile plastered on his face. “D’you always run away from people after class, or am I just special?”
“You’re not special,” she said quickly,
Harry laughed. “Sure I’m not. That’s why you’re walking like you’re trying to escape me.”
She groaned, half-exasperated, half-amused “You’re exhausting.”
He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Nah… I’m persistent. There’s a difference.”
"Bye Harry." She said walking out the door.
“See you next class, Y/n,” he said, voice teasing but warm.
//
The next day, Y/n was tucked away in a quiet corner of the library, completely absorbed in her notes. A half-empty coffee cup sat beside her laptop, and her highlighter moved quickly across the page as she tried to cram for an upcoming quiz. She barely noticed the time passing—this was her routine, her comfort zone, far away from the chaos of campus life.
Harry, however, wasn’t exactly known for being in the library. Most people assumed he didn’t even know where it was. But today, he strolled through the doors with a purpose, scanning the rows until he spotted her.
There she was, hunched over a textbook with her laptop in front of her. She looked so focused.
With a grin tugging at his lips, he walked over. Y/n didn’t notice him until the chair next to her scraped against the floor.
Her head shot up, startled, eyes meeting his.
Harry dropped into the seat beside her like he belonged there, setting his bag down with a soft thud. “Fancy running into you here,” he said casually, that familiar smirk tugging at his mouth.
Y/n stared at him, incredulous. “What are you doing here?”
“Studying,” he said smoothly, leaning back in his chair.
“You don’t study in the library.”
“Not usually, no,” Harry admitted, eyes gleaming with amusement. “But I had a feeling you’d be here.”
She blinked, unsure what to say to that, and turned back to her notes.
Harry tilted his head, watching her intently. “What’s got you so focused, then? Looks like serious business.”
“Class,” she said shortly, not bothering to look up.
Harry chuckled softly. “You’re gonna make me work for your attention, aren’t you?”
Y/n finally glanced at him, brow furrowed. “Do you ever stop talking?”
“Not when I’m trying to get to know someone,” he replied easily, the corner of his mouth lifting.
She looked back at her book. trying to hide the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips as she went back to highlighting her textbook.
Harry leaned his elbow on the table, chin resting in his hand as he studied her like she was far more interesting than any book could ever be.
Harry leaned closer, peering at her notes like he had any idea what they said. “Blimey… you actually understand this stuff?”
Y/n didn’t even look up. “Yes. That’s the point of studying.”
“See, that’s where you and I differ,” Harry said, tapping her notebook with his finger. “I show up, charm the professor, and hope for the best.”
“we can't all charm our way through life..” she muttered, nudging his hand away.
“You can, you're cute enough to charm your way through anything. If you weren't so serious” he shot back with a grin. “Bet you’ve never even skipped class, have you?”
“Why would I skip a class I’m paying for?” she asked, finally glancing at him.
Harry smirked, leaning back in his chair like he’d won some unspoken game. “Exactly what I thought. You’re a good girl.”
Her head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?” His smirk widened. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
“It’s weird.”
“Not weird,” he said smoothly. “Just… accurate.”
Y/n huffed, turning back to her laptop. “You’re distracting me.”
Harry tilted his head, still watching her with that irritatingly charming grin. “Nah, I think you like having me here.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“Harry—”
“You’d miss me if I left right now.”
“I wouldn’t,” she said firmly, but the slight smile on her face betrayed her.
Harry chuckled, leaning in closer just enough for her to notice. “You’re cute when you’re trying to act mad, you know that?”
“I’m not mad.”
“Sure you’re not.” He winked at her, settling back the chair.
Harry watched her for a moment longer, chin resting in his hand, clearly amused by how hard she was trying to ignore him.
“So,” he started casually, “what are you doing Friday night?”
Y/n didn’t look up from her notes. “Watching a new episode of a K-Drama.”
Harry grinned. “Of course you are. But… hear me out. what if, instead, you came to my frat’s party?”
That finally made her look at him. “A frat party? Seriously?”
“Yeah. It’ll be fun. Music, drinks, bad decisions."
“I don’t go to frat parties,” she said flatly, going back to her textbook.
Harry leaned closer, lowering his voice just slightly. “Then you’re overdue for one, yeah?”
She shot him a look. “Why are you even inviting me? Don’t you already have… like, a dozen girls lined up to go with you?”
Harry smirked, unfazed. “Probably. But none of them are you.”
Her brows knit together like she couldn’t quite figure out if he was joking. “That’s… not a good reason.”
“It’s the only reason that matters,” he said easily, flashing her that signature smile. “Come on, Y/n. Live a little. One night won’t kill you.”
She shook her head, muttering, “You’re persistent.”
Harry grinned wider, sensing the tiny crack in her resolve. “That’s not a no.”
“It’s basically a no,” she said.
“Not how I heard it,” he teased. “I’ll see you Friday, then.”
“You won’t,” she insisted, her mouth betraying her with the smallest smile.
Harry caught it instantly, looking far too pleased with himself. “We’ll see about that, love.”
//
Y/n pushed open the door to her dorm room, dropping her bag by her bed with a sigh. Becca was sprawled across her side of the room, scrolling on her phone, but she glanced up immediately when she saw Y/n’s expression.
“You look weird. What happened?”
Y/n hesitated, fiddling with the strap of her bag. “…Harry invited me to his frat party on Friday.”
Becca sat bolt upright. “Harry as in Harry Styles, hot, British, soccer-star, campus-heartthrob Harry Styles?”
Y/n winced. “Yeah, that one.”
Becca’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god. He asked you to a party?!”
Y/n shrugged awkwardly. “Technically, yes. But I told him no—”
“Nope. Absolutely not.” Becca jumped off her bed, pointing an accusing finger at her. “We. Are. Going.”
“Becca—”
“No, Y/n. You’re telling me Harry freaking Styles the guy everyone is obsessed with—asked you to his party, and you’re just gonna… stay in and a k-drama????”
“I don’t like frat parties and my shows are good.” Y/n mumbled, already knowing this argument was pointless.
Becca rolled her eyes, already digging through her closet. “Well, I do. And you’re going. End of discussion.”
Y/n groaned, flopping back on her bed. “I don’t even have anything to wear.”
Becca spun around, holding up a glittery top triumphantly. “Lucky for you, I do. Friday night, we’re going to that party, and you’re going to look so good that Harry Styles won’t know what hit him.”
Y/n covered her face with her hands. “This is a terrible idea.”
Becca grinned. “This is the best idea.”
Friday night came faster than Y/n wanted it to.
Becca had taken complete control of the evening, blasting music in their dorm while rummaging through clothes, makeup, and jewelry like a stylist preparing for a runway show. She stood in front of the mirror applying her eyeliner with surgical precision, already dressed in a tiny satin dress that made her legs look endless.
“Frat boys don’t let ugly girls in,” Becca reminded matter-of-factly, dabbing highlighter on her cheekbones. “So we are going to look hot. No excuses.”
Y/n sat on the edge of her bed, legs crossed, wearing the outfit Becca had basically forced her into a black micro mini skirt that left very little to the imagination, a fitted black corset top that hugged her curves perfectly, and chunky platform boots that made her legs look a mile long.
“Becca…” Y/n said slowly, glancing down at herself. “I can’t wear this.”
“You can and you will.” Becca grinned, tossing her a sparkly mini bag. “Trust me, you look insane. Harry is going to pass out when he sees you.”
Y/n rolled her eyes, reaching for her lip gloss. “Harry is probably just trying to reach the diversity quota for his frat. You’re Asian, I’m Black, it makes perfect sense.”
Becca snorted, turning to her with her hands on her hips. “Girl, please. He does not need to meet a quota. That man could have anyone. And yet, he invited you.”
“Exactly my point,” Y/n muttered, slicking on her gloss. “It’s weird.”
“It’s not weird—it’s obvious. He likes you.” Becca picked up her phone, already taking selfies of the two of them. “Now stop overthinking, because we’re about to walk in there looking like the hottest girls on campus.”
Y/n let out a dramatic sigh, grabbing her jacket. “Fine. But if this night goes horribly wrong, I’m blaming you.”
Becca grinned, linking her arm through Y/n’s as they left the dorm. “Oh, it’s not going to go wrong, with us looking this good nothing can go wrong.”
The bass from the frat house could be heard halfway down the block. Red cups littered the front lawn, and the porch was crowded with loud, laughing students.
Becca tugged Y/n along confidently, her heels clicking against the pavement. “Look like a stuck up bitch.” She muttered to Y/n.
Y/n adjusted her jacket nervously, tugging at the hem of her micro mini skirt. “I look like I definitely don’t belong here.”
“You’re about to,” Becca said with a smirk, flipping her hair as they reached the door.
Two frat guys were standing guard outside, giving them a once-over the second they approached. One of them grinned, already holding the door open.
“Ladies,” he said, clearly impressed.
Becca shot Y/n a smug look as they stepped inside. The house smelled like cheap beer and too much cologne, and the music was so loud Y/n could feel it in her chest.
“Okay, now we find Harry,” Becca said over the music, scanning the room.
Y/n looked at Becca , annoyed by her suggestion. “Or we could just get a drink and—”
“Y/N!”
She froze at the sound of her name.
Harry was across the room, leaning against the counter with a red cup in hand, his curls messy and his smile wide. He was dressed in a white t-shirt that clung to him just right and black jeans, looking effortlessly unfair.
Becca nudged her hard. “Oh. My. God. He spotted you immediately.”
Y/n swallowed, suddenly very aware of how short her skirt was as Harry pushed off the counter and started walking toward her.
When he reached her, his eyes swept over her outfit slowly, like he was taking in every detail. His grin deepened.
“Didn’t think you’d actually show up,” he said, leaning in close enough to be heard over the music.
Becca smirked behind Y/n’s shoulder.
Y/n forced a shrug, trying to seem unbothered. “My roommate didn’t give me a choice.”
Harry chuckled, eyes glinting. He looked over at Becca behind Y/n. “Thank you....” he finished waiting on her name
"Becca." She responded
"Thank you Becca." He said warmly. His kindness enough to melt Y/n. Becca nodded
"Im gonna go mingle! If you need me, yell." Becca said before going into the crowd of people. Leaving Harry and Y/n with each other.
Harry’s gaze lingered on Y/n for just a second too long, his eyes trailing from her corset top down to her platform boots before meeting hers again.
“You clean up nice,” he said with that effortless smirk, leaning just slightly closer.
Y/n crossed her arms, trying to ignore the way her stomach flipped. “You make it sound like I looked bad before.”
Harry grinned wider. “Didn’t say that. Just… didn’t realize you had this in you.”
“So, this is your big frat party? Feels… exactly like I imagined. Beer, sweat, bad music—very impressive.”
Harry laughed, shaking his head. “Careful, love. Keep insulting my party, and I might just have to convince you it’s fun.”
“You’re going to convince me?” she asked skeptically.
“Yeah,” Harry said, still smiling that lazy, confident smile. “Starting with this, come dance with me.”
Y/n blinked. “What? No. Absolutely not.”
“Oh, come on. Live a little.”
“Nope.”
Harry stepped a little closer, eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re not scared, are you?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not scared. I just don’t dance with frat boys.”
“Lucky for you,” he teased, “I’m not just a frat boy. I’m Harry Styles.”
Y/n stared at him, unimpressed. “Wow. So humble.”
He grinned, completely unbothered by her sarcasm. “Fine. If you won’t dance, at least have a drink with me. Let me prove I’m not as bad as you think.”
“Fine,” Y/n muttered, following him to the kitchen.
The night blurred into laughter, loud music, and the occasional cheers echoing from the beer pong table. Harry stayed close to Y/n the whole time leaning down to make snarky comments in her ear, teasing her about how “serious” she looked holding a red cup, and occasionally brushing her hand when they moved through the crowd together.
It was strange. She’d expected him to ditch her within minutes, surrounded by his usual fan club. But he didn’t.
At one point, Y/n glanced across the room and spotted Becca pressed against the wall with a guy in a backwards cap, kissing him like they’d known each other for years. Y/n’s jaw dropped.
“Becca,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head.
Harry followed her gaze and laughed. “Think your mate’s having fun.”
“Apparently,” Y/n said, trying not to laugh herself.
Before she could make another comment, someone shouted Harry’s name from across the room. He turned his head, spotting one of his teammates waving him over.
Harry leaned closer to Y/n, his curls brushing her cheek. “Give me two minutes, yeah? Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
Y/n nodded, trying not to think too hard about how close he’d just gotten.
The moment Harry stepped away, another guy slid into his place like he’d been waiting for the opportunity.
“Hey,” the guy said, flashing a grin. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with sandy blond hair and a letterman jacket. “I’m Dylan. Don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”
Y/n hesitated, glancing in the direction Harry had gone. “Uh… yeah. I usually don’t come to these parties.”
“That’s a shame,” Dylan said, leaning casually against the wall. “’Cause you’re definitely the prettiest girl here tonight.”
Y/n blinked, caught off guard. “Oh… thanks?”
He smirked, stepping just a little closer. “So… you here with anyone? Or are you free to let me get you a drink?”
Harry’s eyes didn’t leave them as he cut through the crowd, his easygoing grin gone, replaced by a look that was equal parts annoyed and territorial.
Dylan had leaned in closer to Y/n, still smirking as he asked her something that made her laugh nervously. She didn’t notice the way Dylan’s eyes roamed or how obviously he was trying to flirt. She just thought he was being friendly.
“…Yeah, I’m just here with my roommate,” Y/n was saying when Harry finally reached them.
Harry clapped a hand on Dylan’s shoulder, forcing an exaggerated smile. “Alright, mate. Cheers for keeping her company, but I’ll take it from here, yeah?”
Dylan smirked, clearly catching on to Harry’s tone. “Didn’t know you’d staked a claim, Styles.”
Harry’s jaw flexed. “Don’t need to. She’s with me.”
Y/n blinked, looking between them, completely lost. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing,” Harry said quickly, sliding an arm casually around the back of Y/n’s chair—not quite touching her, but close enough to make his point. “Just saying hi to Dylan.”
Dylan chuckled under his breath, glancing at Y/n. “Well, if you get bored with this guy, you know where to find me.”
Harry’s smirk tightened. “Yeah, don’t count on that.”
As Dylan walked off, Harry leaned down to Y/n, his curls brushing her shoulder. “You really didn’t notice he was hitting on you?”
Y/n frowned, genuinely confused. “He was?”
Harry laughed, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”
“What?” she asked defensively.
Harry just grinned, eyes softening as he looked at her. “Nothing. Just… stay with me, yeah?”
Y/n crossed her arms, pretending not to notice the way her chest fluttered. “I am with you.”
Harry smirked, leaning closer. “Good. Let’s keep it that way."
The night had settled into an easy rhythm. Harry and Y/n sitting close on the couch, talking about everything and nothing. Harry made her laugh more than she expected, leaning in every so often to throw out a sarcastic comment or a playful jab just to see her roll her eyes.
For a while, it almost felt like the rest of the party had faded into the background.
Until Alex walked in.
Tall, with long dark hair that fell in perfect waves, and a kind of confidence that drew attention the second she stepped into the room. Her eyes found Harry almost instantly, and a soft, knowing smile curved her lips as she approached.
“Harry,” she greeted warmly, her voice smooth.
Harry looked up, the smile on his face faltering just slightly like he hadn’t expected to see her there. “Alex.”
Y/n felt it immediately. The shift. The tension. Something unspoken hanging between them, like a history, or maybe something unfinished.
Alex’s eyes flicked briefly to Y/n before returning to Harry. “Can we talk? Just for a second?”
Harry hesitated for a beat, glancing at Y/n. For the first time that night, his playful, effortless demeanor cracked just slightly.
“Yeah,” he said finally, standing up. He leaned down a little toward Y/n, his voice softer. “Give me a second, yeah?”
Y/n forced a shrug, trying to seem unaffected. “Sure. Take your time.”
Harry studied her face for half a moment, like he wanted to say more, but then he followed Alex toward a quieter corner of the house.
Y/n sat back on the couch, her stomach twisting even as she told herself she didn’t care.
Still, she couldn’t help but notice how easily Harry had followed Alex. Like maybe… this wasn’t the first time Alex had asked him to.
Dylan noticed Y/n’s expression falter as she glanced once more toward Harry and Alex, so he leaned in slightly, flashing that easy, confident smile.
“Don’t let him ruin your night,” Dylan said, voice smooth he came from behind the couch. “Honestly, if I were Harry, I wouldn’t leave a girl like you sitting alone for even a second.”
Y/n looked at him, a small, surprised laugh escaping before she could stop it. “You’re really laying it on thick, huh?”
Dylan grinned wider. “Can you blame me? You walked in tonight looking like that and had every guy here staring at you, including me.”
Y/n shook her head, a smile crept up slightly on her lips.
“You know,” Dylan added, leaning back casually, “Styles might be the star soccer player, but I’d bet I could outdo him in a game of beer pong. You up for being my partner? We’d make a pretty unstoppable team.”
Y/n tilted her head, smiling for the first time in several minutes. “You’re just trying to use me for good luck.”
“Maybe,” Dylan teased. “But if we win, I get to claim you’re the reason. Deal?”
She bit her lip, fighting a grin. “Fine. Deal.”
The game heated up quickly, the crowd around the table growing louder with every shot. Dylan and Y/n were in sync—every time he made a cup, he’d turn to her with an exaggerated fist pump, and every time she landed one, he’d cheer like they’d just won a championship.
By the final round, they were tied with the other team, everyone chanting and banging on the table. Dylan leaned in close, his grin wide.
“This one’s all you, lucky charm. Sink it, and we win.”
Y/n bit her lip, focusing hard as she tossed the ball. It bounced once, teetered on the rim of the cup and then dropped in.
The crowd erupted.
“YES!” Dylan whooped, grabbing Y/n’s hands and pulling her into a celebratory spin. “I knew you’d do it!”
She was laughing, breathless, as Dylan raised their arms like they’d just won Olympic gold. “We’re officially the beer pong dream team!” he declared, making a few people cheer louder.
Y/n shook her head, still laughing as Dylan handed her the last victorious drink. “Okay, okay, you’re being a bit dramatic.”
“Dramatic? We’re undefeated,” Dylan teased, bumping her shoulder playfully.
The whole time, Harry watched from where he stood. He was leaning against the wall, jaw tight, his beer untouched. His eyes hadn’t left Y/n once. not when she laughed, not when Dylan spun her, not even when she raised her cup in victory. And when Dylan leaned close to say something in her ear, Harry pushed off the wall excusing himself from Alex, and started making his way back toward them.
Dylan was still grinning, leaning closer to Y/n so she could hear him over the noise.
“Alright,” he said, “one more game? Or are we retiring as champions?”
Y/n laughed, shaking her head. “I think we should quit while we’re ahead. End on a win.”
“Fair enough,” Dylan said with a wink. “Still makes you my favorite partner of the night.”
Before Y/n could reply, a voice cut through the noise, smooth and familiar.
“Looks like you’re having fun.”
She turned to see Harry standing there, his jaw tight but his tone light too light, like he was holding something back.
“Yeah,” Y/n said, forcing a small smile. “We won beer pong.”
Harry’s eyes flicked to Dylan briefly, then back to her. “Congrats.”
Dylan, clearly enjoying the tension, propped his hand on Harry shoulder. “She’s a natural, Styles. Carried me through half the game.”
Harry gave a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Right.”
He turned to Y/n, his voice low but firm. “Can we talk? Outside?”
Y/n looked up at him, already grabbing her bag. “Actually… I’m about to head out.”
Harry frowned. “Now? Why?”
“I had too many beers, I’m tired… and I should probably go peel Becca off your friend,” she said quickly, the excuses tumbling out like she was trying to convince herself as much as him.
Harry nodded slowly, like he wanted to believe her but didn’t.
“Night, Harry. Night, Dylan.” Y/n gave a small wave before walking off, leaving Harry standing there, jaw tight as he watched her go.
//
Y/n woke up the next morning with a groan, her head buried under her pillow. The night replayed in fragments. Harry, Alex, Dylan, the beer pong table, and pulling Becca off some guy.
She reached for her phone on the nightstand, blinking at the screen as a new text popped up from an unknown number.
Unknown: Hope you stretched this morning. Can’t have my beer pong partner walking around sore after carrying Dylan all night.
Y/n stared at the message, fighting the inevitable smile tugging at her lips.
Unknown: Also, side note: terrible form on your last throw. Impressive result, though. Lucky shot?
She bit her lip, shaking her head. She didn’t need to ask who it was. She knew.
Unknown: P.S. if you delete this number, I’ll just find you again in class. Don’t think I won’t.
Unknown: P.S.S stay away from Dylan. He means no good
Y/n found herself grinning at her phone. Y/n lay in bed, phone in hand, cheeks hurting from how much she’d been smiling.
Harry: So what’s the verdict? Am I officially saved in your phone, or am I still “Unknown”?
Y/n: Still deciding.
Harry: Rude. I feel like I earned at least a “Harry 🤓” after last night.
Y/n: You don’t get an emoji.
Harry: Fine. Then I’m putting you in my phone as “Y/n 🧐” because you’re always thinking.
Y/n rolled her eyes, grinning as she typed back.
Y/n: You’re stupid.
Harry: And yet, you’re still texting me.
The back-and-forth went on for hours—Harry teasing her relentlessly, Y/n trying (and failing) to keep up her usual sarcasm without letting on how much she enjoyed it.
At one point, he sent a photo of his “study setup”—an empty notebook, a pen, and a bag of chips.
Harry: Do I look like I’m ready to learn yet?
Y/n: Looks like you’re ready to fail.
Harry: Guess I’ll just have to convince you to tutor me.
Y/n: Not happening.
Harry: We’ll see. I’ve got all semester to wear you down.
Every time her phone buzzed, her heart jumped. It was ridiculous. she felt like a teenager with a crush, grinning at her screen like she’d lost all sense.
By the time Becca walked in that evening, Y/n was curled up in bed with the dumbest smile on her face.
Becca eyed her suspiciously. “Oh no. Why do you look like that?”
Y/n tried to play it off. “Like what?”
“Like Harry Styles just texted you something cute.”
Y/n buried her face in her pillow, groaning. “Shut up.”
Becca gasped dramatically. “Oh my God. You like him.”
Y/n peeked out from under the pillow, cheeks warm. “No, I don’t.”
Becca crossed her arms, smirking. “Mhm. Sure. Tell that to your stupid smile right now.”
Girl I just want you to know that I would sell my kidney for another part of “snowed in” or really any kind of writing from you. As a black harrie it’s hard finding writers that are also black and write about someone that looks like me🥹 it was rough out here always reading about “blue orbs” since 2013 lmaooo but keep it up, and no rush or pressure!! <33
Girlll I know. If i read one more messy bun it would have been over. Also I wrote part 2. I just think it's terrible. So im just letting it sit in my notes.
Snowed in part twoo.. does not seem to be happening. I wrote it like 5 times and Every single time I continue the story it sucks. Im not good at continuations. Im so sorry. I might just upload it and let it be trash 😭
