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groupie!reader universe
He's yet to see her.
He's been running in circles, trying to spot her in backstage ever since closing the show. Even though he's sure he's seen her with his own eyes peeking from between the black curtains of backstage, he's now starting to think that tonight is playing him, and that she’s actually back in London. Or maybe she just didn't like the show and decided to leave, Harry thinks, laughing at himself and how pathetic he sounds.
He finds Jeff on the phone, and Anthony is with him, his camera still on his neck.
"Have you seen her?" He asks Jeff after greeting Anthony.
He doesn't look up from the stack of papers, though, and only shakes his head, continuing his conversation on the phone.
He itches his neck, rubs the sweat further into his skin nonchalantly, and turns to Anthony. "What about you," he says, hands shaking. "Have you seen... a girl?"
Anthony laughs at that.
"A girl? I've seen lots of girls!"
"No, ah... backstage? Someone? Looking for me or somethin'?"
"Nope, sorry, dude."
"Fuck sake," he murmurs under his breath and keeps walking, turning right towards the green room.
He finds everyone there, having drinks.
Everyone but her.
"Harry," he nods at Harry Lambert. "Have you seen her? I swear I saw you hiding behind the curtain– she's trying to fuck with my head again, I swear."
"I did."
"You did?"
Harry Lambert nods, grinning at him before he focuses on something behind Harry.
He turns there.
And there she is.
There she bloody is.
She's dressed in wide leg trousers, black– midnight black, and she's got a yellow long sleeve on top, tight and tucked in, and her cleavage... her cleavage looks divine. She's got hoop earrings on, they're huge, and her smile... God, Harry finds himself thinking, her smile makes him weak in the fucking knees.
"Looking for me?" She says, and Harry notices the red cup in her hand. She takes a sip, then itches the side of her face.
Harry sighs. "Bold of you to assume I was looking for you?"
"Ha," a smirk paints her features. "You're so full of shit– I heard you saying my name, asking people if they've seen me ever since you came backstage. I mean," she looks him up and down. "You haven't even changed."
"You're testing my patience," Harry says her name, then walks towards her, others in the room forgotten. "Let's go."
"As you wish."
He walks ahead of her, guiding her through the narrow path leading up to his changing room, and he knows she's looking at his ass. He knows, because she told him once or twice, how beautiful and sexy it is, his ass, and he remembers all those nights she took her time to play with it, bringing him to edge only to take it all away and throw it in his face. He remembers her touching him there, fingertips leaving fiery marks on his flesh as she played with him and did all the things Harry can't even say out loud yet.
She's out to get him, and he doesn't think he minds it one bit.
"Are we fucking?" She asks boldly when he closes the door behind her.
"Not enough time."
She puts the cup on the coffee table, and her hands find the zipper on her top. She drags it down, just a tiny bit, until her boobs look even more delicious to Harry, on display and juicy.
"Fuck me," he mutters. "Just– c'mere, let me fuck your mouth."
"Yeah? Are you hard?"
"You don't even know."
She smiles, a genuine one this time, and walks closer. Entering his space, she gets on her knees and her fingers start working the button and the zipper on his polka-dot trousers.
"God," she mumbles, though Harry thinks she wasn't supposed to let that out.
"What?"
She shakes her head as she helps him slide all the fabric down and they watch it all pool around Harry's ankles.
"You're so fucking big."
Harry gulps at the sight, her on her knees, and places his hand on her chin, bringing her closer to his hard cock.
"Gonna fuck your mouth so hard you won't be able to speak for hours," he says, with one hand pumping his cock as the other thumbs at her bottom lip.
She opens, like the good girl she is, and he brings his cock to her mouth, letting her warm and slippery mouth welcome his hard cock. It's bliss, her mouth, all warm and wet, and so tight around him, and Harry thinks he might just pass out from all the sensation he's feeling at the tip of his cock.
He's so hard it hurts at the beginning, when she licks the tip, but it gets better once she starts humming around him and sliding his mouth up and down with her saliva now dripping down her chin. She looks dirty, private, and his.
She looks like she's his.
Harry takes his cock out of her mouth. She whines. He holds it from his base and slaps it against her warm cheek, smearing precum and her saliva all over her skin.
"Can't stay away from me, hm?" He says, the words sounding all hushed and low coming from his mouth. "Would follow me anywhere as long as you get my cock in you, right? Anywhere."
She nods, eyes finding his as she follows his cock and takes it into her mouth when he doesn't make a move. She swirls her tongue around the pink, wet muscle of his tip, and Harry groans. She tongues at the bottom, then at his slit before she starts taking him deeper and deeper.
"Look at you," Harry whispers, his free hand pulling her hair. "What are you," he asks in a practiced tone. She knows it.
She takes him out of her mouth, resting the tip on her tongue.
"A whore," she says, licking around the tip, then the underside of his cock, tonguing at the vein there. "I'm your whore."
"Yeah, you are. My fucking slut, aren't you?"
"Yes. Please– fuck me– fuck my throat."
"I want you to choke on it, take it all, take my cum."
He slaps his cock against her chin a few times, then fucks into her mouth, hands now on each side of her face as he rocks back and forth, cock coming in and out of her warm mouth. It looks dirty, nasty with her saliva running down her chin, all the way down to her top and chest, ruining everything, but Harry loves it. He knows she does too.
"I'm gonna cum," he grunts, pushing harder and deeper into her mouth and keeping his cock there as it touches the very back of her throat.
She makes a choking sound, gargles, but never once moves her head and takes what's being given.
Harry cums, his cum hitting the back of her throat as she chokes, only a little, and he sees the tears running down her face. It's divine, and she looks like she's from another universe. On her knees. At his mercy.
"Fuck– shit, oh my God," Harry curses, hands squeezing her head tighter as he comes undone.
Minutes pass as she ever so gently licks at his tip, all lazy and sloppy, and Harry knows they need to hurry up.
"Sorry," he says when they pull apart and he's pulling his underwear and trousers back on. "Got you all... dirty."
"You're all right."
"Come," he helps her up, and brings her to the ensuite. "Let's clean you up, lovely."
"You messed me up real bad," she looks in the mirror, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I love it."
He loves it, too.
He thinks he loves most things when it's with her.
MASTERLIST // ASKS // PLAYLIST // TAGS
Word Count: 10.1K
CW: NA
author's note: welcome to harry and hera's world. over the last month or so, i've been creating these characters and their story that mean so much to me, that i understand and relate to, all because of an album that means so much to me, to us. this is my first big story since loving you's the antidote, and i ask that you come into it with an open mind and heart, and give harry and hera a chance. i love these two so deeply, and i promise the rollercoaster you're about to go on will be well worth it. thank you to @gucciwins, @hunflowers, @loversgothumour, and @harryinsweats for listening to me ramble on and on about these characters that have become very real to me. i couldn't do this without your input and thoughts. and lastly, thank you to you, everyone that reads, because you're the reason i'm encouraged to write anything. i appreciate your love and kindness more than anything in this world. please, please leave comments and feedback and reblogs and likes and all the things! it encourages me! okay, enough rambling, welcome to harry (and hera's) house.
May is not necessarily the nicest time of year. Not in London, at least. Hera enjoys the weather in New York City in May much more than London, but it’s where she lives, where she calls home. And for the first time in nearly three months, Hera is home, soaking in the time to relax and take a break from work and travel in the comfort of her own home, with the familiarity of the people she loves around her. Like every other Thursday that Hera has off, her priority has been working on work emails and contracts to be sent out for Monday, residing on the couch with a blanket strewn over her legs, a mindless program airing in the background, and her phone tucked between her thigh and the softened cushion. Grant is at work, today, but he spends the weekends at her apartment in Hampstead Heath more often than not, and she’s expecting a call from him to say that he’s on his way.
Hera’s phone vibrates beneath her thigh, much earlier than when Grant typically calls on his way home, and not usually when Isla calls her to talk about their day. Her hand reaches for the phone, bringing it up to her face to see who’s calling.
And Hera has to look at the screen twice before fully accepting who is calling her. Grant will be arriving any minute, and she’s unsure what he will walk into if she answers the call. Hera tends to get emotional whenever she speaks to who is calling, and after not speaking to them for almost a year, it seems odd that they’re calling, especially when tomorrow is such a big day for them. Hera hesitates another second before deciding to answer, sliding her finger across the screen, and lifting the phone to her ear, clutching the device between her ear and shoulder.
“Hey, H,” is the first thing spoken through the speaker, and the name, the voice, the familiarity of it all feels like home. “It’s been a while. I’m glad you answered. How are you?”
“Hi,” she says smoothly, collecting her thoughts and picking at the fringe of the blanket thrown across her thighs. “I’m okay. I’m fresh off a tour, so I’m enjoying some time at home.” Hera waits a moment, and then says, “I’ll always answer. You know that.” One more moment. “How are you? Congratulations on your tour.”
“Thank you, H. That means a lot.” Hera can hear the ragged breathing through the speaker. He’s nervous, she can hear it. “I’m okay. Gearing up for tour, like you mentioned, and everything that comes along with that. My album comes out tomorrow, too.”
“I know,” she laughs breathily, shaking her head knowingly. The album is everywhere. Absolutely everywhere she turns, there is the album, the face she tries to shy away from, the reminder that he is always around. “I’m happy for you. Isla told me it’s your best work. I’m sure it’ll do amazing on the charts and all that. You always do.”
“I appreciate that, I do.”
Hera doesn’t mean to sound rude or harsh, but she has to ask the inevitable. Hera hasn’t spoken to him in nearly a year … it doesn’t make sense why he’s calling, now. Unless he found out. “Harry, I don’t mean to sound rude, but is everything okay? I’m honestly a bit shocked you’re calling me.”
Harry laughs breathily this time, and Hera can imagine him shaking his head. “I called you about the album, actually. It comes out at midnight, and, after much convincing from Mitch and Sarah and Isla, it seems apparent to me that I should call and give you a heads up.”
Hera knows in her gut what he’s saying, but decides to play innocent, maybe a bit naïve, hoping desperately she’s wrong. “Heads up? For what?”
“I, um, well,” Harry stutters nervously. Hera remembers that he does that when he’s anxious. “I wrote some songs about you, about experiences that involve you, and they made it on the album. I wanted to let you know beforehand before they’re out there and anyone else can tell you.”
Hera gulps and nods her head, although Harry can’t see her. Her suspicions were correct. Gut instinct always true. “Are you going to tell me which ones?”
“I mean, I think you’ll be able to tell with most of them.” Harry takes a breath and hums, almost as if he’s thinking about something in between sentences. “There is one song, though, that I want to send to you, now, if that’s okay, and hear your thoughts on it. I, I wrote it a while ago, back when you had told me about things with your family and friends when we were dating.” Harry pauses, and it feels as though he just reopened a wound Hera thought was stitched tightly closed. “I just, I thought this was the best way to tell you I was listening to you, and I was there for you. I know I should’ve shown that in other ways, but I wrote this, and I wanted you to hear it before the world hears it. It’s for you, Hera.”
“Can you send it through?” Hera asks, her voice going quiet as she sinks into the white, puffy couch, suddenly feeling very small and very seen. Harry hums on the other end. “What’s it called, Harry?”
“Matilda.”
Hera nods silently as a tear slips down her cheek, her hands reaching for her computer and opening her screen, typing in her password, and opening the new message from him. Her heart sinks as she opens the file, the name of the song written in bold, black letters. Hera knows exactly what day this song was inspired by; what happened and what was said, everything that led to the creation of this song. Choosing to block out the memory, Hera presses play on the song, leaving Harry on speaker on her thigh.
It’s strange. Hearing Harry’s voice over the speaker on her computer with him on the phone. Listening to a song written about her trauma and tragedy.
Hera blinks back tears, her heart clenching in her chest as the lyrics settle in, every word written to tell her the thing that her favorite childhood movie and novel always reminded her: you are not alone. Harry lets the words settle in before saying anything. He sighs, ready to speak, when Hera presses play, again. For another four minutes, the two sit in silence, Harry choosing to be oblivious to the streams of tears falling down Hera’s cheeks, because if he acknowledged it, he would be on his way over, closing the short fifteen-minute gap between their homes and rushing to her. He couldn’t do that, now, though. Not now.
“Hera?”
Hera sniffles when the song finishes, sucking in a breath before answering him. “Yes?”
“Is it okay? Do you hate it?”
“Of course, I don’t hate it. How could I? It’s beautiful, Harry,” Hera whispers, wiping her cheeks and closing her computer screen. “I just, thank you. Thank you for listening.”
Hera can’t see that Harry nods, a blush creeping on his cheeks. “I, um, I have a show in London on Monday. I believe Isla is coming. I sent an invitation to Grant, too. Mum and Gemma will be there.” Harry waits a second. “I’d really like it if you came. Come even for a few songs, you know? I, it would mean so much to me.”
Hera, although having fully believed that all her feelings towards Harry were gone, has a very tough time saying no to him. “I’ll see. I’ll try to come.”
“Wonderful. I’ll see you Monday, then.”
“I’ll try, yes.”
Hera moves to hang up, hearing the clicking of the lock and the sound of her boyfriend coming through the front door. Grant walks into the living room, seeing the phone clutched between her ear and shoulder and kisses her softly, murmuring a ‘hello’ before walking into the kitchen.
“H?”
Hera freezes. Did he hear Grant? It won’t be good if Harry finds out before she can tell him. Before anyone can tell him. “Yes?”
“Thanks for answering. I’ve missed you. I’ll see you on Monday.” And before Hera could properly respond, Harry’s hung up the phone call.
Hera takes a minute to calm down, wiping the tears from her eyes and setting her computer and phone aside on the coffee table. All of that can be collected later before she’s off to bed for the evening. At this moment though, she needs a warm, reassuring hug from her boyfriend that says that everything is going to be okay. Maybe she’ll call Isla before bed and tell her what happened. Maybe she’ll tell Grant. Maybe she won’t tell anyone at all.
Hera stands from her position on the couch and walks into the modernized kitchen – it was remodeled only a few weeks ago and barely looks lived in, with the exception of Grant always making a meal when he’s around – standing in the doorway for a minute and admiring the way Grant is milling about the room knowingly. Grant and Hera have been dating for nearly a year and a half, now, and he’s made himself comfortable in her home, in a space she once shared with someone else. Grant, always the most thoughtful, grabs another glass to pour water into once he notices her waiting at the doorway, a smile picking at his features as neither of them say a word.
Considering how busy their lives are, there aren’t many moments where Hera and Grant get to act like a normal couple, where they can cook dinner together and talk about their days and go to bed together. Hera wants to enjoy this tonight, and not worry about anyone else on her mind.
Grant speaks first. “How was your day, love?” Hera’s heart sinks further into her stomach as the tears well in her eyes. Grant is a good person, someone that’s been pining after her for years and has made the last year and a half as happy as it could be. Grant is good, truly good, someone that deserves to be loved as deeply as he loves her, and the moment he is brought up, it reminds Hera that that’s just not how she feels. “Oh, love, are you okay?”
Hera shakes her head silently, succumbing to her emotions, and walks towards him, laying her head on his chest. Grant cradles her head against his chest and slowly rubs her back as she silently lets the tears fall against his cotton shirt. Grant sets his chin on her head, “I’m sorry you had a bad day. Does it have to do with the call you were on earlier? Would you like to talk about it?”
“I don’t think so,” Hera sighs shakily, lifting her head and pouting out her bottom lip. Now is not the time to tell him that her ex-boyfriend called. Now is especially not the time to tell him that said ex-boyfriend has songs about her on his new album. “I’m happy you’re here with me. Thank you for being here.”
“Always, honey,” he softly smiles, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to her mouth. His kiss makes her smile, a half-smile that says, this feels right, and she tightens her arms around his waist. “What do you want to cook, tonight? I think you’ve got a bit of chicken we could stir up into some pasta, or we could make something from scratch if you’d prefer.”
Hera closes her eyes and soaks in the sound of his voice. Comforting, the sound of an old friend, someone she’s known nearly a decade. Loving, someone that loves her so deeply, that he would do anything, give up anything for her. Grant loves her, that much she knows. “Whatever you want, baby. Anything sounds good.”
Grant nods, cupping Hera’s cheeks and giving her another kiss, before loosening his grip and beginning to pull things out of her refrigerator to make for dinner. Hera watches him carefully, and she can see a future where their life is like this every night, not just one or two nights a week. Hera turns on the radio, closing her eyes and soaking in the last bits of sunlight piercing through the window as she washes the vegetables and sings along quietly to the songs playing through the speaker. Grant talks about his day working with the production team for an up-and-coming band on tour throughout the country, talking about how humble and sweet they were – quite the contrast from the usual artists and teams he works with day to day as a sound technician. Hera talks about the contracts that are being sent by a few different artists, saying that she has to choose which one she’s going to settle for by the end of the week. Grant offers to look over the contracts with her later that evening, and Hera smiles gratefully.
Amidst their talks of work and travelling, Hera’s ears perk to the sound of Isla’s name, Grant quickly saying that she mentioned a concert on Monday that they had been invited to. Hera can see that he walks around it as much as he possibly can, but the hurt that passes through Hera’s face at the mere mention of it is evident. Hera had decided before that conversation to not mention it, that she wouldn’t go. Now, however, it seems that it is up for discussion.
“About that,” Hera says, suddenly feeling very full and pushing her plate away from her face. Grant is staring at her intently, and she suddenly feels very sick. “Harry called me earlier. That’s who I was on the phone with.” Grant leans forward, hanging on every word she says. “He, uh, sent me a song that he wrote about me, for me. Asked, Harry asked if I would go on Monday, to the show. I, I’m not so sure I want to go. I don’t want it to be awkward or something for us to be there together, to see his family, to see him. I, I just don’t know.”
“June, my love, I would never force you to go if you don’t want to,” Grant begins, setting his fork down and grabbing her hand from across the table, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles comfortingly. Grant is so good at that, at comforting her. “I just –”
“Conditional statement incoming.”
Grant laughs at that, “However, I do think it may be good for you. Get some closure and all that. It’s okay that you miss him, baby. He was your best friend. Long before you and I were together, or any of us, pretty much. It may be nice to have him in your life again, you know, even if it’s just a little bit.”
“And I’ll have to see him eventually. Isla’s wedding is coming soon. I’ll definitely be seeing him there, you know. Maybe I should just get that initial awkward meeting out of the way,” Hera explains, taking a sip of water and swallowing dryly. All this talk of him has made her throat and mouth gone dry. “Considering we’re the Maid of Honor and Best Man.”
Grant nods, “I think this sounds like a really smart thing to do. I think it’ll be good for you,” he smiles softly, lifting her hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing her fingers gently. “I’ll be by your side the whole time. You won’t have to do it alone. You’ve got me, now. And Isla and Beau. I’m sure Mitch won’t let him do or say anything stupid, either.”
“I suppose you’re right, yeah.” Hera’s eyes travel everywhere but Grant’s face. All that has transpired in the last few hours feels surreal. Especially knowing that in a few hours, there will be songs about her released to the world, songs she’s never heard, songs she has no idea the context or what they say or how they sound. Hera wants to talk about it, to share her feelings, but how could she possibly do that with her boyfriend? “Harry said that there are songs about me on the album. Like I said, I heard one today, but there’s more. I haven’t listened to anything yet. I’m not sure I want to.”
Grant nods knowingly, “I know, baby.”
Hera’s eyes go wide, and she feels like she should sink further and further into her chair with embarrassment. “You know?”
“Mitch sent me the songs. Kind of like a warning, maybe. I don’t really know, actually. I didn’t ask what he meant by it, or what he wanted me to do with them. He’s the only one of them that knows we’re together besides Isla.”
“Did you listen? Are they, like, I don’t know.”
“I did listen.” Hera gulps, and Grant looks off into the distance for a moment, almost as if he’s searching for the right words to break this to her. His thoughts hurt him, that much she can see, and she wishes it didn’t have to be like this. Hera wishes she wasn’t still in love with another man, at the same time she loves Grant. Hera wishes he wasn’t everywhere they go, every turn a reminder of him. Hera wishes he wasn’t writing songs about her, touring the world singing them with people constantly questioning and blaming her for his heartbreak. “Harry still loves you, June. You know that, don’t you?”
Mixing all those words together in one sentence breaks Hera’s façade. All that she’s worked towards over the last two years, the therapy and talking and going out and finding closure on her own, it all feels like a lost cause with that one, singular statement.
Grant stands from his seat and takes their plates to the trash and then to the sink, rinsing them before putting them in the dishwasher and walking towards Hera. He knows that she likes a moment to collect herself before he says anything.
“Grant, I love you. You know that, don’t you?”
“I know that, baby. I do,” Grant says, walking towards her and gently laying his hands on her shoulders, encouraging her to turn to face him. Hera leans her face on his abdomen and her eyes flutter shut when his fingers run through her hair the way she likes. “I love you, very much. And I know how hard this is for you. I don’t want you to ever feel like I’m making you choose between having me and having him in your life. I’ll always be there for you. I just, I want you to know that I’m not letting you go that easily. If Harry wants you, he’s going to have to win you over fair and square. “Cause I’m here, I’m in this for the long haul. Forever, if you want.”
Hera’s skin prickles with goosebumps at the ‘forever’ comment. Grant seeing a future with her will never not make her react. “I doubt that’s what he wants, Grant.”
“Either way, I just want you to know how I feel,” Grant says calmly, leaning down and kissing Hera’s forehead. He lingers there for a moment, before pulling away and saying, “Do you want to go and run a bath for us? Might be a nice way to end the day.”
“Okay,” Hera murmurs, standing on her feet and tilting her head slightly to bring his mouth to hers. Grant doesn’t hesitate for a second, kissing her deeply and smiling when her hands come to grab his cheeks and hold him there for a moment longer. “Love you.”
“Love you.”
Grabbing her phone from the living room, she makes her way into the master bedroom and ensuite, turning on the water for the tub and shutting the door to let the steam begin to warm the room. Grant can be heard through the house, milling about, and grabbing his things as he shuffles into the bedroom, plugging in his phone and cautiously entering the bathroom. Hera’s eyes flutter shut as Grant places a kiss on the back of her neck, gently massaging her shoulders as she leans into his touch. Hera lays her hands on his, squeezing him, rolling her head back against his shoulder as his hands begin to wander down her body.
Grant doesn’t speak, merely caressing her body and cherishing the way her mouth feels on his. Hera’s words exist in whimpers and quiet moans, as they stumble into the bedroom and find their way to her mattress, her thoughts surrounded by the way she feels with her boyfriend heavy on her chest and her legs wrapped around his waist.
Grant finally decides to share his feelings when they’re in the bath together, when she’s laying on his chest, his hands running over her shoulders and down her sides. Hera is nearly asleep, her eyes fluttered shut with the feeling of his hands on her. He sucks in a deep breath, and Hera’s eyes open, knowing that he’s about to say something.
“Are you okay, Grant?”
Grant shrugs and gently turns her around, her thighs wrapping around his waist and her arms moving around his neck. “I want to be with you, June. I want to be with you and have a future with you. I don’t want to sound selfish, I don’t, but I want you, and I don’t want anything to come between us and what we have going.”
Hera nods understandingly. Hera understands Grant’s position. How could she not? Truthfully, it’s a bit surprising he’s as calm about all of this as he is. Anyone in his position would be angry, pissed, annoyed. And yet, Grant is here, encouraging Hera to find closure with Harry, promising her that he’d fight for her and their future together.
Hera leans forward and kisses Grant softly. “I won’t go on Monday if you don’t want me to. I completely respect your feelings on this.”
“I don’t think that’s the answer to this.” Grant brushes a stray strand of hair away from her face. “I think I should stay back. You and Isla can go. I’m sure you’ll have a good time seeing everyone. I do think you should tell him that we’re seeing each other, though. I think that boundary should be set from the get-go.”
“I understand, and I agree.”
“Okay,” Grant smiles, leaning forward and capturing her mouth in a kiss. His kisses are always gentle and never hurried, never rushed and needy. “I think we should get out, though. My fingers are beginning to prune.”
Hera and Grant laugh together, clambering out of the tub and grabbing their respective towels to dry off and settle into their pajamas and nightly routine. Grant is asleep before Hera, falling asleep almost instantly when his head lays against the pillow. Hera tosses and turns for a while, debating whether or not to send a text to Isla about Monday and whether or not she should go.
All of it seems like a bad decision, a poor choice. How could seeing Harry possibly go well? Hera is sure all of those old emotions will draw up again, will start stirring in her chest. How could she possibly face Grant knowing that she’s still in love with Harry, too? How could she hear all the songs written about her and not feel something? All of it seems like the start of a very big problem.
Hera sighs, tossing over and reaching for her phone and opening her messages with her best friend, typing out what she needs to before turning her phone over and cuddling into Grant’s chest to finally fall asleep.
I’ll be there on Monday. Pick me up at 6.
Grant stayed the night, and then was hurriedly called into work for the weekend for a run of shows that were last minute needing a technician. Hera sighed, disappointed that their weekend would have to be postponed, but she understood, nonetheless.
Out of all people, Hera would understand.
Hera debated on calling Harry all weekend and telling him that she would be there. On the day of the album release, Hera’s social media was flooded with congratulatory statements on the album and the radio was overwhelmed with his music. Like before, Hera couldn’t escape, even if she tried. Ultimately, she made the decision that she would simply show to the concert with her best friend and see what happens. Grant is only a phone call away if she needs to leave.
In the meanwhile, Isla did very little to hide her excitement about Hera joining her on Monday evening. Isla, nearly seconds after receiving the text, flooded Hera’s inbox with texts about what she should wear and what she would say, to which Hera dejectedly replied, “Isla, I don’t even know how I’m going to feel when I see him. Let me have a minute to think about what I’ll say.”
Isla took Grant’s place throughout the weekend, slinging a duffle over her shoulder and showing up at Hera’s house only an hour after she called, inviting her over for the few days that Grant would be gone before the show. Isla’s wedding is in a few short weeks, just under two months away, and Hera knew that she needed the time away from planning and the stress of it all – even if it was only a few blocks over at her best friend’s apartment. Hera and Isla’s days were spent with lounging around the living room and ordering in, cherishing their days off together and getting to talk about things other than the wedding.
Isla doesn’t ignore the elephant in the room, though. Hera knows it’s going to be spoken about eventually, she just, truthfully, doesn’t want to admit how she’s feeling about it.
One part of her, a very strong part, is anxious and very nervous to go. Everything is different, now. Harry and Hera haven’t seen each other in a year and a half, maybe longer, and everyone around them knows the secret she’s been trying to keep. His family will be there, and Hera will have to face two of the people that made her feel so special in the short time they were together, the two people she broke contact with afterwards. Hera will face his friends, the ones that called her after they split and begged her to just talk to him. Quite possibly the hardest one, will be facing Harry, himself, seeing the face of the man she loved so deeply, cared so much for, and risk all those emotions coming back at full force.
Another part of her, an increasingly growing part, is excited to go. Hera hasn’t seen her friends, her family in years. It’ll be a relief to see familiar faces, comforting smiles, and laugh with people she feels like she grew up with. Isla will be by her side, and there will be so many people there that she’s missed dearly. Sarah Jones possibly being the one she misses the most. Meeting new friends on the team, too, is something Hera always looks forward to. Hera has always felt most comfortable on tour, traveling, and meeting new people, and that’s exactly what she’ll get to do, tonight. Hera knows the risks, but she is very aware of the rewards that are waiting on the other end.
And as Hera is wrapped in her thoughts, Isla is in the bedroom simultaneously getting ready, nudging her towards the bodysuit and jeans that Hera had been debating on wearing for a few hours, claiming she didn’t want to draw too much attention to herself. Isla encouraged the outfit, knowing just how Harry would react to it. Hera isn’t blind to Isla’s intentions, and keeps reminding her that she is, in fact, with Grant. Beau is in the living room, waiting patiently for the two to finish getting ready. Hera and Isla made plans to join the after party – Isla made the plans – and they would need a designated driver home, queue the fiancé. Hera doesn’t say much as they get ready, letting Isla do most of the talking about the album and her favorite songs that Hera has yet to listen to and slyly mentioning that she may be joining the tour for the next leg, sharing her excitement for being on the road with their friends, once again.
“Are you excited, at all?” Isla wonders, smacking her lips together as she coats her mouth with gloss, her skin glistening under the lights of her bedroom.
“I mean, yeah, I suppose I am. It’s just, it’s weird. Knowing he’s going to be playing songs about me, with me there. Songs I wouldn’t know about if it wasn’t for Sarah and Mitch and you.”
“He’s excited to see you.” Isla meets Hera’s stare in the mirror. “What? Did you think I wouldn’t tell him? He’s been hounding me for weeks to get you to go.”
“This feels weird,” Hera mutters, pulling on her hair tightly to secure the hair in place, the curls falling loosely around her shoulders. “I feel like I shouldn’t be going.”
“Well, you may have to get over that feeling, my dear friend, because we have to go, otherwise we’re going to hit major traffic and never make it, and Harry will be up my ass about not seeing us before the show. Us, but mainly you.”
Hera sucks in a deep breath and nods, grabbing her purse from her dresser and opening her bedroom door, Isla following closely behind. Beau immediately stands and smiles at his fiancée, grabbing her hand and bringing her in for a kiss. Hera smiles fondly, happy that her best friend found someone that adores her as much as she deserves. Hera, in another life, always imagined that she and Harry would be the first of their friends to get married, to just one day decide and go to the courthouse and do it.
Hera shakes the thoughts from her head and follows her friends out to their car, climbing into the backseat and sending a message to Grant to let him know that she is on her way and wouldn’t be paying too much attention to her messages throughout the night, to call if he needs her. Grant assures her he would be okay and working, too, insisting on her going to have fun with her friends. Grant says he loves her, as he always does, and leaves her be.
Conversations in the car distract her for a while, enough to make it out of their neighborhood and to the venue in what feels like a blink. Hera sighs, getting out of the car and wiping her hands on her knees, the nerves growing every second.
Isla walks up first, smiling at security and giving their names. Hera is on the list.
It’s unusual, this feeling. Familiar but so foreign. Hera’s name has been on plenty of lists, especially in the last few years, but to be on Harry’s list again, it feels different.
Beau leads the way with Isla’s hand in his, walking past all of their equipment and road cases and all the different signages clinging to the rooms scattered through the hallways. Hera is in her own thoughts until she hears a familiar voice, Isla shouting, and Beau laughing. Her chest tightens, and she feels grateful that she’s hidden behind her two friends, in a way that makes her barely noticeable. Hera feels small, unsure, and her eyes dart behind her where she can make a break for it, leave without anyone saying anything. Hera is nearly turning on her heel to leave when Isla and Beau split apart, and the man she’s felt so conflicted on seeing steps between them, facing her head on, wearing the infamous crooked smile that always made her heart beat a little bit faster.
“You made it,” he says, his arms dangling awkwardly at his side, his lips parting in a softened smile. He steps forward and lowers his voice. “Can I hug you?”
Hera can’t find her voice, simply nodding and stepping forward, lifting her heavy arms from her sides, and wrapping them around his midsection, his arms coming around her shoulders and pulling her in tightly. Hera sighs, breathing him in and soaking in the familiarity of the cologne, the freshness of his toothpaste, the tightness of his arms around her body. Hera knows they’re standing there for a minute, maybe two, much longer than his hugs with Beau and Isla. Her voice is lost in her throat, and she wants to say so many things to him, to cry in his arms and say she misses him, but instead she tightens her arms around his waist and allows him to hold her.
“I’ve missed you, H. Missed you so much.”
Hera freezes, unable to say what she’s feeling without feeling guilty, and squeezes him tighter, before gently (and maybe a bit reluctantly) letting go. It’s painfully obvious that there are eyes on them, and if she’s going to say anything to him, she wants it to be private and on their own.
Harry loosens his grip, his hands falling to her arms and then her hands, his eyes travelling across her face, her body, soaking her in as though it’s a hallucination that she’s there, really there. Harry grabs Hera’s hand and intertwines their fingers, earning a smile from Isla and a warning glance from Beau. Harry shakes it off, walking forward and nodding them towards the dressing room where the band and the team were all congregated. The show begins in less than a half hour, and Harry would have to leave to get dressed and ready very soon, meaning Hera would be alone with her friends and she could figure out what she was going to say, when she was going to say it.
“Look who’s here!” Harry cheers as they walk in the room, Hera blushing instantly as their friends all stand and laugh and immediately rush over to greet her. Hera immediately feels at home, smiling brightly as she walks up to Sarah and wraps her in the tightest hug she could muster, willing the tears to go back and not ruin her face or Sarah’s outfit for the show. Mitch stands, holding their baby tightly in his arms and hugs her, smiling his infamous half smile and watching as his best friend admires the interactions from a distance. Mitch looks at her knowingly and she nods shyly, trying to avoid saying anything that will make the interaction uncomfortable for anyone, or say something she’s not ready to address just yet.
“I haven’t seen you in so long,” Sarah gushes, cupping her cheeks and bringing Hera in for another hug, squeezing her tightly and whispering in her ear, “Don’t shut us out, again, June. God, I’ve missed you. We’ve all missed you. Very much.”
Hera quickly wipes a tear from her cheek and nods. “God, I have missed you, Sarah Jones. I really have.”
“You and I, we have to get lunch. Make a day of it. Catch up on everything. I want to see my friend. I missed you so much. I can’t believe you’re here. Harry mentioned it to me the other day, but I didn’t really believe him.” Sarah looks at Hera for a moment. “I’m sorry for how things turned out. I didn’t want us to stop being friends, though. I want you in my life. You’re my friend.”
“You will. I promise,” Hera swears, smiling and turning over her shoulder, making eye contact with Harry momentarily before he’s looking away and walking towards the hallway, presumably going to get changed for the evening. Hera’s heart drops to her stomach, willing the uneasiness to go away, and she feels the urge to follow him and talk to him privately, to have a few moments where they’re just themselves and there’s no one around to influence what they have to say to each other. Isla quickly draws Hera out of her thoughts to introduce her to the band, everyone giving her a warm hug and greeting and saying that they’ve heard so much about her. Hera smiles and talks for what feels like hours, the comfort of being with people she loves and that love her making her nerves drift away one by one.
“On in five, everyone!” Tommy calls from the hallway, poking his head in the doorway and immediately grinning when he sees Hera’s face in the corner. “Is that June? The June Collins!”
“Hi, Tommy,” Hera smiles, walking over and accepting his arms crushing around her. “Good to see you, my friend.”
“Good to see you, June. Let me take you upstairs. Harry saved the best seats in the house for you,” Tommy grins, linking their arms and gesturing for Isla and Beau to follow behind. He walks through the backstage area and to the stairs where the entrance to the balcony is, looking at Hera intently before saying, “Are you going to be okay? Harry told me he called you about the album.”
“I will be, yeah. I’ll be okay. Thank you.”
Hera, Isla, and Beau climb the stairs to the balcony. Isla squeezes Hera’s hand when they get to the platform, Hera sucking in a deep breath and trying to ignore all the whispers that were starting to surround her as she walks through the aisle and gets to their seats. Hera can hear the whispers, “Is that Harry’s ex?”, “Aren’t there songs about her on the album?”, “Next to his family?” and the overwhelming desire to leave is almost too much to ignore or deny. Hera spots her exit, making a plan for leaving in case everything gets to be too much.
And as Hera is navigating her makeshift escape route, her name is called through the balcony by a voice she could never forget. “Hera!”
Gemma immediately stands and is walking towards her, wrapping her in a hug and squeezing her tightly. “Hi, love! How are you? It’s been so long.”
“I know, I know. It’s been forever,” Hera admits, suddenly feeling very overwhelmed by the love that washes over her for the women in front of her. Anne and Gemma were nothing but welcoming and warm to her, always, from the moment they met to the moment they left. Anne never let her feel anything short of a daughter, as someone she could go to in times of trouble and lean on when she needed. Gemma was the sister Hera never had, a friend and a companion in the streets of London. And Hera, who admittedly cannot handle losing people, isolated herself when things went wrong, and lost the family that loved her more than her own family had. Hera’s eyes feel wet when she blinks out her thoughts, Gemma still standing in front of her, holding her arms. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you more,” Gemma smiles, reluctantly stepping aside when her mother gently nudges her shoulder.
“Hi, my dear,” Anne says warmly, wrapping her arms around Hera’s shoulders, much like her son, and squeezing her tightly. Hera takes deep breaths, willing herself not to break into sobs at the comfort of a mother’s hug, and her demeanor softens. “It’s so good to see you, here. Harry has not stopped talking about it. Having you here means everything to him. And to us. We’ve missed you.” Hera nods without saying a word. “Come on, you’re sitting next to me.”
Hera, Anne, Gemma, Isla, and Beau all make conversation in the meanwhile, talking about Anne’s travel down to London, Isla and Beau’s wedding, Hera’s most recent tours. Conversation flows easily, and for a moment, Hera forgets about everything that’s happened in the last two years, all the mistakes that were made and the regrets that are there, and she’s with her friends, with her family, and she’s home.
Isla nudges Hera’s side, nodding towards her knee where her phone is lighting up with a message. Hera quickly opens it, trying desperately to hide the smile on her face.
Happy to have you here. Always do better when you’re around. Enjoy the show. I’ll see you after. H x
Hera doesn’t have time to think of a response, because before she could muster up the courage to write anything, the lights are going dark, and the music is beginning to play. Anne and Gemma immediately stand, Isla and Beau following, and Hera shoves her phone in her pocket and follows suit. Everyone around her is screaming and cheering, and Hera can’t hide the smile on her face when Harry walks out and immediately finds her. He’s always done this; from the moment they started dating and she began attending his shows. He would find her first and foremost, everyone else could come after. Hera never doubted that he was in love with her. If there was one thing Hera knew for sure in this life, it was that Harry Styles was in love with her.
And that’s why when Harry begins giving the speech for “Matilda,” Hera has to hold back every emotion she’s feeling. Love. Heartbreak. Jealousy. Anger. Over the last two years, Hera has done everything in her power to accept that their story was a short chapter in her book, a thirty second clip in her movie, a singular song on the album. Hera has fought for her closure and to move on, to find love in other people, places, things. Hera has struggled to find home, to find family. And all of that, everything Hera has worked for, feels like it’s pouring down the drain as he introduces the song that she knows is meant for her.
Hera remembers the conversation like it was yesterday. Hera remembers the frustration pouring from Harry’s voice, his face, the way he was pacing around her apartment. Hera remembers the way he shouted at her, the way he said, “I hate to see you this way. I hate to see you so upset.” Hera remembers sobbing at the kitchen counter, sliding her phone towards him and for the very first time, allowing him to see all the things her mother has been saying to her.
“I just, I don’t understand why you continue to speak to them if they’re so cruel to you all the time,” Harry says, running his fingers through his hair frustratedly. “It’s killing you, Hera. All that they say to you is hurting you, every day. And yet, you still continue to pick up their calls and listen to them! I don’t understand. Make me understand.”
Hera couldn’t respond, she couldn’t tell him or make him understand. Hera couldn’t do anything, because, for a majority of her life, she never believed anything to be wrong. Hera clung to imaginary stories of mothers and daughters, of families that fought for each other instead of against, for films and novels that taught her she wouldn’t be alone forever. Hera cried until there were no more tears left in her body. Hera sat in silence while Harry calmed himself down, turning to her with tears in his eyes.
“Hera, baby, you can’t keep doing this to yourself. You deserve to be happy, you know. You deserve to have a family that loves you and cares for you. Family isn’t always blood, okay? Friends, friends can be family. Friends are sometimes the best family you can have. I love you. I’m your family now, okay? Me, my mum, and sister. Our friends. That’s your family. This, this has to stop with your family. You can’t keep doing this to yourself every time you speak to them.”
Isla smiles softly as Anne wraps her arms around Hera’s body, hugging her tightly and laying her cheek against her hair as the song echoes through the venue. Anne kisses her forehead sweetly, whispering, “We’re still your family. Always.” Hera can’t bring herself to say anything, tears falling helplessly down her cheeks. Isla rubs her back sweetly, leaning into her and giving as much silent support as she could muster.
Hera looks to Harry and smiles, listening to everyone in the venue sing the song back to him. Hera can see the friends holding each other, the tears falling down cheeks, the way that everyone in some way seems to understand the pain she was going through in that moment, the pain she still continues to go through every day. Hera wants to give everyone a hug, to tell them that she understands. Hera knows the pain, the suffering that entails when your relationship with your family isn’t what you want it to be, isn’t what it should be. Hera has learned, however, that the friends you make along the way, can sometimes be the family you were always meant to have.
“Are you okay? That was a lot, I know. We can go outside for a minute, if you want,” Isla whispers, leaning towards Hera and squeezing her hand. Beau halfway steps out of the row, one foot in and one foot out, gesturing for the exit, but Hera quickly shakes her head, Isla smiling widely and suspiciously.
“I’m okay. Thank you, though. I want to see the rest of the show. I’m enjoying it,” Hera assures her friends, shaking her head and taking a deep breath to gather her emotions. Hera returns her attention to the stage and Harry grins at her, and when she smiles back, she swears she can see a blush on his cheeks. “Harry looks good. Happy.”
“Of course, he’s happy, Hera. Harry’s singing an album that just released to the person it’s about,” Isla says with a laugh, shaking her head dramatically. Isla was always the one to point out the obvious between Harry and Hera, even when Hera didn’t want to believe it.
“Oh yeah? And who would that be?”
“You.”
Hera goes quiet, unsure of what to say. Could Harry look as happy as he does because Hera is there? Maybe. Could the album be about her? Possibly. All Hera would have to do is ask for Harry to tell her. All of the questions that are swirling around her head suddenly get shoved to the corner of her mind when a security guard walks to the edge of the aisle and motions for the group to follow him, presumably backstage for the party when the show would finish.
Hera can hear Harry bidding his goodbyes to the audience as they walk backstage, her nerves beginning to bundle together and multiply as it gets even closer to the moment that’s been waiting to happen for two years, now. Harry and Hera alone, talking, sharing the things that have happened since they’ve been apart.
Hera has a beer in her hand and is talking to Gemma about the latest tour she’s working on when everyone begins to cheer and congratulate the man of the hour as he walks inside the room. Alcohol is being shoved in a million different directions and the band is beginning to file into the dressing room for everyone to talk and mingle in. Hera turns around and is immediately greeted with a sweaty hug, and she welcomes it, the feeling of his arms around her and the scent of him overwhelming her senses and the way everyone in the room seemingly disappears while they have this moment together, just the two of them. Harry grins at her and kisses her cheek without warning, and Hera can feel her face heating under his stare.
“Hi, H.” Harry’s smile couldn’t get any bigger if he tried. “Can I steal you away from my sister for a minute? I’d like to talk to you alone before everyone is pulling me in a million different directions and I don’t get to see you before you have to leave. Would that be okay with you?”
Hera smiles and nods, purposefully ignoring Isla’s grinning from across the room. Harry leads the way out of the mass of people and towards his dressing room a few doors down the hallway. Hera walks in first and sets her drink on the counter, Harry following behind quickly after shutting the door. Moments pass as the two stand together in the silence, both a bit unsure of what to say first. Hera looks at Harry longingly, and for the first time all night, she’s grateful they’re alone together, that she can say what she has to, and they can start over, as friends, and be in each other’s lives again, because the years that she’s spent without him, without her family, have been awful. Hera misses him, misses him deeply, and she’ll do anything to have him around, even if it’s in a limited capacity.
Hera opens her mouth to speak, to say this, but nothing leaves her tongue when Harry walks forward. He stands in front of her silently, his eyes travelling across her face and trying to gauge her emotions, how she’s feeling. Harry grabs her hands, holding her fingers to his heart, his heart beating erratically against her skin. He stares at her, as though the hallucination of her is going to disappear without a second thought, and he soaks in everything about this moment – that Hera is here, with him, and she’s happy to see him, to talk to him, to be alone with him. Harry has waited far too long for this, for this very moment, and there are so many things that he wants to say to her, to confess and share. He doesn’t know where to start, and by the looks of it, neither does Hera. Harry wants to go first, to get out everything before she can run away and never look back.
“Hera, I,” Harry breathes, struggling to maintain a steady rhythm as the emotions and the feelings of her touch on his skin start to cloud his judgement and his thoughts. “I’ve missed you. I miss you so much, Hera.”
“I’ve missed you, too, Harry. I have. Life hasn’t been the same without you in it.”
Harry’s eyes move from her own to her mouth, tracing over the flesh that he once knew so well. He quickly blinks back tears, breaking his stare and shaking his head, squeezing her hands before letting their hands fall from his chest. Harry sighs, swallowing all the heartbreak in his throat when he says, “You didn’t have to shut me out, H. I could’ve been around, even after everything. I wanted to be around. We all did, Hera. All of us, we all have missed you so much.”
“I couldn’t see you after, Harry. It was too hard for me. I understand that it was hard for you, I know that, but for me, I couldn’t. And that included our friends.”
“And now?”
“I just want to be around. I miss my friends. My family. I miss you.” Harry nods, his tongue poking between his lips, wetting the puffy pink flesh as his green eyes trace over her mouth. “I need to be around you all. It’s the best thing for me. In every sense of the word.”
“I need to be around you, Hera,” Harry whispers, leaning his forehead against hers, his mouth hovering dangerously close to her own.
“Harry, I, I can’t,” Hera sighs, the moment breaking and the realization beginning to hit her. Grant is waiting for her to call. Guilt is eating away at her already for being alone with him and remotely thinking about kissing him. Her emotions are confusing her, and she feels hazy, clouded. Her hands travel from her thighs to his shoulders, gently pushing his away.
“I shouldn’t ask to kiss you, I know, I’m sorry, I just, I need to, Hera. It’s been so long without you. I missed you. Us. Seeing you with Mum and Gemma and our friends and everything. I just, I need to kiss you. I miss you, Hera.”
“That’s not it, Harry. I, I miss you, too. I’m horrible for saying this, I know I am. All of this is so confusing and giving the worst signals to each other. All that I didn’t want to happen when we talked. I wanted to come and talk to you, tonight, to be friends. I just, I can’t kiss you. Not now.”
“Why is that so horrible? What’s wrong with saying that?” Harry can feel his insides churning, the anxiety and the nerves with what she’s about to say. Harry can tell something is off, the way she’s feeling guilty for this. He has a feeling, a gut feeling, and he’s praying that it’s wrong.
“Harry, I, I’m–”
Harry takes a step back, his hands running over his face and through his hair. He knows. Hera can tell that he knows and he’s struggling to say it. “You’re dating someone. Aren’t you? That’s the reason you can’t kiss me.” Hera nods without saying a word. “Is it new?” Hera shakes her head. “How long, Hera?”
“Over a year.”
Harry turns around, not wanting Hera to see the way his mouth begins to tremble, and his eyes are welling with tears. “Over a year. Congratulations.”
“Harry.”
“No, really. I mean that, Hera! That’s great, H! Good for you. Must be going well if it’s been over a year,” Harry says overly enthusiastically, and Hera can tell that he’s hurting. He won’t stare into her eyes, and he’s switching the weight from his feet over and over again. “Such a shame you didn’t bring them to the show tonight, I could’ve met them! Made a good introduction for myself. Could’ve made a new friend in the meanwhile.”
“He couldn’t make it, tonight,” Hera says sadly, wiping away the tears that are beginning to fall from her eyes involuntarily. Her voice lowers with her next statement. “He told you that.”
Harry turns around quickly, his eyes going wide and his lips pursing together in a straight line, everything beginning to make sense in his head as he adds the pieces together. All the conversations that Grant and Harry had about dating someone new and falling in love and moving on. Harry feels a wave of jealousy and anger wash over him. “Grant. As in, my friend Grant. Grant that worked for me. You’ve been dating Grant for a year and a half. And no one thought to tell me?” Harry stands in silence for a moment, stunned. “That is so fucked, Hera.”
“Harry, I’m sorry.” Harry turns around, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his back meeting her stare. He can’t look at her. Not now. Not after what she’s told him. “Harry.”
“You think that’s okay? That you’re dating my friend? Might as well have told me that you’re sleeping with my brother!”
“Harry, I am sorry that it’s Grant and that no one told you. It just happened.” Hera is crying, now, trying to wipe her cheeks and explain herself without losing her voice and her strength. Harry shakes his head. “This happened months after we broke up. Quarantine was happening, you were gone, and I was alone in London. We weren’t talking. Grant was there for me through all of it and asked me out after six months of crying over you and Isla telling me I needed to get out there if I wasn’t going to pick up the phone and call you. News articles were saying that you were already dating someone new. I, I didn’t want to be alone and still crying over someone that was rumored to be already dating someone new! That’s not fair, you know? I just, I am really sorry that no one told you, that I didn’t tell you sooner. I don’t want you to be mad at me.”
“Have you forgotten that you broke up with me, Hera? Have you forgotten that tiny detail?” Harry asks sarcastically, scoffing as he walks towards her. “I was on dates trying to forget you. Have you ever thought of that? Did you ever think to call me and ask what I was doing?”
“Harry.”
“I have spent every day for the last two years miserable that I am not with you. Miserable. I think about you constantly. I write songs about you. I talk to my mother about you. I stare at your fucking social media just to see pictures of you. And you, you started dating my friend, haven’t spoken a word to me or our friends, and moved on like it didn’t matter. Like I never mattered to you. That is what hurts the most out of this. Not that it’s Grant. Not that I know him. That I didn’t matter to the person that mattered, that matters the most to me.”
“Harry, it is not like that. Out of all people, out of everyone, you mattered the most to me. I just, I wanted different things back then. I still want different things than you. Grant wants the same things as me. Grant and I, we want a future. He understands not having a family and wanting to make one of your own.”
“You never asked me what I wanted. You assumed based on one conversation you overheard. You never asked, Hera.” Harry looks at Hera for the first time in what feels like hours. “I wrote that song for you, to tell you that I listened, and that I wanted to see you make a family. I wanted to be in that family. And you didn’t even give me the chance.”
“Harry, listen to me,” Hera breathes, coming away from the dresser and walking towards him, cautiously bringing her hands to his cheeks, and making him look into her eyes. “I want you in my life. I miss you. I have missed you more than you know. I don’t want to continue not speaking. I don’t. I am very sorry that we didn’t tell you.” Hera looks at Harry softly, her heart breaking when he brings his hands to her wrists and gently pulls her hands from his face. “I am sorry, Harry. I really am.” Harry doesn’t say anything. He can’t. “I’ll go, okay? I’m sorry for ruining your night. I am. I hope you can forgive me.”
“I don’t, I don’t want you to go, Hera.”
Hera looks at Harry, her hand on the doorknob and her heart beating rapidly in her chest, unsure of what to do. “Harry, what do you want me to do, then? I miss having you as my friend. I want you in my life. I don’t want another year, two years, ten years to go by without us speaking.”
“I, I don’t know if I can just be your friend, Hera. I don’t know if I could ever just be your friend.” Hera nods, not knowing what is coming next. Hera tries to brace herself for the idea that she may never see him again, that she may never have the chance of a family with him in it. “Can we meet for coffee, tomorrow? I, I want to talk to you, alone, and we can catch up on everything I’ve missed. I, I need to talk to you about this when I’m calm and not running off adrenaline and all the emotions from seeing you.”
“Okay,” Hera says softly, turning the knob and opening the door, already beginning to walk out into the hallway.
“Are you happy, Hera?” Harry says quickly, running his hands through his hair and trying to catch his breath. All of this is too much at once, too much information and feeling and confusion for the fifteen minutes they’ve been alone. Harry walks forward, grabs her wrist and says, “Like, really happy? You would tell me if you weren’t?”
“I think, yeah, I think I’m getting there.” Harry nods and Hera turns towards the room where everyone is waiting for their return. “I think we should go back. Gemma and Anne are likely looking for you. And Isla is going to look for me soon.”
“Of course, yeah,” Harry says, smiling softly and moving towards the doorway to the room. “Are you coming in?”
“I’ll be in in a minute,” Hera smiles, waving her hand towards the congregation of people in the dressing room and turning on her heel. Hera grabs her phone from her back pocket and dials the number she knows by heart, waiting patiently for it to ring. As long as Hera can remember, it never takes more than a ring or two for the call to be answered, and sure enough, on the first ring there is a voice coming through the other line. “Hey,” she says, immediately feeling washed over with comfort.
synopsis: On her last weekend in Greece, Paige starts an entanglement with a guy she just met, even though she knows perfectly well who he is- international pop star, Niall Horan. Days and nights filled with alcohol and sex, she finds saying goodbye to the country and man hard to do.
warning: lots of sex, several public sex scenes, and a lot of wishing i was ofc
word count: 4k
Thursday night
I hadn’t known him for long, but the way his mouth moved against my skin felt like we had been together before- in another lifetime maybe of sex and champagne. Drunk off his touch, my fingers weaved through his salty brown hair as our hips swayed to the music. It was utter bliss as the night’s heat blew around us. His fingertips turned through my yellow sundress, burning holes in my tanned skin that could only be filled by him. His head was in the crook of my neck planting succulent kisses as if he was drinking up the sun from my freckled skin. His nose brushed against the thin strap of my dress as I felt his grip on my hips become tighter, pulling me even closer to him. His bare chest peeking through his unbuttoned shirt radiated heat that touched my own sunburn. It was fire to the whisper of our skins and I was all consumed by it.
I could drink in his scent- the musk of sun rays and sweat seemed to control my body as I wrapped my hands around his neck. He flashed me a smile and I knew I was a goner for the night. It was the way he carried himself, so mysterious yet willing to open up to me.
I had only known him for an hour, but I knew he was mine.
It was the alcohol talking, but when I met him at the bar of the small club, I couldn’t help myself but to kiss him. To know what he tasted like. He was glowing with confidence after coming off from a set. He was scheduled to perform and even though I missed it, I could still tell he was a good time waiting to happen.
His lips were soft and warm, tasting of spearmint and beer- a local combination for Greece. It tasted like heaven as the music boomed overhead and I could feel his hands cupping the back of my head, my hair threading through his fingers, and all I knew is that I wanted more.
I was dizzy from the clear booze and being around him. My words slurred as I tried to introduce myself, but I couldn’t put together a simple sentence to string along other than, “let’s get out of here.”
He waves to two men standing outside the villa: one is older and the other one is burly, ready to take whoever on. We both laugh, my head falling to his bare chests and his toothy smile paint the pavement as we begin to walk off.
I don’t know how we made it to the beach, but there standing beside me as the shells crunched under our feet, I began to strip out of my dress, unafraid of who might see me. He cupped my breasts, toying with my sensitive nipples with his fingers. It was a sensation that I was familiar with, but the hands that gave me the whirlwind feeling were foreign and I needed to familiarize myself with.
His tongue swirled around mine as we bruised our lips together, teeth clashing into our skin and as I pulled the strings of his bathing suit, he let out a soft moan- begging me for more.
We fell to the ground, laughing at our drunken clumsiness, but his fingers had a mind of their own as they dipped into the land of honey, circling my clit. My back arched and fire set course through my body making it hard for me to breathe. The sensation had pulled every ounce of heat toward my lower abdomen as I felt myself falling in a timeless manner only for him to pull his fingers away.
He hovered over me before letting his thick member slide inside me. Squeezing my walls just so, we laid in this position only for a moment as I felt his dick throb. “Jesus Christ.”
His thrusting was sudden and invigorating as he held his head high, pushing himself into me over and over again creating a rhythm only him and I know. Balancing his weight on one of his hands, he takes the other, cupping my jawline with it as he slowly drags his thumb across my lips- a moan escaping my mouth. His finger pad scrapes against my teeth as I begin to suck his thumb like a lollipop, my tongue swirling around his knuckle and nail.
The seashells were pushing into my back as he pulls me legs onto his shoulders, pushing himself farther inside me. I grasp his biceps as his thrusting becomes faster and I feel the sudden urge of letting go coming on. I arch my back and I feel my inner walls squeezing as I moan out as the heat swirling in my lower abdomen suddenly floods out.
His grip on my hips becomes tighter as his eyes squeeze shut, his face contouring into one wrinkle as his brow furrows. His gasps out loud like he was holding it all in as his body rocks slow and arrhythmic. He keeps me in this position before pulling out, the sudden cool ocean air chilling me.
Too tired to think or care, I contort my body to the side of him as he folds his arm over me. My eyes become heavy and the sound of the waves crashing onto the shore slowly drifts me to sleep.
Friday
I’m prodded awake not by the sounds of children splashing around in the shallow water, but by a black steel toe boot gently kicking the sole of my foot. Jerking awake, the sun blares down on my hot skin and I suddenly realize that I am laying completely naked in the arms of a stranger. I elbow the man I had shared the night with and he groans awake with an all too sudden sitting up, his hands cupping his cock and balls.
“Officers?” he squints into the sun as the policemen help us up. I stare at the ground hurriedly looking for my dress, but it is nowhere to be found. My partner in crime quickly hands me his shirt to at least partially cover myself with. He smiled as the officer cuffed my wrist together and as we both sat in the back seat of the police car, I couldn’t stifle the laugh that was building inside me.
The tan god that sat next to me with the slight stubble chuckled as he pulled a seashell out of my hair. “Keepsake,” he called it, but as I twirled the circular shell in my hand, I extended my free one to him.
“Paige,” I said my name slowly, hoping he wasn’t too hungover to forget my name. My head was hurting like a throbbing annoyance, but I couldn’t forget a face like his.
“Niall,” he took my hand and shook it before chuckling again.
“I know,” my eyes followed his chest hair down to his torso and my mouth suddenly went dry. “I, uh, I’m sorry about all this,” I waved my hands in the air while Niall’s grip still was on me. He leaned over, smiling, his eyes shining bright blue in the morning light. “I’m not normally one taken for a nudist, but I must say, we did a hell of a job last night.”
“Yeah, you practically tackled me at the bar,” a smug look plastered on his face. “Hate to say it, but we’ll probably make the front page of the local paper.”
“Again, not my normal prowl,” I looked at my legs that felt completely bare as I finally wiggled my way out of Niall’s grip. “And it’s always been a dream of mine to make the front page.” Niall and I burst into a fit of laughter. The passenger policeman turned around to intimidate us with a stern look, but it only added to the snickers after he turned around.
They booked and fingerprinted us and put us in an empty cell together long enough for us to feel how empty our stomachs were. When they finally brought us out, they asked for my ID and passport.
“Shit,” my face scrunches as terror and disappointment flood me. “I left it at the...um....” I roll my linked hands in the air as I try to think of the word. God damn what was it called? Niall finally speaks up and finishes the conversation in the officer’s native language. He smiles and laughs at what I think is my expense and I am starting to get slightly annoyed.
The balding man with the eat shit grin unlocks my cuffs before Niall’s and as I rub my reddened wrists I turn to leave the yellow colored station. “Wait,” Niall calls out to me as the warm sunshine glows on my skin. My head is hurting, I am starving, and I have no earthly idea how to get home.
“Of course, you speak Greek,” my hand hovers above my eyes to block out the impeding sun- the hot gravel burning my feet.
“I’ve picked up enough words to hold a decent conversation, yeah,” Niall stood beside me waiting for something. “What did ya want me to say? Top o’ the mornin’ to ya? Jesus,” he smiles to himself before reaching into his blue shorts to pull out a cell phone.
“Phone’s dead.” Two words had made my day go from bad to worse. I needed to get back to the club to grab my purse and go home. I wanted a hot shower and some decent food. Niall turns and retreats back into the police station as I hear my stomach grumble. A few moments later, Niall is laughing with an officer making their way to an empty cruiser. Niall holds open the car door and turns his hand, gesturing me inside of another cop car.
I groan, cursing whatever bad luck gods that may be, and walk over the hot gravel to sit in the back of the car, seeing that this was my only option.
The police officer dropped us off in front of the bar that Niall and I left last night. The sidewalk was littered with paper, cups, and what looked to be dried vomit, but I tried to focus on opening the front doors of the club only to find out that they were, indeed, closed.
“Fuck,” I whisper as I tried pulling the handle one more time hoping by some miracle that it would open, but it didn’t. I laid my forehead against the glass door and sighed. “Damn it, my keys are in there. I just want a hot shower and breakfast. Is that too much to ask for?” I’m asking myself this question more than I am anyone else, but Niall took it upon himself to tap me on the elbow, grabbing my attention.
“My car’s this way. What do you want first? Shower or food?” His head was pointed down the block behind us and as I let go of the door handle, my face scrunched into a sour look, highly frustrated with the entire situation.
“Shower, but I’ll need some of your clothes unless you want me half naked all day,” I groan as I begin my match in front of Niall, acting like I know what kind of car he drives.
“I don’t mind at all, actually,” I hear the cockiness in his voice as I come upon a grey Tesla. I stop on the sidewalk, looking back at Niall, and he shakes his head. The soles of my feet are burning as we continue our trek down the pathway, hoping we come to Niall’s car soon.
We stop at a black BMW after we play our game of stop and go several times. I don’t know why I didn’t just follow him, maybe it was my grumpiness of the morning or the twisted desire I’ve always had to be first in everything, but the cool air hitting my face when Niall started his car was a life saver.
“I’ve got a villa I’m renting just outside the city. Shouldn’t take long to get there,” Niall smiled as he slid on his sunglasses. He indicated that we were pulling into traffic and as I sat back in the passenger seat, I could hear his faint humming and slight tapping of his thumbs on the steering wheel. It was what I had assumed magic felt like- a peaceful happiness that we had slid into. I barely knew him, he barely knew me, but it’s like we had known each other our entire lives.
“Where ya from?” he asks casually as if he was reading my mind. “I have this knack for knowing where people are from. If you want to play.”
“Sure, nothing else to do while you’re driving me to my dump site.” He laughed at my joke, but for some reason beyond me, I trusted this man.
“Ya don’t seem like a European, no offense. You don’t have that look about you.” He looked at me from the side of his glasses.
“And what look is that?”
“Like you’re fucking miserable all the time,” he laughed at his own little joke like I was supposed to know what that means. “Let me guess, you’re from the states.”
“Correctomundo,” I say, my tongue playfully teasing the corners of my smile. “But where from?”
“Um, you live on the west coast for sure. But you’re originally from the south maybe? Like Florida,” he smiles to himself, hoping he got it right.
“Oh my God, you got it!” I reply sarcastically. Niall smiles and laughs at himself.
“No I didn’t.”
“No, you didn’t,” I half laugh. “I live in LA, but I grew up on a ranch in northern California.” Memories of my childhood flood my mind, filling me with nostalgia. “It was fun.”
“I was getting farm girl vibes, but a horse ranch-“
“Cow,” I corrected him.
“Cow ranch works too,” Niall and I laugh at the game we play. I know a few things about Niall from articles and interviews, but nothing to know him personally unless you count last night so he fills me in on how he hates lemons in his water and he finds American politics beyond frustrating until he comes to a beach front villa just outside the city.
He ushers me inside and shows me the way to his bathroom, an entire room filled with expensive personal care things and rich people smell.
The overhead shower hangs above my head, the hot rainfall soothing my aching muscles as I relax in the water. I wash my hair and body with all things Niall and I wonder if he has had anyone depend on him like this, especially a complete stranger.
As I get out of the shower, I suddenly realize that I have no towel and none of the cabinets have anything for me to dry off with. I creak open the door and call out to Niall, but he doesn’t answer. There’s nothing but silence.
Leaving droplets of water where I go, I begin my search for him. My body begins to turn cold when I find him standing in the small living room talking on his phone that’s currently plugged into a charger. I am self aware that I’m standing naked so trying to cover myself up with my hands I clear my throat tempting Niall to turn around.
“There wasn’t a towel,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper as I look like a child in trouble.
“I’ve got to go,” Niall says as he looks at me, hungry. I hear the sound of a male screaming for Niall not to hang up, but he does so anyways and the next thing I know, Niall is kissing my wet skin with his tongue swirling around my shoulder blade. I hitch a breath, Niall’s sudden movement took me by surprise and as I lean into his hands holding the back of my head, I drop my own hold of my body and begin to pull off the old shirt that Niall is wearing….again.
I pull him into a kiss, his soft lips brushing over mine as his feet stumble over mine. He pushes me down the hallway, stepping over my trail of water. My feet hit the step up to the bedroom and with the force of Niall pushing me towards the bed, we fall onto the floor- his body pinning me to the white carpet.
Niall’s head flows like water down my torso, smiling as giggling as he plants kisses on my wet skin. He moans happily as I look at him biting his lip before pushing his tongue inside my entrance. His nose tickles my clit as his tongue swirls inside me and I feel the electricity bolting through my body.
My hands find themselves kneading through Niall’s hair gently pulling it as he moans inside me- his hot breath pushing me to the edge. My legs begin to uncontrollably shake as he presses his hands into my hips to steady me.
My chest concaves as I try to find my breath. My vision turns to black as all the heat in my body rushes to Niall, drawing near him as if he was its master. And he was. He controlled me with the flick of his tongue.
I call out his name as I am tipped over the edge, letting my release fill his mouth. His fingers swirl in my ecstasy and as he clambers back over my body, he holds his fingers above my mouth.
“Taste yourself,” he whispers and as my mouth sucks on his fingers tasting the sweet saltiness that was me, his eyes grow dark. He takes my hips in his hands and flips me over and then pulls me onto my knees.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “Paige, I-“ but there wasn’t an ending to that sentence as he slams himself inside me, thrusting hard. I rock my hips with his, rubbing my walls against his hard cock. He grabs my wet hair and pulls it as he continues to push himself inside me.
Niall takes my hips and holds me still as he increases his thrusts, each harder than the one before as he runs against my wavy ceiling. I cry out as I feel myself losing control again. I want him to go harder, faster, do anything but stop.
“Don’t…stop,” I breathe, leaning on my arms. “Fuck.”
“Come for me, baby girl,” Niall demanded, and his words were my demise. I come onto his dock, slick with panting. “Jesus Christ,” he swears again before his thrusts become erratic and I feel his body tense as he grunts out, his ending spurting out inside me.
He pulls out and lays on the floor before laughing. I roll onto my back and playfully hit him. “What’s so funny?”
“You’re going to have to shower again.”
“As long as you join me,” I look at him with full eyes and Niall leans over to me with the intention of what I think is kissing me, but he takes my face in his hands and runs his tongue across the length of it. “Swear to God, you’re disgusting.”
Niall laughs as he gets up and extends his hand out and before I grab it, he promises not to do that again.
-
“Swear on my life, this best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth,” I say between bites of egg as we sit in the small restaurant. I chug down the mimosa as Niall cuts into his sandwich.
It took us another hour to get showered and dressed due to us playfully teasing each other and my protests of Niall altering his clothes to fit me.
“I still can’t believe you cut your grandpa pants,” I’m wearing a pair of light blue pants that my grandfather would have worn in the fifties, however Niall took a pair of scissors to the Tom Ford pants to make them half decent on me. He had given me a worn out Eagles white tee to tuck inside the waist.
“Wasn’t ever going to wear them, really. They look better on you,” He smiles before sitting back in the booth. “What’s your plans for today?”
“Well you’ve got me hostage until the club opens so whatever you got going on,” I swallow hard hoping that he wouldn’t leave me alone or just drop me off on a corner.
“I’ve got some calls to make after here, but I was going to go down to the beach later, if you want to join,” he smiles as he drinks his lemon-less water. I nod my head as I swallow down the bite of bacon I had just taken.
“Don’t have a swimsuit on me. It’s at my apartment,” I mention, as if Niall needs the reminder again.
“Who said anything about that?” He smirks before asking for the check.
-
I lay in the bed, white sheets covering my body like silk, as I wait for Niall’s conference call to end. He asked me to wait after we had gotten home, only to have a quick session of this morning, but he said that he had a surprise for me. After everything he’s done for me, I couldn’t ask him for anything else.
The window looked out to a private boardwalk to the beach. The railing was rusted, but still beautiful in its own way. It was calling out to me, to touch the sand with my feet and feel the waves crash against my skin.
Niall had appeared in the bedroom with a bottle of champagne, two clear tall glasses with stems, and a red bundle in his hands. “Here,” he tossed the red bathing suit at me. “I hope I got the size wrong.”
“Why? So I can’t wear it?” I ask, cocking a brow as I begin to slip on the red nylon.
“Exactly.”
The sand was warm and grainy and everything I wanted and nothing like last night. I lay on the tye-dye towel, that’s covering a plastic lounge, that Niall gave me while sipping on the fancy champagne that Niall poured me. It was pure bliss, heaven some would call it, but I know that this has to come to an end soon- no fantasy is forever.
“I’m leaving Monday,” I say, biting the bullet. “I’m going home.”
“Well, I mean, if ya want to stay, you’re more than welcome...” Niall looks over at me above his sunglasses.
“No, I mean back to LA. I had planned on leaving already,” I say, still feeling Niall’s gaze on me.
“Oh, I thought from the sound of it that ya lived here,” he sits up as he pours more alcohol into his cup.
“It was actually a quarter life crisis. I had done school for twenty five years of my life, and I had never seen the world, and... I dunno. I picked Greece after throwing a dart at a map,” I shrug. “It’s been fun, but I have to go back and try to get my job back.”
“You quit?” Niall asks in an accusatory voice. “What did you do?”
“Communications manager.”
“Oh,” that was all Niall said as he turned his head and faced it back to the ocean. “I’m sorry if you get any slack in the papers.” He sighs heavily as he slouches down the lounge.
“I’m not,” I say, feeling the buzz of the rose gold liquid. “I had fun, I still am.”
“It would be more fun if ya were riding me,” Niall looked over at me, salt air tangled in his hair, his blue eyes shining under the rays of the sun.
“You know, I’ve never like tan lines,” I say as I pull the string holding my top. I feel myself becoming wetter by the second. My breasts fall free and I leave the nylon on my chair. I stand up, pushing my bottoms to the sand. By the few steps that I’ve taken to reach him, Niall has already scooted his suit down to his ankles as he holds his thick cock in his hands.
“I’m all yours, baby.”
I slip myself over Niall’s cock, and I hold my cradle over him for a moment to myself feel him inside me. I begin to rock my hips in a speed much like Niall did this morning, fast and assertive as I place my hands on his bare chest. I close my eyes as I feel my back arch and my ass shake against my movements
“God, fuck,” Niall whispers as he reaches up to cup my breasts, his fingers twirling my nipple around. “You want this dick.”
I did. I do. I want ride Niall until I can’t anymore. His cock hits my walls in all the right places and I feel his thumb circling my clit, I want to come all over his face. I don’t want this weekend tryst to end. Fire burns in my body as I feel myself close, and I moan out his name loudly, unafraid of anyone hearing me.
Niall holds my hips as he pounds inside of me, pushing me over. My body tenses and I want nothing more than to keep the high we’ve created. I scream out his name and then collapse on his torso, out of breath.
Niall laughs softly as he pushes my hair out of my face before wrapping his arms around me, bear hugging me to him. He kisses me on the top of my head, and I want to remember this feeling. I was happy.
“Let’s go get your bag, yeah?”
-
The bartender had hidden my bag in a cabinet under the bar. After I profusely apologized and her saying that it happens all the time, Niall offers me a ride to my apartment.
I look out the window of his car, not wanting to go in, not wanting to leave the bubble Niall and I created. I turn to him and smile; there aren’t words to say to thank him for everything he’s done. I give him a kiss on the cheek, his stubble scratching my swollen lips, and as I get out, I feel this sadness inside me. This will be the last time I see Niall or talk to him, and I can’t even find the words to thank him properly. There’s nothing. Thank you isn’t enough.
I grab my keys out of my bag and as I turn the lock, I hear Niall calling out to me.
“Grab some clothes and get your ass back down here!”
based on this cause @avhrodite and I were texting, and she told me to write it! so this is for you miss bailey <3
also feedback is always appreciated! literally rb, comment, or an anon ask means the world to fanfic writers, now that tumblr’s algorithm is messed up.
enjoy 7.6k of professor!harry lovelies!
also the intimidating as fuck photo that inspired this, and will be used in the story!
Sexuality Studies. Room 3017.
You had stalled from walking into class with a nervous gut feeling in your stomach with a heavy textbook in your arms, too big to be put in your backpack, but it felt like your book was weighing you down. People were walking around each other to find a vacant seat as you stood there next to the door as you waited till the last minute to walk in and take your seat.
There were a few reasons why you were nervous to walk in. One, it was basically sex class. Your friend had taken the class a few semesters ago, and had told you the basics of it and the rundown. There was a lot of sex talking towards the end.
And although, you’ve had had sex before, you still felt like you were inexperienced. Your sex life was boring, and nonexistent as of a month ago when you broke it off with your, now ex, friends with benefits. He just wasn’t doing the job, like at all. He never made sure you were having a good time or getting off. And that’s just one of the reasons why you broke it off with him. Luckily, he wasn’t mad and didn’t ask questions. Just said ‘oh, okay’ and bid his goodbye. That had made you a bit sad, knowing he didn’t care whatsoever. You two had only been fucking for a month, and the excitement had left your body the first night you slept with him.
The second reason goes along well with the first, and that’s because you aren’t that comfortable. Again, you’ve sex, but you weren’t comfortable in yourself--your sexuality. You never really had time or experience to explore your body or others because you’ve only slept with two people. In that sense, you didn’t know what you liked sexually and what your partner liked, other than blowjobs, handjobs, and being able to cum while fucking you. But there was more to it; you wanted the details, the ticks, sensitive spots, everything. But you’ve slept with lousy frat boys who didn’t care enough to ask if you had finished.
You checked your phone for the time, seeing that you have about two minutes before you have to go in. You take a deep breath, walking over to the opposite side of the wall, preparing yourself to walk in. You don’t know why it was so hard for you to just walk in and sit down. The thought of having to sit through an hour and a half class that is mainly about sex isn’t that hard to deal with either, but your insecurities and anxiety is getting the better of you. With a couple of neck rolls and inhales to deep exhales, you were ready before you heard a voice next to you.
“Nervous about the first day?” You look up to find an incredibly attractive man smiling down at you. His smile had made you blush and his intent eye contact had made you nervous. The way he just looks insanely sexy, and you think his hair is better than yours. He wears a simple button down shirt with two birds next to the collar, along with black jeans and boots. And you think, he’s so good looking and dresses well too. For a student, you don’t see anyone dress or look like him at all.
“Uh, kinda? I don’t know,” you say as you are not quite sure what to answer, so you said the easiest thing that didn’t have to do with how you’re feeling right now.
“No need to be nervous. This semester will go by quickly and I heard the professor is really cool too,” the man says with a reassuring smile, and you felt a bit better because he was right. This class would be a breeze and then you wouldn’t have to retake it, unless you fail.
“Yeah, you’re right. Thank you. Uh, do you want to sit next to me?” You made the bold move to ask him, and it had shocked you. You never made the first move, but you figured that you needed more friends anyways.
“Oh, thank you, but can’t do that. Let’s go in, shall we?” He waves his hand out, leading you to go first.
You cheeks were filled with embarrassment, thinking that your bold move was a stupid move. Of course, he didn’t want to sit next to you. He barely knows you. You roll your eyes at yourself, making your way to the first row as all the seats behind the front row were taken, and you didn’t want to take the time to look around. You take a seat as your head sank lower from awkwardness you had felt, and you set your book down on the desk and heard your professor speak.
“Hello, class. Welcome to ‘Sexuality Studies.’ I’m Professor Styles. Shall we get started?” Your mouth had been open the entire time he was introducing himself. Shocked was an understatement as you didn’t realize you were talking to your professor outside of the class, but that hadn’t made your embarrassing moment less worse.
How did you not realize that? You should’ve seen it coming because you were thinking about how no student on campus dresses or looks the way he does, and you didn’t think to put the pieces together.
But, fuck.
He was sexy as a ‘student’, but as the professor, that was a different story. You had felt the weird feeling in your stomach, triggering your arousal as you watched him talk to the entirety of the class about what’s to be expected. You turned around slightly and observed the room; noticing that most of the class were girls and there were a few guys, but the female population dominated the class. All the girls had hearts in their eyes, twirling, and biting their lip as they stared at their new professor; probably hoping they would get some extra credit in the middle of the semester to raise their grade or purposefully failing their test so he can call them into his office and they can have classic office sex.
The thought had made your eyes roll. Not at the thought of office sex because everyone knows that’s hot, but the thought of purposefully doing horrible in the class to fuck the professor is beyond you.
The class had gone by rather quickly, Professor Styles only talking about the basics of what everyone is going to learn such as culture, biological, health, anatomy, art, etc.
You walked out of the class in a hurry, not looking at your new professor and anticipated the next time you’ll meet.
The month had gone by rather smoothly, only taking two classes for the semester, so your workload isn’t too bad. The occasional thought about thinking your professor was a student had haunted you, and you think about it a bit more than you would like; feeling quite embarrassed and you’d hope that he had forgotten all about it.
You were sat at the coffee shop, head in your laptop and notes that you had taken during lecture as you were starting on your paper that is due in a little over two weeks. You were so into your introduction that your fingers were typing away on their own, that you didn't feel the presence of someone beside you.
“Hi. You’re in my sexuality class, right?” A voice from your right becomes present, and you look up, seeing your incredibly attractive professor looking down at you with a smile. There was no way in getting out of this one.
“Yes. Mr. Styles, hi,” you say nervously, but trying your best to hide it with your smile.
“Thought I recognized ya. How are you?”
“I’m doing well. I’m actually working on your paper right now,” you chuckle a bit.
“Are ya? What are you writing it on?” You get a bit sidetracked, realizing that he’s still standing and all of your stuff sits on the opposite side of the table. You reach over to move it onto your lap.
“You can sit if you’d like,” you offer. Harry debates for a second, and sees that there’s no harm in sitting with your student, so he gladly takes the seat across from you. “But I’m writing it on the fine line between masculinity and femininity.”
“Ahh, yes. That’s one of my favorite topics that we discussed,” he says.
“Yeah, me too. Pretty important for this day in age.”
“I’m right there with ya,” he agrees.
For the next 20 minutes, you and Harry talk about some main points. Discussing and going over what ideas you had in mind as Harry listens while nodding his head. He notices how passionate you are with the topic of your paper, and he appreciates the passion. Students will lazily write this paper, and it really shows in their work that makes him a bit disappointed because he had thought that he made the class fun; adding a few jokes and having the student participate with the lecture.
But listening to you talk about all the ideas that you wrote down; so far from the earth as you keep talking as he listens intently to you. You’re a sweet person, he’s noticed. You don’t participate all that much in class, but he figured that’s because you’re just a tad bit shy. And he’s still amused at the fact that you thought he was a student, which flattered him. But in all honesty, he can pass as one, and it wasn’t the first time someone mistaken him for a student.
Just as you were finished talking, a hint of pink made your cheeks flushed as you realized you were talking quite a bit, and keeping him from doing whatever he was supposed to. “I’m sorry. I tend to talk a lot when I get into things.”
“Hey, no need to apologize. I’m glad you told me your ideas because I think they’re great.” He checks the time on his phone and sees that he should get going, and his coffee cup is empty already. “But I should get going. Don’t hesitate to ask me about anything for the paper. I’ll see you in class.”
“Thank you, Mr. Styles. Have a great rest of your day,” you bid him goodbye as he softly says ‘you too.’
You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. Although you had been comfortable talking to him, you have never actually had a close conversation with any of your professors, really. Especially not outside of campus. But you really did feel comfortable. You figured that it’s because Harry is in a way, younger than most professors—at least he looks young.
The rest of your time at the coffee shop was spent finishing up the second paragraph and your coffee before you head back to your apartment.
The paper was due in a week, and you felt confident about turning it in on time and doing a great job on it. But that did not stop you from going into Mr. Styles’ office during his office hours, and he did say not to hesitate to ask if you had any questions, so you were using that to your advantage to make your paper even better.
He was surprised to see you just after two days of seeing him at the coffee shop that happened the week prior; asking him how to rephrase some things and seeing where some ideas fit into the paragraphs that are already written. And Harry happily helped you. Although he thinks you don’t need help at all, seeing as you’re right on track on the topic.
But you had felt a sudden surge of confidence that has never hit you before. And you can tell yourself that you’re comfortable enough to ask him questions all you want, but in reality, you wanted to keep talking to him and most importantly, keep seeing him.
He had this sense of comfort to him that made you feel safe. You never felt the awkward tension that there is in when talking to other professors, and you were glad for it. Mr. Styles had made it a safe space for his students to talk to him. And aside from asking him about school related things, you two had gotten to know each other after the important questions were asked. The conversations were harmless, and you looked forward to them everytime.
A knock was heard on his office door and he told whoever was behind it to come in. You walked in with a smile, laptop and notebook held to your chest, walking in slowly as you closed the door behind you.
“Hi, Mr. Styles. Are you busy?”
He shakes his head, “no, no. How can I help you?” Harry had—and was still trying—to keep it professional between you two. And although nothing had happened, he can’t help but stop the flutter of his heart when you would walk in his class or his office as you gave him a small that he adored. He also noticed how concentrated you are during class; making sure to take every single note and word that he says, making him smile at the thought.
“Uh, I was kind of stuck on something that I could definitely use your help with.”
“Sure thing. That’s what I’m here for,” he gives you a smile, and you open your notebook, showing him the many marks and scribbles that you had planted out when brainstorming.
“So I came up with this idea because I thought it would be important to talk about the history of masculinity and femininity. I didn’t want to just talk about the modern times as of now. But maybe research how it affected people back in the day when they weren’t acting as their…assigned sexuality, as you could say.”
“That sounds great. You can talk about that and during the times of the first pride march. That would definitely be interesting. But I would say not to go too into it, it’s a pretty straightforward topic, and there’s just a lot that is covered during those times. Just so you don’t get too ahead of yourself,” he gives his opinion. You listen carefully and take in his words as if you’re making a mental list of things you should and shouldn’t write about.
“Sounds good. Thank you.”
“Is that all?”
“Yeah, I think so. Just wanted to ask you that,” you say as you close your notebook, but not getting up to leave yet.
“Okay, can I ask you something this time?”
“Uh, sure,” you respond nervously.
“I see that you’re pretty much on track of the paper, like you know what you’re talking about. And you seem really confident in what you want to say, which is good. And I’m all ears when it comes to students wanting feedback, but I just have to ask….” anxiety boils through your throat. “Is coming to see me practically 2 or 3 times a week have to do with your paper?” You take a deep inhale, but don’t let your breath loose. He read you extremely well, you have to say. And it was a bold move on Harry’s part to ask that because if you say the opposite, then he assumed pretty hard.
You finally let go of the breath you were holding in and answered, “no.”
“No. It doesn’t have to do with your paper?” You shake your head in confirmation. “Then what does it have to do with?” He asks, and you think he definitely already knows what’s going on, but needs you to say the words.
“I just…wanted to see you,” you say softly.
“And why is that?” At this point, he’s teasing you already. Probably wanting to make a fool out of yourself so he could go home and laugh about it to his girlfriend or boyfriend, which you assume he has. And the bold assumption that you had thought he felt that pull towards you was enough to make you feel embarrassed for the second time in front of him.
But the remains of the confidence were still pooling in your head, and you figured you had nothing to lose.
“I wanted to see you because… I can’t deny this attraction I feel towards you. And it’s not based solely on your looks either because no can hide the fact that you’re insanely attractive, but I’ve gotten to know you for who you are this past week and we had some good talks, which was nice because no one has ever gotten to know me well enough for me to fall for them within a week.”
You finish your confession with a straight face, but there was still a hint of hope that he would tell you he felt the same way.
“And on the topic of no one getting to know me, and this is a sexuality class and you’ve recently started talking about sex; I’ve never truly had the chance to explore with partners sexually and explore my sexuality more in depth than just someone sticking their dick inside me, and calling it good sex. So, you talking to me and getting to know me means a lot because no one wants to waste their time on what I like and what I’m into.”
You had said a mouthful, and it can be heard as inappropriate to say that to your professor, but again, why would a sexuality teacher judge you based on your past sex life?
A minute had passed that immediately felt like an hour. The only thing that was heard was the ticking of the wall clock, and that made the tension even more unbearable.
You get up from out of the chair, “I’m gonna go. Thanks for the help, Mr Styles.”
Before you reach for the door, he finally decides to speak, “Wait.” You turn around slowly and watch him get up from his chair, and walk towards you. His eyes are dark, and they don’t leave yours as he reaches you.
The proximity is close enough that you could lean forward and be pressed up against his chest, but you’re afraid that you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself if you do that.
“You’ve fallen for me?” Is the thing that he could respond with after all that you’ve said.
“Yes. I’ve developed a crush on you, well, more than a crush because I do like you,” you say as you look up at him. He looks down at you intently, lips rolled into his mouth. He smells amazing from how close you are, that it’s like a potion that keeps luring you in, wanting more.
“Do ya?”
“I think I make myself pretty clear on that,” you respond with a bit of sass.
“Don’t give me attitude,” his tone changed to dominant, and a pool in your panties made itself present.
“What are you gonna do about it, Mr Styles?” You test, and move closer to him, lips almost touching. You can possibly reach up and your lips will be in sync. A smirk comes to play on his face as if you’ve made the wrong move, but you’re so ready for what’s to come.
And for a split second, it looked like he was leaning in a tad bit to go in for a kiss, but retracts back. “I’ll see you in my next class.” With that, he pulls back and walks back to his chair.
You’re left stunned, mouth slightly open, surprised he didn’t make a move. He didn’t even tell you if he felt the same way, and if it were any other day, you would’ve felt extremely sad, but there was so much tension in the room you needed to go home and take care of yourself.
And that’s what you did.
Once you got back home, you ran a bath for yourself and sat in it as you ran over your skin, leading to where you ached the most. Many thoughts of Mr. Styles doing this to you as he sat behind you in the bath, knowing that you would make a mess on his long fingers and pretty hands. And that definitely helped you reach our orgasm as you moan out his name, and you couldn’t help but feel slightly odd about it.
You finally turned in your paper on the last day it was due, and you were extremely happy with it. You added the history of not acting like your original self, taking Mr. Styles’ advice and not going too in depth with it. This has marked as a halfway point to graduating with your bachelors, and you were ecstatic.
It had also been a week since the tension filled scene that had happened in your professor’s office, and you haven’t been back since. Seeming as you didn’t need to since there were no needed assignments, but you had thought you would visit him in his office everyday after what you had confessed.
It didn’t get easier sitting in his class as he stood up in front of everyone looking so hot as he wore a crisp blue button down with a polka dot tie, and a pink blazer over it. He knew your secret. He knew that you had the hots for him. And he knew that he didn’t say anything to reciprocate those feelings. And you tried very hard not to let it get to you.
The lecture had ted to your paper topic: masculinity and femininity. But this time, it was open for class discussion. You weren’t big on talking in class; just preferred listening to everyone’s opinions and making your own in your head, but the ignorance that someone had made you argue with him.
“I personally feel like men should stay on the masculinity side, and women on the femininity side.” You had turned around to see the guy who had said that. He was wearing a football jersey of the university, laughing with his two friends.
“And why do you think that?” Mr Styles follows up.
“It’s simple. You shouldn’t act as if you’re someone you’re not-”
“That makes a good point in your argument though,” you interrupt, turning in your seat to look at the jock at the top. “You shouldn’t act like someone you’re not, so why would you act like someone you don’t want to be?” The guy had shut up, making you smirk. “I just think that being masculine and feminine as your biological gender is a social construct. It just takes away the substance of that person when people look down on them for being true to themselves. So, why does masculinity only apply to men, and femininity only apply to women?”
Harry smirks at your discussion. It had surprised him that you spoke up in his class, but it didn’t surprise him when you spoke up about this topic. You had definitely shut down his other student, and he was proud of you for that.
The class was dismissed and as you were making your way towards the door, someone stopped you.
“Hey, really great argument back there.” It was the ignorant jock.
“Thanks.” You walked out of the class to get out of everyone’s way, stopping at the wall across from the class.
“I didn’t mean to sound so douchey back there, but what you said really got me thinking, and I see where you’re coming from.”
“I’m glad. You learn something new everyday…”
Harry was watching you the entire time you left your seat to when his student stopped you to have a chat. He had thought you were going to shut him down for being ignorant, but he saw you smile and laugh a little, making him breath deeply as he glared at you, brows furrowed, and coffee cup in his hand. Harry then sees him take out his phone, obvious that he’s asking for his number and he sees you blush as you talk.
Harry tries to control his breathing, and in another world, steam would be coming out of his ears. He walks towards the door, thinking that he was going to call you into his class, but decides against it and shuts the door.
It was already nearing the end of the semester, and you have yet to talk to him.
If it wasn’t for the fact that you had slightly gotten over his unreciprocated feelings, you would have probably dropped out of the class and waited another semester to finish. But you couldn’t let him do that to you; you were way too close to the finish line.
Mr. Styles was in his final topic of speaking about the fun part of sex, and how it could be pleasurable. He talked about the anatomy of it at first, moving onto the techniques. And the techniques he used on how to pleasure a woman and man had you hot in your seat. He demonstrated using his finger, showing the class the way to finger someone, and you couldn’t help but cross your legs. And you were sure everyone was doing so as well.
The simple demonstration of his fingers making a curling motion as if he’s fingering someone made you clench. You had been right about his fingers bringing you to pleasure, and all you wanted to do was rush home and imagine it again since you have a full visual.
“Okay, class. I have an extra credit opportunity for you.” The class perks up at that. You had a low A in the class, and although you were confident about the final, you didn’t want to risk it, so you listened.
“Since this is a sexuality class, I hoped I didn’t make anyone uncomfortable on what I just did,” the class laughed a bit, and you smiled. “For this extra credit, I want you to go to a sex store and buy a toy that can be pretty much anything. Come back and show me, and I will mark you down for points. I don’t require a paper on this, so it is fairly easy, but this is to show that you should be comfortable in your sexuality, and walking into a sex store should be easy for you because there’s nothing wrong with that whatsoever because everyone has needs and if someone judges you, then they’re not getting laid.” The class laughs again. “You can return it if you want after I mark you down or you can keep it. A win win for everyone! Okay, class dismissed.”
You walked out of class with a smile on your face as Mr Styles lightened up everyone’s mood as everyone was stressing for finals. You were glad for it; the weight on your shoulders were still heavy, but a good laugh was needed.
You had two weeks to buy and show him the extra credit, and two weeks until you graduated. The days were counting down at this point, and before you knew it, it was the final week.
You had passed both of your finals with flying colors, and you had the rest of the week to finally relax as you were graduating at the end of the week. The apartment was a mess, and you finally had time to tidy it up a bit; fix the mess of papers on your kitchen table and put your laundry away. You also used that time to finally go out and get your extra credit.
It would be a lie if you had told yourself that you were too lazy to go out and actually buy your extra credit assignment, but that was far from the truth. If you had energy to get up and clean around your home, then you could have easily gotten up and buy a sex toy.
But it was the anxious feeling that you had that you were going to see him so up close, and actually get to talk to him again that stopped you.
The crush on your professor hadn’t died done any less, but it hadn’t increased either. You were stuck in a plateau of not getting over him and not falling for him more. You figured it’s because you see him every week, so you were hoping by this time, you were on your way to getting over him.
You made your way into the sex shop with nerves as you haven’t been into one before, and it was a very relaxed set up. Various of sex toys used for both genders were set against the wall, and a red curtain that led to something in the back that, you assumed, was the more extreme items.
You scanned the toys, figuring that it would be easy to just get a vibrator. Your hands shook as you went to grab the boxed toy, and you remembered Mr Styles’ words; there’s no reason to be ashamed in buying any of these, and that relaxed you.
The employee who rang you up was the sweetest. She greeted you with a bubbly smile, and told you that you had made a great choice because she has the same one. You didn’t tell her that it was for a school thing, because that would sound really weird, and you didn’t tell her that you were planning on returning it later on.
You drove to campus, hoping that Mr Styles was in his office. The drive was a 30 minute drive as you lived a bit far from the school, but you didn’t mind the drive.
Harry heard a knock on his office door, telling them to enter. His eyes perked up as you made yourself present as you opened the door. His heart was beating in his chest as he saw you; remembering the last time you were in his office and missing the presence of you being close again.
“Hi. How are you?” He pointed to the chair, and you sat down. Your heart was pounding as well, feeling nervous about being in his office again.
“I’m doing good. How are you?”
“I’m well, thanks. What can I do for you?” He asks politely. You reach into your bag and grab the box to show him your extra credit assignment. “Ahh,” he lets out as he sees the box. “Perfect. Let me mark you down for that.”
“Thank you,” you say as you put the toy back inside your bag. “Can I ask how I did on the final? If you’ve already finished grading it.”
“Yes. You did really well, actually,” he says as he shuffles through his papers, looking for the grade book. “Ah, here. You got a 95.” That made you smile. You were quite confident for the final, but hearing that you did well brightened up your day. “And that boosted up your grade to a 94, plus the extra credit, that will go up to a 97.”
Your eyes widened; you had passed both classes with an A, and you were extremely excited about that; and it takes everything in you to not jump up and scream. “Wow, thank you.”
“No need to thank me. You deserve it. I’m proud of you,” he smiles at you, and your heart swoons, telling him a thank you. “You graduate at the end of the week right?” You nod. “Excited?”
“Very. I really only needed to take this class, but I was putting it off because my friend took this course and said it was pretty sexual, and that made me a bit uncomfortable if I’m being honest. But I really enjoyed this class…you made it bearable.” Harry blushes, thinking how happy he is that you took the class with him.
“Well, I’m happy you enjoyed it,” he says .
There was silence that washed over you two with the slightest bit of tension; debating if either one should bring up what happened the last time you were in his office. You were feeling so many things at the moment, and he was too, but you were sure it was inappropriate to talk about it when technically, nothing even happened.
“I should get going,” you say instead.
“Sure thing. I’ll see you…uh, around,” he says hesitantly. You tell him goodbye and walk out of his office, probably the last time you would ever see him.
You had finally graduated, and you couldn’t be more happy and proud for yourself. A relieved feeling ran through you when you had put on your cap and gown, and the thought made you tear up. You were done, for now, before you had to go to grad school and get your masters degree. But either way, you were ecstatic.
Now a week has gone by since graduation, and you decided to do some errands. You also needed to make your way to the sex shop and return your item.
As you entered the door you had walked through once before, your eyes immediately spotted the familiar man who had made your heart flutter by the simple act of eye contact. And if it was by instincts, Harry turns his head towards the door and sees you standing at the entrance. He hadn’t seen you since the time in his office and he saw you walk for graduation, if that counts.
There was no way of avoiding him, so you walked over to him. “Hi, Mr Styles.”
“You know you don’t have to call me that anymore. You graduated already,” he smirks, and you chuckle.
“Then what should I call you?”
Yours. “Harry.”
You tilt your head to the side, seeing how fitting his name is on him. “Okay, Harry. What are you doing here anyways?” The question had slipped out of your mouth, but you think that there’s nothing awkward with it.
“Oh, uh, just looking for a cock ring,” he says honestly. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m actually returning my extra credit purchase,” you chuckle.
“Are ya? Why don't you keep it?”
“I don’t know…I actually never used a toy before, and I got a bit intimidated by it.” Harry nods understandingly.
“See, a win win for everyone. You either get your money back or you get a nice orgasm out of it,” he laughs, and you agree with him.“I think you should keep it. This is the time you get to explore your sexuality.” You debate a bit. He was right, and you did have some spare time as of now, so you decided to keep it; see what this thing can really do.
“If you’d like…would you like to get some lunch with me?” He asks, taking you out of your thoughts.
Your eyes brighten. “Of course.”
It was like you were waiting for this moment to come. You had waited for him to ask you out and properly get to know each other outside of school. Harry had taken you to a small shop that sold burgers and fries, and you two sat in the patio of the shop; talking, eating, and laughing at stories you told each other.
“Can I ask you something?” He nods, nervously. “When I told you I liked you in your office that one time, why didn’t you say anything back?”
“To be honest, I was nervous. You’re 22 and I’m six years older than you, and although that didn’t matter much to me, you were on the edge of graduating. I couldn’t risk that, even with how much I like you. The thought of getting caught and losing your chance to graduate, and possibly your acceptance for your masters, would just be selfish on my part because I couldn’t keep it in my pants… So I waited until you graduated; didn’t even know if I was going to see you again if I’m honest.”
You understood well on why he didn’t do anything to reciprocate his feelings, and you were grateful he didn’t until now.
By the end of it, you didn’t want the day to end so you invited him to your apartment.
You two sat on your couch, which thankfully you cleaned the place before, and talked some more and put on a movie. You two were inching closer to one another until you both were cuddling. You had rested your legs on his as he runs his fingers over your ankles, scratching your skin lightly.
You were breathing heavily, wanting to just make more than just innocent touches. As if Harry read your mind, he turned his head to look at you; a striking look in his eyes as you both look at each other. The air was heavy, sexual tension coming in hot.
“Harry…”
“Yes, love?”
“Kiss me.”
Harry wastes no time in connecting his lips with yours. The softness of your lips meeting his is enough to drive him crazy. The pull you have on his hair makes him let out a moan into your mouth as you whimper into his. Chests are pulled close together, but not close enough as the hold on each other is tight; afraid one might let go.
Harry found himself in your bedroom, and it seemed like he blanked out during that time. Your kisses probably just pulled him into another world, where he debated if this was real life or if he was dreaming it. It was all real, but it was lovely to dream about.
You sat on the bed as you continued to kiss while Harry was standing above you; him leaning down and you reaching up. You were close to his hard on, and it took everything in him not to drop his pants and have you taste him, but it wasn’t going to be about him.
This is going to be about you.
You’d managed to get both of your shirts off, wanting yourself bare and to see his chest. You were surprised with the amount of tattoos that littered his skin. It was beautiful and raw, and him. You went to press a kiss to the butterfly on his stomach; the only one you can reach, and trailing down to the vines on his hips. Harry throws his head back, loving the feeling of your lips on his. You reach for his pants and before you can fully unbutton, he stops you.
“No, no. Tonight’s about you, baby,” he says as his face is close to yours and he kisses the tip of your nose. You nod slightly, feeling yourself blush; and he pushes your shoulder back so you’re fully laying down on your bed. “You want this, right?” Your head nods quickly, enough to make yourself dizzy. “Need words, love.”
“Yes. I want this so bad.” The words come out quickly, eagerly. Harry smirks at your response, and kisses down your stomach towards the hem of your pants.
He fully removes your bottoms, only leaving your panties, and Harry thinks that you’re just a sight. “God, baby, you’re so beautiful,” he says smiling. His words made you blush, shying away from him by turning your head. “Nuh uh, don’t get shy on me now, my love. It’s just me. You’re comfortable with me, right?”
“Of course,” you respond, remembering that he prefers words rather than gestures.
“I’m glad.”
He continues kissing along the hem of your panties, teasing you slightly by dragging his tongue along your skin. The feeling makes you whimper and buck your hips slightly; wanting more than his kisses.
The fast motion of your panties swiftly being removed catches you off guard as you look down and see Harry looking at your bare pussy with hungry eyes. “Look at you. Fuck.” It takes everything in him to not devour you right then and there, but he wanted this moment to last and for you to enjoy yourself. He has been waiting for this moment the first time you walked into his office, and he couldn’t wait to get a taste of you.
“Harry…” you whimper.
“Yes?”
“Please just lick me already.”
Harry kneels on the floor, kissing your inner thighs before taking one long lick up your pussy. The feeling of his tongue makes you moan out loud from the built up tension that you’ve been filled up with since the beginning of the semester.
“Fuck, so good,” he says, going in for another lick, but doesn’t stop this time. He takes your clit into his mouth, sucking on it as well as giving it kitten licks. Your hands fall to his hair as you tug, and your face falls to the side as you try and drown your moans against the mattress.
You continue moaning, but they’re muffled and Harry looks up at you. “No, none of that. Don’t hide away your moans. Wanna hear ya, baby. Let me know I’m licking you up just right--just how you like it,” he says and gets back to eating you out. You give him an ‘okay’ before wailing out in pleasure.
The thought had surprised you as you’ve never been with anyone who made sure you were feeling good and alright. And you absolutely loved it.
Harry’s fingers enter you, pumping and curling and finding your g spot. “Fuck, you’re so wet. Who got you this wet?” He teases.
“You.”
“I did?”
“Yes. You, Mr Styles.” Although you have been calling that more than you called him Harry, his name coming out of your mouth as you’re a moaning mess makes his cock even harder. He stares at you above him with dark eyes and nibbles on the skin of your inner thighs.
“You say you wanna explore? That no one has ever taken the time to make you feel good? Is that right, baby?” He says as he continues fucking you with his fingers.
“Mhm. No one has ever fucked me good enough for me to stay,” you say in an innocent and teasing tone, knowing that Harry will be the exact person that will do that for you.
“How about we have a little fun? With a certain vibrator of yours that you decided not to return? Do ya want that?”
“God, yes please.” Harry kisses your stomach, up to your chest, and then your lips before his fingers slip out and he walks over to unbox the new vibrator. It was a vibrator that you were able to put inside you as it stimulated your clit, and Harry has been dying to use one on you the second you showed it to him for extra credit. You heard the toy turn on as Harry played with the settings.
“Ready?”
“Yes, I’m ready.”
Harry sets the vibrations to the lowest setting as he starts to tease your clit with it; slowly circling around it as you moan out from the new sensation. “Does that feel good? Do you want more?”
“Please. Give me more,” you say as you palm him over his underwear, but he pushes you away. “Baby, you’re hard. Let me touch you, please,” you plead.
“This is all about you, so be a good girl and just enjoy this,” he says and you close your eyes, waiting for what’s to come. Harry sets the setting a bit higher. The setting is on a medium level, more stimulations to your clit as Harry moves the toy around. “Holy shit, that feels so good,” you throw your head back onto the bed.
“Yeah? Good thing I told you to keep it. You can use this when I’m not here to fuck you, unless I tell you not to touch yourself and have you wait until I stuff myself in your tight pussy.” The dirty talk is driving you wild along with the vibrator. “Gonna put it higher,” he says and doesn’t wait for you to answer.
“Oh my...fuck!” The setting is at its highest along with the part of the toy that is inside you; Harry moving the toy around a bit so it can thrust inside of you. You’re completely thrashing around on the sheets, and Harry has to physically spread your legs apart as you keep trying to close them.
Harry lays beside you, kissing your chest and taking your pebbled nipple into his mouth and sucking on it. Your hand naturally finds his hair and pulls on it as you bring his face to yours, and he gives you a solid kiss. You hold him against you as there were no movements of your lips with his; just the touch of your lips together as you try to control your moans.
As you two part, you scream out, “I’m gonna fucking cum!”
“C’mon, let go for me, baby. Cum for me,” Harry encourages you.
After a few more thrusts and vibrations to your clit, your orgasm washes over you and hits you hard. Your back arched, and you turned, still feeling the stimulation from the toy.
“There ya go. That’s it,” Harry says as he slowly pulls the toy out and replacing it with his hand, gently cupping over you and feeling your wetness as you come down from your high. Your moans have been controlled, and you started whimpering from how powerful your peak was. “You’re okay. Shh. You’re okay, baby.”
You buried your face into Harry’s neck, and he scratches your back, calming you down. After a moment, you lift your head up and lazily smile at Harry, causing him to giggle a bit and kiss you. The kiss didn’t last long nor was it deepened; it was a sweet and loving kiss, and a thank you to him.
“Was that okay?” He asks.
“That was fucking amazing. Never came like that before,” you tell him honestly.
“Well, I’m glad,” he kisses your lips briefly as he couldn’t get enough of them.
“So…” you trail off.
“So…” he repeats.
“Do I get my extra credit?” You ask in a playful manner, and he laughs loud making your heart flutter over the beautiful sound of his laugh.
Nobody Marks You, by graceling_in_a_suit ( @graceling-in-a-suit )
“The plan is: we’re gonna put on a play. Now, I see some doubtful faces–” Louis looked around and found zero doubtful faces. Liam looked intrigued, Zayn looked bored, and Harry looked scarily blank. “But this is what’s happening. We’re gonna do some fucking acting, we’re gonna perform our hearts out, and we’re not going to think about anything else. The past, the future; none of it. All we’re going to think about is... “ Niall trailed off, eyeing the bookshelf to his left. He closed his eyes and reached a hand out towards it, running his fingers over the covers before pulling a book out at random. “William Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing.”
AU: Five assholes stuck in a bunker put on a play.
Requested by anon
Pictures I used:
For the paper-book cover: xx (:
Epub covers: One, two, three-1, three-2
Thank you so much to all my editors and collaborators who made this happen. This story would not have been what it is without @real-work-of-art. Especially big thank you to @sweetcreatureinthedark @shelblikesbands @fromyourstrulyh
Author: @helladirections
Pairing: Harry x Y/N
Status: Part 1 of 5
Word Count: 5.6K
SUNFLOWER VOLS 1-5 | MASTERLIST | PATREON
Preview
Harry furrowed his brows. “Yeah, that famous Y/N smile. It’s so bright and you carry yourself so tall - confident,” he corrected himself again. “You’re like... like a sunflower,” he concluded, taking another drink to punctuate his point.
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Exhausted. Y/N was, simply put, exhausted.
Over the past two years, she had graduated college, gone on to live in three states, and worked four different jobs - all within what she thought was her dream career field. She was able to sign her own apartment lease, pay her own living expenses, and even have her own health insurance. Her friends and family were always telling her how proud they were, how excited they were that she was finally getting everything that she had always worked so hard for.
But somewhere in that time, things started to fall apart. Instead of actually using her degree, she was scheduling meetings and getting lunch for a horrible boss who spoke down to her. Instead of making change in the world, she was making changes to file names. Instead of going out with friends, she was going home to spend the evenings alone. It’s not that she expected to be doing anything too big right away, but the way things were going, it was likely she would be stuck on lunch duty for at least a few more years, and that’s just not something Y/N wanted for her life.
So she ended up back in her hometown – the one place she promised herself she would never land again. And in some sense, she still hadn’t landed there. Y/N had been back for some time already and nobody even knew. If the world didn’t know, then it wasn’t necessarily happening. If this was merely a pit stop before something bigger and better, then this temporary situation wasn’t even worth reporting on. It wasn’t a failure; it couldn’t be a failure. It was just a speed bump that she would gloss over in interviews until she had become so successful that this time period didn’t even matter anymore...she hoped.
It was a Monday night and exactly three weeks to the day since she had moved back home. Frustrated with no response from job applications, Y/N decided her emotional and physical exhaustion warranted a visit to the neighborhood bar. She needed to get out of the house and feel a little less trapped, even just for a few hours. Her hair was a bit of a mess and her eyes were clearly sunken with fatigue, but she gathered her things and headed out anyway.
Y/N had visited the bar a handful of times in years past, back when drinking alcohol legally was still new and exciting. It was small and cozy, tables made from dark wood and covered in a thin layer of typical bar stickiness. She figured it was the kind of place that college kids would visit during winter break or the small number of young professionals in town could go to blow off some steam after work. Essentially, it was the perfect place to be invisible and drink cheap alcohol.
The place was mostly empty on the random Monday night. A handful of people sat at tables, most quietly chatting and sharing snacks. Just one person was sitting up at the bar itself. The lights were dim enough that it was difficult to make out individual faces but bright enough to see to the other side of the room. The wooden counter was freshly wiped down with a rag, and the stools rested on legs that weren’t entirely even. It was comfortable and quiet, and Y/N felt like she could finally breathe for a moment.
“I’ll take whatever cider you have on ta-” Y/N didn’t finish her sentence before looking up and seeing a familiar face in front of her.
His rich brown hair had grown a bit longer, shoulders a bit broader, and there was a dusting of stubble around his chin - but there was no mistaking the boy in front of her. She could recognize those deep green eyes anywhere.
“Sorry ma’am, I’m going to have to see your ID.” Harry gave her one of his signature smirks, dimples just barely coming through.
Y/N rolled her eyes. “Hi Harry. You know we’re the same age, you knob.”
He gave a bit of a chuckle before turning to fill up her glass from the tap. The sight in front of her was nothing new. Y/N had seen Harry handing out beer plenty of times, but only when it wasn’t legal yet, only when it made him just dangerous enough to get the attention of the pretty girls at school. And up until now, Y/N had always refused. This time he wore a white collared shirt with the first two buttons open revealing what looked to be a tattoo. It wasn’t so dangerous anymore, but Y/N couldn’t quite shake that familiar feeling in the pit of her stomach - the same one she got when he offered her drinks in high school.
“Didn’t know you were back in town,” he mused, as he slid the drink in front of her.
“I didn’t know you were in town either,” she countered. “I thought you were planning to transfer.”
He gave a noncommittal shrug. “You know Tom was in here the other day. Tom V, from seventh grade English class?”
Y/N gave a nod as she took a healthy gulp of her drink.
“Said he was just around for a short visit - something about moving up north to do HR for a biomedical company.”
“Oh yeah? Haven’t heard from him in ages.” It was true. Y/N had cut out most of her friends and acquaintances from home when she went to college. For the select few that she did stay in touch with, they would go months without speaking. It was ok because they would always pick up right where they left off, as if nothing had passed. Harry was someone she would reach out to when she was visiting family for holidays or birthdays or vacation - but not anything in between. The first few times they were both home from college at the same time they had met up for lunch, but since graduation, he had begun to fade out of her mind.
For a moment, he didn’t respond. His eyes searched hers, as if looking for a deeper response, but she offered up nothing except another sip of her drink.
“I haven’t heard from you in ages, either.”
She paused, mid-sip, and put her drink back on the counter before waiting a beat to look back up at him.
“You uh... you’re not alone in that,” she finally admitted. “Didn’t really tell anyone I was back.” Her words hung there in the air for a moment, neither completely sure how to follow up. “Have you been back in town long?”
For the first time probably ever in a social situation, she actually saw him falter a bit. “Never really left, actually,” he admitted with a sigh. He pulled a bar rag out of his pocket and started to wipe off his work area, just to give himself something to do, some way to distract.
“Didn’t have the best test scores and all that so I was at community college. Planned on transferring, thought maybe my music would take me somewhere, But...” he trailed off, not sure how to finish, not sure if he’s really trying to convince her or himself that he had dreams and goals. “But I got stuck. Eventually landed here - owner lets me live in the loft upstairs and take a few nights on the stage in exchange for some work. ‘S not the worst gig I’ve had.”
He offers up a small, forced smile paired with wrinkles on his forehead.
Y/N was unphased. “You’ve always been so talented, I’m not surprised,” she admitted. “Won some talent shows back in the day, didn’t ya?”
He chuckles, feeling his cheeks warm slightly at the reminder. “Yeah, back in my prime... eleven years old.”
It wasn’t until that moment that Y/N realized how long she and Harry had truly known each other. Try as she might, she couldn’t actually remember when they first met. He had been a fixture in her life - the background of many memories and the focal point of others. They shared classes, worked on assignments, and for a short time were in the same lunch group. He lived at the other end of the school zone, but was best friends with her neighbor around the corner so he just seemed to always be around. The first time Y/N had been offered alcohol in high school, it was from him - though she declined his offer multiple times. He joined lunchtime clubs at random (a founding member of Taco club and also welcomed into Robotics club for a short stint). Harry was everywhere. He was a constant.
Before she had a chance to take the conversation any further, they were interrupted by her phone’s loud vibration. She took a look and rolled her eyes, putting her phone back into her purse and moving to take a big drink of her cider.
“Sorry, that’s my parents. Want me to pick up some bread at the store,” she chuckled. He gave her a sympathetic look as she dug through her purse. But when she pulled out her wallet, he stopped her.
“This one’s on me,” he told her. “Makes up for all those times you told me no for a drink in high school.”
“That’s because we were eighteen, Harry. It was illegal,” she teased.
He just responded with one of his signature smirks and found a new way to busy his hands so she literally couldn’t give him her card.
“Fine, but I owe you.”
He shook his head. “Y’don’t owe me anything,” he insisted. “But,” he paused a moment, clearly thinking something through. She recognized that look on his face and knew it often meant trouble. “If you really want to do something for me, come back tomorrow. It’s a show night and the audience has been a little bare lately. Could use the company so ‘m not just singing to myself.”
. . .
Tuesday nights were show nights. That meant Harry had Niall taking his shifts behind the bar and the freedom to do as he pleased during the day - usually time spent preparing new songs for that evening's performance. Although Harry supposed “performance” might be a strong word. Not really performing if no one is watching, and more often than not the few straggling customers hardly paid him any attention and definitely didn’t qualify as a true audience.
Harry wasn’t entirely sure why he had asked Y/N to come back that evening. Couldn't remember the last time he asked an old school friend to watch him. Although to be fair, any old school friends he ran into were typically in town for short visits and didn’t have the time in between seeing family and friends to spend a few hours in the neighborhood bar acting as the lone audience member.
But he did ask her to come back, and, for some reason, he was nervous. Really nervous. Y/N had heard him play and sing dozens of times before: talent shows, eighth grade graduation, senior showcase; but this felt different. All those times he was just a kid doing something for fun. He would play his favorite song from the radio or something he overheard older kids talking about, even if he needed to use overly simplified chords and sing way out of his range. Now he was taking this seriously, he was trying to go somewhere with his music. Harry hoped that eventually, after enough practice, his music could be the thing to finally get him out of this town. He chose his songs more strategically, looked for things that would show off his range. Often picked obscure artists so the audience couldn't compare his voice directly to the original. About once a month he forced himself to play an original song just to get in the practice.
So he spent most of the morning and afternoon holed up in the loft practicing the same songs over and over ad nauseam. He made sure to play his best set of songs so he would be less likely to make any noticeable mistakes on stage - not that he had made one in ages. He took a nice long shower, complete with a new pomegranate scented body scrub and lotion. Typically he would go downstairs just a few minutes before he was allowed to start playing wearing whatever he had been lounging around in that day, but this time he spent some time looking through this wardrobe and picking out the perfect jacket to make him look like some kind of professional.
Desperately, Harry was trying to convince himself that he wasn’t trying to impress Y/N. It didn’t make sense why he would anyway. But he had to resign himself to the reality that he was anxious about seeing her or, more accurately, about her seeing him.
Back in school, he remembered her bright smile always on her face. It was a comforting aspect to his every day routine. When the teacher was yelling? Y/N found something to giggle about. When the donut club ran out of donuts? Y/N smiled while giving each of her friends a piece of her cookie. She was kind to a fault, overly apologetic, and always polite. She made the room brighter wherever she went, and Harry realized now that he never told her how much he appreciated it. Even last night she had a smile on her face - albeit a more subdued one. So with that in mind, he chose a pale yellow suit. Figured it would brighten the room if she didn’t show up, but also make her smile extra wide if she did.
He made his way downstairs with an extra spring in his step, getting eyed heavily by Niall when he walked out from the staircase behind the bar and towards the stage at the front of the room. Guitar in hand, he took a seat on the stool in front of the microphone which he always insisted be set out for him even though his voice could easily be heard at a normal level. In his yellow outfit, clearly overdressed compared to the patrons and other staff, Harry took a breath before searching around for Y/N.
She hadn’t shown yet. It was only 2 minutes past the hour, so she easily could still be on her way, but he felt his stomach fall as he tried to accept that she likely wasn’t going to show. Without any kind of introduction he hooked up his guitar to the small amp and started to play his first song.
He knew he was playing well, but he also knew he wasn’t playing his best. Which made no logical sense seeing as he had spent most of the day practicing and was super confident before walking downstairs.
It was about halfway through the song when that changed. And as much as Harry didn’t want to admit it, it was clear that the reason he stepped up his game was that he spotted Y/N walk through the door. She was hesitant when the door first opened, phone in hand and looking around before finding Harry sitting and playing up front. She gave him one of those signature smiles that he loved, lighting up the room for him more than she could ever know.
She stood tall with her spine straight as she made her way to the bar, ordering a drink from Niall and taking a moment to chat before finding her place at a table right in front of Harry. He made a note to himself to make sure that Niall wouldn’t charge her for anything tonight - Harry would foot the bill if need be.
He kept playing. He felt like he never wanted to stop playing if she was going to be sitting there looking at him like she was. Never once did she frown, not for a moment did her confidence waiver (a rarity for a girl who had a tendency to try and make herself small back in school). She sat in her seat swaying to his music, munching on some chips and sipping her drink. Harry loved every second of it.
Y/N wasn’t sure what it was that made her actually come back tonight. When he asked her last night, she had shrugged and said “maybe,” not really thinking anything of it. But she had also been cooped up all day in her room at her parents house applying for more of the same jobs she had been going at for months now, and she knew that she needed the break.
And he was good. Like, really good. Better than she remembered, and she remembered him being good.
Closing out his set, Harry sang an original song - something he tried to force himself to do on occasion so he would get used to singing his own lyrics in front of strangers. But oddly enough, it wasn’t the strangers that made him nervous this time. It was Y/N. She knew him, she saw deeper into him than the middle-aged drunk man at the bar or the group of three 30-somethings at the booth in the back. At the very last second, he changed the song from one about his last breakup to one a bit more upbeat, irrelevant lyrics that he just thought sounded good together.
“Thanks for lending me your ears tonight,” he spoke into the microphone after his final song faded out. “My name is Harry Styles and I’m here every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday evening. Thanks and goodnight.”
No sooner had Harry taken off his guitar strap than did Y/N come bouncing up to him, smiling wide. It was contagious and he couldn’t help but mirror her as she gave him a quick hug.
“You were so good! Like I knew you were good, but you were so amazing.” He soaked up her words, loving the praise. Typically he would get half hearted claps from two or three people when he finished a set, but he was so enamored with Y/N’s words.
“Thank you,” he gave her a chuckle. “Didn’t play anything new tonight but I think it went alright.” Harry shrugged, looking around the room and trying to gauge reactions of the other patrons. They were all back in their conversations or had their faces in their phones, so he figured he was safe to make his exit.
He took a look at his watch before turning back to Y/N, “Hey it’s still pretty early, why don’t you come upstairs with me for a bit? Could use some company away from this bar.”
A little hesitant, Y/N faltered and checked her phone. He was right - it was barely 8:00 PM and she didn't want to go back home quite yet. But being alone with Harry had never gone the way she hoped in the past.
“Up to your room?”
He raised one eyebrow. “I mean it’s a loft so yeah just one big room. Come on you can bring your drink up with you,” he motioned towards her glass, still half full.
“Alright, but I’m just going to have the one,” she decided.
Y/N followed Harry towards the back of the bar and behind the counter, stopping when he made sure Niall didn’t charge her for the drink before leading her up the stairs in the back and through his door. Behind him on the stairs, she found herself staring at the way his ass curved perfectly against the seams of his pants. When they got back to level ground she did her best to keep her eyes away from him.
“It’s not much, but it does the trick,” he called back to her as he walked to the other side of the room.
She could get a good look around while he put away his guitar, allowing her to continue to avoid eye contact. They were close to the roof with the ceiling peaking not far above them. Familiar scented candles and wooden support beams made the room feel cozy and warm. At one end was a small kitchen, a TV, and about half of a sectional sofa. At the other, a large cozy looking bed rested up against a window, night time stars visible in the distance. The corner near Harry’s bed was filled with books - surprising to Y/N as she remembered him not being particularly interested in English class at any point in school. Up on the wall was a collection of pictures and Y/N couldn’t help but snoop a little bit.
Some of the photos contained recognizable faces - friends they shared in school as well as friends of his that wouldn’t have stepped within 6 feet of Y/N. Most of the images seemed pretty old, coated with dust and a bit faded. Much of the scenery was familiar - their high school parking lot, the Starbucks downtown, the central park a few towns over with a large meadow.
The room was quiet and Y/N didn’t notice Harry had finished putting his guitar away and was looking back at her, watching her take in the space.
“There’s one of you up there, if you look hard enough.” The sudden noise made Y/N jump a bit and Harry couldn't help but let out a breathy laugh. He walked towards her and pointed to a photo towards the top of the wall. “From prom, senior year,” he explained. He shook his head to himself, realizing how stupid it was to explain. Obviously she remembered going to prom and taking those silly photos. Harry had been there with a date, his girlfriend at the time. Y/N had gone alone with a group of friends, and spent most of her time taking silly pictures with old friends rather than dancing.
This photo in question was one of her favorites too - it featured a small group of her friends from classes, mostly blurry as they were laughing at something someone had said. She couldn't remember anymore what the joke might’ve been, but she remembered the moment fondly with a warmth in her heart.
“My mom made me wear heels that night,” she remarked. “Haven’t touched them since.”
Harry first responded with a noncommittal hum. “You always manage to hold yourself up tall anyway,” he told her.
Y/N turned to him, looking a bit confused.
“Confident, you’re always so confident. Don’t need to be any taller, I mean.”
She nodded, understanding as she turned her attention to the shelves of books below the pictures. Some were clearly old text books and required reading, but the shelves also contained books by Charles Bukowski, Haruki Murakami, and Joan Didion. An interesting mixture. Y/N let her fingertips graze along some of the books’ spines. Most were fairly worn, appearing that he had read the books through many times. At the end of the shelf was a stack of leather bound journals, but when her fingers reached those he jumped.
“Those are personal,” he gave as his only explanation.
Y/N gave a nod, removing her hand from the stack. “Do you write a lot?”
He walked back towards his couch, nodding with his head so Y/N would follow. “Quite a bit, I’d say. Mostly lyrics, ideas for songs. Take a seat, lemme change my shirt and I’ll grab some snacks,” he told her, wandering past her towards the kitchen.
Y/N let her eyes wander around the room, partially still looking for clues about his life, but mostly to keep herself from staring at his honey golden skin and broad shoulders. She was unsuccessful in that endeavour, as she couldn’t help but peak over towards Harry standing near his closet shirtless. It was impossible not to get sucked into thoughts of how soft his skin must be, how strong his muscles must feel now that he’s filled out a bit more. But it was the tattoos littered across his chest and arms that truly caught her off guard. She shouldn’t be surprised, he had always been rather impulsive and just the tiniest bit dangerous.
“Tattoos?” she remarked simply.
Harry held his left arm out towards her, turning it a bit and admiring the black ink. “Yeah, got one and then I just couldn’t stop, I suppose.” He gave a little chuckle before throwing a basic white t-shirt on over his head. In addition to his open arms, Y/N could see the ink on his chest through his shirt if she looked hard enough. Not that she did. Not that she meant to.
“So how long have you been living here?” she asked, desperate to change the subject away from his body.
“Hm... ‘bout a year and a half, I’d say? Finished up school and spent a few months looking for a place before finding this one. It’s been a pretty nice gig.” He walked back over, a bowl of chips in one hand and a beer in the other.
Y/N thanked him for the chips with a smile, grabbing a few and putting her drink down on the coffee table. “Oh, you graduated? What did you end up studying?”
Harry could feel warmth in his cheeks at her question. He thought by now - almost two years since he should’ve graduated - he would've gotten more used to answering the question. “Nah, I didn’t finish. Took some music classes, writing classes, English classes obviously. Thought about transferring but it never panned out. I like to learn and all, but you remember - school just isn’t exactly my thing, not like you.”
“Like me?”
“Yeah, weren’t you like, straight A’s? Good SATs and all that?”
She couldn't help but laugh. “Not quite. Got some B’s, didn’t go to an Ivy or anything.”
“But you went. You got out of this town and you studied and you graduated,” he countered.
And she knew Harry was right. She had gotten out of their hometown - a place notorious for holding people hostage and keeping them there. She had countless memories while still in high school of hearing from many of her friends’ older siblings and parents. Stories of waking up one morning realizing they weren't really chasing any kind of dreams. They got caught up in something local and accidentally built a life there until there was no logistical way they could actually leave. Maybe they and their high school sweetheart had a baby, or they got a good paying job out of high school so they took it out of fear that another opportunity would never come about.
“I did,” she relented with a sigh. “But I’m back.... I’m back.”
They sat for some time catching up and revealing how they landed where they were. Both had big dreams in high school, even in their college years. She wanted to move across the country and make a difference. He wanted to play music and was hoping for a record deal in the near future. Neither of them had given up their dreams so much as they simply hit a roadblock, and now here they were, feeling unsuccessful and trapped with no clear way out.
“Honestly Harry, you’re so talented. Music is definitely going to be your ticket out. I know it. Get an agent and a record deal in no time and never look back,” she told him, like a promise.
Harry shrugged. “Maybe. But you made it to the city once, you’ll get out again too,” he assured her, taking a sip of his beer. “You’re smart, and strong, and you always figure something out. And if none of that helps, just flash them that smile and they’ll be putty in your hands.”
“My smile?” she laughed, a bit caught off guard.
Harry furrowed his brows. “Yeah, that famous Y/N smile. It’s so bright and you carry yourself so tall - confident,” he corrected himself again. “You’re like... like a sunflower,” he concluded, taking another drink to punctuate his point.
“A sunflower....” Y/N seemed to be thinking it over. She had never particularly loved flowers, but sunflowers were objectively nice.
“Yeah, “ Harry continued. “They make everyone around them smile back, even when they don't want to. They might struggle from time to time in different seasons, but they always grow back, every year. You’re the same.”
Y/N could only respond with a small hum. There were definitely worse things to be directly compared to. Sunflowers weren’t so bad.
“My ‘famous smile’ though? I had braces for like four years,” she reminded him.
He cracked a bit of a smirk. “Yeah, looked right cute on you though. Remember you used to brush your teeth at lunch.”
“That was a secret!” She put her hand on her heart, in mock offense (and chose to completely ignore the fact that he had called her “cute” in any context).
“How was it a secret? You had a tooth brush in your backpack and always smelled minty in History class.”
. . .
They sat on the small couch, in relative silence as their movie faded out to black. The bowl of chips was empty and both Harry and Y/N had indulged in a second beer.
“I bet you’re fun drunk,” Harry let out suddenly. “Never would take a beer from me, bet that’s ‘cuz you go a bit too crazy” he teased with a quirk in his lip.
“That’s because it was illegal! We were like, 16 Harry.”
Of course, she was such a good girl, at least back in the day. “Always the rule follower.”
She rolled her eyes. “For your information, yes, I am a very fun drunk person. Go to bars and dance and everything... and then I get really sleepy and cling to anyone willing to cuddle me,” Y/N admitted.
Harry couldn't lie, he liked the sound of that. He couldn’t help but picture her downstairs, drunk and dancing on a Friday or Saturday night, smile bright and laugh contagious, having fun for a few hours before coming upstairs and cuddling in his cozy bed for the night.
He also knew Y/N well, and he knew that she only divulged real information when it was a way to hide something else. She was the queen of giving others a false sense of knowing her. She would complain openly about her period but never fully explained when she would stay home sick for more than a week at a time. She would reveal the crazy story of her first kiss, unprompted, but refuse to share with anyone at all who she had a crush on. Or maybe, as he had theorized once when they were around 15, she only told others who she liked because it was actually him. Queen of contradictions, she was.
Looking back up at her, Harry noticed the exhaustion in Y/N’s eyes, making him feel softer than usual. Whatever was going on in his head, this was new. He had known Y/N for ages and had never thought about dancing together or cuddling or stroking his fingers through her hair...
As if on cue, Y/N let out a yawn. “Should probably get going, been up late the last few nights applying for jobs,” she admitted.
That was no surprise. She had always been high achieving in and out of school. Always a hard worker. He remembered her often complaining after getting a test back that her true downfall was staying up too late studying the night before and not getting enough rest to let the information really sink in. She contained a power and a confidence in her work and herself which he often envied. Whatever she was applying for, he was completely sure she would get it.
Harry watched as she grabbed her purse and coat, and he picked up her now empty glass from downstairs. “Come on, I’ll walk ya down.”
He let her lead the way, eyes focused on the way her hair fell softly on her shoulders, not able to control the thoughts swirling around his head. He should've asked her to stay the night. It had been a long time since they’d seen each other, sure, but they’d known each other almost their entire lives. It wouldn't have been that strange. Would she share the bed with him or insist on taking the couch? She’s always overly polite and concerned for others. She would look so good in his t-shirt and sweats. She must be a soft and pliable cuddler, probably had the cutest bedhead in the mornings.
Shaking the thoughts away, he placed the empty glass in the sink behind the bar and signalled to Niall that it was there.
“Hey, ‘m not your personal dishwasher, Styles,” he called back.
Y/N’s smile grew brighter at their banter, and Harry didn’t want to look away.
He held his hands in his pockets in order to keep himself from guiding her with one on her back or around her shoulder. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him, but he needed to control himself. They reached the front door and Harry made Y/N promise to text him when she got home. They hadn’t texted in ages, but he confirmed that she still had his number before he hugged her goodbye and watched her walk to her car and take off.
He hummed to himself as he went back inside, walking back behind the bar and up the stairs again. Sunflower, he thought to himself. My sunflower.
love-at-first-sight, falling-too-fast, uni au that will make your heart ache (in a good way)
catch up here
**this chapter contains sexual content read at your own discretion**
Stella rolled over, rubbing her eyes. The events of the night before were almost like a distant memory. Something that didn’t feel real but was painfully so. A blur of vodka and glitter and Niall’s hands on her hips in a room full of everyone he knew.
Stella closed her eyes again and she could remember their midnight kiss, the way it made her head spin. A kiss like no other. A kiss that had Stella weak in the knees. Just thinking about it sent a thrill down her spine.
“Why’re you awake?” Niall mumbled beside her.
“How’d you know I’m awake?” Stella asked, all too amused as she rolled over to face him.
Niall rolled over, chuckling as he wrapped his arms around her, “because I just know.”
Niall smiled at her and Stella had flashes of the night before in her mind. She remembered watching Nadia walk in with her boyfriend, the twinge she felt for reasons she didn’t know. The way Niall hardly noticed, too busy talking to his friends but Stella saw her, saw her looking at Niall, saw her looking at her.
And then Niall wrapped his arm around her waist and introduced them. It was like she was looking in a mirror that showed her the past. Her cool green eyes glinting at Niall like they had age old secrets. Sure, they did, but Stella didn’t want there to be secrets.
“What is it?” Niall asked, smile faltering.
“Nothing,” Stella shook her head, eyelashes fluttering. “Thanks for carrying me to bed last night.”
“Of course,” Niall murmured, nose brushing against her jaw. “Veda would’ve pushed you to the floor. Practically saved your life.”
“I appreciate it,” Stella mumbled as his hand slid down her t-shirt clad side, over her hip. His hand stilled, thumb ghosting over her bare thigh.
“Stella,” Niall chuckled, pulling away to look at her.“Where are your pants?”
“Lost them,” Stella murmured as if that was a logical excuse. Niall put her in sweatpants before bed, the polite thing to do. Drunk Stella had a mind of her own, though.
“Warn a guy, would ya?” Niall breathed, kissing at her neck.
And there it was, the ache between her legs. Stella closed her eyes, letting out a soft breath. “Stel,” he murmured against her neck. “I’m so glad you came.”
“Me too,” she agreed, breathless.
“Sorry Nadia came,” he added because it was on his mind too. “I didn’t think she’d...”
“It’s okay,” Stella responded hoping it was convincing.
“But did you have fun?” Niall questioned, hand slipping beneath her t-shirt, brushing over her ribs, fingers unable to settle on one spot.
“I had a lot of fun,” Stella answered, truthfully. “The most fun.”
“My mates liked you,” Niall smiled, letting out a chuckle. “Said you were funny and too smart for me. Cant believe Veda pulled trivia pursuit out. Even drunk, you’re the smartest person in the room.”
“That’s high praise,” Stella mused. “There weren’t very many people there, though.”
“The sentiment still remains,” Niall murmured, nosing along her jaw. “I can’t stop thinking about what little clothing there is between us.”
“I’m not mad that they’re off,” Niall supplied, thumbing over her bottom lip. “It’d be so easy to just...” he trailed off, fingers ghosting over the waistband of her underwear. “Slide my hand down and...”
“Niall,” Stella breathed out, eyes slipping shut.
“But it’s all up to you, lover,” Niall added, nose brushing against hers. “You say no, it’s no.”
“It’s-“ Stella cut off letting out a breath. “It’s not no it’s...”
“It’s yes?” Niall mused.
“Mmm yes,” Stella breathed. “It’s yes. The opposite of no.”
Niall caught Stella’s lips in a desperate kiss, hips colliding with hers. Stella all but moaned against his lips. She was bursting at the seams, hot everywhere. A hot that made her breathless and achey, that only one thing would fix.
Niall slid his hand between her legs and Stella let out a moan that had Niall cursing against her lips. He tugged sharply on her bottom lip, listening to the way she gasped. Niall decided there was nothing he wanted more than to make her feel good, to make those sounds for him.
When Niall’s hand slid inside of her underwear, Stella was gone, a whimper leaving her lips that Niall silenced with a kiss, desperate and needy. Niall brushed his finger over her clit and Stella moaned, breaking the kiss, “Niall,” she breathed out. “I have to tell you something.”
“What?” Niall murmured.
“Conner never touched me,” she whispered.
“That’s such a shame, Stella,” Niall breathed out, kissing her neck. “All I want to do is touch you. Hear you breathe and gasp and-“ he cut off with a groan. “Those moans of yours, lover please.”
“Please,” Stella whispers, desperate.
Niall’s touches become more intentional, soft strokes that made Stella gasp out, head falling to his shoulder. Niall talked her through it, murmuring in her ear just how much he loves this, how much he wants Stella to get there, to give it to him. Stella’s orgasm washed over her like a tidal wave. She gasped his name, arching against him and Niall watched every second of it, not wanting to miss a single thing.
Stella collapsed beside him, eyes fluttering shut. Her breathing returned to normal but the flush on her skin remained. Niall kissed her soft and sweet like a thank you. Niall nosed along her jaw until Stella opened her eyes to look at him.
“Stella Bella,” he murmured, pushing the sticky hair from her forehead. “We have so much to learn from each other.”
That sentence ricocheted around the room. Stella felt her eyes close again as Niall kissed her, pulling her back in. Stella was eager, so eager for anything and everything Niall had to offer.
But he slowed them down, soft kisses that lacked the heat Stella was begging for. “Slow,” he echoed.
“Slow,” Stella repeated, but instinctively she reached down, fingers toying with the waistband of his sweatpants.
“Slow,” Niall repeated with more emphasis than before. He pushed her fingers away. “Stella this will always be about you.”
“It can be about you too,” Stella argued, looking up at him through her eyelashes.
“Not today,” Niall shook his head, diving down for a gentle kiss. “Some other time. We have so much time, stel.”
So much time, yet Stella was so eager it felt like she was constantly on the edge. She wanted to jump, risk it all, let the waves wash over her but looking in Niall’s eyes made her want to wait. For the first time in a long time, she was beginning to realize that standing on the edge for a while was what she needed.
When Stella’s lips were bruised and her mind was frenzied, she pulled herself away. Niall insisted that she leave the bed. Stella reasoned it was the only way they’d make it out alive.
With a coffee in hand, Stella sat down on the couch. She was freshly showered, practically glowing as Eleanor and Veda sat with her, the news on. The place was trashed, bottles and cups everywhere.
“You have a good night?” Veda asked after a long bout of silence.
“Yeah,” Stella answered. “Eleanor?”
“Yeah,” Eleanor answered. “what about you?”
“I hate you both,” Veda replied, shaking her head. “You’ve both got the same look on your faces. We all know what’s been going on this morning. And what about Veda? Why she woke up hungover on the couch freezing cold.”
okay so i wanna know if it's even worth it for me to read duplicity...i heard that something happens in ch 89 that made people wanna stop reading? & not to sound dramatic but ive read A LOT of fanfics in my day, so i need something PHENOMENAL to catch my attention. so far it's not worth it to me; i dont enjoy the main character or harry at all, but im feeling pressured to read it yk. everyone says it's worth it but im just not seeing the hype so far
