assassin!harry and maybe like target!y/n (you know what i mean by target? she's his target) but they fall for each other and harry can't bring himself to hurt her or kill her
HSHSWJ THE ANGST????
like harry has to get close to her in order to kill her BUT THEN HE FALLS FOR HER AND SHE FINDS OUT ????
Y/N likes to dance in the rain, eat ice cream sandwiches in December as the sun sets, watch children grin, and has the bad habit of breaking her own heart into pieces in order to salvage those of others.
Harry likes the feel of crisp bills in his gloved palms after he watches blood pool on the pavement.
When he’s offered clean bills in exchange for her life, he accepts. When he meets her, however, he wonders: why would anyone want to kill her?
He may be human, but he operates like a machine: identify target, plan, stalk, kill, collect cash, repeat. What one may consider sociopathic or psychopathic personality traits, Harry considers a blessing. After all, it is his lack of regard for human emotions and his own conscience that has made his career possible. The only proof he has that he is not, in fact, heartless is when he feels his pulse throbbing in his neck as he sprints between alleyways, hops fences, climbs walls, desperately trying to escape any chance of pursuit after the murder is done. Although pursuit is something with which Harry has become unfamiliar; he dealt with it in his career’s infancy, but as he has grown so have his skills. His eye for quick, accessible escape routes has grown keener, his aim tighter, and his remorse...well, nonexistent. He works alone, and he prefers it this way, but his work is so precise that many law enforcement officials cannot accept the possibility of the unidentified murderer being just a “murderer” instead of “murderers.” He’s lost track of how many kills he has made, yet, amazingly, he has yet to be caught or even identified. Nobody has ever suspected him of anything due to his brilliant planning, charming exterior, and cunning way with words; he comes off as a sweet, regular guy. All of this, coupled with the fact that he truly is heartless in the figurative sense of the word, makes Harry Styles the most successful, feared assassin on the planet. He never gets off track, never gets caught, and--most importantly--never misses. So, when he woke up and saw the folded yellow envelope lying on the floor under the windowsill of his first-floor, high-class apartment, it was just a normal day for Harry. He receives one to two requests every month, and as screwed up as it is, he can’t help but feel a rush of excitement whenever he wakes up to an envelope lying crisp and unopened on his tiled floor.
Harry picked up the folder, heavy with cash, and opened it to reveal 5 crisp stacks of 100 $100 bills each. Assassinations don’t come cheap, and Harry prioritizes the higher-paying customers. In other words, the sooner you want someone dead, the more money you should be willing to shell out. $50,000 isn’t much compared to most of his other offers, but because Harry wasn’t planning any other kills, he decided to go about prioritizing the operation. He flipped through the information, identifying the twenty year old college student that he was supposed to kill. He laid out the three included photographs of the girl and identified her address on a map. He read through her daily schedule, put together by the unnamed person who had hired him, and went about identifying the lowest-risk time to pursue and kill her. He ventured into the depths of his expansive closet, retrieving the black duffel bag that contained his gloves, his attire, his shoes, his ammunition, and his small, silver handgun as well as his perfectly sharpened steel knife. He never uses both the gun and the knife in one killing; he just likes the option. He grabbed the roll of heavy duty black tape from the bag and went about taping the bottoms of his shoes so that the patterns they would normally leave behind were masked. He put the bag by his front door and went about his day, eagerly anticipating nightfall.
Thursdays are the days she only has one class. A morning class, Psychology, and then her afternoons are spent working at the campus daycare to earn as much money as possible to aid in financing her studies. Mid-days are the busiest, as that is when most people have classes and therefore drop off their children to be supervised, so saying she had her hands full would be an understatement. The kids warm her heart, but simultaneously make it feel like it is going to burst from the stress of trying to keep them all in line. The hours couldn’t pass by quickly enough, and once it was 9:30 p.m. there was only one child left, sitting quietly at the small plastic table, coloring picture after picture with fluorescent markers, although more color ended up on the table than on his papers. She sighed, knowing she would have to be the one to clean it up after the little boy was picked up by his parent. The other person who was working at the daycare for the day went home a few hours ago, leaving just Y/N, the little boy, and the sounds of his markers being picked up and set down. Although 9:30 was rather late at night for a child to still be at the daycare, Y/N welcomed the peaceful quiet that enveloped the room. Another half hour went by before the child was picked up, his father giving apologetic glances for getting him so late. Just as the little boy was about to walk out the door, he broke hold of his father’s hand and ran up to Y/N, handing her one of the drawings he had been so intently working on.
“Is this for me?” she cooed, as the little boy nodded shyly. “I love it, it’s so beautiful.” He lunged forward to give her a hug, his head barely reaching her mid-thigh, before bounding out the door and once again grabbing his dad’s hand. She smiled to herself and turned to the bulletin board across the small daycare center, grabbing a thumbtack and pinning the picture where everyone could see it. After she had cleaned up and grabbed her purse from inside the small office in the corner of the room and was about to flick off the lights, she was startled by a man standing in the doorway. She gasped out loud, and he smiled apologetically.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m Harry. I was just wondering if you’re hiring?” Harry smiled a crooked grin and took a few steps towards her.
It took her a while before she registered that she had been asked a question. “Oh, um...well, do you have any experience with kids?” she asked, suppressing a yawn. She couldn’t help but wonder why this man waited until 10:00 at night to ask about a job, but despite her concern she didn’t say anything about it. Perhaps it was the friendly twinkle in his green eyes that convinced her he meant well.
He shrugged his broad shoulders, looking down at the ground as if the carpeting was fascinating him. “I have a four year old cousin,” Harry lied, “but that’s about the extent of my experience. I just really need work.”
“Uh, okay,” she said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “I can go into the office and grab a paper application for you if you’d like?” He nodded, grabbing her arm as she turned to walk away.
“What’s your name?” He looked up at her through his lashes, making her relax a little. Before, she hesitated to admit to herself how attractive she found him, but now there was no hiding it from herself. He looked like the kind of person people write poems about, with his messy brown curls and sparkling green eyes and the way his black hoodie hung loosely yet perfectly off of his shoulders. She wondered how someone could look so mysterious yet so friendly all at the same time.
“Y/N,” she finally replied, turning away before he could see her blush. She gently broke free from his grip on her arm, disappearing into the office and leaving Harry alone in the daycare.
He was nervous. This upset him, because he couldn’t remember the last time he felt anything other than pure adrenaline and exhilaration before a kill. He wasn’t expecting his target to be so unworldly beautiful, or so adorably shy, or her name to be so intriguing that he found himself repeating the memory of her introducing herself to him over and over in his mind. Y/N, Y/N, Y/N. How could anyone want this girl dead? What could she possibly have done to the person that hired Harry to kill her? Harry stomped his foot into the ground a little, gritting his teeth and silently scolding himself for wondering these questions. He isn’t supposed to care. He was going to get his shit together and just kill this girl. He didn’t have a choice.
Harry was stirred from his internal pep talk as Y/N appeared back into his view, shuffling through a stack of papers. “Okay,” she smiled nervously. “I’m not usually here this late, so I’m a little out of sorts, but I think I grabbed all the right papers.” Harry took the stack from Y/N’s hand, grinning so warmly that nobody in the world could guess that his heart was so cold.
“Do you live around here?” he asked as he folded the papers into his pocket, beginning to put his plan into action.
“In the residence hall a few blocks away,” she replied hesitantly, stifling a yawn.
“Does it take you long to drive there?”
She dug her foot into the carpeting, sighing a little. “Actually, I don’t really have the money for a car, so I have to walk.”
Perfect. “My car is parked just outside, I’ll drive you,” Harry offered, grinning at her in the enticing way he has perfected after seducing so many targets into his traps.
“Oh, that’s okay,” she replied, instinctively reaching her hand up to toy absentmindedly with the necklace dangling off her collarbones. “I don’t mind walking.”
“No, really, it’s no trouble at all. A pretty girl like yourself can't be walking around a college campus by herself at this hour of night. I insist.” His smolder remained plastered on his face, and his icy green eyes so...warm.
She reluctantly agreed, securing her purse around her shoulder and following Harry out the door, switching off the lights on her way out.
Stalking and introduction complete. Time to establish trust.
“How long have you been working at the daycare?” Harry asked, hunching over and shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.
“Oh, just a few months,” she answered, pleasantly surprised that this man was seemingly so interested in her life. “I love kids so I figured it would be a good way to make money. At least I'd be doing something I enjoyed.” She looked at the ground to hide the flush in her cheeks as they neared the parking garage.
She kept talking, but Harry didn't hear it. He felt weird, and he didn't like it. As he watched the way her face lit up when talking about the kids, how her rosy bow-shaped lips made even sounding out the simplest of words seem and sound intricate and beautiful, he knew that this wasn't a normal assassination. Harry felt his confidence in the mission slip away as he realized that he was enraptured with this girl. Y/N. Her delicate name did her justice. He watched her try to conceal her blush and he knew that he could not-would not-kill this girl. How could anyone possibly want her dead? He hated himself for being distracted, but the more he thought about it, the less he cared. He wanted to know every part of her. Forget the kill; knowing this girl was his new mission.
“Harry?” He was snapped out of his trance with the sound of his name. He looked up at Y/N, dazed, noting the perplexed yet slightly amused expression on her face. “I asked how far we are from your car,” she giggles, making Harry-to his horror-blush.
He quickly scanned the quiet parking lot until his eyes landed on his black pickup truck. He pointed at his car, leading Y/N over to the passenger side around the front of the car rather than the back, so that she wouldn’t notice and question the large black duffel bag lying in the otherwise empty bed of the truck.
Harry pulled out of the parking garage and followed Y/N’s directions to her residence hall, and as he drove he found himself hoping to hit every red light along the way so he could have as much time as possible in her presence. He racked his mind for a topic of conversation, but nothing seemed right. Harry realized that he was shy when it came to this girl, and this frustrated him more than anything else. If there is one thing that Harry Styles is not, it’s shy.
At the second red light they stopped at, Harry stole a glance at Y/N, her perfect silhouette somewhat illuminated red with the glare of the traffic light. She sleepily and absentmindedly fidgeted with the strap on her purse, loosening and tightening it over and over again. Her lips rested slightly parted, and he followed her gaze, somewhat troubled, to a homeless man sitting on the street corner alone, shivering under a ratty blanket. Y/N’s unspoken yet clear concern for the homeless man made Harry begin reaching into his pocket for some cash, something he would absolutely never do, but he was snapped back to reality with the blare of a car horn behind him. Harry tore his gaze away from the beautiful girl sitting beside him and looked up to see a green light with no cars in front of him. He punched the gas, noticing her quietly giggle at his distraction, and he couldn’t help but smile to himself at the sound of her laughter.
“What’s so funny?” he asked mockingly, smirking at her in a way typical of his assassination-mode self.
“Oh, uh, nothing,” she replied, so timidly that Harry feared his joking question came off as brash or accusatory, but then Y/N’s mouth curved up into a slight grin. “You just looked so flustered,” she giggled.
“Flustered?” Harry bantered, switching his eyes between her and the road.
“Well, you know, I just thought men were superior drivers and all. Didn’t expect you to just forget to go when the light turned green.” She looked over at him with an expression different from her usual shy smile, and Harry laughed lightly as he pulled up to the parking lot behind her residence hall, putting the truck in park.
“In my defense, I have a very pretty distraction sitting in my passenger seat. Don’t blame me for not watching the road when I’ve got a much better option.” He smiled devilishly, knowing exactly what he was doing. Y/N felt the flush rise in her cheeks, silently thankful for the dark of the night to conceal it. Of all the ways her day could have turned out, being wooed by an attractive stranger never crossed her mind. And she needed it, too; she was still feeling the aftermath of her most recent breakup. She welcomed her new green-eyed distraction; was even thankful for it.
“I’ll walk you in,” Harry said, breaking the silence as he reached to unlock the driver’s side door.
“No, I-,” Y/N started, but he cut her off.
“I didn’t drive you home just to have you attacked on your way to the door. It’s really no trouble.”
She wanted to argue that there was no way he could possibly be entertaining the possibility of her being attacked between the car and the thirty feet to the door of her building, but the way his perfect pink lips formed so perfectly around the words as he said them had the power to make her agree to anything. “Okay,” she said, smiling shyly. “Thank you.”
And just like that, he was in front of her passenger door, opening it for her and helping her step down from the tall pickup truck. He closed the door behind her, but as he turned he caught sight of the familiar black duffel bag sitting in the bed of the truck. He stared at it for a few seconds too long, and Y/N eyed him, her intent stare matching Harry’s. He felt his mind wander back to a few minutes ago, when he jokingly said he would walk Y/N to her door so she wouldn’t be attacked on her way there. His lips curled up into a slight smile as he considered how satisfyingly hilarious the irony of killing her, there, in that moment would be after he vowed to get her safely to her dorm.
“Harry?” And just like that, her smooth, timid voice pulled him out of his trance and back into the reality that he would never be able to bring himself to assassinate this girl, no matter how much money he was offered. “Are you coming?”
“Yeah, sorry.” He laughed his velvety smooth laugh. “I must’ve zoned out for a bit.” She smiled up at him, and Harry was suddenly weak over the fact that not even the darkness of night could seem to hide how bright her eyes were. “After you,” he smiled, gesturing towards her door and following her lead.
He studied every detail about her as she walked, realizing that even the back of her head was more beautiful than any other girl he had ever seen. He had every intention of seeing her again, but there was $50,000 burning a hole in his apartment that he had no idea what to do with. He had never, ever, found himself in a position of indecision about a target...until Y/N. In that moment, there was only one bit of certainty that occurred to Harry in the midst of the whirlwind that was his brain:
“What’re you here for, exactly. I really would love to know.”
“Just here for a chat,” provokes Harry. “Lovely to get back home, you know. Got a turkey in the oven–”
“At three in the morning. Get real, Bambi.” Louis deadpans a look at Harry, his eyes emotionless as they bore into him. “You’re here for the zirconia, aren’t you.”
or the au where harry becomes an assassin and has a mission at louis' house to steal the million dollar zirconia for zayn.
