im thinking angst, you usually both watch shania, but you had an argument before, so he is watching by himself, leaving you alone backstage, the ending can be whatever you decide xx
Still The One.
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authors note - hey everyone, happy sunday, enjoy this little bit of angst and a little surprise near the end.
word count - 4.3k
in which, usually you watch shania twain together, she’s your artist, but after a tense argument backstage, your not stood next to him and it’s absolutely killing him inside.
The thumping bass rattled the floorboards, a physical manifestation of the adrenaline pulsing through the stadium, but Harry couldn't feel it.
He was standing precisely where you had seen him earlier, pressed back against the cold, teal-blue wall, His hands were loosely clasped in front of his dark athletic shorts, his body entirely still while his friend—one of the crew members—stood beside him, gesturing and talking animatedly about the stage cues for Harry's upcoming set.
Harry wasn't processing a single word.
His eyes were completely glazed over, staring blankly toward the bright lights of the stage wings. His mind was trapped in a suffocating loop, replaying the look of absolute heartbreak on your face in the dressing room just twenty minutes ago.
The air in the dressing room was thick and humid, the kind of heavy, backstage heat that a single oscillating fan could do nothing to fix.
To your right, the soft, rhythmic puffing of your eight-month-old baby boy was the only sound cutting through the quiet. He was fast asleep in his buggy, stripped down to nothing but a nappy, his little chest rising and falling.
The poor thing had been up since 4:00 AM, teething and restless, which meant you and Harry had been running on fumes before the sun even came up.
You were sitting on the plush velvet sofa, your arms raised over your head, completely immersed in trying to get a neat French braid down the back of your head. Your fingers were tangled in your strands, your focus entirely narrowed down to sections of hair, blindly weaving them together by feel.
The heavy dressing room door clicked open and shut with a sharp thud.
Harry walked in, smelling faintly of sweat and the crisp afternoon air outside. He had just finished a grueling pre-show workout with Brad, and every line of his body screamed pure exhaustion.
He was flushed from the workout, wearing his slouchy white long-sleeve tee, dark athletic shorts, and the grey compression sleeves still pulled up over his knees. His white socks were slipped into his striped slides, dragging slightly against the carpet.
His eyes were bloodshot, heavy-lidded, and desperate. All he wanted—the only thing keeping him going—was the thought of crashing onto the sofa for a thirty-minute nap before the frantic pre-show schedule kicked into high gear.
But as he closed the door, his eyes landed on you. Sprawled out right in the middle of the couch, arms up, taking up the entire space.
Harry’s jaw instantly tightened, his brow furrowing into a hard, agitated line. The sheer fatigue of the 4:00 AM wake-up call, combined with the physical drain of his workout, had left his fuse dangerously short. He was vibrating with irritation, a dark cloud settling over his shoulders.
Your hands froze in your hair, but you didn't drop your arms. You were so hyper-focused on keeping the braid tight that you completely misread the rough edge in his voice, assuming he was just groaning about being tired.
"Oh, good, you’re back," you said, your voice breezy and fast as your fingers kept weaving. "Listen, Brad didn't keep you too long, did he? Because the tour manager was already in here looking for you. Apparently, the schedule got pushed forward by fifteen minutes. And oh, before I forget—the hotel in the next city called back about the crib. They don’t have the one we requested, so we might have to use the travel one from the bus, but the zipper on the travel bag is stuck again. Did you manage to look at it? Harry? Also, we’re almost out of the specific nappies he likes, the ones that don’t give him a rash in this heat, so I was thinking maybe one of the runners could—"
"Can you just shut up for five seconds?"
The words didn't come out as a tired grumble. They cut through the room like a whip, loud, sharp, and dripping with pure venom.
Your hands instantly dropped from your head, the half-finished braid unraveling down your neck. The sudden, violent volume in the quiet room made your heart leap into your throat. You stared at him, stunned.
Before you could even process the shock of him yelling, a sharp, frightened wail pierced the air.
To your right, the buggy rattled. The sudden shout had violently jarred your eight-month-old out of his precious sleep. He kicked his little bare legs, his chest heaving as he burst into a hard, breathless cry, terrified by the loud noise.
"Look what you did," you whispered, your own anger flashing through the shock as you immediately stood up to tend to the baby. "Harry, he’s been teething all day, he barely slept—"
"No, look what you're doing!" Harry snapped, his voice staying dangerously high, completely unravelling from the sheer exhaustion of the 4:00 AM wake-up and the crushing pressure of the tour. He threw his hands up, gesturing wildly at you and the buggy. "I have a two-hour show to give to thousands of people, I’ve been running on three hours of sleep, and I walk in here to a bloody barrage of noise! You’re suffocating me! I just wanted thirty minutes of peace on the couch, but you're taking up the whole room, prattling on about zippers and nappies!"
You froze, your hand hovering over your crying son, staring at your husband as if he were a stranger. "It's our son, Harry. It's our life. If you're stressed about the show, don't take it out on—"
"I wouldn't have to take it out on anyone if I could just get some space!" he roared, the final filter of his exhaustion snapping entirely. He stepped closer, his eyes wild and dark, and delivered the blow that made the room go completely cold. "Honestly? Maybe you shouldn’t have come on the tour if this is what you’re going to be doing every night. You’re just in the way."
The silence that followed was suffocating, save for the heart-wrenching cries of your baby.
The moment the words left his mouth, you saw the instant flash of horror in Harry's eyes. The anger drained out of him so fast it left him looking pale, his jaw going slack. He reached a hand out, his chest heaving. "Wait—no, I didn't—"
"Don't," you choked out, your voice barely a whisper but sharp enough to stop him in his tracks.
Your eyes stung with hot, furious tears, but you refused to let them fall in front of him. Carefully, deliberately, you scooped your crying baby out of the buggy, pressing his warm, nappy-clad body against your chest, bouncing him gently to soothe his whimpers. You didn't look at Harry again. You just grabbed your bag with your free hand, walked right past him—forcing him to step back against that teal wall—and marched straight out into the corridor, leaving him alone in the wreckage of what he’d just said.
His eyes were completely glazed over, staring blankly toward the bright lights of the stage wings. His mind was trapped in a suffocating loop, replaying the look of absolute heartbreak on your face in the dressing room just twenty minutes ago.
Maybe you shouldn’t have come on the tour... You’re just in the way.
The words tasted like poison in his mouth. How could he have said that? To you? To the person who had spent the last eight months sacrificing sleep….comfort.
"...and then we'll transition straight into the encore, mate. Sound good?" his friend asked, clapping him on the shoulder.
Harry just gave a dull, numb nod, not even knowing what he was agreeing to. He felt hollow, stripped of his usual pre-show energy, looking utterly defeated against that stark blue backdrop. He wanted to turn back, run down the corridor, and find you—to beg, to explain that the exhaustion had completely hijacked his brain.
But his feet felt like lead.
Suddenly, the roaring crowd let out a collective, deafening cheer as the high-energy track Shania was performing faded out. The stadium lights dimmed into a soft, intimate amber glow.
Then, the first tender, unmistakable acoustic chords of a guitar rippled through the monitors.
Harry’s entire body went rigid against the wall. His breath hitched violently in his throat.
It was "You're Still the One."
Your wedding song.
Every defense mechanism he had built up over the last half hour crumbled to dust. That wasn't just a song on Shania's setlist; it was your song.
The song you had slow-danced to at your wedding, your foreheads pressed together, whispering promises that no matter how crazy his career got, you would always be each other's home.
Hearing it right now, with the sting of his venomous words still hanging fresh in the air, felt like a physical blow to his chest.
"Looks like we made it
Look how far we've come, my baby
We mighta took the long way
We knew we'd get there someday..."
Shania’s smooth, emotive vocals soared through the backstage monitors, crisp and crystal clear. Each line felt like a targeted strike. The contrast was agonizing—the song was singing about overcoming the odds, about proving the doubters wrong, but Harry had just become the biggest threat to his own marriage over a petty argument about a stroller zipper.
As the chorus hit, the massive stadium crowd joined in, a stadium of thousands of voices echoing the declaration of enduring love.
"You're still the one I run to
The one that I belong to
You're still the one I want for life..."
Harry dropped his head. His jaw clenched so hard it ached, his eyes burning as a wave of pure, unadulterated regret crashed over him. He felt so far away from being the man you belonged to right now.
He couldn't just stand here anymore. He didn't care about the schedule, the crew, or the impending stage time. He needed you.
Slowly, his head turned, his heavy, guilt-ridden gaze tearing away from the stage and sweeping down the dim, crowded corridor, desperately searching the shadows for the only person who could put him back together.
The crushing weight of everything became too loud to bear, suffocating him. Harry couldn’t stand there for another second. He couldn't just stand against that teal wall and pretend his world wasn't ending.
Abandoning his spot, he broke into a frantic jog, his slides slapping against the concrete as he tore through the backstage corridors. He was a man possessed, his chest heaving as he threw open the heavy door to the green room.
The room was a bright, noisy haven of family life, completely oblivious to his internal agony. Across the carpet, your eight-month-old boy was wide awake, happily babbling and playing with Sarah and Mitch’s kids, alongside Jeff and Glenne’s little one. The tour family was doing what they always did—rallying around, babysitting, keeping the kids entertained.
But as Harry’s eyes frantically swept the room, his heart plummeted. You weren't there.
"Hey, man, you good?" Pauli asked, noticing the pale, frantic look on Harry’s face.
"Where is (Y/N)?" Harry panted, his voice tight and breathless. "Have you seen her?"
Pauli blinked, sensing the gravity in Harry's tone. "She's back in the dressing room, mate. Said she needed a minute."
Harry didn't even say thank you. He turned on his heel and sprinted down the final stretch of the hallway, practically throwing himself against the dressing room door.
When the door swung open, the sight inside made his breath leave him completely. You were there, but you weren't resting. You were frantically moving around the room, packing the baby’s toys, formula, and extra nappies into a travel bag. And right next to the buggy sat your own canvas duffle bag—halfway zipped, stuffed with your clothes.
"What are you doing?" he choked out, his voice cracking.
He didn't wait for an answer. He crossed the room in two large strides, his hands coming down over yours, firmly but gently wresting the baby blanket out of your grip and setting the bags down on the floor out of your reach.
"Don't touch them," you said, your voice dangerously quiet, though you didn't look up at him. You kept your eyes glued to the empty space where the bag had been. "I'm just taking him back to the hotel. It’s better if the little one gets a decent night's sleep. And... like you said. It’s probably better if we aren’t on the tour if we’re just going to be in the way every night."
"No. No, absolutely not. I am not letting you leave," Harry broke out, his voice raw and pleading. He reached for your hands, his fingers trembling as he caught your wrists, forcing you to look at him. "Please, just look at me. Look at me, sweetheart."
You finally raised your eyes, and the sheer devastation in them made him flinch.
You didn't yell.
You didn't pull away.
You just stood there, completely exhausted, as the first silent, hot tear spilled over your eyelashes and tracked down your cheek.
Then another. You were silently sobbing, your chest trembling with the effort to keep from breaking down completely.
"I am so, so sorry," Harry rushed out, the words tumbling over each other as he stared down at you, his own eyes swimming with tears. "I am a bloody idiot. I’m an absolute monster for saying that to you. I was tired, and I was stressed about the set change, and I took it out on the only person in this entire building who doesn't deserve it. The only person who keeps me grounded."
He squeezed your wrists gently, his head dropping for a second before he looked back up, his face pale with desperation.
"I was running on pure adrenaline and exhaustion, and my brain just completely short-circuited. It was a stupid zipper, a stupid schedule change, and I let the pressure of everything turn me into a stranger. I looked at you taking care of our boy, doing everything on your own while I went off to a workout, and instead of thanking you, I snapped. It’s disgusting. I hate myself for how I made you feel just now. I saw the look in your eyes when I said those words, and it's going to haunt me for the rest of my life."
You didn't answer, a choked, silent gasp escaping your lips as you closed your eyes, more tears streaming down your face. Harry’s hands moved up from your wrists to cup your face, his thumbs gently wiping at the wetness on your cheeks, though his own hands were shaking.
"You aren't in the way," he whispered, his voice cracking completely as his forehead came down to rest against yours. "You could never, ever be in the way. You and our baby are the only reasons I do this. This entire tour, the crowds, the music—it means absolutely nothing if I don't have you waiting for me when I walk off that stage. You are my home. I am so sorry I made you feel like a burden when you’re the most precious thing I have. I need you here. I need you beside me. Please don't leave me, sweetheart. I love you so much."
You closed your eyes, a broken, hitching breath tearing out of your chest as his words tore down the final wall of your anger, leaving nothing but pure, aching exhaustion.
Harry didn’t wait.
The second he felt your posture soften, he pulled you into him, his arms wrapping around your waist like a vise, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He was trembling, his chest heaving against yours as he held you so tightly it was almost hard to breathe, anchoring you to him as if he were terrified you might still vanish if he let go.
"I've got you. I'm so sorry, I've got you," he muttered frantically into your skin, his voice thick and rough.
When he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes were dark, dilated, and swimming with a volatile mix of leftover adrenaline and sheer desperation. He looked down at your wet cheeks, his gaze dropping to your trembling lips, and the restraint in him snapped completely.
He leaned down and crashed his mouth against yours.
The kiss was heavy, raw, and completely unraveled—an explosive release of all the suffocating tension that had been building since he walked through the door. It wasn't gentle; it was a bruising, breathless apology, a silent plea for forgiveness translated through the hard, demanding press of his lips.
He tasted like the salty sweat of his workout and the sharp sting of regret, his tongue tangling with yours in a chaotic, bruising rhythm that made your knees instantly buckle.
You let out a soft, muffled sob against his mouth, your hands flying up to grip the fabric of his baggy white long-sleeve tee, fistfuls of the cotton bunching in your fingers as you pulled him closer.
The sudden, intense heat of his body washed over you, melting away the cold isolation of the last hour in a single, devastating second.
"Harry," you gasped out when he parted your lips, your voice catching in your throat.
He didn't let you speak.
He caught your lower lip between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to make you whimper before his tongue swept back into your mouth, deeper and hungrier this time. He backed you up blindly until your spine hit the edge of the dressing room vanity, the jars of makeup and water bottles rattling behind you.
He crowded into your space, his heavy thighs pinning yours against the wood, completely trapping you beneath him.
His hands left your face, sliding down the column of your neck to your shoulders, before his large, warm palms slipped entirely under the hem of your shirt. His fingers were slightly damp and burning hot against the bare skin of your waist.
He gripped your hips with a possessive, unhinged tightness, his thumbs digging into your skin to lift you up onto the edge of the counter.
You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, the friction of your bodies rubbing together through your clothes sending a sharp, electric jolt straight to your core.
Harry let out a low, wrecked growl at the contact, burying his face in your neck.
His mouth traveled down your jawline, biting and kissing a feverish path down to the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder, sucking deeply until he knew it would leave a mark.
"Tell me we're okay," he breathed against your heated skin, his chest heaving violently against yours as his hands slid up to frame your ribcage, his thumbs stroking the underside of your breasts. "Tell me I didn't break us. Please."
"We're okay," you whispered, your fingers tangling into his short, damp curls, pulling his head back up so you could look into his blown-out eyes.
Your own breath was coming in ragged shorts. "We're okay, Baby. Just kiss me."
He didn't need to be told twice. He captured your mouth again with a desperate, sweeping hunger that stole the remaining air from your lungs. It was an angsty, tangled mess of teeth and tongue, both of you fighting to get closer, trying to erase the cruel words he’d spoken with the sheer, bruising force of your bodies pressed together.
His hands moved frantically over your back, mapping the curve of your spine, pulling you so flush against his chest that you could feel the frantic, hammering rhythm of his heart beating in perfect sync with your own.
He ground his hips into yours, a heavy, agonizingly slow rub that made you arch your back and cry out into his mouth. The sound only drove him wilder; his kisses grew faster, sloppier, his breathing completely ruined as he devoured your lips over and over again, cementing the fact that you were his, that he was yours, and that neither of you was going anywhere.
"I want you," you breathed against his lips, the words a jagged confession that broke through the last of the frantic chaos between you. "H, I want you. So much."
The desperation in his movements instantly shifted, a profound, heavy silence settling over him at your words. He pulled back just an inch, his dark eyes searching yours, looking at the honesty in your tear-stained face. The frantic, bruising energy melted away, replaced by something deeply reverent and achingly tender.
"Yeah?" he whispered, his voice incredibly thick as his thumbs gently brushed a final tear from your cheek. "You've got me. Always, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise me," you whispered, your fingers tightening in his shirt.
"I promise you," he murmured, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. "I promise. Look at me... I am so sorry for what I said. Let me show you how much I need you."
Slowly, deliberately, he reached down to guide your legs down from his waist so you could stand on your own feet, though he kept his body pressed completely flush against yours.
With slow, trembling hands, he reached for the hem of his baggy white long-sleeve tee and pulled it over his head, tossing it onto the floor beside your duffle bags.
"You're so beautiful," he breathed, his eyes traveling over your face as he reached down, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants. Slowly, gently, he pushed them down past your hips, helping you step out of them until there was nothing left between you but bare skin and raw emotion. "Just... stay with me. Please."
"I'm here," you replied softly, your voice trembling. "I'm not leaving."
He lifted you back onto the edge of the vanity, and this time, when you wrapped your legs around his waist, he stepped into you with a quiet, agonizing slowness. His eyes never left yours as his hands anchored underneath your thighs, supporting your weight.
When he slid inside you, it wasn't a sudden rush. It was a slow, deep, and unyielding push that made you both let out a long, shaky sigh.
He filled you completely, his chest rising and falling heavily against yours as he froze, letting the absolute perfect fit of your bodies sink in.
"Oh, God," he groaned quietly, closing his eyes for a brief second as he pressed his forehead against yours. "You feel so good. You have no idea how much I missed you today."
"Then don't stop," you whispered, your hands tracing the line of his bare shoulders. "Harry, please."
He began to move, and it was the furthest thing from the frantic pacing of before. It was a slow, rhythmic, agonizingly beautiful tempo.
He withdrew almost entirely, pulling himself out until the very tip of his length brushed against your entrance, making you gasp and arch into him, before he plunged back in, slow and deep, pressing his hips firmly against yours.
"Harry..." you whimpered, your fingers burying into the short curls at the nape of his neck, your forehead dropping against his shoulder as the intense, slow friction began to build a deep coil of heat in your stomach.
"I'm right here," he murmured, his breath warm and steady against your skin. "I've got you. Tell me what you need."
"More," you gasped, tightening your legs around his waist as he pulled out again, agonizingly slow, before sinking all the way back inside. "Just like that. Don't hurry."
"I'm taking my time," he whispered against your ear, his voice rough and laced with a quiet intensity. "We have all the time in the world right now. I'm right here with you. Every single part of me is yours."
He repeated the motion, pulling almost completely out, teasing the sensitive opening of your core until you were silently begging, before sinking all the way back inside you with a heavy, grounding weight.
Every single thrust was deliberate, an unspoken vow, a physical manifestation of the apology he had spoken earlier. He was taking his time, making love to you with a quiet intensity that healed the ache in your chest with every stroke.
"I love you," he murmured between shallow, heavy breaths, his lips grazing your jaw. "I love you so much. Say it."
"I love you, Harry," you cried out softly, your hands gripping his back as the pleasure started to overwhelm you. "I love you."
The room was silent save for the soft, rhythmic sound of skin against skin, your ragged, synchronized breathing, and the quiet declarations whispered between kisses.
He held you like you were the most fragile, precious thing in his world, his lips constantly pressed to your temple, your jawline, your shoulder, whispering quiet assurances between deep, slow pulses.
The tension in your core coiled tighter and tighter, driven by the torturous, beautiful slowness of his movements. You gripped his shoulders, your muscles clamping around him as the edge of your release drew closer.
"Harry, I'm close," you breathed, your voice breaking. "I can't—"
"Go ahead, sweetheart," he whispered fiercely, his pace gathering just a fraction of momentum, his deep thrusts becoming a steady, relentless rhythm that pushed you completely over the precipice. "I'm right here with you. Let go."
You let out a choked, breathless cry, your body trembling with the waves of your orgasm. The tight contraction of your walls tore the last of his restraint away. With a low, guttural groan that vibrated against your chest, Harry drove into you one last time, burying himself as deeply as possible as he came, his muscles locking tight as he poured himself into you.
"You're mine," he panted against your neck, his voice fading into a ragged whisper. "Always mine."
Best friends. A fake relationship. One weekend in Edinburgh—and maybe a shot at something real.
Author's note: This is a repost of the original story I first shared on Patreon. I’ve done a bit of light editing throughout—tightening up the prose, tweaking a few lines, and adding in some original text that was previously only on Patreon (including a few extended moments I really loved). Thank you so much for reading (or re-reading!)—your support means the world. I hope you enjoy this version just as much, if not more. 🤍
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The soft hum of the evening surrounded them as they sat on Harry’s plush couch, nestled in the heart of his spacious home. The minimalist decor of his living room reflected the careful balance between his hectic life in the spotlight and his need for peace. His house, though large, was warm, with low lighting that gave it a cozy, intimate feel. The air was thick with the scent of the coffee table candles he’d lit earlier—notes of sandalwood and something sweet.
Harry sat next to Y/N, his body half-turned toward her as he read a book, legs tucked beneath him like a cat seeking comfort. There was a distinct softness about him when he was in his own space, away from the flashing cameras and curious eyes of the public. His hair, dark and messy, tumbled over his forehead, catching in the dim light, giving him a boyish charm that contrasted sharply with his usual confident and polished public persona.
He wore a simple white t-shirt, the fabric clinging loosely to his lean frame. His broad shoulders spoke of strength, but his posture, slightly hunched as he leaned into his book, gave off an air of vulnerability. His long fingers traced the edges of the pages absentmindedly, and now and then, his green eyes flicked up from the book, studying Y/N with a kind of quiet amusement, like he was aware of the unspoken understanding that lay between them.
Harry had always been attentive, almost in a way that felt second nature, as though he knew more about her moods than she did. There was something undeniably magnetic about him—his laugh was a little softer here, his voice a touch lower. His fame could never overshadow the gentle heart he showed her when they were alone.
Y/N’s eyes hovered over the same paragraph for what felt like the hundredth time. The words blurred together, the meaning lost as her mind wandered to the man sitting beside her. She was supposed to be reading a novel on leadership—something meant to inspire her as she navigated her demanding corporate job—but her thoughts kept drifting back to him. It was ironic, really. The book talked about control and decisiveness, yet here she was, lost in the one thing she couldn’t control: her feelings for Harry.
She had always found him attractive. No—more than attractive. Beautiful in the kind of way that felt effortless. His messy hair, the way his lips quirked into a half-smile, those green eyes that seemed to see straight through her… It all added up to someone she could never quite believe was real. He’d always been larger than life to her, even before the fame. Back when they were younger, when they were just two young adults with dreams and no idea where life would take them.
But then, his life had soared into stardom, and hers had stayed grounded in the corporate world. He became Harry Styles—the Harry Styles—and she remained his best friend, hidden away from the glamour of his world. She had watched as women swooned over him, throwing themselves at his feet, and she had silently swallowed her feelings. She knew she could never compete. He was out of her league, in every possible way.
And yet, sitting here next to him, as close as they were, it was impossible not to be reminded of just how deep her feelings for him ran. His presence had always had this effect on her, an electric undercurrent that made her skin tingle and her heart pound just a little harder. She stole a glance at him over the top of her book. He was engrossed in whatever he was reading, completely unaware of the thoughts swirling in her mind.
That’s what made it all so painful—he would never see her that way. She was just Y/N, his best mate, his confidant. The one person who was always there, but never the one he looked at with desire. She felt a knot tighten in her chest as she allowed herself, for just a moment, to imagine what it would be like if things were different. If she were someone else. If he saw her the way she saw him.
As if sensing her gaze, Harry suddenly looked up, catching her in the act. His lips twitched into a small, knowing smile, and he set his book down on the coffee table.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asked, his voice low, breaking the silence between them. His eyes locked onto hers, and the way he studied her made her feel exposed, as though he could read her thoughts without her saying a word. “You’ve been staring at that same page for ages.”
Y/N quickly dropped her gaze, closing the book to avoid his probing eyes. “It’s nothing,” she mumbled, though the heat rising to her cheeks gave her away.
He tilted his head, not buying it for a second. “Come on,” he coaxed, a teasing edge to his voice. “Spill it. I know you. You’ve got that look.”
She shifted uncomfortably, trying to laugh it off. “What look?”
“The one where you’re overthinking everything,” he said, leaning back against the couch, still watching her closely. His gaze softened. “Talk to me, Y/N. What’s going on?”
Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat as Harry’s green eyes bore into hers, his expression filled with gentle concern. She had always struggled to lie to him. Whenever he looked at her like that, like he truly cared, she felt like he could see right through her. The panic rose quickly, threatening to bubble over, and she knew she had to say something—anything—to steer the conversation away from the thoughts that were tangled up in her mind.
She blurted out the first thing that came to her. “My cousin’s getting married.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by the abrupt change of subject. “Which cousin?”
Y/N let out a long sigh, glad for the distraction, though the topic she’d chosen wasn’t much better. “The worst one. Out of the three, I mean. You know, the one who’s always got something to say about everything. Perfect life, perfect fiancé, perfect job… perfect everything.”
Harry’s expression softened into one of amused sympathy. He knew exactly the kind of family pressure Y/N was talking about. He stretched out his legs, making himself more comfortable, as if settling in for a story. “Ah, her. That sounds like fun,” he teased, his voice laced with sarcasm.
Y/N rolled her eyes, tucking her legs beneath her as she faced him. “It’s not just her. It’s the whole family. They’re all so excited, and for some reason, they’re all hell-bent on me bringing a date.” She threw her hands up in frustration. “I don’t even have a boyfriend, but everyone keeps asking if I’m bringing someone. They’re already assuming I’m going to show up with a ‘plus one,’ and I just… I don’t want to deal with the humiliation of telling them I’m still single. Again.”
Harry’s brow furrowed slightly as he listened, a small frown tugging at his lips. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at her thoughtfully. “Y/N, you don’t owe anyone an explanation. If you don’t want to bring someone, then don’t. Your family’s expectations shouldn’t dictate your happiness.”
Y/N smiled weakly, appreciating the sentiment, but her heart was still heavy with the weight of the situation. “I know, but it’s just… hard. It’s like they see me as incomplete because I don’t have someone.” She let out a bitter laugh. “They don’t understand that I’m happy with my life. But at a wedding, it’s like a flashing neon sign that I’m alone.”
Y/N smiled weakly, appreciating the sentiment, but her heart was still heavy with the weight of the situation. “I know, but it’s just… hard. It’s like they see me as incomplete because I don’t have someone.” She let out a bitter laugh. “They don’t understand that I’m happy with my life. But at a wedding, it’s like a flashing neon sign that I’m alone.”
The room fell silent for a moment as Harry absorbed her words, his gaze softening even further. He opened his mouth, about to say something, but then paused, seemingly deep in thought.
Y/N bit her lip, realizing she was rambling, but it was easier to talk about this than the real issue she was trying to avoid. And with Harry sitting so close, his concern for her so palpable, it made her feel even more off-balance. Every time he cared, every time he listened so intently, it reminded her of how much she longed for something more than just friendship.
But that wasn’t an option. Not with him. So, she buried it all under the wedding invitation and the pressures from her family, hoping it would be enough to keep him from asking more.
Harry studied her for a long moment, eyes searching her face like he could sense there was something more she wasn’t saying. He tilted his head slightly, lips pressing together in that way he always did when he was thinking hard.
“Is that really why you’re freaking out?” he asked gently, his voice laced with quiet skepticism.
Y/N felt her stomach twist, the question catching her off guard. She hated how easily he could see through her, but she wasn’t about to crack. Not when it came to her deeper feelings. So, she nodded quickly, clutching onto the family wedding excuse like a lifeline. “Yes, it is. It’s a big issue, Harry. Every time I visit my family, it just… it tears me down a little more. They make me feel like I’m somehow falling behind because I don’t have someone. It’s exhausting.”
He sighed softly, his eyes softening with sympathy, though there was still a trace of doubt in his gaze. Without saying anything more, he leaned back against the couch and picked up his book again, his fingers absently running along the spine.
For a few minutes, silence fell between them, the crackling of the fire and the soft rustle of turning pages the only sounds filling the room. Y/N watched him out of the corner of her eye, heart still racing from the close call. She didn’t know what she’d do if he pushed further—if he managed to pry open the lid she’d been keeping on her feelings. She shifted in her seat, trying to focus on her book, but the words refused to make sense.
Then, just as she was beginning to lose herself in her own anxious thoughts, Harry broke the silence.
“I’ve got an easy solution,” he said suddenly, his voice calm and casual, like he hadn’t just spent several minutes in contemplative silence. He didn’t even look up from his book. “I’ll go with you.”
Y/N blinked, his words not quite registering at first. “What?”
He glanced over at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll be your date. To the wedding,” he clarified, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Problem solved.”
Her heart skipped a beat, her mind racing to catch up. “You… you’re serious?” She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Harry Styles, her best friend—and secret crush—offering to be her date to her cousin’s wedding?
“Of course,” he said, shrugging as if it were no big deal. “If it’ll make things easier for you, I’m in. I’ll go, smile for the family, and be the perfect distraction. You won’t have to deal with any awkward questions about being single.”
Y/N stared at him, stunned. He made it sound so simple, like it was no trouble at all. But for her, it was anything but simple. Having him at her side, pretending to be her date, while she tried to keep her feelings under control… It sounded like both a dream and a nightmare all at once.
She swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. “Harry, you don’t have to—”
“I want to,” he interrupted, closing his book and turning his full attention to her now. His gaze was steady, sincere. “You’re my best friend, Y/N. If this is stressing you out, let me help. I’d be happy to go with you.”
Her heart swelled at his words, warmth spreading through her chest at the thought of him being there, by her side, at a time when she felt most vulnerable. But at the same time, the reality of pretending—of standing next to him, feeling things she shouldn’t, knowing it was all just for show—made her feel dizzy.
“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost unsure.
Harry’s smile widened into that familiar, mischievous grin. “Positive. And besides, who wouldn’t want to show off a date like me?” he teased, his tone light, but his eyes still holding that warm, comforting sincerity.
Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, her anxiety easing just a little. Maybe, just maybe, having Harry with her wouldn’t be so bad. It might even be the perfect distraction—from her family, and from her feelings. If she could keep them in check, that is.
“He’s going with you?!” Maddie’s voice echoed through the apartment, loud and full of disbelief.
Y/N, sitting cross-legged on the floor in her bedroom, groaned and yelled back, “I know!”
Maddie appeared in the doorway a second later, her eyes wide with shock and excitement. “Harry Styles—your best friend and international superstar—is going to a wedding with you. As your date. This is… this is insane!”
Y/N let out a half-laugh, half-sigh as she flopped back onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Trust me, I’m still trying to process it.”
Maddie crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Okay, let’s go over the logistics because this is a lot to unpack. First of all, the wedding is a whole weekend, right?”
“Yeah,” Y/N muttered, sitting up and running a hand through her hair. “It’s in Edinburgh, so we’re going up on Friday, staying until Sunday. Two full days of family, dinners, receptions, and a ton of small talk.”
“And Harry knows this?” Maddie asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.
Y/N bit her lip, her voice dropping to a quiet murmur. “No, not exactly.”
Maddie’s eyes widened even further. “Wait, so you haven’t told him it’s a whole weekend thing? What if he backs out when he realizes it’s not just a one-night event?”
Y/N sat up straighter, her anxiety returning in full force. “I mean, I hope he won’t. He offered so casually, but I didn’t get into all the details.” She winced, feeling a bit guilty for not being completely upfront. “It’s just... he said yes so easily, and I didn’t want to overwhelm him with everything all at once.”
Maddie shook her head, pacing the room in thought. “Okay, well, you’ve got to tell him. He’s going to need to know what he’s signing up for. The last thing you want is him backing out last minute.”
“I know,” Y/N agreed, sighing. “I’ll tell him tomorrow. I just… I really hope he doesn’t change his mind. It’s already going to be awkward enough dealing with my family, and having Harry there is the only thing keeping me sane.”
Maddie stopped pacing and turned to her with a mischievous smile. “Well, there’s something else we need to focus on.”
“What’s that?” Y/N asked, dreading the answer.
“Your outfits!” Maddie exclaimed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “This is a wedding weekend in Edinburgh with Harry as your date. You need to look absolutely perfect every single day.”
Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Maddie, please don’t make this into a fashion show. I’m already freaking out as it is.”
Her roommate crossed the room and sat down on the bed beside her, nudging her playfully. “Listen, if you want your family to shut up about you being single, you’ve got to show up looking like the best version of yourself. And besides…” She shot her a knowing look. “It wouldn’t hurt for Harry to see you in a new light.”
Y/N peeked up at her through her fingers. “What do you mean?”
Maddie grinned. “Come on, Y/N. You’ve had a crush on him for as long as I’ve known you. Maybe this is the chance to finally turn his head, you know? If he’s going to be by your side all weekend, you might as well look stunning while you’re at it.”
Y/N’s heart fluttered at the thought, but she quickly shook her head. “Harry doesn’t see me that way, Mads. He’s going because he’s a good friend. That’s it.”
“Maybe. But maybe not,” Maddie said with a wink. “Either way, we’re going to make sure you look incredible. Now, where’s that suitcase of yours? We’ve got some planning to do.”
The next day, Y/N stood outside Harry’s house, a small bouquet of flowers in her hand. She smiled as she reached for the familiar key in her pocket, the one Harry had given her ages ago. She slipped it into the lock, the click of the door unlocking bringing a sense of comfort. Harry’s house had always felt like a second home to her—sometimes more of a home than her own apartment, if she was honest.
Walking inside, the familiar scent fresh linen greeted her, making her feel instantly at ease. She made her way into the kitchen, glancing around at the cozy space before setting the flowers down on the counter. After a quick search for a vase, she arranged them carefully, letting out a satisfied sigh once they were settled. The bright colors of the flowers added a little warmth to the room, something she liked doing whenever she visited.
“Harry?” she called out, already heading towards the back of the house and into the familiar hallway that led to his bedroom.
“Closet!” his voice echoed, slightly muffled, from somewhere in the bedroom.
She stepped inside, smiling to herself. His bedroom looked like it always did—neatly chaotic, with a mix of designer clothes and random bits of his life scattered about. But one thing caught her eye immediately: his Gucci suitcase, already lying open on the floor, ready to be packed.
He’s really going through with it, she thought, a mixture of excitement and nerves bubbling up inside her.
As she approached the closet, Harry emerged, fresh out of the shower, a towel slung low around his hips. His damp curls clung to his forehead, and water still glistened on his skin. He caught her eye and grinned.
“Didn’t hear you come in,” he said, toweling off his hair as he glanced down at the suitcase. “I figured I’d start getting things ready for this weekend. here we come.”
Y/N chuckled, leaning against the doorway of his closet. “You’re already ahead of me. I haven’t even started packing yet.”
Harry shot her a playful look. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you choose your outfits. You know I have opinions.”
Y/N rolled her eyes, her heart lightened by his teasing. But as she looked at him—standing there so casually, like this whole wedding weekend was no big deal—a knot formed in her chest. It was all starting to feel very real, and the idea of spending an entire weekend with him, pretending he was her date, was starting to feel overwhelming. Still, she couldn’t deny how good it felt to be in his presence, the one place where everything seemed a little less complicated.
Y/N lingered by the doorway of Harry’s closet, watching as he continued to dry his hair, the smell of his cologne mixing with the steam from his shower. She glanced again at the Gucci suitcase on the floor, neatly positioned and ready to be packed. A wave of guilt hit her. She hadn’t told him everything yet—about the wedding being an entire weekend event.
Clearing her throat, she shifted her weight. “So, uh, Harry… there’s something I need to mention about the wedding.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, still toweling his hair, his grin never faltering. “What’s that? Do I need to brush up on my dance moves?”
She let out a small laugh, then bit her lip. “It’s not just the wedding ceremony, you know. It’s kind of… a whole weekend thing.”
He stopped drying his hair, the towel resting on his shoulders as he turned to face her fully. “A whole weekend?”
Y/N nodded, her heart picking up its pace. “Yeah. It’s in Edinburgh, and there’s a dinner on Friday, the ceremony and reception on Saturday, and a brunch on Sunday. It’s like… a three-day event.”
For a moment, Harry just stared at her, blinking. His eyes searched her face, processing what she’d just said.
“Wait, so it’s a full-on wedding extravaganza?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.
Y/N nodded again, suddenly feeling sheepish. “Yeah, I should’ve mentioned that before. But I didn’t want to scare you off.”
Harry let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Scare me off? Y/N, I’m already committed to this. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” He tossed the towel aside and crossed the room, leaning casually against the wall beside her. “A weekend in Edinburgh with you? Honestly, that sounds like a good time.”
Y/N’s eyes flickered with relief, though a part of her was still nervous. “You sure? I mean, it’s a lot—my family, the pressure… all of it.”
Harry shrugged, giving her a reassuring smile. “I’ve done crazier things. Plus, I’m kind of looking forward to charming your family.” His grin widened, eyes sparkling. “So, when do we leave?”
Y/N smiled, her chest filling with warmth. He really wasn’t backing out. He was in this with her, and somehow, the weekend ahead didn’t seem so daunting anymore.
Y/N and Harry sat cross-legged on the floor of his living room, plates of Indian takeout spread across the coffee table. The comforting aroma of curry and naan filled the room as they half-watched How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days playing on the TV. They had seen it a million times, but it never got old—Harry always laughed at the same parts, and Y/N always teased him for knowing the lines better than she did.
As Y/N scooped up a bite of butter chicken with a piece of naan, she noticed Harry glancing at her with a mischievous look in his eyes. She raised an eyebrow, already suspicious. “What’s that look for?”
Harry grinned, leaning back against the couch, plate balanced on his lap. “I was just thinking about the wedding.”
“Please don’t remind me,” Y/N groaned, shaking her head. “I’m still processing the fact that you’re actually going.”
“Don’t worry, I’m still all in,” Harry assured her, nudging her playfully. “But I had a thought… Why don’t we drive to Edinburgh?”
Y/N blinked, lowering her fork. “Drive? Like, from here to Edinburgh? That’s over eight hours, H.”
“Exactly!” he said, his eyes lighting up like it was the best idea he’d ever had. “Think about it—if we drive, we have complete control. If things get weird at the wedding, we’ll have a getaway car. No waiting around for flights or relying on anyone. We can just leave whenever we want.”
Y/N gave him a skeptical look. “You’re planning our escape before we’ve even arrived?”
He shrugged, popping a piece of naan into his mouth. “I like to be prepared. And besides, it’s not just about the escape plan. We’d get a proper road trip! Snacks, music, random stops at those little roadside places—remember the last time we did a long drive?”
Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the memory. “Yeah, and you made us stop at every service station just to try the food.”
Harry’s grin widened. “Exactly! Imagine all the snacks we could pack—crisps, chocolate, samosas. And the music—oh, the music! I’ll make the ultimate road trip playlist. We’ll sing along the whole way, windows down, no stress.”
Y/N snorted, shaking her head. “You just want an excuse to sing loudly and off-key, don’t you?”
“Hey, I have excellent taste in road trip tunes,” he said, pointing a fork at her in mock offense. “Besides, don’t you think it’d be fun? Eight hours in the car, just us, no rush.”
She tilted her head, contemplating the idea for a moment. As much as she loved the thought of a carefree road trip with Harry, she was more focused on practicality. “Look, I get it. But it’s just… flying is so much quicker. We’ll be there in less than two hours, and we won’t be exhausted by the time we get there. We need our energy for my family and the whole wedding thing.”
Harry leaned back against the couch, pouting playfully. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
She looked over at Harry, who was now munching on a piece of naan with an expectant grin on his face. He seemed to sense her change of heart and glanced up, eyebrows raised in question.
“You know,” Y/N said, breaking the comfortable silence, “Let’s do it!”.
Harry’s eyes widened in surprise and delight. “Really? Are you serious?”
Y/N nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, why not? It could be fun. And I guess having the car would be good for flexibility. If we need a quick escape or just want to explore a bit…”
Your sunny, summer’s day reading in the garden is interrupted not only by a party next door, but the cheeky, charming boy hosting it.
Mature Content: explicit language, fingering (f receiving), oral sex (f receiving), slight degradation, spit, squirting. For an 18+ audience only.
Word Count: 8.9k words
Summer is without a doubt your favourite season. Rainy days are left behind as much as they are far ahead. Rarely is there ever a cloud to cover up the sun that is almost always shining, or to tarnish the baby blue sky. Sometimes there’s a small breeze, but all that does is refresh scorching skin—yours especially given your love for sunbathing.
It’s also a signal that another year at college has been nicely wrapped up. All exams are done with only the results pending, but you’re not worried. You studied hard and will reap the rewards with A’s like always. You’re certain of it.
Having just finished your third year studying psychology at the University of Berkley, you came back home to your parents’ place in Sherman Oaks yesterday to spend the summer here. The job you have coincides with term-time, so whenever school is on break, you are as well. It works out pretty perfectly, and you feel very fortunate about that.
When you haven’t been working, you’ve mostly had your nose buried in text books—with the exception of a few wild college parties here and there to break up all the studying you’ve done, of course. But now you’re ready to just fully kick back and relax.
Relaxing for you means no partying, but it doesn’t mean stop reading. It just means changing the material, which is exactly what you’ve done—Little Women your current choice. You’ve read it a dozen times, but it never gets old. It’s a comfort of yours, and you’re in your happy place; this summer destined to be a really good one.
Your parents are out for the day, both of them at work that brings them home in the early evening. It’s only a little after noon, but you’ve been sprawled on the sunlounger outside for a couple of hours already, switching every now and then between lying on your front and your back to get an even tan. You’ve gone through a couple glasses of peach iced tea and are a third of the way through your favourite story. Black wayfarers protect your eyes from the sun, the skimpy yellow bikini on your body not quite doing that. You’ve put on sun cream, but you’re due a top up. One more page and you’ll do it.
The most important detail of all, however, is that it’s so peaceful. The neighbourhood is a noiseless one with no main roads nearby. If you listen hard enough, you’re convinced that you can hear the ocean waves at Santa Monica, even if they are a twenty-five minute drive away. That’s how quiet it is here, silence something you value greatly.
But no sooner do you finish thinking about the perfect peace you bask in is it interrupted.
You flinch at the sudden vibrating bassline of music, the sound followed by raucous cheering and several splashes all of which are emanating from the house next door. The illusion of your fictional world is shattered entirely, and what’s happening in the real one infuriates you.
With that in mind, you don’t hesitate to get up from the sunlounger, carefully marking the page you’re on before setting the book down and storming toward the large green hedge and brown wooden partition that separates your large garden from the neighbours’. If you weren’t already hot from the sun, the rage you feel from being disturbed would do the trick.
There are a couple of gaps in the foliage and the fence, so you wedge yourself between one, gripping your hands to the top of the wood for leverage with one foot on an edge in the middle of it. You pull yourself up and peak over, your glaring gaze settling on the worst possible thing.
A pool party.
A frat boy pool party.
You count at least ten guys and maybe twenty girls. There’s skin on show from everyone, with every man shirtless and every woman as bikini clad as you. Booze flows and music booms. There’s a few people in the pool—the source of the splashing—and someone fiddling with a phone connected to the speaker; the party’s DJ. How you didn’t hear this many people pull up to the house before they made their way out into the garden, you don’t know. You must’ve been really absorbed in your book.
The reminder of your happy place being interrupted by the pool party brings you away from assessing the situation, to shouting about it.
“Oi!”
All thirty heads turn in your direction, sixty sets of eyes wide and surprised on you and your head popping up over the top of the fence. You don’t shy away from the attention, but welcome it. It means you can get your point across.
“Turn that shit down! Some of us are trying to relax and read!”
Your words are met with a series of booing before the volume of the music is turned up even louder, to which you growl in frustration before hopping back down to the ground. Those fuckers. You have a good mind to call the cops, even though you know there are no laws being broken aside from underage drinking. It’s barely afternoon, which means you have no grounds to file a noise complaint, and you won’t snitch on students letting loose with some booze. Not when you did it plenty of times yourself before turning twenty-one.
With a heavy and annoyed sigh, you pick up your book from the sunlounger as you pass by it before storming back inside of the house and slamming shut the patio door. You’re met with ice cold A/C, but it does nothing to cool you down. You’re beyond fired up.
Your parents made no mention about having new neighbours. Since you left for college three years ago, the house next door had been vacant for the last half decade, and you’ve haven’t seen any sign of life there whenever you’ve come home for a visit. It’s probably why you had it in your mind that the neighbourhood is so peaceful, which has now been ruined by a goddamn frat party. You can still hear it even from the confines of your parents’ home with now closed doors and windows.
Grumbling to yourself, you push away from the kitchen counter you huffily leaned against, advancing further inside the house in a search for some earphones to drown out the ruckus with something more relaxing.
Within seconds of locating a set from the junk drawer in the living room coffee table, the jack plugged into your phone and buds playing nature sounds about to meet your ears, do you hear the doorbell chime. It’s a rarity that that happens, or at least from what you remember. Visitors aren’t too common, and neither you or your parents have any packages en route, so who could it be?
Apprehensively, you walk towards the front door and pull it open slightly, hiding your half-naked body behind the wood. Your wary eyes land on a young tattooed man in knee-length swim shorts smiling brightly at you, nothing else covering his body except for several dozen black ink tattoos, black wayfarers covering his eyes similar to your own that you’ve used to push your hair back, and a backwards black baseball cap that holds away his with the exception of a few rogue chocolate-coloured curls.
“Hi. Y/N, right?” the guy asks through his grin, a thick British accent rolling off of his tongue in a slow drawl that provides you the feeling of even more sudden heat. Right between your legs.
You’re hesitant to acknowledge his question, and also incapable. How he knows your name you don’t know, but you also don't care, because the man before you is obscenely pretty. His charming smile shows off a deep dimple etched in his sun-kissed cheek, with two front teeth slightly and adorably larger than the rest.
He sticks a hand out your way, palm large and middle finger wearing a silver ring. You look between it and the man’s face, feeling apprehensive once more as much as you are slightly aroused.
“I’m Harry,” he tells you, and you simply swoon. No five letters together have ever sounded so good.
You find yourself swallowing hard, your throat as dry as your mouth despite all the iced tea you’ve had today. One hand stays holding the door handle, but the other extends to clasp with Harry’s; a firm and brief handshake exchanged that makes him grin harder and you heat up further.
He pulls his away and shoves it into the pocket of his shorts after using it to push his sunglasses on top of his head. You’re met with sea glass green; his eyes the prettiest shade of it. The prettiest eyes you’ve seen full stop. They sparkle at you, your whole body now suddenly sparkling for him.
“So it was Y/N, right?”
You blink rapidly. Harry’s gorgeous gaze had put you in a dizzied daze, and now his question pulls you back out of it. “Huh?”
Harry laughs lightly, shoulders shaking and ab muscles tightening as he does. “Your name. You never confirmed whether I was right or not.”
“You were. You are,” you rush out, rolling your lips into your mouth before releasing them into a smile as you nod. “I’m Y/N, yes.”
“Pretty name. Pretty lady. Makes sense.” He winks, earning a giddy giggle from you.
Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you shuffle awkwardly on your bare feet while trying your best not to stare at Harry’s toned and tattooed torso. But given how low slung his shorts are thanks to his hand in the pocket of them tugging the material down a little more, the motion revealing a white Calvin’s waistband, a tiny tattoo of words you can’t quite make out, prominent v-lines and a happy trail, you’re struggling. You’re struggling a lot.
A small throat clearing sound from the man you ogle brings your attention back to his face, which is still grinning. It’s in a cocky manner now, though. Your staring has not gone unnoticed by Harry, or unappreciated. He’s looking smug in a way you don't hate. Not one bit.
You snap yourself out of your spiralling state, a quick head shake happening to right yourself before asking, “Sorry, but how do you know my name?”
“Met your folks a few months ago when me and my folks moved in, ‘n they told us all about you. We live next door.” Harry gestures with a point of his index finger to the right—the home hosting the party that had you up a height—while bouncing on the balls of his feet in a nervous sort of way, a tinge of blush tinting his cheeks. “I heard and saw you shouting over the fence. Thought I should come over and apologise for the noise. We’ll try and keep it down. We’re just letting off some steam after finishing freshman year.”
Any anger you once felt dissipates the longer you look into Harry’s twinkling eyes and are blinded by his sweet smile. Annoyance is no longer in your vocabulary. Angel plays on a loop in your mind instead, because you’re convinced you’ve just met one. The only one.
“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” You brush off his apology with a wave of your hand, to which Harry’s smile grows some more and his nervous disposition relaxes a great deal. “I’m sorry for interrupting. You’re fine to carry on. Just be mindful later on, yeah? Don’t let it be too loud too late.”
“Absolutely, ma’am.” He winks again, making you giggle again and blush like a schoolgirl with a crush. Harry’s eyes flick over your face, his grin turning into pursed lips of contemplation before he gestures his head toward his house. “You wanna join?”
You shake your head again, quickly this time, and give a breathy laugh. “Oh, no. Thank you, but no. I’ve done enough partying already this year to last a lifetime.”
“You study Psychology, right? At Berkeley?” You nod, impressed. Clearly your parents have spoken about you in depth. Harry lets out a low whistle before sending you another toothy grin. “Clever girl. What year?”
You’re blushing harder thanks to his compliment and pretty green gaze. “Just finished up my third. What and where do you study?”
“History at UCLA. Moved from Manchester to Cali last year on a football scholarship. Sorry- a soccer scholarship.” He beams cheekily, earning another giggle from you while you start to slot together these pieces of information. Athleticism explains his physique. Britishness explains his charm. You’re a sucker for an English gent, especially fit ones with abs and those sexy V-lines.
You want to ask him a million more questions—if he likes it here in California, if he misses home, if he likes his course, if he’d like to take you out some time—but you decide not to. You’ve done the maths on your age difference, and while it might only be three years (provided he’s nineteen years-old, he could be older and just a late college starter), you stay away from younger guys given their usually immature attitudes. You don’t have the time or energy for that, even though Harry’s someone you wouldn’t mind breaking your own rules for.
So instead, you simply offer him a gentle smile. “That’s really cool, best of luck with your degree. Thanks again for coming over with the apology and the invite. I’ll let you get back to your party.”
Harry smiles too, but there’s no mistaking the small hint of sadness in his eyes at you turning down his offer. It’s almost like he doesn’t want to leave.
“And what are you gonna do?” he asks, furthering the point you’ve made in your mind about his hesitancy to go.
You feel your face heating up with another round of blush. “Read.”
“You a bookworm?” You nod and he grins harder, hands in both pockets and body leaning toward you in a sweet and silly way. “Whatcha reading?
You giggle again, this time at the childlike curious cadence of his voice. “Little Women.”
“I’ll try and be what he loves to call me, 'a little woman,' and not be rough and wild; but do my duty here instead of wanting to be somewhere else."
Harry quoting a passage from the book so effortlessly catches your surprise as much as it does your breath, and he knows it. It’s why his grin stretches wider, his dimple popping deeper and eyes sparkling even more.
“Good choice,” he hums, then continues on like he hasn’t just stumped you totally on purpose. “Well, if you change your mind, you’re welcome to come over and join us. Just head through the side gate and it’ll take you into the garden. If not, it was a pleasure to meet you. I’ll hopefully see you around sometime?”
Your head is spinning from his recital and the information he’s thrown your way, so all you can do is offer him another quick nod and tight smile, your face on fire much like the rest of your body is. Harry returns the gesture before spinning on his heel, his bare feet padding across the tiled terrain as he disappears back to the party, whistling to himself as he goes.
You close the door quickly, sliding down the wood until your ass meets the floor with a light thump. You didn’t realise your heartbeat had kicked up a few notches until right now. You can hear it in your ears; the party next door on mute thanks to it.
Chewing your bottom lip, you contemplate the invitation. You didn’t lie to Harry when you said you’d partied hard and that you could use the downtime to relax. It’s also a freshman frat party, something that doesn’t need to be sullied by a junior from a whole other school. You’d probably be the only person there legally allowed to drink. The vibes just aren’t right.
But still, you’d like to hang out with Harry, and you have the feeling that he’d like to hang out with you, too. You declined his offer today, however maybe there’ll be another occasion where you won’t. I’ll hopefully see you around sometime? That’s what he said. Harry hopes, and now, so do you.
With all that in mind, you push yourself up to stand, brushing your butt free from any dust on the floor before picking up where you left off prior to Harry’s arrival, plugging your ears and heading back outside with your phone in hand, excited to get stuck back in your favourite fictional world.
The nature sounds playing through the earphones work their magic to drown out the sound of the ruckus next door, so you’re able to get absorbed within the pages in no time. You lie on your back, legs bent at the knees and arms holding the book up high, blocking the sun from your face. Peace has been restored.
Yet upon the feeling of something light and large hitting your stomach, it shatters again.
A startled you sits up fast from the impact, earphones ripping out of your ears and sunglasses falling off your head from your quick movements. All of the party noise takes over from nature, your book dropping onto your lap from the fright you got.
You look around in a daze, stopping your search of what just made contact with you when your sight lands on a rainbow beach ball rolling across the patio.
“Whoopsie!”
Your head whips to the left, round eyes of surprise landing on a very cheekily smiling Harry. His backwards cap-wearing-head and half of his naked, inked-up torso are on show from the other side of the fence; the same position you were in earlier on.
A smile didn’t grace your face then, but one does now. You can’t help it, all of the shock you felt settled into a bright grin and breathless laugh now that you know the cause of the interruption. An interruption you’d gladly let happen over and over and over again. You feel no anger, only sparks; something only a charmer like Harry can cause.
That charmer doesn’t attempt to hide the fact that he’s staring at your basically bare body. He chews gum as he does, showing the piece that he works between his molars thanks to his Cheshire Cat smile, a raised brow telling you he likes what he sees.
And you like that he likes what he sees, feeling no self-consciousness about the cellulite on your legs or your stomach rolls and pudge like you have been before. You welcome his gorgeous gaze, because it’s making you feel gorgeous.
“I suppose you want me to go and get your ball?”
The sound of the light laugh that accompanied your question visibly perks Harry up, but he looks to be keeping himself cool by shrugging a shoulder in a lazy way, his smile shifting to become just as lazy, too. Both things are undeniably hot. Just like him.
“Or you could let me hop the fence to get it myself…”
“That all depends,” you retort calmly, even though your response is chaos. It’s flirty. You’re flirting, something you don’t much of unless you’ve had a couple of drinks, but you’re stone cold sober right now.
Well, mostly sober. You’re feeling a little drunk on the boy next door.
Harry jerks his chin your way in a cocky manner, much like how he continues to chew his gum. “On what?”
“On whether the ball made its way over here accidentally or intentionally.” You’re testing the waters to see if he’s willing to take a dip, because you are. You’re ready to dive in headfirst, actually.
The feeling seems mutual. Harry doesn’t look like he’s willing to take a dip, his expression screaming that he’s fully plunging. That he already made the jump by being here and hitting you with his ball by ways of getting you to engage in this back and forth.
He cocks his head, smirking. “Which answer would the pretty lady prefer?”
“Whichever one is true, of course.”
“Intentionally.” Harry admits quickly, dragging his gaze down the length of you slowly before locking his eyes with you once more; his grin a mile wide.
Your cheeks are hot with blush, your smile as bright as Harry’s. You scoff a laugh, then nudge your head in silent invitation. “Permission granted. Come get your ball.”
Harry is across the fence in a matter of seconds, pulling himself up and over it before landing on your side as gracefully as a cat. Something tells you that wasn’t his first time hopping fences given his sassy disposition and the skill displayed; a skill that made you hot under the metaphorical collar from watching the way his biceps bulged and tummy tightened as he moved.
Dusting off his hands, Harry faces you with a smirk. You swallow hard, shifting your closed book from your lap to join your phone and sunglasses on the space of the lounger by your hip, and sitting yourself up a little straighter—knees bent up, feet and hands flat against the lounger for support. You need all you can get.
Butterflies swarm your belly and your skin tingles as you watch Harry walk toward the beach ball, your eyes drinking in his tall and lean figure making those casual strides. There’s something magnetic in the way he moves, it’s truly enchanting. It forces you to gulp harshly again and squeeze your legs together tightly; a strong tingle between them desperately needing to be suppressed. Or satisfied.
He bends down and picks up the inflatable, tossing it into the air and catching it before he spins to face you once more. “Got my ball.”
“Yes, you do.” You’re giggling again. You don’t think there’s been a time ever that you’ve giggled so damn much.
Harry tilts his head, smirking as he eyes you up. “Have I got the pretty lady, too?”
His question catches you by surprise, more sparks rushing through your body. You need to keep cool, though. The flirty atmosphere is too fun.
“That all depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you'll help me top up my sun cream or not.” You take your bottom lip behind your two front teeth for a second, giving Harry big doe eyes of desire as you let it pop free again. “I can’t quite reach my back.”
His grin widens even more, hands dropping the quickly-forgotten-about ball as he makes slow but eager steps toward you. “Looks like it’s your lucky day, doll. I love to help.”
“Mhm, I bet you do.”
Pushing yourself up to stand, Harry comes to a towering stop a few inches away from you. He smirks down at you grinning up at him, your surroundings growing hotter by the second, but the sun in the sky is no longer the cause. It doesn’t hold a candle to the feverish glow Harry effortlessly emits.
You don’t miss the way his eyes make another slow journey down your body, nor do you miss another low whistle sounding out from between his sweet, slightly puckered lips. Your confidence only boosts more, any and all self-imposed rules you had before Harry came into your life however long ago now completely out the window.
“I’ll run in and grab the lotion,” you announce, breaking the tense silence. “Can I get you a drink while I’m in there?”
Harry nods, two front teeth biting into his plump bottom lip and eyes on your tits slowly peeling away from the area back to your face. “A drink would be sick, yeah.”
“What d’you fancy?” Your smile shifts into a smirk. “Non-alcoholic, of course.”
“Of course.” He winks, wearing a mischievous half-smile of his own.” Water, please. Ice in it would be fantastic, if it’s not too much trouble. Thank you.”
“No trouble at all, coming right up. Make yourself at home.”
You turn on your heel and saunter back inside the house, feeling Harry’s eyes on your ass the entire time. That doesn’t surprise you. It’s one of the reasons you asked if he wanted a beverage, after all.
Making quick work of filling up two tall glasses with ice cubes and water, you carry one in each hand along with a tube of sunscreen wedged between the crease of your right elbow and ribs back out into the garden. You haven't felt this giddy or excited in a long time. Ever, perhaps.
Harry has followed your instructions, now sitting at the foot of the sunlounger. His long legs are stretched out in front of him, the backs of his bare heels resting on the tile floor and large hands splayed flat against the cushion he sits on. His heart-shaped lips blow a perfect gum bubble.
He pops it with his teeth upon clocking your return, resuming his chewing with a cheeky grin headed your way. “There she is. The hostess with the mostess.”
“It’s the least I could do for you for what you’re gonna do for me.”
Coming to a stop by his feet, Harry smirks up at you with a lifted brow, taking the glass you offer him. “That’s a fair point. Sun protection is very important. Wouldn’t wanna get burned, would you?”
He takes a leisurely sip, your eyes locked throughout. Harry swallows with a hum and a light gasp at his thirst being quenched, plump mouth glossy from the liquid and eyes bright from the lady.
In the small amount of time spent in the kitchen getting drinks and suncream, you wondered about how this whole thing with Harry, the hot next door neighbour, would pan out. You’re not a fool to think that things between you both aren’t flirtatious or sexually charged, and you know he isn’t either. It’s apparent in his gaze, words and actions. In yours, too.
There’s one outcome and you both know it. Both want it. Whether or not you bite the bullet and make the dive into that desire first, that you’re unsure of. That, you’re a little nervous about.
Yet the longer you look at him, the easier it becomes. Harry stares at you with hearts for eyes, and a hard-on in his shorts. You can see the large outline of it straining against the material; a reaction you caused by simply standing in front of him. Flirting with him. Asking for a favour from him.
So with all of this in mind, you move past the point of just dipping your toe. You’re ready to jump, even if Harry seemingly did so ages ago.
And after exhaling a shaky breath, you do, saying, “I wasn’t just talking about the suncream.”
And with a mile-wide grin after setting the glass of water onto the patio, Harry replies with a strong, sexy and oh so sure, “I know.”
He takes the hand that just held his drink and slowly skims the tips of his fingers up the outside of your thigh. His touch is cold from the glass, but all it does is make you burn up even more; intense and irresistible eye contact maintained all the while.
On either hip lies a bow holding your bikini briefs together. Harry lightly plays with one of them, the very thought of him pulling it undone enough to drive you insane with want and need for him to just undo it. To just undo you. Arousal collects in the material he tauntingly toys. Any longer and he’ll see what a mess he’s making of you, you’re sure of it.
Pulling his hand away pulls a pout from you. Harry simply chuckles, head tilted a tad. “It’s a good place to start, though. The suncream, I mean. Wouldn’t you agree?” You nod, his head nudging toward the lounger barely a second after your agreement. “Gorgeous. Lie down for me, yeah?”
And you do. Without hesitation, you kneel on the sunbed, lowering to rest your front against it until the right side of your face is pressed against the cushion, your heart beating harder than ever against your ribcage and the pillowy surface below your body.
Harry had watched your every move, and now, with you where he wants you, he makes slow ones of his own. He straddles your legs, a knee pressing into the lounger either side of yours. There’s no eye contact made anymore, the skin kind avoided, too. Harry hovers above and behind you. You can sense him skimming his sights across the plains of your back and the rounds of your ass, and also physically feel him delicately trailing his hands up and over your waist, mapping out the curves of you like he’s about to be tested on your body, and he wants an A. He wants it so fucking bad. You sigh at how good it feels, the anticipation of what he’s going to do next driving you as wild as his gaze and touch does.
He moves away from your ribs to the ribbon holding your bikini top together at the middle of your spine. Teasing begins there, the pads of his finger slipping under the knot. Is he going to undo it, or isn’t he? You tingle from head to toe, wriggling a fraction with your breaths now erratic.
Harry leaves the tie alone and shifts until he’s leaning over your back, a hand brushing the hair away from your right ear for his lips to hover by it. His breath is cool and refreshing from the ice cold drink and peppermint gum he chews, tickling in a way that turns you on more than ever; the signs of such a thing shown by your hips moving slightly and your bikini bottoms growing wetter and wetter by the second.
And all of this tormenting, well, it makes those choppy breaths of yours halt; something Harry notes. You can feel him smirk against your lobe, right as you hear the cap of lotion being opened by his hands.
“I heard and saw you when you shouted over the fence before.” The smirk in his tone is as audible as the cream being squeezed onto his palm.
You can’t even bring yourself to feel embarrassed for your angry attitude earlier on or the fact that Harry paid witness to it. That feeling fucked off fast. Now all you can think about is how horny you are. How happy you are that it led him to you, to this moment. To whatever happens next.
“I didn’t hesitate for a second to come knocking on your door. Never moved so quickly in all my life,” Harry admits, sounding as cool as a cucumber while you're burning like a furnace of frisky fire that only he can douse. Or make worse. You don’t really care which. “Found myself a stunning little woman, one I wanted to make feel so good. One I wanted to help relax. I told you, darlin’… I love to help. So lemme get started with that, yeah?”
And with that, Harry brings his lotioned hands to the middle of your back, slowly rubbing them and the cream outwardly across your ribs with the perfect amount of pressure. They venture beneath the part pressed against the cushion before retreating; a staggered breath escaping your lips from how good it feels.
You feel his smirk shift into a grin. “How’s that for you, hm?”
“‘Nice.” A harsh swallow follows your hoarse response. “Really nice.”
He expels a laugh through his nose, a chaste kiss pressed to your lobe that tingles and lingers. “I think we can do better than nice, can’t we?”
Harry pulls away from your ear to sit up straight again, his hands making gentle but firm work of rubbing the product into your skin. His massaging methods are expert, fingertips and the heels of his hands kneading into your skin to work out the knots and kinks in your previously tensed-up shoulder blades and spine. You grow both more relaxed and restless the longer he’s at it, your lids fluttering shut and breaths turning broken again with every passing second; the occasional ‘mm’ sounding out, too.
Harry ends up at it for quite some time. The suncream has long since been rubbed in, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t seem able to. You don’t want him to, either.
At the feeling of his fingers once more moving towards the ribbon tied in the middle of your back, you simultaneously clench and calm. Harry doesn’t make a move to pull it undone, because he’s waiting for you to give the go ahead. What a perfect gentleman.
Opening your eyes, you look at him over your shoulder. He’s smirking again, but so are you. Nothing has ever felt so right.
“Do it.”
And do it, he does. A chuffed-looking, cocky Harry with eyes locked on yours tugs the knot loose, his deft fingers swiping the yellow strings away to the sides. He trails a digit over the newly exposed skin, tongue swiping out across his bottom lip to wetten the plump area. You wish it was your tongue, or his on your lip. God, you’ve never wished for anything more.
“And this one?” he whispers, voice rugged and rife with lust as he gestures to the bow at the nape of your neck. “Can I undo this one, too?”
“Yes, you can.”
“Mm, so good to me. Thank you.”
Another shudder wrecks its way through your body, the feeling seemingly never ending as he slowly pulls the second and final knot loose. Along with the thin ribbons, the triangle parts covering your tits fall limply away from your skin and onto the sunbed you lie on; your front still pressed against it and nothing on show. Yet.
The presence of Harry hovering over you disappears. He moves off the sunbed to stand at the foot of it, his eyes darting all over your body. There’s an arrogant smile etched on his face, and an even more prominent bulge in the confines of his shorts.
He meets your gaze again soon enough, jerking his chin forward. “On your back.”
You comply without question, your chest rising and falling with quick breaths, tits exposed with nipples pebbled from arousal, and thighs pressed tightly together to dull the aching throb in your cunt.
The sun in the sky kissing your fully naked torso is no match for the heat in Harry’s now onyx eyes that are honed in on your bare breasts, a third low whistle and a shake of his head heard and seen. “Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, low like he’s talking to himself, but he wasn’t. He wanted you to hear. Wanted you to feel as good as he does from simply looking at you.
And you do. You feel more than good, a fresh coating of blush staining your skin from the compliment. A fresh burst of confidence from it, too.
You bring a hand to your right breast, index finger pointed out to lazily glide back and forth across the valley of it. Harry eyes your movements like a hawk, looking like all of his Christmas’ have come at once as he harshly swallows and shamelessly readjusts himself in his shorts. It’s safe to say all that does is stroke your ego and boost your confidence even more, and your grin shows it.
“So what now?”
A half-smile appears on his face; a sign of trouble in the best kind of way coming. “You’re relaxed, right?”
“I am, yes. Very much so.”
“And you wanted to read?”
“I did.”
Harry’s shrug is as lazy as his smirk. “So read. Out loud.”
His instruction raises your brows, but you don’t disobey. You simply pop your knees and pick your book back up while Harry lowers to a kneeling position, his grinning face on show beneath the bottom of the now open novel and chin resting on folded arms he’s propped up on the cushions, eagerly waiting for you to get started.
You barely read a paragraph of it out loud before Harry’s hands wrapping around the back of your calves and spreading your legs a tad silences you. Giggles replace the quiet in an instant when he tugs you down the bed a little, catching you by surprise as much as it makes you forget all about your favourite story.
Harry simply shakes his head, tutting once before smirking again. “Keep reading, love. You’ve got such a pretty voice, I wanna hear it.”
With a swallow and a nod, you continue, but your recital comes to another stop after Harry sits up straight on his knees, his hands by your hips and fingers once more toying with the knots holding together your bikini bottoms. You’re actually close to moaning, the simple under-his-lashes stare at you the reason for the swallowed lewd sound.
“Don’t make me tell you again,” he warns, the threat sending a flood of more heat and arousal to your core, and heart to pound violently against your ribcage. It almost makes you want to disobey, just to see what will happen. But Harry clearly already has a plan in mind for you, and you’re much too curious to find out what comes next. You, probably.
So you look back to the pages and attempt to blink away your suddenly blurry vision, however that grows harder to do at the feeling of Harry tandemly untying the bows until the ribbons fall away as freely as the ones from your top did. You’re still covered, but it won’t take much to change that. A simple pull on the fabric and you’ll be bare and completely at the mercy of his mouth. Or at least you hope you’ll be.
Concentrating as hard as you possibly can on the words, you power on, however second later you’re stopping again and moaning, “Oh, fuck,”; profanity that wasn’t written but rather something that slipped out of your mouth upon Harry lightly kissing the space beneath your navel.
You feel puffs of laughter expelled through his nose, looking down at him looking up at you while his grin graces your skin. “That last part didn’t sound like the words of Louisa May Alcott to me,” he teases, each tickling brush of his lips turning you on some more. If that’s even possible.
“I’m improvising. Mixing it up,” you taunt his taunt right back, earning yourself another laugh.
“Is that so?” Harry continues to pepper kisses along the elastic edge of your loose bikini briefs. All you can do is pant and nod, your non-verbal response pulling another grin from the man who causes it. “Well, if that’s the case then I’m looking forward to some more ad-libs. I’m sure I can encourage some along.”
You feel dizzy and desperate. You know that in order to get to the next part of what’s to happen with you and Harry, a part which involves him satiating the aching pulse and dripping mess between your legs, you need to get to the next part of the book. Harry wanted you to read, so you’re going to fucking read.
But then, surprise surprise, your voice peeters out, Harry’s hands snaking between your thighs to pry them open further being the reason. The skimpy yellow Lycra covering your soaked cunt is peeled away from your body next, Harry making slow work of revealing your intimate area to him and the hot afternoon you both bask in. You whimper, a noise that harmonises with a hiss from him, who’s glazed-over eyes stare at your soaked centre like it's made of pure gold.
Upon your reaction and lack of reading, again, he flicks his gaze your way. If you thought he looked cheeky before, that was nothing compared to now. His dimple is even deeper, his smile his most mischievous and maddening yet. Harry doesn’t have to audibly tell you to continue reading, again, because his stare does the talking for him. It’s a look that has you blushing and squirming before you turn your focus back to the words.
You pay him no mind as best as you possibly can, opting to hide his face from view by bringing the book down and using it as a blocking device, but you can still feel him and every move he makes—the lean forward and down, fingers gripping your hips, backwards cap-covered head grazing the insides of your trembling thighs. You have to persevere through your pants, wanting nothing more than to behave and reap the rewards of your good behaviour. You need it. You need him.
“Jesus fuck!” Your speech is replaced with another expletive and a guttural groan thanks to Harry’s tongue licking up through your drenched slit, your juices lapped up in one stroke, jittering legs jittering some more upon his well-pleased smile and the vibrating, satisfied ‘mmm’ against your skin, mind spinning and need for more, well, more. You need all of what Harry can give you, and you need it right fucking now.
You stammer your way through the rest of the paragraph, missing out words here as Harry’s wet and warm muscular organ lazily and lushly glides through your equally wet and warm folds. He’s purposefully ignoring your throbbing clit, only lightly nudging it with the tip of his nose like he’s showing you he knows where it’s at and he knows it’s where you need to be touched the most, but you’re not getting it yet. When he’s ready then you will. You can’t help but love and loathe that cockiness in equal measure, and also worry about the noise you might make when he finally does pay your swollen pearl some attention. You're so worked up and have been for ages now. You’re bound to sound demonic.
You’re settled into the incredible feeling he provides for you, therefore your recital is somewhat coherent now. But yet again, that changes fast; Harry’s hands slipping from your hips to lift your legs up over his shoulders while he takes a deep and shaky breath in. Before long, you’re stopping to swear again, “Holy fucking shit, yes!” and for good fucking reason.
Upon Harry finally sucking your pulsing bud into his mouth after too many teasing licks to count spent avoiding it, the book falls from your limp hands and onto the tiled floor with a thud. You look down at him looking up at you, your moan louder than ever at the pleasure you get from not only his expert mouth working your pussy, but how fucking good he looks while doing it.
Obscenely pretty as your earlier description for Harry has never been more appropriate. With your legs over his shoulders and his face wedged between your thighs that are tight against his backwards-cap-covered head, he has his nose flush against the light patch of hair above where his lips are latched, like he doesn’t want the ability to breathe. His arms are hooked under your thighs, his elbows bent at your hips and hands linked together against your stomach, pinning you down to the bed as he feasts like a man starved.
And he hums more satisfied hums as he works, alternating between sucking your throbbing clit while nuzzling his head left and right, the occasional light nibble broken up by fast flicks of his tongue, and the more salacious licks like he’s in a serious make out session with your cunt. All in all, you can barely see, your vision once more blurry with tears upon the boy next door eating you out like his life depends on it.
“Oh, fuck me…” you moan, eyes screwed shut and head tossed back. “Just like that. Good boy.”
The pet name slipped out before you could stop it from happening, too worked up and wet to care what you’re saying. You can’t think. You can barely fucking breathe.
But from the reaction of Harry, a raspy whine vibrating off of his tongue felt against your pussy, you smile. He liked it.
Just when you think you’ve got the upper hand, the somewhat submissive term for Harry having garnered a positive response, he reminds you just who’s in control by pulling away, your mouth immediately opening to protest.
Yet any words you might’ve said snuff out fast, replaced with a yelp upon him slapping your clit.
That earns you a cocky grin and a throaty laugh from Harry, his lips and chin saturated with your arousal. He looks as possessed from you as you are for him, eyes wild and as black as night.
“That’s for stopping reading.” He surprises you further by spitting directly onto your cunt, both of you watching the thick glob of saliva cover your clit and drip down to your hole; a gasp from you and a groan from him at the filthy sight.
Your eyes meet again a moment later, an arrogant smirk on his lips. “And that’s just because I fucking wanted to.”
Before you can even register it happening, Harry is stuffing you full, two fingers sliding knuckle deep into your entrance. Your warm and wet walls welcome him in, body trembling upon him firmly pressing the pads against that spongy sweet spot and the cool metal of his ring kissing your skin.
You stutter on your breath, seeing stars behind your eyes as he slowly strokes the sensitive area, a gorgeous grin stretching his smug face. “You’ve drenched my fingers, baby. Got you dripping all over my palm, too. You gonna be a good girl and come for me, hm?”
You feel the need to pay him back for the slap, even though you liked it a whole fucking lot. What better way than to bruise his ego in a way that will make him rush to heal it fast?
So with that in mind, you murmur, “That all depends,” a sentiment you’ve spoken for now the third time since knowing Harry.
And for the third time since knowing you, he grins upon hearing the challenge. “On what?”
You sit up and lean forward until your lips are brushing, lips that are yet to properly meet and be feasted upon through the act of a frantic kiss. You can smell your arousal all over his breath, the scent mixing divinely with the minty gum he still chews.
“On if you’re capable of making it happen.”
Harry laughs, the cadence of it letting you know he’s fallen for the bait; hook line and sinker. You can tell he knows he has too, he just doesn’t give a fuck. Not when showing you he can get you off by actually getting you off is way more important.
Slipping out of your cunt, he gently squeezes your clit with a finger either side of it until you’re whimpering and writhing and close to begging for more. “Put your arms around my neck,” Harry demands, and who are you to deny him and yourself what’s to be even more earth-shattering bliss?
So you comply quickly again, your hands sliding beneath the peak of his cap until your fingers grip his nape. Your legs are still over his shoulders, your body practically folded in half, with Harry’s glossy fingers now back to slowly running up and down your soaked slit. You shudder and moan, his forehead dropping against your own slightly sweaty one, eyes meeting and grinning mouths mirroring one another’s.
But they both fall slack upon Harry sliding his long digits back in your tight cunt, a hitched breath from you while a groan rumbles in his throat. You’re so slick, sucking him in, the sounds of your mess loud and lewd with every withdrawal and re-enter.
“Such a messy thing, aren’t you?” His words send you further into a spiral you never want to straighten yourself out from, quick and desperate nods your response that earn you another teasing tut. “Can’t believe you’d ever doubt me when this is what I do to your body. Got you dripping down to your asshole, babe. Got your cunt clinging to my fingers, showing off what a needy, greedy little slut you are.”
“Fucking hell…”
A few more minutes of pure fucking euphoria pass by, more degrading words spoken by Harry, profanities by you, pants and groans and hums of happiness from you both. The wet sounds of your pussy being finger-fucked could be considered embarrassing, but this feels too good and Harry’s getting off on it as much as you are. Plus, it’s making for filthy background noise that only adds to the already existing filthiness. You love it.
A flick of Harry’s tongue felt against your plump lips has you falling apart even more, his fingers that once worked you slowly and teasingly now going at a jackhammer speed. The heel of his hand connects with your swollen clit upon every harsh thrust, the sounds of your arousal louder and louder.
Your nails bite into Harry’s skin as you pant heavy breaths against one another’s open mouths, the pair of you alternating between looking down to where his fingers screw into you and the saliva he occasionally spits onto your clit and hole, and directly at each other. Your toes curl until they’re agony, legs cramping from how hard they tense, and stomach tingles. The moans you make are hardly moans at all. You’ve had plenty of orgasms in your life, but none are going to feel like this one. The build up is felt deep within your goddamn soul, your body reacting to Harry in a way you’ve never experienced before either solo or with someone else. Maybe you never will again; a thought that should be terrifying, but it isn’t. You’re happy to have this memory. More than happy. Elated.
Harry’s grinning mouth is back against your slack one, a groan pouring from him that has you clenching. “Fuck, I can feel it. You’re so close, baby. Give it to me. Make a mess of me. Be a good girl and come for me?”
A tsunami of heat rushes through and out of you, the gushing sound of your climax that his fingers still fuck you through as loud as your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You’re an oasis—mind, body and soul—and Harry’s gasp at the sight he sees.
“Holy shit, that’s it.” He looks as lost in ecstasy as you feel. “Fucking hell, you’re incredible.”
More praise punctuated by cheek kisses leaks from his lips as arousal leaks from your body until you slump, spent, satisfied and smiley. Your face would hurt from how wide your mouth is stretched, but there’s no room for pain right now. Only pleasure.
You’re not sure how much time has passed by when you finally come back to Earth, but by that point Harry has unfolded your legs from his shoulders and laid you down flat again. He’s still between your thighs, though it’s his chest, not his mouth. That’s pulled into a wide smile, eyes on your face and chin on your stomach as his hands soothe your still-trembling legs; his expression one of complete awe.
Your hands clinging onto the back of his neck now drift to pull his cap from his head, fingers desperate to stroke through his curls. They’re as angelic as his face, as soft as he’s being with you right now, his eyes fluttering at the pleasure you give him.
“I don’t wanna keep you from your party,” you murmur a little while later, the silence the pair of you basked in broken. You didn’t want to disturb it, end this moment, but you’re also aware that he’s the host. Surely his friends are wondering where he is.
If they are, Harry doesn’t care. He doesn’t look to care about anything that isn’t you. “You’re not. And even if you were, I’d much rather chill here for a bit. If that’s okay with you, of course.”
You nod, because of course it’s okay with you. But then something crosses your mind, your smile shifting into a smirk as you ask, “Waiting for your turn?”
Harry laughs, dimple deep and eyes bright as he shakes his head, understanding exactly what you meant by that. “Trust me, that was my turn as much as it was yours. I’m more than satisfied. I died and went to heaven watching you make such a mess. That was amazing. You’re amazing. So fucking amazing.”
The mess he talks of can be felt beneath you, the sunlounger’s cushions soaked. They’ll dry in no time, though; the day is still young and the sun is still burning hot. Plus, you’re too dizzy from his sweet compliments, awestruck aura and the aftershocks of pure pleasure coursing through you to really care.
And while you believe Harry when he says he’s good, you also don’t. It’s not a common thing for guys to get off only by getting someone else off. They always want their own end away, too.
But before you can say a thing about it, you’re beat to the punchline, and all your doubt fades away.
“Besides…” Harry murmurs, pressing a kiss to your stomach before landing another on your sternum, his grinning mouth soon hovering over a breast like he’s about to kiss it as well. Like he’s about to do so much more.
Given his next words, you know that’s true. You know you’re excited, too. “…summer’s only just getting started.”
I had this idea in the middle of the night and thought, “why not write and post it? maybe someone will like it...”
so here it is! I hope you enjoy it.
leave a comment so I know if you liked it enough for me to keep writing more.
and if you have any ideas, I’m open to them too!
oh, and just so you know: english is not my first language :)
Nothing that afternoon indicated the day would end that way.
Y/N was exhausted. Work had been a mess from the moment she walked in — three back-to-back meetings, an impatient boss, and a mistake that wasn’t even hers ending up on her shoulders. Her phone kept buzzing nonstop until she finally silenced everything. She didn’t even have time for a proper lunch: just ate two crackers in the car on her way to the hotel where Harry was waiting for a few days of rest.
But she didn’t want to show anything. She wanted to be strong. She wanted to be the girlfriend who went to the gym with him.
Harry noticed her exhaustion the second she walked into the room. Her eyes were dull, shoulders low. But when he asked if she wanted to work out, she forced a smile.
— It’ll do me good, love. I want to sweat all of this out.
And he believed her. Because she knew how to lie with her eyes when she wanted to seem strong.
In the hotel gym, the atmosphere was nearly silent. An older man was on the treadmill in the back, and another guy — too tanned, too muscular, wearing a tight tank top — was using the corner with the weights. Harry, focused on his functional workout and listening to his playlist, kept an eye on her. Always.
Y/N tried to focus on her movements, but her body wasn’t responding like before. The stressful day was taking its quiet toll — and she tried to hide it. Between sets, she stopped near the mirror, adjusting her sports bra with a sigh. That’s when she felt the presence beside her. A man — overly muscular, overly tanned, with the kind of confidence that comes off the wrong way — appeared with a crooked smile.
— Hey, tough workout, huh? I could give you a few tips if you want... I noticed you’re using the wrong weight.
She glanced at him, trying to stay polite.
— I’m good, thanks. I’m with my boyfriend.
The guy gave a half-smile, like he didn’t take her seriously.
— You sure? A lot of people don’t even realize they’re training wrong. And no offense… but you look more like a model than an athlete.
She was visibly uncomfortable. She didn’t even have to answer. Harry was already walking over, dropping his dumbbells with a soft thud, eyes locked on the two of them.
— Is there a problem here?
— Just chatting, man. Relax. It’s a public gym.
— Public, yeah. But if she said she’s good, then you should respect that.
— And next time you wanna “give tips,” maybe learn how to recognize when someone’s not interested.
— Are you always like this? Jumping in like you own her?
— I don’t own anyone. But I’m her boyfriend. And I don’t like it when someone makes her feel uncomfortable.
— You were pushing. And she clearly said no.
The guy laughed nervously.
— Alright, champ. No need to be so sensitive. She’s hot — can’t help turning heads, right?
Harry let out a dry laugh, but his eyes were sharp.
— Yeah, she’s insanely gorgeous. But the only attention that matters to her… she already has. Mine.
A heavy silence settled between them. The guy shrugged, mumbled something, and walked off.
Harry only turned to her once the man was out of sight. His expression softened instantly.
— Are you okay, love? Did he touch you?
— No, he didn’t go that far. Just irritated me. — She tried to play it off, but the tension was still in her shoulders.
Harry gently wrapped his arm around her waist.
— If at any moment you want to leave, just say the word. Or if you want to keep training, I’ll stay right by your side. Okay?
She nodded, resting her face on his shoulder.
— Thank you for that. Really.
He kissed the top of her head softly, keeping his hand resting on her back.
— I’ll always protect you, baby. Even when you think you can handle it on your own.
She gave him a weak smile and went back to training. So did he. But now, even more watchful.
As she did squats, he watched her through the mirror. As she pulled on cables, he silently counted her reps. He knew just by looking that something was off. The way her fingers trembled, the way she paused with a distant look, how she leaned on the machine like she was trying to hide her weakness.
Then, the moment she dropped the weights and held her stomach, staggering to the nearest wall, he dropped everything.
— Y/N! — He rushed over, heart pounding. — Love… look at me, sweetheart. What are you feeling?
She was panting, sweating, hands on her face.
— I... I feel nauseous... — she whispered.
He wrapped his arms around her in a firm, protective gesture.
— Let’s get you over there. Come with me. I got you. — He led her gently to a modern trash bin near the exit.
She knelt down. Her stomach revolted and she threw up. Harry stayed the entire time — kneeling behind her, carefully holding her hair, gently stroking the curve of her spine in soothing, steady movements.
— It’s gonna pass soon, baby... breathe, breathe, my love. I’m right here. — His voice was low, but full of pain at seeing her like that.
When she finished, he grabbed a towel and gently wiped her face. Then moved her hair away and cupped her cheek.
— Love… why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling okay? Huh? — he said softly but firmly.
— I just wanted... to do something nice with you. Not ruin the day.
He looked at her like his heart had been squeezed tight.
— You never ruin anything, sweetheart. Never.
— It just breaks me knowing you chose to suffer alone instead of letting me help.
He ran his fingers over her neck, then her shoulders, tenderly.
— Let me take care of you now, okay? Let’s go upstairs. Take a hot shower, eat something light, lie down together. Just us.
— Today you deserve comfort. And tomorrow too. And whenever you need it.
She rested her head on his chest, and he held her close, swaying gently like he was cradling the whole world.
They went up together. In the room, he prepared a warm bath for her, and while she was in the shower, he made toast with honey and chamomile tea. He placed everything on the corner table with a little note scribbled in his big handwriting:
“For my strongest girl in the world. Who now gets to be as weak as she wants.
With love, your Harry.”
When she came out of the shower, he was already lying in bed with his shirt laid out next to her pillow, waiting for her.
She laid down beside him, and Harry wrapped his arms around her like he was still trying to shield her from everything the day had thrown at her.
— Thank you for being this kind of love — she whispered.
He smiled, kissing her forehead, then her nose, then her lips — with such tenderness it felt like a promise.
— You’re my favorite kind of love, my beautiful princess.
And that night, between sighs and intertwined fingers, he stayed awake until he was sure her breathing was calm, steady, and safe.
Just like his heart only felt when she was at peace.
Synopsis: The Bellington University Crescendos are holding open auditions to fill a few spots on their elite show choir team. You know you have what it takes, but there's a snag in your plans: Mr. Grumpy and Aloof, who's seemingly unimpressed by you, and the perky, ruthless female lead who's spot you're itching to steal. If there's one thing you've never shied away from, it's a challenge.
Music had always been your passion. Like you were born with this innate spark, and performing was your conduit.
In exchange for voice and piano lessons, you told your parents you’d try other things– crafts, soccer, martial arts, playing with other children even.
You were ten when they accepted the inevitable. If you were sure about this, they would back you completely. They just wanted you to succeed, and it took them a decade to realize you had absolutely no intention of failure.
Eventually, they began telling people you’d come into the world crying on key. You knew you’d come into the world determined.
From then on, you jumped at every opportunity to pour your heart out on stage. To be showered in applause, soaking in each clap and cheer aimed your way. Letting them fuel you.
Piano recitals turned into voice and dance lessons, then school musicals and choir competitions, talent shows and local theater.
You figured college would be no different, sure, there was a larger competition pool. The productions were taken more seriously, your performances would be graded on quality, not just how hard you tried. There were higher expectations here. You weren’t a star on Bellington University’s campus, not yet anyway.
It wasn’t a fact you feared, it was a challenge you accepted. Your chin high and shoulders back. Classes had barely begun but you were itching for a chance to perform.
It was the final week of August when you saw it. The air was still warm, but not the stuffy kind of warmth that accompanied the middle of summer. You had just entered the Pembrooke Performing Arts Center, glass doors shutting behind you as you cursed yourself for scheduling a class on the second floor.
Like a beacon of some sort, fluorescent, lime green paper popped against the dark, aged cork of the bulletin board you’d passed by every other day for two weeks on your way to Music Theory 1100.
Competitive Show Choir Auditions September 5th: All are welcome. 2 rounds of auditions. Vocal and dance experience strongly recommended. Only 5 spots.
It was nearly enough to make you religious.
Ripping your favorite note-taking pen from its home in the side pocket of your bag, you quickly printed your name on the first free line. There were only ten names above yours and five days left until auditions.
They were clearly expecting more names, with a second lime green sheet stapled behind the first. The Bellington Crescendos, as they called themselves, had gone to Nationals nearly every year in the past decade. This could get competitive. You didn’t have a good enough idea of what the talent was like on campus yet.
You weren’t particularly concerned, but it wouldn’t hurt to learn about your competition. At least that’s what you told yourself as you pulled your phone out to snap a picture of the sign up sheet.
—--
Six days later you sat in the front row of the auditorium, watching from an itchy, red polyester theater chair as the first name on the sign up sheet, Montgomery Prescott, stepped onto the stage. His steps reverberated through the stage floor as he hurried to center stage.
Your research into him didn’t yield much–just an online program from his high school’s production of Grease. You couldn’t find much else, but considering it opened less than a year ago, you would have to assume he was A.) also a freshman and B.) only good enough to be cast as Greaser #3 in his senior year.
You weren’t judging, but you weren’t intimidated either.
“Tell us a bit about yourself.” A clear, sweet voice rang through the various speakers around the room.
The voice belonged to Penny, a perky little blonde that seemed to be orchestrating the audition process if the last few minutes had been any indicator.
“We want to start by thanking you for coming to audition for the Bellington Crescendos! I’m Penny, a senior and the female lead. I wanted to let you all know how our audition process will work. We have just over twenty of you here, but there are only 5 spots– two of which will be alternate positions,” her smile was sickeningly sweet, almost disturbingly so.
“Today we want to hear you sing a song of your choice, Wednesday we will post the list for which of you will be returning for dance auditions. If you make the cut, you’ll return Friday evening where you’ll be taught 16 counts of choreography which you will be expected to perform as a group on Saturday. Our final list will be posted on Monday morning.”
Her tone was still light, but it takes venom to know venom, and you had no doubt she could be a bitch if needed. Subtly cutthroat. You respected it, honestly.
You quickly shot a glance to the other auditionees seated down the row you were on. A few of them looked paler than they had a couple minutes ago.
“We understand this is intense, but it’s nothing in comparison to the competitive collegiate show choir scene. We took second at Nationals last year, but we will take first this year. We just need to find the few of you who can help get us there. Decisions will be voted on by the team, and finalized by our lovely director, Wanda Gretz who is watching from the control booth. Are there any questions?”
There was a beat or two of silence before Perky Penny plopped into her seat, smiling slyly once more at the first row before putting her lips to the microphone again and calling out Montgomery Prescott’s name.
His audition was weak. He may have just been nervous, but his voice was much too shaky to even dream of dancing and singing at the same time, let alone for ten minutes straight.
Everyone clapped politely as he stepped off stage, looking a little less like he might hurl on everyone. Next was Charlotte Quinn. From your research, one of your only competitors. She had been featured in her hometown’s paper a handful of times for stellar performances in her school’s various productions, and a couple of show programs from her local theater popped up too. Mainly supporting roles, but still big ones. There was a lead role or two, enough for you to acknowledge that the girl had to be talented.
She walked up the steps and onto the stage like she’d done it a million times before, the only sign of nerves being the slight shake in hands as she ran them down the front of her skirt. She was pretty, seemed confident, and sang like she’d been at it for years. But her performance of Adele’s Someone Like You lacked the emotional depth you knew would really sell it.
She was good– great even, but you knew you were better.
You weren’t cocky, just sure. Sure of your abilities, of your skill, of your drive. You were talented, and you’d known it since you were young. But talent wasn’t enough, and you’d grown up knowing that too.
That’s why you begged for voice lessons until your parents wanted to pull their hair out, why you jumped at any opportunity to be a better singer, a better performer.
You assuredness was a gift in and of itself. Because even though your research indicated there were about five other people here who had a chance of getting onto this team, you knew you would beat them all.
It wasn’t just them you wanted to be better than– you didn’t want to just be on the team. You wanted to lead it, to stand in front of everyone and belt your little heart out all the way to Nationals.
Maybe you were a little too hungry for it, but was there really such a thing?
Finally, your name was called. You took the same path up the steps as the ten people ahead of you. Your hands didn’t fidget, your breath didn’t catch when you looked into the audience and saw your ‘competition’ and behind them, the entire Bellington show choir. The heat of the stage lights felt more natural on your skin than the sun ever had.
You looked directly at Penny, then to the rest of the Crescendos seated around her. Your eyes shot up to the control booth before scanning the auditionees.
“My name is Y/n Y/l/n, I’m a freshman. I’ll be performing "The Wizard and I.””
A few eyebrows raised, but your chin rose a little higher knowing you had something to prove.
The song was your go-to when you wanted to showcase your range, emotional performance, and vocal stamina. It was about four minutes of straight dynamics and storytelling.
And your rendition of it? Perfect.
You end on the final beat, the music still thrumming in your veins, the adrenaline of performing still making your heart beat wildly. Like any stage you’d ever set foot on, it was yours now.
“Thank you,” you dipped your head in a slight bow, beginning to step off the stage as the applause began to thunder. Your eyes lifted to the audience as you slowly approached your seat, eyes slowly sweeping over the face of each Crescendo. They seemed impressed, or at least intrigued. Some looked threatened, perhaps–like their claps were reluctant, but your performance demanded their praise regardless. From all but one guy.
He was a stone face in a black t-shirt, tattoos poking out from under his sleeves.
He sat almost completely still with his arms crossed, slouching in his own polyester seat like your performance wasn’t worthy of his applause. But his eyes had already found yours first, so you knew he couldn’t have been bored by you. There was a fire there, in his gaze. Disdain or ire, jealousy perhaps?
You could tell he was trying to hide his interest like he wouldn’t dare give you the satisfaction of his curiosity.
It sent a rush of exhilaration through you. Cheers and applause were great, standing ovations were even better. But making someone angry over your abilities was thrilling, the absolute best. Delicious even.
The corners of your lips lifted as you looked away from him, finally taking your seat as the applause began to die down.
He could be mad and aloof all he wanted, they’d be stupid to deny you a spot on their team. And how much pull could one grumpy, envious little shit have anyway?
an. thank you for reading this far omg! i haven't written in awhile but this popped in my head earlier today and i had to let it out. i’m kinda thinking this au might have some parts to it … lmk your thoughts!!
summary: just a little fluff inspired by this picture (just pretend the cream is soothing cream in the pic🥰)
As you stand backstage after one of Harry's electrifying shows, the adrenaline is still coursing through your veins, and your heart is beating wildly.
Harry's shirt is off, revealing his toned and chiseled abs, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat from his energetic performance. You can't help but blush as you catch a glimpse of his mesmerizing tattoos that adorn his chest and arms. His smile lights up the room, and he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in for a warm hug.
"Hey there, love," he whispers in that raspy, velvety voice that sends shivers down your spine. "You did great out there!" you compliment him, your fingers gently brushing through his damp curls.
He chuckles softly and leans down to plant a sweet kiss on your forehead. "I couldn't have done it without you here, supporting me," he says, sincerity shining in his beautiful green eyes.
You reach for a towel, dabbing away some sweat from his forehead, and he sighs contentedly. "Feels good," he mumbles, leaning into your touch.
"I brought some soothing cream for your muscles," you say, pulling out a small jar from your bag. Harry raises an eyebrow playfully, "Well, aren't you just the best girlfriend ever?"
You giggle, unscrewing the lid, and scoop a generous amount of the cream onto your fingers. Gently, you start rubbing it onto his abs, massaging in slow, circular motions. The contact of your fingers against his warm skin makes you both giggle like teenagers, and you feel a sense of intimacy and closeness that is uniquely yours.
Harry's eyes never leave you as you work your magic, and he can't help but feel incredibly lucky to have you in his life. "Mm, that feels amazing, baby," he murmurs, his voice low and appreciative. His eyes never leave you as he exaggerates his pleasure by subtly groaning, low enough for you to hear, the sound being all too familiar makes you squeeze your thighs together.
You decide to ignore the ache between your legs and continue to massage the soothing cream, making sure every inch of his abs is covered, "How did I get so lucky to have you?" he wonders lowly, his eyes filled with affection.
"You're pretty amazing yourself," you reply, leaning in to peck his lips softly. The soft, tender moment between you two is filled with unspoken love and appreciation for each other.
As you finish applying the cream, you gently run your fingers along the outlines of his tattoos, tracing the intricate designs. Harry leans into your touch, savoring the closeness between you. "You make me feel so loved, YN," he admits, his voice sincere and filled with emotion.
"That's cause you are baby, you're loved by everyone," you say, looking into his eyes with a reassuring smile, reminding him of the impact he has on people which secretly gives him an ego boost but he'll never admit that out loud. "I'm just grateful to be a part of your life."
Harry pulls you into his arms once again, wrapping you in a warm embrace. "I love you," he whispers into your ear, his breath combined with his toned body pressing against you sending tingles down your spine.
"I love you too," you reply, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his comforting scent. In that instant, the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you, basking in the sweetness of your love, but that moment is shortlived when you feel his not so subtle erection rubbing against your tummy. You shake your head and laugh, harry's arms never leaving your waist and before he can murmur an apology about his hormones ruining the sweet and innocent moment, you grab his hand and walk backwards until you reach his dressing room, finally pulling him in for another kiss, one that does not share the innocence of your previous one.
And before you know it your back is against the now locked door, with harry's hands roaming and groping every part of your body. Next thing you know your hands are reaching his pants while you find yourself on your knees looking up at him innocently even though there was nothing sinless about what was going to go down next. While your eyes are still fixated on his dilated pupils you whisper seductively "Why don't you repeat those noises you were making back there a little louder yeah?" which was followed by a whimper from him, affirming to you his full submission to your touch.
harryfan1: FOUR?!DO I NEED TO GET MY EYES CHECKED?!
gemmastyles: Congratulations ❤️ I can't wait to meet them
annetwist: My beautiful grandbabies ❤️
harryfan2: Hold on.
↳ harryfan2: Harry styles as four kids.
↳ harryfan2: HARRY STYLES HAS FOUR KIDS NOW. FOUR. LIKE... HE GOES HOME TO FOUR KIDS AT ONCE?!
harryfan3: Congratulations! I can't wait to see dadrry!
harryfan4: TELL ME THEIR NAMES OMG
↳ harryfan5 gotta get those people that leaked the airport footage on the case
*
40 fingers and 40 toes that all belonged to me.
My babies.
I ran my hand carefully over my sons cheek whilst Harry did the same to our daughter.
We have four babies. Four NICU babies at that.
If I could go back and tell myself something, it would be to cherish them inside the womb because it didn't get any easier on the outside.
I felt so stupid. So incredibly stupid for thinking that lugging around four babies on my back was the hardest part.
I stared down at my son's breathing tubes as he slept in his incubator and felt the tears roll down my cheeks.
I couldn't hold them. I couldn't kiss them. I couldn't love them, physically. I didn't get them sleeping in my hospital room. I didn't get to get up with them in the middle of the night to feed them, and change their diapers... they were all stuck in a stupid incubator just to keep them alive.
They were tiny. Two of the boys were only 3 pounds and a couple ounces, and they were the biggest.
I could feel this weight on my shoulders as I looked at all four incubators around me and I wanted to just crumple on the floor.
Two days old, and I already couldn't do it. I couldn't magically make everything easier.
Harry and I traded off incubators, spending time with each of the babies as nurses came and went before I got wheeled back to my room.
I sat crying in the hospital bed, abruptly trying to supress my sobs when the door opened and in walked Harry.
His eyes immediately clocked my face, rushing over to soothe me.
"Baby." he said softly, "They're okay. They're healthy. They're going to get stronger. They're going to get off breathing assistance and feeding tubes and we will bring them home." He immediately reassured, almost like he had the same exact talk with himself, before with me.
"Her entire hand is smaller than the pad of my thumb, Harry!" I cried.
"She's going to grow." He reminded me, his hands cupping my face, wiping away the tears.
"She was smushed in there!" My body shook.
"She's okay, Y/N."
"You don't know that, Harry! You cannot tell me they're fine! They look like they're on the brink of death Harry! They're already fighting for their lives, and they just got here and I can't do anything to help! I can't fucking help them! I'm just fucking stuck here!" I yelled, my body physically shaking as my eyes burned. "Their bassinets don't even have their names on them! They're.. they're..." I broke down, my wail bouncing off the walls of the room. "They don't even have identities yet." I cried.
"They have names, Y/N." Harry said softly.
"They don't know that!"
"They wouldn't even if they weren't in incubators."
I glared at him, wanting to punch him whilst also wishing he would hold me and make everything feel better.
"I have four nameless babies, stuck in a incubator with feeding and breathing tubes and heart monitors and heat lamps and I can't even hold them, Harry. I can't do skin to skin yet. I can't feed them. I can't change their diapers. It's been two days! Two days, Harry!" I exclaimed, watching Harry take a deep breath.
"You're not the only one, Y/N. You don't think I wish I could do those things too? I'm cherishing getting to see them at all, Y/N. I would also love to hold, and cuddle and feed my babies. You're not the only one, but I also know, they're our new, freshly born babies, and we will never get this exact moment with them ever again."
"At least you can see them." I grouched, leaning back carefully in my hospital bed, thankful for the heavy medication they've given me for my cesarean wound.
"If you're mad, and you need to take it out on me, just tell me that, but at least tell me you're not mad at me." Harry said softly, watching me.
"I'm not mad at you." I said slowly, Harry nodding. "I just.. everything that I dreamt about.. isn't playing out at all. I didn't get to push our baby out of my vagina, and you cut the cord and have the normalcy.. I just... even now, I still can't see my own children whenever I want and it's incredibly frustrating. Do you know how insane it is to be told you can only see your baby during visiting hours until they're a bit stronger? I can't camp out in there even if I wanted to, because I have to be watched and monitored and recover as well."
"I understand, but we will bring them home. To bring them home though, they need to be alive, and those breathing tubes, and feeding tubes, and heart rate monitors are doing just that. They're keeping all four of our babies alive, baby. It's going to be hard. We're both going to cry, and get mad, but they're two days old. We're all just trying to get through this, together. the doctors, the nurses, you, me, them... we'll look back on today, and remember how hard it is, whilst we're cuddling them on the couch or they're screaming our ears off in highchairs. Today, will not be forever. I understand, and hear your frustrations, I feel them as well... but at the end of the day baby, we have four alive babies. You had four babies cut out of you, Y/N. Just a year ago we didn't think you'd ever get pregnant, and here we are today, with four babies. Yes, things are hard right now.. but this is all we've ever wanted, and now we have it. Days are going to be hard, and situations might not look how you've dreamt them..." he paused, moving closer, wiping my tears and kissing my lips softly. "We're parents, Y/N. You and me. We have four babies, biologically at that. Soak in the good, and breathe through the bad. All those negative pregnancy tests, all those egg retrieval treatments and the semen counts and the abdominal shots... we have four beautiful babies. We did it." He kissed me again and I nodded slowly, apologizes falling from my lips as I hugged him.
"I love you." I told him, sniffling.
"I love you, Y/N Styles."
I smiled up at him before asking for a tissue, Harry joked about me ruining the mood, passing it over before sitting in the chair next to me.
"You need to rest, love. Our babies need a strong mumma as well."
* * * *
ynstyles
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♡ liked by: annetwist, yourbff, yourmom and 226,347 others
ynstyles: People have asked me what it was like to be pregnant with quadruplets, and yes it was a blessing, but it also was hard. Besides the basic pregnancy experiences, and the high risk pregnancy, my belly got HUGE, which is wild to me considering just how small the kids are.. but imagine carrying like 3 watermelons on your stomach. That might be what this felt like. Then add the swelling, the nausea, everything. It was hard. It was incredibly difficult. People also never guess you're pregnant with multiple babies, and if they do, just twins, so you often hear "Wow, that's gonna be one big baby." Which is really hard to hear looking back on, because of just how hard premie babies struggle. Sorry Karen, it wasn't a really big baby. It was actually four babies, that are now basically on life support. I thought my whole pregnancy my belly was ruining my body. I couldn't get it out of my head how I'd look afterwards.. and honestly? it does cross my mind, but at the end of the day, this belly carried four babies. It's funny to look back on how heavy the belly felt, knowing the biggest baby was only 3 pounds and 5 ounces. I'd say the hardest part, is the comments from strangers when they see you. I'd be 15 weeks pregnant, and they'd be shocked my due date wasn't right around the corner. I gave birth prematurely, and my belly was a lot larger then, than it was when people made comments to me. Yes I knew I was having multiples, but peoples comments and or fascination with ones body still hits the same. Some people just have big bellies, and small babies. Just because one is pregnant, doesn't change the fact that it is still their body. That is their stomach you're commenting on. The way it looks, the marks on it, the way the belly button protrudes. Pregnant woman don't deserve less, just because there's a reason for it. It all can still hurt the same. I've welcomed four beautiful babies with that belly, but that belly is still mine.
*comments have been limited*
* * * *
Written on: April 23rd 2025
Published on: April 23rd 2025
Word Count: 1628
tags: @ashleighsss @theekyliepage
A/N: Long awaited final part of Endgame!! Thanks to everyone who read it all and waited ages (oops). I really enjoyed going back to the characters for this final scene, hope you do too <3
Part 1 / 2 /
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There’s a pit of dread that sits in my stomach, it’s made a home of it there all of Sunday while I work on Angels, and into Monday. It’s 8:30am sharp and I’m sat in the meeting room, nervous as fuck about this meeting with Mr. O’Neil. I’m scared that he hates me because I reacted too emotionally on Friday sending the manuscript back to him. I’m worried he’s going to find my comments on his new chapters worthless. And most of all, because I know it won’t go well, I’m scared about the way he’s going to react to the cover designs.
I don’t expect him to look so…giddy when he arrives 15 minutes later. He looks sharp in a crisp black button up and black slacks. I check my watch again, Harry was officially late which was unusual of him. I guess this was going to be a one-woman show until then.
“Mr. O’Neil,” I shake his hand. “Thanks for swinging by today.”
“Thank you,” he grips my hand tight. “You’re a spark Ms. Y/L/N.”
“It’s just Y/N,” I sit down once he finally lets go of my hand. “Now, I’m hoping those files in your hand are the last chapters?”
“They are,” he says slowly. “I brought them myself so they wouldn’t be sent back.”
My smile drops, “Ahm yeah about that, I-“
“It was the punch I needed,” he grins. He plonks down in the chair and begins pulling out more files from his bag. “Miriam has always treated me delicately, stern woman but always so delicate. You were the spark I needed, those chapters showed back up at my flat and you wouldn’t believe I wanted to chuck them across the room first--well, I did chuck them. Then I picked them all up because I’m afraid of my girlfriend. Then I laughed for five minutes solid, because nobody has slapped me like that without touching my face in a long time.”
“I…” didn’t know what to say. I was expecting major conflict today but this version of him is pumped and creative as he shows me his last chapters, takes in my feedback, and disagrees with me here and there. We flow well, that is until about an hour later. We’d done the copy edits live on the last two chapters together and he was going to take it back to fix everything Miriam and I had circled and underlined. But now it was time to reveal the cover options.
I glance miserably outside the glass room, but Harry is nowhere in sight. Leave it up to him to leave me presenting his shite.
“So…these are some of the options we have so far,” I flip over the mock-ups like I’m reading his tarot. From the look on his face, he hates what the future has in store. “They’re just some-
“No. No. These are shite. Steaming pile of shite, Y/N what is this?”
“Well,” I rack my brain for something. Anything. “We were trying for a modern and trendy cover as an option-“
“I hate all of them, why the fuck is this neon? It’s gonna blind my reader before they can even read my book! Is my book that bad?”
“No of course-“
“So why do the covers make my book look like something I’d wipe my arse with?” He stands in his chair, quickly collecting all the mockups. “These are insulting.”
“Right, okay well we’ve still got time to work on more!”
“I know we do,” he looks me in the eye and it’s intimidating, any traces of the happy-go-lucky O’Neil is gone. “But even presenting these to me is a fucking insult. I know you’ve read my book cover to cover so what’s the meaning of this?”
Ugh, it would be so easy to throw Harry under the bus. Shift the blame, say I told you so. But that wasn’t how I worked, I never wanted to create that kind of dynamic in the workplace.
“Look, Mr. O’Neil…I do sincerely apologize. If I’m honest with you, I don’t think they’re right either. But you know the book business is also now a marketing business and readers do judge a book by its cover. Our department was just trying to make something trendy, but I see very clearly now we should stick to an authentic cover that will show someone the heart of the book.”
He nods along to what I’m saying, and when I’m done he give me a once-over. “I like you kid, you know how to kiss up too.”
“I’m good at my job,” I say before I realize the weight of those words-I was good at my job and a man like Harry Styles wasn’t going to undermine the hard work I do like this. “I meet with you next Friday with your finished edits right? I’ll have new mock-ups then.”
“That’s grand,” he calmy folds over the neon cover, reopens it and tears it in two. I watch with a removed shock. “This is awful, worst of the bunch. Eh, I don’t hate the direction…just tone down those fucking colours.”
“Will do Mr. O’Neil.”
“And I want to meet this Friday for the covers and this fancy marketing bullshite. This book is my baby, I want to make sure it looks beautiful.”
I agree, mentally making a note to make room in my schedule. I shake his hand again and walk him through the office to the lift. He tells me again we work well together, and I remind him that I’ll see him next week.
Then I walk back to the meeting room, kick my heels off, and melt into my seat. What a fucking morning.
“Y/N?” I don’t know if I dozed off but my name startles me out of position. I blink the tiredness away and see a nightmare: Harry in the flesh way after the meeting’s done. “How did the meeting go?”
“What?” I look at the time, almost 20 minutes since I saw O’Neil out. I feel the familiar rage flare up inside me. “Are you asking me how the meeting went? The meeting you were supposed to attend?”
“I was supposed to be there?” Harry steps into the room. Almost sensing my impending explosion, he closes the door behind him. “I wasn’t informed.”
I laugh but nothing is funny. “You weren’t informed? So let me get this straight: we work on this together, we’re told by our director we’re on this together. And our client comes in and you didn’t think to attend? Did I have to personally email you to attend? Send you an email, a notification, maybe even an RSVP?”
“Hold on,” Harry holds his hands out as I stalk closer to him. He glances outside and it catches my attention, a couple of our colleagues stare at the entertainment. I move to the centre console and black out the windows.
“I’m holding on, what genius excuse are you coming up with?”
“No Y/N, I honestly didn’t know. I rarely attend the editing meetings, unless I’m told directly. I attend marketing meetings and-“
“You knew we were presenting the stupid mockups in today’s meeting right? Isn’t that marketing?”
“Right,” he doesn’t meet my eye. “I guess I could have came-“
“Yeah you guess?” I’m back to cornering him, my rage rearing its ugly face. “You gave me the worst covers ever, even though I asked and begged you to change them! Because you were too fucking stubborn to read the damn book or listen to anyone but yourself! And you left me all alone to present the covers I knew he would hate! And guess what? He hated them! And if I was any worse at my job, he would have eaten me for breakfast! All because you wouldn’t bloody listen to me!”
“I listened,” he crosses his toned arms. “I read through your notes and I tried! And you hated what your own notes produced!”
“Oh my god the notes?” I walk away from him, I was shaking. I take hold of the cover ripped in half and throw it by his feet. “You clearly don’t read shit if you’re saying this hideous cover was from my notes! I do my job well, and whatever this thing is, isn’t a product of my notes! It’s a product of your shitty work! And that’s exactly how O’Neil felt about it!”
He stares at the two pieces in front of him. And I don’t know how he’s still so calm, but he looks back at me with a blank face. “I’ll make new ones if he didn’t like them. I can call him personally if you want. It’s not that big of a deal at this stage!”
“Oh my god,” I whisper to the table, balancing on my clenched fists. I had moved past rage, past frustration, and into ballistic. He just didn’t get it: he was undermining my work with a client while I was trying to make a good impression for upcoming promotions, even stripped back he was a man undermining my skills as a woman, making me look like a fool while I presented his shitty work. He just didn’t get it.
“Just leave,” I say to the table because I couldn’t even look at him. “I can’t even look at you Harry just get the fuck out.”
The door opens, he hesitates, and then leaves, the door slams behind him. Only then do I go back to my seat, slide down under the table, and let the tears run freely.
This meeting, the pressure of this client, dealing with Harry and his brick wall…it was a lot but nothing I couldn’t handle. But I think seeing my ex on Saturday, reliving my past and realizing Harry giving me a hard time was an outcome of my toxic relationship. That a relationship I ended five years ago was interfering with my career today. That all men were the same…It got to me, and it just broke me.
***
I don’t plan on seeing let alone talking to Harry for the rest of the day but as I leave the office after staying later than I needed to, the lift doors open to him and him alone. He makes nervous eye contact with me, and it takes me back a little. That he was nervous seeing me. Usually he didn’t give a fuck no matter what happened between us, even bordering on snobbish and cocky.
The silence is a large presence in the small space. Since seeing him this morning, I’d cried under the table and then reapplied my makeup in the bathroom. I downed another coffee and got started on another one of my manuscripts. I could work hard as much as I cried hard.
“Y/N I’m-“
The door opening interrupts Harry which makes it ten times more awkward when someone from the third floor gets on and stands in between us. They must notice the tension because they step forward away from us, ready to bolt as soon as the doors open.
When they do, I hustle off but Harry and his damn long legs catch up. “Wait, I need to apologize.”
I glare at him but lead him out the door to our building courtyard. “Fine. Talk.”
“I am genuinely sorry. I can’t believe I let all that happen, and I don’t know why I let it get that far for something I…”
“What are you apologizing for exactly?” I ask. He was rambling, and some part of me understood what he was apologizing for, knowing what I knew from Saturday. But I wanted him to say it.
He hangs his head, “A lot. I’m sorry I didn’t have your back. I let…other things cloud my professional opinions and I didn’t support you when I should have.”
For a guy who worked with pictures all day, he wasn’t too bad with his words. But I needed more. “What ‘other things’?”
He looks at me with puppy eyes, begging me not to go there. But I wanted to, I needed to. I raise an eyebrow, he could talk.
“The past.”
“You mean other people’s opinions?” I demand clarity.
“I-sure. Yeah, just holding onto what happened in the past and I know it shouldn’t even matter anymore. We’re both adults, well you’ve been acting like one. I’ve been clinging onto the past and I know I should let it go. Even though it was…painful, I know I should put it to rest now. You could have thrown me under the bus and called me to defend my own covers but you handled it. I…thank you. And if I haven’t already said it I’m sorry.”
I don’t exactly follow him but I let my guard down a little. He didn’t need to know my past was clinging onto me, but if he could let go, maybe it would shed itself slowly.
“You owe me so hard,” I say. “Like, the weight of what you owe me indebts you for life.”
“A bit harsh,” he begins to argue but one look at my face and he puts his hands up. “Whatever you say.”
“Great, glad we’ve sorted this.” I move to shake his hand in a silly gesture of good faith. “Apology accepted by the way; thank you.”
“Great, you drive a hard bargain but...nice doing business,” he clasps my hand in his and-oh.
A warm tingle moves through my body and when I make eye contact I can’t look away. I don’t know what was happening, but I was in zero gravity and the only thing keeping me moored was the strong hand that held mine.
He drops our hands first, like he was burned. He looks down, staring at it. I’m embarrassed, and confused, so I do what I do best-confront it head on. “What the hell was that?”
The only way to describe Harry’s expression is wistful. “That wasn’t just me.”
“I think we just like, altered time and space by getting along.” I laugh it off.
“Who knew we were so powerful together,” he grins and I’m fucking floored by how much I wanted to kiss the grin off his face. I take a shaky breath in.
“Fuck,” I take another breath. “We could run this place.”
“Oh that reminds me,” he digs into his pocket for his phone and taps away until he finds what he’s looking for. “I want to change the font but I have a design to show you.”
He turns the phone towards me and I immediately love it. A warm semi-circle goes from orange to golden towards its edges, emitting a transparent glow over most of the cover. A faint moon is present on the back, and the background is an off-white.
“And the shape will actually be raised, either that or the font will be…still workshopping it but,” he scratches his head. “I re-read your notes. You don’t have the neatest writing so I might have…missed a few words. The way you write moon looks kind of like neon?”
My jaw drops, “An apology, a re-read, admitting to being wrong, and a new design?”
“Don’t get used to it,” he nudges me with his shoulder and I ignore the inner waves crashing against my beating heart. “Anyway I gotta go, meeting some friends but I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow?”
I wave goodbye and walk towards my station. What the hell was happening.
***
The office is a lot calmer now that Harry and I have called a truce. And he surprises me with this new side of him. He can still be stubborn, and a bit stuck up. But he’s more agreeable and willing to collaborate with me. And when he turns his dimpled smile at me, I can’t help but beam back. We made a bloody good team.
I sit in the conference room 8:30 sharp on Friday. I put in some more effort this morning, feeling good about everything. Harry comes in just minutes before Mr. O’Neil but we settle down after getting him a tea.
“This is the ‘marketing department’ huh?” Mr. O’Neil winks at me when Harry hands him the new cover. His eyes roam over the whole thing and I hold my breath until I hear him say it: “It’s fucking fantastic.”
“There’s nothing you want to fix?” Harry asks for feedback as I grin from ear to ear.
“My name could be bigger, you know I wrote the book.” He taps at it. “But this is it, you two.”
We chat a bit more about the final version of the book, Harry pretends to know what’s going on since he’s never read the full thing. And finally, Mr. O’Neil calls an end to the meeting to continue working on his manuscript. I walk him to the lift. When I get back to the room, Harry’s organizing the papers that had traveled across the desk.
“We did it!” I shout after I close the door. I walk towards him with both hands raised high. “He loved the cover and the manuscript is on track!”
Harry returns my high-five, but instead of the quick touch, he slips his fingers in between mine and lowers them to our sides. The mood shifts from joyous to…dangerous.
“Who would have thought,” he says to me quietly. “We make a good team.”
I keep the eye contact otherwise I would be making eyes with his lips. And I didn’t want him to know how curious I was to how that would feel. “Who knew respect was a two way street.”
“It…” he looks down at my mouth. “It is. I’m glad I left our disrespect in the past.”
“Right,” I’m barely paying attention as he moves closer to me. But then his words hits, “wait, our disrespect in the past?”
I disentangle myself so quickly he has to balance himself on the table so he doesn’t pitch forward. He blinks away the desire, leaving a puzzled look. “I’m joking…kind of. I mean, it did feel a bit disrespected but we were kids so like I said the other day I’m glad I let it go.”
“I don’t get it,” I feel an oncoming storm, and it kicks my anxiety up a notch. “I don’t get what you just said.”
“I’m just talking about that party it’s-“ he chuckles. “It’s not a big deal Y/N. Anymore. We’re both different people now right?”
“What party?” I demand.
Realizing I had actually known Harry from my first day of uni was one thing, but I didn’t remember him anywhere else. If there was a party where something happened…something that caused him to misjudge me…I needed to know.
“Like, around the end of our second year? Spring. Jared and Dru had this huge year end party? And, this is embarrassing. I don’t care anymore seriously. But Dru was being my wingman, he came up to you to tell you that-jeez saying this is more embarrassing than I thought-“
“Just say it!” I urge, feeling sick. I knew this party. It was the night my whole life changed for the worse but I don’t remember this version of events. I needed to hear this.
“Okay, so I had this massive crush on you? From that first day. When…y’know behind the shed.” Harry chuckles. “Anyway I was too nervous to ever actually ask you out I’m sure you caught me staring at you a lot. All my friends knew how much I liked you and they were sick of hearing about it. So, well Dru was convinced you weren’t my type but he agreed to check you out and ask if you wanted to give me your number?”
I listen numbly as he tells me his version of events. That Dru asked me about his flatmate Harry who had a crush on me, if I would give him my number. How I’d looked at him sweetly and then kissed Dru. My jaw is on the floor but I can’t stop him from talking.
“And it’s whatever now but it felt cruel, I was so sure you were this one person and you ended up just making out with my best friend. And…dating him. And don’t get me wrong, it was your prerogative I didn’t own you or something just because I liked you first but…when you’re 20 everything is just more personal right? Hey, are you alright?”
I wasn’t alright. My head was spinning and yet it was cataloguing everything Harry said against my own memories. And when I think harder, I pin him down; he was the one staring at us when Dru came up to me. Of course he was staring so intensely, he wanted to know if I liked him and Dru manipulated both of us. He fucked us both up.
“That’s not what happened,” I croak. “Harry you have to know I-“
“It doesn’t matter,” he laughs it off but I see the hurt in his eyes. I unknowingly hurt him, left a deep scar, because Dru had manipulated us both. Fuck Dru.
“No Harry listen, Dru is a fucking liar-“
“Okay I don’t want to shit-talk Dru.” Harry interrupts. “He’s a friend, I know you ended up dating him and breaking up but he’s still my fri-“
“Would a friend date the girl you had a massive crush on? If you were in that position, doing that for Dru? Wouldn’t you have pushed me away and feel sorry for Dru that he had to see that?”
“Yeah but Dru and I are different-“
“No! No, Dru is different. He’s not decent. Harry I’m telling you that’s not what happened on my end at the party!”
“You were probably too drunk,” Harry denies my truth. “Anyway it’s not a big deal!”
“I wasn’t drunk. I remember everything!” I insist.
“So you remember seeing me there waiting, and still kissing Dru?” He pauses and this is how I know he was still not quite over it.
“Yes, no-just listen. Dru manipulated both of us-“
“Do you remember it or not?” Harry asks again, his eyes blazing with hurt.
I touch his arm, try to get him to calm down and understand even though feeling gaslit again was driving me crazy, “Harry, Dru isn’t who you think he is.”
Harry shuts down but I try again. “Dru used both of us,”
He grabs my arm so suddenly, jerking me away so my hand falls off. He keep it gripped as he says, “Dru’s my friend, just because you had a shitty relationship doesn’t mean you can turn me against him.”
“I’m not-” I begin to panic as his grip tightens. “Oh my god, Harry please just—let go. Harry let go of me!”
I don’t realize how loud I shout, but the moment makes me feel trapped and small like I had time traveled five years back. The silence echoes my frightened emotions in the spacious room and Harry steps back, almost shocked by his reaction. He looks at where he’d grabbed me, ashamed and scared.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, I just got…”
“Is everything okay here?” I hear our director say as the door opens. “I heard a shout…what’s going on?”
“Sorry, we got carried away.” Harry plasters on a quick smile. I arrange my face into one too, turning to face her. We lie about celebrating too loudly, she relaxes and congratulates us on the small success before closing the door behind her once more.
“Y/N,” he chokes. “I’m sorry.”
I’m shaking so hard I can’t look at him, I was so fucking weak like this. He comes closer but I shrink away.
We stand in our aftermath in silence, I don’t know what he looks like, I can’t take my eyes off the stray red thumbtack on the carpet. If I break my focus from it, I was going to fall apart. I couldn’t freak out, not here.
Finally, I get through breathing normally, and my eyes dry up. I feel okay enough to look up. Harry’s already looking at me, his jaw set and his hands curled into fists. For a second, I think it’s because of me but when our eyes meet his gaze softens, his fingers uncurl and flex at his side.
“Did he hurt you?” He asks. When I don’t answer he takes a tentative step towards me. “Y/N. Did he hurt you?”
I swallow, my throat suddenly feels parched. “My scars aren’t on the outside, he knew better than that.”
His throat bobs up and down, his face hardening into something fearsome. I always thought Harry gave me his worst side because he had some issues with me, but seeing him look like this, I’m glad I never had this directed towards me. “Dru is…”
“Dru is a fucking narcissist,” I finally say and it’s so freeing. Carrying this around was so heavy, finally saying my truth out loud even if it’s to his friend feel good.
“He fucks people up Harry, including you-wait let me finish.” I hold out my hand when he tries to interrupt. “I only remembered you last Saturday, when you helped me through…my attack. It triggered the memory from our first day--you have to know I used to get so confused and lethargic after an anxiety attack, so I never remembered who you were. I didn’t even see your face! I looked for you a few weeks later because I remembered your jersey number but it was someone else-“
“I was kicked off the team for showing up drunk…” Harry pauses, seeming to process something but he doesn’t voice it so I take it as my cue to continue.
“I actually didn’t remember you at all from uni. I guess because I didn’t remember you from that first day, you never made a first impression on me.” I take a breath. “And as for that party, that awful party. That’s not what happened. When Dru came up to me, he told me he had a bet with his mates-you guys, that a ‘girl like me’ wouldn’t kiss him. So I thought I was helping him by proving to his mates that a girl like me might.”
With the revelation, Harry folds into the chair behind him, processing everything I’m saying. And I continue, telling him what happened that night from my end. I don’t tell him how Dru slowly began to gaslight me, manipulate and isolate me, toy with my feelings. I don’t want to tell him how much he really broke me, I just tell him what he needs to know.
Nobody speaks for a moment, and then several moments pass. He gets up in a rush, running his fingers through his hair. It had grown in the two weeks since he’d cut it and it grows volume as he runs through it again.
“He tried to convince me you were-” he cuts off. “You were high maintenance, you just wanted attention. He told me I didn’t want someone-I didn’t want endgame at 18 but…” he looks at me, crushed. A million thoughts must flicker through his mind as he looks at me for a loaded minute. “I did.”
My words are caught in my throat as I understand how he had felt. How fucking different both our lives could have gone if he was the one to approach me that night at the party.
Before I can say anything he grabs his phone and checks it, he grabs all his things in a frenzy and pauses. “I’m going to fix this Y/N, I’m gonna make it right.”
“Wait what? Harry!” I try to call him back but he moves past me. I rush to move around him, stopping him with a hand to his chest. “Harry don’t do anything crazy. C’mon, let’s just talk.”
“Y/N, there are so many times......” his jaw flexes as he swallows his words.
His hand reaches out to me but they freeze in mid-air before they reach my face. He clenches them, dropping like dead weight to his side. I almost grab them, place them where they would have gone if he had the courage to carry the action out. But he just look at me, a painful faraway look on his face. “I’m sorry.”
His long legs carry him to the door before I can speak another word. I reach for the centre console that make the windows transparent, but he’s out of view by the time I do. I rush out of the room and see him in the doorway of our director’s office. Before I can call his name again, he’s shot off and our director walks out behind him. She notices me, “Y/N. Bring me your notes on Angels--if you’re free right now. Let’s go over it while we still have the momentum.”
God the last thing I can think of doing right now is work but I have nowhere to go, no excuse to give. I get back to the desk and pick up my notes and my laptop, I breathe in and think of all my fragmented pieces reigning back into my chest. I breathe out all the confusion, I put it to the side. Then I go two doors down and present my progress like everything was fucking okay.
***
Rowan’s shows up with wine on Saturday afternoon. I’d been ignoring her calls all of Friday and Saturday because I didn’t know how to break it to her. There was so much I had to hold back from her because I’d never told her the truth about Dru. And it scared me when I thought about coming clean.
“You’re screening my calls now?” She asks, her pup in hand. She lets him down and he shoots through my flat, familiar with it from all the times I dog-sit.
“I’ve just be-I’ve been-I-” I burst out crying before I can finish that sentence. She wraps herself around me and holds me tight and I hate myself for never telling her the whole truth. She holds me until my sobs turn into sniffles.
“Got it all out?” She asks when she pulls away.
“Probably not,” I say miserably. “But come in, sorry for being a shitty friend.”
“Shut up,” she makes herself at home. Unloading the tote from her shoulder that’s filled with food. “I’m going to make you lunch and you’re going to tell me everything about Dru and Harry.”
“What?” I sit on a stool at the bar. “How do you know this is about-“
“I’m with Jared now? I have an ear to the ground!” I look at her shocked. Her and Jared were together? She answers as if she could read my mind. “Yes! Can you believe it? He asked me the morning after, if I wanted to have a serious go at all this. I was like, it took you long enough! But…anyway this isn’t about me. Tell me what happened.”
“No you tell me,” I lean over the countertop. “Did Jared say something? What happened?”
“Okay,” she puts down her ingredients and I take the moment to pick her pup up before he scratches a hole in my jeans. “So I go over to Jared’s on Friday and the house looks like it went through the war. Not like, physically. Well there were things everywhere, but the atmosphere was so dead quiet. Jared takes me to the room and we pass by Harry in the hall. Jared’s like, where are you heading are you alright? And Harry’s all like, I need to get out of here-“
“Harry was there?”
“Yeah he lives in their spare attic bedroom?” She surprises me with the information like I should have already known that. “So I ask Jared what happened when we go and he said Harry came back from work early on Friday. And y’know Jared has odd hours so he was home. And he said Harry was just like a maniac. Jared tried to talk to him but it was like he was going to kill Dru and nobody could talk him out of it. And Jared knew it was serious, because even though they’ve drifted a lot since uni Harry still acted like Dru was his best mate. Jared said…”
Rowan trails off, looking at me curiously. She had this way of telling stories that jumped from one place to another but I couldn’t handle the suspense. I nearly shout, “What?”
“Well Jared said Dru has this way of getting underneath people. He knew how they ticked and he used that against people sometimes. Apparently they used to fight a lot because of that until Jared really put his foot down…Y/N, did he do that to you? Fuck you up like that? Jared said he tried to talk to Dru once when you two were dating but Dru like, got up in his face and nearly bit his head off. He always felt like that’s why Dru and you broke up because that was like the day before you two broke up. Anyway, you never said anything but…did he?”
I swallow. I guess this was it.
Through a brave face, and then a crumbling snotty one, I tell Rowan everything. Everything Dru did, and everything he didn’t technically do. At some point she comes around to sit beside me, holding my hand, my shoulder, and finally pulling me in to hold me while I blubber about how hard it had been.
“I’m so sorry,” Rowan says gently once I quiet down. “Y/N...why did you keep all this to yourself?”
“I just-” I wipe my nose with my sleeve, not caring at this point how disgusting that was. “He took everything away from me, even my identity. I thought if I didn’t tell anybody, nobody had to know how little he reduced me down to. If I didn’t say it aloud, maybe it was only in my head.”
“Oh love,” Rowan’s bottom lip quivers.
“Don’t you dare cry or I’m going to find a whole new waterfall of my own.”
“I won’t!” Rowan laughs but tears trail silently down her face. “That piece of shite. And I...oh god and I always told you to get over it. No wonder you...”
“I always thought it was curious,” Rowan stares off into space when I only shrug. “I only remember Harry from uni because I always found him looking at you, no matter what room we were in, how many people were in there I was always like, this bloke must really like my mate an awful lot because he’s always looking! That or he was a creep. But when you started dating he-who-must-not-be-named, I never looked into it.”
“I didn’t remember him,” I tell her. “He was actually the footballer that helped me my first day. I didn’t realize until that party last weekend.”
“Shut up!” Rowan looks shocked. “That’s so cute.”
“Is it?” I hesitate, realizing Rowan still hadn’t finished her story. “Finish your story, about Dru and Harry.”
“Oh yeah,” Rowan glances to the other side of the kitchen. “I should get back to lunch too.”
She heads around, chopping the vegetables and finishes telling me what happened.
Harry:
I feel fucking on fire, I can’t sit still and the more I move the more I want to punch the living shite out of Dru.
“Just, hold on!” Jared tries to stop me for the fifth time. “What’s this all about?”
“Dru’s fucking-he’s-he’s dead!” I roar. “How did I not see it earlier Jared? That little weasel got in between me and everything I ever loved!”
“What? Har, I know he’s a dick but what did he do?”
“Everything!” I shout. “He’s the reason I showed up drunk to football, he got me kicked off the team! So she never found me! And that internship in first year, he convinced me to be young and free and turn it down! He-Jared he lied to me about her! He knew how I felt and he took her, he fucked her up! He fucked her up!”
“Wait, who is this about-” Jared tries to dig deeper but I push past him when I hear the door open. Jared’s barely taken his jacket off when I have him pushed against the wall, my arm pressed against his throat.
“Harry, mate, what’s-”
“You’re sick, you’re fucking sick for what you’ve done.” I let him go, and he gets a moment to glance from me to his brother before my fist connects with his face.
“What the fuck!” He falls to the floor, clutching his face. “What the fuck’s wrong with you!”
“You lied!” I push him back up. “You lied through your fucking teeth about everything!”
He shoves me in the chest and the narrow hallway catches me on the opposite wall. That only pumps me, I shove him back and with no more words between us we’re a tornado of fists, one to my face, another to his abdomen, his head in a lock, Jared trying to break us apart and gets clipped in the face by his brother.
By the time I have him laying flat on his back, I deliver another fist to his face, but Dru spits blood up at me and laughs. He has the fucking nerve to laugh.
“It’s got to be about a girl,” his voice is hoarse, his breath comes out shaky. “It’s about her isn’t it?”
I lift him by his shirt and crash him back down onto the floor. I vaguely hear Jared, his hand catching my fist before it hits Dru again. I get one more punch with my other hand but Jared is pulling me away from Dru’s defeated form on the ground, sitting my ass on the staircase. But Dru’s sick enough to still have an amused smile on his face.
Everywhere hurts, but I can’t even focus on my own pain when I still want to cause Dru more. Jared holds me back like he knows. Dru props himself slowly on his elbows, shaking his head.
“Did you two talk? Did she finally give you that number Styles? What did she say about me? I’m a monster, I fucked her up? She’s a manipulative bitch-”
“Shut the fuck up-” I jump up but Jared pulls me back again and his hand presses a sore spot on my ribs, I crumple on the step.
“She really did a number on you didn’t she?” Dru sits up. “She knows how to get in your head. Did she tell you I lied? She was obsessed with me Harry, she was a clingy bitch and you don’t know her-”
“I know her,” I use the banister to stand up. “I’ve been working with her since I started my new job, I know her more than you ever did. You were wrong about her. About everything, you only ever gave me shitty advice.”
It gives me satisfaction, seeing the look on Dru’s face. I’d caught him by surprise, he really never knew. “So you’re keeping secrets from me now? You’re letting her come between us?”
“I don’t owe you shite. You’re nothing to me,” I walk over to him still sitting on the ground. “Don’t you ever put her name in your fucking mouth. And if I ever see you talking to her, looking at her, you won’t be able to tell your face from your arse. I know exactly what you are, I can’t believe I was so blind this whole time...you’re fucking dead to me Dru.”
It takes a moment for Dru to focus on me, “I’ll see what happens when she breaks your heart, you won’t have me around when that happens. And it will happen, she’s a slut who’s going to-”
I’m out of body when I swing my fist at his face and it makes a sickening crunch. Dru howls in pain and I stumble back, my fist throbbing in hot flashes.
“Enough!” Jared shouts, jumping in between us. When Dru goes to say something about me Jared blocks Dru from my view. “Enough you fucking dick! Enough! You’ve done enough!”
Dru shuts up; in all the years I’d known them, Jared never raised his voice at his younger brother. I’d heard them bicker plenty, arguing behind closed doors, but Jared never shouted at him like this. The shock is enough to push me out of the fog I was in.
The pain comes to me all at once, I was pretty sure my ribs were badly bruised, and blood gushes down my cheek. My hand feels useless, like the bones had turned to dust.
“Both of you are shutting the fuck up, and getting into the car. I’m driving you both to hospital because Harry’s taken a beating and Dru your nose is broken at the least.”
“I don’t-”
“No,” Jared says calmly to his brother. “In the car. Now. Not a word out of both of you.”
“Shotgun,” Andrew says weakly. Jared throws his jacket in his face and looks back at me. I follow him silently and get into the backseat. ***
Y/N:
I knock and knock but nobody answers the door. I stare at my phone, but I didn’t even have Harry’s number. I move the bottle from one hand to the other, knocking and I take a step back when a face I wasn’t expecting answers the door. It’s Dru, his face is massively discoloured, his nose is bruised and a gash on his cheek is stuck closed with steri-strips.
His grin sends cold dread through my body.
“Looking for your lover boy?” he asks me when I go silent. I stare at his face, at everything that Harry had done and he notices. “He’s good with his hands, but I’m sure you already know that.”
“Y/N,” Jared’s voice comes from behind Dru. “Sorry I was in the shower. Are you looking for Harry?”
It was unreal, how Jared walks up to the door like Dru wasn’t even there. He steps around his brother and in front of him, as if he’d been the one to open the door. I head Dru scoff, mutter something distasteful and move back up the steps.
“Yeah,” I clear my throat when the word gets stuck. “Yeah, uhm, is he here?”
“He moved, you haven’t got his number?” I shake my head no and he texts it to me along with his new address, I have no idea how Dru had my number. He look behind him before stepping towards me, closing the door behind him.
“Y/N, I just want to say I’m sorry. The way my brother treated you, it was wrong. And I should’ve said something to him earlier, but by the time I did it was too late. And then you two broke up and...I know Dru’s younger than me but growing up the way we did...it’s not always been the easiest to stand up to him.”
“Oh,” I wasn’t expecting such a confession.
“Too little, too late—I know. Rowan...she’s not happy with me. I would never hurt her—I’m not trying to get you on my side or anything but I just want to let you know. She said she needed space and it’s made me realize how stupid I’ve been not paying attention to her earlier and...” Jared trails off when he noticed my surprised face. Jared had never said this many words to me, and I also didn’t know Rowan had asked him for space. It was touching.
“I’m talking a lot aren’t I?” He laughs, ducking his head. “You’re probably itching to get to Harry but...I just want to make sure you know I’m sorry. Truly sorry.”
“Thank you,” I say stiffly, not quite sure what to do with his apology. This was the most we ever spoke and he got vulnerable very quickly. Maybe I would speak to Rowan about this break she’s on.
We depart awkwardly and I map out Harry’s new address, it’s less than a 20 minute walk so I go on foot.
My hands nearly drop the bottle in my hand twice, slick with sweat and distracted as I turn the last corner to Harry’s street. A housing complex with a staircase leading to the top level leaves me even more winded by the time I get to the top. I knock and wait a few minutes, just when I think I’m out of luck a movement behind the door stops me from going back down the horrible stairs.
“Y/N,” Harry says from behind the crack in the door he’s opened up.
“Hiya,” I say awkwardly, waiting for the door to open the rest of the way. When it doesn’t, I continue. “Jared gave me your new address...are you free?”
“I don’t know if it’s a good time,” Harry says.
“Right,” shite. “Right, of course sorry I should’ve called. I’ll go, talk to you later. Oh wait, this bottle’s for you and...” Harry still doesn’t open the door wider than a crack so I leave it on the doorstep and scurry down the steps.
What the fuck was that?
By the time I reach home, takeout in hand, my phone lights up with a notification:
Thanks for the wine, I can’t drink it right now with the pills I’m on but maybe I’ll wait to drink it with you.
I don’t know what to say to it, I had this whole speech planned to say in person and now it’s got nowhere to go. I simply heart the message and put my phone away, confused and a little heartbroken.
***
Harry doesn’t show up to work on Monday, apparently he’s out sick. He’s also not in a Tuesday meeting and I would’ve gotten worried but my manager tells me he was working from home. He’d had an injury.
“By the way,” she tells me as I head back after the meeting. “I’m liking the cooperation between you two. I don’t know what you two did to finally get over being enemies but I owe Miriam a big thank you.”
I choke out a laugh, “We realized we’re on the same team.” And even as I say it I realize it, we were on the same team now; he knew about Dru. But I still felt unsettled that he didn’t let me in on Sunday.
I get back to work, happy with the acknowledgement and hoping it gets me somewhere with a promotion. But work is slow moving without Harry, I realize I miss working closely with him. Or popping by his desk to bother him. I take out my phone to text him but upon rereading his strangely removed text he sent on Sunday, I decide against it.
I pour myself a glass of wine as soon as I get home, putting in a load of laundry and taking the work day off. As I’m going to heat dinner, there’s a knock at my door. Somehow, I think I know who it is.
Harry, bruises fading on his face and stitches on his cheek, leans on the doorframe with a massive bouquet in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says as soon as I open the door.
“I…” I suddenly don’t know what to say. “Do you want to come in?”
He peeks behind me, into my safe space. His expression is unreadable but I don’t know if that’s because of how nervous I am. He looks at me for a solid minute.
“I can’t,” he sighs. “I just want to give you these. And say I’m sorry. About everything. And for shooing you away on Sunday—I looked fucking grisly, I was embarassed and…yeah. I’m sorry. For everything.”
“Okay,” I say tentatively. I take the flowers from his outstretched hand. He flashes me a smile, pushing away from the wall to leave. “Wait.” I stop him from going. “Why can’t you come in? It’s not my murder house.”
“No? Is that a few doors down?”
“It’s actually in the basement if you must know.” I grin. This felt okay.
But he sighs, “I can’t come in Y/N. Not right now, okay?” He brushes back a lock of my hair back and I realize I was no longer wearing any makeup, and my sweatpants definitely had a few questionable holes. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Okay,” I whisper. I watch him hobble off.
The bouquet goes in two vases of water because they’re too big for just one. I keep them on my coffee table and I can’t stop staring at them all night long.
***
“It makes you look rugged, just hit up a few pubs with that mug and you’ll have yourself a girlfriend in no time,” a few colleagues stand around Harry in the kitchen examining his fading bruises. Even though my own floor has a kitchen, I came to his for a tea in hopes of bumping into him. I don’t think he’s noticed me yet since his back’s to me.
“Who’s telling you I need a girlfriend?” Harry laughs.
“Mate,” a few people laugh too. “You’re oozing single bachelor. You never come out to drink with us either, you’re the resident mystery man.”
“Yeah he doesn’t ever come out with us does he?”
“Maybe he does have a missus at home.”
“Not with the way him and Y/N are always going at it, those two are like an old couple. Have you heard ‘em?”
“Yeah what is it between you two?”
“Harry’s a pain to be around,” I finally say. Everyone turns towards me, and when Harry’s eyes finally meet mine there’s an inside joke there.
“I’m in pain when you’re around,” he shoots back.
“That’s because someone finally did something about your face,” I motion to his bruises.
“Oh there they go,” someone grumbles and it doesn’t take long for them to disappear.
“Hello,” I say as Harry approaches the counter. “Was that last hit too fresh?”
“My doctors say it’s healing.”
“Mmm this team of doctors you seem to have.”
He smiles at the reference to an old joke and we stand in silence until I ask him.
“And you? You alright?” I busy myself with steeping my tea, not wanting to know if he wasn’t okay with me anymore.
“Yeah, it’s an oxymoron but I got most of my healing done with some violence. Don’t recommend it but it did feel good. You?”
“Oh,” I look up. “I’m…closer to alright than I was before.”
“Anything I can do to help?” Harry briefly touches his pinky to mine. I get we can’t do anything right now in the workplace, but my sudden urge to go around the counter and hug him tightly scares me.
“You’ve already done a lot,” I link my pinky with his instead when he doesn’t move it away. “It’s just…a me thing.”
“Y/N I am sorry I-“
“Harry,” I cut him off. “It’s okay.”
“But I should’ve-“
“Stop,” I tug his pinky. “It’s neither of our faults.”
“Imagine how different everything could’ve-“
“Don’t do that either,” I pick up my tea and finally walk around to his side. “Trust me, you won’t come up for air in time if you drown yourself in that.”
He sighs. “I think I have been.” We begin walking towards his desk in silence, thinking about this last week. Even though I’m left reeling with all the new information, with the what-ifs and could-haves, I also feel like I could finally close a chapter. I had read it aloud to people I trusted and they believed me. They had my back. I felt supported and I felt stronger in the face of my past than I had in a long time.
“This is me,” Harry says outside his department. When I notice none of his team was around I motion my head towards his desk. We walk in.
“You don’t have to punish yourself y’know that?”
Harry puts his mug down on his desk and stares at me with so much sadness it makes my heart hurt. I realize on the way to his desk that’s what he had been doing, that’s why he wouldn’t let me see him. I’d done enough self-punishing, I knew it wasn’t effective at all.
“I sort of feel like I deserve it.”
“Oh Harry,” I put my mug down and finally give in to that hug. And it nearly takes my breath away when he wraps his arms around my waist, rests his head on mine. It felt so right. Dru had fucked both of us over, but we had found each other even if it was just as friends.
“I’m sorry-“ Harry chokes out before his body shudders and I squeeze him even tighter. I pray nobody walks in because I needed this as much as he did. I keep my own tears locked up tight, not prepared to ruin this morning’s makeup. I just hold him for as long as he needs.
“I should be comforting you,” Harry says, his voice a bit stuffy.
“Nah, things are getting better,” I say as he sits down. Now I’m looking down at him. His eyes are pink but it only adds to his bruised look. He takes ahold of my hand, strokes my knuckles.
“You really squeezed my broken rib,” is not what I expect him to say but he always knew how to surprise me.
“I’m so sorry,” I take a step back. “Are you okay? Did I break it again?”
“As if you could break my ribs, you’re too weak for that.”
“Who are you calling weak?” I demand. “I could flip you over now if I wanted.”
“The only flipping you’re capable of is-“ Harry holds up both fingers and I can’t stop my mouth from falling open.
“Seriously you two?” Harry’s teammate walks in on the scene, Harry flipping me off. “It’s bloody 9am.”
I laugh, and so does he. I apologize for the early morning profanity and head towards the door.
“Y/N,” Harry takes two long strides to reach me, away from his colleague who’s settling into her desk. “You forgot your drink.”
“Right,” I take it from his hands, mischief twinkling in his eye. We had inside jokes now.
“I’m okay by the way,” he says to just me. “My ribs were only bruised. I’ll see you later okay?”
I don’t even hide my smile as I walk to the lift.
***
“Y/N,” my name snaps me out of the focused state I’d been in. “Have you finally lost your mind?”
“It’s perfectly intact thank you,” I roll my eyes at Harry, leaning over my desk. “Did you want something?”
“Ehm yeah, it’s end of the day?”
I look at the time: 5:10. When did that happen. “Lost track of time.”
“I’m following you home,” Harry says as I gather my things and start walking to the lifts.
“Did you just invite yourself over?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Sort of,” he has the decency to blush. “I just want to be around…” he trails off as a few of our colleagues join us in the wait for the lift. I want him to finish his sentence so bad but we file into the lift silently and listen to the chatter going on in front of us. Harry brushes his hand against mine but when I glance at him he stares ahead. I can tell he notices me looking when his lips twitch.
I pinch his hand and he yanks it back, “Ow!”
The group quiets and turn to him. He gives an awkward smile, “pinched my finger.”
As soon as the chatter resumes he glares at me but I smile sweetly and stare ahead.
“How did I ever think you were sweet?” Harry says as he follows me out of the building and towards the station.
“I am. You force me to forget my sweet nature,” I shrug.
He bumps into me, “I think I romanticized you too much in my head. You’re really a prickly cactus.”
“Me!? A prickly cactus??” I push him playfully, not entirely forgetting the rest of his words. We part as the crowd sheppards us into the station and onto the tube. We stand side by side close to the doors. “If I’m a prickly cactus, I’m just protecting myself from assholes.”
“That’s not me.” Harry wraps his arm around my shoulder in the close quarters of the tube and my insides go liquid. “Let me in little cactus. We can protect each other.”
I look up at him as the tube rushes to its next destination, and smile. Because even though we’re joking he’s still serious. And it’s seriously sweet.
He notices me looking and raises an eyebrow, “Well?”
“Fine,” I say with a smile on my face. It falls when he presses a kiss to my forehead, my body flushing with heat.
“Good,” he whispers to me. He pulls me closer into the ring of his arms and I have to say it’s the safest tube ride I’d ever had.
***
“Here’s home,” I say once we reach my flat. The 5 minute walk to my flat was pretty silent. Harry had grabbed ahold of my hand as soon as we left the station and with my insides buzzing I couldn’t think of a single thing to talk about. Harry seemed content in the silence.
“It’s very you,” Harry comments. “That’s a lot of books. And blankets.”
My sofa had half a dozen throws and behind my sofa were stacks of books growing up from the ground; impractical but I never got around to installing shelves. Eventually I liked the way they looked and kept them on the floor.
“I’m in publishing,” I shrug. “Books are my life!”
He flicks through the top few and suddenly I’m nervous that he’s here. So much has happened. He was twenty-one, my innocent saviour on a memorably bad day. He was a thorn in my side, and then he wasn’t. He saw me for who I was, not who people said I was. I think I loved him for it. The intensity of that last emotion sends me into my room, mumbling about changing into something more comfortable.
I sit on my bed, making sure my thoughts were actually my own. This was really something I thought.
But it comes to me so easily, it’s like the drawbridge had lifted and the ship carrying all my baggage was on it’s way out. It left behind so much space and I finally saw so much so clearly. Harry and I had a boatload of twisted history, we were always in each other’s peripheral. Now he was here. In front of me. It was scary and exhilerating.
“Do you want dinner?” I ask as I walk back out in a sweatshirt and leggings.
Harry’s standing by my gallery wall, my certificates and art, and photos of loved ones all gathered above my desk.
“I remember her,” he says sadly. He points at me in a photo from a Halloween party in my second semester. It was the first time I went a whole night with zero anxiety, I loved the new friends I made. It held a special place in my heart. “Look there’s me.”
“What?” I move closer, there’s no way I’ve had a photo hanging on my wall with Harry in it for the last 3 years.
But he’s right, in the background slightly cut off is Harry with Jared and someone else I don’t know. Him and Jared are dressed as what looks like Peaky Blinders characters, he’s smiling and when I take the frame off the wall and look closer I notice he’s smiling in the direction he’s looking in and that happens to be where I’m kneeling. He had been right there and I never even knew.
“Wow,” I say. “I never recognized you there.”
Harry takes the photo from me, he stares at it for a long time.
“Dru, he told me back then I wouldn’t have wanted Endgame at 18, 19 whatever. But I don’t think I would have minded.”
“What?” My mind slows down, trying to understand.
“When he was…manipulating me. He told me I wouldn’t want someone like you. I was young! I could be free and not tied down. I didn’t want endgame at that age. But I think I did. I was just too blinded, and scared, to go for it.”
“Are you scared now?” I ask him.
“What? No.”
“So go for it now,” I point to him in the photo. “He’d be proud.”
He looks at his younger self for a moment, lost in thought, and then slowly puts the frame down. He stares at me, a million thoughts behind his eyes. He was overthinking it, I realize. I link my fingers through his belt loops and tug him towards me and it snaps him out of it. His hand cups my face gently and he finally kisses me. It’s unlike any kiss I’d ever have, I feel every emotion he’s trying to say as he presses into me. I feel every heartbeat that ached for me in the way he holds me. It’s gentle, yet passionate, and I was drunk on it.
“Wow,” I breathe when he pulls away. From the dazed look on his face I can tell he feels the same.
“I think I lo-“
I shut him up by pressing another kiss to his lips and he reacts by pushing me into the wall. When we part again I brush his hair off his forehead.
“I love you,” I say even though it makes me want to shit myself.
He freezes for a moment before closing his eyes, a smile creeping onto his lips. “That’s not fair.”
“It is,” I grin. “I said it first.”
“You stopped me from saying it first!”
“I win,” I pull him back to me but he tilts his head to the side so my lips brush his cheek instead. “Sore loser!”
“That was not fair play,” he whines again.
“Who said I play fair?” I challenge him. “I love you! I even said it to you second.”
“No wait!” I slip away from his arms and saunter away. I hear him come up from behind and he pulls my waist back so my back is flush against his chest. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
With each time, he presses a kiss into my neck and I’m jelly in his hands.
“3-5 is me,” he says as he turns me around.
“I was still first,” I say but with less conviction as I come to face him this close.
“Cheater,” he mumbles into my neck.
“I’ll break your ribs again,” I threaten but it sounds like a joke the way it comes out of my mouth.
“As long as it’s not my heart,” he says and even though it’s a joke I can hear the doubt. The past seeping into the present.
“Hey,” I push him away so we’re looking at each other. “I never would have. And I never will.”
He nods but I hold his face in my hands. His hands come up to grip my arms. “Harry, I might be a prickly cactus but you know I’d never hurt you. That wasn’t me.”
He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I know. And I’m not him. You’re the air in my lungs Y/N, if I can have you, I’ll never let you go.”
“You have me,” I swear.
This time the kiss is slower, a promise to each other, to stay tender. We move that way into the bedroom, under the covers. He’s perfect. His hands roam every inch, and then his lips. By the time his hands grasp mine in the sheets, I’m blissed out of my mind. But he takes his time and I savour it, even when he whispers about forever.
***
Harry:
“Something’s changed.” O’Neil states in the middle of our last meeting with him. “You two are calmer together. Have you finally slept together?”
Y/N’s cheeks burn with embarassment but before she can speak I laugh, “we finally figured things out.”
“Good.” He nods. “I like you two together. Even though you didn’t read my book.”
Now I turn red and Y/N barks a laugh. This makes O’Neil grin and Y/N kicks me under the table.
“He’s very good at reading notes,” she says, gloating that someone other than herself has finally called me out. “Unless you write moon, then it’s neon.”
“It’s all good,” O’Neil claps my shoulder as he stands. “You did my book justice. I know she’s the one that deserves the credit but you two are finally a team. Stay that way.”
“We plan to,” Y/N says. I stand with her as we see the author out of the final meeting. He shuts me up when I try to apologize and tells me privately to hold her close. I intend to.
“That was a success,” Y/N says as we tidy up the meeting room. “The book’s on shelves in four weeks and we made that happen.”
“We did,” I can’t help but lean over and plant a kiss on her cheek. I loved when she got flustered at work.
We thought nobody had noticed the change in us at work until last week when our manager asked if we had gone to HR yet. That was an awkward conversation but she didn’t seem too bothered so we’d made the trip to make our relationship work-official. Y/N and I had been spending a lot of time in her flat, wrapped in each other. Sometimes we went out with Jared and Rowan, and Rowan threatened me many times to be good to her. I told her to do the same with Jared.
After everything with Dru, Jared moved out as well because Rowan wouldn’t date him if she had to see Dru around every time she went over. I wasn’t sure what Dru was up to but I know Jared got lonely sometimes. I could never understand their relationship but I was happy to see him with Rowan, they were good for each other.
“What are you thinking about?” Y/N snaps me out of my thoughts.
“Stuff,” I say.
“Sounds juicy,” she teases.
“Might be,” I walk over to her, unable to keep my hands off of her. It was a problem at work since we tried to stay as professional as possible but here in the blacked out room I took the risk.
“Tell me more,” her eyes are glued to my lips as I lean into the table, towering over her.
I draw her into a deep kiss, her hands tangling in my hair which usually tips me over the edge. She knows it. She knows I know she knows it. So I step away instead and her sweet smile vanishes.
“Come back,” she reaches for me.
“I’ll see you at home,” I peck her on the lips and grab my laptop.
“Not fair!” She says after me.
“I’ve got a meeting and you,” I grin. “Have to learn to play fair.”
“You’ll regret this,” she crosses her arms, trying to look menacing.
“You look cute when you don’t get your way,” I say before opening the door and shifting into work mode again. “Great meeting!” I shout back as I leave the room. I wouldn’t see her until the end of the day and with her mounting frustration at me, I couldn’t wait for 5pm to come around.
