I had an idea and it spiraled! It was meant to be a blurb but it turned into a one shot, and it's smutty <3 I know I've been light on that lately but more is coming.
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Y/N and her newly established boyfriend had yet to be properly intimate.
Harry was a gentleman on all counts. He paid for their outings without question, he walked her to her door every single time, held every door open- car and building alike. The man knew the sidewalk rule and abided by it every time, he had his impeccable manners while talking to her, pulled out her chair when they went out to eat, he didn’t call her after midnight, and most of all- he hadn’t pushed for anything sexual.
The extent of it had been kisses that got heated enough for her to be pressed against the passenger door of his car before he’d apologized, fixing her lipstick with his thumb and told her with a slight blush on his cheeks that he’d ’gotten carried away’ and apologized for not controlling himself, but he was very enamored with her. Even if it left her with damp panties and a second heartbeat between her legs, the tenderness in which he treated her had been the stand out of it all.
It was the exact opposite of every man she had ever been with. There had been no hint of even daring to suggest a hook up, or bypass the dates to get to the ‘fun stuff.’ Granted, she had asked him what his intentions were when he’d asked her out originally and he’d seemingly honestly told her that he wanted a real relationship and connection- but Y/N had been a bit cynical.
So many times she had gone out with a man who said they were looking for something real but they’d attempt to speedrun the first date to get her alone, or see her a few times, fuck around and then suddenly ‘not feel the spark’ before moving on to another woman to do the exact same thing. Take, take, take without receiving. Literally, in some senses, considering an alarming amount of men didn’t know where the clitoris was located.
The dating scene had been fatigued for her for a long time, and despite the hopes she’d had for Harry, she hadn’t allowed herself to hope. That itself had been hard when it felt like her personal dream man had been laid out in front of her, with pretty seafoam green eyes and dimples she wanted to indulge in poking, so she had told herself that no matter how much she liked him, she would try to hold herself back.
Funny, that was. It hadn’t been that long into dating when she had realized how incredible he was. How intelligent and kind he was, how he had most of the qualities she’d put down in her journals at 3 am when she needed to dream a little bit. Harry was what she wanted, and allowing herself to want it openly had been hard- but she’d been met with a warm reception.
Being a very successful man in business with multiple companies and hats he had to wear, Harry could be seen as a bit stiff, but she’d been able to see past that because he was letting her. She’d seen him laugh and dance a little bit to music he showed her, and just because he was wearing a suit a lot of the time didn’t mean he was what she’d probably have shamefully assumed of a man like him at first glance. Harry wanted to be good, he wanted to give her what she wanted, and for once in her life, she had let go a little bit and let him.
God, she wanted to fuck him. He hadn’t budged on that, and she hadn’t pushed too hard, but thankfully she hadn’t been made to wait an excessive amount of time.
It had been 7 official dates, 3 coffee dates on their lunch at work and 2 times meeting for drinks until he’d asked her to be official. The meticulously prepared candlelit dinner at his place was where he’d gotten her favorite meal prepared, gotten her favorite eclairs from the bakery down the road, and had curated a playlist of artists she’d mentioned liking before he’d asked her on his couch if he would be able to have the ‘honor of being hers’ and vice versa.
It had been the easiest yes of her life, considering the man had put in more effort than she had thought possible. For once in her life she had felt cherished and looked after. He’d sent her money for her nails earlier in the day as well; which she had never asked for but he had said was ‘a man should look after a woman he cares about, even if they are more than capable of taking care of them selves’, and she had decided in the seat while getting her feet scrubbed and the cucumber lotion slathered onto her that she would stop at nothing to lock this man down.
Turned out he was one step ahead. He’d always been one step ahead. And it also turned out she had misjudged him, even if only just.
He had a lot of charisma that was disguised as something else; a big energy that had let her think that he had to be good in bed. That feeling had only been slightly challenged with how quickly he had calmed things down when she had wanted more a few times. In short- she had assumed that maybe the energy he put off was a facade and perhaps his one flaw would be he wouldn’t be very adventurous in the bedroom. Maybe a missionary with the lights off type of guy which, hey! It wasn’t the worst thing in the world. She could fix that.
Harry was a teachable man, considering how brilliant he was. He hadn’t been suggestive and she had sat back and had the self conversation about being willing to show him what she liked, to give him a crash course in dirty talk and how to fuck her how she liked because with everything else he had, sex was something she knew could be adjusted.
It was very, very clear, feeling his large hands on him and her bare tits exposed to the cool air of his bedroom that she had been sorely mistaken. Nipples swollen and sensitive from the way he’d sucked and let his teeth graze them, dress tossed to the side leaving her splayed out naked on his bed, he’d been unable to keep his hands off of her after she asked him if they could ‘do more’ now that they were an official item.
He’d taken the challenge very literally.
“Look at that little clit.” He murmured, brushing his thumb over the swollen nerve. Sitting on his knees between her spread, wet thighs, he looked more comfortable than she would be with hardwood digging into her knees, but it was most likely because of the distraction in front of him. “Poor thing. All sorts of worked up, aren’t you?”
Y/N let out a soft sigh, nodding her head as she bit back a moan. The smallest touches were setting her off. Harry had turned her body into a live wire. With him circling over her clit and the hot wash of his breath as he spread her cunt open for him to see, it was becoming difficult to breathe. Life, and Harry apparently, had come at her fast. So fast that her head was spinning, showing her just how dirty the proper man could really be.
“Yeah, I bet you are. I’ve been thinking about this for a long, long time. Did Y’know that?” Eyes looked up at her, dark and hungry as she shook her head in response. Words escaped her, but she managed to get out a strangled “N-No…” as he hummed under his breath.
That was in fact, news to her.
“I have been. Since the first night we’ve met. I tried very hard t’be good. To not think about you in such a filthy way, but it was difficult. Talked to you for a bit… admitted how absolutely incredible you are… how beautiful… and I knew you had to have the prettiest little pussy. I was wrong, though.” He turned his head just a bit to kiss her sensitive and slightly sticky inner thigh, letting out a chuckle when she jumped just a tad. “It’s even prettier. Most gorgeous cunt I’ve ever seen.”
It was unnerving to feel his gaze on her, to know he was well and truly up close and personal with perhaps the most vulnerable part of her, but she could see the admiration and hunger in his eyes. She couldn’t even pretend not to see it as he let his slippery thumb glide up to her mound of soft flesh above her cunt and back down to her entrance, spreading the slick around.
“Can’t believe how wet you’ve gotten for me. I won’t lie to you, my sweet girl… I’ve been dying for this to be mine.” His voice rumbled against her thigh as he laid a line of kisses, wet and slow up the sensitive skin. She’d have burn from his mustache on her thighs, surely, but Y/N didn’t care. It felt so good, her poor clit was throbbing underneath the passes of the pad of his thumb, and she wanted more.
“Please…” She croaked, lifting her hips. It felt hard to think, let alone speak, but he seemed to like that. Revel in the effect he had on her. “Please, Harry.”
“Please? Please what, sweetheart?” He murmured, pulling back from his kisses to spread her thighs open with his forearms. “What do you want me to do to my pussy, hm?”
Y/N bit her lip to bite back the scream, because what the fuck? How did he do that? How did he command her body so fucking easily that she could feel the trickle of arousal drip down her ass from the soft rasp of his voice and the intensity of how he spoke. Soft spoken, but meaning every syllable he let pass his lips.
His pussy. That was something he’d obviously been dying to say- but she hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted him to own it.
“Because, sweet, precious girl…” He sighed, spreading the lips open as he got a good look at her. “I’m not sure m’quite done admiring my pussy yet. So I think you can sit there and be the cute little thing you always are for me while I get better acquainted with her, and then I’ll give you what you want.”
It was hard not to let her hips jerk up as he tapped his fingertip over her clit, letting another breath wash over her as the heat of it made her stomach tingle. He was staring, admiring, analyzing her like she was art at a museum and that had never been anything close to what she experienced- so who was she to tell him no.
“Yeah I can… I can sit. I can wait.” Her throat felt thick as she spoke but she managed more than two words, and that was a feat in itself.
The smile on his lips was her even bigger reward.
“Thatta girl.” He praised, leaning up a bit to kiss her lower tummy- very close to where she wanted him to be. “I’ll always treat you well. Make it worth your while for letting me see what you’re letting me own, hm? Suck that pretty clit and make you stain the sheets… give you anything you want. Just need to stare a bit longer before I get her all puffy and wet… ruin her a little bit.”
She was already ruined, but she had vastly underestimated the way it would feel to have a man she desired so intensely to coo and stare at her body like it was his favorite thing.
Honestly, she had no idea how long it had been of his sweet and filthy words. His knees had to be numb as he dragged her to the edge of the bed, chuckling at her squeal of surprise as he pulled back for a moment to run his hand down her body. From her collarbone all the way to her cunt, cupping it in his large palm as she let out a strangled moan. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Seeing you spread open for me… You have no idea what that does to me, little treasure.” Clicking his tongue, he momentarily removed his hands to roll up the sleeves of his button up.
The always impeccably pressed and starched button ups, rolling the sleeves up his forearms as he began to look undone himself. The hair he gelled back tousled from her hands, a curl draped over his forehead and the 5 o’clock shadow was getting darker from when she’d first arrived. It was a brand new side to him.
“I’ve tried very hard to behave, Y/N. I’m a gentleman, and I will treat you as such… but something has clued me into the fact that it may not be what you want in this scenario, hm?” He shifted on his knees and she could hear the metallic clinking of his belt, but it was hidden from view. “I have to admit to you that I’ve never felt such unadulterated hunger in my life as I have with you. I don’t feel passion to this level. But you’ve brought something out of me, and I have to tell you that I’m becoming obsessed with you.” Lifting her leg, he planted a wet kiss to her calf. “With your voice.” A kiss to her knee. “With how you look at me, your intelligence…” he rounded up her thigh. “And now, this body.”
He audibly groaned as he spread her lips open with his fingers again, pursing his lips- and surprising the hell out of her- spitting on her clit. His eyes didn’t stray as she gasped, watching it slide down her pussy before he rubbed it into her already soaked skin. “So let me show you just how crazy you’ve made me. How obsessed I am with you. And most of all… how grateful I am that you’re letting me own you.”
Harry did more than that.
With his mouth on her, Y/N felt like she was floating. Again and again, he made her cum. Like a man starved, he’d barely pulled away from her pussy- save for letting his tongue run over her other hole which had her shuddering from the touch she wasn’t used to- and she had to wonder if he’d ever be able to be pulled away.
“You have no idea…” The usually well put together man whined against her pussy, trying to get her to cum a fourth time. It almost hurt, tingly and sharp, but she loved the pain as he sucked over her clit and sloppily spit back down over it. Webs of her arousal and his saliva stuck to his chin as he worked his fingers inside of her, the other hand keeping her down by pressing over her stomach. “No fucking idea what trouble you’ve just started.”
Y/N only hoped she could get more of it.
“It feels…” Y/N was finding it hard to breathe for an entirely different reason now. “God, it hurts but it feels so good. You’re r-ruining me. Like you said… oh, fuck.” Her hips tipped up as he curled his fingers, a deep chuckle vibrating against her clit. The sounds were pure filth. The squelch of his fingers fucking her deep and practiced, his mouth sucking on her cunt, his groans and her weak whimpers and whines as she tried to keep her head on straight bounced off his maroon walls. “H-Harry I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna fucking cum a-again and… fuck, I’m gonna make a mess.”
She’d only been able to do it twice before, and she’d done it herself. Truthfully, the reason she didn’t go for it more often was because of the mess squirting made- but that didn’t deter the older man.
If anything, it spurred him on further.
“Make a mess then, treasure.” He panted, nosing at her clit. “Make a mess all over my hand and my face. I don’t give a fuck about the sheets.” One of the first true curses she’d heard from him had her clenching around him, but more than that was seeing him so undone. Wrecked by her alone, his new fascination with her pussy. “You’re going to give it t’me now. Alright?” His hand on her stomach came down to smack at her clit, the light, sharp sting making a gasp rip from her throat.
Fuck, that was good.
“You’re almost there. I can feel it. M’not stopping. Give it to me, Y/N. Let me see what my pretty pussy can do. Want the mess, want you to soak me. Be good for me, give it.” He was commanding it, keeping the pace just as he had it as his mouth went back to her clit.
Her body liked to obey.
With a scream that startled herself, she slapped her hand over her mouth as she came. Squirting on his fingers, she felt him moan against her pussy as he pulled his mouth off her clit and rubbed it frantically instead with his hand. “Give it t’me, give it baby- yes, yes, thatta-fuckin’-girl…. That’s what I want, give me what I want, let me give it to you- Fuck.” He snarled, tongue lapping over his fingers to taste her.
Writhing on the bed, she let out a little sob as she fell back flat on the bed instead of sitting on her elbows, body jerking as little bursts of her squirted over his fingers and surely soaked his hand. Never had she heard him so unhinged as he lapped her up, thanking her in between and telling her she was a good girl, that she was perfect as his fingers slowed until they stilled inside of her, kisses pressed to her thighs and belly as she got over sensitive.
It felt a bit fuzzy as she whined at the emptiness, a brief recalling of him saying to sit still before he was back, stroking sweaty hair out of her face and a warm washcloth gently cleaning between her thighs.
“There you are.” He murmured, voice warm and smile soft as he swiped his finger over her cheeks. “M’sorry baby. Got overwhelmed, hm? No more tears.”
Y/N hadn’t even realized she’d been crying. It just felt so good, she felt so safe, and she’d drifted away. Coming back to his smiling face felt very good, especially with his tender touch. “Hi.” She peeped, reaching up for him. There was no fight from him to come down, balancing on his one hand as he gave her the kiss she wanted.
“Hello, beautiful girl.” He murmured with an amused smile. “Let me take care of you, okay?”
“Mm… ‘Kay. For how long?” She asked without meaning to, but his answer was what she wanted to hear regardless.
“As long as you let me. I take care of what’s mine.”
Summary: "and then his hand was finding your waist, pulling you gently into the pocket of space beside him, away from the crowd, tucking you both into the shadows like a secret, like being close wasn’t enough, like he already needed more of you."
A/N: Even though I'm bummed as fuck, I planned on posting this today. For those who need a little pick-me-up. This is for the @jarofstyles Fic Challenge. All the new promo was super inspiring, and I kind of veered off course from the original prompts... sorry!!
Word Count: 8.2K
Warning: Drug Use. Dance Floor Smut, Bi-Fem!Reader.
You hadn’t known him, the stranger from across the tent. In theory, you were only two aimless souls in a sea of people living two different lives, who probably would have never met in the real world. But as your bodies came alive with the electric pulse of the beat pounding through the space, you felt it, the rhythm thrumming like a never-ending heartbeat, pulsing from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, and you knew this night was different. Because in that moment, all you were was heat and air, and the breath that left your body, as the fevered euphoria of those surrounding you, danced through your limbs and raced through your discoed hearts, like the beat was never going to die—and when the two of you finally locked eyes, it hit you like a breeze of sound brushing over your damp skin, and your heart swelled with a new determination, as a thrilling chill tingled up your spine, forging the tether that would be drawing you to him before the end of the night
Your only goal tonight was to dance, to be somewhere outside your normal existence, and thrive with the current of life surrounding you—the people, the music. You wanted to lose yourself, mind, body, and soul—and that was what you had done. All night, you had moved from tent to tent, as the hours of the night drifted with the songs racing through your veins. You hadn’t gone alone, but somehow, you lost your friends along the way, and when your phone died, you gave up searching, because you didn’t want to suck the fun from the night when you rarely had this kind of chance to let loose and be present like this.
After drifting from tent to tent on a whim, you told yourself this would be the last spot, then you would figure out how to get home, or at least try to find a charger. Earlier, when you found yourself alone, you made friends with a girl named Sam, who was vibing the same way you were, and as you hit it off, you decided to journey through the night together. At some point, she mentioned that her brother was working a VIP tent, and that she could get you in, saying, “I owe you, girl, tonight would have been shit without someone like you to make it fun.” And you laughed, wondering how something like this could not be fun, but then you guessed, based on the way she navigated you guys from space to space—easily setting the mood like a perfectly curated playlist—that she must have done this thing all the time.
The minute you stepped into the tent, you knew it was a different playing ground, the quality of life much different from your own, the kind of people that payed for a good time, yet Sam fit right in, and as she pooled you along you just took it in, not quite ready to dip your feet into the sound experience just yet. That was when you first saw him, not thinking anything of it, just an attractive guy entering and leading a group of his friends into a tent, nothing major, but he stood out, and that was what you noticed right away. As you watched, unable to take your eyes off him, he must have sensed you looking, because he caught your gaze just as he put on a pair of sunglasses, and for a moment he held your stare.
When he finally looked away, you stood there observing his movements, his casual demeanor, like nothing about this was a big deal, yet you could tell it was, you could tell by all the influencers you kept spotting, some even talking at their cameras, even the random celebrities told you that this was the spot to be. Then your eyes almost lost him as he and his group made their way to a small corner of the tent, tucking themselves away, but you didn’t think anymore of it. “Here, take this,” Sam said, dropping a tiny pill into your hand, then shoved a bottle in the other.
“Don’t worry, I tested everything…I saved it for exactly this, because this DJ is the best one we’ll see tonight. Do you see all these rich idiots? They’ve paid thousands of dollars to be drugged out of their minds on whatever tickles their fancy, but tonight, dude…tonight we’re going to live like we’re one of them...and this Molly is just the trick.” And as you stared into her big brown eyes, something about the way she was looking at you made you want to do anything and everything that came out of her mouth just to match the energy she was giving.
Then your gaze dropped to the pill, already sticking to your sweaty palm, and she said, “Listen, this is my brother…” When you looked up, a guy with eyes similar to Sam’s was standing across from you, giving an assuring smile as if he were completely at home in this situation. “This is Josh, okay, take a picture of his face…If we get separated, you can trust him, I promise…” she told you, popping her own tiny pill into her mouth, and you watched as she chased it down with water.
And for some reason, without another thought, you did the same, so that you could free up your hand to grab your phone, and as the pill hit your tongue, the salt from your palm flashed across your taste buds, followed by the acrid taste of sulfer, and your water was opened in seconds, just to get the foul taste out of your mouth. It had been years since you rolled last, not since college, you weren’t necessarily a chicken, it just wasn’t normally your first choice, and it’s not like it was ever offered in the settings you found yourself in these days, so you thought, why the hell not, you could live, you could take chances.
“Smile, Josh!” you told,” Your heart pounding from the surge of adrenaline your simple choice brought you, yet you knew it was a risk, and you could feel it surging to the tips of your fingers as you took the picture.
Josh’s grin widened as he looked into the lens of your phone, and you snapped the picture, then you shoved the phone into your pocket, thinking something told you this wasn’t his first time playing guardian to his sister’s newfound friends. “Have fun, ladies,” he said, already melting back into the shadows of bodies behind him, and before you could process anything else, Sam’s fingers were lacing through yours, her grip firm and sure as she pulled you toward the pulsing heart of the tent.
“Come on,” she laughed, and there was something magnetic about the way she moved; you had felt it all night, her alluring gaze, her captivating smile, reeling you in like she was already riding the wave you were about to catch, “Let’s get lost in this.”
The energy was already there as the crowd swallowed you whole, heated bodies pressed close in the humid darkness, and for a moment, you felt that knowing glint of uncertainty, because of course, you didn’t know these people, hadn’t been this embedded in a world of circling drugs and VIP anything, or been this close to a drug dealer, who just happened to be your new friends brother, who was casually dealing to the wealthy with a wink and a smile. But then Sam spun to face you, her soft hands finding your waist, and gosh, her eyes were so bright and inviting, making your chest tight with the anticipation of what this night could bring.
“Hey,” she said, her mouth moving closer to your face, her breath on your cheek, “Try and loosen up, okay? We were having so much fun earlier... don’t think about anything else. Just let it all happen.”
And she was right, you guys had been having fun all night, almost instantaneously, the two of you sharing this undeniable chemistry, the way she had been so attentive to you all night, this complete stranger, like you guys had been friends your whole life. And now, maybe it was the way she said it, or maybe it was already the beginning of whatever was in that pill, but suddenly the fear was dissolving like sugar on your tongue, sweet like her smile, warm like her touch, turning into something headier. Then the bass line dropped, and you felt it thrum through your bones, and when Sam started moving, she pulled you closer, your hips meeting hers, and you moved with her, just like before, as your bodies found the rhythm. When your eyes met hers, you shared a knowing smile, something familiar, something you didn’t know you were craving.
Then that was all there was: just the breath filling your lungs and the blinking flash of the strobing lights overhead, smearing everything in hints of neon pink and electric blue—your mind solely focused on one thing, just the girl before you, watching as the light illuminated the gorgeous features of Sam in a fractured, brilliant hue—every detail—the sheen of sweat glowing across her collarbone, the way her long brown hair stuck to her neck, and every so often she would gather and lift it, allowing what little air was circulating to graze her damp neck. Then you would watch as it fell, in awe as the long strands hit her shoulders—and god, she was like magic, easily the most beautiful person there—it was everything—her touch, her focus, how her hands seemed to know exactly where to connect, making you forget everything except this moment.
And maybe this was the moment you truly let go, because you weren’t sure when the dancing had become something else, when the space between your bodies disappeared entirely, when her thigh slipped between yours, and your fingers tangled in her hair.
All at once, she was air and life, and everything that you needed, because around you, even as other bodies pressed closer, all the random hands brushing against your arms, your back, Sam seemed to be the one who anchored you—Sam, whose soft lips were suddenly so close to yours, so close you could taste the sweetness of her breath. She was like the drink of water you needed, because suddenly you were so thirsty, so fucking thirsty, and your only thought was maybe a kiss could be the only thing that could quench your thirst. She was tantalizing, the softness of her curves luring you closer and closer, as the crowd moved as one organism, swaying and pulsing to the beat, and you were part of it now, melting into the mass of heat, sound, and touch, as everything began to feel different—everything liquefying under your fingertips, like skimming your fingers over the surface of water, colors and sounds bleeding brighter at the edges of your vision, as every brush of skin against skin sent sparks down your spine and vibrated through your entire body, slowly awakening each tiny cell one bye one with each breath that you forced in.
Then Sam’s hands were on your face, your eyes drinking her in as your mouth went completely dry. Her thumbs were tracing your jaw, each touch making the skin come alive in it’s wake, as you felt the pulsing hum building between you, her thigh lifting between your legs, flush to the cotton panties under your short dress, as your clit pulsed with a racing need, your whole body canting toward her, pulling at that inevitable pull that had been there all night—and as her mouth inched toward yours, your heartbeat raced through your body, making your lips and face numb, your eyes blooming wider, as your vision narrowed to just her—and you thought, how crazy it was that fear even exsisted, how quickly it could dissapate when the heart knew what it wanted. Because you wanted this; wanted to feel the supple softness of her lips pressed to yours, as your grip on her hips tightened, afraid that if you let go, she might disappear.
In that aching breath of need, time seemed to drip like honey down your spine, each second becoming minutes of sweet desire, as you felt the chemical warmth ripple and spread like tiny waves through your veins, making every sensitive sensation sharper and deeper, more intense, and just as her lips were brushing yours, just on the sweet edge of a kiss—your legs clamping around her thigh tighter—a voice cut through the moment like a knife, and suddenly there was a guy beside you, his energy too eager, his pupils blown. “Hey—sorry to cut in, ladies—but you guys look like you’re having a good time—do you know where my friends and I can score some dust?”
Then he gestured back toward the corner of the tent, and your eyes followed automatically, past the writhing bodies and the fog machine haze, to where a small group stood apart from the crowd. And there he was—the stranger from earlier, sunglasses still on despite the darkness, and there was something about his posture that made him seem both part of and separate from everything happening around him, a mystery that loomed around the glow of his body as the light hit his face, and then he smiled, and you couldn’t force your eyes away, it was like his stare was a thread taking root, and you wanted to be closer, just to know, just to hear the sound of his voice.
When he nodded back at you, your breath caught in your chest, and without thinking, you leaned into Sam, your lips brushing her ear as your hands found her arm, grazing over the soft skin that felt like velvet, as your fingers slowly worked their way to her hand, and laced through them. “I saw that guy earlier,” you whispered, your words coming out breathless, now honeyed with a new want you didn’t quite understand. “I think I want to dance with him.”
The molly was hitting, you could tell by the weight of the words rolling off your tongue, lapping like waves of euphoria, making your skin feel like it was made of stardust glittering under the lights flashing above you, as your eyes slowly left his, and when Sam turned to look at you, her pupils were wider, as a giddy laugh bubbled up from her throat, and you both started giggling, the laughter taking over, the feeling so powerful you couldn’t stop as you felt it burst bright behind your eyes—everything was suddenly hilarious and perfect, and beautiful, the feeling almost too much, but in the best way.
“Oh my god,” Sam breathed, her hands still on you, still holding you close even as she turned back to the guy who was waiting, and you buried your face into her neck, feeling playful, feeling shy. “Take my friend with you. Then meet me by the DJ booth.” She blurted, her voice sticky-sweet with her own high, as her words ran together. “I know where to find some.”
Your face ripped from her neck in a dizzying haze, as you watched the guy’s face light up. Then Sam was pressing a kiss to your cheek, whispering, “Go have fun, baby, get what you want,” before she was slipping away into the crowd, probably heading back to find Josh, leaving you standing there with your heart hammering and your skin on fire, the stranger’s friend already reaching for your hand.
And as you took it, you felt like you were entering a different world, one where the ledge of freedom was boundless, where danger didn’t exist—where the temptations of your desires were slowly unfolding before you.
His friend’s hand was warm in yours, his grip loose but guiding, as he pulled you through the crowd like you were made of water—your body flowing effortlessly between the swaying mass of people, making each brush of skin against your bare arms send little ripples of sensation cascading down your spine. All you could see was the flashing lights and the stranger’s destination ahead, like the sea of bodies were parting just for you, as the glinting rays of violet and gold lingered in your vision, seeping into trails of light that glimmered at the limits of your eyesight, making your body pulse. And then you were there, crossing the lucid threshold into the corner of the tent where the stranger and his friends had carved out their own little world, and when you finally stood before him, everything else seemed to fall away.
He was already looking at you, like he had been waiting, like he had known you were coming all along. Up close, he was even more striking than you had thought—tall and lean, his body loose and relaxed in a way that made you want to melt into him, and when he smiled, dimples dipping, it was slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. Then he was taking off his sunglasses, revealing the true nature of his eyes, and god, they were green—the kind of green that made you think of jumping into deep water on a sunny afternoon in the heart of summer—and the way they were looking at you now, had your stomach flipping with the waves running through you, making your heart beat with the rhythm of his energy—an energy that you could feel yourself ready to consume.
“I’m Harry,” he said, leaning into your ear, his voice low and warm, cutting through the pounding bass like it was nothing, like his voice was already part of a song you were listening to, and then he leaned in even closer, his stubble grazing the sensitive skin near your ear sending chills up your arms, as you caught the clean scent of mint, and something earthy under the sweat and the smoke that clung to everyone around you—and then his hand was finding your waist, pulling you gently into the pocket of space beside him, away from the crowd, tucking you both into the shadows like a secret, like being close wasn’t enough, like he already needed more of you. Because maybe it was the drugs, or you were just horney, but even the slightest touch had your body vibrating, like an instrument he was tuning, playing each note, making your body sing out, desperate for more, for anything and everything, all at the same time.
And when he said “I noticed you,” his lips brushed your ear as his warm breath ghosted over your skin, making every tiny hair stand on end. You shivered, the racing sensation shooting up the back of your neck, and burst with the pulsing lights overhead, making you gasp and cling to his arm, as a wave of sound swelled through your body, then crashed low in your belly and spread outward like a slow fire. “When I first came in. You were standing by the DJ Booth—you looked like you were ready to have fun. I think I saw you take something…”
You turned your head to look at him, and the movement felt slow, like the thick liquid of syrup, like time itself was stretching and bending around you, and when your eyes met his, you felt that tether again—that invisible thread that had been there from the moment you saw his from across the tent—pulling taut between you, anchoring you to this stranger whose name you now knew but nothing else.
“Yeah…it must have been after I lost track of you,” you told him, and your voice came out different than you expected, softer, breathier, glazed with whatever was rolling through your bloodstream, making everything feel more, feel deeper, feel like it mattered in a way that nothing had ever mattered before. “I noticed you too...I was curious…”
His smile widened, and there was something knowing in it, something that made you feel like he could see right through you, like he understood exactly what was happening inside your body, the way the chemicals were cresting and falling like waves against a never-ending shore—and you watched as he tilted his head, those green eyes gazing at you with a magnetic focus that was stealing all your consentration, so intense it made your breath catch, and then he leaned in again, his hand tightening on your waist just enough to draw you closer.
“May I ask what you took?” he questioned, and there was no judgment in it, just curiosity, just a genuine desire to know.
“Molly,” you breathed, and suddenly saying it out loud made it feel more tangible somehow, more aware of the way your heartbeat was thrumming through every inch of your body, or the way your skin felt like it was humming with static—teeny, tiny little electric beats, dancing and swaying with every touch and sound even as you were completely still. “My friend, Sam, gave it to me. Her brother—”
“Oh, yeah—Josh.” Harry said, completing your sentence, nodding as if he understood, “Sam is usually with him, but never with a friend, not like this…” He said, pulling back as his eyes roamed down the length of your body, like his intentions were being set, like this was all perfectly normal, and maybe it was, in this world, in this tent packed full of rich humans doing lavish, careless things. “He’s a good guy. We all know him. You’re in good hands.”
Then he reached behind him, his body shifting, and when his hand came back, he was holding a metal bottle, and he held it out to you like an offering. “Here. You should drink some water…stay hydrated.”
You looked at the bottle, then back at him, and something playful blinked through you, cutting through the haze of want and warmth just enough for you to raise an eyebrow. “I know better than to take drinks from strangers,” you teased, as a flirtatious streak inched through you in a way you hadn’t quite intended but didn’t regret.
Harry laughed, and the sound of it did something to your brain, made your chest feel tight and giddy, made you want to hear it again and again until you had memorized every note. “Smart girl,” he told you, and then he was bringing the bottle to his own lips, tipping it back, and you watched—spellbound, and fucking hypnotized—as the water slipped into his mouth, as the long column of his throat worked with each swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a way that made your mouth go completely dry. Then a single drop escaped the corner of his lips, trailing down his chin, catching the light right before he swiped it away with the pad of his thumb, and slowly dragged it across the swell of his bottom lip—and you felt your thighs press together involuntarily, felt that aching throb between your legs begin to quake.
When he lowered the bottle, his heated gaze found yours, his stare bringing something darker, more intentional, and you licked your lips without thinking, suddenly so thirsty, but not just for water—for something else, something more—your mind already reeling over how quickly the heart’s desire could shift, could want something new, something overwhelmingly different, in the span of a single breath.
“Your turn,” he rasped, his voice rough, and he pressed the bottle into your hand.
Without hesitation, you took it, feeling the cool metal surge through your palm, and slowly—still skeptical—you brought it to your mouth, never taking your eyes off him. When the water hit your tongue and slid cold and crisp down your throat, it was incredible, like the best thing you’d ever tasted, so damn good that you actually moaned, the sound escaping before you could stop it. The sensation broke through you like a dam opening—the cold rushing and spreading through your chest and meeting the heat in the boom of your belly, creating something electric, something that flashed and fizzled along every nerve ending until your toes were curling inside your shoes and your eyes fluttered half-closed from the pure relief of it.
Suddenly, the water was sacred, and reviving, and you drank deeper, not caring anymore how it looked, or when the water overflowed past your lips and spilled down your chin, trailing cold paths down your neck, and pooled in the hollow of your throat before continuing down, like a river, slipping between your breasts and into the cleavage of your dress, and soaking into the fabric, but it felt so good—the cool only amplifying the vivid waves coursing through you. You would have poured the entire bottle over you if you hadn’t felt like you needed it more. In that moment, you had no shame, you didn’t care because you could see the way Harry was watching you, the way his teeth were sinking into his bottom lip, the way his eyes tracked every drop of water as it made its journey down your body, and you knew—Because you could tell by the way he was looking at you—that he liked what he saw.
When you finally lowered the bottle, gasping, your chest heaving, Harry took a step closer again, eliminating what little space had crept between you. His hand came up to your face, and for a second, you thought he was going to touch you, and then thought you might actually combust if he did, but instead, he just brushed his thumb across the corner of your mouth, catching the last lingering drop of water there.
“Better?” he questioned, but you could only nod, your voice lost somewhere in the rush of your own heartbeat.
Then his hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you in, and you went willingly, your body moving like it had been waiting for exactly this, like every step you had taken tonight had been leading you here, to this corner, to this stranger named Harry who was looking at you like you were the only person at the entire festival, and now all you could feel was the heat radiating from his body, could feel the solid warmth of his chest against yours, and when he started to move, guiding you with him, his motion was slow, matching the rhythm of the bass still pounding through the tent, and strangely enough, despite all your fear and shyness, it felt like the most natural thing in the world—for his strong hands to be holding you against him, while swaying in time with the breath leaving your body, as your bodies began to find the same pace—the gesture was entrancing, intimate, as your body sang out, moving in sync with his.
As your connection grew, time became this mystifying concept that stretched and veered like elastic, as fluid as the movement of each sounding beat, pulsing through the space, expanding and contracting like lungs taking in air, flowing in and out in ways that shouldn’t have been possible. Yet, there you were, you and Harry somehow existing in your own realm, your own private world etched out from the chaos around you, as the dancing became talking, became touching, became something that had no name, just a feeling. His hands moved across your hips, then your waist, then traced up your sides in a way that only made you want more—and when the words stopped, all that told you of the man pressed against you was the way he moved—the way your bodies fit like matching pieces, melding together into the shape of one being, forging a familiar connection, the kind you only ever felt after sex—Because who was this mysterious man who seemed both completely at ease and somehow watchful, like he was used to being looked at but not used to being seen, yet he let you watch him, didn’t shy away, and that only made you more intrigued.
And all the while, the waves kept coming—rolling through you in peaks and valleys, each one making your skin feel more alive, more sensitive, more desperate for contact. Every brush of Harry’s fingers was like a tiny explosion of pleasure, sparks cascading down through your body, making you gasp and lean into him, and you could tell by the way his breath would catch, by the way his pupils would blow wider in the darkness, that he felt it too—that maybe he was on something similar, or maybe you were just that intoxicating to each other.
“There you are!” a familiar voice shouted, cutting through the captivating haze of Harry’s presence. Reluctantly, you turned, and the movement felt like swimming through honey, to find Sam emerging beside you. Your eyes scanned over her, reacquainting with the features that had stolen you so entirely earlier—her flushed cheeks, her glowing beauty, that wide and wild smile that had drawn you in from the start. She was holding something in her hand, her fingers curled around it protectively, and when she looked between you and Harry, her grin turned knowing.
“I see you’ve been making friends,” she said, and then she was pressing close to you, her body fitting against your other side, and god, the sensation of being sandwiched between them—between the soft curves of Sam and Harry’s strong stature—made your head spin in a frantic frenzy to hold onto every feeling buzzing through you.
“I brought you something,” Sam continued, and when she opened her hand, there were three tiny pills nestled in her palm, catching the fractured light of the changing strobes above. “Round two. For the best part of the night...” She told you, leaning closer, then pressed a kiss to your cheek.
You looked at her, then at Harry, who was already plucking one of the pills from her palm with a casual ease that said he had done this before, probably many times, that this was just another night in a life that seemed as foreign, and beyond any concept in your mind, like wishing on a distant star, hoping that the wish would come true. He raised an eyebrow at you, a silent question, and something in you, maybe some last lingering thread of caution, whispered that this was probably too much, maybe even too fast, or even the exact kind of thing you would regret in the morning—
But then Sam was pressing the tiny pill into your hand, and her fingers lingered against your palm, and god, all you could think was how beautiful she was, as she looked at you with those big brown beautiful eyes, and Harry, dammit, he was looking at you too, and the music was pounding and the lights were flashing, and fuck, weren’t you already so far from the person you had been at the beginning of the night? And in that split second, the distance from you now, and that person then felt unbridgeable—you were already here, you were already doing this, and now you were going to see it through.
“Together,” Sam yelled, holding up her own pill, and Harry did the same, and all of the sudden, it felt like a ritual, felt like a pact, felt like you were sealing something between the three of you that couldn’t be taken back, a contract that would be set for the rest of the night.
And so you raised your pill, brought it to your lips, and when all three of you swallowed at the same time, you felt something shift in the air around you, felt the charge in the power of choice, an electricity rising with the knowing—the thrill gesturing a promise of what was to come.
The next wave hit harder than the first, building and building until you felt like you might burst at the fucking seams with it, like whatever you had felt before was happening ten times over—you had no control, you were letting it take you, your body moving to the beat as you danced. Before long, Sam’s hands were finding your body again, the two of you picking up where you had left off, your attraction peaking as she pulled you into her. Her hands moved to your face, and then her mouth met yours again, but this time with no reservation. The kiss was soft, slow, as her lips melded to yours, as if the wave rolling up her spine was in sync with your very own, and as it crested, you felt the hunger set in.
Because then her tongue was sliding across your lips, asking for permission, until you opened for her, letting her in, as every ounce of her energy poured into you, and your tongue basked in the sweetness of her mint-stained breath, letting it all rush to your head. All you could think was how perfect, how fucking good it was, as you moaned into her mouth, your desperate hands already seeking her waist, her hips, the curve of her ass through her thin dress, and you gripped, pressing her closer, and her thigh slid between yours just like before—just like those moments before everything spiraled into something else.
The energy was still shifting, settling into whatever silent pact the three of you had formed, because as you were getting lost in Sam your body was still aware of the heat at your back—the feeling unwavering and sure, as you felt Harry’s chest press into you harder, felt his heated breath on your shoulder, as his hands found your hips from behind—and there you were caught between them now, poised between Sam’s softness and Harry’s strength, as your body became a vessel for sensation, for pleasure, for every overwhelming feeling that was crashing through you like a fury of power you never knew existed.
Harry wasn’t afraid to take what he wanted, as his lips brushed your shoulder, your neck, leaving tingling trails of vibrations in their wake. His hands were searching, moving down your body in a slowed frenzy, taking his time until he slid his large hand down between you and Sam’s bodies, and you gasped into Sam’s mouth as his fingers found the space where your hips met Sam’s thigh, and when he pressed, when they both pressed, you choked on your moan, your whole body jolting with a pleasure so overwhelming and sweet it edged on an aching pain to be ruined. Yet, there was Sam, swallowing every sound, each one only making the kiss deeper, as her hand came up to tangle in your hair, and you felt Harry’s other hand slip around to your stomach, pressing you back against him, letting you feel the heat of him, the hard, bulging want of him against the curve of your ass, and you pressed into it.
You were lost, completely, and utterly lost in a universe they were creating, each body connecting and moving until you had no clue where you ended and they began, as your mind losttrack of everything except the rhythm of your three bodies moving together, finding a pace that was entirely your own in a tent full of strangers—Sam’s mouth, Harry’s hands, the throb between your legs that was mounting and climbing with every brush of flesh, every whispered word, every roll of hips. At some point, your bodies had shifted, and you realized the bare thigh between your legs was Harry’s, and now, it was pressed against you, pressed against the thin wet fabric of your panties, and without thought you were grinding against it without shame, chasing the friction, chasing the relief that was building like a scream budding at the back of your throat.
Your mind kept moving through pockets of reality, moving as fast as the bass pounding through you. As the second pill hit its peak, Sam and Harry’s faces became a blur—who was kissing who, whose mouth was on yours now, whose hands were where, you didn’t know. It was euphoria and madness competing, and you found yourself struggling to keep your eyes open through all the pleasure, through all the moments when your body felt like it would explode from another touch, but then a kiss was breaking, and someone’s mouth was leaving yours, and when you forced your eyes open at a moment of control, it was Sam again, and you both stood there panting, and she pushed her forehead to yours, her eyes glassy and unfocused, her smile so beautiful it made your chest ache. “God, Girl…” she breathed, “you’re so pretty like this. So fucking pretty.”
And then Harry was there, his mouth at your ear, his voice a low rasp that rippled through your entire body. “She’s right,” he said, and his hand was moving now, sliding down from your stomach, down over the front of your dress again, down to where you needed him most. “You’re fucking stunning.”
His hand began to move, and suddenly, you didn’t know who to turn to, who to kiss, who to cling to—you wanted them both, wanted everything they were giving you, wanted to drown in the sensation of being wanted by two people at once, of having your cup overflow with attention and desire and the touch of hands that were needy for you. And they seemed to understand, seemed to read you flawlessly, because they kept moving with you, kept touching you, kept making you feel like you were the center of the galaxy opening up between the three of you.
As you shifted again, Harry guided you backward slowly, his hands gentle on your waist until you felt the cool press of the tent wall against your back, tucking you into the darkest corner of their little section, hidden from view by shadows and bodies and the sheer mess of the crowd beyond. Sam followed, her body now pressed against your front again, as Harry moved behind you, letting his weight rest against the tent wall, sandwiching you once more. It was; something about this change felt safe and dominating at the same time, as the heat of their bodies burned through you.
Sam kissed you again, taking each movement slower this time, more intentional in the way she moved. Then Harry’s hand slid down to cup you through your dress, his palm pressing against your throbbing core, and you whimpered into Sam’s mouth, your hips rolling into his touch without conscious thought, as his fingers began to move in slow circles, elevating the pressure, slowly rising and swelling, and you were already so close, had been close for what felt like hours, and everything was heightened, every sensation amplified a thousandfold until you couldn’t tell if you were coming, or if you had been coming this whole time, but still you wanted more.
And this time, when Sam pulled back from the kiss, her lips trailed down your jaw, down your neck, sucking at the pulse point gently, and you let your head fall back against Harry, let your eyes flutter open just enough to see Harry’s face above you, his green eyes dark with want, his lips parted, his breath coming faster now. And when he leaned in to kiss you, it was nothing like kissing Sam—it was harder, hungrier, his tongue demanding entrance, his teeth catching your bottom lip in a way that made you cry out against his mouth. His fingers kept moving, kept pressing, kept circling that spot that was driving you insane, and you were climbing, surging toward something you could barely comprehend.
Sam’s mouth was drifting, pressed to your collarbone now, her tongue tracing the line of it, and you felt her hand slide down to cover Harry’s, felt her guide his fingers more firmly against you, and the combined pressure made your knees buckle, made you grateful for the sturdy hold of Harry’s body and the way their bodies were holding you up.
“I want to watch him make you come,” Sam whispered, lifting her mouth to your ear, and fuck, her words were like striking a match, like pouring gasoline over fire, and you had to reach down, had to grab Harry’s wrist and still his hand, because you were right there, right on the edge, and you weren’t sure you could survive going over just yet.
“I’m going to go dance with his friend,” Sam continued, pulling back to look at you, her eyes encouraging and mischievous at the same time. “But I’ll be watching…”
You nodded, at a loss for words, and your body trembled with the effort of holding back, of not letting go right there with both of them still pressed against you. Sam smiled that smile—that sexy, knowing smile that had reeled you in from the very beginning—and pressed one last kiss to your lips, soft and sweet, lingering just long enough to have you wanting.
Then her gaze flicked to Harry, and something passed between them, some wordless communication that you were too far gone to interpret. “Have fun,” Sam said, and then her gaze swept back to you, and her smile widened, and she was slipping away, just like that, melting into the crowd as if she had never been there at all, leaving you alone with Harry.
For a moment, neither of you moved. Harry’s hand was still between your legs, motionless and waiting, his body rigid with the tension of holding back, his restraint barely steady, like he was holding himself accountable by sheer force of will. And you realized, in that moment, that you needed to tell him—needed him to know—because suddenly the wanting was too much, was consuming you from the inside out, because if he didn’t touch you, you might die.
“I want you,” you said, turning to face him, your voice wrecked, but you knew he heard it, knew by the way his eyes flashed in the darkness. “Don’t stop, okay? Whatever you do, just please don’t stop.”
He nodded, and without pause, he was moving, switching your positions, until your back was flush against the wall, and he forced his body against you, solid and heavy, the perfect weight and pressure. His thigh moved between your legs again, and you could feel the hard length of him against your hip, could feel how much he wanted you, and the idea of his dick made you dizzy with power and need.
“I won’t stop, this is your warning,” he forced, his voice rough, his lips brushing yours as he spoke. “Let go for me…I’ve got you, okay…”
And then his hands were at the hem of your dress, sliding underneath, his fingers finding the waistband of your soaked panties, the material rendered useless and ruined, evidence of everything you had been feeling all night. He hooked his fingers into the fabric and pulled, slowly, dragging them down your thighs as your body shivered with the anticipation, as his steady hands moved past your knees, until you were stepping out of them, and you watched, breathless, as he balled them up in his fist and shoved them into his pocket as if they belonged to him now.
“For later,” he said, and the promise in those words made your clit throb so hard you had to bite your lip to keep from moaning out.
Then he was pushing his thigh up to your bare pussy, and when you looked down you notice the hint of a tattoo, peeking from where the hem of your dress had bunched, and holy fuck, this guy was so hot, you thought, as his skin heated seeped into your slick folds—and as his hands grasped hold of your hips, gripping hard enough to gain control, his eyes bore into yours with a hunger that made you feel like you were never going to be the same again.
“Take what you want…what you need, love,” he said. “Use me.”
And so you did…
Because then you were rolling your hips, letting the slick of your pussy coat the damp skin pressing into you, as you ground against the hard muscle of his thigh. The friction was glorious, was everything, was the answer to every question your body had been asking all night. As you grabbed hold of his shoulders, you noticed Harry was watching you, and you took inventory, taking in the hard line of his tight jaw, his ragged breath, the way his hands were guiding, but not controlling, letting you set the pace, letting you chase your own pleasure while he held you steady.
You knew it wouldn’t take long; you could already feel it building the second he stole your panties—that wave, that fucking crest that felt boundless. Your body was climbing higher and higher, as you rocked and ground your hips against him, bearing your weight into his strong thigh, as your fingers dug into his shoulders, your head falling back against the wall as the pleasure spiraled tighter and tighter, puddling into liquid molten, your pussy making a mess of him.
“That’s it,” Harry groaned, his voice straining, as his thigh flexed beneath you. “Fuck, Love, you’re so wet—I can feel you—you’re close, aren’t you?”
But, you couldn’t answer, could only whimper, could only nod, could only keep moving, keep chasing, keep reaching for that edge that was so close now you could taste it, could feel it aching through your gritted teeth as you forced back your moan, holding your breath because you knew this was it—that you were going to take it, your hips gliding with such ease against his soaked skin, and just as you were about to tell him, felt the words about to burst from the back of your throat—he pulled his thigh away without warning.
And fuck, the sudden loss of pressure made you cry out, made your eyes fly open, made you reach for him with desperate hands as you found your footing—but he was already there, already catching you, already sliding his hand between your thighs to replace what he had taken from you. His fingers slid to your entrance with ease, your pussy so slick and ready that he groaned at the contact, and when he pushed two long fingers inside you, you nearly shouted his name, as the stretch and the fullness sent shockwaves of pleasure radiating out through your entire body.
“I’ve got you,” he said again, and then he was moving, his fingers curling inside you, working you, inching toward that spot that made stars bloom behind your eyes, as his thumb pressed into your pulsing clit, and you moaned into his shoulder, your whole body screaming with pleasure as you rolled your hips to meet his hand, and you lifted your leg to wrap around his hip, to pull him closer, to drive his fingers deeper.
You were there, you were right at that edge, peaking with every thrust of his fingers—it wouldn’t take long, not with everything that had been building all night, not with the drugs still singing through your veins, not with the way Harry was touching you, knowing exactly what you needed, like he was in your mind controlling every movement, anticipating every need that was rising, as the pleasure crested and broke, and you came with a cry muffled against his neck, your tongue dragging across the salt-slick flesh of his throat, tasting him, claiming him, as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed through you, each one more intense than the last, until you were shaking, your whole body trembling, barely able to stand.
Harry held you through it, his fingers still moving gently inside you, drawing out every last ripple of pleasure until you were gasping, your oversensitive pussy shuttering, as you pushed weakly at his wrist—and it was only then that he pulled his hand away, and you watched, dazed, your mind a blissed-out chasm of need collapsing in on itself, as he brought his glistening fingers to his lips and licked them clean, making you swallow hard as your mouth went dry.
“Mmmm,” he breathed, his pupils blown wide. “I knew you would taste good.”
And holy shit, you were a goner, and your body went limp in his arms, growing weightless as you sagged against him, every limb liquid and loose, and for a long moment, you just breathed together, his heart pounding against your chest, yours pounding against his. And then, slowly, your hand drifted down between your bodies, as your fingers fumbled and grazed over the thick bulge straining against the front of his shorts, and you palmed him through the fabric, feeling him twitch beneath your touch.
But before you could do more, his hand caught your wrist, halting any further actions.
“Not here,” he forced, trying to gain his composure, but you could tell he was desperate, and there was something in the way that he was looking at you that made you want to fall to your knees right then and there. “Come back to mine with me.”
It was a suggestion yes, but more a plea, and as you looked up at him, at his flushed face and swollen lips, his eyes were still burning with want, and you knew—you just knew—that if you went with him, this night would become something else entirely, something that would mark you, change you, leave indents on your soul that would never fully fade.
“Not without my friend,” you told him, because even now, even lost in the haze of him, you couldn’t abandon Sam, couldn’t leave her behind.
Harry smiled, something slow and knowing, something that hinted at promise. “Okay,” he answered. “But only because I want you so bad.”
And you leaned up on your toes, and pressed your lips to the corner of his mouth, and let your breath ghost across his skin as you whispered your answer.
“Good,” you said. “Because, now I’m going to let you have me any way that you want.”
Y/n is Harry's Boundaries & Harry is Y/n's Desires
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"I'm tired" His voice was muffled as he buried his face in her throat. Body wrapped around her like a vine, she was overheating in more ways than one but she couldn't tell him to move. She wanted him close enough that she could continue to feel his heartbeat. Arms that strong should feel suffocating with how he wound them around her body and kept her to his chest, but she would happily drown in him if it meant keeping him right in this place.
He was just better at speaking those desires out loud.
"I just want you to be with me all the time. As much as I love coming home to you...I don't want to have to keep leaving you behind. Is that too clingy of me to say?"
or
Yn is Harry's Boundaries and Harry is Y/n's Desires
(19K+ words)
Authors Note: Massive, massive thank you to @jarofstyles for including me in the #jarofstylesficchallenge !!! Had an absolute blast writing this and cannot wait for the next challenge! If readers are looking for new content, follow along with the #jarofstylesficchallenge Hope you enjoy, would love to hear what everyone thinks! <3
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Y/n was a hermit.
She would choose anything over a crowded party with sweaty bodies pressed together. She wouldn't even hesitate if she was presented with the option of staying home or going to a party with Niall. She loved Niall to pieces, but going to parties was so stressful for her. If she wanted to get hammered, she would rather it be at her flat with her best mates. Or even at her favorite pub that not many people knew about. Y/n enjoyed those nights in, much better than any of the parties Niall had dragged her to.
And over the years, Niall had dragged her to far too many parties. On special occasions, she would accompany Niall without too much thought. Like for his birthday or if they both had a particularly rough week and Niall promised her a burrito and back rub at the end of the night. Both things she deemed worthy of stressing over for a few hours while Niall loosened up with a few drinks and mindless chatter with his mates.
Most of the time, she would find someplace quiet- or quieter than right beside a speaker- and would sit and keep to herself till Niall had messaged her, he was ready to head out.
Tonight was no different.
She sat underneath the familiar weeping willow tree. The party was at the old campsite that college students took over a couple years back. Generally, the parties were held out here. It was secluded enough so people wouldn't call the police because of the loud music, but it wasn't in the middle of the forest where people felt like a serial killer was around the corner. The paths were cleared and the fire pits were still here for the parties after winter exams.
Y/n enjoyed the parties here more than the parties held at the frat or sorority houses close to campus. Those were much too crowded and by the end of the night, she smelled of liquor and sweat. And with the campsite, she had a tree she would sneak off to and just sit while scrolling through her phone, or sometimes Rhett would accompany her if he hit his quota for the night. Once in a blue moon, she would sneak a drink or two for herself, and enjoy the way her phone light would illuminate the branches of the weeping willow. This would make her wait go a lot faster, but tonight was not one of those nights.
Niall had coaxed her into coming out with him. She didn't give in right away. Instead, she reminded him how piss drunk he was last time and how his aim suffered- and because of it- she had to buy a new bath rug. And also warned him, she didn't grocery shop so his late night munchies wouldn't be satisfied if he crashed at her place. Although she was still dragged from her flat, she noticed the internal battle Niall was having and took note of that for next time this happened.
Because it was bound to happen again.
She had only been sitting for an hour and she swore it felt like three hours had passed. Her skin was covered in goosebumps and her tummy grumbled. Despite warning Niall she had no groceries, this also meant she still hadn't eaten since breakfas. She wished she was cuddled into the oversized blanket on her bed, a large stuffed burrito in her hand, and her lazy fur ball warming the bends of her legs.
Instead, her bum was numb and cold from the roots peeking out of the dirt. Her phone was dying slowly from her phone light illuminating the branches consuming her. And her mind played with all sorts of numbers to help justify her burrito cravings. All justification was thrown out the window when her stomach roared to life and she was determined to stop at a drive through before driving her and Niall home.
Y/n always felt guilty spending on fast food, especially with how often she does it, but she's always exhausted at the end of the day. Cooking is another chore to her and her muddled brain always gives in for something quick and already made.
Her inner battle consumed her thoughts, she hadn't heard the crunching of the leaves till she noticed a shadow entering the weeping willow's branches. She hadn't meant to jump as hard as she did, but this wasn't an area many drunk students stumble too. Throughout her time hiding out here over the years, she had never had someone approach her tree. Y/n almost felt territorial over her little area.
Which was just beyond silly.
"If 'ya got 't wee, I suggest finding a different tree," She spoke from her little spot against the large trunk of the tree. "This ones taken" Y/n's announcement startled the shadow as he walks closer to her.
Luckily the light lit his features as much as it possibly could. His button nose was bitten red and his lips matched the rosy splotches of his cheeks. His lips seemed a little irritated from the cold or possibly his front teeth dragging against his bottom plushy lip. From here, Y/n could see his wild, vivid, green eyes which pulled heat to the tips of her ears when paired with his fluffy brown curls peeking from his skewed beanie.
Y/n couldn't remember the last time the tips of her ears burned just at the sight of someone attractive. Which only made her flush even more as they continued to look at one another.
When Harry had stumbled his way over to this tree, he was convinced he'd either be the only one near this area or he'd find a couple nuzzled up in privacy. Despite neither happening, he's glad he found her. Even if he didn't know who 'her' was.
"'M sorry...didn't think anyone would be over here," Harry softly rambles. Within seconds, Y/n could tell he was a bit drunk. The soft slur in his voice, how he shifted side to side on his feet, and his eyes became a bit hooded the closer he got to her phone light. "But I don't have 't wee...definitely wouldn't wee on 'ya tree either. Think that would be a bit rude" He continued.
Despite being slightly pouty, Y/n felt the tiniest tug at the corner of her lips. Before she could form a response, he plopped down on his bum in front of her. His eyes blinked owlishly at her like he was waiting for her to say something. "What's made you wonder all the way over here? Usually, nobody stumbles in this direction" She questions with a limp shrug.
It took a second or two for Harry to formulate an answer. His eyes were too busy wondering over her features. She was clearly tired, he could see her blinks getting slower, but she also seemed so cuddly with her knitted, beige, oversized crewneck. The sleeves seemed to swallow her hands and if she had pushed her knees to her chest, there would be enough room for her crewneck to hug them. Her hair seemed so soft and shined brightly under the dim light. Perhaps Harry had drank a bit more than he thought because he was itching just to touch the material of her sweater and run his fingertips in her hair.
"Need'a minute to clear me thoughts," He murmured. It felt like he was still swimming in his observation but the way the cold air nipped at his skin helped ground him. "Gets hard 't think straight wit' all 'em people. 'N 'm a shit drinker, can't keep up wit' the rest of 'em" Harry admits with words slurring together.
Her lips tugged at his confession but the wind had picked up. A strong shiver shook her bones and she would give anything to be tucked away in her blankets, a crime show playing, while she balances on the edge of reality.
"Do look a bit starry in the eyes," She teases with a little tilt of her head. "If 'ya a shit drinker, why're you drinking" Y/n asks just to hear him ramble again.
Harry grumbles softly like he was giving her a soft whine. "Always underestimate how much I can drink," He mumbles. "Never feel like 'm drunk and everyone says 'm not drunk, so I get handed another drink. 'N I don't want to hurt their feelings, so I always drink it. But then I feel it all in me head" Harry explains, his chin resting in his palm and lips in a big wetted pout.
"Don't be lettin' 'em peer pressure 'ya into anythin' 'ya don't want 't do," Y/n responded with a bit of a pout. Although she despised when her friends would pressure her into something she didn't want to do, she made sure her voice was stern but not too stern to scare him off. Said peer pressure had made her a natural at this. "So 'ya just came to hide out here?" She questions.
Though his chin was still resting on his palm, he nodded slowly. Before he could speak, his mouth opened in a large yawn. "Bit knackered," He murmurs. "Been up since 6 this mornin'....wit' lectures 'n all that. Then Angela from economics asked if I was going to the party t'night... didn't really want to but it sounded like she wanted me here" Harry rambles with his blinks getting slower and words coming out sluggishly.
Watching him almost curl up in himself got Y/n a bit sleepy herself. More sleepy than she originally was. "Oh yeah? Where's Angela now?" Y/n asks after shooting a message to Niall that she was leaving in the next five minutes with or without him.
(She would never leave him, but if she didn't threaten it then Niall would wonder his way over in the next hour and half...like he'd done previously)
Harry shrugs with his shoulders nearly touching his ear. "Dunno, she said hi to me at the beginning but when I declined her offer for a 'little walk', I didn't see her much after that" He explained.
Y/n hadn't meant to snort out her laughter, but she wasn't expecting that. She didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't that. "Sorry," She apologized with a shy smile. "Why did 'ya decline her offer? Scared of wondering into the woods?" She had asked to help reestablish the flow of his rambling.
A drunken grin spread on Harry lips. "No, but I dunno...just didn't see her like that...guess it would've been a nice moment 't get my rocks off" He shrugs unknowingly.
When another set of crunches seemed to be getting closer and closer, Harry had whipped his head towards the noise. Y/n had picked herself up from the tree trunk and brushed any dirt that might've stuck to her bum. The material of her jeans was cold and almost appeared wet at the first touch. She knew she would rid herself of these jeans the moment she got home.
"Who's that?" Harry questions, chin pointing towards her as she stood over him. His jawline nearly being highlighted with her phone light.
"It's Niall, c'mon, g'na make sure you get home safely...don't need 't be pressured into drinking anymore" She offered a friendly smile and holding her hands out for him.
He'd placed his feet firmly on the ground and reached for her. With a tight grip on his hands, she tugs his arm to encourage him to stand up. He stumbles a bit getting to his full height- his head nearly bumping her shoulder- but she helps him regain his footing with extra help holding his hands. "Left 'ya here for a couple hours and you've already got Harry all over 'ya Babe!" Niall mocks with a wide grin.
"Oi, shut it" She sasses, holding onto his hand just incase the floor felt like it was going to break under him.
Niall giggles to himself. "Are you done already Styles!" He questions.
"No" Harry immediately smiles, taking steps like he was going to rejoin the party with Niall.
She squeeze his hand before letting go. "Harry's not done, but I am," Y/n yawned. "I'm knackered, 'n I'm takin' 'ya both home. Let's go"
"At least buy us dinner! We're not cheap fucks Babe" Niall jests.
"Should be buyin' me dinner after t'night," She murmurs as the growls of her stomach began to groan again. "Been sittin' here hungry and grumpy...c'mon then. Got a little walk 't the car" Y/n began leading the way towards her car.
Niall and Harry had made drunken conversation on their walk. Niall poking fun about Harry rejecting Angela's offer and Harry gasping about how he knew such a thing. "Anegla's been pouting 'bout it all night," Niall laughs. "I overheard her talkin' 't Oli 'bout it. Apparently she'd been trying to woo him after 'ya told her no. But Oli wasn't having it" He continues to giggle.
Harry shrugs his shoulders as they had reached Y/n's car after a short five minute walk. Niall threw himself in the back seat and offered what Y/n was hoping he would. "Since 'ya been such a blessing Babe," Niall chuckles. "Swing by that ol' drive through. Wit' 'em fries and burgers. 'M treating'" He pats his stomach.
Y/n knew exactly what drive through he was talking about. And she couldn't express how grateful she was. Her excitement may have gotten the best of her because she had done the fastest u-turn of her life.
Both Niall and Harry had been thrown into the side of the car, she heard them simultaneously thump into the car. "Christ Babe!" Niall gasps as he tried to hold onto the back of the seats. "Felt like the bloody car was on two wheels! Would've offered after the u-turn had I known you were going to turn into a stunt driver!" He groans as he situates himself back into the seat.
She giggles as she sits a bit taller in her seat. Stealing one or two glances at Harry, who looks like a stressed Mum teaching their sixteen year old daughter how to drive. "Stomaches been eatin' itself all night Ni! Fucking hungry" Y/n sighs before promising to drive a bit more safely.
"Should've said something befo' the party!" He taunts like he always does.
Y/n grumbles beneath her breath and shoots him a little glare. "Dickhead" She whispers.
Niall gasps with an 'offended' hand over his peck. "Do 'ya hear how she's treatin' me Harry!" He whines. "Here I am, buying all the food her tummy can possibly want, 'n she has the nerve 't call me a dickhead! You wound me heart Babe" Niall directs the last line to her.
Both Harry and Y/n giggle at Niall's little show. "G'na be gettin' Harry 'n I a milkshake too if 'ya don't put 'ya bloody seatbelt on!" She sternly scolds as she notices Niall fall forward after she started breaking.
"Will be gettin' myself one too Babe, don't leave me out of it" He fusses as he defeatedly buckles himself.
-
That night, they all had a big sleepover at Y/n's flat.
The three of them sat around the coffee table in Y/n's living room with Bourbon's orange tail rubbing against any part of their body he could touch. Niall encouraged everyone to get a shake, and they passed around the different flavors they had each gotten. Which then resulted in a heated debate between the three of them. Niall swore his was the best but he was gulping down Y/n's like it was his.
Y/n thought Harry's was better than Niall's, which made Niall want to try Harry's again. "Heyyyy," Harry whines after a large gulp from Niall.
"Still think mines better" Niall announces despite him nuzzling Y/n's milkshake straw back in his mouth.
After their debate, she made a pallet on the living room floor for Harry as Niall claimed the couch for himself. "We can snuggle if 'ya want, but Y/n's pallets are comfortable either way" Niall offers.
She'd already started spreading out an assortment of blankets on the floor when she snorts at Niall's offer. "Don't do it Harry," She warns. "He's a couch 'n a blanket hog. Nearly growls at me when I try to steal some blanket back" Y/n teases.
When they were both tucked in, Bourbon followed Y/n to her room as she did the last little steps before crawling into her own sheets. She decided to leave the hallway bathroom light on, just incase either of them had to wee throughout the night. She also left her bedroom door cracked just incase they needed her. But with that, she snuggled deep in her blankets with Bub's warming her feet.
It'd been a couple days since that night. The next morning she had slipped out early to go grocery shopping and by the time she returned, Niall and Harry were gone. Harry had folded all the blankets into a nice little pile and left a thank-you note for her. Which Niall had signed as well.
Harry lingered in the back of her mind which warmed the tips of her ears and the apples of her cheeks from time to time. She would force herself to shake him out of her mind, especially since she knew someone like Harry had girls after him. She knew she didn't stand a chance and she didn't see herself as someone Harry would want to woo anyways.
She had spotted him sometimes throughout campus when she was in between classes. Y/n could recognize some faces that surrounded him, but she would also notice a few girls lingering around him. Which made sense. Harry was gorgeous, it was no surprise to her that Harry would get this reaction from a few lasses and even blokes. And she sure as hell couldn't blame them.
Instead she would admire from a distance and even then she would stuff her face deeper into her book.
-
His heart slightly raced in the cavity of his chest as he walks out of his lecture. He had tried to fulfill his plan the first week after the party, but sometimes his friends around him made his thoughts a bit fuzzy. Or he would have trouble getting away from the suggestions thrown his way. "Are you going to this party Harry?", "Do you want to study together tonight?", " Up for some coffee before your next class?", and even some lasses being a bit forward and giving a suggestive glance toward the storage closet.
That last one had him choking on his own saliva as he declined with a "No thank you. Maybe next time" Before he and Oliver could reach the quad. The grassy area was the heart of campus and had a lot of students doing their own thing. Picnic tables surrounded the area with plushy grass and even large trees that provided a good amount of shade for the warmer days. If students weren't sitting down with friends or even by themselves, they were walking toward the little food hall or rushing to lecture rooms across campus.
It seemed like there was a place for any student needing one.
Harry had tried to make his way to one particular spot the next few days after the party, but it never worked out. He'd notice her sitting on the grass, next to the tree, similar to how he'd stumbled on her at the party. She was always occupied with a book, her phone, or even Niall and Rhett, who'd he'd recognize after Oliver pointed him out to Harry. And as the days grew cooler, she would always be cuddled into a soft looking sweater. Harry had thought maybe the desire to cuddle into her sweater was drunken thoughts, but that desire was slowly but surely poking at the back of his mind whenever he saw her.
He would wonder what she was reading, whenever he'd look at her, she was always so engrossed in her book. It was no secret to him that she was a reader. He sees a different cover throughout the days he's seen her and he vaguely remembers her living room having bookshelves surrounding her tv. He even vaguely remembers trying to read certain titles, but they hadn't stuck to his muddled brain.
When he finds her in the same spot, book in hand, and a bag of grapes beside her, he just about runs toward her. He'd remember approaching her being a bit easier when he was drunk because as he got closer to her, she finally lifted her eyes to him. Her brows raised a bit when she noticed him walked toward her but she gave him a friendly closed-lipped-smile as he joins on the grass. "Hey there curly," She greets him, leaning further against the tree. "Gotten anymore offers for walks in the woods?" She slightly taunts.
His nose scrunches up as he smiles. "No, but did get a suggestive look to the storage closet" He banters.
"Oooo, little romp action in the closet. How scandalous and romantic," She continues to tease. "What's brought 'ya over?"
Harry still has the smile on his face as he shrugs his shoulders. His shoulders relaxed tenfold just sitting in front of her. Although his heart was still racing, he felt a little lighter than he had been. "Wanted 't hang out with you," He says with the corner of his lips still up. She narrowed her eyes playfully as he giggles. "Also want to say thank you fo' driving me after the party" He says with a grateful smile on his lips.
Y/n's eyes were still-playfully- narrowed at him. Her hands mindlessly pick the bag till a bright green grape sat between her fingers. The grape was quickly plopped in her mouth as she shrugged. "Can I tempt 'ya wit' some grapes then?" She offers, holding out the bag for him to take one.
He'd stuffed his hand in the bag and happily munched on the fruit. The second his teeth sunk into the skin, it popped, and the grape juice fills his mouth. "What're you reading? Looked awfully focused before I disrupted you" Harry pokes, eyes landing at the book still cradled in her other hand.
Y/n's thumb was between the stack of pages and her eyes were quick to glance at the book. It was a crimson red hardcover with a deep gold summary on the back. "Oh umm," As quickly as her playful banter appeared, it was washed away with shy eyes, and even a soft red to the tips of her ears. "I bought a hardcover of this book I read in high school. It was my favorite so I was just revisiting" She explains sheepishly.
This was different. Harry hadn't seen her so sheepish, despite only being with her for a very limited amount of time. "Yeah? Tell me 'bout it" Harry smiles, leaning against his pack and locking his ankles together.
By the palms of his hands resting on his lower tummy, he looked comfortable. Even that dimpled lazy smile had gotten Y/n's ears warming a bit more. "It's just some teenage romance book about a vampire prince and whatnot" Y/n's shakes her head, eyes admiring the hardcover.
"I'm a sucker for romance!" Harry encourages. "And vampires?! I've seen Twilight once or twice before" He muses.
Y/ was quick in kissing her teeth with a lazy grin of her own. "This is not about a vampire who sparkles in the sunlight! This is so much better than a vampire and a werewolf fighting over a girl! This is about vampire royalty from Romina!" She gasps, fingertips holding onto the book a bit tighter.
"Yeah?" Harry laughs.
"Yes!" She puffs. "Lucius Vladescu would take great offense, knowing you would compare his royalty and superior race to that of something out of Hollywood! He would be very disappointed" Y/n argues, earning a wider grin from Harry.
If Harry had known that asking Y/n to explain the book she held in her lap, would've set her off on an exciting tangent, he would've asked so much sooner. He didn't think he would enjoy this conversation nearly as much as he actually did, especially over a book he'd never read.
She was so passionate about the details throughout the book. There were so many moments where Harry was just captivated by every little word she spoke. He caught himself leaning forward as Y/n noticed how long she had been rambling. Her cheeks were painted nearly the same crimson red as the book cover and her hands hid inside the sleeves of her sweater.
This was only his second time being around her. He'd thought that maybe his drunken mind hadn't remembered the night correctly. Or even misinterpreted the warmth spreading in his chest for her kind gesture of taking care of him when he was drunk.
But it didn't seem like that was the case.
-
Much like Niall dragging her to parties, Rhett and Libbie had the habit of doing the same thing. Studying with Libbie and playing video games with Rhett was more bearable than some of the parties Niall dragged her too. But regardless, she would agree to tag along after a bit of back and forth. Even when she really didn't want to study or hear Rhett whining about how his controller was working against him in a game of Mario Kart.
Yet, the last thing she wanted to do was meet Libbie after lectures in a reserved study pod on a Friday evening.
But Y/n still did.
"Hey" Her bright blonde bob with tinsel tied at the root smiles at her. Her manicured hands reached to assess the mess of folders, binders, notebooks, textbooks, and skewed pens- creating a little space for Y/n's materials. "Guess what happened in labs today?"
The way her hazel green eyes shimmered told Y/n what she was holding her breath for. This study session wasn't going to be filled with just studying. She didn't know why she had been so against being in her own thoughts as of late. Instead of going around and around in daydreams, lesson material, and new books she was reading like she normally did- she demanded her own thoughts be distracted by something else. Her brain had grown tired of being stuffed with information and daydreaming was becoming treacherous waters for her.
So she was delighted to hear all about the chemical reactions Libbie was experimenting with in her lab course. Even if she had no idea what thermite reactions were. (By the sounds of it, it was explosive and fiery)
"They did that in labs?" Y/n questioned after Libbie had demonstrated the crackling and neon orange reaction she observed.
"Yeah! I mean it was outside and the class was standing like twenty feet away," She shrugged. "Even got to snag some of these! There from the molten iron" Libbie presented three pea-sized iron balls that was smudged with black debris.
Y/n picked one up, rubbing the cool metal between her index and thumb. "That's mighty cool" She softly smiles and placed the trophy back into Libbie's palm. "Reckon I wouldn't have believed you had you not had 'em little pebbles" Y/n teases.
The lab results was the first of many different topics they discussed. Libbie covered all areas from lectures, work- she had many different odd jobs- and personal life. Y/n offered questions here and there, getting lost in everything Libbie was telling her. Especially the workplace drama between owners at a local pub she was hired at. "He did that in front of the customers?" Y/n gasped.
Libbie gave her a fierce nod. "Yeah, made it totally awkward. Like I get why he was mad, but it wasn't punching a wall bad," She shrugged, her fingers twirling a pen. "It was even worse having to act like everything was totally chill. A few customers closed their tab and left...everyone left after they went into the walk-in and started yelling at each other" She winced like she could still hear them.
"Sounds messy, have you been back since?"
"Nope." She popped the 'p'. "I had to request a few days off for school, but Will told me that it's been super slow the last couple days. Probably because everyone saw them arguing"
Y/n scoffed through her nose as she nods.
"Can I ask you something?"
"I'm not going to take one of your hot pilate classes." Y/n shook her head. "Rhett and Niall are dragging me to another party tomorrow so I'm not waking up early on my day off to 'detoxify my body' and make a fool of myself in front of everyone. I'm sorry, I just can't"
Libbie tossed her head back, hand covering her mouth as she laughed. "No! I wasn't- I mean one of these days you're going to take my hot pilates class, but that's not what I was going to ask you." She continued to giggle as Y/n let out an audible 'oh'. "Just wanted to ask what's going on with you and Harry?" Her tone was teasing and suggestive when she said Harry's name.
As quickly as she was able to let go of her thoughts and just indulge in the work drama with Libbie, everything came flooding back. The bit of tension of having to come up with an answer. Her heart racing in its cavity hearing his name. Hell, the tips of her ears and length of her neck flushed deathly hot like they had been doing since he wondered over to her under the weeping willow.
"Nothing." She stated, her tone even and luckily masking any and all nervousness she was feeling. "Why do you ask?" Her real curiosity peeked out.
Libbie shrugs, a soft and reassuring grin over her lips. "Heard Angela complaining 'bout how Harry had left her for you." She admitted. This didn't help settle Y/n's nerves or racing heartbeat. "Wasn't sure if she was just being dramatic or whatnot. But I did see Harry siting with you the other day." She was so nonchalant about the conversation it made Y/n flush even more for being so jittery. Y/n knew even if Libbie hadn't taken this nonchalant position on the topic, she would still be understanding if Y/n didn't want to talk about it.
"Oh," She let out a small breath. "He just came to say thank you for taking care of him. I had him and Ni spend the night after a party. Went shopping the next morning and when I came back, they were both gone" She felt the need to explain herself.
Her friend nodded. "Guess Angela took that as Harry leaving with you. But I could'a sworn I heard Oli say she was trying to woo him." She tilted her head. "Or maybe it was Niall. Anyways, are you and Harry bezzies now?" Libbie thought out loud, proving time and time again that she blurts out whatever comes to mind.
Y/n shrugs, "Dunno." The same thought had been swirling through her own mind. "Just been hanging out between lectures. Just assumed he's got nobody else to hangout with during that time" She answered honestly, despite a little sting echoing in her chest.
Her friend gave her a skeptical glance, her eyes squinted and lips pressed together. "Nobody else? 'M sure someone like Harry has loads of friends...and if not friends, plenty of suitors wanting to spend some time with him" Libbie had a point there. Y/n had seen this first hand. He was always surrounded by friends and classmates. She felt like a creep after she'd taken note of a new face surrounding him everyday.
It made her skin spike with goosebumps as she mentally scolded herself. "I guess you're right." She agreed. "I dunno, guess I haven't really thought about it...certainly didn't think someone else would be so up in arms about it either" She lied.
Of course that thought had crossed her mind. More specifically as she tried to fall asleep for the night. As she revisited the events from the day, her heart would pick up ever-so-slightly recalling Harry finding her again under her tree with another book. The same question of what she was reading would break the ice till they've gone off on a tangent, which was only broken when either of them realized they were going to be late for their next lecture. Y/n wondered if he only hung out with her because he felt guilty about the party. Or maybe like he needed to repay her for her kindness and hospitality. She would pout at the idea of him feeling like he needed to repay her. But even during these thoughts, Y/n would daydream of Harry actually enjoying her company. She would play these events, picture them as if she were reading a book, and often fell asleep with a smile on her face as she played pretend.
"Don't sweat it" Libbie had giggled softly. "Was just curious. Hey, do 'ya wanna pack up and grab dinner? Kinda wanna stuff my glob while watching Teen Wolf"
-
Y/n was better prepared for the night.
She didn't feel like she was-in the beginning- when Rhett and Niall decided to pregame at her flat. They had brought over beers to guzzle from as she debated which sweater would keep her the warmest. Which wasn't a problem till they're boisterous laughing picked up and ten second later she heard ceramic breaking. When she had rushed out of her bedroom, it was silent, Rhett and Niall were already looking in her direction. Both of their fingers were blaming each other for the broken vase.
Despite the broken vase, she had stuffed an old flashlight she found in her closet into her back pocket and made sure she had a portable charger with her. She'd gotten lucky last time with Harry stumbling over to her and Niall being hungry to leave earlier than normal. But since Niall would have Rhett, it wasn't going to work in her favor.
So, she got comfortable against the weeping willow. Her flashlight illuminated better than her phone did and she killed a lot of time reading a book she stuffed in her bag. Mindlessly, she began reaching for the bag of crisps she'd thrown in there and snacked.
Rhett had sent her a few messages throughout the first hour and half of being out. Asking the normal questions like are you alive, are you sure you don't wanna join, do you have any snacks on you, and why wouldn't she bring a bag of crisps for him. She giggled at the last question, rolling her eyes as she rejoined the fantasy world of her book.
Enjoying the book was too much of an understatement. Not when the book had her blushing, squealing to herself, and even checking over her shoulder to make sure that nobody could see the absolute filth she'd been reading. And especially not when she didn't even hear the whisper of her name and crunching of leaves coming closer to her.
The sting in her cheeks and her hand trying to cover up the splintering grin on her face could be seen through the shadows of the willow's weeping branches. Harry hummed to himself, equally surprised but completely expecting to find Y/n in her natural state. The sight of her pulled a boyish smile on his lips, drawing him in deeper to the little oasis she always created.
An oasis he couldn't find anywhere else, not that he bothered trying.
He was finally in front of her when she'd let out an audible squeal, her fingers tightening on the cover, and eagerly turning the page. Harry gave a tummy-filled chuckle as he watched. "Is this about Romania vampire royalty too?" He asked through his amusement.
If the chest tightening gasp didn't show her surprise, then her wide eyes and slaw jaw did. "Harry!" She squealed, dropping the pages but not before her thumb sat between the pages. "Where the hell did 'ya come from! Scared me to bits" Her hand was flushed to her heart as she could feel the pulse in her fingertips. The sheer panic had made her regret wearing the warmest sweater.
"Was calling y'er name when I came up" Harry laughed, hands in his front pockets, layered jackets over his torso, and beanie pulled over his ears. "What's the best way to interrupt someone who's so submerged in their book, they don't even notice someone walking up to them and hollering their name" He questioned rhetorically.
Y/n's neck craned up to him as she displayed a pout. "That's easy! You don't!" She playfully scolds. "Especially if they don't even hear you hollering their name." Her eyes rolled but a smile replaced her little pout.
"Noted" He nodded his head. Harry had took confident strides till he was closer to her and sat down. His smile was still painted on his red lips and he'd never looked so soft and boyish. "This book have vampires like the other one?" He pointed with his hand hiding in his jackets pocket, toward the book in her lap.
She shook her head softly, running her fingertips over the skull on the front. "I mean yes there's vampires, but other creatures as well...but no, no vampire royalty." She regretted for the second time that night, wearing her warmest sweater. It felt like she was suffocating in the knitted fabric and sweltering emotions.
"Tell me about it"
There it was again. The question that made her glance at the book and to the boy in front of her. And then came all the scenes her mind painted for her as she read.
She was-really- going to suffocate if she didn't get ahold of the blush, embarrassment, and adrenaline running through her.
"I-It's a bit dark. A romance fantasy book...umm it plays with the nine circles of hell. But there's magic and games." Y/n's skin was on fire and she couldn't stop fidgeting with the necklace hanging from her throat. It felt taboo-not only explaining the book- but being excited to do so. But then that voice at the back of her mind made her words fumble over one another.
Harry smirked, hand reached out and asking to see the book. 'He's trying to kill me' Y/n thought as she handed him the book, remembering the page she was last reading. She doesn't know why she handed it to him. She once again regretted her decision, especially as he began inspecting the book.
Her heart was a pounding mess. "Huh, would'a never guess," Harry teases, pointing to the skull, red roses, and golden necklace over the book's cover. However, it wasn't till he opened the book that her heart completely stopped. "What's a Blackwell?" He asked with a crunched nose.
All her words were failing her and she desperately needed the cold winter air to slap her across the face. "Uhh he's a phantom...the love interest in the book" She choked out.
"Ye alright love?"
'No!' Her brain screamed. Against her better judgement, she nodded and gave a tight smile. "Yeah" She reaffirmed.
Which ultimately made Harry go back to the book and browse over the page he opened. And that's when her worst nightmare happens in front of her. An even wider smirk spread across Harry's lips and his eyes glanced over to her. Almost like his eyes were a sword, holding her against the tree trunk, she couldn't even swallow without feeling the sharpness of his stare poking her in the throat.
"Well I hate to spoil this for you...but Blackwell just tore off her clothes" Harry taunted.
"Harry!" She gasped, immediately hiding herself in her hands and crunching herself into a defensive ball.
This set Harry into a fit of laughter, closing the book, and holding it against his tummy as his shoulder bounced. "What?" He giggles, wiping under his left eye. "There's nothing wrong with reading this. Some people watch porn, you just happen to read it" He continued to joke.
Y/n grabbed the book from his hands- scared he would read even more of the smut- and threw it into her bag. "Nobody likes to be caught with porn, whether they read it or watch it" She murmurs.
Harry threw his head, laughing more, but this time Y/n offered him an amused grin. "Well, depending on who you ask. Otherwise, very true." The comment had both of them laughing, Y/n shook her head.
"Any other suggestive looks at storage closets or walks in the woods?" She asked, tilting her head till it rested on the bark behind her.
Once again, Harry's lips were painted in a boyish grins as he shook his head. "No, think everyone took the hint 'm not a cheap fuck" He bantered. "Deserve at least a movie and dinner"
"Glad they got the hint" She teases.
"Me too" Harry genuinely smiled.
An army of butterflies fought war in her tummy and the tips of her ears felt the surge of blood rushing to the tips of them. She felt lightheaded- like she was held underwater for hours and she had just came up for a breath, gasping for air, and trying to clear the muddled fog in all her senses. If she didn't know any better, she would accuse Harry of magic.
But rather than letting her mind conjure up anything and everything, she asked, "What's brought you this way, hmm? Don't seem spacey in the eyes and you're not slurring."
"Came to find you" He immediately responded. Which hit her like a splash of cold water. And it was not helping the control over her thoughts. "Saw Rhett 'n Niall a while ago. Was trying to find the right time to leave the group, basically ran this way when everyone was arguing 'bout some footie game or whatnot"
"Didn't have 't leave the fun. I'm basically g'na be here all night" She sighed with a content smile.
Harry shrugged. "Wasn't fun over there. Having more fun now than the whole two hours I spent wit' all 'em" He responded.
"Angela invite you again?"
The question was abrupt. It didn't give her time to mule over Harry's soft eyes and even softer response. Nor did she have time to reanalyze how it might've sounded a bit pushy.
Luckily, Harry didn't seem to give it a second thought. "No, Oliver actually dragged me to this one. Said something 'bout how Holly had a friend who was interested in me and well he likes Holly so I didn't have a choice" He shrugged.
"I don't know curly, sounds a lot like a suggestive glance to a storage closet" This time she couldn't pass up the opportunity to throw a little taunt.
And it seemed like Harry took it as just that when he chuckles with her. "Did your little smutty books tell 'ya that?" He poked right back.
Y/n couldn't stop her snort. Instead, she closed her eyes and tried to cover the laugh that was crawling up her throat. She failed as she felt a tug in her tummy and rather than fighting it, her hand hovered over her smile as she giggles. "My smutty books didn't have 't tell me anything. That's just common sense"
"I guess so," He tucked his chin to his chest. "Common sense or not, didn't wanna hangout wit' 'em. Not when you're a better time"
The last fifteen minutes of suffering in her flushed skin didn't compare to the sweltering heat that consumed her at his admission. Every pore and centimeter of her skin was set ablaze and it felt as if she was the chemical reaction Libbie had told her about. She wanted to throw off her sweater and be left to the cold elements- an attempt of many she would make just to ground herself a bit more before she said something she would regret.
"Aish, y'er just saying that because 'ye wanna another floor pallet 'n milkshake t'night" She jabs with a slow shake of her head.
"Aish! 'Ya caught me, guilty as charged." Harry placed his wrists together- hands once again hiding inside his jacket pockets- and acting as if he had handcuffs over them. "A milkshake sounds great right now...despite nearly freezing me bullocks off"
"We'll have 't stop fo' one on the way home" Y/n giggles, shaking her head at his comment. "Dunno how soon that'll be, suppose Rhett 'n Niall are having the time of their lives" She mocked.
Their banter only went on from there. Harry had no trouble making Y/n curl up in laughter while she threw jab after jab to continue the jokes they were bouncing off one another. Both their laughter had echoed in the deserted surroundings and it felt as if they were hiding from the world. Like they were children hiding underneath a blanket or in a tree house, talking about anything and everything that came to mind. The flashlight illuminating their own little hideaway as they got comfortable on the forest floor.
Harry had inched closer to her throughout their conversation before he finally crawled to the space next to her. Muttering something about how his back was a bit achy and he needed the trunk to lean against, which Y/n didn't second guess till he sat right beside her. His body heat came in overpowering waves and his arm was flushed with hers. Finally, her mind took control and played with their scenario. Playing with countless "what if's" and trying to convince her of something she was certain didn't exist. His back simply hurt. Nothing more, nothing less.
Sitting beside one another, they rest on the body of the tree and just looked into the weeping branches that swallowed them whole. Their giggling had faded into an appreciated silence and the music echoing from the party sounded even further away than before. The warmth of their interaction and the boy sitting beside her made a soundless yawn escape, wondering if today was the day she would fall asleep while waiting for Niall and Rhett.
But it seemed like her thoughts had summoned them both. She could hear Niall's boisterous laugh and Rhett's snickering grow in volume with the crunching of leaves. Despite not knowing what they were giggling about, Y/n could surely tell they were drunk. Niall's laugh was flowing like the beers were and Rhett was spewing everything that came to mind.
"Babe! Is 'ya phone off or somewhat? Why in the bleeding fuck are 'ya-" Rhett entered the harbor created around Harry and Y/n. His voice stopped at the sight of the couple and a grin spread over his face. "Well guess 'ye weren't ignoring me texts! Told 'ya so" He pointed toward Niall.
"Oh fuck off! 'Ye didn't tell me shite!" Niall slapped his accusatory finger. "'Ye just moaned and groaned that she wasn't answering. The fucker thought 'ye got eaten by a bear or some shit" He admitted.
Although Y/n had been enjoying the comfortable silence around her and Harry, she thought Rhett and Niall were pretty entertaining. "Sorry Darlin', hadn't checked me phone or noticed 'ya text. Are 'ya having fun?" She questions, bending her knee to point toward the height of the tree.
Both lads grunt similarly. "Guess I wouldn't be checking my phone either had Harry came 't visit me," Rhett taunts. "Can't believe you traded 'ya lads for this little cozy place...can't blame 'ya though. Just know, she promised me a cuddle t'night"
"Oi, fuck off," Y/n's giggle was careless and soft. "Didn't promise 'ya anything besides a ride home. 'N Harry didn't trade anyone. I dragged him over here. Couldn't stop yapping 'n the gent was just entertaining me" She lied so smoothly.
She could feel Harry's arm grow stiff and practically saw his heart stutter at Rhett's accusation. Immediately, she could foresee Rhett and Niall teasing Harry. Which was just part of their personalities, but Y/n wanted to mediate a bit, so the lie slid off her lips so easily. But as she thought about it, it wasn't total lie! She was yapping a bit so Harry really didn't have an opportunity to rejoin the party. Even if he said he didn't want to.
"She does yap a lot" Niall muttered, plopping on his bum in a clumsy way.
Y/n rolled her eyes. "Shut it, 'ya gave Rhett, Libbie, 'n I a three hour presentation 'bout golf strategies 'n how your life dream is to attend the championships 'n get a green suit or whatnot" She kisses her teeth playfully.
"Nooooo" Rhett whined, tossing his head back, covering his eyes with the balls of his hands.
"Oi, 's called The Masters 'n 's a green jacket!" Niall defended with an offended gasp. "Some presentation I gave if 'ye can't even remember that!"
"Wasn't paying even the slightest bit of attention Ni" She admitted.
"Me either" Rhett sighed, sitting down beside Niall.
"Libbie has always been me favorite anyway"
Everyone- including Niall- stopped for a second and just giggled. Giggle at the chaos of conversation and just how quickly everyone was poking at each other's buttons. Nothing but friendly fire before it was brushed off and a new topic was brought up.
Rhett put his arms behind him, leaning against his palms as he tilted his head side to side. "Didn't 'ya come wit Oliver, Holly, 'n Holly's friend...Bianca?" He asked, eyebrows crunched.
Harry had been playing with his beanie, having swiped at his hair underneath it a bit till it was to his liking, and put the beanie back on. "Yeah, they still out there?" Harry tilted his head.
"Yeah, think Bianca was actually looking fo' 'ya." Rhett admitted. "Someone had said 'ye went 't the bathroom 'n then she went out looking fo' 'ya"
Within his many layers, Harry inched a bit close to Y/n as he searched for his phone. One of his jackets had a breast pocket on the inside where he had pulled out his phone. The light blinded both him and Y/n as he tapped it to life. As Y/n was going to look away from the screen, he turns it to show her. Oliver had sent him a handful of messages that they were both reading.
*Oliver: Where'd 'ya ran off too? Being a bloody woodland nymph!
*Oliver: Holly, B, 'n I are by the fire
*Oliver: Alive????
*Oliver: Hello????
*Oliver: Oi, Bianca is complaining to Holly about you ditching her. Where tf are you???
*Oliver: Alright now Bianca's feelings are actually hurt, come find us ASAP
"Guess 'ye weren't the only one ignoring someone's messages." Harry smiles at Y/n just as she finished reading the texts. She didn't know how Harry would've smoothed this over with Oliver or Bianca. She felt guilty for stealing Harry and keeping him to herself. Especially when he admitted that Bianca had came for him.
Poor lass was probably thinking the worst of Harry. And what would she think if Harry reappeared with Y/n at his side.
Y/n shook her head. "C'mon, got 't go talk 't her" Y/n announced. She picked herself up, dusting her bum off and grabbing the nearby flashlight.
"Who Babe?"
"Bianca." She double checked her bags inventory and zipped it up once everything was accounted for. "Don't want her feelings 't be hurt because I yapped Harry's ear off. Especially if she came 't spend her evening wit' him...'ye lads wanting 't stay longer?" Her eyes skimmed over Niall and Rhett as they got up messily.
It seemed like the floor wobbled underneath them as they caught their balance with a few extra steps. Which told her everything she needed to know.
"No. Party was a bit of a bust." Rhett reached to the sky and Y/n could hear the little cracks of his knees and back. "How 'bout a movie 'n food at 'ya flat" He suggested.
Y/n shrugged. "G'na have 't pick something up, don't wanna cook." Without another word or protest, the four of them made their appearance to the campsite.
Usually four to five fires were going and the overlapping conversations would be louder than the music. The campsite would ooze with energy and the crowds of people were easy to spot even from Y/n's willow tree, despite the distance.
But not this time.
Instead, three fires were crackling, a soft hum of conversation echoed, and music was playing over the conversations. A lot of people were still enjoying their time and it was still busy enough for Y/n to retreat to her tree. But it wasn't the busiest night the group had seen.
When Rhett had found Oliver, he got to him with everyone else just behind. "Harry! Where've you been!" Oliver's eyes were a bit wide and Harry could feel the heat rising up his neck to his cheeks.
Harry hadn't been thinking. He didn't consider disappearing would hurt Bianca's feelings or that disappearing might've pissed off Oliver. He- at the very least- could've popped back in or sent a message explaining where he'd gone. Harry just wanted to see Y/n. He didn't get to see her Thursday or Friday after lectures and he hadn't asked for her number. It was almost like he was fixing for a hit of the high she always gave him. Everything was just so easy around her and she had a way about her that made Harry attracted to her.
All of these thoughts had flooded his mind despite Oliver waiting for answer. Like a deer in headlights, Harry froze. "My fault Oli, hadn't realized I was holding him up. Couldn't stop yapping 'n then Rhett and Ni joined. We all lost track of time."
If Y/n was proving something, it was that she would take the fall no matter what. Harry didn't know why she didn't just throw him under the bus. Even the first time Harry had stumbled toward her, she took the bullet. Y/n had covered for him and Harry felt guilty just telling her do that. She shouldn't have to be the bad guy just because his brain stops working around her.
"'S not 'ya fault Pet." The nickname had fallen off his tongue, he didn't even realize he said it till the heat enclosed around his ears. Harry was grateful he'd just tucked his ears back inside his beanie. "Shouldn't have wondered. Went 't look fo' a drink, stumbled on Y/n, 'n had me phone on silent."
By then, Bianca and Holly had joined their circle. Bianca's arms were crossed and Holly looked a bit peeved at Harry. "Leave it 't Y/n 't prattle someone's ear off" Oliver immediately began to joke.
Y/n's jaw went slack and her eyebrows crunched. "Do I really talk that much!" She squealed playfully.
"Just teasing 'ya" Oliver giggled at his own little joke. "y'er as quiet as a mouse! Don't know how you became friends wit' Rhett and Niall here"
"They took my silence as me listening and never left"
The once quick tension instantly melted away. Oliver had threw his head back while Niall and Rhett started grumbling on about something. Even Harry couldn't help the little grin on his lips, but it faltered when Bianca stepped closer to him.
Conversation had grown mute to him when the fellas started throwing playful jabs to one another. Harry had rubbed his hands on his pants and smiled softly to Bianca. "Sorry 'bout running off. I was g'na head out right now, but here. I can shoot 'ya a text next time Oli 'n I go out or somewhat" The words had escaped his mouth before he could rethink everything.
It didn't help when Bianca snatched his phone out of his hand and immediately input her number "Or you can text me to grab some dinner. I'll be free Thursday night, we can grab coffee Monday after lectures too" She smiled and handed his phone back.
Harry didn't bother to look at his phone. Instead, he clicked it off and shoved it in his pocket. "Umm sure maybe" He'd never been so thankful for Niall when he announced he needed some food. "Bye" Harry awkwardly waved and followed Y/n.
"Burgers?" Rhett offered as everyone shoved themselves inside her car.
"Nooo burritos!" Y/n twisted her key and immediately started pressing all the buttons for the heaters.
"I vote burritos too" Niall stated.
Like meerkats, everyone turned toward Harry- who had just buckled his seatbelt in the passenger seat. "Thought we were getting milkshakes?" He looked over to Y/n.
"Its a tie"
Y/n and Niall looked at one another, seeing if either one of them wanted to change their answer. "I'll fill up 'ya tank if we grab both" Niall offered.
"Deal"
"She's on empty mate"
-
Despite her mixed feelings and many swirling thoughts, she couldn't help the warmth sprouting from her chest. It oozed from her heart and flooded her system. It was almost like the biting cold and stiff joints from the cold temperatures didn't matter. Her insides were warm and her mind was finally liberated from everything trying to constrain it.
Her flat smelled of burritos, greasy burgers, loaded fries, and this time Rhett had joined in on the debate of favorite milkshake flavors. "Ni's is straight shit" He pointed at the foam cup in-between Niall's palms. "Think Y/n's is my favorite...I even like Harry's better than mine"
"Ni's isn't that bad" Harry shrugged. "It's just pistachio...should try it with chocolate added to it."
When their food mess was forgotten on the coffee table, Y/n brought out blankets, turned off the lights, and gave the remote to the lads to fight over. She claimed the whole length of the couch, laying down on her side, curled up in the softest blanket she reserved for herself. Rhett had grabbed her ankles and lifted till they were settled over his lap. Niall sat on the floor where her hand had been resting, picking it up at the wrist, and pushing it in his hair. Harry took the spot next to Niall, pouting that he hadn't thought about Y/n running her fingers through his hair.
Well, he had definitely thought about it. But he was afraid she wouldn't like that idea.
It was inevitable for Y/n to fall asleep. And she did before the title was even shown on the screen. So it was a surprise for her when she woke up in her bed the next morning. In desperate need for water, she shuffled to the kitchen, stopping in the living room to see the three lads sprawled out on the floor.
So, yeah. Her heart was really warm and she etched this image in her mind before grabbing her water and going back to sleep.
-
Y/n was fucked.
She tried to prevent this, she really did. But it was just one of those situations that no matter how hard she tried, it was bound to happen sooner or later. At least that's what she was telling herself to make her inner turmoil settle.
It wasn't working.
Not when her heart was pattering against her ribcage, her cheeks were flushed, and a splitting grin was over her lips. Goodness, she probably looked loony sitting underneath the tree, after class, with the smile that had wormed its way on her mouth.
Her book was split over her thigh, her last page forgotten when she checked her phone after it vibrated with a text. An unknown number had sent her two messages, introducing himself, and asking a question that had been similar to one within her suppressed daydreams.
*Unknown: Hiiiii it's Harry!!!
*Unknown: I saw this rad bookstore that made me think 'bout you! Wanted to know if you wanted to check it out with me tonight? I can pick you up at 5??
So much was running through her thoughts. How did he get her number? He thought about her? How often? Or was it just when he saw books she would pop into his mind? Was this a date? Or was this just friends hanging out?
It had to be friends just hanging out. Right? If he wanted it to be a date, he would've said it was a date. And Harry would've asked her in person rather than over the phone. Especially if he was sticking to routine that they had built of joining her under her tree after his lecture. Plus, it was Monday night. Totally not Friday night or Saturday night when dates normally take place.
Right?
*Harry: Hope 'ya don't mind me asking Niall for your number! I had wanted to ask for it the other night, but that milkshake debate got heated!
Regardless of her questions and attempt to go back to her book, she sent Harry a message agreeing to his offer. The feverish blush didn't go away and would only intensify whenever she saw the hours dwindling down to 5. The excitement of browsing new isles filled with books and maybe finding a book or two she would fall in love with had her heat picking up. Of course, not because of the lad who thought of her when he saw a bookstore.
Nope, not because of him.
And definitely not when he knocked on her door at 5 sharp. Or when she opened the door to find him in another beanie, layers, and a boyish pink smile.
Harry must've been excited to see the books as well.
"Hey Y/n." Harry wanted to slap himself. His voice came out breathless and his mind couldn't even process the events throughout the day. All the predate anxieties twisted his stomach into painful knots while his heartbeat was pounding underneath his skin. He wanted to rip off the beanie as his skin was on fire with his two jackets following as sweat was sure to start building on his skin.
"Hey curly" Y/n had stepped out, locking the door behind her, and flashed him a wide smile. "So, where's this infamous bookstore 'ya found? Think it's time I broke my book buying ban" Her laugh had shook his head, legs feeling like jello as he hadn't registered that they were walking toward his car.
"A ban from buying books?" He felt like a fish out of water just repeating what she said. "Why would you do that?"
"I asked myself that for..." She picked up her phone and looked at the screen. "...two months. But I was spending wayyyy too much money on books. Especially when I couldn't read them fast enough. But I think I earned a new book or two" Y/n shrugged, trying to ignore Harry opening her door and not closing it till she was settled comfortably.
"But every time I see you, you've got a new book in 'ya hands" Harry commented, his car roaring to life, and warm air shooting out at them. "Surely you've got 't be reading them fast"
"Ehhh, faster than the average college student maybe. I revisit a lot of books"
"Why's that?"
The drive was filled with her explanation and more questions. Listening to her talk allowed Harry to relax, but when she'd laugh and throw her own little joke after his, reassured him that she was enjoying his company. For as much as she could explain the books she read, list off all the books she still hasn't read, and throw witty comebacks, it left Harry confused.
Not because he couldn't keep up with her explanation. Never because of that. Y/n always explained in ways that allowed him to follow and gave him opportunities to ask questions when he didn't.
Harry was confused on what her feelings were towards him.
Y/n was so nonchalant in the most responsive ways possibles. Like when she would joke with him, but then ask about the offers thrown his way and Angela. Or when Y/n would smile and blush for the compliments or flirtatious comments Harry would give her, but pivot the conversation to something else. And the way she looked at him with wide eyes and a squeal in her throat, but disappear into the maze of books.
It gave Harry whiplash at times. Like now, when he was trying to find her among the piles of books.
"There 'ya are, I lost 'ya fo' a second." He smiled, seeing her sitting down at the base of a shelf, five books stacked to her right, and a sixth book in her hands.
Harry sat beside her as she gave him another one of those soft smiles. "Sorry...guess I should'a warned 'ya. I'm a wonder-er in bookstores." Her cheeks ran pink and her eyes flickered from her book to Harry in a shy glance. "One time, Rhett had to have help from staff members to find me. Still took 'em fifteen minutes to find me. Wish I could show 'ya their faces when they saw it was me they were looking for and not a five-year-old"
Again, Harry sat beside her and giggled. "'S okay, 'm glad 'ya liking it here. Was really nervous it wouldn't be up 't par wit' all the other bookstores 'm sure you've visited" He admitted.
Y/n looked at him as if he had five heads and snakes for a beard. "Are 'ya kidding! Love this place already! These types of bookstores are my favorite! Like how cozy 'n home-y they feel. 'S not all sterile 'n polished like other bookstores 've been too" Her words were spoken in a tone of conviction and it took the load off Harry's shoulders.
She loved this place. The place that Harry had stumbled upon and showed her. Harry was the reason behind her smile and appreciative glaze on her eyes.
"'M glad 'ya like it Darling." His voice was from the core of his chest and ignited the heat that spread over her skin. The nickname once again slipped, but it didn't make him mean it any less. "Maybe we can find a book we can read together." He'd been thinking about asking her the first time he saw her with a book. It could be a makeshift book club- just the two of them- that he could use as an excuse to spend more time with just her. Harry would even take her to the weeping willow tree, book and picnic basket in hand, during the day so they could build that sweet oasis again.
"Really? I-I didn't even know you liked to read" The question or conversation hadn't come up, surprisingly. Y/n had meant to ask him- but partially assumed Harry did read since he brought her here.
Harry shrugged with another boyish grin. Damn that boyish grin and its pair of dimples. "Yeah-" Harry didn't even know he liked to read till Y/n asked. "I would even be open 't reading all that filth 'ya like so much." He jabbed.
A surprised smile inched over her lips and Harry's never been so close to just smashing his lips on hers. "Can't just let 'ya jump into the filth! There's levels 't this H" She laughed, the pink deepening in color.
"What like I need 't have prerequisites before reading smut?"
Y/n shook her head side to side. "Kinda! I mean, can't just let 'ya read-...think of it like learning how 't swim! 'Ya don't just jump into the deep-end. You start in the shallow with floats 'n whatnot" Her tone was in between a constant state of teasing and being totally serious.
"Bloody hell, what are they doing in these books!" He was both serious and amplifying his curiosity. "Are they fucking with tools, guns, 'n goblins?" It was a rhetorical question, one that he was hoping to get a rise out of her.
But when he sees her eyes go a bit spacey, his eyes widened. "Don't think I've actually read one where goblins fuck" Y/n mindlessly reveals, many different plots, scenes, and characters coming to the forefront of her mind. None with goblins. "Yeah can't say I've read a book with goblins having sex" She firmly stated.
There's a pause between the conversation. Harry stared at Y/n as Y/n stared back at Harry. Of the list Harry had stated, he fully expected the goblins to be a yes and everything else would've been a no. How would someone even have sex with a gun or tools? Neither seemed very erotic to think about.
"Wow" The word slipped out breathlessly. "You're amazing"
A snort escaped Y/n before a flood of giggles erupted from her chest. She never would've expected Harry to call her amazing, especially after she'd admitted to reading sex scenes with tools and guns. Y/n expected a lot more questions following her omission. Certainly not Harry giving her starstruck eyes and compliments.
"See, baby-steps. We'll start you off with floaties and lukewarm water, yeah?"
"I may not have read smut with tools and guns, 'n whatnot like 'ya" Harry had a playful tint to his tone. "But I know how 't swim 'n 've watched porn. Surely that meets some requirements"
"Harry!" Y/n squealed at his omission, flushing a dangerous temperature in her sweater.
-
Last night had been a fever dream.
Regardless of being a hermit and constantly yearning to be at her flat, Y/n loved spending time with Harry in the bookstore. It gave spending time at home by herself a run for its money because even then she didn't laugh as much as she had with Harry. Everything that could go right, went right and then some. Harry took Y/n's advice on which book to get- with his established requirements- and they'd bought a copy to start reading together. He'd even bought the two other books that Y/n had decided to take and wouldn't take no for an answer.
They ended the night over a pastry and coffee before it grew later into the night. Lectures were still due tomorrow and Y/n had agreed to study with Libbie again. She couldn't help but wonder how late they would've stayed out if responsibilities weren't restricting them.
Y/n had tucked herself in for the night after Harry had dropped her off. She'd fallen asleep and woken up with the same smile on her face that she bid Harry goodnight with.
It was out of a book. And not a smutty one.
The sun had appeared by the time she approached her usual tree. One of the books Harry had gotten her was already turned to the 100th page and her eyes were skimming every word. Reading was a favorite pass time of hers, but indulging in something that she'd remembered was bought by Harry made it better. She couldn't pinpoint why that was exactly nor could she understand the feelings that were blossoming in the pit of her chest. It was like her blood was surging with caffeine, her body was jittery, a smile wasn't too far behind, and the constant reminder of Harry caused her pulse to skip or stutter. If she didn't know any better, she would've accused Harry of being a witch, plaguing her thoughts and seizing her ability to go on with her day, herself.
But she did know better. And instead, she slipped further and further away into the pages. Her mind was at ease, her heartbeat mellowed out into a steady pace, and her body slumped into the tree trunk. Perhaps she'd been in control a lot more than she wanted to admit.
"Y/n!"
All the relaxation she'd reached was swiped away by the call of her name. She'd flinched and nearly ripped the page she'd thumbed- instead it was crumbled and her fingers immediately tried to smooth it out. The spell was casted and she could feel the effects once again.
"'Ya scared me H!" She kisses her teeth. "What're 'ya doing here? Thought 'ya lecture was due soon?"
"No Pet, it just finished up"
Her eyebrows crunched as she reached for her forgotten phone, seeing the time displayed in bold. How could she have lost track of time? So much time that she needed to hurry and meet with Libbie in their reserved pod like she promised.
"Oh!"
"Y'er enjoying the book that much eh?" Harry had noticed it the second he spotted her. He'd been secretly hoping that she would be reading it or at least carrying it around. He wanted to treat her to a new book that would hopefully become her favorite. Harry wished that she'd think of him every time she revisited it. Or that he would cross her mind when she saw it. Similarly to how she crosses his mind with everything around him.
Y/n nodded, closing the book to look over the cover once more. "Yeah, 'm already 200 pages in. Started it last night over a cuppa befo' bed" She stated with a tender smile. Her admission made Harry's heart picked up and his dimples were printed on his cheeks.
"Good....'m glad y'er enjoying it Darling" His voice was velvety in her ears and she just adored his nicknames. Or maybe it was just the nicknames pointed at her that she adored so much. All these lines were blurring faster by the second, it made it impossible to decipher. "Was thinking we can start-"
"Harry!"
At least it was before the realm was shattered.
The shrill of his name made Harry and Y/n glance in the direction it came from. A ball of energy bounced her way toward the pair, smile reaching her ears, and a rosy blush spread on the apples of her cheeks and the tip of her nose.
"Harry! I got 'ya text" Bianca had giggled, hugging his waist and snuggling a bit into his torso. She had glued herself to him, arms encircling his hips, and not making any effort to move. Harry had returned the hug, but when he realized she wasn't letting go of him, his arm sat awkwardly around the tops of her shoulders. "You'd mentioned grabbing coffee on campus, but I was thinking we could grab some off campus. I know a spot" It wasn't a question or even a suggestion.
Bianca hadn't left any room for discussion. Whatever conversation they had, it was going to play out the way she wanted, there wasn't room for anything else. Similar to the way she held onto him.
"Oh umm sure okay" Harry sounded unsure of himself.
But whatever tone he used, it still cut into Y/n. How could she'd been stupid enough to forget that Harry had asked for Bianca's number? Harry had said it himself, he was going to message her even after he'd left with Y/n. And she was silly for acting like Harry left with just her. Cause he hadn't. Harry tagged along with Niall and Rhett...for the milkshake he'd said he wanted earlier in the night. Because despite it hiding behind her joke, Harry agreed and it was silly of her to forget that.
Details like that mattered, but they were always the same points she'd forget when daydreaming.
When playing pretend.
"Okay let's go! I remember you saying that you like pistachio and chocolate? They've got amazing croissants, we can split one" Bianca gushed.
Almost like the universe wanted to torture Y/n, she noticed and stared a bit at Harry holding Bianca's hand. The excited lass was pulling him in the opposite direction.
"Wha-okay sure but wait-" Harry rushed, cheeks painted the deepest red he's ever worn. "Hold on a mo'...Y/n! Wanna start the book t'night?" He raised his brows with wide eyes.
"Oh I didn't know you liked to read!" Y/n was already growing tired of her voice. Which wasn't fair to the girl. "What book are you reading?"
"Some book" Why did that hurt Y/n the most? "T'night?" Harry seemed like he was grasping for both patience and an answer.
Y/n swallowed against a hard lump weaseling its way in her throat. "No...'m busy" Y/n wasn't busy, she didn't have plans for the rest of the week actually. But she spit the answer before standing to her full height. "Have fun on your coffee date-" Even though he'd taken her on one just last night. "I've got 't go study with Libbie"
She offered them a wide smile- her teeth biting the inside of her cheek- and took off to the library pods. She ignored the excited squeal that rung from Bianca and just how low her heart had sunk in her body. Well, she tried her best to ignore the pulsing hollowness echoing in her chest, the watering and boiling fire over her eyes, and the venomous voice taunting her with every heartbeat.
A slap in the face. One that she deserved. Y/n knew of all the suitors after Harry, she knew she couldn't be jealous of that. And truth be told, she wasn't. There wasn't a centimeter of burning in her lungs from her chest tightening, the lethal insecurities oozing in, or even her mind comparing herself to someone like Bianca. No there wasn't any of that.
Instead, she could clearly decipher the emptiness in her chest, the rapid blinking over her cloudy vision, and spiteful thought circling through her head as the purest form of self sabotage. Her blood was tainted with pity. Her heart tenderly pounded in its cavity and it was further fueled when her brain repeated his words on loop.
Some book...
Some book.
Some. Book.
The same book they'd scavenged the bookstores shelves and giggled over. A book they'd both thought sounded amazing to get lost in and jab over the smutty scenes. Words on a paper that would be the first she'd experienced with someone else.
Nope, it was just some book.
Just like she was just a friend.
Exactly how she'd forgotten.
Specifically how she was reminded.
-
"Are you okay?"
Why was that such a shit question? Why couldn't Libbie ignore the fact Y/n had been trapped in her thoughts and certainly wasn't listening to her workplace drama. If she wanted to know what was wrong, why not wait till they were away from Niall and Rhett- who Y/n didn't want listening to the answer. Who would poke and prod till they were satisfied with the answer she gave.
And who immediately looked at Y/n once the question was asked.
"Yeah 'm fine"
"Bullshit" Niall was quick to hiss out his response. "What's goin' on wit' 'ya? Y'er somewhere far away"
"Nothing just tired. Stayed up late last night" Again, not a total lie. But really not the truth either.
Rhett narrowed his eyes at her before shaking his head. "Partial truth. Let's try asking a different question. Why did 'ya miss the opportunity 't make fun of Ni pissing on 'ya bath rug?" She really despised Rhett sometimes. Y/n always thought the three of them would be great friends to have if something ever happened to her. Surely, they would lead authority to the right place with how perceptive they could be. But that perceptive eye was a real thorn in her side when she just wanted to ignore the malicious voice snickering in her mind.
Y/n shook her head and shrugged. "Didn't hear the opportunity to bring it up. If I had, I would've" She reassured with wide eyes. "Because the prat still hasn't replaced the rug. Almost slipped the other night getting out the shower. I'll be sure 't send the medical bill 't him when I do" Another attempt to assure them she was okay.
Even though she knew she wasn't.
And it seemed like they knew that too. Right thorns they absolutely were.
Niall, however, couldn't stop the kiss on his front teeth. "Oi, put a shirt on the floor in the meantime!" He was quick to hiss. "This redirected anger doesn't have anything 't do wit' a curly headed lad?" He tilted his head with analyzing eyes.
"No"
The answer was short, quick, and snippy. Which said everything they needed to know. Why? Why didn't Y/n wait a beat longer before answering? Why didn't she keep that spiteful voice in her head? Why did she have to prove Niall's point with just a simple word.
Libbie dropped her pen with a crunched brow. "Just saw 'ya hangin' out befor' me lecture? Surely, nothing could've happened in that short interaction!" She thought, glancing between Y/n, Niall, and Rhett as if they knew something she didn't.
She would be surprised.
"No, nothing happened. 'M fine" Y/n pressed, grabbing her pen just so her fingers could hold something.
"Aish, why's it such a hassle 't get 'ya 't talk?" Rhett shook his head. "C'mon Babe, it'll make 'ya feel better if 'ya just talk 't us. Promise, nothing will leave this pod. Swear it" His fingers crossed his left peck.
Y/n chewed the inside of her cheek. There's no way talking about it would make it better. It would make it worse. She would have to admit to others that she likes Harry, that she threw herself in a one-sided 'relationship'- if she could even label it as such. She would have to hear her own voice speak the words she's been suppressing for so long.
"We already know 'ye like him Love 'n we know he likes you" It was almost like Niall could read her thoughts.
"I don't 'n surely he doesn't either"
Rhett rolled his eyes. "The lad tucked 'ya into bed. If he didn't like you then he would've left 'ya on the couch," He reasoned. "Hell, if he only saw 'ya as a friend, he would've let Niall push 'ye right off!"
"What? Thought 'ye did that"
Both Niall and Rhett shook their heads. "That was all Harry Babes. Mate looked like he was tucking in his most prized possession. Half expected him 't leave a kiss on 'ya forehead." Rhett continued.
She hated what that information did to her stomach. She loathed how her heart sunk further knowing he didn't kiss her forehead goodnight. Even Rhett had done that when he was drunk.
"Probably would've had we not walked into the room" Niall pipes.
Fuck.
"Was just being sweet 't me because I gave him a ride after the party" She fought, a shake of her head as she stared at her notebook.
"The same party he left fo' you," Niall raised his brows. "The both of 'ye would've stayed there all night if you had the chance. C'mon Lovie! You can't actually believe that he doesn't like 'ye when he's practically glued 't you! Always talking 'bout you. Even turning down Bianca"
"Then why would he take her out on a coffee date when he just took me on a date last night!"
"What?"
The three of them had surprised eyes and gapped mouths at Y/n's admission. It made her feel even smaller and like she should've just grabbed her stuff and left. Before all their reasoning and questions got to her like they clearly did.
Rhett scooted closer to her and rubbed the length of her back. "Babe, it's okay. Take a nice, big, slow breath. C'mon, let me see" He demonstrated a deep breath, urging her to follow. Which she did, feeling the tightness getting worse on the surface of her lungs before she blew out the same breath. "Good, again" They repeated this four times with Rhett's large hand rubbing circles on her back.
"What happened when 'ye were with Harry?" Libbie asked, voice as soft as the cashmere shirt she had on.
"Aish, I hate the lot of 'ya" Y/n hissed, closing her eyes before shrugged her shoulders defeatedly. "Harry text me yesterday. Took me 't a bookstore he saw...Said he thought 'bout me when he saw it. So, we went, looked around, 'n he bought me books. Even picked one we would read together" Her skin was on fire and she could feel the heat pooling in a layer of sweat. "We got coffee afterwards 'n just talked fo' hours- felt like if we didn't have lectures t'day then we would've been there all night"
Libbie smiles, nodding encouragingly. "That's cute honey. Nothing wrong with admitting that or even being happy 'bout it. Sounds like the perfect date" She reassures, her eyes glistening.
"Don't know if it was an actual date 't be fair" Y/n spit out, still trying to armor her own feelings. "It couldn't have been. But I was reading one of the books he bought me when he came up 't me. Asked if I was enjoying the book and if we could start our book tonight...then Bianca showed up"
Her tone was the most viperish it'd been. Which-again- wasn't fair because it wasn't Bianca's fault. Harry had shown her interested, invited her out for coffee, and she was excited. Y/n just hated herself for playing pretend for far too long.
"How'd she know where Harry was?" Niall questioned.
Y/n shrugged. "'M assuming Harry text her. She said she'd gotten his message. And instead of going for coffee on campus, she knew of a good one off of campus. Even said they had his favorite, some pistachio and chocolate croissant or whatnot. He even agreed 't split one wit' her"
Rhett's hand had doubled its efforts in rubbing the tension from her back.
"And on top of that! The book we chose- together- was now just some book!" She scoffed, pissed off as if she hadn't been brewing over it for an hour already. "Can 'ya believe that! Some book! Why couldn't he tell Bianca it was the best book in the damn bookstore! Why couldn't he say that those pistachio-chocolate croissants were just some croissants"
Okay, that part was equally petty and jealousy speaking. She couldn't help herself.
Petty or not, her friends giggled at her little rant. But everyone shook their heads like they agreed and understood. "Course they are. Pistachios aren't even good, 's the perfect way 't ruin chocolate. Stupid of her 't even suggest they would be good" Libbie decided- a firm head nod in her direction.
"So are you g'na read wit' him t'night?" Rhett asked.
Y/n shook her head.
"Good, we can stay in. We can order burritos, stay in, and binge watch whatever show 'ye want"
Which is something she always desired, especially on the night she has to go out with Niall, play video games with Rhett, or study with Libbie.
But now it was different...
-
The week had been torturous.
Dodging Harry had felt never ending, but by Friday it seemed like he'd gotten the message. She never realized just how much time they spent together and what his absence would mean. It was weird- in the sense that it felt like there was a big hole in her days. Despite only spending a few months together, Harry's absence was noticeable -for lack of a better word.
Even when Y/n had been suffocating with Libbie, Niall, and Rhett. Who had been smothering her, but she knew they meant well. So, she took their company with open arms and enjoyed doing what she enjoyed the most. Being locked in her apartment, ordering take-out, and just shooting shit. She never realized how much she missed out on their daily lives. Like Rhett's dates with a special little lass, Niall's golf club he built, or even Libbie's many different achievements with labs and pilates.
Friday night they decided going out for dinner and a few drinks would be best before- ultimately-they pitched in for a bottle and guzzled from said bottle afterwards. A killer headache was waiting for everyone the next morning.
By now it was Saturday night.
Y/n was left to her own devices and Bourbon. The fat orange cat was warming her feet as her hands cradled a bowl of soup. Soup from a can she'd thrown on the stove and couldn't be bothered to heat up for longer than two minutes.
A true crime documentary echoed in the background as she scrolled mindlessly over her phone. Seeing the many different book reviews and switching between her social media and notepad- writing down a never-ending TBR list.
"Haven't read a professor and student book in'a while," She spoke to the cat- who blinked slowly at her. "'S got paranormal 'n smut...bit of a dark academia vibe 't it. 'N he's morally grey" She noted, switching over to her online delivery app and putting it in the cart.
The fur ball meowed loudly at her, like he'd known she was on that specific app.
"Need more treats huh?" She hummed, remembering the heart shattering meow he'd let out when Rhett had fed him his last treat. "Fine, but 'ye only getting two from now on....'em vets are g'na yell at me if 'ye get any bigger"
Before Y/n could find the treats she normally buys for Bourbon, her screen is taken over by two buttons and Harry's name. Her heart sunk to the floor and a cold sweat broke out on her skin. Y/n couldn't believe the complete yearning that took over her heart nor the hurt that muddled her brain. The battle of forces- trying to decipher what her next move was. Her mind screamed at her to ignore the call. If she wanted to protect herself and ignore the feelings that had been stewing in her system all week, she needed to let the phone ring. But her heart wanted relief. It wanted to hear Harry's voice and feel the lightest its ever felt. So she needed to answer the phone if she were to give into her desires.
The green button granted her a chance.
The red button solidified her decision.
-
Harry needed to sober up and get a fucking grip.
He'd been swimming in his thoughts all week and now it was accompanied by alcohol. He should've thought about this, like actually put some thought into the whole situation. Instead, he was too wrapped up in her oasis- doing everything he could to stay and revel in it, but fucked it up in the process. If he had even a semblance of a chance to make this up, he needs to practice those boundaries.
Y/n had been aces at them.
But those boundaries also got in the way of her desires. That was clear from the beginning. Her self discipline was so admirable. Everything about her was. Harry had been smitten from the start.
And he'd gone a fucked it up.
"Llo?"
Or maybe there was a chance after all?
"Y/n? Hi"
If he didn't spit something out then he's sure he would fuck it all up. Maybe even worse this time.
"Hi" It was small, soft, and he wanted more. Harry wanted her to yap his ear off till his ears couldn't work anymore. He wanted her there, right now.
"I wanna-"
"Oi Harry!" The shout of his name made him jump. Trent had slapped his shoulder- a lot harder than Harry liked- and pushed a red cup to his chest. The red jungle juice splashed over the edge, coated Trent's hand, and the center of Harry's shirt. "Noticed 'ye needed a refill! Go on! Have a swig!" He encouraged.
Harry didn't want it. "Oh 'm actually on the phone-"
"'Ye can drink 'n chat!" Trent chuckles, hand again slapping his shoulder. "Heard from Holly that 'ye went 'n broke her friend's heart. What's that 'bout?"
Holly had been here? If Holly was here, then Bianca had to be too. Harry needed to leave, now. "Nothing, 've got 't go-" But it didn't matter what Harry said.
"Thinking 'bout leaving already Styles?" Garrett asked with his own red cup in his hand. "'S not even late. C'mon stay fo' awhile! G'na miss the whole party" He insists.
Boundaries Harry, boundaries!
"No thank you...calling me girlfriend-"
"Don't let the missus ruin 'ya night" Trent threw his head back. "Just tell her 'ya went home or whatnot. Garrett 'n I will vouch for 'ya. Tell her 'ye left at nine sharp"
Bloody hell, this wasn't going to be easy.
"Okay...Yeah sure, I'll tell her that now...give me a mo'" He lied, pushing past them to the front door. "Y/n? Are 'ya still there?"
"'M here...where are 'ya at? I'll come get 'ya"
"Really?"
"Yes, already in the car"
"Thank you Darling....miss you. Miss you so much. Was waiting at our tree 'n was shattered 't pieces when 'ye never came. Understand that I kinda fucked up, but swear 's not what it seems like! Just wanted 't let her down easily 'n wanted 't read our book. Still wanna read our book, wanna learn 'bout all 'em smutty scenes that 'ye like 't read or the little worlds they transport you too! 'N I miss being 'round 'ye, it's been hell wit-"
"Harry!" Her voice had stopped his rambling. "Button, can't see me any sooner when I don't know where 't go. Can 'ye tell me where 'ya are Love?" Y/n's voice noticeably softened and Harry could even hear a bit of a smile in her tone.
"Yeah...yeah I can cause I just wanna see 'ya 'n hug 'ya," He promises, hand dropping the cup he hadn't realized he was holding. "'M down Campus drive. The last house with them white poles 'n stupid flags of shapes"
Y/n giggled...she actually giggled at Harry. Which had to meant he was making progress.
"Can't believe 'ye went 't a frat house 't party" She hummed amused.
"Had 't drink me sorrows away...thought I wouldn't be able 't talk 't you anymore" The alcohol had him loose lipped, but Harry would admit this to Y/n if he was stone cold sober. He just needed to be given the chance.
But there's a pause over the phone. One long enough that he took the screen off his cheek, but still saw she was on the other line. "Nonsense Button," She sighed delicately. "Go 'n wait in the bathroom or somewhat. Don't want those frat bastards 't pressure 'ya into drinking. I'll be there in a mo'"
Harry agreed and did as told when the phone call ended. He swayed his way back inside, Garrett and Trent yapping where he'd left them. "Look who's back! Where'd 'ya drink go!" Trent pointed to his empty hand but red stain still on his shirt.
"Oh ummm, drank it already" He spite out, despite vividly remembering he dropped it on the porch.
"Let's get 'ya a refill!" He began pushing Harry's shoulder toward the large doorway leading to the kitchen.
"Wait, gotta wee"
"Go 't me loo upstairs. 'Ye g'an wait fo' ages down here," Trent offered, pointing to the stairs on the other side of the house. "Up 'em stairs, 't the right, fifth door" He directed, more of his own drink spilling on the floor and over his hand. "Hurry, we're all g'na take shots! 'N 'ya better be down here fo' 'em! Or else I'll drag 'ya down myself!" He threatened.
Harry knew he would hold true to his threat too.
Shuffling through the crowd made him hot and sticky. Lots of unheard 'excuse me's' and disgruntled grunts when he'd stepped on someones foot, knocked into someone's shoulder, or even the body he'd rammed into when turning to the right hallway like Trent told him too.
"Sorry...didn't see 'ya sorry. 'M sorry" He apologized with a slur to his words.
"Harry?"
Bianca was flicking her hand at her side. He'd only noticed then that her cup was crumpled on the ground and the juice had covered up her forearm.
"Yeah, sorry. I didn't mean 't run into 'ya..." He didn't know what to do. Harry was swimming in alcohol, feeling thirsty, and desperate to see Y/n. "Need the loo...umm how are you?" He also had a rambling problem when he was intoxicated.
"Just came from the loo, but now 'm g'na have 't go back 't wash me hands" She hissed.
Turning on her heel, walking down the hall, to the fifth door with a little poster on the door. With slow, unsure, steps, Harry followed her into Trent's room with an attached bathroom. He watched as she went to his bathroom, turned on the lights, and washed away the residue of the juice.
Part of him prayed Y/n would get here soon. He didn't want to be alone with Bianca, but he didn't want to be out there in the crowd even more. He hated how he just shifted side to side on his foot, looking at Bianca and then around Trent's room.
When the water had shut off, Bianca let out a little scoff from her nose. She had been watching him through the mirror. Part of her had hoped he followed her into the room to make a move on her. Thinking maybe he'd changed his mind or at least wanted to test out just kissing her. If he'd kissed her, she would let him, and see if maybe things would progress from there.
Harry didn't.
"Geez, you're drunk" She shook her head, twisting to face him while drying her arm. "Why'd 'ye follow me in here?" Bianca knew he'd tell the truth. Especially if he was drunk.
"Oh, I didn't" He stated. "Trent said I could use his bathroom...'m waiting fo' Y/n"
Bianca rolled her eyes, throwing the towel to her side a bit peeved. "Figures," She muttered. "Don't know why 'ye like her so much. She's just some weird little virgin who hates parties but still goes out to them just to read or whatnot"
Harry didn't like what Bianca was saying nor the tone she took while saying it. "No she's not. I like a lot 'bout her. She's protective and caring. Doesn't care what anyone thinks...she so special 't listen to. She's got this little light that only shines once 'ye get 't know her" Harry's own admiring smile widened across his face. His heart picked up speed and his head grew even more spacey.
"She won't know a thing 'bout pleasing you" Bianca argued, taking a daring step forward.
But it went unnoticed by Harry. "That's not true...she already does just by telling me 'bout the books she's read. 'N letting me read wit' her. Don't think I could ever please her the way reading does... definitely have competition there" He noted, more-so for himself.
Her jaw tightened and she wanted to to scream. "Then why ask fo' my number? Why lead me on? I mean, you had to have liked me at some point" She pressed.
His throat bobbed before the alcohol took control. "No...went 't the party fo' Y/n. Oliver had dragged me there too because he likes Holly. I only got 'ya number so I could explain my feelings for you...which I did. Told you, I didn't mean 't lead you on. I'm sorry that I did" Harry felt like shit. Really, he did. He knows what it's like being devoted to someone when they're devoted to someone else.
Being everything but first option, priority, etc, hurt.
In all aspects.
"Did you ever want to kiss me? At least?" They were closer than they started. Bianca had marched up to him, her heaving chest just inches away from his steady one.
"No"
The answer fell from his lips as the door opened.
Harry's head was almost spinning from how fast he turned to see their visitor. Y/n stood in a hoodie and yoga pants. Her hair mused and messed with and lips formed in a pout with a layer of chapstick.
"Am I interrupting?" Her eyes shifted from Bianca to Harry.
Bianca huffed annoyed. "Nope, he's all yours. Thanks for nothing Harry" She growled, stomping out of the room, leaving Y/n with Harry.
Her eyebrows raised and her eyes were questioning him. But he didn't give her any explanation. Instead, he marched up to her and threw himself in her chest. Nuzzling into her hoodie like she'd given him an invitation.
"I'm tired" His voice was muffled as he buried his face in her throat. Body wrapped around her like a vine, she was overheating in more ways than one but she couldn't tell him to move. She wanted him close enough that she could continue to feel his heartbeat. Arms that strong should feel suffocating with how he wound them around her body and kept her to his chest, but she would happily drown in him if it meant keeping him right in this place.
He was just better at speaking those desires out loud.
"I just want you to be with me all the time. As much as I love coming home to you...I don't want to have to keep leaving you behind. Is that too clingy of me to say?"
Y/n had no idea what he meant but understood the feelings behind his rambling. At least she thought she did. He was drunk after all.
"No 's not clingy Button" She spoke tenderly, fingers brushing his hair back as he nestled deeper into her throat. "Wanna be with you all the time too...missed 'ya an awful lot this week" Y/n reassured.
If Harry had the ability to purr, he's sure as hell he would. "Missed 'ya more Petal. Missed you so much, won't even believe me if I could describe how much I missed you. Wanted 't tell 'ya all 'bout a new bookshelf I wanna buy, 'n how I saw these matching sweaters that would look right cute on us, oh! Oh! And 'bout-"
Harry was cut off by her giggle, His ear right over the sound that he just wanted to coo in delight. "Still can tell me all 'bout that...but not here. Smells like dirty socks 'n alcohol" She jabs.
"Think the alcohol might be me" He pulled away, showing his ruined shirt with the jungle juice stain.
Y/n glanced over the stain. "Got a change of clothes fo' 'ya....can take a shower at my place. Let's just get the fuck outta here"
With no other protesting on his end, Harry allowed Y/n to pull him downstairs. They were about to leave when Trent had hollered Harry's name.
"C'mon the nights still young! Stay 'n have a shot! She can even stay 'n have a few wit' us" He promised, handing his own drink to Harry.
"Not interested" Y/n dismissively stated.
Trent lifted his lip in disgust. It seemed like not a lot of people turned him down for a drink. "Then let the lad stay fo' himself. Don't need 't be a nag and ruin his night" He spit.
"Not ruining anyone's night besides yours, you twat. Fuck off, we're going home"
-
Being with Y/n equally sobered him up and gave him a high.
When she offered Harry her shower, he lathered himself up in her body wash and strawberry shampoo. Loving that he smelled just like her, like he'd been marked hers and hers only. Harry was even thrilled to be bundled up in her clothes- an assortment of men's t-shirts and sweats that she loved sleeping in. Not only did he smell like her, he was wrapped in her clothes, and was getting closer to her haven.
Harry was home.
After gathering his things, he exited the bathroom and wondered into the living room. Y/n was lying down, eyes trained on the telly, and Bubs lying in her chest. Harry wants to be in her arms, watching the telly with her.
"All done?" Y/n questioned.
Harry nodded, keeping his ball of clothes at his side.
"Lemme take those, I'll throw 'em in the wash," Y/n stood- the cat meowing his protest, but jumping to the other side of the couch. "Have some meds on the counter fo' 'ya. Go on, I'll warm up some soup or somewhat" She promises before disappearing to the other room.
Under her instructions, Harry when to the kitchen, grabbing the pills, and drinking all the water poured in a cup for him. With a wet gasp, his chest heaved a bit as he was able to catch his breath. He missed this. He missed her.
As Y/n walked into the kitchen, Harry was rubbing his eye with his knuckle. His face looking pouty as if she'd just woken him up from his nap and he was trying not to fall back asleep. His hair was soft and bits of it began drying. Y/n wondered if Harry was always a drunk cuddle or if it was just the circumstances that made him extra soft.
He watched as she walked around the kitchen, pulling various things from the cabinets, fitting a pot and pan on the stove, and occasionally giving Harry a glance. "'M sorry fo' calling 'ya while I was drunk" Harry murmured.
"Why're 'ya sorry?" She genuinely asked.
"Cos, I had been drinking 'n I let the alcohol get the best of me," He reasoned. "It's just...I wanted 't call 'ya before I started drinking- had been wanting 't talk 't 'ya since Bianca came up 't us at our tree. Cos I swear, it's not what 'ya think. I didn't ask her out...well I mean I did but not like that" His words and thoughts were stumbling over one another. Harry couldn't blame this solely on the alcohol, that effect had been dissipating since he walked into Trent's room with Bianca.
With the stove flicked on, Y/n turned to look at his emerald gems. "Then what was it like?" She asked, her voice fragile. It made Harry's heart seize and he felt like he'd been thrown in an ice bath.
"I-I got her number cos I wanted to explain why I disappeared....that I was with you because I like 'ya. Would've told her at the party, but I was afraid 'ye leave wit' out me 'n well, I didn't wanna ruin her time at the party" He swears, palms rubbing the length of his thighs."S-So I text her 't meet me fo' coffee...thought it would be best 't tell her in person rather than over the phone. Felt like I owed her that much...but then it turned into something it wasn't!"
Y/n was spinning. She missed Harry loads, but that didn't stop the rattling hurt coursing through her. In an attempt to ground herself, she picked up a can of soup- heating that up- and began making grilled cheese for the both of them. "Well, what was it?" She asked, encouraging him that she was listening.
Harry sighed, running his hands through his locks that were drying to his forehead. "Ummm a scheduled breakup 't sum it up," Harry shrugged his shoulders. "But she ended up taking me to this coffee shop- the croissants weren't very good- 'n she yapped my ear off. When I had finally got the chance 't explain that I wasn't tryin' 't woo her- I was trying 't woo you- she got up in arms 'bout it. Said I was rotten fo' leading her on 'n that if I didn't wanna woo her, then I shouldn't have asked her out...Didn't think I asked her out, but I guess I could see the misconception" Another red color flooded his cheeks.
She hated how much lighter this made her feel. She shouldn't take pleasure in hearing that Bianca was turned down. Y/n shouldn't reframe it as Harry left Bianca for her. It wasn't right...but she would be lying if she said it didn't make her heart stutter.
Goodness, she needed to get a grip!
"So when 'ye took me out, you didn't ask me out?"
Again, the question was abrupt. Y/n hadn't meant to actually ask it- instead it was a passing thought as she was trying to hurt her own feelings. It made it easier to ground herself and not take so much enjoyment out of Harry's confession.
Especially when the same could be said about their night out.
"Course I asked 'ye out Darling" Harry confessed. "Had been thinking 'bout you when I saw the bookstore, was thinking of more ways 't hangout wit' 'ya when I said let's read a book together, was even thinking 'bout you during my coffee outing with Bianca!"
Now she was sure her skin was painted the reddest color she'd ever worn. The fires from his praise licked her skin and she could even feel the clamminess coat the top layer. "Oh, okay...good. I-I mean not good that you were thinking 'bout me when 'ye were wit' Bianca...but still umm good" Her brain was muddled with emotions she kept trying to sort through.
Sure this was all very reassuring and it made the hurt feelings slowly dwindle, but now she was trying to figure out what this meant. Did this mean they would go back to normal? Or would they start dating and their normal look completely different?
"I-I didn't mean 't hurt 'ya. Just thought I was doing what was right by asking Bianca 't coffee so I could tell her in person" Harry confesses with hooded eyes.
"'Course you were doing it right Handsome," Her heart stuttered in her chest. "That's very kind of you. Yeah, me feelings were hurt 'n I was stunned 't see you go out wit' Bianca after our date the night before. But I see where you're coming from" She soothes, the sizzling of the pan echoing over her soft voice.
She could hear Harry walk over to her before she felt his warmth radiating off of him, onto her back. His large arms enclosed around her waist, his chest flushed with her back, and nose nuzzling into her neck. ""M sorry I hurt 'ya feelings. Wasn't my intentions. Should've told 'ya before Bianca came up. I'll remember that if there's a next time"
Harry was just so soft. Everything about their situation oozed domestic and Y/n felt like she was in her element. She was happy flipping both of their grilled cheese, she reveled in the warm embrace Harry had, and she had everything she needed.
"What were you 'n Bianca talking 'bout before I came into Trent's room?" It was another mindless thought that popped into her head. She wasn't trying to dig for a 'gotcha' moment. "She looked pretty irate wit' you" She admitted.
A puff of warm air escaped his nose and traveled down the exposed skin of her throat. "She's still upset that I led her on...ehhh I think she misinterpreted me asking for her number and asking her 't coffee. I-I think that was my fault though" He sighs, shaking his head, rubbing his cheek on her shoulder. "She asked if I at least wanted 't kiss her, at some point or another...told her no"
Y/n let out a surprised gasp. "Harry! 'Ye did not!" She choked. Which only earned a confirming nod from the lad glued to her back. "Well now I know why she stormed off...can't blame her. Surely that didn't feel good"
"Lying 't her would've been worse...she could've kissed me if I lied and said yes" Harry grumbles. "Didn't wanna kiss her, just wanna kiss you. Just want you"
It was almost impossible to go ridge or tense in his arms. His warmth coaxed her to a near sleepy state, but his words had her heart hammered against her chest. For a brief moment, she wondered if he could hear or feel her rapid pulse from how deeply he was nuzzled against her. If he did, he paid no mind to it.
And then she acted on impulse.
Twisting on her heel, she pushed Harry till his bum was at the edge of the counter behind them. Now being chest to chest, Y/n rises on her tippy toes- keeping a steadying hand on his chest- and pushes their lips together. Harry's lips were equal parts plushy and warm- both elements drawing her deeper. His hands were firm reminders that this was real, especially with how desperately they grasped her skin. One hand moving from her jaw to the back of her neck, directing her in for another kiss. His other pushing her closer to him on her lower back.
Y/n couldn't stop her own hands from wondering. Her fingers ventured into his hair while her other hand tugging his shirt- as if to get him closer. She had spent the week away from him, now it was time to catch up on some much needed time together. Despite how clingy that sounded. Y/n made up her mind, and now she wasn't going to lose it.
Harry's tongue poked out- swiping the bottom of her lip- while he tugs her hair a bit. A pleased hum escapes her mouth before she pushes against his lips. She didn't want a breath, she wanted to keep kissing him.
"Greedy fo' my kisses?" Harry's voice dripped in ecstasy and Y/n was addicted instantly.
"Yes" she answered honestly.
"Hmmm, did 'ya smutty books tell 'ya, you would be?" He teases, smashing their lips together before she utter a response.
That is till a smoky scent hit their noses.
"Fuck!" Y/n gasps, turning in her hazy senses, to find two burned grilled cheese. Luckily the soup wasn't in the same state or else she wouldn't have anything to feed Harry. "Oi, 'ye almost made me burn the flat down!" She mocks, flicking the burned sandwiches in the sink and running cold water on them before tossing them in the trash.
Harry's mouth fell open. "What! Me!" His hand pointed to his chest. "Y'er the one who got that hot little mouth on me!" He argued playfully.
"Y'er the one that wanted my hot little mouth"
"Yes, 'n I still do" He grabbed her waist and urged her to turn around. Smiling in victory as she complied and giving her a longer kiss as a reward.
When they broke, their eyes explored one another's face. "C'mon, let's eat 'n then we can go 't bed" She beams.
"Can we kiss some more?" Harry shyly asks.
"Dunno, sounds a lot like 'ye suggesting a walk in the woods" She taunts, but pushes another plushy kiss to his lips. "Yes we can Handsome, c'mon"
By day, Y/N and Harry Styles are the most formidable enemies in the city’s legal circuit—a ruthless prosecutor and a silver-tongued defense attorney locked in a high-stakes war of words and logic. To the press and the jury, they are fire and ice, two titans who would gladly dismantle one another's careers for a guilty verdict or an acquittal.
But when the gavels fall and the courtroom doors lock, the hostility melts into a desperate, forbidden hunger. Behind the closed doors of a rain-slicked penthouse, the "Ice Queen" and the "Velvet Blade" shed their professional armor to reveal a love so deep it’s dangerous. In a world where one public slip-up could ruin them both, they navigate a treacherous dance of secret glances and midnight rendezvous, proving that the only thing more powerful than the law is the truth of what they feel for each other.
**************
The air in the mahogany-clad courtroom was thick with the scent of old paper and the electric charge of two titans clashing. Outside, the world knew them as the "Ice Queen" and the "Velvet Blade"—Y/N, the relentless prosecutor who never let a witness breathe, and Harry, the defense attorney who could dismantle a legal mountain with a crooked smile and a single, devastating question.
The prosecution rested, but Y/N wasn’t finished. She stood at the lectern, her posture a masterpiece of rigid elegance. Her suit was charcoal, sharp enough to cut, and her eyes were fixed on the jury with a fervor that bordered on the religious.
“The defense would have you believe in ghosts,” she began, her voice a low, melodic chime that carried to the very back of the gallery. “They would have you believe that shadows committed this crime, that my client’s fingerprints are merely a cosmic coincidence. But the law, members of the jury, does not deal in specters. It deals in blood, in steel, and in the undeniable truth.”
She turned then, her gaze sweeping past the judge to land on Harry. In the public eye, this was the moment everyone waited for—the friction.
Harry sat back in his chair, the picture of practiced nonchalance. He looked down at his notes, a stray curl falling over his forehead, before looking up to meet her eyes. To the gallery, his look was one of condescending amusement. To Y/N, it was a challenge that set her nerves on fire.
“Mr. Styles,” she said, her voice dropping an octave, “seems to find the suffering of the victim… quaint. He weaves a tapestry of doubt because he cannot face the tapestry of facts.”
Harry rose slowly, buttoning his blazer with a rhythmic precision that Y/N knew was a calculated distraction. He moved toward the center of the floor, encroaching on her space until they were only a few feet apart—a distance that, in any other setting, would have been scandalous.
“My learned colleague speaks of tapestries,” Harry countered, his voice like gravel and silk. He didn’t look at the jury; he looked only at her. “But she forgets that if you pull on a single loose thread, the entire image unravels. She wants to talk about blood? Let’s talk about the contaminated samples. She wants to talk about steel? Let’s talk about the lack of a murder weapon.”
He stepped closer, his shadow falling over her. The courtroom held its breath. They were fighting ruthlessly, their words like rapier strikes.
“You’re grasping at straws, Mr. Styles,” Y/N snapped, her eyes flashing.
“And you’re building a cage out of paper, Counselor,” he shot back.
For a heartbeat, the professional mask slipped—not into kindness, but into a raw, competitive heat that the public mistook for genuine loathing. It was a high-stakes game of chess where the winner took the verdict, but the losers were the only ones who knew the real score. By the time the judge hammered the gavel for the evening recess, the tension in the room was so taut it felt as though the windows might shatter.
Six hours later, the world was different. The sharp fluorescent lights of the courthouse were replaced by the amber glow of 'The Rusty Nail,' a dive bar tucked into an alleyway that smelled of rain and cheap bourbon.
Y/N sat in the furthest booth, her hair undone and cascading over her shoulders. She wore a trench coat over her court attire, trying to blend into the shadows. When the bell above the door chimed, she didn't look up, but her heart stuttered. She knew his gait—the heavy, rhythmic step of a man who owned the ground he walked on.
Harry slid into the booth opposite her. He looked exhausted, his tie loosened and his top button undone, exposing the faint edge of a tattoo on his collarbone.
“You were a nightmare today,” he whispered, his voice stripped of its courtroom bravado. It was soft, intimate, and thick with a longing he only allowed her to see.
“And you were an arrogant prick,” she replied, though her hand reached across the sticky table to find his.
Their fingers entwined, a desperate lock of skin against skin. The transition from enemies to lovers was a violent, beautiful whiplash. Harry leaned forward, his eyes roaming her face with a hunger that the law could never satisfy.
“I hate that we have to do this,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the pulse point on her wrist. “I hate seeing you across that aisle and not being able to walk over and kiss the anger right out of your mouth.”
Y/N felt a shiver race down her spine. The sensory details of the bar—the low hum of the jukebox playing a bluesy soul track, the smell of Harry’s expensive cologne mixed with the scent of rain—became a backdrop to the intensity of his gaze.
“The trial is getting too close, Harry,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “The press is watching. If they see us, it’s not just our careers. It’s the cases. Everything we’ve built.”
“I’ll give you a ride, don’t worry about it.” He lifted his keys from his pocket, the metal clinking softly in the quiet bar. “I’m not going to let you walk.”
A moment of silence passed as she closed her eyes, letting her head fall back against the vinyl of the booth. He had no idea what it was doing to her—the way his voice anchored her, the way the mere offer of protection made her want to strip away every defense she possessed. It took everything she had to keep herself in check, to not climb across the table and lose herself in him right there.
“I have to worry about it. You know we shouldn’t be seen together.” Her words were weaker than she wanted them to be, a mere ghost of her courtroom persona. She opened her eyes and saw the flash of hurt on his face, a brief crack in his armor that made her heart ache.
“Harry,” she breathed, reaching out to cup his cheek. His stubble grazed her palm, a tactile reminder of the man beneath the suit. “Didn’t you know this was for your benefit, too? If they find out, they’ll say you compromised the defense. They’ll ruin you.”
“Let them,” he growled, leaning into her touch. He caught her hand and pressed a lingering, fervent kiss to the center of her palm. “I’d rather be ruined with you than be a success without you.”
He stood up, pulling her with him. In the dark corner of the bar, hidden by a stack of beer crates, he pinned her gently against the wall. His mouth was inches from hers, his breath warm and smelling of mint and whiskey.
“One day,” he promised, his voice a low vibration against her lips, “we won't have to hide. I’ll hold your hand in that courtroom and let the whole world watch us win together.”
He kissed her then—a deep, soul-searing connection that tasted of suppressed desire and a love so profound it was frightening. It was a secret they carried like a burden and a treasure, a fire that burned brightest in the dark.
The drive to the penthouse was a study in tortured restraint. Harry’s black SUV was a sanctuary of darkened glass and leather, the city lights blurring into streaks of neon gold and silver against the rain-slicked windows. He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other gripped tightly over Y/N’s thigh, his thumb digging into the fabric of her slacks with a rhythmic, subconscious pressure. Neither spoke. The air in the car was heavy, charged with the ionizing friction of two souls who had spent ten hours pretending to despise one another.
When the elevator doors to his penthouse slid open, the silence of the high-rise swallowed them. Harry didn’t even turn on the overhead lights; the floor-to-ceiling windows offered enough of a glow from the city below to cast their silhouettes in long, dramatic shadows.
"Whiskey," Harry muttered, his voice sounding like it had been dragged over gravel. It wasn't a question. He moved to the bar, the ice clinking against the crystal with a sharp, frantic clarity.
Y/N leaned against the cold marble of the kitchen island, watching him. She kicked off her heels, the sound of them hitting the hardwood punctuating the tension. She felt raw. The courtroom had drained her, but the sight of Harry—undone, his hair a wild halo of curls, his movements fueled by a desperate kind of grace—filled her back up with a volatile energy.
He handed her a glass. Their fingers brushed, and the contact was electric. Y/N took a long swallow, the liquid burning a trail down her throat that matched the heat rising under her skin.
"You were so cruel today," she whispered, stepping into his space. She reached out, her fingers trembling as she undid the silk tie that had been a noose around his neck all day. "The way you looked at me when I brought up the forensics... I wanted to scream."
"I wanted you to scream," Harry countered, his eyes darkening to the color of a stormy sea. He set his glass down with a heavy thud and took hers, placing it aside. He trapped her waist, pulling her flush against him. "I wanted to break that professional composure of yours until you remembered exactly who you belong to when the sun goes down."
He didn't wait for a response. His hands moved to the buttons of her dress shirt—the starch-white symbol of her authority. He unfastened them with a frantic precision, his breathing hitching every time a new inch of her skin was revealed to the cool air. When the fabric fell away, draping off her shoulders, he let out a jagged breath.
He didn't go for her skin immediately. He looked at her, truly looked at her, with a reverence that was almost painful. This was their private language: the stripping away of the armor, the shedding of the "Prosecutor" and the "Defense" until only the man and the woman remained.
"Beautiful," he breathed, his large hands sliding up her ribcage, his palms warm and slightly rough.
Y/N reached for his shirt, her movements becoming more urgent. She lacked his patience. She needed the friction. She pulled the buttons of his shirt apart, a few of them snapping and skittering across the floor like tiny plastic heartbeats. She shoved the fabric off his broad shoulders, her nails tracing the intricate ink on his chest—the butterfly, the ships—each one a map she knew by heart.
The roughness began there, in the transition. It was a physical manifestation of the frustration they felt in the courtroom—the need to reclaim one another after a day of forced distance. Harry’s hands weren't gentle now; they were possessive. He gripped her hips, hoisting her up onto the marble island. Y/N wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him into the cradle of her thighs, her fingers tangling in his hair to pull his head down.
Their mouths met in a collision of teeth and tongue. It wasn't a soft kiss; it was an extraction. They were tasting the secrets they’d kept all day, the words they’d swallowed, the "I love yous" that had been disguised as "Objection."
Harry broke the kiss to trail his lips down her throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin over her jugular. He moved with a sudden, powerful surge of energy, lifting her into his arms. He didn't stop to pick up the discarded clothes; they left a trail of silk and cotton across the hardwood, a path leading to the sanctum of his bedroom.
He lowered her onto the charcoal-colored sheets, the fabric cool against her heated skin. The room smelled of him—sandalwood, expensive tobacco, and that clean, sharp scent of the rain outside.
"Harry," she gasped, her voice breaking as he stripped away the last of their barriers.
He hovered over her, his muscles taut, his eyes searching hers. In this light, he wasn't the cutthroat lawyer the world feared; he was a man vulnerable to the woman beneath him. "I've got you," he whispered, a promise that echoed through the vastness of the room. "No one is watching, Y/N. Just me. Just us."
The love they shared was a complex machinery of intellect and instinct. As they merged, the rhythm was a fierce, relentless pulse. It was rough—a desperate scramble for closeness that left bruises on the soul and marks on the skin. Every thrust was an argument won, every gasp an admission of guilt.
He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his voice a low, melodic moan as he called her name. It wasn't just sex; it was a reclamation. They were two stars colliding in a vacuum, creating a light so bright it blinded them to the complications of their lives.
Y/N arched her back, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her world narrowing down to the friction of his skin against hers and the sound of their synchronized breathing. The pleasure was a sharp, jagged thing that tore through her, leaving her breathless and shattered.
In the aftermath, as the adrenaline began to ebb into a soft, glowing warmth, Harry pulled the duvet over them. He held her against his chest, his heart beating a frantic staccato against her ear.
"We're going back in there tomorrow," she whispered into the dark, her voice thick with exhaustion and love.
"I know," Harry replied, kissing the top of her head. "And I'll fight you for every inch of that courtroom. But tonight..." He tightened his hold, his voice dropping to a tender murmur. "Tonight, the verdict is already in. You’re mine."
(I hope you all like this! I worked on this all night nearly lol) :))
<This story takes place in the 1800s and inspired off Lana Del Ray's, Cinnamon Girl, and it's part of @jarofstyles's prompt challenge and I was more than grateful and happy to participate in this!! >
{If anyone asks because Ik a lot of ai is going around, the cover art I used came from various pictures, that's why some of them are reused.}
"There’s things I wanna say to you, but I’ll just let you live..."
In the rigid social circles of 19th-century England, Harry Styles is a man of carefully curated silences. To the ton, he is merely a reserved gentleman of books and quiet corners. But beneath the stiff cravats and polite bows lies the soul of a poet—passionate, fiercely emotional, and deeply scarred by a world that treated his sensitivity as a weakness to be exploited. He has learned that to stay safe is to stay hidden.
When Yn, an aspiring artist with a spirit as vibrant as the paints she carries, moves in next door, Harry’s world begins to thaw. She doesn't just look at him; she sees him. But as Yn’s own world shatters, they soon begin to see they were simply waiting for someone who knew how to hold a flame without getting burned.
Warnings: 18+ for themes/suggested spice. Period-typical social constraints. Major spoilers for emotional triggers: abandonment, themes of parental rejection/neglect, depressive episodes/heavy sadness, and a scene involving accidental near drowning/thin ice.
Word count: IDK, but a lot! :)
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The year was 1886 and the time was pushing towards six in the morning. Winter had rung in early that year and with the cold, had brought a surprising— yet more nettling— bite to the wind that was currently taking its angst out on Harry's frostbitten geard. The flowers had been uprooted from the soil, but to preserve the ground for the next rich batch of petunias Harry had planted via seeds, he decided he'd knead his fingers into the icy dirt to help it along for the next spring. Harry had assured himself that this was for the flowers, but he was simply ignoring his own three AM thoughts that could drown on for hours.
This morning, Harry's mind had collected a new entry for another worry. The upcoming engagement ball of Lord Mitch and his fiancée Sarah, who's party with this Saturday. The cold continued to nip Harry even as he concerned himself with the ground; it was easier than thinking about anything else. He didn't trust himself to think anymore. The sun was barely peering over the ridge of the night, and yet still Harry couldn't be bothered to be tucked inside his own duvet.
Hooves sounded against the sturdy path that was the main road into Harry's neighborhood. The young man froze in his pose— fingers still ingrained in the dirt, before he quickly shuffled them out and with soil ladened hands, made his way through threshold and into the cramped foyer, eyeing the passerby through the small rectangle glass lens of the front door. The rich smell of fresh earth ran under Harry’s nose as the carriage trudged by, a small dim ray of the porch light glistening over the carriage before it passed. Harry swallowed the breath clogged in his throat, before releasing it into a silent sigh. Biting his bottom lip, Harry felt the warmth of the fireplace host through the narrow air, the heat following him to the kitchen sink as he washed his hands.
Even after his hand were dried, Harry still felt the cool dampness of them as he graveled up the stairs, a small storm in his gait. The walls of the corridor squeezing in like a box just as Harry’s bedroom.
The sheets felt frosty and crisp, warming under his body heat as he stared up at the ceiling, the words of an unwritten poem he had forgotten to write danced around his mind. Always dipping a toe, but never quite stepping a foot. Harry was distracted anyway; the engagement ball was expecting and so was his fret. The knot in his gut had suffocated all rationalism and just replaying a loop of himself speaking out term— impolite or churlish— despite Harry’s impeccable engagements, were the nightmares that chased him more than the nag of not being creatively active for the month.
Harry could persuade himself of his foolish ideas; he just couldn’t stop the etched faces of shame and distaste from entering them. It was like all eyes took hold of him and latched on like a hook to a wagon. The fear held him like chokehold, strangling out the last drip of peace Harry tried to sip from out of his everyday.
Harry sat up. He looked over to his empty desk— books of famous works piled into a little stack, while a blank square of paper sheets sat blank and untouched much like his quill pen that had been nestled in the rose gold holder for almost three weeks. Harry had lost count of the other weeks. With slow steps, he made his way to the desk, hovering over it with a this hunched over stance that haloed his own shadow above it. He finally let himself get cozy in the chair. The sound of his breath was the only promising motion alive. A flicker of life wanted to stir from Harry’s chest as ink bled through his finger with every scribble of words he curated into sentences of meaning, but there was none. Every word, every thought of the subject that had floated and invited itself into the creases of Harry’s brain had now somehow dispersed like a mist into air.
It was a supposed promise— a relief to his system to breathe out the smoke he had been inhaling like a puff from a cigar. A net to catch and store his jagged understandings and shape them into beauty of unsaid truths he had a difficult time swallowing. It was something Harry could fall into and still land softly in.
It’s just that tonight wasn’t the night. It never was.
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Harry stood there gripping the neck of his glass holding the now flat champagne as the matrons danced and twirled, some in their bulky ballgowns and others in silk scarves and collars. Harry felt the upper rim of his own collar tightening around his neck like a rope. The noose of the garment was doing little to soothe Harry’s racetrack of a mind, as he stood with this loose smirk over his face imitating an actual charm, smiling shyly at the guests and felt the soles of his own spats nailed rigidly to the linoleum.
Swirling around the air was thick perfumes and tobacco accompanied by hungry eyes and a sea of pearls and foot scuffles. “I bet Lord Mitch pitied the girl; it’s the only explainable excuse that would answer for their marriage.” Harry looked up and saw Lady Marjorie and her elder sister fanning themselves with their customed fans as they clicked up the velvet stairs. A slight furrow had nerved in between Harry’s brows. He turned his attention back to the floor, where he quickly traded his pinched nerve for a small smile, before he excused himself.
Harry carved a path through the crowded floor, feeling every ounce of his weight with each step. The corridors felt shallow carrying voices from his past he couldn’t always quite name, but just remembered how they always existed. Harry felt his heart pound a bit louder like an off beat drum. A fog fell over him like thunder to muted cloud. It was silences like this Harry wanted to avoid— the cold voices and whipping words that felt like lashes against gaunt skin. His shoulders tensed and his slouch became a gait as he carried on to an anywhere. He found a small solace in the library behind the thick curtains that were tucked and curved like pigtails.
A small chair became his rest, where he begged himself not to dwell anymore on his fog, but he knew the fight could be futile. Harry had sat at the dark mocha desk, hands clasped in front of him in his silent trance before a sharp jolt of the curtains coupled by a young woman falling into them and nearly landing on Harry’s lap before yanking herself up and began apologizing profusely. “I’m my goodness— I’m so sorry!” She said, her voice a rich balmy sound.
“Oh, it’s quite alright, really…” Harry uprooted himself a bit brashly as well, searching the girl over to make sure he didn’t rip her dress or cause any collateral damage. “I was just… waiting for the ballroom to clear up— I didn’t really know anyone to talk to— and… yeah.” Harry seemed to breathe out in one gulp. It just made Yn smile; she had pearly teeth that made Harry notice that she was wearing some kind of light pink lipstick. She giggled. “It’s fine, I didn’t know anyone either and then some guys started trying to get me to dance with them because it’s an engagement ball,” She said, her eyes sparkling and widening for a spilt moment with raised brows, “I felt claustrophobic anyway.” She laughed.
Harry found himself chuckling. “Tell me about it,” He blew a sharp breath from his lips, “I mean, I love my friend, Mitch and all but… balls were never my thing.” He smiled looking down at the floor. Looking at the rim of the girl’s skirt he had just realized her dress was purple with some specks of gold to it like studs.
“I’m Yn, by the way,” Harry looked up to see Yn sticking her hand out.
“I’m Harry,” He went to shake it, feeling how uncalloused and soft her palms were. Harry had realized he was holding onto Yn’s hand a minute too long. “Oh, sorry… you’re hand is so gentle—” He wanted to snatch the words back just as they were coming from his mouth.
Yn just snorted, covering her mouth quickly and glancing towards the outside. “Why thank you!” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice in a mocking conspiracy. “Must be the new bath salts.”
Harry chuckled, grinning for the first time in the entire week. Yn’s eyes crinkled. “You have dimples!”
“Ha, yeah,” Harry instinctively ran his fingers over his right cheek.
“Just an observation. They say people with dimples are some of the sweetest people you’ll meet.” Yn flashed her own dimply smile. Harry’s body shook with a hummed giggle. “Maybe I should add that in my next poem…”
“You’re a writer?” Yn’s head perked up.
“Well, aspiring, but… I have what they say a pipeline blockage… my brain is pipeline blockage.”
Yn laughed. “Oh yeah… well that’s what all the best writer’s say. Like Jane Austen for instance and then here she is a decade later!”
Harry shot his brows up quickly in agreement. He turned towards the door. “Do you think they’ve noticed we’re missing? Or are they too busy debating the price of Lady Sarah’s lace?”
Yn leaned in a bit closer to Harry as he was peeking out at the ball from the gap in the curtains. “Last I checked, was it was Lady Marjorie’s dress that carried the most…. with a rear like that she’d have to.”
Harry let out a laugh that was a bit too informal for the ball, inciting a few heads to turn. Yn joined in with a more quieter laugh. “Shh, they’re gonna know we’re back here!” She held up a finger to her mouth while nursing a smile.
“But, it’s true! And I thought my artistic absurdity was troublesome!” Harry suppressed his laugh a bit to mellow it out as to not get caught.
“No, this is,” Yn held up her thumb that ink stained, “my charcoal brush exploded right when I was trying to begin my piece.”
Harry raised his brows. “An artist?”
Yn nodded. “Aspiring.” She grinned, the glint still lingering through her irises. She did a little jump as she clasped her hands behind her like a giddy child who had just announced they cleaned their plates. A sharp cheer interrupted, causing Harry and Yn to both glance back out to the ball. The matrons dancing wildly, hands and arms stretched out as the ladies twirled and the men spined them. It all looked so rambunctious for an event of sophistication. A cheeky idea had somehow snaked and teleported into the brains of Harry and Yn into each other. A smirk played over their lips before they slowly turned to each other. Harry straightened his posture and offered a playful mock bow. “My lady, shall I have this dance as it would be an honor,” Harry exaggerated his already pommy accent.
Yn straightened up and followed Harry’s gesture. “I shall, my fair Lord.” She took his hand and they both began to do a goofy version of the ballroom’s dancing. Harry and Yn hopping and skipping around the room like two dizzy bunnies while laughing at the unseriousness of their actions. Harry leaned into Yn a little more; the smell of lavender twinging her braid crown and a hint of cinnamon pierced the air like the old spice of aged books. Yn just as much smelled Harry’s amber scented body from the side of his neck that was much taller than her head if she weren’t in three-inch heels.
As the ball came to a close, so did the evening. To Harry, it was almost as if he were in a different time on a whole different earth than the musty old library he shared with Yn in that sparingly short moment. A piece wanted to bottle up just a fringe of the purple cloth from Yn’s dress or even just one of the silver studs and let the lavender scent fill the cadence of his lonely desk. A souvenir of the engagement without a ring. But at last, Yn just happened to be the last person besides himself to brush against the doorjamb between the spew of the snow and the warmth of the ball.
“I had a wonderful time,” Harry said, slipping on his coat. Yn smiled. “Me too.”
A pregnant pause sat between them for a moment. “Would you like me to take you home? My carriage is right outside.”
“Thanks… but… I’ll be fine. But thank you very much… Harry.” Yn breathed out a silent sigh of relief as she had gotten the Harry’s name properly.
“Goodnight, Yn.” The glint still stayed, even more sparkling now in the moonlight.
“Goodnight, Harry.”
◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊
The smell of lavender seemed to waft through the air around Harry’s desk like it followed him home. Harry sat still and focused with a plight in between his brows as he felt his thumb and pointer grip the charcoal pen more sturdy now, but with a grit seething through it. Harry decided to move his quarters to the garden in his backyard, despite his still halted train of thought— that was as blank as the sheet in front of him— getting the better of him. An irk began to take form when suddenly the balloon of unsaid words and movements had seemed to collapse over him like a tide to a sand dune.
Out of his periphery, Harry thought he caught a glimpse of royal purple in the tulips. Shooting his glance towards the green, a bolt of shock catching him in his chest before it was understood to him his brain was playing tricks. Being cooped indoors, his eyes were bound to produce photopsia.
Harry’s shoulders dropped and his face slowly turned back to his sheet, stalling to begin as if the purple might actually be real. Gripping around the pen tightly again, Harry couldn’t even take in the swoon of the mellow weather now. It was still icy, but less rapid than the past week. The balloon didn’t seem to escape though— running through Harry’s mind now like a million passing lights he couldn’t quite catch. Angry voices with more exaggeration and the face of stern familiars that belonged to even his own past. His parents, his father never seeming to care when Harry shed a tear or raged on about how unfair everything was at the time. He was met with a cold dismissal of the actual events and it always ended with Harry being the irrational one, when Harry himself believed he had the cause for complaint to begin with.
Harry grew lost in the memory; his father’s face like statue of stone, his apathy unnerving Harry for a moment, before the embers cooled into a detach that unlinked itself from the flare before the pain would take shape. Though some days he wasn’t as luck as it still seeped in from time to time. Today, the embers still fanned on, even as a background. His brain still running through the searing edge of the past like running a finger along the sharp blade of a dagger.
"You're bleeding ink, Harry" someone remarked from the stone wall, her voice cutting through his frustration like a sunbeam through fog.
Harry froze, his thumb stained black where he’d pressed too hard against the nib. He should have bowed and excused himself. Instead, he felt a sudden, hot prickle of defiance. "Better to bleed ink than to have nothing inside to spill at all, wouldn't you agree?"
His face blanched before turning a deep crimson. He bolted up, letting the sheet drop to the ground. “Oh heavens— my sincerest apologies! I-I was lost in my thought and completely thinking of something else—” Harry’s eyes finally met the strangers and it belonged to a face that he’d known… and cherished now.
“Yn! You’re… next door?”
Yn didn’t even break her smile. She found Harry’s whole stuttering reply amusing and quite humorous to be honest. A giggle escaped her throat. “Yep. Moved in just today. My old cottage was too cramped and the last straw was when the basement became a breeding ground for mice.” Her and Harry both shared a disgusted grimace with each other, making Yn quiver from the just the mention of her words.
Yn watched Harry pick up his fallen sheet and pen, as she adjusted her lean against the garden wall they shared as neighbors. Her head looking small in contrast to the muted green around her. “So, what was your sharp-witted thought about? Must’ve been pretty intense.”
Harry raised an eyebrow and made his lips crooked. “It was… a story I’m working on. Really, it’s about a man raised in a small English town who attends a very stoic college.” Harry’s accent was more evident once the word English left his lips, clicking over his teeth with such an ease. He came closer to the wall, starting Yn eye to eye now. Yn squinted her eyes a bit. “Really? What’s he like?”
Harry cleared his throat and shrugged making a quick sideways smile. “I don’t know just yet. Maybe he’s got a ruggedness to him…. maybe Italian. I hear Italians can be emotional, but in a good way. I like emotion, I’m very sensitive myself.” Harry looked down, wondering how awkward, out of context and overshared he must’ve sounded. He felt Yn tousle his mousy curls playfully. “You have thick hair,” She said, her smile feeling goofy.
Harry looked back into Yn’s eyes with a smile. He huffed a chuckle. “Thanks.”
“I’ve always wanted to go to Italy. I heard some of the best art institutes exist there.”
“I thought it was New York?” Harry sniffled, the cold now getting better of him.
“Me too. But…. the one I like is in Italy. It’s run by Fabian Augustus.”
Harry raised a bow quickly as it came down. “He’s a famous artist. Wow. That would be very nice.”
Yn’s smile had now become a smirk. “I think my parents are there too….”
“Your parents?”
“Mmhmm,” she nodded, “I was an… an orphan my entire life, so… it would be nice to know them once.” Yn suddenly felt a flush creep over her face. She was uncomfortable with how much she shared of that. Harry stayed quiet, his eyes drifting down to his side before coming back up to meet Yn’s unsteady glance towards the rim of the wall. “Well, I better get back to unpacking, but— I’ll see you in the meantime.”
Harry smiled. “You too. I’ll enamor you more with my rugged Italian man later.”
Yn giggled before retreating back to her front door, giving a gentle wave bye.
◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊
The next few weeks spanned into muse for Harry. He had found an enchantment in every character that Yn’s memory bled through. His favorite was Cordelia. She had Yn’s little skip with her walk, her hair tugged in loose gypsy curls at the ends and she wore shades of lavender silk and rich violets, her hair bouncing with each pounce she took, hopping along stream lined paths of meadows where the sun blared the brightest, shading every line of her smooth irises with its love. Her smile— a dimpled expression of glee was doodled on the margins of the top paragraph that carried the most insight to Cordelia and her born out of the torrents of caramel makeup.
Meanwhile, across the way in the homely living room, Yn laid against the couch, her back upright against the arm rest, while her legs laid crossed over each other as she sketched out the bone of her anticipated drawing. She carved out a jawline— angular but not sharp— the edges where jaw met head and smile met chin were etched out in a dainty trail curving neatly and generous to compliment the man’s lanky but firm built. A flash of Harry entered her mind; he had these features. Soft smooth hands like a warm silk cover and even the lines around his smile felt neat and cooing like a haze. It fluttered Yn’s heart, skipping a beat until she pulled the leash of it enough to articulate this aura into her sketch. The pencil tracing carefully along the paper as if it were controlling itself.
A mutual allure seemed to command the pair’s attention like a siren call. This carried on through the days and weeks that passed. Harry would find Yn in her front yard with her chalk pens scratching color over her created sketch, shading the muted bricks and shingles of the neighborhood in vibrant spring colors, her long hair braided behind her back, only glancing up at Harry to give her dimply grin, before she went back to coloring. She’d always side-eyed when the sound of Harry’s carriage rolled into the shed. The brown and black stallions chugging along in a steady rhythm, clicking along the pavement like tap dancers. She watched him hop from the cargo bed, his satchel looking less like a vessel of dreams and more like a millstone. He did not even glance toward her house. His shoulders were hunched against the cold, or perhaps against the weight of yet another dismissal. Yn chalked it up to rejection letters or personal snubs of his works that felt much mote impersonal to Harry.
She’d never tell him that one day— after a particularly rough and brash editor had practically threw Harry’s novella in his face— she had caught Harry sputtering curses under his breath, calling the editor— who’s name could’ve been Jared or Arnold from what she could make out of it— a slew of naughty words. “What a shrew cur he was,” he slammed his shed door sounding like a gunshot in crystalline air, which even startled the horses a bit, “I outta rip his tongue from his fat mouth. Pig!” Harry stormed into the house, not even noticing Yn’s back was against the shrub wall, trying to form an idea into another painting.
A profound ache bloomed within Yn’s chest. An idea, as quirky and unorthodox as the woman herself, began to form. It was audacious, perhaps foolish, but the determination in her heart overruled the caution in her mind.
She waited until she saw the lamp kindle in his window across the way, painting a small, lonely square of gold onto the fresh powder of snow. Wrapping a thick shawl around her shoulders, she ventured out into the bitter twilight. She did not go to his door. Instead, she marched to the barren patch of her front yard, the very spot where she created her vibrant spring illusions. There, she sank into the snow, her skirts billowing around her. With arms outstretched, she began to move them up and down, sweeping the snow away with a rhythmic, deliberate swishing sound.
From his window, Harry, nursing a glass of bourbon — and his wounded pride— saw the movement. He frowned, peering through the frost-fern patterns on the glass. What on earth was she doing? It looked for all the world as if… as if she were making a snow angel. But not just any snow angel. She was performing the act with a theatrical, almost ceremonial flourish, her movements exaggerated and precise. She swept her arms up, paused, swept them down, then carefully—most carefully—began to shuffle her legs apart and together, as if following the steps of a solemn, silent waltz with the sky.
A startled chuckle, the first in weeks, escaped him. It was utterly bizarre. It was completely Yn. He watched, mesmerized by the sheer absurdity of the performance. She finished her creation with a final, sweeping gesture of her arms and then, quite deliberately, turned her head towards his window. Even from this distance, he could see the challenge in her gaze, the dimply grin that was both an invitation and a dare. She raised a hand and beckoned him.
Curiosity, a sensation he thought had been extinguished, flickered to life. He found himself pulling on his coat and crossing the narrow lane between their houses, his boots crunching in the silence. She remained in her snow angel, looking up at him with cheeks flushed cherry-red from the cold, her breath pluming in the air.
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” he asked, though his tone held more wonder than reproach.
“Quite the opposite,” she declared, her voice bright. “I was attempting to capture the attention of a particularly brooding neighbor. It seems to have worked. My methods are unorthodox, but my success rate is impeccable.”
“And to what do I owe this… aerial display?” he inquired, a reluctant smile touching his lips.
“The cold has leached all the color from the world, Harry. I thought it needed a spot of whimsy. And you,” she said, her expression softening, “look as though you could use some tea and a warm scone. Mrs. Abbott brought over a fresh batch this morning. They are still warm, and I detest eating alone.”
Before he could muster a refusal, she had risen, brushing the snow from her skirts with an efficient hand, and looped her arm through his. “Come. Before we both turn to ice.” Her touch was electric, even through the layers of wool, and he found himself powerless to resist, allowing himself to be led into the warmth and light of her home.
Her parlor was a reflection of her art: vibrant, layered, and wonderfully chaotic. Sketches and half-finished paintings leaned against the walls. A rainbow of chalk dust seemed to have been permanently ground into the rug before the fireplace, where a healthy blaze now crackled. The air was sweet with the scent of vanilla, bergamot, and linseed oil. It was the antithesis of his own quiet, ordered, and increasingly joyless study, despite the little candies and quirky book nick-nacks he had around the shelves and desk.
She bustled about, pouring tea—Peppermint, his favorite, he noted with surprise—and placing a generously buttered scone on a china plate before him. He ate and drank, the warmth seeping into his bones, the tight knot of anger in his stomach beginning to loosen under her quiet, undemanding presence.
“They are fools, you know,” she said after a comfortable silence, her eyes on the fire. “Those editors. They wouldn’t know literature if it bit them on the nose.”
Harry sighed, the familiar bitterness rising. “They know what sells. And apparently, what I write does not.”
“Pish-posh,” she dismissed with a wave of her hand. “They sell words. You write them. There is a vast and heartbreaking difference.” She turned to him, her gaze direct and unwavering. “I should like to hear them. The words you write.”
He stiffened. “Yn, no. I couldn’t.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because… because it is the work that was just thrown back in my face. It is failure. I cannot sit here and subject you to its flaws.”
“You are not subjecting me to anything,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “I am asking you. I am begging you. Harry, I see the fire in you when you speak of it. I see the world you carry inside that satchel of yours. Please. Let me see it, too. Read it to me.”
Her earnestness was a key turning in a lock he had thought rusted shut. He looked at her—really looked at her—seeing not pity, but a genuine, burning curiosity. A desire to know the world as he saw it. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached into his satchel and withdrew a thick sheaf of handwritten pages. The title page read simply: The Marble Heart.
He cleared his throat, the words feeling clumsy and inadequate at first. But then, he found his rhythm, his voice gaining strength and texture as he was pulled back into the world he had created.
He read of Demitri, a young Italian of profound sensitivity, who had journeyed from the sun-drenched cliffs of Sorrento to the grim, grey stone of a prestigious writing college in Edinburgh. The institution, run by a dour, unyielding headmaster named Alistair Finch, was a fortress of rigid tradition, where emotion was considered a weakness and individuality a sin to be disciplined out of a young man. Demitri’s florid prose, his heartfelt odes to the sea and his family, were met with scornful red ink and public ridicule. “Sentimental drivel,” Finch would sneer. “Unmanly. Prune it back. Harden it.” Harry’s voice took on the headmaster’s cruel, clipped tones perfectly, and Yn shivered.
He read of Demitri’s loneliness, his feeling of being a hothouse flower thrust into a Arctic frost, his spirit shrinking, his once-bold handwriting becoming small and fearful on the page.
And then, he read of Cordelia.
She was the headmaster’s niece, a splash of defiant color in the monochrome world of the college. She was found not in the lecture halls, but in the library, tucked into window seats, or sketching the rooks in the barren trees on the grounds. She was vibrancy itself, with a laugh that sounded like bells and a way of looking at you that felt like the sun breaking through clouds.
Harry’s entire demeanor transformed as he read their meeting. His voice, which had been taut with remembered pain, softened, grew lyrical, infused with a wonder that made Yn’s breath catch. He became animated, his free hand gesturing to illustrate a point, his eyes alight with the vision of his own story. He was no longer a rejected author in a cozy parlor; he was Demitri, feeling the first stirrings of hope. He was the narrator, fervent and passionate, painting a picture of a salvation he deeply believed in.
He read the scene where Demitri, bruised by a particularly harsh critique from his professor, retreated to a forgotten corner of the library, on the verge of surrendering his dream entirely. Cordelia found him there, his shoulders shaking with silent, ashamed tears.
And then Harry spoke her words, his voice dropping to a hushed, intimate tremor that was meant for Demitri but felt seared into Yn’s very soul.
“‘I know what the world has told you about yourself,’” he read, and his eyes lifted from the page to meet Yn’s, holding her gaze with an intensity that made the room fade away. The fire, the snow outside, the tea growing cold—it all vanished. There was only his voice, weaving a spell around them.
His expression was soft but thoughtful, utterly immersed in the moment. He continued, the words flowing from him not as lines on a page, but as a direct, heartfelt address.
“‘But I want to tell you that they’re wrong.’ Gentle fingertips stroked under her eyes…” Harry’s own hand lifted slightly, a ghost of the gesture, as if he could feel the tears on Demitri’s face. “‘I know people have been cruel to you, honey. I know they have tried to dull who you are and make you feel ashamed of it but I want to see every little bit. I want to know you inside and out.’”
Yn felt a tear escape her own eye and trace a warm path down her cheek. She did not wipe it away.
Harry’s voice thickened with emotion, low and fervent. “‘No one has ever enchanted me so quickly, so thoroughly. It’s been an honor getting to know you… but I’d like the honor of getting to show you how I see you, too.’”
The final word hung in the air, a sacred echo in the silent room. The pages in his hand trembled. He seemed to return to himself, to the parlor, to her, a faint flush of self-consciousness coloring his neck. He looked down at the manuscript, suddenly unable to meet her eye.
“It’s… it’s sentimental, I know,” he mumbled, the confidence gone, replaced by a still burning wound.
Yn rose from her chair. She did not speak. She simply crossed the space between them, took the pages from his slackened grip, and placed them carefully on the table. Then, she took his hands in hers. They were cold from holding the paper, and she warmed them between her own.
She looked at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears, her dimples appearing in a smile of utter awe.
“Harry,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “That was the most beautiful thing I have ever heard.”
He finally looked up, his own eyes searching hers, looking for the lie, the polite platitude. He found only devastating sincerity.
“You… you think so?”
“I know so,” she said, her grip on his hands tightening. “It is not sentimental. It is true. Every word of it. I felt it. Harry, you didn’t just write a story. You put a soul on the page. You…” She shook her head, laughing a little through her tears. “You made me fall in love with Demitri. And with Cordelia. And with the man who had the courage to create them.”
He let himself cling to her, burying his face in the soft wool of her shawl, inhaling the scent of chalk and vanilla and her. He was not a failure in this room. In her eyes, he was a genius.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes were red-rimmed — irritated from the wool — but clear. “They called it maudlin. A ‘lady’s romance’.”
“Then they are blind,” Yn stated, her voice firm. “They read the words, but they did not hear the music. I heard it, Harry. I heard every note.”
The mutual allure that had hummed between them for weeks now swelled into a deafening, undeniable chord. His hand came up to cradle her cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that had traced its path there. He saw the same realization dawning in her eyes, a reflection of his own awe.
“Cordelia was right, you know,” she whispered, leaning into his touch.
“About what?”
“About the honor,” she said. “The honor of being shown how you see the world.” She paused, her smile deepening. “And it is an even greater honor to finally see you.”
Outside, the winter wind whispered against the windowpane, but inside… spring had arrived early.
◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊
March in England unfurls like a reluctant bloom—timid, hesitant, and yet insistent upon its beauty. The frost still clutches at the edges of hedgerows and the riverbanks, silvering the reeds with a thin lace of ice, but the air itself brims with promise. The wind, though it carries the last shivers of winter, now bears a breath of something softer: damp earth, the suggestion of green, the faint, far-off hum of things returning. Spring, like a lady’s glove drawn slowly over a trembling hand, slips over the land with quiet inevitability.
On such a morning, when the sky hung in pale washes of oyster and misted blue, and sunlight fell in cautious beams through the frayed clouds, Yn walked into the town of Elswick—an unremarkable place in most respects, save for its prideful centre: the Verveuil Gardens, a gilded parterre of wrought iron and clipped yew, where the wealthy gathered like songbirds on gilded perches. The Verveuil, once a manor estate, had been transformed into a sanctuary of culinary artistry, where one might sip tea under parasols the size of marquees, nibble on finger sandwiches laced with caviar, and discuss the latest Italian operetta as if one had composed it oneself.
Yn did not belong there. Not by purse, nor by pedigree.
She knew it. And yet, she had come.
Clad in a dove-grey coat threadbare at the cuffs, a bonnet slightly too large for her face, pinned with a single tarnished brooch of beetle-wing glass, Yn stepped through the iron gates with the quiet defiance of a trespasser who believes she bears a divine invitation. Her boots, though carefully polished, whispered of mended soles and too many seasons of hard use. Still, she carried herself with a certain rebellious grace, as though the world had never taught her shame, or perhaps had, and she’d simply forgotten it in the act of living.
For three sleepless nights, her canvas had stared back at her, blank as a judgment. A painting—a promised commission, no less—meant to depict a family reunited beneath a willow tree, joyous, tender, bathed in dappled light. But she could not paint joy she did not understand. She had no memory of a mother’s lullaby, no echo of a father’s voice, only the cold facts: orphaned in infancy, raised in a musty old rectory by distant employers, told that her parents had perished together in a fire that consumed their home. She’d accepted it. Not with peace, but with the numb resignation of one who has known absence longer than presence.
And so she had come to the Verveuil, hoping to steal a scene—the kind of effortless intimacy that breathes between families who have never known loss. She would sketch, quietly, from a distance. Fill her eyes with what her heart could not remember.
She took a seat upon a wrought-iron bench, tucked between a flowering quince and a statue of a nymph with a missing finger. From here, she could see the open-air terrace where linen-draped tables gleamed under the weak sun, attended by waiters in white gloves who moved with insect precision. The air smelled of warm bread, bergamot, and the faint metallic twang of a nearby fountain.
And then she saw them.
A family. Not unusual in this setting, but arresting in their effect. A man and woman—perhaps in their early forties, though life had been gentle to them—sat across from two children. The girl, perhaps sixteen, wore a lilac dress with puffed sleeves, her hair in thick braids wound with ribbons. The boy, younger still, kicked his heels beneath the table, his face alight with impatience as his mother gently chided him for dripping jam on the tablecloth.
It was not their wealth that drew Yn’s gaze—though it was evident in the cut of their clothes, the horse and carriage waiting at the garden’s edge, the way the staff treated them with a deference bordering on reverence.
No. It was something else.
Something deeper. Older than memory.
The woman—her face smooth, lined only by laughter—tipped her head back as her daughter said something witty. And in that tilt, in the curve of her throat, Yn felt a jolt, like a needle in the spine.
She looked like her.
Not her reflection—no—but a shadow of herself, a reflection across time. The same arched eyebrow, the same way of parting her lips before she laughed, the way she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear with three fingers, not two.
Yn’s breath caught.
Then the man leaned forward, tugging his son’s waistcoat straight with a fond frown. His features—broad brow, the faint cleft in his chin, the way his eyes crinkled at the edges—sent a shiver through her, a ripple across the still water of her certainty.
Her hands trembled. She gripped the edge of her sketchbook, her charcoal pencil snapping in two.
She watched, rapt, as the family conversed. The daughter mimicked the waiter’s accent, and the parents laughed—warm, rich, unhurried. The mother reached across the table to tuck a napkin into the boy’s collar, and Yn felt her chest cave inward like a collapsing bellows.
There was a rhythm to them, a quiet harmony in their gestures, a language spoken in glances and knee-bumps beneath the table. They were comfortable. Not merely in wealth, but in one another.
And Yn realized—horror threading through her veins like cold ivy—she knew them.
Not by memory, not by fact, but by bone, by blood, by some forgotten thread that tugged at the core of her being.
She was not imagining it. It was too precise, too synchronized, to be coincidence. That tilt of the head—she’d seen it in the mirror. That laugh—she’d laughed it herself in private, unaware.
A waiter approached with a tray of petits fours. The man reached for the bill.
“See that it’s sent to the usual account,” he said, voice warm, amused. “And add a tip—these young men work harder than Parliament, I suspect.”
“Yes, sir. Of course, Mr. L—”
The name came then. Softly, clearly.
“—Mr. LN.”
L.N.
Yn’s breath vanished.
L.N.
Her surname.
The name she had carried like a lonely flag, the one word that tethered her to a past that supposedly ended in smoke and silence.
And now it was being spoken here, casually, over tea and raspberry tarts, as if the world had never broken.
Her vision tunneled. The quince tree swayed. The fountain’s splash became a roar.
They were her family.
Her parents.
Alive.
Thriving.
Unscarred.
And they had never come for her.
The air turned thick and suffocating. A bee bumped against her sleeve, and she flinched violently, as if struck.
She watched—detached, ghostly—as the father helped his wife from her seat, placing a hand at the small of her back, as natural as breathing. The daughter looped her arm through her mother’s, chattering. The son ran ahead, chasing a butterfly.
They moved like a unit, a whole, untouched by the chaos of absence.
And Yn—Yn who had climbed trees to feel taller, who had sung her own lullabies to sleep, who had once carved her initials into a church pew just to prove she existed—they had left her. Not by death. By choice.
Or perhaps not choice. Perhaps betrayal.
Her mind reeled. Why had they never sought her? Was she given away? Forgotten? Did they think she was dead? Or had they simply... moved on?
The thought was a knife, slow-turning.
She had believed them lost. She had mourned them in silence, built a life on the bones of that grief. She had painted their ghosts—faceless, shadowed figures in the corners of other works. She had spoken to them in dreams.
And all this time, they had picnics.
They had strawberry tarts.
A sob rose in her throat, sharp and hot. She clamped her teeth down on her lower lip, drawing blood. She would not weep. Not here. Not where they might—God forbid—notice her. She would not give them the spectacle of her sorrow. She would not be seen like this, a ragged spectre haunting their idyll.
She rose.
Slowly.
Gracelessly.
Her limbs heavy, as if filled with wet sand.
She turned from the terrace, from the laughter, from the life that should have been hers, and walked—no, staggered—back through the garden.
The world had changed.
The sunlight, once tender, now felt like a mockery. The birdsong was garish, overbright. The scent of flowers—hyacinths, lilies—turned cloying, sickly sweet. She walked past lovers sharing secrets, past children chasing hoops, past an elderly couple feeding crumbs to sparrows. She walked as though underwater, each step a battle.
She reached the iron gates, her fingers trembling as they brushed the cold metal.
Outside, the town bustled with its ordinary life—the clatter of hooves, the cry of a newsboy, the baker loading trays of sourdough. Normalcy. Indifference.
And Yn stood between two worlds: one of gold and laughter, the other of dust and silence.
And she belonged to neither.
The walk back to her home—on the outskirts of the village, near the bramble-choked lane—should have taken forty minutes. It took her nearly two hours.
She did not walk straight. She wandered—through alleys, across fields, along the river’s muddy bank, where the willows trailed their fingers in the slow current. She stopped often, not because she was tired, but because she could not move.
The vibrant Yn—she of the wild hair, the saucy tongue, the laughter like chimes in a breeze—was gone.
In her place: a husk.
She did not sob. She did not rage. That would come, perhaps, in the dark hours. But now, she was emptied. Hushed. Hollowed.
Her mind — even in its gloom— still thought of her forgotten portrait. Cluttered with canvases leaning against the walls, tubes of paint scattered like fallen soldiers, palettes crusted with forgotten hues. A large canvas stood on the easel—the unfinished family portrait. Just a sketch still: a willow tree, the vague shapes of figures beneath it.
She stared at it.
Then, slowly, she walked forward.
She wanted to sink to her knees.
And for the first time since she was a child, Yn wept.
Not the noisy, theatrical weeping of her youth—when she’d sobbed over a broken kite or a lost kitten—but a deep, silent trembling. Her shoulders shook. Her breath came in sharp, broken gasps. Tears fell without sound, carving paths through the dust on her cheeks.
She did not curse. She did not scream. The storm within had no voice. It only was—a vast, black sea filling the caverns of her chest.
She thought of the mother’s hands, so gentle as she wiped her son’s mouth. Had those hands ever held her? Had they rocked her to sleep? Had they brushed her hair?
Had they let go?
And the father—his voice, so warm, so present. Did he ever speak her name? In dreams? In regret?
Or had she been erased as cleanly as she had wanted to erase the painting?
The wind rose. Rain began to fall, gentle at first, then insistent, drumming on the roof like fingers tapping for entry.
And in the silence, the truth settled upon her like a burial shroud.
She had believed herself a daughter of tragedy.
Now she knew she was a daughter of abandonment.
And that was a different kind of death.
Yn wiped her cheeks roughly, scrubbing away the last traces of tears before they could freeze in the chill. The numbness in her chest was a relief in its own way—better than the ache. Better than the gnawing hollow where love had once been.
She walked with stiff purpose, boots crunching over the brittle remnants of winter. The lake lay just beyond the bend, its surface still slick with a late-season glaze of ice, though the sun had begun to weaken it in patches where the water glinted black beneath.
And then she saw him.
Harry—wild-haired and ink-stained, perched beneath the skeletal branches of an oak, bent over a notebook with the feverish intensity of a man chased by inspiration. The sight was so familiar, so Harry, that for a moment, the weight in her chest lightened.
She opened her mouth to call out—something bright, something teasing, something that might fool even him—but the wind snatched her voice and tossed it aside. He didn’t look up.
Harry snapped his notebook shut, stood, and began to walk away.
No.
Yn’s breath hitched. She couldn’t bear to be alone again. Not now. Not with the ghosts pressing in.
"Harry!" she tried again, but the wind was merciless. His figure grew smaller, farther.
A reckless thought seized her. The lake was a shortcut—shaved precious minutes off the winding path. She hesitated only a second before stepping onto the ice.
The first crack was a whisper beneath her boot.
Then—
A sound like thunder split the air. The ice surrendered beneath her, swallowing her into its frigid jaws. The shock stole her breath, her muscles locking in reflex as the water closed over her head.
Darkness. Silence.
Then—
Hands.
Harry’s hands, frantic and sure, hauling her back into the world with a strength that belied his wiry frame. She gasped, the air burning her lungs, her body convulsing in the cold.
"Christ, Yn—Christ—" His voice was ragged with panic, his fingers trembling as they gripped her coat, dragging her onto solid ground. His face was pale, eyes wide and wild. "Are you—? Can you move? Are you hurt?"
She tried to laugh. Tried to force out some quippy reassurance, something to ease the terror in his face. But her teeth chattered violently, and instead of laughter, a wretched sob wrenched free from her throat.
Harry didn’t hesitate.
"Aww, love," he murmured—soft, tender, the way one might soothe a startled animal—before scooping her into his arms, bridal-style, as if she weighed nothing at all. His warmth seeped into her, his heartbeat a steady drum beneath her ear.
"Don’t you dare apologize," he said fiercely, sensing the protest forming on her lips. "Just hold on, alright? We’re nearly there."
Harry’s house smelled of cedar and cinnamon, a sanctuary against the storm that had begun to howl outside. He worked with brisk efficiency—peeling off her soaked outer layers, bundling her in blankets, pressing a steaming cup of tea into her shaking hands.
"You’re a menace," he informed her as he knelt to light the hearth, his tone more exasperated affection than true irritation. "An absolute, unrepentant menace."
Yn sniffled, her cheeks still damp. "You’re the one who didn’t hear me."
"Because I was writing," he retorted, tossing her a dry—if slightly threadbare—shirt to change into. "For you, mind. A new story. Because someone declared the last one ‘lacked sufficient dragons.’"
Yn raised a brow in confusion. Harry shook his head, a slight smirk hinging against his lips. “A publisher… I sent my story to.” He nodded.
The flicker of a smile tugged at her lips, despite herself.
Harry noticed. Seized on it.
"Ah, there it is," he murmured, nudging a plate of butter cookies toward her. "Knew I’d get a proper smirk eventually."
The rain lashed against the windows, but inside, the fire crackled. The candles burned low, their scent sweet and comforting.
Yn watched Harry from the corner of her eye—his unruly hair haloed by the firelight, the way his fingers drummed idly against his knee, the quiet intensity in his gaze as he studied the storm beyond the glass.
She had thought herself hollow.
But here, in this moment, she felt—just a little—less alone.
Harry turned his head, catching her stare. He didn’t ask. Didn’t pry.
He simply passed her another cookie.
And Yn, for the first time that day, breathed easy.
◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊
The trembling rain carried on through the afternoon, skirting towards early evening. Cinnamon echoed the air like a whisper, a dream even and there Yn sat, her heart still pounding like hundred race horses darting against the track, her hair nursing a soft loose braid that streamed like a thick spine over her back. The house was quiet— Harry was seated next to her, watching the rain shower down so hard it probably was overflowing the lake anyway. The fireplace crackled like a voice smacking through the silence.
Yn felt Harry’s side eye glance before he faced the window again. She sucked in her lips. “Is your ankle alright?” Yn turned hearing— listening to the sound of Harry’s husky voice chime through breaking the ice of inaudible tension.
She cleared her throat. “It’s fine. I never hurt it, I think…” She looked down to the window seal. “Just…. being stupid and all.”
“You’re not stupid… maybe a bit careless, but not stupid.” Harry didn’t turn from the window once.
“I walked across ice and fell in. I should’ve known better,” Yn swallowed.
“I’ve touched a hot pan coming out of the fire without mitts. That’s stupid.”
Yn stifled a chuckle. “Okay, maybe that one is stupid…” she said, a warm yet small smile creeping over face again.
A pregnant pause sat between them again. “I saw my parents today….”
Harry turned. “I thought you said you were an orphan?”
Yn swallowed, the lump in her throat threatening to suffocate her again. “I am. Or… at least I thought so.” Harry turned his body a bit, the rain now background murmur. “I went to Elswick today— Verveuil… and I was sitting at this table, just trying to gather some scenery for my next painting… and there they were… children and everything.” Yn slowly glanced at Harry before turning away, her eyes glossy and untrusting. “They could afford to eat there everyday if they wanted. Having a ball and not even noticing.”
Harry bit the corner of his lip for a moment. “Are you sure it was them?”
Yn slowly nodded. “They looked and acted just like me… their mannerisms, my mother’s neck is dainty and a bit gaunt, and my father’s laugh is unmistakable. I didn’t want to believe it myself… until he said his last name,” Yn turned towards Harry finally, quiet gentle tears stringing down her face, “LN.”
A quiet stood for a minute— Yn’s sniffles could be heard only.
Her heart hitched itself in her windpipe. It choked on her own breaths— ragged and sharp like her throat had been slit. “You know— imagine going your whole life not knowing, but always wondering what type of people they would’ve been to you. If the best parts of yourself were their best traits too. And then you walk in and see how their life is… that without you.” Yn cried, sobbing into her hand. “It’s like being slapped in the face— no— kicked in the stomach and then throwing up in front of everyone at a banquet.”
A deep furrow rested between Harry’s brows. Breaking his stiff and rigid polite clasp, he moved an arm around Yn like a rope pulling a raft back to shore, scooching closer and bridging the physical gap in the middle. He didn’t whisper. He didn’t reassure. He just… sat there. With her. Breathing when she breathed. Holding her trembling body like it was own. To Harry, it was like watching his own heart outside of his body— the remembrance of crushing weight that was too heavy to lift at the time all on his own was staring him right in the face. Burying his face into Yn’s neck, he breathed in the scent of lilac and wet earth as if it were the air he breathed.
Yn’s hands rested over Harry’s arms; the grip on them just as docile as his own.
Yn’s cries soon soothed into just small sniffles and damp eyes. Her nose as red as a rose and her eyes bloodshot and still leaking spare tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice rough and broken still.
“No. Don’t apologize….it’s okay.” Harry didn’t let go, until Yn gently glided her own body from his hug.
Yn began to wipe her eyes, until Harry passed her a handkerchief from his pocket. “Thank you,” Yn wiped her nose and eyes. Harry tucked a loose strain of hair behind Yn’s ear, giving her a gentle smile, his green orbs carrying a mist of warmth into the cadence of his delicate haven.
Without even having to speak a word, Yn just looked at Harry; her eyes knowing more than what Harry wanted to pretend let on. “What?” Yn wiped her eyes and let a faint smirk cross her lips. Her eyes begin to prod— looking through Harry as if he were a glass statue.
Harry was a very smart and wise man. He knew this. Even if he pretended not to. He swallowed, his eyes went to his hands that had now clasped together, his thumbs were the only moving bone.
“My parents….” he shook his head, “they didn’t understand.” Harry shifted in his seat, trying to find a ‘comfortable’ position before he would speak again— stalling the moment. But Yn was leaning on and hanging by a thread to every second that ticked by.
Harry cleared his throat. “I’m… I’m sensitive,” he gave a quick raise of his brows with a partially sucked in smile, “so, when things happened and I took them hard…. they brushed it off like every other adult I met. In fact, if there was an adult that was at least trying to understand, my parents dismissed them too and would keep me only in their influence just to…” Harry’s hands were in mid air gesturing in a frantic rowing motion before they settled down, slapping lightly against his lap, “invalidate it.”
Yn watched, starting into Harry’s eyes as if she were now understanding everything. And she was. “Harry…” She prodded with a voice as soft as cotton. He slowly turned, his pupil wide and his bore intense.
“What exactly did they do?” she leaned in closer to his physical heat.
Harry swallowed. “What do—” he stopped himself. He knew better. Clearing his throat again and looking up to the rain beaded window again. His shoulders fell slump. “He was cold. My father… just didn’t care. I was scared to break the rules because it would all be met with stern punishment that showed no mercy. My father believed he was right to do this…. my mother… she just sponged it all up.” A rattle crept into his voice. “In his eyes, the adults were superior and… they could do whatever… and get away with it— lying about it to everyone… to you, to themselves. And… I just…. I was helpless— I was a child and it was like I was being forced to accept this… accept that… no one truly… cared for me. No one truly loved me, I know realize.” Harry’s voice choked a stifled sob out.
The memories were a vengeful hurricane writhing inside of Harry. Echoes of harsh and stern words, mean brush offs and the fear of no safety vest— no lifeline to hang onto to shield him from the harsh winds or pull him out of the storm completely. Just… just a little boy. Stuck in the storm of it all with nothing and no one. Just books. Just his imagination of hope and what it could look like. And that’s what bled on those pages to this very day.
A lone tear escaped Harry’s eye, trickling like the last drop of rain from the cloud; the proof that there was indeed a shower. Harry just stared out the window, stiff, silent and watchful. He gave a quick side glance to Yn before quickly turning back. The scent of cinnamon and cedar still dancing around them like a beckon. Yn shuffled closer into Harry. Her hand making its way to his cheek, her thumb wiping the trace of the tear. Her touch feather light against his dry skin. Hands still smooth just as the day they first met. Harry’s jaw leaned into Yn’s grasp, a sniffle escaping his nose that was now moist and piqued. Yn leaned in and kissed his red bunny nose; a butterfly touch to burn.
A soft smile caressed her lips just as her own eyes glistened with unshed knowings. “You,” she breathed softly, “are my love. Always.” she whispered.
The rain outside wove a tapestry of whispers against the glass, a steady rhythm that seemed to mirror the growing pulse between them. Harry’s chest rose in a slow, shuddering breath as Yn’s fingers lingered against his cheek—not pulling away, not yet, as if savoring the warmth of him beneath her palm. His lashes lowered, shadows kissing the delicate skin beneath his eyes, still damp with emotion.
“You,” she had breathed, and the word had seared into him, branding his ribs with something tender and aching.
His hands, usually so steady, trembled slightly as they found her waist, pulling her closer until the heat of her pressed flush against him. He could feel the way her breath hitched, the quiet, yearning sound she made as his fingers splayed across the small of her back. His heart hammered, a wild, unspoken plea that she could surely feel beneath her touch.
Yn tipped her face up, lips parting in silent invitation. Harry did not hesitate.
Their kiss was not hurried; it was a slow unraveling, a language written in sighs and parted lips. His mouth slanted over hers with an aching reverence, every brush of his tongue against hers a question, a devotion. She answered in kind—a soft moan slipping free as her hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently, just enough to make him groan.
His fingers traced the curve of her spine, memorizing the delicate ridges, the way her body arched into him as if drawn by some invisible thread between their souls. He could not tell where his heartbeat ended and hers began—only that they thrummed together now, a single cadence beneath the storm’s lullaby.
Their clothing slipped away like whispers—buttons undone, laces loosened—each brush of fabric against skin a fleeting ghost before it was gone. The air around them was thick with the scent of cedar and cinnamon, mingling with the salt of Yn’s damp skin as Yn pressed her lips to Harry’s collarbone, her teeth grazing just enough to make him gasp.
"Yn," he breathed, half warning, half prayer.
She only smiled against his skin, her fingers trailing lower, tracing the tension coiled in his abdomen before slipping further still. His jaw clenched, a tremor wracking through him as her touch coaxed a groan from deep in his chest.
His restraint was slipping—thread by thread, kiss by kiss—until what remained was only fire.
He caught her wrists, gentle but firm, guiding her back until the plush cushions of the settee cradled her. His eyes, darkened with need, drank in the sight of her—flushed, breathless, waiting.
And then he was upon her—not with haste, but with a slow, consuming intensity that left her gasping. His lips traced the hollow of her throat, the swell of her breast, the curve of her hip—every inch of her a scripture he worshipped without words. The rain outside had grown heavier, drowning out all but the sounds of their shared breaths, the soft, broken sounds Yn made as his mouth moved lower, as his hands learned her in ways that stole her voice.
She threaded her fingers through his hair, tugging him back up to her before he could unravel her completely. "Harry," she whispered, her voice ragged with longing. "I need—"
He knew. He always knew.
Their bodies entwined then, seamless and slow, a dance they had known in dreams before flesh made it real. There was no urgency, only the lingering press of skin against skin, the way their breaths tangled in the scant space between them. Harry moved with excruciating tenderness, his hands trembling where they gripped her hips, his forehead pressed to hers as if he could not bear to be parted even an inch.
But beneath the sweetness burned something deeper, hotter—the quiet storm beneath his skin that Yn alone could summon. His thrusts grew harder, deeper, drawing cries from her lips that he swallowed hungrily. The gentleness had not vanished—only transformed, melding with something primal and aching until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
Yn met him stroke for stroke, her nails biting into his shoulders as she dragged him closer, as if she could fuse them together beyond the boundaries of bone and sinew. The world beyond the window, beyond the scent of rain and the firelight’s glow, ceased to exist. There was only this—only the way he filled her, the way her name sounded like a plea on his tongue, the way their bodies spoke in a language older than words.
When the crescendo came, it was not a crash but a slow, trembling unraveling—a wave that pulled them under, stealing breath and thought until all that remained was the quiet certainty of her, of him, of them.
Harry collapsed against her, boneless and spent, his lips brushing the damp skin of her shoulder as she cradled him close. The rain still murmured against the panes, the fire still crackled low in the hearth, but everything had changed.
Yn traced idle patterns across his back, her own heartbeat slowing to match his. "Do you feel it?" she whispered.
Harry lifted his head just enough to meet her gaze.
"Love," she murmured simply.
And he did. Not just in the way their bodies had known one another, but in the quiet after—the way his soul had settled, as though it had finally found its missing shade.
Outside, the storm softened. Inside, they clung to each other—breathing, alive, whole.
And that was more than enough.
◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊
The firelight flickered low in the hearth, casting shifting shadows over the entwined bodies of Harry and Yn. Rain whispered against the windowpanes, blurring the world beyond into a watercolor wash of gray and gold. Outside, the trees bent beneath the wind, their bare branches clawing at the sky like desperate hands.
Yn’s fingertips traced the sharp line of Harry’s jaw, her touch light as a moth’s wing against his skin. “Do you know,” she murmured, “how many shades of blue there are in the sky just before dusk?”
Harry turned his head, pressing a kiss to her palm. His lips were warm, lingering. “Tell me.”
“Too many to name,” she whispered, smiling. “But I’ve tried. I paint them—every one—hoping one day I’ll find the one that matches your eyes.”
A shuddering breath escaped him, and his arms tightened around her. He had been a man of words, weaving poems and prose with ink-stained fingers, but Yn spoke in colors he had never known before. Every day with her was a symphony of hues, each more vibrant than the last.
But as spring deepened into March’s grasp, something else bled into their idyllic union—a single letter, sealed with crimson wax and written in elegant, looping script.
The letter lay open on the oak desk, its edges trembling in the faint breeze from the open window. The ink gleamed wetly in the candlelight, the words still fresh, still raw.
Signorina Yn,
It is with great honor that I extend to you an invitation to study at the Accademia d’Arte di Firenze under my tutelage…
Yn’s breath caught in her throat. Fabian Augustus—the maestro whose work had haunted her dreams since she first held a brush. Italy. Florence. The very soul of art itself.
Harry stood by the fireplace, his back to her, the rigid line of his shoulders the only betrayal of his emotions. The flames cast his profile in sharp relief—his lips pressed into a thin line, his lashes lowered as if shielding something too fragile to name.
“Harry,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.
“You must go.” His words were quiet, steady, as if he had rehearsed them a hundred times in the silence of his mind.
She reached for him, but he turned away, fingers curling into fists at his sides.
“I want you to.” He forced a smile, though it did not touch his eyes. “God, Yn, this is what you’ve always dreamed of.”
But dreams, she realized with a sinking heart, had a way of shifting shape when love entered the equation.
The morning of her leaving dawned cold and brittle, the last frost of the season etching delicate patterns across the windowpanes. Harry helped her into the carriage, his hands lingering on her waist a moment too long, his breath warm against her temple.
“Write to me,” she whispered, clutching his coat with trembling fingers.
His throat worked as he swallowed. “Every day.”
But the promise was hollow. She saw it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his fingers twitched as if aching to pull her back.
The carriage door clicked shut. The horses whinnied. And then she was gone, the wheels carving tracks into the damp earth—marking the path where his heart had been torn open.
London without her was a sepia-toned world, drained of warmth and light. Harry moved through it like a ghost, drifting from room to room, his pen hovering over blank pages that refused to be filled.
His study, once alive with scribbled lines of love and longing, now held only silence. The poems he attempted to write were jagged things—fragments of grief, sharp as broken glass.
Yn, Yn, Yn. Her name was a wound that would not close.
Sleep became a stranger. He took to his bed, staring at the ceiling as if it might offer answers. The scent of her still clung to the sheets—cedar and cinnamon, salt and saffron—a cruel reminder of what was no longer his to hold. And then, one sleepless night— after the ache of a void kept him from even fluttering his eyes— the realization struck him with the force of a storm. The pierce of an arrow through thick skin.
She is my love. My heart walking outside my body, yet still pumping life into me with every beat.
Not just a fleeting passion, not just a muse, but the very soul he had been searching for—the missing shade in the vast spectrum of his existence. Without hesitation, he rose, packed his things, and boarded the first train to Florence.
Italy was a dream woven in gold and ochre, its streets thrumming with life, its air thick with the scent of olive oil and wine. Harry moved through them like a man possessed, his pulse a frantic drumbeat against his ribs. The Accademia loomed before him, its marble façade gleaming in the afternoon sun. Students milled about, their laughter ringing through the courtyard, but Harry’s gaze swept past them, searching for one face—one impossible, beloved face.
And then—
There she was.
Yn stood beneath a vine-wrapped archway, her skirts dusted with paint, her fingers smudged with charcoal. She was arguing with a fellow student, her brow furrowed in concentration, her lips moving with the same fierce passion that had first drawn him to her.
And then, as if sensing his presence, she turned.
Their eyes met.
The world stopped.
For a breathless moment, neither moved. Then, a gasp—her hands flying to her mouth, her chest rising with something between disbelief and joy.
“Harry?” His name was a whisper, a prayer, a question wrapped in trembling hope.
He crossed the distance between them in three strides. His hands found her face, cradling it as if she were made of spun glass.
“I couldn’t let you go,” he breathed, his voice rough with emotion. “Not without telling you—not without—”
She cut him off with a kiss, her fingers tangling in his hair, her body pressing flush against his. The taste of her was the same—sweet as summer wine, sharp as longing—and for the first time in weeks, Harry felt whole again.
When they finally pulled apart, her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “You idiot,” she whispered, laughing. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?”
He rested his forehead against hers, his thumbs brushing the apples of her cheeks. “I think,” he murmured, “that I’ve just begun to understand.”
Around them, the courtyard buzzed with life, the golden light of Florence gilding their reunion in hues as rich and eternal as the art that surrounded them.
And in that moment, nothing else mattered—not distance, not time, not the vast and uncertain future ahead.
Only them. Only this. Only love.
The clouds around them thundered before a shallow shower begin to pour. But the pair stood there in the mist of rain drenched vines and soggy clothing— hair sticking to their temples as if they had been bathed by earth itself.
Harry’s lip trembled. “Yn, you need to know this… I love you. And there’s not a single day that goes by where I doubt God for bringing you to me. Where you are, there is passion; my passion is yours and so is my heart. I want to spend every waking moment of every day looking into those eyes, because that’s where my future— my life, my beginning is.” Harry crouched down, placing a knee against the wet granite.
“With God as my witness and the heaven’s as my audience… will you be my lady, Yn?
Tears could be traced even amongst the dripping rain. Yn felt her face collapse in pure breathtaking love. “Y-Yes, YES!” she choked out in a stutter. As she sobbed tears of utter glee, Harry stood again and took her face into his fire and kissed her with a blaze of unsaid, unearthly adorn.
The rain continued to pour over them, but it could never wash away the absolute devoted enthrallment and adoration the two souls carried for one another. A soul that would become one and become a love—
the only one they would ever know as if it were the reason they existed.
THE END.
(Tell me what you think as I LOVE the feedback!! :)))
This is my fourth month doing this, and honestly it's so much fun. I love going back at the end of the month and remembering all the amazing work I've read. I love getting to hopefully help promote writers. I love seeing for myself how much I'm reading and from who. I hope you all keep enjoying this as well.
The list:
In order I reblogged, not order written
Multiple writing from the same author are listed together
(but I tried to read from as many different authors as I could this month)
Must have a Read More
Writers: Please put word counts, thanks!
Previous Monthly Lists | Fic Rec Tag | My Masterlist
Assistance Needed | assistant!reader 3k
@gurugirl
Little bit of face-fucking :o) (Preview)
You're Too Sweet For Me (preview)
@1800titz
Secrets 7.9k
@heartateasee
Grumpy 1.8k
Tastes So Sweet 1.3k
@harryistheonlyoneforme
Wake N' Bake 1.4k
Roomies 8k
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A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes 3k
@jarofstyles
Painted On Your Back 9k
The Other Man 13.5k
@lukesaprince
Needy 4k
Yes, Sir. 7.1k
@harrystylescherry
Horan!sister reader 1.8k
@avatar-anna
Across the Hall 2.3k
@musicforgrapejuiceblues
Green Skies, Pink Grass 2.6k
@1d1195
Far From Sober 2.8k
Part 2 2k
@eveningepiphany
Neighborhood Watch 2.6k
@purplecoffee13
Aperture 1.9k
@cherryrouge
Best Friend Vacation 6.6k
@guiltypleasurecreative
Primavera 11k
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Sweet 3.4k
@harry-on-broadway
Jealousy, Jealousy 4.5k
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Academic Rivals / A/B/O
Part 1 22k
Part 2 20k
Part 3 18k
Part 4 14k
@jawllines
Hii! I know you probably get these messages a lot, but we are really big fans of your writing! We’re a new writing blog and with the way tumblr tags have been working it’s hard to get our writing out. If you’d like, we’d really appreciate if you gave our writing a read :) If not, that’s okay to! Thank you very much and have a good day 💓
wow thank u so much I’m so happy u like my stuff!!!🥺 yeah I’ll def check u out I know how frustrating it can be to not have any of ur tags show up so I’ll def check u out when I have time thank you so much!!!!!
