Y/N wakes up craving blood and Harry‘s there to help (reluctantly) by @jawllines *
The devil is a gentleman by @1800titz *
404 by @freedomfireflies *
IFall for Harry by @freedomfireflies *
Teach Me by @freedomfireflies *
Ophanim by @stylesloveclub *
Harry and Y/N are in the same ballet class, and they hate each other by @jawllines *
Harry is Y/N’s new bodyguard and Y/N’s sure they’ve met before by @jawllines *
The Young Dad!Harry Universe by @avatar-anna
Harry is a young professor and Y/N has never felt this kind of attraction before by @novelistrry *
Stand alones / short stories
No loss by @adorebeaa *
Earning it by @adorebeaa *
Desire by @enthusiasticharry *
Feathery by @moonchildstyles
Soft by @moonchildstyles *
Shy by @moonchildstyles
Previous Recs
January Recommendations (2023)
Includes works by @jawllines, @gurugirl, @s-brant, @jarofstyles, @itslottiehere, @gucciwins, @harryssweatcreaturee
Fic recs 2022
Includes works by @moonchildstyles, @watchmegetobsessed, @mixed-with-intellect, @helladirections, @harrys-titties, @tobesobri, @stylesloveclub, @goldensstateofgrace, @groovybaybee, @stylesunchained, @songbirdstyles, @harryforvogue, @softforcal, @h-styles-babes, @wroteasongabouther, @talesofstyles, @1dffexchange, @havethetimeofyourstyles, @gucciwins, @nationalharryleague, @lovemesomeharry, @sunflowervolvimp3, @finelinevogue, @jawllines, @harrystylesgotmefuckedup, @theasstour, @songbirdstyles, and more but i’ve reached my mentions limit. Open the link!
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Where you are terrible at being a paparazzi and somehow end up on the other side of the camera with harry styles
Word count: 11.5k
Your apartment is a fifth floor walkup in Washington Heights, the kind where the radiator clangs all night in winter and goes silent when you actually need it. You’re at the kitchen table, which is also your desk, your dining room, and sometimes your darkroom when you tape garbage bags over the window. Your laptop is open to an email you’ve read four times already.
You know what it is. You’ve known since the second line, when they mentioned “candid work” and “high-profile subjects.” You also know that your bank account currently contains $143, which is exactly $1,157 short of what you need for rent in nine days, so you’re not really in a position to be precious about it.
All you had to do was pass history. Nobody said anything about keeping your hands to yourself.
Word count: 11k
Authors note ✉️: okay so this is my take on nerd!harry and I want to be clear that I didn’t want to lean too hard into the stereotype. He’s not awkward or socially clueless, he’s just incredibly smart
Warnings: SMUT
The test came back face-down.
That was never a good sign. Professor Aldridge always handed back the good ones face-up, like she wanted you to see the grade before you’d even touched the paper, wanted you to feel good about it in front of everyone. Face-down meant she was giving you a private moment with your disappointment.
You flipped it over.
Sixty-one.
You stared at it long enough that the number stopped looking like a number and started looking like a shape, red ink pressed into the top right corner of the page like a brand. Around you, the shuffle of papers and the low murmur of other students reacting to their own grades filled the lecture hall, but it sounded far away. Sixty-one. You needed a seventy to pass the class. You were four weeks from the midterm.
You tucked the test under your notebook before anyone could see it.
Professor Aldridge dismissed the class at five past, and you were already reaching for your bag when her voice cut through the noise.
“Miss y/n?” She was looking directly at you. “Would you mind staying back a moment?”
The last few students filtered out. You made your way down to the front of the room, test in hand, and stood in front of her desk feeling very much like you were sixteen and not nineteen.
Professor Aldridge was not an unkind woman. She had sharp eyes behind square-framed glasses and a habit of pausing for a long time before she spoke, like she was choosing her words carefully. She looked at you now the way she always looked at things she was trying to understand.
“This is your second exam under a seventy,” she said, not accusatory, just factual. She folded her hands on top of her desk. “I want to talk about what’s happening.”
“I know the material,” you said, and then immediately felt how defensive it sounded. “I mean, I think I do. And then I get in here and it just.”
“Doesn’t translate.”
“Yeah.”
She nodded slowly. “That tells me the issue isn’t comprehension. It’s retention and application under pressure.” She slid a printed sheet across the desk. “I want you to look at the tutoring resources the department has available. There are a few graduate students who take appointments, and the writing center can help if your essay responses are where you’re losing points.” She tapped the paper. “Which they are.”
You picked it up. There were three names listed, email addresses beside each one, and a note at the bottom about the campus library hosting drop-in study hours on Thursdays.
“I don’t want to see you fail this class,” Professor Aldridge said. “You clearly have an interest in the subject. Your participation is good. But interest alone won’t get you through the midterm.”
“I know.” You folded the paper in half. “I’ll reach out.”
“Good.” She gave you a small, decisive nod that meant the conversation was over. “Office hours are Tuesdays if you need me.”
You thanked her and walked out into the hallway, blinking against the fluorescent light. The paper felt heavier than it should have in your hand.
want to read the rest? Check it out in my free Patreon!
✨ summary: based around the song Friends Or Lovers by Hayley Williams. If you’re the anon who asked for this a while ago, I’m sorry it took so long. I rewrote it more times than I can count before it finally felt right. I hope you like it. This one took a real piece of my heart.
📝 word count: 7.3k
When Y/N met Harry she didn’t expect to like him.
Not because of anything he did. He was polite. Charming. Smiled with his whole face. But there was something about people who were too at ease in a room, who looked like they belonged before they even sat down. She had a hard time trusting that. And Harry Styles walked in like he’d been there his whole life.
They met at a mutual friend’s house. Casual night. Music low, people drinking wine out of mismatched glasses, shoes kicked off at the door. She was curled up on the couch in an oversized hoodie, half-listening to a story someone was telling, when she heard the door open and that unmistakable voice carry through the hallway.
“Sorry I’m late. Got caught up.”
That was all he said. But heads turned. People smiled. One girl laughed in that too-excited-to-be-casual way.
He didn’t look famous. Not in that overdone, trying-too-hard way. Just a little tired, like he’d come from something long and wanted to be somewhere quiet. He wore a loose cream button-down and dark trousers. Nothing dramatic. But when he stepped into the room, it felt like he brought the energy down to a hush without saying a word.
Their eyes met quickly, in that casual accidental way. She looked up just as he was glancing around. He smiled. Just for a second. And then someone was pulling him into conversation.
She looked back down at her drink and told herself not to care.
“Do you know him?” her friend whispered beside her, nudging her leg.
She shook her head. “No. Why would I?”
Her friend grinned. “You will.”
She did. Later that night, after most people had cleared out, she wandered into the kitchen for water and found him there, barefoot and leaning against the counter, eating the last bite of someone’s forgotten piece of cake.
He looked up when she walked in.
“Caught me,” he said through a smile, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Bit desperate, I know.”
She opened a cabinet, searching for a glass. “It’s not desperate. It’s sugar.”
He laughed softly. “You always this nonjudgmental with cake thieves?”
She found a cup and filled it. “Depends on the thief.”
Something shifted then. The kind of pause that felt aware. Like they’d both stopped mid-thought.
“I’m Harry,” he said.
“I know.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Ah. That kind of meeting.”
She set the cup down and shrugged. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to ask for a selfie or recite your discography.”
“Shame. That was my one party trick,” he teased.
And it should have ended there. A brief chat. Polite and forgettable. But she didn’t leave. And he didn’t pretend to be tired. Instead, they talked. About stupid things at first. Cake. People at the party. The weird playlist someone had queued. Then about music. Tour life. What it meant to feel lonely in rooms full of people.
She told him she was studying creative writing and bartending to get by. He asked what she wrote. She said, “Fiction, mostly,” and he said, “That makes sense,” and didn’t explain what he meant, and she liked that.
It was two in the morning when he finally checked his phone.
“I should probably head out,” he said, but he didn’t move.
“Probably,” she agreed.
Neither of them said goodbye.
He had gotten her number from a mutual friend and texted her the next day. Said something dumb like cake’s not as good when you’re not around to make fun of me for it.
And she smiled way too hard for someone who barely knew him.
It wasn’t just that they became close.
It was the way it built slowly, in pieces that didn’t look like much from the outside. The kind of friendship that crept in quietly and then refused to leave.
It started with walks. He liked the air. She liked the silence between them. Sometimes they’d talk for hours. Sometimes they didn’t say much at all. She liked that about him. That he didn’t feel the need to fill every moment.
One night, a few weeks after they met, they passed a little used bookstore that was still open. He pulled her inside without asking. Bought a poetry collection she mentioned she liked, then forgot he’d bought it and left it in her bag. She kept it on her nightstand. Still did.
He showed up at her door when she was sick. Not just a text asking if she was okay. An actual knock. Arms full of lemon tea, cold medicine, and a Tupperware container with soup he admitted he didn’t make himself. She let him in, pale and sniffling, and he spent the whole day sitting cross-legged on her bedroom floor reading to her in a low, warm voice that scratched a little at the edges.
She fell asleep to it. When she woke up, he was asleep too, curled up beside her bed like he belonged there.
They watched movies together every Sunday he was free. That was his idea. Groceries, dinner, and two movies, no matter what city they were in. Sometimes it was over FaceTime. Sometimes he’d fly in unexpectedly. Once she looked up from stirring pasta to find him in her doorway, suitcase still in hand.
He brought her flowers when they fought. Usually something ridiculous, like sunflowers the size of her head or a tiny bouquet from the corner store wrapped in napkins. He’d say, “Can we not be stupid anymore?” and she’d nod like she hadn’t cried the night before.
He told her she was one of the only people who made him feel like himself.
She told him he made her feel seen.
And they never touched that truth directly. They never called it love. Never said the word want.
But they kept finding each other in small, undeniable ways.
When he went on tour, she flew out for a few dates. Always told people it was just for fun. He put her name on the list without asking. She stood side stage, always just out of the light, and watched him become something bigger than anyone could touch.
After the shows, he would find her. Sometimes sweaty and breathless, sometimes quiet and unsure. And she would say things like, “You were brilliant,” and he would say, “Only because you were there.”
Once, after a long stretch apart, he hugged her in the middle of an airport terminal and held her like he didn’t want to let go. She buried her face in his neck and pretended her eyes weren’t burning.
Neither of them ever crossed the line.
But they sat on top of it.
Sometimes she’d wake up thinking about the way his hand felt on her knee during long car rides. Or how his voice sounded just before he fell asleep, half whispering into the phone.
Sometimes he would look at her for too long when she laughed.
And both of them held it in. Tucked it behind careful smiles and late night calls and safe conversations.
Always almost something.
Everything between them had lived in soft moments and borrowed time, but the night of the event shifted the air, like all that quiet closeness had finally reached its edge.
The invite had come through three days earlier.
A muted notification in a group chat she barely checked anymore. The usual mix of industry people she befriend through Harry over the years. A few stylists, two photographers, a publicist who always used too many emojis. Someone had dropped a flyer for a gallery event and said it would be chill. Low pressure. A soft launch for an artist friend. Wine, art, good lighting.
She’d scrolled right past it. Saved it. Forgot about it.
Harry was the one who brought it back up.
He texted her mid-afternoon on a slow Wednesday.
harry: have you seen the invite for thursday
She sat with the message for a moment, then typed back. y/n: yeah wasn’t sure if i was going
There was a small pause. Then, harry: i was thinking about it might be nice only if youre going though
She rolled her eyes but smiled.
y/n: so im your deciding factor now
harry: obviously i dont want to make awkward small talk with strangers alone
harry: you could come with me
That made her fingers hesitate for just a second.
Then: y/n: yeah we can meet outside
harry: perfect ill text you before i leave
The night of the event, she took longer than usual to get ready. She changed outfits twice. Sat on the edge of her bed in silence for almost ten minutes. At one point she reapplied her lip gloss and tied her hair up just to untie it again.
At 7:32, her phone lit up.
harry: on my way you ready
y/n: almost give me five
harry: you always say that
y/n: and you always wait
harry: course i do
She stepped out into the cold evening air with her coat draped over one arm. When she reached the gallery, Harry was already there. Leaning against the brick just outside the entrance, scrolling something on his phone, wearing a black coat and loose curls tucked behind one ear. He looked up as she approached.
“There she is,” he said.
“Sorry. Took a second to find parking.”
“You look good.”
“So do you.”
He opened the door for her. She stepped inside.
They didn’t walk in holding hands, but they walked in close. Their shoulders brushed once, and neither of them pulled away.
Some time had passed and the gallery was full now. Not packed, but buzzing.
The energy had shifted since they arrived. Conversations layered over each other like background noise in a film. Glasses clinked gently between fingers. The soft beat of ambient music hummed through the space. Someone near the back laughed too loudly, and a small ripple of polite curiosity passed through the room.
Y/N stood close to Harry, their shoulders nearly touching as they talked with a group gathered around a tall piece of mixed media work. She recognized a few faces from other events. People she had spoken to in dressing rooms and backstage lounges. Others she only knew through stories Harry had told in passing. The circle ebbed and flowed as people drifted in and out. Small talk about the exhibit turned into jokes about press appearances and whose plus ones had already wandered off for free drinks.
Y/N glanced at Harry now and then, always just a second too long. He looked good tonight. Relaxed. Sharp in black. His sleeves were rolled just past his wrists, the edge of a tattoo peeking out when he lifted his glass. When he laughed at something someone said, his hand landed briefly on the back of her arm. Warm. Familiar. Thoughtless.
She could still feel it after he let go.
Her friend, Addy, slid into the group beside her, holding a fresh drink. She leaned toward Y/N and said quietly, “You two always look like you’re about to disappear into a corner together.”
Y/N laughed under her breath. “We really don’t.”
Addy raised her brows. “You really do.”
Before Y/N could respond, she felt the shift.
Someone new stepped into the circle. A presence that changed the balance of the room. She turned just as a woman moved up beside Harry. Tall. Polished. Effortlessly beautiful in a way that felt practiced but natural. She wore a loose silk blouse tucked into soft denim, hair falling in easy waves over her shoulders.
“Hey,” the woman said softly as she leaned in. Her arm slid around Harry’s waist like it had done so before.
Harry’s smile widened when he saw her. “You made it.”
“Traffic was awful,” she replied. “Almost didn’t come.”
“I’m glad you did.”
The exchange only lasted seconds, but it settled heavy in Y/N’s chest.
Harry turned toward the group, his hand still resting at the woman’s back. His eyes found Y/N immediately.
“Y/N,” he said, “this is Natalie.”
There it was. The name. Clean and simple and suddenly impossible to ignore.
Natalie extended her hand with an easy smile. “Hi. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Y/N took her hand automatically. Her own smile stayed steady. “Nice to meet you.”
Harry gestured lightly between them. “We’ve been seeing each other a little. Nothing serious. Just hanging out.”
Y/N nodded once. The room felt warmer. Not uncomfortable. Just close.
“You said you didn’t want to come alone,” she said quietly. Not accusing. Just confused.
Harry tilted his head slightly. “I didn’t.”
The answer lingered between them. She did not ask the question that followed. If he did not want to come alone and she was standing right here, what did that make this?
Natalie was pulled into another conversation a moment later. Her fingers brushed Harry’s wrist as she stepped away.
Y/N smiled like nothing had shifted. “I’m going to grab another drink.”
She did not wait for him to answer.
She found Addy again near the far wall, standing in front of a large canvas washed in shades of gray and black. The title placard read Grasp. Y/N did not really look at it.
“Hey,” she said, stepping closer.
Addy glanced over. “What’s going on with your face.”
“My face.”
“You have that smiling but not actually fine look.”
Y/N let out a small laugh. “I’m fine.”
Addy did not buy it.
“Just a weird night,” Y/N added, softer.
Addy’s eyes flicked across the room, then back. “Weird because he brought you and introduced you to the girl he’s casually seeing like that was normal.”
Y/N took a slow breath. “I don’t think he knew she’d actually come.”
Addy tilted her head. “And does that make it better.”
“I don’t know,” Y/N said. “Not really.”
Addy took a sip of her drink. Her voice dropped lower. “So are you pretending it doesn’t hurt because it doesn’t, or because you wish it did.”
Y/N didn’t answer right away.
Across the room, Harry was still standing in the same spot. His drink was in one hand. The other was tucked into the front of his jacket. He wasn’t talking now. He wasn’t smiling either.
Her gaze lingered.
“I think,” she said quietly, “I stopped being able to tell the difference a while ago.”
Addy leaned her shoulder gently into Y/N’s. “Maybe he did too.”
Y/N didn’t look away from him.
She wasn’t ready to leave. But she wasn’t sure she could stay either.
Y/N stayed where she was longer than she needed to. Just enough to appear calm. She laughed softly at something Addy said, nodded along to a conversation she wasn’t really listening to, and took a sip of her drink even though it had gone warm. She wasn’t ready to move, but she could feel something inside her already beginning to retreat.
She glanced toward the front entrance. Then back to Harry.
He was still in the same spot. Still talking. Still relaxed in a way that made her stomach twist.
She turned to Addy. “I think I’m gonna head out.”
Addy raised a brow. “Already?”
“I’m not feeling great. Stomach’s off.”
Addy studied her face for a long moment. Her expression didn’t shift. She didn’t argue. She just nodded once and stepped forward to hug her.
“Text me when you get home,” she said, her voice quiet.
“I will.”
Y/N forced a small smile and gave her one last squeeze before stepping away. She took her time walking across the gallery. Her heels made soft clicks against the concrete floor. The sound seemed too loud in her ears.
Harry turned just before she reached him. Like he felt her coming.
His expression changed the second he saw her. “You leaving?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I think I’m gonna head out.”
“Everything okay?”
She gave a quiet laugh, more breath than sound. “Yeah. I just feel a little off. Like I’m coming down with something.”
He stepped in a little closer. His voice lowered. “Do you want me to walk you out?”
“No,” she said quickly, before catching herself. “It’s okay. I’ll call an Uber.”
“Y/N.” His tone had changed now. More serious. “I can come with you. At least wait with you outside.”
“I’m fine.”
His eyes searched her face like he didn’t believe her. “Let me come out. Just for a minute.”
She hesitated. Her throat tightened. Then she shook her head.
“You should stay.”
The words tasted like regret. Like the start of something she couldn’t take back.
He opened his mouth like he wanted to say more, but she stepped back before he could. Just enough space to end the conversation.
“I’ll text you when I get home,” she said gently.
Then she turned and walked away before he could offer another word.
Outside, the air hit her hard. Colder than she expected. It pressed into her chest and burned down her throat as she inhaled. She didn’t stop walking until she reached the opposite side of the street. Her fingers moved automatically as she unlocked her phone and opened the rideshare app.
Seven minutes.
She let out a shaky breath and leaned back against the brick wall, her arms folded loosely across her chest. The street was mostly quiet. A few other people passed by on the sidewalk, voices low, coats pulled tight against the chill.
She wasn’t going to look. That was the plan. Just wait for the car. Keep her eyes forward. Let the night end without adding more weight to it.
But her gaze drifted anyway.
Across the street, the gallery’s large windows spilled soft yellow light onto the sidewalk. The glass reflected streaks of city neon, but inside was still clear enough to see.
Harry was still there.
She could make out the silhouette of his profile, the slow turn of his head as he leaned in to listen to someone speak. His stance was easy, posture relaxed, one hand still holding a half-full glass. He was smiling again.
She watched as the woman stepped back into frame.
She didn’t catch what was said, but she saw the shift. The way his eyes crinkled a little. The way her fingers reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, just for something to do. She leaned into him, close enough that there was no space between their hands anymore.
Y/N’s breath caught.
The woman laughed at something he said. Then lifted her hand, slow and familiar, and brushed her thumb across his jaw.
Harry didn’t flinch. Didn’t move away.
Then came the kiss.
Soft. Easy. A lean-in. Nothing dramatic. Just a small, natural press of mouths that told her more than anything else could have.
It wasn’t a beginning. It was a continuation.
He had kissed her before.
Y/N looked down at her shoes. The pavement blurred slightly beneath her.
She blinked fast, jaw tight.
The kiss didn’t last long. When they pulled apart, the woman smiled again, eyes crinkled. She said something else and rested her forehead against Harry’s chest. His hand came up and settled gently at her back.
Y/N didn’t realize how hard she was holding her phone until her fingers started to ache.
She made herself look away.
Her car was one minute away.
She took a step closer to the curb, arms still folded. She didn’t want to cry. Not here. Not over this.
She told herself it didn’t mean anything. Reminded herself that he had said casually. That he had introduced her without hesitation. That he had chosen what version of the night he wanted.
Still, it hurt.
Headlights turned the corner. Her phone buzzed.
Driver arrived.
She climbed into the back seat without glancing over her shoulder. Gave the address to the driver, voice even. Settled into the cold silence as the city lights passed through the window.
She looked down once.
Harry’s name was on her screen.
One new message.
She locked it without reading.
Not yet.
The apartment is dark when she gets home.
She toes her shoes off by the door and leaves them there. Her coat slides from her shoulders and lands over the back of the chair. The silence is louder than the gallery ever was. No music. No voices. Just the low hum of the fridge and the distant sound of traffic outside her window.
She stands there for a moment with her keys still in her hand.
Then she exhales and finally lets herself move.
She walks into the kitchen, pours a glass of water she barely drinks, and leans her hip against the counter. Her phone is still in her hand. She has not looked at it since the car pulled away.
She tells herself she can handle it now.
She unlocks the screen.
The message waits exactly where she left it.
She opens it.
Harry:
did you get home safe
That is all it says.
No apology. No explanation. No mention of the woman. Just concern. Familiar. Gentle. The kind of message he has sent her a hundred times before. The kind that used to make her smile without thinking.
Her chest tightens.
She reads it again. Then once more. Like maybe the words will rearrange themselves into something else.
They do not.
She locks her phone and sets it face down on the counter.
Not because she is angry. Not because she does not care.
Because she cares too much.
She carries the glass of water into her bedroom and sets it on the nightstand untouched. She sits on the edge of the bed, then lies back without turning on the lamp. The ceiling above her disappears into shadow.
She stares at it anyway.
This is the part she has been avoiding.
She presses her lips together and lets the truth settle without arguing with it.
She loves him.
Not in the vague way she has been calling it for months. Not the easy affection. Not the comfort or familiarity or chemistry she has tried to keep it labeled as.
She loves him in the way that hurts now.
In the way that made her walk away instead of ask questions. In the way that made her watch through a window like she had already lost something.
Her throat tightens as the realization lands fully. There is no panic this time. Just clarity.
She knows exactly when it happened.
The memory comes without her asking for it.
It was a Tuesday. Ordinary. Almost boring.
She had been sitting on the floor of his living room with her back against the couch, folding laundry that was not hers. He was in the kitchen humming quietly to himself, wearing one of those soft sweaters he always reached for when he was home. The windows were open. Late afternoon light spilled across the rug.
She remembers the sound of him setting a mug down. The clink of ceramic. The way he leaned against the counter and asked if she wanted tea without looking at her.
She had said yes.
He brought it over and handed it to her carefully, fingers warm where they brushed hers. Then he sat down on the floor beside her without thinking twice. Close enough that their knees touched. Close enough that she could feel the heat of him through denim.
They folded in silence for a while.
At some point she laughed at something stupid on her phone and showed him the screen. He leaned in, shoulder pressing against hers, head tilted so their temples touched. He smelled like clean laundry and whatever soap he kept buying in bulk.
She remembers thinking this is easy.
Not exciting. Not dramatic.
Easy.
He had rested his head against hers just for a second longer than necessary. She had closed her eyes without realizing she was doing it.
That was it.
That was the moment.
Not a kiss. Not a confession. Just the quiet understanding that this was where she wanted to be. That this was the person she wanted to come home to. That she could picture a thousand ordinary nights like this and never get tired of them.
She had never said it out loud.
She opens her eyes now in the dark bedroom and swallows hard.
She turns her head toward the nightstand where her phone rests face down. She does not reach for it.
Not yet.
She needs to sit with this first.
With the truth. With the ache. With the fact that loving him does not mean he belongs to her.
She rolls onto her side and pulls the blanket up around her shoulders. Her eyes sting but she does not cry. Not yet.
Tomorrow she might answer him.
Tonight she lets herself feel it.
She does not respond.
Not that night. Not the next morning when she wakes up groggy and reaches for her phone out of habit. Not when she sees his name still sitting there, unchanged, patient.
She reads it once more before locking her screen again.
She tells herself she just needs a day.
A day turns into two. Two turns into almost a week.
Harry sends nothing else at first. No follow up. No jokes. No casual check ins like he usually does. The absence feels deliberate, like he is trying not to crowd her. Like he is giving her space because that is what she asked for without saying it.
It makes her chest ache worse.
By day four she almost texts him something easy. something normal. a photo of her coffee. a stupid thought. anything to put things back where they belong.
She does not.
By day six she is jumpy. Every buzz of her phone makes her heart kick hard against her ribs. Every time it is not him she feels both relieved and disappointed.
On the seventh day her phone lights up while she is standing in line at the grocery store.
She knows it is him before she even looks.
She steps out of line and leans against a cold pillar near the windows. Takes a breath. Then unlocks her screen.
harry:
hey
She closes her eyes for a second.
Then another message comes through.
harry:
i might be overthinking but did i do something wrong
Her stomach drops.
She reads it again. Slower this time. There is no accusation in it. No defensiveness. Just him. Reaching. Careful.
Her fingers hover over the keyboard. She types three different responses and deletes all of them.
She does not want to start anything.
She wants it to stay easy. She wants to rewind to the part where he leaned against her on the couch and asked if she wanted tea. Where everything felt safe and unspoken and intact.
Another message appears.
harry:
if i did im sorry
That one almost breaks her.
She exhales slowly and finally types back.
y/n:
you didnt do anything wrong
There is a pause. Long enough that she imagines him staring at his phone the way she has been staring at hers all week.
Then:
harry:
okay
Another pause.
harry:
i just miss you
Her throat tightens. She swallows.
y/n:
i know
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
harry:
would you meet me
She hesitates.
harry:
maybe at the park
Her heart thumps hard.
harry:
our bench
That does it.
She can picture it instantly. The worn wood. The way the slats curve slightly from years of use. The tree that throws shade over it in the afternoons. The spot where they have sat through coffee dates that were not dates. Long talks. Comfortable silences. Shared snacks. Legs brushing without comment.
She types before she can talk herself out of it.
y/n:
yeah
Almost immediately:
harry:
thank you
y/n:
when
harry:
tomorrow
y/n:
okay
She locks her phone and presses it to her chest for a second longer than necessary.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow comes and Y/N feels worse.
Not sick worse. Not tired worse.
The kind of worse that settles deep in her chest and makes everything feel too sharp. The kind that makes brushing her teeth feel like a chore. The kind that reminds her she cannot keep pretending this is nothing.
She lies in bed longer than usual, staring at the ceiling. Her phone rests on the nightstand. Face down. She knows he is awake already. He always is.
Eventually she reaches for it.
y/n:
what time
She sends it before she can talk herself out of it.
The reply comes almost immediately.
harry:
two if thats okay
Her stomach flips.
y/n:
yeah
She showers. Changes outfits twice. Settles on something simple that still feels like her. She does not try too hard. She notices her hands shaking when she applies mascara and forces herself to slow down.
The park looks exactly the same as it always does. The gravel path crunching under her shoes. The trees heavy with leaves. The bench tucked just far enough from the main walkway to feel private.
Their bench.
She sees him first.
He is already there, sitting with his hands folded loosely in his lap, shoulders slightly hunched like he is bracing himself. Sunglasses pushed up into his hair. A soft shirt that clings to him just enough to make her chest ache.
He looks beautiful.
The kind of beautiful that feels unfair when you are trying to keep your heart intact.
She watches him for a second longer than she should. The way his foot taps against the ground. The way he checks his phone and then looks up again, hopeful.
Then she steps closer.
He looks up and relief washes over his face instantly. His shoulders drop. His mouth curves into a small smile that does not quite reach his eyes.
“There you are,” he says softly.
“Hey.”
She sits beside him. Close but not touching. The space between them feels louder than the park around them.
He turns toward her. Studies her face the way he always does when he thinks something is wrong. His hand moves without thinking, settling gently on her knee. Warm. Familiar. Too much.
“Are you feeling better,” he asks.
She nods too fast. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
He watches her for a beat longer.
Then he exhales.
“Quit it.”
She blinks. “Quit what.”
“That,” he says gently. “You’re doing that thing.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You weren’t sick,” he says quietly.
Her chest tightens. “Harry.”
“You don’t just disappear on me,” he continues. “Not without a reason.”
“I didn’t want to make it a thing.”
“Why would it be a thing.”
She laughs softly, but it sounds wrong even to her. “Because everything becomes a thing if you look at it too closely.”
“You didn’t text me back for a week,” he says. Not accusing. Just honest.
“I know.”
His hand stays on her leg. His thumb presses lightly, grounding.
“Did I hurt you?” he asks.
“No,” she says quickly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But something happened.”
She looks straight ahead at the path. “I didn’t want to ruin this.”
His voice softens. “You wouldn’t ruin anything by telling me the truth.”
She swallows.
“I didn’t feel sick,” Y/N says. “I felt hurt.”
He goes quiet.
“I never meant to blindside you,” he says finally.
“I know,” she replies. “That’s the worst part.”
His thumb brushes against her knee once. Slow. Gentle.
“Talk to me,” he says.
Y/N turns toward him slowly.
Not abruptly. Not dramatically.
Just enough that he feels it.
“What is this?” she asks.
Her voice is quiet. Steady in a way that surprises even her.
He blinks. “What.”
She gestures between them. Not exaggerated. Just a small movement of her hand, like she is outlining something invisible.
“This,” she says again. “Us.”
He exhales and looks down at his hands. “What do you mean.”
She swallows. Her heart is pounding now, loud enough that she is sure he can hear it.
“I mean,” she says carefully, “what is this between us. What do you think this is.”
He does not answer right away.
That is what does it.
She watches him search for words. Watches the way his jaw tightens. The way his fingers flex against his thigh like he is grounding himself. He looks conflicted. Thoughtful. Careful.
Careful hurts more than confusion would.
“How do you see me,” she asks, softer now. “Really. Am I just your friend? Am I something more?”
He stays quiet.
Too quiet.
Her chest tightens and something sharp breaks through the calm she has been holding onto.
“Because I don’t know how to do this anymore,” she says, her voice starting to tremble despite her best efforts. “I don’t know how to keep pretending this is nothing when it doesn’t feel like nothing.”
He finally looks up at her then. His eyes are wide. Concerned.
“Y/N,” he starts.
“No,” she says quickly. “Let me finish.”
She presses her lips together, fighting the burn behind her eyes.
“I tell myself I’m fine when you date,” she says. “I tell myself it’s easy and normal and that I’m happy for you. And I mean it. I want to mean it.”
Her breath catches.
“But then something like the other night happens. And I realize I don’t know where I fit. I don’t know what I am to you.”
He shifts closer instinctively. “You’re my best friend.”
The words land heavy.
She nods slowly. Too slowly.
“I know,” she says. “And that should be enough. I keep telling myself that should be enough.”
Her voice cracks.
“But it isn’t. Not for me.”
He goes still.
She laughs softly, a shaky sound that surprises her. “I didn’t plan to say this. I really didn’t. I was just trying to survive the conversation without crying.”
She wipes under her eye with the heel of her hand, frustrated.
“I love you,” she says suddenly. The words spill out like she has been holding them back with both hands. “And I hate that I do. And I hate that it took me watching you kiss someone else through a window to finally admit it to myself.”
His breath stutters.
She keeps going because if she stops she will lose her nerve completely.
“I don’t expect anything from you,” she says quickly. “I’m not asking you to choose me or change anything. I just needed you to know why I pulled away. Why it hurt.”
Tears finally slip free. She does not bother wiping them this time.
“I just needed to know if I’m imagining this,” she whispers. “If this has ever been more to you than convenience and comfort.”
The silence stretches.
Her chest feels hollow now. Exposed.
She looks away first.
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t want to make it heavy. I just… cracked.”
She lets out a shaky breath and stares at the ground.
“I’ll be fine,” she adds, trying to convince herself as much as him. “I always am.”
She does not look at him when she says it.
She is too afraid of what she might see if she does.
He curses under his breath.
Soft. Frustrated. More at himself than at her.
“What do you want me to say?” he asks.
The question hangs between them, heavier than anything else he has said.
Y/N’s chest tightens. Her hands curl into the fabric of her skirt. She had not come here with a script. She had not come here knowing the answer to that question. All she knows is that everything feels too loud now.
“I don’t know,” she admits. “I just needed you to say something.”
He exhales sharply and leans forward, elbows on his knees. One hand comes up to rub over his face slowly, like he is trying to wake himself up from a bad dream. When he drops it again, he looks tired in a way she has not seen before.
“This is hard,” he says quietly.
“I know.”
He shakes his head, eyes fixed on the ground. “You can’t just drop that on me and expect me to magically know what to do with it.”
“I wasn’t expecting magic,” she says, stress creeping into her voice despite her effort to keep it calm. “I was just expecting honesty.”
He nods slowly, like he is bracing himself.
“Okay,” he says. “Honesty.”
He rubs his hands together once, restless. When he looks back at her, his expression is open but conflicted.
“Having you around is easy,” he says. “It always has been.”
Her stomach twists, even before he finishes.
“You make things feel normal for me,” he continues. “When everything else feels loud and strange and like I’m playing a part, you’re just… you. I don’t have to be anything special with you.”
She listens carefully. Tries to hold onto each word without filling in the gaps herself.
“You’re home to me,” he says softly. “In a way I don’t really know how to explain.”
Her throat tightens. Her heart lifts for half a second before crashing back down.
“But,” he adds quietly.
There it is.
“But I don’t know how to turn that into something else,” he says. “I don’t know how to cross that line without being terrified of losing you.”
Y/N swallows hard.
“So you keep me right here,” she says. “Close enough to touch. Far enough to never choose.”
He flinches. “That’s not fair.”
“It feels fair from where I’m sitting,” she replies, her voice shaking now. “You get me. You get my time and my care and my love without having to risk anything.”
“That’s not what I want,” he says quickly.
“But it’s what’s happening,” she says. “And I don’t think you even realize it.”
He leans back against the bench, staring up at the sky like he might find an answer written there. His jaw tightens.
“I care about you,” he says. “Deeply.”
“I know.”
“And I hate the idea of hurting you,” he adds. “I hate that I already have.”
She lets out a shaky breath. “Caring isn’t the same as choosing.”
He looks at her then. Really looks at her.
“I’m scared,” he admits. “Scared that if we try and it doesn’t work, I lose the one place where I feel like myself.”
Her eyes burn.
“I don’t get to be your safe place if it’s costing me myself,” she says quietly.
The words surprise them both.
He goes still.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he says again, softer this time.
She nods. “I know.”
They sit there in the aftermath of it all. The park sounds drifting back in. Laughter somewhere down the path. A dog barking. Life continuing like nothing monumental just cracked open on that bench.
Y/N presses her lips together and wipes at her cheek.
“I think,” she says slowly, “I’ve been hoping you’d say something that made this hurt less.”
He exhales. “I’m sorry I can’t.”
She looks at him then. Really looks at him.
“I don’t think you’re doing this on purpose,” she says. “But that doesn’t mean I can stay exactly where I am.”
His chest rises sharply. “What does that mean.”
She swallows.
“It means I need to stop pretending this is enough,” she says. “Even if that scares both of us.”
He swallows hard.
“What are you saying,” he asks.
Y/N keeps her eyes on the ground. The gravel looks suddenly fascinating. Anything is easier than looking at his face right now.
“I’m saying I can’t keep doing this exactly the same way,” she says. “I can’t keep showing up like nothing’s changed when it has. For me.”
His shoulders tense. “So what. You want space.”
The word lands heavier than he means it to.
She winces. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“Then don’t,” he says quickly. Too quickly.
She finally looks at him. His jaw is tight. His eyes are searching her face like he is already afraid of the answer.
“I don’t know how to stay without breaking my own heart,” she says quietly. “And I don’t know how to leave without breaking yours. That’s the problem.”
He lets out a breath that sounds like a laugh but is not one. “That’s a shit choice.”
“Yeah,” she says. “It is.”
They sit there for a moment. The bench creaks softly when he shifts. A couple walks past them, fingers laced together, laughing about something trivial. Y/N watches them disappear down the path and feels something hollow open in her chest.
“I don’t want you to disappear,” he says. “I don’t want to wake up one day and realize you’re just… gone.”
“I’m not trying to punish you,” she replies. “I’m trying to protect myself.”
He nods slowly, like he understands even if he does not like it.
“So what does that look like,” he asks.
She hesitates. This is the part she has not thought through. The part that feels terrifyingly real now that it is happening.
“It looks like me not being the person you lean on for everything,” she says. “It looks like me not pretending it doesn’t sting when you date someone else. It looks like me needing a little distance.”
The word distance makes his chest rise sharply.
“How much,” he asks.
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. Enough to breathe again.”
He rubs his hands together, restless. “And what if I don’t want that.”
Her voice is soft but steady. “Wanting me close is not the same as choosing me.”
That lands.
He looks at her like he wants to argue, but nothing comes. His mouth opens and closes once before he exhales.
“I never meant to use you,” he says. “I swear.”
“I know,” she says. “That’s why this hurts instead of making me angry.”
He looks at her then. Really looks at her. Like he is seeing the cost for the first time.
“I care about you more than anyone,” he says.
She nods. “I know. But care isn’t the thing I’m missing.”
Silence stretches between them again. It feels different now. Heavier. Final in a way that makes her chest ache.
“I wish I could be different,” he says quietly.
She presses her lips together. “I wish that too.”
He turns slightly toward her, knees angled in her direction like habit. His hand lifts, hovering between them, like he wants to touch her but knows better now. After a second, he lets it fall back to his side.
“I don’t want to be the reason you hurt,” he says.
“Then don’t ask me to stay exactly where I am,” she replies.
He nods once. Slow. Reluctant.
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll give you space.”
The word feels too big. Too final.
Her chest tightens anyway.
“Thank you,” she says, even though it feels wrong to say it.
They sit there a few seconds longer. Neither of them moving. Neither of them ready to be the first one to stand.
Finally, she pushes herself up from the bench. Her legs feel shaky. She adjusts her bag on her shoulder.
“I should go,” she says.
He looks up at her. “Can I hug you.”
The question alone nearly undoes her.
She hesitates. Then nods.
He stands and steps into her carefully, like he is afraid of breaking something fragile. His arms wrap around her, warm and familiar, and she has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. She presses her face into his shoulder and breathes him in one last time.
He holds her like he means it. Like he always has.
When they pull apart, he keeps his hands on her arms for a second longer than necessary.
“I’m here,” he says quietly. “If you need me.”
She forces a small smile. “I know.”
She turns and walks away before she can change her mind.
She does not look back.
Behind her, Harry sits back down on the bench alone, staring at the empty space where she had been sitting.
Summary: Harry Styles is a brilliant but infuriating surgeon who’s constantly butting heads with his stubborn intern. Their bickering is practically a daily surgery in itself.
A/n: Thank you all for all the love these two. Thank you for your patience while i took a break from Tumblr. To make up for it, this part is extra long. Hope you enjoy :)
Masterlist
Read Part 1 here first
Part 1.5 in his POV
Part 2
part 3
Harry strides down the corridor toward his office, his jaw tight with tension he's been holding since leaving the residents' lounge. The look on Y/N's face when he'd used her title, that flicker of hurt she'd tried to conceal, haunts him with every step.
He'd done the right thing. The professional thing. The only thing that made sense given their positions.
So why does he feel like he's made a terrible mistake?
He pushes open his office door, already loosening his tie, and stops short at the sight of Louis sprawled in his desk chair and Zayn perched on the edge of his bookshelf, both wearing identical expressions of barely contained amusement.
"Gentlemen," Harry says flatly, closing the door behind him. "To what do I owe the pleasure of finding you've invaded my office?"
Louis glances around, exaggeratedly checking his watch before leaning back in the chair. "Should I be worried we didn’t make an appointment? "
Harry rolls his eyes, dropping his bag onto the desk with a dull thud. "Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t do appointments. This isn’t office hours."
"Ah," Louis nods solemnly. "So we’re trespassing on personal time. Even better."
"We heard you were back from San Francisco," Louis adds, spinning lazily in the chair. "Thought we’d pop by and see how our favorite cardiothoracic surgeon survived three whole days away from his precious OR."
"And with such...interesting company," Zayn adds, his dark eyes glinting with mischief.
Harry moves to his filing cabinet, deliberately keeping his back to them as he retrieves a patient folder he doesn't actually need. "The conference was productive. Dr. Y/L/N's presentation was well-received. The networking opportunities were valuable."
"That's it?" Louis exchanges a look with Zayn. "Productive? Valuable? You sound like you're writing a grant report, mate."
"What else would you like me to say?" Harry asks, finally turning to face them, his expression carefully blank. "It was a medical conference. We attended panels, presented research, made professional connections."
Zayn pulls out his phone, scrolling through something with exaggerated casualness. "Funny, because I heard from Dr. Grey over there that you and your 'colleague' performed quite the heroic rescue at some fancy restaurant. Saved a man's life right there between courses."
Harry's composure wavers slightly. "Word travels fast in the medical community."
"It does," Louis agrees, leaning forward with predatory interest. "Especially when the notoriously solitary Dr. Styles is spotted having an intimate dinner with his gorgeous surgical intern, then rushing off together to play hero."
"It wasn't intimate," Harry says, perhaps too quickly. "It was a professional dinner to discuss her research trajectory."
"At 9 PM?" Zayn raises an eyebrow. "At a restaurant that requires reservations three weeks in advance?"
"I happened to have a connection," Harry deflects, moving to stand by the window, looking out at the hospital grounds rather than meeting their knowing gazes.
Louis and Zayn exchange another loaded glance.
"Pay up," Louis says, holding out his hand toward Zayn.
"Not yet," Zayn counters. "The bet was whether something happened, not whether they had dinner."
"What bet?" Harry turns, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
"Oh, just a friendly wager," Louis says breezily. "I bet Zayn five hundred quid that you'd finally make a move on Dr. Y/L/N during this trip. He thought you were too emotionally constipated to act on your feelings."
"I do not have feelings for— " Harry begins.
"Harry." Zayn's voice is gentle but firm. "We've known you for seven years. We've watched you date exactly two people in that time, one of whom you dumped because they 'didn't challenge you intellectually.' And now there's this brilliant, beautiful resident who argues with you in the OR, who pushes back against every criticism, who you can't seem to stop talking about..."
"I don't talk about her that much," Harry protests weakly.
"Last month you spent an entire surgery telling me about how she'd identified a complication you'd missed in a pre-op scan," Louis points out. "You were practically glowing with pride."
"That was professional admiration for a promising surgeon," Harry insists, but even he can hear how hollow the words sound.
Zayn hops down from the bookshelf, approaching Harry with the careful movements of someone approaching a skittish animal. "What happened in San Francisco, Harry? Really?"
The silence stretches between them. Harry turns back to the window, his reflection showing the conflict playing out across his features.
"We kissed," he admits finally, the words barely audible. "The night of the cardiac event. We went back to the hotel, she came to my room because neither of us could sleep, and we..." He runs a hand through his hair, disrupting its careful styling. "It just happened."
"YES!" Louis pumps his fist in the air. "Pay up, Malik!"
Zayn ignores him, his attention focused on Harry. "And then what?"
"Then we fell asleep," Harry continues, his voice strained. "We overslept, nearly missed our flight, didn't have time to talk about it. And now..."
"Now you're pretending it never happened," Zayn finishes, realization dawning on his face. "That's why you've been walking around like someone killed your favorite patient all morning."
"I'm her supervisor," Harry says, finally voicing the justification he's been clinging to. "There are ethical considerations. Power dynamics. Hospital policies. My entire reputation— "
"Bollocks," Louis interrupts, standing up from the chair with sudden intensity. "That's bollocks and you know it."
Harry turns, surprised by the sharpness in his friend's tone.
"You're not hiding behind professionalism because you're worried about ethics," Louis continues, moving closer. "You're hiding because you're terrified. Because for the first time in years, you actually feel something for someone, and that scares the hell out of you."
"Louis— " Harry begins.
"No, he's right," Zayn interjects. "Harry, I watched you after your breakuo. I watched you build walls so high that no one could get close enough to hurt you again. And I understood it, I did. But it's been five years. At some point, you have to let yourself live again."
Harry's jaw tightens at the mention of his last relationship. It was a topic they rarely discussed. "This is different. She's a resident. My resident."
"She's also an adult who can make her own choices," Louis points out. "And from what you've described, she chose to kiss you back. So what did you do today? How did you handle seeing her?"
Harry's silence is answer enough.
"Oh, Harry," Zayn groans, covering his face with his hand. "Please tell me you didn't go full Ice King on her."
"I maintained appropriate professional boundaries," Harry says stiffly.
"Which translates to: you treated her like she meant nothing after sharing an intimate moment," Louis says, his voice rising with frustration. "Do you have any idea how that must have felt for her? She probably thinks you used her, or that you regret it, or that she imagined the whole connection— "
"I didn't use her," Harry snaps, genuine anger flashing in his eyes. "I would never— "
"Then act like it!" Louis throws his hands up. "For God's sake, Harry, you're a grown man. You can navigate a complicated situation without resorting to emotional avoidance."
"What the hell do you want me to do?" Harry demands. "Declare my intentions in front of the entire surgical staff? Pull her into an on-call room and— "
"Talk to her," Zayn says simply. "Like a human being. Acknowledge what happened. Tell her how you feel. Figure it out together instead of making unilateral decisions about what's best for both of you."
Harry sinks into the chair Louis vacated, suddenly looking exhausted. "What if I've already ruined it? You should have seen her face when I called her 'Dr. Y/L/N.' Like I'd slapped her."
"Then you apologize," Louis says, his tone softening slightly. "You explain that you panicked, that you handled it badly, that you need time to figure out how to navigate this. But you don't just pretend it never happened and hope she'll forget."
"She won't forget," Zayn adds quietly. "And neither will you. The only question is whether you're going to let fear ruin something that could be genuinely good for both of you."
Harry stares at his hands, the same hands that had cradled Y/N's face so gently the night before, that had held hers as they fell asleep. "I don't know how to do this," he admits, his voice rough. "I don't know how to be...that person anymore. The one who takes risks, who lets people in."
"You start by trying," Louis says, settling onto the arm of the chair beside him. "And maybe by not being a complete wanker to the woman you clearly care about."
Zayn moves to Harry's other side, placing a hand on his shoulder. "She's not your ex, Harry. She's not going to leave because you showed vulnerability. From everything you've told us about her, she's the type who'd respect you more for it."
Harry considers their words, the weight of his behavior settling heavily on his conscience. He thinks of Y/N's face in the residents' lounge. The hope that had flickered there briefly before he'd extinguished it with his coldness.
"I need to talk to her," he says finally.
"Yes, you do," Louis agrees. "Preferably before she decides you're not worth the emotional whiplash and moves on."
Harry nods slowly, a plan beginning to form in his mind. "Tomorrow. After the Zimmer surgery. I'll ask her to stay behind, and we'll...talk."
"Actual talking," Zayn emphasizes. "With words and feelings and honesty. Not your version of talking, which usually involves medical jargon and emotional deflection."
Despite everything, Harry feels a small smile tugging at his lips. "I'll do my best."
"That's all we ask," Louis says, clapping him on the shoulder. "Now, about that five hundred quid Zayn owes me..."
"The bet was that something would happen AND that Harry would handle it like a functional adult," Zayn argues. "He's only fulfilled half the criteria so far."
"I hate you both," Harry mutters, but there's no heat in it.
"You love us," Louis corrects cheerfully. "We're the only ones who tell you the truth. Speaking of which, don't mess this up, Styles. Dr. Y/L/N is one of the best residents this hospital has seen in years, and more importantly, she makes you act like an actual human being instead of a surgical robot. That's worth protecting."
Harry nods, the gravity of the situation settling over him. "I know. Believe me, I know."
As Louis and Zayn finally leave his office, Harry turns back to the window, watching the afternoon light shift across the hospital grounds. Somewhere in this building, Y/N is going about her duties, probably convinced that he doesn't care about her at all.
Tomorrow, he'll fix this. He has to.
Because the alternative of losing her before he ever really had her is unthinkable.
The Zimmer surgery runs nearly seven hours of meticulous work on a particularly complex aortic root replacement. Harry is in peak form, his hands steady and precise, his instructions clear and measured. Y/N assists with focused determination, refusing to let her personal turmoil affect her performance in the OR.
When they finally close, Harry strips off his gloves and turns to the assembled team. "Excellent work, everyone. Dr. Y/L/N, a word in my office when you've finished post-op notes?"
It's not a question, and Y/N feels her stomach flip at the request. "Of course, Dr. Styles."
She takes her time with the notes, partly out of professional thoroughness and partly to steel herself for whatever conversation awaits. By the time she makes her way to Harry's office on the fourth floor, nearly an hour has passed.
As she rounds the corner toward his door, she nearly collides with a woman walking in the same direction. She was tall, elegant, and with sleek dark hair pulled back in a sophisticated chignon and the kind of effortless poise that comes from years of confidence. She's dressed impeccably in a tailored blazer and silk blouse, a visitor's badge clipped to her lapel.
"Oh, excuse me," the woman says, her smile polished and professional. "I'm looking for Dr. Styles's office?"
"It's just here," Y/N replies, gesturing to the door they're both standing in front of. "I was actually headed there myself."
The woman's perfectly shaped eyebrows rise slightly. "Ah, well, I have an appointment with him. Daniela Marx." She extends a manicured hand. "I'm an old colleague."
Y/N shakes it, noting the firmness of the grip, the subtle assessment in the woman's gaze. "Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. Surgical resident."
"A resident," Daniela repeats, something unreadable flickering across her features. "How lovely. Harry always did have an eye for talent."
The casual use of his first name sends something cold settling in Y/N's chest. An appointment. Of course. Whatever Harry wanted to discuss with her clearly wasn't urgent enough to block out time for someone else. Someone who apparently knew him well enough to call him 'Harry' without hesitation.
Y/N steps back from the door, her decision crystallizing in an instant. "Please, go ahead. I'm sure Dr. Styles is expecting you. I can speak with him another time."
"Are you certain?" Daniela asks, though she's already reaching for the door handle. "I wouldn't want to interrupt anything important."
The words feel pointed somehow, though Y/N can't pinpoint exactly why.
"It's nothing that can't wait," Y/N says, forcing a professional smile. "Nice to meet you, Dr. Marx."
She turns and walks away before Daniela can respond, her heels clicking against the linoleum with measured precision even as her heart pounds erratically in her chest. She doesn't look back, doesn't allow herself to wonder what Harry's face will look like when Daniela walks in instead of her.
It doesn't matter. Clearly, she'd been foolish to think their conversation was a priority.
Niall finds her in the cafeteria twenty minutes later, stabbing viciously at a salad she has no intention of eating.
"There you are," he says, sliding into the seat across from her. "So? How did the big conversation go?"
"It didn't," Y/N mutters, spearing a tomato with unnecessary force.
Niall's eyebrows shoot up. "What do you mean it didn't? I thought he asked you to meet him after surgery?"
"He did. But when I got there, some woman showed up for an 'appointment' with him." She makes air quotes with her fingers, nearly flinging her fork across the cafeteria. "So I left."
"You left?" Niall stares at her incredulously. "Without even checking what was going on?"
Niall's expression shifts from curious to exasperated as she finishes. "So let me get this straight. Harry finally asks to speak with you privately, which is exactly what you wanted, and you just...walked away? Because some random woman showed up?"
"She had an appointment," Y/N protests. "I wasn't going to interrupt— "
"Y/N." Niall leans forward, his blue eyes serious. "He asked you to come to his office. That means he wanted to talk to you. Whatever this other woman wanted, it probably wasn't more important than finally having the conversation you've been agonizing over for two days."
"You didn't see her," Y/N mutters. "She was...polished. Confident. Called him 'Harry' like they were old friends."
"And that intimidated you?" Niall asks incredulously. "You, who argues with the man in the middle of surgery? "
"That's different. That's professional."
"That's you being a coward," Niall says bluntly. "You're looking for excuses not to have this conversation because you're scared of what he might say."
Y/N opens her mouth to argue, then closes it again. He's not wrong.
"What if he was going to tell me it was a mistake?" she asks quietly. "What if he asked me there to formally establish that nothing happened and nothing ever will?"
"Then at least you'd know," Niall replies, echoing his words from the night before. "But you won't find out by running away every time things get uncomfortable."
Before Y/N can respond, her pager buzzes with a summons to the main conference room for an emergency team briefing.
"Saved by the bell," Niall says dryly, standing up. "But this conversation isn't over."
The conference room is already filling with surgical staff when Y/N arrives, residents and attendings alike finding seats around the large table. She spots Harry at the front of the room, his expression characteristically unreadable, and carefully positions herself near the back, partially obscured by Dr. Max's considerable height.
What she doesn't expect is to see Daniela Marx standing beside him, now wearing a white coat with hospital credentials.
"Thank you all for coming on short notice," Harry begins, his voice carrying easily through the room. "I wanted to introduce someone who will be joining us for the next several weeks. Dr. Daniela Marx is a cardiothoracic surgeon from Johns Hopkins who previously completed her fellowship here at this hospital. She'll be collaborating with our department on a series of complex cases and scrubbing in on select surgeries."
Daniela steps forward with a gracious smile. "Thank you, Harry. It's wonderful to be back. I have such fond memories of my time here, and I'm looking forward to working with all of you."
Her gaze sweeps the room, landing briefly on Y/N with a flicker of recognition before moving on.
"Dr. Marx will have full privileges during her time with us," Harry continues. "I expect everyone to extend her the same professional courtesy you would any attending surgeon. She'll be assisting on the Clarkson triple bypass tomorrow, and we'll be co-leading a mitral valve repair later this week."
Y/N observed the exchange between them. The easy familiarity, the brief touch to Harry's arm Daniela made when emphasizing a point, and his acceptance of the contact. It was a stark contrast to his usual aversion. To anyone truly watching, their shared history was evident.
And Y/N is paying very close attention.
She doesn't like the way Daniela looks at Harry. The proprietary edge to her smile, the way her eyes linger on him a beat too long. It's the look of someone who knows him intimately, who has seen the man behind the surgeon.
The briefing concludes with scheduling details and case assignments. Y/N slips out before Harry can catch her eye, her chest tight with emotions she doesn't want to examine too closely.
She's charting in the residents' workroom an hour later when Niall appears, dropping into the chair beside her with theatrical exhaustion.
"So," he says without preamble. "Dr. Daniela Marx."
"What about her?" Y/N asks, not looking up from her notes.
"You really don't know?" Niall's voice carries genuine surprise. "I thought everyone knew."
Y/N's pen stills. "Knew what?"
Niall glances around, ensuring they're alone, then leans in conspiratorially. "Daniela Marx was Harry's fellow when he was a senior resident here. They were together for almost three years."
The words hit Y/N like a physical blow. "Together as in..."
"Together as in together," Niall confirms. "It was apparently quite the scandal at the time. Attending and fellow, very hush-hush but everyone knew. Word is it ended badly when she took the position at Johns Hopkins. Some people say she's the reason he became so...you know." He gestures vaguely. "Emotionally unavailable."
Y/N stares at him, pieces clicking into place with sickening clarity. The casual first-name basis. The familiar touches. The way Harry hadn't seemed surprised to see her.
"He knew she was coming," Y/N says slowly. "He must have arranged it."
"Probably," Niall agrees. "Department heads usually have input on visiting surgeons."
Y/N thinks about the kiss in San Francisco, the way Harry had held her hand as they fell asleep, the gentle promise to talk about it in the morning. Then she thinks about him inviting his ex-girlfriend to work alongside him mere days later.
"Hey," Niall says softly, noting her expression. "This doesn't necessarily mean anything. People work with their exes all the time. It's a small field."
"He asked me to his office to talk," Y/N says, her voice hollow. "And she was there. With an appointment."
Niall winces. "Okay, that's...not great optics. But maybe— "
"Maybe what?" Y/N interrupts, finally looking at him. "Maybe he wanted to let me down gently before his ex arrived? Maybe San Francisco was just a momentary lapse and now he's moved on to someone more...appropriate?"
"Am I?" Y/N laughs bitterly. "She's a cardiothoracic surgeon from Johns Hopkins. Accomplished, sophisticated, his equal in every way. And I'm just a resident who was stupid enough to think one kiss meant something."
Niall reaches out, covering her hand with his. "Y/N, you are brilliant and beautiful and absolutely his equal, regardless of what stage of your career you're in. If Harry Styles can't see that, he's an idiot."
Y/N squeezes his hand gratefully, but the cold weight in her chest doesn't lift.
"I need to focus on work," she says finally, pulling her hand back to pick up her pen. "I have patients who actually need me. That's what matters."
Niall looks like he wants to argue, but something in her expression stops him. "Okay. But I'm here when you're ready to talk more."
He leaves her alone with her charts and her thoughts, both equally demanding of her attention. But as she tries to focus on medication dosages and post-op protocols, her mind keeps drifting back to the image of Daniela's hand on Harry's arm, the history written in every familiar gesture between them.
She'd been foolish to hope. Foolish to think that one kiss in the dark could compete with years of shared experience.
Tomorrow, she'll be professional. She'll assist on surgeries, take direction, learn everything she can. She'll be the best damn resident this hospital has ever seen.
And she'll pretend that her heart isn't quietly breaking every time she sees Harry Styles look at someone else the way she'd hoped he might one day look at her.
Her phone buzzes with a text message. She pulls it out, her heart stuttering when she sees Harry's name.
Hey. You never showed up. Everything okay?
Y/N stares at the message for a long moment, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. Part of her wants to respond, to give him a chance to explain. But another part, the part that's tired of feeling uncertain and confused, decides she's done waiting for Harry Styles to figure out what he wants.
She doesn't reply.
Instead, she shoves her phone back in her pocket and throws herself into her work, determined to prove that she doesn't need his attention or validation to be an excellent surgeon.
Even if her heart isn't quite convinced yet.
The locker room is blessedly empty when Y/N finally allows herself to stop moving. She's been running on autopilot for hours. Checking vitals, updating charts, assisting on a routine appendectomy that required none of her higher brain functions. Now, at nearly 9 PM, the exhaustion hits her all at once.
She opens her locker, mechanically exchanging her white coat for her jacket, her mind still churning over the events of the day. Daniela Marx's polished smile. Harry's unreadable expression during the briefing. The text message she'd left unanswered, still burning a hole in her pocket.
The door swings open behind her.
She doesn't need to turn around to know who it is. The air in the room shifts, charged with a tension that's become achingly familiar.
"You didn't come to my office."
Harry's voice is low, controlled, but there's an edge to it she's never heard before. Y/N continues gathering her things, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her full attention.
Y/N keeps her back to him, sliding her bag off the bench and shouldering it deliberately. "I changed my mind."
"That's not an answer." His footsteps echo against the tile as he moves closer. "I asked you to meet me after surgery. You agreed. And then you just...didn't show."
Y/N finally turns to face him, her bag clutched against her chest like a shield. "You had an appointment. I didn't want to interrupt."
Harry's brow furrows. "Appointment? What are you— " Understanding dawns on his face. "Daniela. You saw Daniela. It wasn't an–"
"Dr. Marx was very clear that she was there to see you," Y/N interrupts, proud of how steady her voice sounds despite the turmoil beneath. "I assumed whatever you needed to discuss with me could wait."
"It couldn't, actually." Harry takes another step forward, close enough now that she can see the tension in his jaw, the tightness around his eyes. "I've been trying to talk to you for two days, and you keep finding ways to avoid me."
"I'm not avoiding you," Y/N lies. "I've been working. You know, doing my job? The one you're constantly reminding me requires my full attention?"
Harry's eyes narrow. "Don't do that. Don't deflect with sarcasm when we both know what this is really about."
"And what is this really about, Dr. Styles?" She emphasizes his title deliberately, watching him flinch almost imperceptibly. "Because from where I'm standing, it seems like you've made your priorities perfectly clear."
"My priorities?" Harry's voice rises slightly, frustration bleeding through his careful control. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means you asked me to your office to 'talk,'" Y/N air-quotes aggressively, "and when I got there, your ex-girlfriend was waiting with an appointment. It means you introduced her to the entire department today without so much as a heads-up. It means— "
"How do you know she's my ex?" Harry interrupts, something complicated crossing his features.
Y/N laughs bitterly. "This is a hospital, Harry. People talk. And apparently, your history with Dr. Marx is common knowledge to everyone except the idiot resident who thought— " She stops abruptly, pressing her lips together.
"Thought what?" Harry presses, stepping closer still. "What did you think, Y/N?"
The use of her first name cracks something in her carefully constructed composure. "It doesn't matter what I thought. Clearly, I was mistaken."
"You weren't— " Harry runs a hand through his hair, visibly struggling. "Daniela showing up wasn't planned. The hospital board arranged her visit weeks ago as part of a research collaboration. I only found out she was arriving today when she walked into my office."
"And yet you seemed perfectly comfortable with her during the briefing," Y/N shoots back. "All those familiar touches, the way she calls you 'Harry' like she has every right to— "
"Are you jealous?" The question comes out sharp, almost accusatory.
Y/N's cheeks flush with anger and embarrassment. "Don't flatter yourself."
"Because you have no reason to be," Harry continues, ignoring her denial. "Whatever Daniela and I had ended years ago. She's here as a colleague, nothing more."
"That's really none of my business," Y/N says stiffly, moving toward the door. "Your personal life is your own, Dr. Styles. I have no claim on it."
Harry blocks her path, not touching her but close enough that she'd have to push past him to leave. "What happened in San Francisco— "
"Was a mistake," Y/N finishes for him, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. "I know. You've made that abundantly clear by pretending it never happened."
"That's not— " Harry's composure finally cracks, real emotion bleeding through. "I wasn't pretending it didn't happen. I was trying to figure out how to handle it without destroying both our careers."
"How noble of you," Y/N says acidly. "Making that decision all on your own without bothering to consult me."
"I was going to talk to you today!" Harry's voice echoes off the lockers. "That's why I asked you to my office. That's why I've been trying to get you alone for two days. But you keep running away before I can— "
The door swings open, cutting him off mid-sentence.
Daniela Marx stands in the doorway, her expression shifting from surprise to something more calculated as she takes in the scene. Harry and Y/N standing far too close, both flushed with emotion, the air between them practically crackling.
"Harry," Daniela says smoothly, recovering quickly. "I've been looking for you. The board wants to discuss tomorrow's procedure, and I thought we could review the imaging together over dinner."
The interruption shatters whatever fragile moment had been building between them. Y/N steps back, putting distance between herself and Harry, her walls slamming back into place.
"Dr. Styles was just leaving," Y/N says, her voice perfectly professional despite the tremor she's fighting to suppress. "I'm sure he'd be happy to join you."
"Y/N— " Harry starts.
"Goodnight, Dr. Styles." She slips past him, past Daniela, her shoulder brushing the doorframe in her haste to escape. "Dr. Marx."
She doesn't look back as she walks down the corridor, even when she hears Harry call her name again. Her vision blurs slightly as she pushes through the hospital's main doors into the cool night air, from exhaustion she tells herself, not tears.
Behind her, she imagines Harry standing in the locker room with Daniela, imagines them leaving together for their dinner, imagines all the history and familiarity that exists between them that she can never compete with.
She was right to leave. Right to protect herself from hoping for something that clearly isn't meant to be.
So why does walking away feel like the biggest mistake she's ever made?
Her phone buzzes in her pocket. She pulls it out, half-expecting another message from Harry.
It's Niall.
How did it go? Do I need to bring wine or ice cream?`
Y/N types back with shaking fingers.
Both. And maybe something stronger.
She shoves the phone away and keeps walking, putting as much distance as possible between herself and the man who keeps finding new ways to break her heart without even trying.
Three weeks.
Twenty-one days of navigating the surgical floor like a minefield, of timing her rounds to avoid crossing paths with Harry in the corridors, of perfecting the art of being present but unreachable.
It was exhausting in a way that residency alone had never managed to be.
Y/N had survived Harry's exacting standards before. She'd weathered his sharp criticisms, his impossible expectations, the way he pushed her harder than any other resident. That version of their dynamic had been difficult, yes, but it had also been clarifying. She'd known exactly where she stood as a surgeon in training, nothing more.
This was different. This was worse.
Because now she knew what his hands felt like threaded through hers. She knew the sound of his laugh when he wasn't guarding it, the softness in his eyes when he looked at her across a hotel room in the early hours of the morning. She knew the taste of his mouth, the gentle pressure of his lips against her forehead as she drifted to sleep.
And she had to watch him every day with Daniela Marx.
The woman was frustratingly everywhere. In the OR assisting on Harry's most complex cases, in the conference room presenting research findings, in his office with the door half-open as they reviewed patient files together. She moved through the cardiothoracic department like she belonged there, like she'd never left, and perhaps most infuriatingly, she was genuinely lovely.
Y/N had tried to hate her. God, how she'd tried.
But Daniela was unfailingly professional, offering helpful guidance to residents without condescension, remembering names and details with impressive recall. She'd complimented Y/N's suturing technique during a valve replacement last week with what appeared to be genuine admiration. She brought coffee for the nursing staff and remembered birthdays and laughed at jokes that weren't particularly funny with gracious warmth.
It would have been so much easier if she'd been awful.
Instead, Y/N was left with the bitter taste of jealousy she couldn't justify and heartache she couldn't explain to anyone except Niall, who had taken to checking on her with increasing frequency.
The worst part, the absolute worst part, was catching Harry's eyes on her.
It happened constantly. During rounds, when she'd feel the weight of his gaze and look up to find him watching her with an expression she couldn't decipher. In the OR, when their hands would brush during an instrument pass and he'd hold her stare for a beat too long. In the hallways, when she'd turn a corner and find him there, his mouth opening as if to speak before she'd pivot and walk the other direction.
She never gave him the chance. Every time he tried to approach her outside of strictly surgical contexts, she found somewhere else to be. Found a patient to check on, a chart to update, a consultation that suddenly required her immediate attention. It was cowardly, and she knew it, but the alternative felt impossible.
How was she supposed to have a conversation with him when she didn't even know what she wanted him to say?
Thursday afternoon finds her in the residents' workroom, buried in research for a case presentation she's been assigned. The room is quiet, most of her fellow residents either in surgery or catching precious hours of sleep, and she's grateful for the solitude.
The door opens, and she tenses automatically before recognizing Louis Tomlinson's compact frame.
"Dr. Y/L/N," he greets, dropping into the chair across from her with characteristic informality. "You look like hell."
Y/N huffs out something that might be a laugh. "Thank you, Dr. Tomlinson. Your bedside manner is, as always, impeccable."
"I save the gentle approach for patients," Louis replies, propping his feet on the edge of the table. "With colleagues, I find honesty more efficient." His blue eyes study her with uncomfortable perceptiveness. "You've lost weight. You're not sleeping. And you've been dodging Harry like he's carrying a communicable disease."
Y/N stiffens at the casual mention of Harry's name. "I haven't been dodging anyone. I've been focused on my work."
"Mmm." Louis doesn't sound convinced. "Is that why you switched your schedule three times last week to avoid being on his service?"
She feels heat rise to her cheeks. "I needed more experience in other specialties. It's important to be well-rounded."
"It's important not to bullshit a bullshitter," Louis counters mildly. "I've been doing this a long time, Y/L/N. I know avoidance when I see it."
Y/N sets down her pen, meeting his gaze directly. "With respect, Dr. Tomlinson, whatever is or isn't happening between Dr. Styles and myself is none of your concern."
"See, that's where you're wrong." Louis swings his feet down, leaning forward with sudden intensity. "Harry is one of my closest friends. Has been for years. And I've never— " He pauses, seeming to choose his words carefully. "I've never seen him like this."
Despite herself, Y/N feels her heart clench. "Like what?"
"Sad," Louis says simply. "Not angry, not frustrated, not his usual brand of emotionally constipated. Just...sad. He goes through the motions, performs his surgeries, attends his meetings. But the light's gone out of him somehow."
Y/N swallows hard, trying to maintain her composure. "I'm sure Dr. Marx's presence has been...an adjustment for him."
Louis actually laughs at that. "Daniela? You think this is about Daniela?"
"They have history," Y/N says stiffly. "Everyone knows that."
"They have past tense," Louis corrects. "History that ended five years ago when she chose her career over him and moved across the country without looking back. Whatever you think is happening between them now, I promise you, it's purely professional."
Y/N wants to believe him. Wants it so badly it aches. "She's always with him. Every surgery, every meeting, every— "
"Because she's a visiting surgeon collaborating on his cases," Louis interrupts. "That's literally her job while she's here. Do you think Harry invited her? Do you think he wants her following him around, reminding him of a relationship that nearly destroyed him?"
The vehemence in his voice gives Y/N pause. "Destroyed him?"
Louis sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Look, it's not my story to tell. But Daniela leaving...it changed him. Made him build walls so high that nobody could get close enough to hurt him again." His eyes meet hers meaningfully. "Until recently."
Y/N's throat tightens. "Dr. Tomlinson— "
"Louis," he corrects. "And before you tell me again that this isn't my business, let me just say one thing. Then I'll leave you alone."
She nods, not trusting her voice.
"Whatever happened between you two, and I'm not asking you to confirm or deny anything, it mattered to him. More than I think even he realized." Louis stands, straightening his white coat. "He's been trying to talk to you for weeks. Every time he works up the courage to approach you, you disappear. And I get it, I do. Self-preservation is a powerful instinct. But if you care about him at all...maybe consider giving him a chance to explain."
Y/N stares at the table, unable to meet his eyes. "What if I don't like what he has to say?"
"Then at least you'll know," Louis says gently. "And you can both stop torturing yourselves with uncertainty." He moves toward the door, pausing with his hand on the frame. "For what it's worth, Y/L/N, I've watched Harry with a lot of residents over the years. The way he looks at you...that's not professional interest. That's not mentorship. That's a man who's terrified of his own feelings and has no idea how to handle them."
He leaves before she can respond, the door clicking softly behind him.
Y/N sits motionless for a long moment, Louis's words echoing in her mind. She thinks about all the times she's caught Harry watching her, the weight of his gaze heavy with something she'd been too afraid to interpret. She thinks about his voice in the locker room, cracked with frustration and something that might have been desperation: I was going to talk to you today.
She thinks about Daniela Marx, polished and accomplished and everything Y/N isn't, and yet apparently not what Harry wants at all.
Her phone buzzes. A text from Niall.
Lunch? You need to eat actual food and not just coffee and spite.
She almost smiles, typing back a quick agreement before gathering her things. But as she leaves the workroom, her mind isn't on food or research or even Niall's reliable comfort.
It's on Harry. On the sadness Louis described. On the possibility that she's been so focused on protecting herself that she's been hurting them both.
Maybe it's time to stop running.
Maybe it's time to let him explain.
The thought terrifies her more than any surgery ever could.
The walk to Harry's office feels like the longest of Y/N's life.
She'd barely tasted her lunch, pushing food around her plate while Niall watched with knowing eyes. When she'd finally told him what she was planning to do, he'd simply nodded and said, "About damn time." No fanfare, no lengthy pep talk. Just quiet support and a squeeze of her hand before she left the cafeteria.
Now, standing outside Harry's door, she can hear muffled voices inside. Her courage wavers, old instincts screaming at her to turn around, to find an excuse, to protect herself from whatever rejection might be waiting on the other side.
But Louis's words echo in her mind: I've never seen him like this. Just...sad.
She knocks before she can talk herself out of it.
"Come in."
Harry's voice, professional and measured. Y/N pushes the door open.
The scene that greets her is painfully familiar with Daniela seated in the chair across from Harry's desk, papers spread between them, their heads bent together over what looks like surgical imaging. But it's Harry's reaction that catches her attention.
He looks up, and his entire demeanor shifts. Surprise flickers across his features, followed by something raw and unguarded that he doesn't quite manage to hide before his professional mask slides back into place.
"Dr. Y/L/N." His voice comes out slightly hoarse. "I wasn't expecting— " He stops, swallows, starts again. "What can I do for you?"
Daniela turns in her chair, her expression pleasant but her eyes sharp as they assess Y/N. "Dr. Y/L/N. We were just finishing up the case review. Did you need something?"
The dismissal is subtle but unmistakable. Y/N feels her resolve waver.
But Harry is already standing, gathering the papers between them with quick, decisive movements. "Actually, Daniela, I think we've covered everything we need to for today. Would you mind if we continued this tomorrow?"
Daniela's face quickly betrayed her displeasure, a brief tightening of her expression that she couldn't quite hide."Of course. I'll leave the imaging with you." She rises gracefully, smoothing her skirt. "Dr. Y/L/N."
The acknowledgment is polite enough, but as Daniela passes Y/N on her way out, there's an unmistakable coldness in her gaze. A warning perhaps, or a claim being staked. Y/N barely registers it, her attention already fixed on Harry.
The door clicks shut behind Daniela, and suddenly they're alone.
The silence stretches between them, heavy with three weeks of avoidance and months of unspoken tension. Harry moves around his desk but doesn't sit, instead leaning against its edge with his arms crossed. It’s a defensive posture that doesn't match the vulnerability in his eyes.
"You came," he says finally, as if he can't quite believe it.
"I came," Y/N confirms, staying near the door. She's not sure her legs will carry her any further. "Louis talked to me."
Harry's jaw tightens. "Of course he did. I'm going to kill him."
"Don't. He was..." She searches for the right word. "Illuminating."
Another silence. Harry studies her face like he's trying to memorize it, like he's been starving for the sight of her and is finally allowing himself to look.
"I've been trying to talk to you for weeks," he says quietly.
"I know." Y/N's voice is barely above a whisper. "I wasn't ready to listen."
"And now?"
She takes a breath, steeling herself. "Now I'm here. So talk."
Harry pushes off from the desk, running a hand through his hair in that familiar gesture of frustration. "I don't even know where to start. Everything I planned to say sounds inadequate now."
"Try anyway."
He begins to pace, his long legs eating up the small space of his office. “San Francisco wasn't a mistake. I need you to know that. I know I handled everything wrong afterward, but what happened between us, that kiss— " He stops, turning to face her. "That was the most honest I've been with anyone in years."
Y/N feels tears prick at her eyes but refuses to let them fall. "Then why did you act like it never happened? Why did you treat me like a stranger the moment we got back?"
"Because I was terrified," Harry admits, the word seeming to cost him something. "You're my resident, Y/N. There are power dynamics, ethical considerations, hospital policies— "
"You said all that before," she interrupts, frustration bleeding into her voice. "And I understand those concerns, I do. But you didn't even give me a chance to discuss them with you. You just decided, unilaterally, that distance was the answer."
"I know." His voice cracks slightly. "I know, and I'm sorry. I've spent so long protecting myself that I didn't stop to think about what I was doing to you."
"What happened with Daniela?" The question escapes before Y/N can stop it. "Louis said she nearly destroyed you."
Harry's expression shutters momentarily before he forces it open again. "We were together for three years. I thought we were building something permanent. And then she got offered the position at Johns Hopkins, and she took it without hesitation. Didn't ask me to come with her, didn't try to make long distance work. Just...left." He laughs bitterly. "I found out she'd been interviewing for months without telling me. Our entire relationship was apparently less important than her career advancement."
Y/N's heart aches for him despite everything. "Harry..."
"I'm not telling you this for sympathy," he says quickly. "I'm telling you because I need you to understand why I am the way I am. Why intimacy terrifies me. Why my first instinct when something real starts to develop is to sabotage it before it can hurt me."
"Is that what you were doing?" Y/N asks. "Sabotaging us?"
"I don't know." Harry's voice is raw with honesty. "Maybe. Probably. All I know is that pushing you away has been the most miserable three weeks of my life, and I can't keep doing it."
Y/N feels something loosen in her chest, some knot of tension she's been carrying since San Francisco. "I've been miserable too," she admits. "I kept telling myself I was protecting myself, but really I was just...running. From you, from my feelings, from the possibility that this could be real."
"Is it?" Harry steps closer, close enough that she could touch him if she reached out. "Real, I mean?"
Y/N looks up at him— at the vulnerability etched into every line of his face, the hope warring with fear in his green eyes. "I don't know how to answer that. I know that I think about you constantly. I know that seeing you with Daniela has been slowly killing me. I know that when you called me 'Dr. Y/L/N' in the residents' lounge, it felt like you'd ripped something out of my chest."
"Y/N— "
"I'm not finished." She holds up a hand, needing to get this out. "I also know that you're my supervisor. That this is complicated and messy and potentially career-ending for both of us. I know that you have a history of shutting down when things get difficult, and I have a history of running away. We're not exactly a recipe for success."
"No," Harry agrees quietly. "We're not."
"So what do we do?" The question hangs between them, heavy with possibility.
Harry reaches out slowly, giving her time to pull away, and takes her hand in his. His fingers are warm, slightly calloused from years of surgery, achingly familiar from that night in San Francisco.
"I don't have all the answers," he says. "I can't promise I won't mess up again, because I probably will. I'm not good at this…at being vulnerable, at letting people in. But I want to try. With you. If you'll let me."
Y/N stares at their joined hands, watching his thumb trace gentle circles on her skin. "And what about the professional complications? The power dynamics you were so worried about?"
"We navigate them carefully," Harry says. "We keep things private until you've completed your residency. I recuse myself from any evaluations that affect your career. We're transparent with each other about any conflicts that arise." He squeezes her hand. "It won't be easy. But I'd rather do hard with you than easy without you."
A tear finally escapes, sliding down Y/N's cheek. Harry catches it with his free hand, his touch impossibly gentle.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "For the locker room, for not explaining about Daniela, for every moment I made you doubt what you mean to me. I'm sorry for being a coward when you deserved bravery."
"I'm sorry too," Y/N whispers. "For not giving you a chance to explain. For assuming the worst. For running every time you tried to reach me."
"So we're both disasters," Harry says, a ghost of his usual humor flickering in his eyes. "At least we're well-matched."
Y/N laughs despite herself, the sound watery but genuine. "Is that supposed to be romantic?"
"I'm working with limited material here." His hand slides from her cheek to cup the back of her neck, drawing her closer. "Give me time. I'll get better at it."
"Promise?" The word comes out breathless as she tilts her face up toward his.
"Promise." Harry leans down, resting his forehead against hers. "So is that a yes? To trying this? To seeing where it goes?"
Y/N considers the question. Considers all the ways this could go wrong, all the complications and obstacles and potential heartbreak waiting in the wings. Then she considers the alternative: walking away, going back to professional distance and lonely nights and the constant ache of wanting something she won't let herself have.
There's really only one answer.
"Yes," she breathes. "Yes, I want to try."
Harry's smile breaks across his face like sunrise, transforming his features from handsome to breathtaking. "Yeah?"
"Don't make me say it again," Y/N warns, but she's smiling too. "Your ego is already insufferable."
"My ego has taken quite a beating lately, actually," Harry murmurs, his lips brushing against her forehead. "I could use some building up."
"Later," Y/N says, pulling back slightly to meet his eyes. "Right now, I think we need to establish some ground rules."
"Always the pragmatist." But Harry nods, releasing her to lean back against his desk. "Alright, Dr. Y/L/N. What are your terms?"
They spend the next hour talking, really talking, in a way they never have before. They discuss boundaries and expectations, how to handle situations at work, what to tell their friends (everything, in Niall's case; need-to-know basis for everyone else). They argue about Harry's tendency to make unilateral decisions and Y/N's habit of catastrophizing. They apologize again, multiple times, for different things.
By the time Y/N finally leaves his office, the sun has set and the hospital corridors are quiet with the hush of evening shift. Nothing is resolved really as there are still complications to navigate, conversations to have, trust to rebuild.
But as she walks toward the exit, her phone buzzes with a text.
Dinner tomorrow? Somewhere private. I want to take you on a proper date.
She types back quickly, unable to suppress her smile.
Are you asking as my supervisor or as something else?
His response comes almost immediately.
Something else. Definitely something else.
Y/N pockets her phone and pushes through the hospital doors into the cool night air. For the first time in weeks, the weight on her chest has lifted.
She barely makes it into the driver's seat before she's fumbling for her phone, fingers trembling as she scrolls to Niall's contact. The engine isn't even running yet when she hits call, pressing the phone to her ear with barely contained energy.
He picks up on the second ring.
"Well? Did you— "
"NIALL."
The scream that tears from her throat is entirely undignified, the kind of sound she'd be mortified to make in any other context. It's half-shriek, half-laugh, the release of three weeks of tension exploding out of her in one glorious burst.
"Jesus Christ!" Niall's voice crackles through the speaker, equal parts alarmed and amused. "Are you being murdered? Should I call 911?"
"I talked to him," Y/N gasps, her words tumbling over each other in their rush to escape. "I actually went to his office and talked to him and Niall, oh my God, first of all, he kicked Daniela out for me. Then he said— he told me— we're going to try. We're actually going to try this."
There's a beat of silence, then: "Wait, seriously? Like, actually try? Not 'try' in the way you two have been 'trying' to avoid each other for three weeks?"
"Actually try!" Y/N is grinning so hard her cheeks hurt. "He apologized. He explained everything about Daniela, about why he shut down, about being scared. And I apologized too, for running away and not letting him explain, and then we talked about boundaries and how to handle work and he asked me to dinner tomorrow and— "
"Breathe," Niall interrupts, laughter threading through his voice. "For the love of God, Y/N, breathe. You're going to pass out."
She forces herself to take a breath, then another, her heart still racing. "I just can't believe it actually happened. After everything, after all the misery and the avoiding and watching him with Daniela— "
"Speaking of Daniela," Niall interjects. "How did she take being kicked out of his office?"
Y/N pauses, remembering the flash of cold displeasure in Daniela's eyes. "Not well, I think. She gave me this look when she left...but honestly, I barely noticed. I was too focused on Harry."
"Harry," Niall repeats, his tone teasing. "Not 'Dr. Styles'? We're on first-name basis now?"
"Shut up." But she's smiling as she says it. "He called me Y/N. Multiple times. Do you know how long it's been since he used my actual name?"
"I'm aware. You've only mentioned it about forty-seven times in the past three weeks."
Y/N laughs, the sound bright and unrestrained in a way it hasn't been in weeks. "He held my hand, Niall. And he touched my face. And he almost kissed me but we decided to wait until the actual date because we're trying to do this properly and— "
"Okay, okay, I need you to calm down before you crash your car," Niall cuts in, though his voice is warm with affection. "You haven't even started driving yet, have you?"
Y/N glances at the steering wheel, realizing she's been sitting in the hospital parking lot this entire time. "...No."
"Right. So maybe start the car, drive home safely, and then you can call me back and scream some more. Because I'm genuinely happy for you, love, but I'd prefer you alive to attend this dinner tomorrow."
"You're right, you're right." She fumbles for her keys, sliding them into the ignition. "I just needed to tell someone. I felt like I was going to explode if I didn't— "
"I'm honored to be your explosion receptacle," Niall says dryly. "Now focus on the road. The last thing you need is to get into an accident and end up in the ER."
A thought occurs to him, and she can practically hear the grin spreading across his face.
"Actually, wait. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad. You crash, they rush you to the hospital, Harry hears his girlfriend— ”
“I’m not–”
“Shut up! His girlfriend is injured and he comes running. Has to operate to save your life. Sees you naked on the table. Very romantic, very Grey's Anatomy."
"Niall!" Y/N chokes on a laugh. "That's terrible!"
"I'm just saying, there are worse ways to move a relationship forward. Nothing says 'I love you' like emergency surgery and a glimpse of your bare— "
"I'm hanging up now," Y/N announces, still laughing. "You're a menace."
"A menace who was right about everything," Niall counters smugly. "I told you to just talk to him. Did I not tell you? I believe my exact words were— "
"Goodbye, Niall."
"Text me when you get home! And send me a picture of whatever you're wearing tomorrow so I can approve it!"
"Goodbye!"
She ends the call, tossing her phone onto the passenger seat with a grin she can't seem to shake. The parking lot is quiet around her, the hospital looming in her rearview mirror as she finally starts the car.
Her phone buzzes almost immediately. A text from Niall.
`For the record, I'm taking full credit for this. Best wingman ever. You're welcome.`
Then, a second later:
`Also Liam owes me twenty bucks. I bet him you two would figure it out before the month ended.`
Y/N shakes her head, pulling out of the parking space.
`You and Liam were betting on us?`
His response is immediate.
`Everyone was betting on you. You two were painfully obvious. The sexual tension was suffocating the entire cardiothoracic department.`
She's still laughing as she turns onto the main road, the lights of the city stretching out before her. Tomorrow, she has a date with Harry Styles. A real date, not a professional dinner or a conference obligation. Just the two of them, figuring out what this thing between them actually is.
Her phone buzzes one more time.
Harry.
`Got home safe?`
She pulls over briefly to respond, unable to keep the smile off her face.
`Almost there. Someone distracted me with life-changing conversations.`
His reply comes quickly.
`Sounds like someone worth keeping around.`
`Maybe. The jury's still out.`
`Harsh. And here I thought we'd made progress.`
Y/N bites her lip, warmth spreading through her chest.
`We did. I'm just not going to make it easy for you.`
`I wouldn't expect anything less, Dr. Y/L/N.`
She stares at the screen for a moment, at this new ease between them, this playfulness that feels like a promise of things to come.
`Goodnight, Harry.`
`Goodnight, Y/N. Dream of me.`
`Arrogant.`
`Confident. There's a difference.`
She laughs out loud, alone in her car on a quiet street, happier than she's been in weeks.
`Goodnight, Harry.`
`You already said that.`
`I'm hanging up on you too.`
`This is texting. You can't hang up on me`
She locks her phone and tosses it aside, still grinning as she pulls back onto the road.
Tomorrow can't come fast enough.
The morning starts like any other or at least, that's what Y/N tells herself as she steps through the hospital's automatic doors, coffee clutched in one hand like a lifeline.
She'd barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, her mind replayed the conversation in Harry's office on an endless loop. The crack in his voice when he admitted he was terrified and the warmth of his hand wrapped around hers, it all created a fuzzy feeling in her chest.
And then, of course, there were the texts. The easy back-and-forth that had continued until nearly midnight, Harry's dry wit softening into something almost tender as the hours wore on. She'd finally forced herself to put her phone down when she realized she was grinning at the ceiling like an idiot, her cheeks aching from smiling.
Now, walking through the familiar corridors of the cardiothoracic wing, she feels almost nervous. Which is ridiculous. She's walked these halls hundreds of times. She's faced down impossible surgeries, demanding attendings, life-and-death decisions that would break lesser people.
But somehow, the prospect of seeing Harry in the daylight after everything they'd said and everything they'd agreed to, makes her palms sweat.
She spots him almost immediately.
He's standing at the nurses' station at the far end of the corridor, white coat pristine, stethoscope draped around his neck. He's reviewing a chart with Dr. Chen, nodding along to whatever the older surgeon is saying, the picture of professional focus.
But there's something different about him this morning.
It takes Y/N a moment to identify it Maybe it was the set of his shoulders, or the way he's standing. He looks...lighter. The tension that's been carved into his features for weeks has eased somehow, smoothed away like fog burning off under morning sun. There's a looseness to his posture that she hasn't seen since before San Francisco, maybe even longer.
He looks like a man who finally got a full night's sleep after months of insomnia.
Y/N forces herself to look away, turning toward the nurses' station closer to her. She has work to do. Patients to check on. She can't spend her entire shift mooning over Harry Styles like a lovesick teenager.
"Dr. Y/L/N!"
Nurse Martinez waves her over, tablet in hand. "I wanted to go over Mr. Patterson's post-op vitals with you. His blood pressure was slightly elevated during the night shift, and I wasn't sure if— "
"Of course," Y/N says, grateful for the distraction. "Let me take a look. His surgery was complex, so some fluctuation is expected, but we should keep an eye on— "
She feels it before she sees it. That prickle of awareness at the back of her neck, the sensation of being watched.
She glances up automatically, her gaze drawn across the corridor like a magnet finding north.
Harry is looking at her.
Not just looking but studying her. His green eyes warm with something that makes her stomach flip. Dr. Chen is still talking beside him, gesturing at the chart in his hands, but Harry's attention has clearly drifted. His lips curve into the smallest of smiles, private and knowing.
And then he winks.
Just once. Quick and deliberate, so fast she might have imagined it if not for the way his smile deepens in the aftermath, dimples creasing his cheeks.
Y/N's heart stops.
Actually, genuinely stops…or at least that's what it feels like, a sudden vacuum in her chest where her pulse should be. Her knees go weak, actually weak, like she's a character in one of those ridiculous romance novels Niall keeps trying to force on her.
She stumbles over her next words, her sentence fragmenting mid-thought.
"—we should keep an eye on the, um, the— " She blinks, trying to recover. "The systolic readings. If they continue to...to elevate, we might need to adjust his..."
Nurse Martinez is staring at her with barely concealed concern. "Dr. Y/L/N? Are you alright?"
"Fine," Y/N manages, tearing her gaze away from Harry with heroic effort. "Sorry. Didn't sleep well. What was I saying?"
"Systolic readings," Martinez supplies helpfully.
"Right. Yes. If they continue trending upward, we should consider adjusting his beta-blocker dosage. Can you flag it for Dr. Tomlinson's review during rounds?"
Martinez nods, making a note on her tablet, and Y/N uses the moment to take a steadying breath. Her cheeks feel warm. Her heart has resumed beating, but at roughly twice its normal rate.
A wink. A single wink, from thirty feet away, and she'd nearly collapsed in the middle of the nurses' station like a Victorian maiden with a case of the vapors.
This is going to be a problem.
She risks another glance in Harry's direction and finds him fully engaged with Dr. Chen now, his expression professionally attentive. But there's a hint of smugness in the set of his jaw, a self-satisfaction that tells her he knows exactly what he did.
Bastard.
She sees him pull his phone out. Then…her phone buzzes in her pocket. She pulls it out, already knowing what she'll find.
`You're blushing.`
She types back furiously, angling her body away from Martinez's curious gaze.
`I am NOT.`
`You are. It's adorable.`
`I'm going to kill you.`
`Promises, promises.`
Another buzz, almost immediately.
`You look beautiful today, by the way. That color suits you.`
Y/N's familiar navy blue scrubs did nothing to hide the traitorous heat rising in her cheeks as she glanced down at them.
`They're scrubs, Harry. Everyone wears the same ones.`
`And yet somehow you make them look better than everyone else.`
She shoves her phone back in her pocket before she can respond, because if she keeps texting him, she's going to smile, and if she smiles, Martinez is going to ask questions, and if Martinez asks questions, the entire hospital will know something's going on within the hour.
Hospital gossip travels faster than any virus.
She busies herself with patient rounds, checking vitals, reviewing charts, consulting with the nursing staff. But she's hyperaware of Harry's presence throughout the morning. It was driving her crazy: catching glimpses of him in the corridor, hearing his voice drift from an open doorway, feeling the weight of his gaze whenever they pass within sight of each other.
Each time, there's something new. A small smile. A raised eyebrow. Once, when they passed each other in the hallway, his hand brushed against hers. It was so brief it could have been accidental, except for the way his fingers deliberately curl against her palm before pulling away.
It's torture. Exquisite, wonderful torture.
Louis finds her in the break room around mid-morning, refilling her coffee for the third time.
"You look different," he observes, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. "Less like someone ran over your dog."
"I don't have a dog."
"It's an expression." His blue eyes narrow thoughtfully. "Something happened. Between you and Harry."
Y/N focuses very intently on adding creamer to her coffee. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Mmhmm." Louis doesn't sound convinced. "So it's just a coincidence that he's been walking around all morning like someone replaced his blood with sunshine? That man has been a miserable bastard for weeks, and suddenly he's practically whistling in the corridors."
"Maybe he had a good night's sleep."
"Harry doesn't sleep well. Hasn't for years." Louis pushes off from the counter, moving toward the door. "Whatever you did, Y/L/N, keep doing it. I haven't seen him this light since..." He pauses, something complicated crossing his features. "Well. In a long time."
He leaves before she can respond, and Y/N is left alone with her coffee and the warm glow spreading through her chest.
Her phone buzzes again.
`Dinner tonight. 7pm. I'll pick you up.`
She bites her lip, typing back.
`You don't know where I live.`
`I have my ways.`
`That's creepy, Harry.`
`I asked Niall. He was disturbingly eager to help.`
Of course he was. Y/N makes a mental note to kill her best friend later.
`Fine. 7pm. But I'm choosing the restaurant next time.`
`Next time. I like the sound of that.`
Y/N pockets her phone, unable to suppress her smile any longer. Let the nurses talk. Let the whole hospital gossip.
She has a date tonight with Harry Styles, and for the first time in weeks, everything feels possible.
The coffee in Y/N's hand has gone lukewarm by the time she finally leaves the break room, her mind still pleasantly fuzzy with thoughts of Harry's smile, Harry's wink, Harry's fingers brushing against her palm in the corridor.
She's so lost in her haze that she almost doesn't notice Daniela Marx until the woman is directly in front of her.
"Dr. Y/L/N!"
Daniela's voice is bright, her smile wide and welcoming. The kind of expression that belongs in a toothpaste commercial. She's impeccably dressed as always, her white coat pristine, her hair falling in perfect waves over her shoulders. Everything about her radiates competence and polish.
Y/N's stomach drops.
"Dr. Marx," she manages, forcing her own smile into place. "Good morning."
"I was hoping I'd run into you." Daniela falls into step beside her as Y/N continues down the corridor, matching her pace with ease. "We haven't really had a chance to talk properly since I arrived. I've been so busy with the research collaboration that I feel like I've barely gotten to know anyone outside of the surgical team."
"It's been a busy few weeks," Y/N agrees carefully, unsure where this is heading.
"It has. But I've heard so much about you." Daniela's smile doesn't waver, but something in her eyes sharpens. "Harry's star resident. That's what everyone calls you, isn't it? The prodigy. The one he's supposedly molding into the next great cardiothoracic surgeon."
There's a slight edge in her tone beneath the sweetness that makes Y/N's guard rise.
"I don't know about prodigy," she says, keeping her voice neutral. "I'm just trying to learn as much as I can."
"So modest." Daniela's laugh tinkles like wind chimes. "Harry always did appreciate humility. Though I have to say, when I heard about his 'star resident,' I expected someone a bit more... established. You're what, first year?"
"Second," Y/N corrects, a thread of defensiveness creeping into her voice.
"Second, of course. My mistake." Daniela waves a manicured hand dismissively. "It's just impressive, that's all. Getting so much of Harry's attention at such an early stage in your career. He must see something special in you."
The words sound like a compliment. They're shaped like a compliment. But the way Daniela delivers them with that slight tilt of her head, that knowing glint in her eye, transforms them into something else entirely.
"I work hard," Y/N says simply.
"I'm sure you do." Daniela pauses outside an empty conference room, turning to face Y/N fully. "You know, I remember what it was like, being a young resident trying to prove myself. The pressure to stand out, to be noticed by the right people. It can be...overwhelming."
Y/N nods slowly, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"The thing is," Daniela continues, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone, "sometimes the attention we receive isn't really about us at all. Sometimes attendings take an interest in residents for reasons that have nothing to do with talent or potential. Political reasons. Personal reasons." She shrugs elegantly. "It's important to be realistic about these things. To not let flattery go to our heads."
The implication lands like a slap.
"I'm not sure what you're suggesting," Y/N says, her voice carefully controlled.
"I'm not suggesting anything." Daniela's smile widens, all innocence. "I'm just offering perspective. Woman to woman. Harry can be very...charming when he wants to be. Very focused. It's easy to mistake professional mentorship for something more personal."
Y/N feels heat rise to her cheeks and not from pleasure this time. From a toxic mixture of anger and humiliation.
"I don't think I've mistaken anything."
"Of course not." Daniela reaches out, patting Y/N's arm in a gesture that's meant to seem supportive but feels patronizing. "I'm sure you're very talented. It's just...well, I've known Harry for a long time. I've seen how he operates. He has a tendency to invest in people who remind him of himself; brilliant but rough around the edges. People he thinks he can shape."
She pauses, letting the words sink in.
"The problem is, his interest tends to fade once the shaping is done. Once the challenge is gone." Daniela's eyes meet Y/N's, and there's no warmth in them now. "I'd hate to see you build your career on a foundation that might...shift."
Y/N's throat tightens. She wants to argue, to defend herself, to tell Daniela exactly where she can shove her 'perspective.' But the words won't come. Because buried beneath the obvious manipulation, there's a kernel of doubt that Daniela has expertly planted.
What if she's right?
What if Harry's interest in her, professionally, personally, all of it, is just a phase? A temporary fascination that will fade once the novelty wears off? She's seen it happen before, attendings who champion residents only to discard them when someone newer and shinier comes along.
What if she's not special at all? Just convenient?
"I should get back to my rounds," Y/N manages, her voice coming out smaller than she intended.
"Of course." Daniela steps aside graciously, her mission clearly accomplished. "It was lovely chatting with you, Dr. Y/L/N. I hope I haven't overstepped. I just believe in honesty between colleagues. Especially between women in this field. We have to look out for each other."
The hypocrisy is staggering, but Y/N can't summon the energy to call it out. She nods mutely and walks away, her coffee now completely cold in her trembling hand.
She makes it to the supply closet before the tears start.
It's stupid. She knows it's stupid. Daniela is obviously bitter about Harry and about whatever is happening between them that she's clearly picked up on. This was a calculated attack, designed to undermine Y/N's confidence and drive a wedge between her and Harry before their relationship can even properly begin.
But knowing something intellectually and feeling it emotionally are two different things.
Daniela's words echo in her mind, poisonous and persistent. Rough around the edges. His interest tends to fade. A foundation that might shift.
She thinks about all the times Harry pushed her harder than other residents. Was that because he saw potential in her, or because she was a project? A puzzle to solve? Something to occupy his attention until something better came along?
She thinks about Daniela. Polished and accomplished Daniela. The kind of woman who belongs in Harry's world. A peer, not a subordinate. Someone who can stand beside him as an equal rather than trailing behind as a student.
She thinks about the wink this morning, the texts, the dinner planned for tonight. Had she been foolish to believe any of it meant something real?
Her phone buzzes in her pocket. She pulls it out with shaking hands.
Harry.
`Counting down the hours. Is it 7pm yet?`
Yesterday, this message would have made her glow. Now it just makes her feel sick.
She shoves the phone away without responding, pressing her palms against her eyes until she sees stars.
Get it together, Y/L/N. You're a surgeon. You don't fall apart in supply closets because some bitter ex said mean things.
But the doubt lingers, curling through her chest like smoke, and suddenly the day ahead feels impossibly long.
The supply closet door swings open and Y/N steps out blindly, her vision still blurred with unshed tears, her mind a chaotic swirl of Daniela's poisonous words.
She collides directly with a solid chest.
"Whoa— "
Hands catch her elbows, steadying her before she can stumble backward. Large hands, warm and familiar, the grip firm but gentle.
Harry.
Of course it's Harry. Because the universe apparently has a sick sense of humor.
"Y/N?" His voice is tinged with surprise, then sharpens with concern as he gets a proper look at her face. "Hey, what's wrong?"
She can't meet his eyes. Can't look at him without hearing Daniela's voice in her head: rough around the edges, his interest tends to fade, a foundation that might shift.
"Nothing," she manages, trying to step back, to put distance between them. "I'm fine. Just— allergies. The supply closet is dusty."
Harry doesn't release her elbows. If anything, his grip tightens slightly, anchoring her in place.
"Y/N." Her name in his mouth, soft and serious. "Look at me."
She doesn't want to. Looking at him means he'll see the doubt, the insecurity, the way Daniela's words have burrowed under her skin like splinters. Harry has always been too perceptive, too attuned to the things she tries to hide.
But his hand moves from her elbow to her chin, tilting her face up with impossible gentleness, and she has no choice.
His green eyes scan her features, cataloging every detail. The redness at the corners of her eyes, the tension in her jaw, the way she's holding herself like she's bracing for impact. Something shifts in his expression, concern deepening into something fiercer.
"You've been crying," he says quietly. It's not a question.
"I haven't— "
"Don't." The word is gentle but firm. "Don't lie to me. Not after everything we said yesterday."
Y/N's throat constricts. She wants to tell him. Wants to spill everything about Daniela's backhanded comments, the insecurities they've awakened and the fear that's been gnawing at her since she walked away from that conversation. But the words stick in her chest, tangled up with pride and shame and the desperate need to not seem weak.
"It's nothing," she repeats, but her voice wavers.
Harry's jaw tightens. He glances around the corridor that was empty for now, but that could change at any moment. He makes a decision.
"Come with me."
He takes her hand, not waiting for agreement, and leads her down the hall toward his office. His stride is purposeful, his grip on her fingers secure, and Y/N finds herself following without protest.
The door closes behind them with a soft click, and suddenly they're alone. Private. Away from prying eyes and hospital gossip.
Harry releases her hand but doesn't step back, positioning himself between her and the door like he's afraid she might bolt.
"Talk to me," he says simply.
Y/N wraps her arms around herself, a defensive gesture she can't quite suppress. "It's stupid. I'm being stupid."
"I highly doubt that." Harry walks to his desk, leaning against it, arms crossed, watching her with that intense focus she's come to both crave and fear. "Something happened between this morning and now. You were fine earlier. Better than fine actually. And now you look like someone's ripped your heart out."
The accuracy of the description makes her flinch.
"Was it a patient?" Harry presses, his voice softening. "A surgery? Did something go wrong with— "
"It was Daniela."
The name falls from her lips before she can stop it, landing in the space between them like a grenade.
Harry goes very still.
"What about Daniela?"
Y/N laughs bitterly, the sound catching in her throat. "She wanted to 'get to know me.' Harry's star resident, apparently. That's what everyone calls me."
She sees confusion giving way to dawning understanding, then something darker.
"What did she say to you?"
"Does it matter?" Y/N's voice cracks despite her best efforts. "She was just being honest. Woman to woman. Looking out for me."
"Y/N." Harry pushes off from the desk, closing the distance between them. "What. Did. She. Say."
The intensity in his voice breaks something loose in her chest.
"She said— " Y/N swallows hard, forcing the words out. "She said your attention doesn't mean anything. That you take interest in residents who are 'rough around the edges' because you like the challenge of shaping them. And that once the shaping is done, once the challenge is gone, you lose interest."
Harry's jaw muscles tightened.
"She said I shouldn't build my career on a foundation that might 'shift,'" Y/N continues, the words tumbling out faster now. "That I shouldn't mistake professional mentorship for something personal. That she's known you a long time and she's seen how you operate."
Silence stretches between them, heavy and charged.
When Harry finally speaks, his voice is low and dangerous in a way she's never heard before.
"She said that to you."
It's not a question, but Y/N nods anyway.
"And you believed her?"
The question struck her. She opens her mouth to deny it, to insist that of course she didn't believe a word of Daniela's bitter manipulation…but she can't. Because the truth is more complicated than that.
"I don't know," she whispers. "I don't know what to believe. Yesterday everything made sense, and now— " She gestures helplessly. "Now I can't stop thinking about whether any of this is real or if I'm just...convenient. A distraction. Something to occupy your time until you get bored."
Harry makes a sound low in his throat: frustration, anger, something wounded.
"Y/N— "
"She's accomplished," Y/N barrels on, unable to stop now that the floodgates have opened. "She's your peer. She's the kind of woman who belongs in your world, who can stand beside you as an equal. And I'm just…I'm a second-year resident who can barely keep it together in a supply closet because someone said mean things to me."
Her voice breaks on the last words, tears spilling over despite her desperate attempts to hold them back.
Harry moves.
In two strides he's in front of her, his hands cupping her face, thumbs brushing away the tears that streak down her cheeks.
"Listen to me," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "Are you listening?"
Y/N nods shakily, her vision blurred.
"Daniela is a brilliant surgeon and a deeply insecure person who has never forgiven herself for walking away from me five years ago." Harry's eyes bore into hers, intense and unwavering. "Whatever she said to you, whatever poison she poured in your ear, it wasn't about you. It was about her. About her regret, her jealousy, her inability to accept that I've moved on."
"Harry–"
"I'm not finished." His grip on her face tightens slightly, not painful but insistent. "You are not convenient. You are not a distraction. You are not rough around the edges–and even if you were, I wouldn't want to smooth them away. I like your edges, Y/N. I like that you challenge me, that you push back, that you don't let me get away with being an arrogant bastard."
A wet laugh escapes her. "You are an arrogant bastard."
"I know. And you're the only person in this hospital brave enough to tell me so." His thumbs continue their gentle sweep across her cheekbones. "Do you know why I noticed you in the first place? It wasn't because you were a project or a puzzle. It was because you walked into my OR on your first day and corrected my suture technique in front of the entire surgical team."
Y/N winces at the memory. "You yelled at me for twenty minutes."
"I was impressed," Harry corrects. "Furious, yes, but impressed. No one had challenged me like that in years. And then you kept doing it. Kept pushing, kept questioning, kept refusing to be intimidated by my reputation or my temper. You made me better, Y/N. You make me want to be better."
The sincerity in his voice is almost unbearable.
"Daniela never did that," he continues quietly. "She admired me, supported me, but she never challenged me. And when things got hard—when she had to choose between her ambition and our relationship—she didn't even hesitate. She just left."
His forehead drops to rest against hers, their breath mingling in the small space between them.
"You're not her," Harry murmurs. "And what I feel for you is nothing like what I felt for her. This is— " He breaks off, struggling for words. "This is terrifying and overwhelming and completely unprecedented. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't have a plan. All I know is that when I'm with you, everything makes sense. And when I'm not, I'm counting the minutes until I can see you again."
Y/N's tears have stopped, replaced by a warmth spreading through her chest.
"That's very romantic," she whispers. "For an arrogant bastard."
Harry huffs a laugh against her lips. "I'm trying. Give me some credit."
His hands slide from her face to her shoulders, then down her arms, finally settling at her waist.
"Don't let her win," he says softly. "Don't let her take this from us before it's even started. She doesn't get that power. Not over you, not over me, not over whatever this is between us."
Y/N takes a shaky breath, letting his words wash over her like a balm.
"I'm sorry," she says. "I should have come to you instead of spiraling. I just— "
"You're human," Harry interrupts gently. "You're allowed to have doubts. You're allowed to be hurt by cruel words from cruel people. Just...talk to me next time? Before you convince yourself that I'm going to abandon you?"
She nods, leaning into his touch. "I can do that."
"Good." He presses a kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a long moment. "Now. Are we still on for dinner tonight? Because I have reservations at a very expensive restaurant and I'd hate for them to go to waste."
Y/N laughs a real laugh this time, watery but genuine. "Trying to impress me with your money?"
"Is it working?"
"Ask me after I see the menu."
Harry grins, and the sight of it, warm and genuine and just for her, chases away the last lingering shadows of Daniela's poison.
Before she can overthink it and before the doubt can creep back in, Y/N rises onto her toes and presses a quick kiss to the corner of Harry's mouth.
It's barely a kiss, really. More of a brush, a whisper of contact, her lips grazing the edge of his smile for a fraction of a second before she pulls back.
But the effect is immediate.
Heat floods her cheeks, rushing up from her neck to the tips of her ears. She turns her head away sharply, suddenly fascinated by the medical certificates on Harry's wall, her heart hammering against her ribs like it's trying to escape. Oh God. She just kissed him. In his office. During work hours. After spending twenty minutes crying over his ex-girlfriend's mind games.
"I shouldn't have—" she stammers. "That was unprofessional. We're at work and I just—"
Harry's laugh cuts her off.
It's not his usual sardonic chuckle or his professional courtesy laugh. This is warm and delighted, rich with genuine amusement. The sound rumbles through his chest where her hands still rest against him.
"Adorable," he murmurs, and before she can protest, he's pulling her into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around her and tucking her head beneath his chin. "You're absolutely adorable when you get flustered."
Y/N makes an indignant noise against his chest. "I'm not adorable. I'm a surgeon. Surgeons aren't adorable."
"You're both." She can hear the smile in his voice. "A brilliant, talented, occasionally terrifying surgeon who also happens to turn the color of a tomato when she kisses me."
"I do not turn the color of a—"
He pulls back just enough to look at her face, one eyebrow raised in challenge. Y/N catches a glimpse of herself in the reflection of his office window and winces. Her cheeks are definitely several shades darker than normal.
"Okay, fine," she concedes.
Harry's expression softens as he looks down at her, his green eyes crinkling at the corners. He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture impossibly tender.
"There she is," he murmurs. "There's my girl."
My girl. The words send a shiver down her spine.
"It’s only because you make me nervous." she continues, ignoring the swarm of butterflies in her stomach
"Good." Harry's arms tighten around her waist. "You make me nervous too. Have since day one."
That surprises her enough. "I make you nervous? You're Harry Styles. You don't get nervous."
"Shows what you know." His thumb traces idle patterns against her lower back through her scrubs.
The moment stretches between them, weighted with significance. Y/N's heart does that stuttering thing again, but this time it's not from anxiety or doubt. It's from the way Harry's looking at her, like she's something precious he's afraid to break.
"We should probably get back to work," she says reluctantly. "Before someone notices we're both missing."
"Probably." But Harry doesn't release her, his arms still locked around her waist. "Though I am the department head. I could argue we're having an important mentorship discussion."
"Is that what we're calling it?"
"Sounds better than 'the chief of surgery was caught cuddling his resident in his office.'"
Y/N laughs, the sound muffled against his chest. "Cuddling is definitely not in the hospital handbook."
"Then it's a good thing I helped edit the handbook." Harry finally, reluctantly, loosens his grip. "I know where all the loopholes are."
She steps back, immediately missing his warmth, and tries to smooth her hair into something resembling professional. "How do I look? Can anyone tell I was crying?"
Harry reaches out, gently brushing away a smudge of mascara from beneath her eye with his thumb. "Beautiful," he says simply. "But if anyone asks, you can blame it on the fluorescent lighting. Makes everyone look like they've been crying."
"That's a terrible excuse."
"Best I've got on short notice." He walks to his desk, scribbling something on a prescription pad, then hands it to her with a completely straight face.
Y/N looks down at the paper. In his distinctive scrawl, he's written:
Rx: One (1) fancy dinner with devastatingly handsome surgeon. Take at 7pm tonight. May cause excessive smiling, butterflies, and general swooning. Side effects include falling hopelessly in love. Refills available upon request.
She stares at it, torn between laughing and crying again.
Harry Styles, Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery, wrote her a fake prescription for a date. Like a lovesick teenager passing notes in class.
It's stupid. It's cheesy. It's utterly beneath his dignity.
She loves it.
"You're ridiculous," she manages.
"And yet you kissed me anyway." Harry's smirk is insufferable. "So what does that say about your judgment?"
Y/N carefully folds the prescription and tucks it into her pocket, something to keep, to look at later when she needs reminding that this is real. "That it's clearly compromised."
"I'll see you at seven," she says, carefully folding the prescription and tucking it into her pocket. "Don't be late."
"Wouldn't dream of it." Harry pushes off from the desk, closing the distance between them one more time. "And Y/N?"
"Hmm?"
He leans down, his lips brushing against her ear. "Next time you want to kiss me? Don't aim for the corner."
Before she can respond, before she can do anything but stand there with her heart in her throat, he pulls back, winks, and opens the office door for her.
"After you, Dr. Y/L/N. Those rounds won't complete themselves."
Y/N walks out on unsteady legs, hyperaware of his gaze on her back as she heads down the corridor. Her pocket feels warm where the prescription rests against her hip, a tangible reminder that this is real, that they are real, that whatever games Daniela wants to play, she's already lost.
Seven o'clock can't come fast enough.
Harry stands in front of the bathroom mirror, fussing with his hair for the third time in as many minutes.
It's ridiculous. He's thirty-three years old, a department head, one of the most respected cardiothoracic surgeons on the East Coast. He's performed surgeries that would make lesser physicians weep. He's stared down death and won more times than he can count.
And yet here he is, nervous about a dinner date like he's seventeen and taking a girl to prom.
He runs his fingers through his curls one more time, letting them fall in that artfully disheveled way that took him twenty minutes to achieve. His shirt is a deep burgundy silk. Definitely expensive, tailored, and chosen specifically because Niall mentioned once that Y/N liked rich colors. The top two buttons are undone, revealing just a hint of the tattoos scattered across his chest.
He looks good. He knows he looks good.
So why does he feel like he's about to vibrate out of his skin?
His phone sits on the bathroom counter, and he picks it up, pulling up his message thread with Y/N. The last text is from an hour ago:
Y/N: Be honest. Is this place actually as good as you said, or are you just trying to impress me?
Harry: Statistically speaking, the odds of a bad meal are extremely low. The odds of me being distracted because you’re sitting across from me are…significantly higher
Now, with fifteen minutes until he needs to leave, he types out one last message.
`Fun fact: surgeons have steady hands because we train ourselves to stay calm under pressure. And yet somehow the thought of seeing you tonight has my hands shaking like a first-year med student. What have you done to me, Dr. Y/L/N?`
He hits send before he can second-guess himself, then pockets the phone with a smile.
The knock at his door comes just as he's reaching for his jacket.
Harry frowns, glancing at the time. He's not expecting anyone. The reservation is in forty minutes, and he still needs to pick up Y/N—
Another knock, more insistent this time.
He crosses to the door and pulls it open, already preparing an excuse to send away whoever's interrupting his evening.
The words die in his throat.
Daniela stands in his doorway.
She's dressed to kill in a crimson dress that hugs every curve, plunging neckline, heels that put her nearly at eye level with him. Her hair falls in soft waves around her shoulders, her makeup immaculate, her perfume hitting him like a wave of memory.
Five years ago, this sight would have brought him to his knees.
Now, all he feels is a creeping sense of dread.
"Daniela." His voice comes out flat. "What are you doing here?"
"Can't an old friend stop by?" She smiles, but there's something brittle beneath the warmth. "I was in the neighborhood. Thought we could catch up."
"I'm on my way out."
"This won't take long." She steps forward, and Harry finds himself moving back automatically, allowing her into his apartment before his brain catches up to his body. "I've been thinking about you, Harry. About us. About everything we had."
She moves through his space like she still belongs there, trailing her fingers along the back of his couch, taking in the details of his living room with a proprietary air that sets his teeth on edge.
"There is no 'us,'" Harry says carefully. "There hasn't been for five years."
"And whose fault is that?" Daniela turns to face him, her expression shifting into something softer, more vulnerable. "I made a mistake, Harry. I know that now. Leaving you—leaving this—it was the biggest regret of my life."
She moves closer, her hand coming up to rest on his chest. He can feel the warmth of her palm through the silk of his shirt, and he steps back, putting distance between them.
"Daniela— "
"Do you remember that weekend in the Hamptons?" Her voice drops, husky with manufactured nostalgia. "That little bed and breakfast by the water? You said you'd never been happier. You said you wanted to spend the rest of your life making me feel the way I made you feel."
Harry's jaw tightens. "I said a lot of things back then. I was young and stupid."
"You were in love." She steps closer again, closing the gap he'd created. "We both were. And I think, I know, that kind of love doesn't just disappear. It's still there, Harry. I can feel it."
Her hand reaches for his face, and he catches her wrist before she can make contact.
"Stop."
"Harry— "
"I said stop." His voice is harder now, the professional mask slipping. "Whatever you're trying to do here, it's not going to work. I'm not the same person I was five years ago, and I'm not interested in revisiting the past."
. A flicker of wounded pride, or simple frustration, crosses Daniela's eyes."Is this about her? Your little resident?"
Harry's grip on her wrist tightens involuntarily. "Her name is Y/N."
"I know her name." Daniela's voice takes on a bitter edge. "I also know that she's barely out of medical school, that she has no idea what she's doing, and that she's completely wrong for you."
"You don't know anything about her."
"I know she's not me." Daniela pulls her wrist free, her composure cracking. "I know that whatever you think you feel for her, it's not real. It's infatuation. It's the thrill of something new and forbidden. But it won't last, Harry. It never does."
Harry takes a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. "I have a date tonight. With Y/N. So whatever you came here to accomplish, I need you to leave."
The words land like a slap.
Daniela's expression transforms. The soft vulnerability vanished, replaced by something ugly and raw. Her lips curl into a sneer, her eyes hardening with barely contained fury.
"A date," she repeats, her voice dripping with contempt. "With that bitch."
"Watch your mouth."
"Oh, please." Daniela laughs, the sound harsh and mirthless. "You're defending her? Harry, open your eyes. She doesn't care about you. She's a nobody. A first-year resident with mediocre skills and an overinflated ego. The only reason she's interested in you is because of what you can do for her career."
Harry feels anger rising in his chest, hot and dangerous. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" Daniela's voice rises, her composure shattering completely. "I've seen the way she looks at you. The way she positions herself to get your attention. She's calculating, Harry. Everything she does is designed to make you notice her, to make you invest in her, to make you think she's something special."
She steps closer, jabbing a finger at his chest.
"She's using you. For your reputation, your connections, your status. The second she gets what she wants, the second someone better comes along, she'll drop you without a backward glance. Just like— "
"Just like you did?"
The words cut through Daniela's tirade like a scalpel. She freezes, her mouth still open, her finger still pointed at his chest.
Harry's voice is quiet now, controlled, but there's steel beneath the calm.
"You left me, Daniela. You took a job across the country without even discussing it with me. You threw away three years of our lives because Johns Hopkins made you a better offer." He steps forward, and for the first time, she steps back. "And now you have the audacity to stand in my apartment and call Y/N a gold digger? To accuse her of using me for status?"
"That's different— "
"How?" Harry demands. "How is it different? You made a choice. You chose your career over our relationship. And that's fine—I've made my peace with it. But you don't get to come back now, five years later, and poison what I have with someone else because you've decided you made a mistake."
Daniela's face has gone pale, her bravado crumbling. "Harry, I— "
"I want you to leave." His voice is final. "I want you to stay away from Y/N. And when your research collaboration is finished, I want you to go back to Baltimore and forget this conversation ever happened."
"You can't just— "
"I can." Harry moves to the door, pulling it open. "I'm the Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery, and you're a guest in my department. If you can't maintain professional boundaries, I'll have no choice but to end the collaboration early."
Daniela stares at him, her chest heaving with barely suppressed emotion. For a moment, he thinks she might argue or scream, might cry, might do something dramatic and destructive.
But then the fight drains out of her.
She straightens her spine, smooths her dress, and walks toward the door with as much dignity as she can muster. As she passes him, she pauses, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper.
"You'll regret this. When she breaks your heart, and she will, you'll remember that I tried to warn you."
"Goodbye, Daniela."
He closes the door behind her, the click of the latch echoing in the sudden silence of his apartment.
Harry stands there for a long moment, his hand still on the doorknob, his heart racing with residual adrenaline. The encounter has left him shaken in ways he doesn't want to examine too closely. OOld wounds reopened and old fears stirred up.
But beneath the turmoil, there's something else. Something solid and certain.
Y/N.
He pulls out his phone, checking the time. He's going to be late if he doesn't leave now.
He locks the door behind him and heads for his car, leaving the ghost of Daniela's accusations behind.
Tonight is about the future. About possibility. About a woman who challenges him and infuriates him and makes him feel more alive than he has in years.
Everything else can wait.
Harry parks his car outside Y/N's building and sits for a moment, hands still gripped around the steering wheel.
He should be nervous. By all rights, his stomach should be in knots, his palms sweating, his mind racing through worst-case scenarios the way it always does before important moments.
But as he steps out of the car and walks toward her building, something unexpected happens.
The anxiety doesn't intensify. It doesn't build with each step, doesn't crescendo as he enters the lobby and presses the elevator button.
Instead, it dissolves.
With every floor the elevator climbs, Harry feels something else settling into his bones. Something warm and steady and utterly foreign. It's not excitement, though that's there too. It's not anticipation, though he's practically vibrating with the need to see her.
It's peace.
The realization is so startling that he actually stops in the hallway outside her apartment, one hand raised to knock, just...processing.
Y/N makes him peaceful.
Not calm in the way surgery makes him calm. That focused, controlled state where everything else falls away and only the work remains. This is different. Softer. It's the feeling of coming home after a brutal shift, of sinking into a hot bath after a marathon surgery, of finally taking a full breath after holding it for too long.
She's chaos and challenge and constant provocation. She argues with him, pushes back, refuses to make anything easy.
And somehow, inexplicably, being near her is the most settled he's felt in years.
Harry knocks before he can spiral further into that particular revelation.
Footsteps approach from inside—quick, light, accompanied by what sounds like a muffled curse and something clattering to the floor. Despite everything, he smiles.
The door swings open.
And Harry's entire world tilts on its axis.
Christ, she looks—
His brain, usually so reliable with its vocabulary and quick wit, completely short-circuits.
The dress is simple, elegant. A sleeveless sheath that skims her curves without clinging, falling just above her knees. Nothing overtly provocative about it. Nothing that should make his mouth go dry and his heart forget how to function properly.
But it's her.
Her hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, catching the light from her apartment. She's wearing makeup—not much, just enough to emphasize her eyes and the curve of her lips. There's a slight flush to her cheeks, nervous energy radiating from her in waves.
She's breathtaking.
And Harry realizes, with the kind of clarity that comes once in a lifetime, that he's completely and utterly fucked.
Because he's in love with her.
Not falling. Not heading in that direction. Already there. Completely, irrevocably, terrifyingly in love.
When did this happen?
Was it San Francisco, when she fell asleep on his shoulder and he spent the entire flight memorizing the rhythm of her breathing? Was it the conference, watching her command a room full of surgeons twice her age with nothing but confidence and brilliance? Was it the hotel room, her lips against his, the taste of her burning itself into his memory?
Or was it earlier than that? The first time she challenged him in the OR, fire in her eyes and steel in her spine? The first time she made him laugh, actually laugh, not the polite chuckle he offers to colleagues, but a real, surprised burst of joy? The first time he caught himself looking for her in the halls, his day feeling incomplete until he'd seen her face?
It doesn't matter. The when is irrelevant. The point is that it's happened, and there's no going back.
Harry Styles, who swore he'd never let anyone close enough to hurt him again, who built his reputation on control and precision and emotional distance, has fallen completely and utterly in love with his resident.
And the strangest part?
He's okay with it.
The knowledge hits him like a defibrillator to the chest. Sudden, violent, and impossible to ignore.
He's a cardiologist. He's spent his entire adult life studying the human heart, learning its rhythms, understanding its mechanics. He knows every chamber, every valve, every electrical pathway. He can diagnose arrhythmias from an EKG at fifty paces. He's performed hundreds of surgeries, held the organ in his hands, felt it beat against his palms.
But gun to his head, he couldn't tell you what the bastard is doing right now.
It's not racing...not exactly. It's not skipping beats or fluttering or doing any of the things that would indicate a medical emergency.
It's just...full.
Impossibly, overwhelmingly full, like someone's pumped it full of something warm and golden and completely foreign to his usual emotional landscape.
Y/N is looking at him, her expression shifting from nervous to concerned.
"Harry? Are you okay? You're just...standing there. Is it the dress? I knew I should have gone with the blue one—"
"No." The word comes out rougher than he intended, scraped raw by the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. "No, the dress is...you're..."
He trails off, shaking his head, a disbelieving laugh escaping his lips.
"I'm a surgeon," he says slowly. "I'm supposed to be articulate. I give presentations to rooms full of people. I explain complex procedures to patients and their families every day. And right now, looking at you, I can't form a complete sentence."
Y/N's blush deepens, but she's smiling now, that shy, pleased smile that makes his chest ache. "That's either very flattering or very concerning."
"Flattering," Harry assures her. "Definitely flattering."
He reaches out, his hand finding hers like it's the most natural thing in the world. Her fingers are cool against his palm, and he brings them to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
"You're beautiful," he murmurs against her skin. "You're so beautiful it's actually making me stupid."
Y/N laughs that bright, unguarded sound that he's become addicted to."Stupid looks good on you."
"Everything looks good on me."
"And there's the arrogance. I was worried you'd been replaced by a pod person."
Harry grins "Never. You're stuck with the real me, I'm afraid. Ego and all."
Harry steps forward, close enough that he can smell her perfume, something light and citrusy that he knows he'll associate with this moment for the rest of his life. "You could be wearing scrubs and you'd still be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
Y/N's eyes widen slightly. "That's...very smooth, Dr. Styles."
"I'm not trying to be smooth." He reaches out, his other hand finding hers, their fingers threading together with an ease that feels like muscle memory. "I'm just telling you the truth."
She looks down at their joined hands, then back up at him, and he sees his own feelings reflected in her expression
"We should probably go," she says softly. "Before we're late to our reservation."
"Probably."
Neither of them moves.
Harry's thumb traces circles on the back of her hand, and he marvels at how something so simple can feel so monumental. This quiet moment in her doorway, her hand in his, the city humming with life beyond her windows, this is what contentment feels like.
Not the rush of a successful surgery. Not the satisfaction of a difficult diagnosis. Not the thrill of professional recognition or academic achievement.
Just...her.
He's spent years building walls, maintaining distance, keeping people at arm's length because it was safer that way. Easier. Less complicated.
He should be terrified. This feeling, this bone-deep certainty that she's changed everything should send him running in the opposite direction.
But standing here, watching the way the light catches in her hair, feeling the warmth of her hand in his, Harry realizes something else.
He's okay with it.
More than okay. For the first time in five years, maybe longer, he's exactly where he's supposed to be.
Harry smiles, bringing their joined hands up to press a kiss to her knuckles.
"Come on, Dr. Y/L/N. We have a very expensive dinner reservation and a prescription to fill."
She grabs her purse and locks the door, falling into step beside him as they walk down the hallway.
And if Harry keeps hold of her hand the entire way and in the elevator, through the lobby, all the way to his car, well…
He's a cardiothoracic surgeon. He knows better than anyone how important it is to protect the heart.
Even when it's already been given away.
What do we think of this part? :) Thank you all for reading and for your support! I read every comment, ask, and reblog. It means the world to me 🫶🏻
Im sooooo in love with this!! He s a yearner your honor
I appreciate so much the fact that she s not backing down when she talks. She seems so real, full of emotions, both of them really, but i especially adore how she maintains her ground and is rational. Very delicious story, impeccable writing. 100000 reblogs neow
Summary: based on this request. An encounter at a restaurant brings together Y/N, a hardworking waitress with little time for love, and Harry, a successful yet guarded man who fears opening up. Both hesitant to risk their hearts, they find themselves drawn to each other, their bond growing through late-night conversations, stolen moments, and quiet acts of understanding.
A/n: Hi again!! my second one shot out there! i’m so excited! i hope you all enjoy it and thanks to @panini for sending the request i enjoyed writing this sooo much. If you wish to be tagged in other works please comment, or dm me.
Word count: 8k
Warnings: A tiny bit of angst, use of y/n, casual alcohol consumption over dinner, 700 words of SMUT at the end, use of puppy and daddy, unprotected sex. (If i missed something please do not hesitate to tell me)
“Can you grab table 6 for me?” you asked Mandy while balancing three cocktails on a tray, your fingers trembling slightly from the weight. It was Valentine’s season, and Velours et Flamme was packed to the brim. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses echoed through the gilded dining room, where even the flickering candlelight seemed to exude wealth.
It didn’t matter that it wasn’t Valentine’s Day yet—everyone wanted their moment under the chandeliers. For them, it was romance; for you, it was a chaotic shift.
You’d been working at Velours et Flamme for a year now, and you knew the drill: smug diners with wallets thicker than your rent, checks that could pay off your student loans, and that absurd scotch on the menu—£1,500 a pour. To this day, you were waiting for the kind of client who would actually order it.
“Sure thing,” Mandy said with a wink, swooping past you with practiced ease. She had a knack for smoothing things over, whether it was with a picky customer or a stressed coworker. If Mandy wasn’t here, you weren’t sure how you’d survive these shifts.
London was unforgiving, and the pay barely covered the essentials—your rent, your transit card, and the occasional discount coffee from the café down the street. Your shoes, now with a small but growing hole near the toe, told the story of just how tight things had become. God forbid you needed to replace anything.
As Mandy headed for table 6, you stole a moment to glance around the room. The scent of truffle oil and roasted lamb was in the air, mingling with the sharper scent of overpriced cologne. Couples leaned in close at every table, champagne glasses raised, their conversations drowning in the clinking cutlery and soft piano music. Mandy, as usual, glided effortlessly between the chaos. She was stunning—like she belonged on the cover of Vogue instead of weaving through tables at Velours. The way she carried herself, you wouldn’t guess she was struggling just as much as you were. But you knew better. Beneath her flawless smile and the perfectly knotted apron, she was just like you: one bad week away from disaster.
You adjusted the tray in your hands and sighed. This was your life now. Maybe someday you’d climb out of this rut, but for now, it was all about surviving one shift at a time.
Just as you turned to deliver the drinks to table 9, the heavy oak doors of the restaurant creaked open, and the cold London air swept in. You glanced toward the entrance, catching sight of a man walking in. His tailored coat was with some raindrops, and his dark hair was just long enough to curl at the edges.
He was greeted by the host, and you caught his name—Harry Styles. You watched as the host confirmed his reservation.
Harry was alone, which was odd for this time of year. Valentine’s season practically demanded companionship at a place like this. But maybe his date was running late. Or his wife? You glanced at his left hand, but from this distance, it was impossible to tell.
He looked about 33, though it was hard to pin down exactly—youthful yet mature, effortlessly put-together in a way that suggested his wardrobe cost more than your yearly salary. His tailored black coat hung perfectly over broad shoulders, and when he ran a hand through his hair, the movement seemed practiced, like he was used to being observed.
And worth a million dollars? That part wasn’t in question. Everything about him screamed money—the subtle watch peeking out from his cuff, the polished leather boots, the way he carried himself like the room was his even though he’d just walked in.
The host gestured for him to follow, leading him straight to a table in your section. Your section.
You felt a flicker of something—nerves? Annoyance? You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. All you knew was that your curiosity had been piqued. You adjusted your apron and reached for the notepad tucked into your pocket, readying yourself to take his order.
Before you could take a step, Mandy appeared at your side, her lips curving into a sly smile.
“Think that’s the guy who’s finally ordering the scotch?” she teased, nudging you with her elbow.
You snorted softly, shaking your head. “If he does, I’ll frame the receipt,” you muttered.
Mandy’s grin widened, and she winked before sashaying off toward table 6.
You took a steadying breath and made your way toward his table. As you approached, you couldn’t help but notice how his gaze briefly flicked up from the menu he’d been scanning
“Good evening,” you said, forcing your voice to steady as you reached his table. “Welcome to Velours et Flamme. Can I start you off with something to drink?”
He looked towards his phone on the table “Just water for now, thanks,” he said, his voice rich and smooth, but maybe with a tired undertone
Not the scotch, then.
“Of course,” you replied, scribbling it down. You walked towards the bar and Mandy was there patiently waiting
“The scotch??” she asked, her smile mischievous as her eyes flicked over your shoulder in the direction of his table.
“Water,” you said, your voice tinged with mock defeat as you plopped your notepad on the counter.
Mandy looked at you for a moment before the bartender slid the glass of water across the counter. She grabbed it and handed it to you with a knowing smile. “C’mon don’t be so sad, we will find that scotch guy”
You laughed softly, shaking your head as you headed back to his table. As you approached, you couldn’t help but glance at him again—his fingers tapping idly against the edge of the table, his eyes scanning the room but never settling on anything. There was something about him, something you couldn’t quite place.
“Here you go,” you said, placing the glass of water on the table.
“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “Can I get the smoked salmon, the asparagus salad, and…” He paused, finally looking at you. The pause lingered longer than you expected. “A Blackthorn Reserve. Neat,” he finished, his gaze still fixed on you.
“Smoked salmon, asparagus salad, and Blackthorn Reserve,” you repeated, trying to read him, but his expression gave nothing away.
“Thanks…” he said going back to his phone
No date, no wife—just him, casually dining in an absurdly expensive restaurant while everyone else was tangled in whispered conversations and candlelit stares. He was the only one alone, a stark contrast to the Valentine’s frenzy buzzing around.
Something about him tugged at your curiosity. Why was he here, of all places? Who was he? How much was his coat, and why did it cost more than your rent? Rich men came and went every day, dripping with smugness and entitlement, but he was different. There was no show, no pretense. He treated this place like it was McDonald’s—calm, unbothered, as if the exclusivity and extravagance meant nothing to him. That nonchalance only added to the mystery, making it impossible not to wonder what his story was.
The bar hummed with activity, a low symphony of clinking glasses, muted laughter, and the occasional scrape of chairs against polished wood. You navigated the crowd, the weight of the tray in your hand feeling oddly grounding amidst the chaos.
“Can I get a Blackthorne Reserve, neat?” you said to the bartender on call. He barely glanced up, focused on shaking a cocktail for the group at the other end of the counter. The momentary wait was a blessing—giving you a second to steal a glance at him again. He sat at the corner table, the one slightly shrouded in shadow. His posture was relaxed, one hand tracing the rim of the empty glass in front of him.
When his drink was ready, you balanced the tray carefully and made your way over. The coaster slid neatly onto the table before you placed the drink on top.
“Blackthorne Reserve, neat,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt.
He looked up, his expression calm yet unreadable. “Thanks... Can I get your name, please?” His tone was casual, but his words carried a strange weight that made your heart stutter.
“Y/N, sir,” you replied, meeting his gaze for a second longer than you intended.
“Thanks, Y/N.” He smiled then—a small, soft smile that you could feel, inexplicably, in your chest.
You nodded and turned away, heading to the next table, though you were suddenly more aware of the way you moved. You kept busy—taking orders, clearing plates, laughing politely at some table’s joke. Yet, every so often, your gaze wandered back to him. He wasn’t demanding, not like some of the regulars who snapped fingers or tapped glasses. No, he sat with an air of quiet patience, occasionally checking his phone, occasionally glancing around the room. You wondered what had brought him here tonight. A celebration? A distraction?
When his dinner order was ready, you rushed to the kitchen pass, grabbing the plate with a precision born of habit. You steadied your breathing as you approached his table, placing the dish down with care.
“Smoked salmon and asparagus salad,” you announced.
“Perfect, Y/N. Thank you so much,” he said, and there it was again—the faint curve of his lips, his voice as soft as it was warm.
The evening rush began to taper off, leaving the restaurant quieter but no less busy. You caught sight of him still at his table, the remnants of his meal neatly pushed to the side. His glass sat empty now, save for the last amber droplet at the bottom, and you found yourself wondering if he was ready to leave.
Before you could approach, he raised his hand slightly—a small, deliberate gesture that seemed to summon only you.
“Another Blackthorne Reserve?” he asked when you were close enough to hear.
“Of course, sir.”
“Drop the ‘sir,’ please,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a barely-there smile. “Harry, my name it’s Harry”
You felt a flush of warmth creep up your neck but nodded. “Coming right up, Harry”
At the bar, you relayed the order, watching out of the corner of your eye as he leaned back in his chair, gaze drifting lazily around the room. By the time his drink was ready, you were certain he had no intention of rushing out. You placed the glass in front of him with the same careful precision. “Blackthorne Reserve,” you said softly.
“Thank you, Y/N,” he said, his voice quieter now, as though the dimming energy of the restaurant had reached him too.
“Anything else?” you said softly
He didn’t immediately answered instead, he cradled the glass in his hands, staring down at the dark liquid for a moment before lifting his gaze again. His eyes roamed the room, landing briefly on each table. Couples sat scattered around the restaurant—some leaning close, sharing quiet conversations; others laughing over shared plates. A few tables sat in comfortable silence, the kind that came from years of companionship. And then at you.
“Busy night,” he murmured, catching you lingering nearby.
You looked around as if you didn’t knew it ws a busy night, then nodded. “Always is, especially with so many couples out. Valentine’s coming up”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice carrying a wistful note. He swirled the drink in his glass before taking a slow sip. “Guess I picked the wrong night to dine alone.”
The words caught you off guard, but you managed a polite smile. “Some people prefer it. A quiet drink, good food—it’s not a bad way to spend an evening.”
He looked at you then, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “What about you? Do you get much time for quiet evenings like this?”
The question was unexpected, and you faltered. “Not much,” you admitted. “Work keeps me busy.”
He nodded, as if that answer satisfied him, but there was something in his gaze that lingered. It felt like he wanted to say more but didn’t. As the evening wore on, he stayed longer than most, nursing his second drink and watching the world around him with a quiet attentiveness. You found yourself glancing his way more often than you meant to, wondering what kept him there—and whether he might ask for something else before the night was over.
The restaurant was nearly empty now, the hum of conversation replaced by the clatter of plates being cleared and the occasional murmur of the remaining people. You passed by his table one last time, noting the way he stared into the near-empty glass, lost in thought.
As if sensing your presence, he looked up and offered a faint smile. “Can I get the check, please?”
You nodded, quickly retrieving the bill and placing it on the table. “Here you go.”
He glanced at it, pulled out a sleek black card, and handed it back to you. “Thanks, Y/N.”
The transaction was quick, and when you returned with the receipt, he stood, slipping the signed copy back into your hands.
“Have a good night,” he said softly, pausing just long enough to meet your eyes before heading toward the door.You watched him leave, his figure disappearing into the cool night air. The faint sound of the door closing behind him was a strange punctuation mark to the evening—unremarkable, yet lingering all the same.
And then, the rhythm of work pulled you back, but you couldn’t quite shake the weight of his presence.
“Y/N? C’mon there’s a lot of mess here” you heard Mandy and glanced at her, plates, glasses, napkins. It was going to be a long week.
-----
Valentine’s day arrived and the soft murmur of conversations filled the elegant space of Velours et Flamme. You were just adjusting a neatly folded napkin at your station. It was already late, just 2 hours before closing, couples were coming and going, but this was the last shift of reservations
“Good evening, welcome to Velours et Flamme. Do you have a reservation?” the host asked.
“Yes, Styles. Harry Styles,” came the reply. His voice was smooth, distinct, and enough to draw your eyes toward him. Standing tall in a sleek coat.
“Table 11, if possible,” he added with a polite nod, his gaze drifting briefly over the dining area.
“Table 11 is currently busy, but I can offer you 19. It’s a lovely table by the window.”
There was a brief pause “19 it is,” he said, his voice tinged with reluctance.
The host gestured toward the far side of the room, leading him past softly glowing tables and couples lost in intimate conversations. He sat down, still looking for you but his perspective was interrupted by Mandy, the epitome of calm under pressure, She greeted him warmly, placing a menu on the table. “Good evening, sir. Welcome to Velours et Flamme. Can I start you off with a drink tonight?”
He looked up from the menu, his polite smile softening as he spoke. “Thanks, but before I order… Is Y/N working tonight?”
Mandy blinked, caught off guard, but quickly recovered. “Y/N? Oh, yes, she’s here tonight. She’s been covering the other section.”
He leaned back slightly in his chair, his expression unreadable “Do you think she could take my table instead?”
Mandy’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Of course. Let me check with her, and I’ll be right back.”
As Mandy walked toward you, you noticed her smirking like she was holding onto some juicy secret. “You’ve got a request,” she said, her tone teasing.
Your brows furrowed. “A request? For what?”
“For you,” she said, nodding toward table 19. “Mr. Styles wants you to take his table. Any idea what that’s about?”
Your stomach flipped at the mention of his name. You clearly remembered him from two nights ago. You wiped your hands on your apron, trying to steady yourself. “I’ll take it and you can take table 10 for me” you said, as you headed toward his table.
When you arrived, he looked up, his expression softening into a warm smile. “Y/N,” he said, your name sounding effortless on his lips. “Good to see you.”
“Good evening, Mr. Styles,” you replied, your voice steady despite the quickening beat of your heart. “I’ll be taking care of your table tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?”
“Wine, Soléne Blanc, Truffle-infused Fettuccine and sparkling water” he said not even looking at the menu
“Coming right up” you said smiling, you somehow felt happy, you had your usuals clients, but they were cold, smug, mostly annoying, him? totally different vibe.
You kept serving him with a small smile, always checking in case he needed something, but he didn’t ask for much. He ate quietly, sipping his wine and enjoying his pasta like it was just another evening out. Like if the restaurant wasn’t all decorated with heart balloons and cupid stuff.
The night went on, and the restaurant slowly emptied. Couples left hand in hand, tables were cleared, and the soft hum of conversation faded away. Eventually, it was just one other customer in the far corner—and him. You busied yourself wiping down tables and resetting for the next day, glancing at his table now and then. He didn’t look like he was in a rush, finishing his wine and leaning back slightly in his chair.
Finally, he raised his hand, and you walked over, thinking he was ready to leave.
“Would you like the check, Mr. Styles?” you asked politely, ready to grab it for him.
But instead of nodding, he looked up at you, his expression calm but curious. “Not just yet,” he said. “Are you allowed to sit down for a bit?”
The question caught you off guard. “Yes, of course,” you said, glancing around. The manager and the host had gone home early that day to be with their SOs, but you? Along with the servers, chefs, and cleaning staff? Yeah, no such luck.
You sat down across from him, feeling a bit nervous, not sure what this was all about.
“You know,” he started, his tone hesitant, “I don’t know if this is weird at all—and you can tell me to fuck off if it is—but...” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t have many friends, and tonight... I just need to vent.”
“Well, I’m a good listener,” you replied, suddenly way more curious than before.
He exhaled deeply, his hand still resting on the base of his glass. “It’s Valentine’s Day, you know?” he started, glancing out the window. “Supposed to be about love, connection... all that.” He let out a dry laugh. “But here I am, eating dinner alone, wondering if I’ve got it all wrong.”
You tilted your head slightly, encouraging him to go on.
“My love life?” he said, leaning back in his chair. “It’s... nonexistent. And it’s not like I haven’t tried. But most people don’t stick around. They see me, and they assume—‘CEO,’ right? So they’re either intimidated or they expect me to be some larger-than-life, perfect version of myself. I end up pushing people away because... what’s the point? I’ll never be what they want me to be. And even if I could... it wouldn’t feel real.”
He paused, his expression softening. “It’s stupid, isn’t it? A room full of people earlier tonight, and I’ve never felt lonelier. Sometimes, it feels like there’s this... wall between me and the rest of the world. Like I’ll never find someone who’s really... my person.”
Your heart ached a little at his words. “I don’t think that’s stupid at all,” you said softly. “I mean, I get it... in a way. Maybe not from a CEO perspective,” you added with a small laugh, “but... I get it.”
You leaned forward, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of the table. “I’ve been working as a waitress for years now. Just trying to make ends meet, you know? And between shifts and side jobs, there’s no time for... anything else. No time for dating or even dreaming about a real future.
“The few boyfriends I’ve had?” you continued, shaking your head. “They never got it. They’d complain about me working too much or not spending enough time with them. But they never thought about my goals—what I wanted. And let’s be real,” you added with a small shrug, “it’s not like my paycheck could make those dreams happen anyway. So, yeah, I guess I’ve given up on that, too. What’s the point, right?”
You let out a short laugh, trying to lighten the moment, but he didn’t laugh with you. Instead, he studied you, his expression softening even more.
“It’s different,” you said quickly, “but... I think I understand. Feeling like you’re giving so much of yourself but never really... being seen.”
He nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on yours. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Exactly that.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sounds of the kitchen winding down and the soft hum of the music filled the space between you.
“Thanks”
“Anytime”
-----
After that first night, when he opened up to you, something shifted. He became a regular, showing up more often than you expected. Always in your section. Always polite, Always Harry. with that soft smile that somehow made your stomach flip no matter how much you tried to ignore it. And yet, every time he walked through the door, you felt a tiny pang of dread mixed with curiosity.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t kind—he was. He never made you feel uncomfortable, never crossed a line. But that was exactly the problem. It was too easy to talk to him, to laugh at his dry jokes or share fleeting glimpses of yourself you hadn’t meant to reveal. You’d been down this road before, or so you told yourself. You knew what happened when you let someone in. It started with little things—a laugh, a smile, a shared moment. And before you knew it, your heart was tied up in something messy, something that always felt like it demanded too much of you.
Your exes had taught you that love wasn’t about equal footing, at least not for someone like you. Love had been another job, another place where you had to prove yourself, where your dreams took a backseat because someone else needed more—more time, more attention, more of you.
And now, here he was. Harry. A man who, on the surface, seemed worlds apart from you but had a way of making you feel like he truly saw you. And that terrified you.
Because what if he didn’t? What if, like everyone else, he was drawn to an idea of you—someone kind, patient, maybe even a little mysterious—but not the real you? The one who worked double shifts just to keep the lights on, who barely had time to think about her own dreams, let alone share them with someone else?
So, you kept your walls up. You kept things professional, polite. You smiled, laughed when it felt safe, but you never let yourself think too much about why his visits mattered or why your heart raced when you saw him.
Until that night.
You brought the check over as you always did, a practiced smile on your face. He signed it, handed it back, and thanked you like he always did. But rushed to go out.
When you glanced down at the receipt, your breath caught.
“123-456-7890 Call me? - Harry”
The number scrawled below it was neat, confident, like he hadn’t hesitated for a second. But you did.
You gripped the paper tightly, your mind spinning. This was the moment you dreaded—the moment where things teetered on the edge of something more. And with it came all the fears you’d been trying to bury.
Because what if he meant it? What if he actually wanted something real? What if he saw more in you than you could see in yourself? And maybe worst of all... what if you let yourself hope, only to have it all fall apart again?
You froze for a moment, staring at the slip of paper, your mind racing. He had just walked out the door, and you glanced after him through the window, catching the faintest glimpse of his silhouette.
-----
A few nights passed, and you convinced yourself that ignoring the receipt was the right thing to do. The thought of calling him felt too big, too real. You’d gotten good at guarding your heart, at keeping things simple. But deep down, you felt the faint sting of regret every time you thought about it.
Then, on a quiet evening, as the rush died down, there he was.
You saw him before he saw you, his figure familiar now, confident but approachable. He made his way to the host stand, scanning the room until his eyes landed on you. His smile was soft, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t entirely sure he’d made the right decision coming back.
“Table 11 again?” he asked the host.
---
You approached, trying to steady your nerves. “Good evening,” you said, your voice quieter than usual.
“Hi,” he replied, leaning slightly forward. His expression wasn’t upset, but there was something thoughtful in his eyes. “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by.”
You shook your head, unsure what to say. “Why would i?”
“I just wanted to check in,” he said. “About the number. I wasn’t sure if I crossed a line leaving it. If I did, I’m really sorry. That wasn’t my intention.”
You blinked, surprised. The last thing you expected was for him to apologize. God you expected an angry response, even pretentious but you even scolded yourself in your mind just thinking Harry was capable of that. “No, you didn’t cross a line,” you said quickly. “Not at all. It’s just...” You hesitated, feeling your walls crack ever so slightly. “It’s complicated.”
“I get that,” he said softly, leaning back in his chair. “I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I’d want.” The sincerity in his voice made something shift in you. For all your fears about opening up, he was here, not pushing, not demanding, just... waiting.
The crack on your walls was now getting bigger.
“Thank you,” you murmured. “For saying that. And for... being patient.”
He nodded, smiling faintly. “I figured it was worth it. You seem worth it.”
The words hung between you, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. Your chest felt tight, like you were standing at the edge of something unknown. And then, before you could overthink it, you made a decision.
One wall completely down.
You reached into your apron pocket, your fingers brushing against the scrap of paper you’d tucked away days ago. Slowly, you slid it out, unfolding it carefully before placing it on the table in front of him.
He glanced down, his brows lifting slightly as he recognized the paper.
“I didn’t call i did save the number in my phone but..i didn’t call…” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because I was scared. I’ve always been scared. But maybe...” You took a shaky breath. “Maybe I’m tired of being scared.”
His eyes softened, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something you hadn’t let yourself hope for—understanding, warmth, maybe even relief.
“So,” you continued, your voice steadying as you looked him in the eye. “If the offer’s still open, I’d like to start over.”
His smile widened, and he picked up the slip of paper, tucking it into his jacket pocket like it was something precious.
“The offer’s still open,” he said, his tone light but full of meaning.
For the first time in a long time, you let yourself smile back.
“Can I start you off with something to drink?” you said going back to your waitress self, but this time with a big smile on your face.
The rest of the night carried an air of something new, something unspoken. You noticed it in the way his gaze lingered as you brought over his glass of wine—a different one tonight, a crisp Sauvignon Blanc.
“You’re not sticking to a favorite?” you teased lightly as you set the glass down.
He smirked, his fingers brushing the stem. “I like variety. Keeps things interesting.”
“Does that apply to everything or just wine?” you asked, surprising yourself with the boldness.
He chuckled “Guess you’ll have to find out.”
The banter flowed easily after that, your interactions feeling more relaxed, almost playful. When you brought out his dinner—tonight, a wild mushroom risotto—you couldn’t help but make a small quip.
“Risotto,” you said, placing the plate down. “Trying to impress someone tonight?”
“Just my server,” he replied smoothly, making you glance away with a shy smile.
As the evening wore on and the restaurant began to empty, you found yourself gravitating toward his table more often. He didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he welcomed your presence with a smile each time. When he finally asked for the check you came quickly and handed it over.
“Thanks,” he said, glancing up as he pulled out his card. “Should i leave another note on the receipt or should i ask right away?”
You laughed, rolling your eyes. “About what?”
He handed back the signed receipt, a sly grin on his face. “Well, if we are skipping the middleman. Have dinner with me—somewhere that isn’t here. I promise I won’t make you serve me.”
You blinked, caught off guard by how casually he’d said it. “You’re asking me out?”
“Too fast?” he teased.
“A little,” you admitted, but your heart was pounding. “But i like it this time”
He stood, shrugging on his jacket. “Well, think about it. No pressure. Just... somewhere nice, where we can talk and you don’t have to carry plates around.”
You couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face. “Okay,” you said softly. “But only if I get to pick the place, no fancy Michelin-star restaurants.”
“Deal,” he said, standing and shrugging on his coat. “But just so you know, I’m good with street tacos or diner burgers.”
The laugh that bubbled out of you was genuine, and as he waved goodnight and walked out into the night, you realized you were already looking forward to whatever came next.
-----
The dates started slow, testing the waters of this new, fragile connection. Their first was at a cozy, family-owned pizzeria, far removed from the polished dining spaces Harry was used to frequenting. They sat in a corner booth, sharing stories over thin-crust slices and soda. You learned that his laugh came easily when he was truly comfortable, and also learned or imagined how wealthy he was. Him telling you about his company didn’t compared how one of your ex-boyfriends talked about a new crypto. He was passionate, honest, not even mentioning how much money he makes in a year, it was pure. As pure as corporate can get.
After that, there was a second date at an indie bookstore. Harry had smiled as you danced from shelf to shelf, excitedly recommending titles, while he kept his hands tucked in his pockets, quietly absorbing your passion. You ended up leaving with two novels you insisted he had to read and a poetry collection he bought, saying, “I thought of you when I saw this.”
Then came the late-night phone calls. You both quickly learned that your lives rarely aligned, but you made the most of the small pockets of time you shared. He’d call after a long day at work, his voice a little tired but steady as he asked about your day. You’d talk quietly from your bed, recounting the chaos of the dinner rush and sharing little anecdotes about your coworkers. sometimes until you fell asleep and he heard your steady breathing through the call.
“Do you ever get a day off?” he joked one night, his voice warm through the receiver.
“Not often,” you admitted. “But I’m used to it. And hey, at least I’m not running a company.”
“Touché,” he replied, laughing softly. “But don’t think for a second I’m not impressed by what you do.”
The weeks passed in a flurry of mismatched schedules and stolen moments. When aligning your off-days seemed impossible, Harry started stopping by the restaurant on his way home from work, not to eat but just to see you.
“Table for one?” you teased the first time he showed up unexpectedly.
“Not quite,” he said with a smile, taking a seat at the bar instead. “Just water, please. I didn’t want to add to your workload. i just wanted to see you”
You brought him the water, leaning against the counter for a brief moment when the restaurant was quiet. “You didn’t have to come all this way,” you said softly.
“I wanted to,” he replied, his gaze steady. “You’re the best part of my day.”
---
The first kiss came on a rainy night after one of those visits. The restaurant was closing, and he had waited outside under the awning as you locked up. When you stepped out into the night, he was there with an umbrella, holding it out for you.
“Need a ride home?” he asked.
You nodded, and he quickly arrived to your place. At your door, there was a brief pause as you turned to thank him.
Before you could speak, he leaned in, his movements precise, as though giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. When his lips met yours, it was soft and sure, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek.
It wasn’t hurried or frantic—it was the kind of kiss that made you feel like you had all the time in the world. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe you deserved this. When he pulled back, his forehead resting lightly against yours, he whispered, “Finally.”
You laughed softly, your cheeks warm despite the cool rain. “Took you long enough.”
And with that, the lines between your busy lives blurred a little more, the moments you carved out for each other feeling less like an interruption and more like a necessity.
----
It happened on an unusually quiet night. You were sitting across from him at his place, a cozy loft that felt miles away from the chaos of the restaurant. The table was littered with the remnants of takeout boxes, and you were laughing at a story he had told about a disastrous business trip. The laughter faded into a comfortable silence, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning your face as if trying to figure out the best way to say something.
“I’ve been thinking,” he started, his tone casual but his expression serious.
“That sounds dangerous,” you teased, though the look on his face made your heart flutter with curiosity.
“I’m serious,” he said with a small smile, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the table. “I’ve been watching how hard you work. You’re on your feet all day, running around, dealing with difficult customers. And then you come home and somehow still have the energy to take care of everything else in your life.”
“That’s just life,” you said, shrugging. “You know how it is. You make it work.”
“I know,” he said, his voice softening. “But it doesn’t have to be like that. Not for you.”
You frowned slightly, unsure of where this was going. “What do you mean?”
He hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. “I’m saying I could offer you something different. A way to work that doesn’t involve twelve-hour shifts and aching feet. Something where you’d have more time for yourself, for your dreams, and…”—his voice faltered just slightly—“for us.”
Your heart skipped a beat, and you leaned back in your chair, trying to process his words. “Harry, are you asking me to quit my job?”
“Not asking,” he clarified quickly. “Just… suggesting. If you wanted to. I could offer you a job. Something in my company, but nothing high-pressure. Maybe in admin, or operations, or whatever you’d like. You’d have a flexible schedule, a good paycheck, and, most importantly, time to breathe.”
Of course he wasn’t asking, he’s Harry, ALWAYS making sure it was purely your decision.
The weight of his offer hung in the air, and you felt a tangle of emotions—gratitude, doubt, and an overwhelming sense of being cared for in a way you hadn’t expected.
“I don’t know,” you said slowly, trying to find the right words. “I’ve always worked for everything I have. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m just…”
“Stop,” he said gently, cutting you off. “This isn’t about charity. It’s about giving someone I care about a chance to live their life differently. You deserve that. And it’s not just for you—it’s for me too. I want to see you happy. I want to see us happy.”
You looked at him, his eyes earnest and unwavering. “And you think this would make me happy?”
“I do,” he said simply. “But it’s your choice. If you’re not ready, or if you want to keep things as they are, that’s okay. I’ll still come to the restaurant and order my overpriced water just to see you.”
That last comment made you laugh, easing the tension in the room. You stared down at the table, tracing the edge of a takeout container with your finger. “What would I even do at your company?” you asked softly.
His expression brightened slightly, and he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Anything you want. Admin, scheduling, planning events—whatever feels right to you. And we can figure it out together. No pressure.”
You bit your lip, considering his words. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”
“Dead serious,” he said, his tone firm but gentle. “You deserve more than what you’ve been settling for. And selfishly…I’d love to have more time with you.”
His honesty warmed you in a way you hadn’t expected. For so long, you’d carried everything alone, convinced that leaning on someone else meant weakness.
But Harry wasn’t asking you to lean on him; he was offering to walk beside you.
“Okay,” you said finally, the word barely audible.
His brows lifted in surprise. “Okay?”
You nodded, a nervous laugh escaping. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll work for you.”
The grin that spread across his face was enough to make your heart skip a beat. “You won’t regret it, I promise.”
“I better not,” you teased, though the smile on your face betrayed your nervousness. “But just so you know, I’m not going to be some pushover employee. If you’re a terrible boss, I’ll quit.”
He chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Fair enough. But I think you’ll find I’m quite charming.”
You rolled your eyes, laughing despite yourself. “We’ll see about that.”
In that moment, the fear you’d been carrying felt lighter. You weren’t just throwing yourself off a cliff—you were trusting that Harry would catch you, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe that was okay.
----
Life had changed in ways neither of you could have imagined. The small apartment you'd once called home was now replaced by a shared space filled with light, laughter, and little touches of each other everywhere—his collection of vinyl records stacked neatly in the corner, your books scattered on the coffee table, and the scent of fresh flowers he insisted on buying for you every week.
You had found a rhythm together, a balance between his busy days running his company and your own work, which had evolved into a role that allowed your creativity to shine. You weren’t just an employee at his company—you were a partner, bringing ideas and energy to projects in ways you never thought possible. And at the heart of it all, there was love. Open, unapologetic, and boundless love.
Mornings were filled with teasing banter over breakfast, and nights ended with shared dreams and whispered promises under the covers. On weekends, you’d go on adventures—sometimes exploring new cities, other times simply enjoying lazy days at home. There was no hesitation in showing how much you adored each other, whether it was in the way he’d kiss your forehead absentmindedly or the way you’d hold his hand tightly in crowded rooms.
One evening, after a particularly exciting day of work, Harry had an idea. “Let’s go out for dinner,” he said, tossing his jacket onto the back of the couch.
“Sure,” you replied, grabbing your shoes. “Where to?”
He paused, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Velours et Flamme.”
You froze for a second, then burst out laughing. “You’re kidding.”
“Not at all,” he said, his grin widening. “It’s been a while. I think it’s time we revisit the place where it all started.”
Despite your initial hesitance, you found yourself walking into the restaurant hand-in-hand with him that evening. The familiar scent of wine and spices filled the air, and the decor, though slightly updated, still held the charm you remembered.
The host greeted you with a polite smile “Welcome to Velours et Flamme. Do you have a reservation?”
“Styles,” Harry said smoothly, squeezing your hand.
You were led to a table by the window, the same spot you’d served him on that Valentine’s Day when everything began. As you sat down, you couldn’t help but feel a wave of nostalgia wash over you.
“This feels surreal,” you admitted, glancing around.
“Good surreal?” he asked, his eyes twinkling as he leaned forward.
“Very good surreal,” you said, smiling and carefully looking at the menu, when an idea quickly popped into your mind. You bit your lip, hesitating for a brief moment before speaking up. “Can I splurge a little? Or maybe… a lot?”
Harry tilted his head, intrigued. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, glancing at the menu with a playful smile.
You took a deep breath, letting your finger trace over the menu’s edges before landing on the words you’d been eyeing. “Cairnburn 18,” you said firmly, looking at him with a small, determined smile.
“Scotch?” he asked, raising an eyebrow but not even glancing at the price.
“It’s something I need to do. Please,” you said softly, a touch of vulnerability in your tone.
He didn’t question it, didn’t protest or ask for a reason. Instead, his expression softened, and he reached for your hand, cradling it gently before bringing it to his lips. The kiss he pressed to the top of your hand was tender, a silent reassurance. “Anything you want,” he said, his voice calm and sincere.
The waiter arrived, and Harry placed the order without hesitation, his gaze never leaving yours. You couldn’t help but feel a swell of gratitude for him in that moment—not just for agreeing, but for understanding without needing an explanation.
As the Cairnburn 18 arrived, the rich, £1,500 a pour, amber liquid catching the light, you smiled and raised your glass to him. “To us,” you said simply.
“To us,” he echoed, clinking his glass gently against yours.
----
You both knew how the rest of the night would go the minute you left the restaurant. Back home, he helped you undress, kissing every inch of exposed skin as he did. When you were bare, he pressed his lips to yours, the heat between you building as his hands roamed over your body.
The way he touched you everytime was unhurried, like he was memorizing every curve. His fingers teased along your collarbone, traced your hips, and softly grabbed your breasts. His hands were everywhere, But nowhere near the place you needed him most.
Finally, he pulled back, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with desire. You let him guide you to the bed, watching as he stripped off his clothes and joined you. The heat of his body was intoxicating, and you found yourself craving more—more contact, more skin, more of him.
He sensed your need because he moved closer, the length of his body pressed against yours, his cock hard and thick against your thigh. You ached for him, the anticipation coiling in you, but he didn't rush.
Instead, he trailed kisses along your neck, his stubble rough against your sensitive skin. His fingers danced along your inner thigh, teasing closer and closer to your folds. When he finally touched you, it was with a firm, confident stroke, his thumb brushing against your clit and making you gasp. "Harry..." you moaned breathless
"Yes puppy?" He asked with an innocent tone and used that nickname that made you weak, and kept up the torturous pace, working you higher and higher until you were a trembling mess beneath him. You moaned, begging him for more, and he finally relented, easing a finger inside of you and setting a relentless rhythm.
“More” Your pleasure built quickly, the intensity making you cry out, but just as you were about to tip over the edge, he pulled away. Before you could protest, he positioned himself between your legs, his cock hard and glistening at the tip.
He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on either side of your head and gazing down at you with a look of pure devotion. "I love you," he whispered, the words sending a thrill through your entire body. "And I'm gonna take care of you, puppy. Always."
With that, he thrust into you, filling you completely and stealing the breath from your lungs. The feeling of him inside you was almost too much, and you clung to him, desperate for more.
"Fuck, Harry," you breathed. He didn't respond, instead burying his face in your neck and moving slowly, deeply, as if he was savoring every moment. His hands roamed your body, teasing and caressing as his hips continued their torturous rhythm.
"Do you like it puppy? me being so deep inside you?"
You could only nod, too overwhelmed to form words. The sensations were overwhelming, the pleasure building and building until it threatened to consume you.
Suddenly, he shifted, changing the angle and hitting a spot deep inside you that made you see stars. "it's so....big" you barely said in a moan
"That's right puppy. Take all of it. Just like that"
You writhed beneath him, unable to hold back the moans spilling from your lips. Your release was within reach, and when he finally slid a hand between your bodies, stroking your clit, it was enough to send you tumbling over the edge. "Come on daddy's cock puppy, don't be shy" he murmured
His words were enough to push you over the edge, your body tensing and trembling as pleasure washed over you. You felt him pulse inside you, and he followed soon after, his breath hot on your neck as he came with a groan filling you with his hot cum.
When the last waves of your orgasm faded, you collapsed against him, completely spent. You both stayed there for a moment, tangled in each other's arms, neither of you willing to break the spell.
Eventually, he pulled out and gathered you into his arms, holding you close. You nuzzled into his chest, breathing in the scent of his skin and the faint trace of his cologne.
Both of you were now cuddled in bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting warm light across the room. Harry’s arm was wrapped securely around you, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your shoulder as you rested your head against his chest, listening to the now steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
Your eyes drifted to the two frames hung just above the bed. The first one held the receipt from the night that had changed everything—the receipt where he’d written his number, sparking a connection that had grown into the life you shared now.
The second frame hung beside it, empty but not forgotten. Its purpose was clear—it was waiting for tonight’s receipt, the one with the Cairnburn 18 scribbled on it. The night where everything had come full circle.
✨ summary: where Harry is a surgeon with a god complex and zero patience, and Y/N is the nurse who finally gives him a reason to lose control.
📝 word count: 6.7k
⚠️ content warning: cursing, smut.
The hospital always felt lonelier after visiting hours ended.
Y/N walked the east wing quietly, shoes squeaking slightly on the polished tile, tablet in hand, charts reviewed and re-reviewed as she moved from one room to the next. The blizzard had started hours ago, thick snow already piling against the base of the windows, warping the light from the streetlamps into a hazy white glow. Outside looked like silence. Inside, it was anything but.
She knocked softly before entering each room, her voice low and even as she checked vitals, adjusted blankets, refilled water cups. Most of her patients were stable, tucked in for the night, but she didn’t like rushing through it. She liked to make sure.
“Everything alright, Mr. Hanley?” she asked, watching the elderly man slowly blink awake. His oxygen cannula had slipped down. She readjusted it gently.
He gave a sleepy grunt and a small thumbs-up. “You’re the nice one,” he muttered, half-asleep already.
She smiled. “Flattery’ll get you another pudding tomorrow.”
By the time she stepped out of the last room, she felt the lull settle in. That strange, static quiet that only happened on overnight shifts. Alarms still beeped. Phones still rang. But everything felt like it was wrapped in cotton.
Then she saw him.
Dr. Harry Styles stood at the far end of the corridor, head bent toward the tablet in his hand, curls shoved under a surgical cap that looked like it had been yanked off and half-put back on during some rush between cases. His scrubs were navy blue, sleeves rolled up to reveal the familiar ink that trailed up both arms. Everything black and clean-lined. Deliberate.
He was talking to a resident, voice low but clipped. The younger doctor nodded quickly, clearly trying to keep up.
Y/N paused near the nurses’ station, pretending to review something on her screen. She didn’t need to see more. She already knew how he carried himself. Controlled. Sharp. Like he didn’t make mistakes and had no patience for people who did.
His gaze flicked up without warning.
She looked back just as quickly, caught in it. His eyes were the same green as sterile scrubs, too observant, too steady. There was no warmth in his expression, no acknowledgment beyond the way his gaze lingered just a second too long.
Then he turned back to his resident like she hadn’t been there at all.
Y/N exhaled slowly and walked to the sink to wash her hands.
It was going to be a long night.
Y/N waited a beat longer than necessary before turning away from the sink. She dried her hands on a rough paper towel, then tucked her tablet against her chest and walked back down the corridor, her sneakers nearly silent on the waxed floor.
Styles had disappeared around the corner. The resident he’d been speaking to was still standing there, staring after him like he’d just barely survived something.
“Everything alright?” Y/N asked as she passed, voice casual.
The resident startled slightly, straightened his posture like he wasn’t just trying to recover from being eviscerated. “Yeah. Yeah, totally. Just… Dr. Styles is in a bit of a mood again.”
Y/N blinked. “Again?”
He gave her a wide-eyed nod and muttered, “Snapped at Dr. Kim in pre-op. Threw out a whole surgical plan in the middle of consult. Said the attending’s note was ‘a waste of perfectly good charting space.’”
She let out a dry, unimpressed breath. “Oh. Great.”
The resident huffed a laugh and rubbed at the back of his neck. “You’re on tonight, right?”
“Until seven.”
“Good luck.”
“I’ll need it,” she muttered, more to herself than to him, already continuing down the hallway.
It wasn’t like Styles was ever particularly pleasant. But when he was like this, edged out, simmering under the surface, he became something worse than just cold. He got sharp. He looked at people like they were wasting his oxygen. He asked questions with traps built into them, like he was daring you to get it wrong.
And she always seemed to be in the blast radius.
Y/N ducked into the breakroom and filled a styrofoam cup with lukewarm coffee. The windows rattled with wind. The lights flickered once.
Blizzard or not, she was stuck here. And so was he.
She took a long sip, bracing herself for the rest of the shift.
The ICU was always colder than the rest of the hospital. Maybe to keep the machines from overheating, maybe to keep people awake. Y/N sat at the computer station just outside Bed 6, typing notes into the chart with practiced precision. Her fingers moved fast, efficient. Respiratory status stable. Vitals within baseline. Family called and updated. She didn’t embellish. She didn’t miss anything either.
She felt him before she saw him.
Footsteps. A familiar rhythm. Confident. Heavy. Like someone who didn’t have to ask permission to be anywhere.
Dr. Styles came around the corner flanked by a tired intern and a surgical resident trying too hard. His expression was unreadable, posture straight, hands in his pockets. His surgical mask hung around his neck like he hadn’t bothered to put it away properly.
Y/N didn’t look up. She didn’t need to.
He stopped near the charting station anyway.
“You’re still on this floor?”
She kept typing. “Mhm.”
Harry didn’t answer right away. She could feel his eyes on the screen over her shoulder. Reading. Judging. Picking apart every word.
“You missed the part about the pleural effusion,” he said calmly.
Y/N clicked through the vitals tab. “Drained during the afternoon rounds. No recurrence.”
He hummed, low in his throat. “Convenient timing.”
She turned slightly in her chair, brow raised. “It’s in the notes.”
“Did you write those too?”
The intern behind him shifted uncomfortably. The resident stared at the floor.
Y/N held his gaze. “Do you ever get tired of being such a dick, or is it like… energizing for you?”
Harry didn’t smile. But something flickered in his eyes, amusement, maybe. Interest, even. He took a step closer, just enough to look down at her like she was some kind of puzzle he hadn’t decided was worth solving.
“Just prefer when people keep up,” he said, voice low and steady. “If you’re going to hover near my patients, the least you can do is be accurate.”
“I wasn’t hovering,” she said flatly. “I was documenting. It’s what nurses do. You should try it sometime.”
He glanced at her again. Not dismissively. Not kindly either. Just long enough for the silence to stretch between them.
Then he turned back to his intern.
“Let’s move. Room 9. Post-op bowel resection.”
He didn’t say her name. Didn’t even acknowledge her again.
But as he walked away, she swore she felt his eyes on her back.
Just for a second.
The post-op wing felt heavier at night. Quieter. As if the walls had finally absorbed enough grief and routine to stop echoing.
Y/N followed the small group of staff down the hallway, tablet tucked to her chest, logging vitals and post-surgical notes. The snow outside blurred the windows in soft streaks, but the cold still crept through. Her shoulder ached from being up too long. She ignored it.
Harry led the group, hands in his pockets, shoulders square. He wasn’t speaking much tonight. He rarely did on rounds unless someone asked something wrong or repeated something obvious. His presence alone usually kept the team sharp.
They stopped at Room 12.
Carolyn Pierce. Mid-sixties. Complicated open cholecystectomy. The kind of case Harry took personally not because it was risky, but because it was old-school. Clean technique, long incision, no room for ego.
Her daughter stood in the doorway.
Y/N recognized her immediately. Clinic scrubs, tired eyes, the tension of someone who’d spent the day building a case in her head.
“Dr. Styles,” she said flatly.
Harry nodded. “Your mother’s progressing. Tolerated liquids. Pain is manageable. We’ll reassess for discharge Monday, weather permitting.”
“She says she hasn’t seen you,” the daughter said, arms crossed.
“She saw the attending this morning.”
“Not you.”
“I reviewed her chart. Overnight. Twice.”
“She still hasn’t physically seen you.”
Harry’s posture didn’t shift. “I round to evaluate. Not to provide moral support.”
Y/N didn’t even try to hide the quick glance she gave him.
The daughter blinked, visibly thrown. “She’s scared. She’s in pain. Maybe try acting like a human being instead of—”
“I’m the most qualified surgeon in this hospital,” Harry said evenly. “And in this state. Possibly beyond. You’re welcome to request a transfer once the roads reopen, but until then, your mother’s care will remain in the hands of a capable team. If reassurance is more important to you than results, you’ve come to the wrong floor.”
Silence followed like it always did after he spoke like that. Controlled. Measured. Clinical to the bone.
Y/N stepped forward, smoothing the tension before it could settle too deep.
“I’ll check in on your mom again in a bit,” she said gently. “Make sure she’s comfortable, see if she needs anything extra. We’ll keep you in the loop if anything changes.”
The daughter stared at her, then gave a short nod and stepped back inside the room.
Harry was already moving down the hall. He didn’t say thank you.
Y/N fell into step beside him, slower than before.
“You ever get tired of being a complete asshole,” she said lightly, “or do you think it’s part of the job description?”
Harry didn’t stop walking. “Do you ever get tired of talking when no one asked?”
She smiled to herself.
“Just wondering. Some people go their whole careers without telling a patient’s family they’re not worth five minutes of their time.”
“I told her the truth.”
“You told her you’re God.”
“Close enough.”
They reached the next room. Harry didn’t glance at her again, but his voice dropped just slightly as he called out the case details to the team.
And when he turned, she caught it, barely.
A flicker of something that almost looked like a grin. He walked with stride down the hallway.
Y/N caught up to him just past the nurse’s station, near the west stairwell where the lights always flickered overhead. She didn’t call out at first, just walked faster until she was beside him.
“Harry.”
He stopped, turning slow like he already regretted acknowledging her. His jaw was tense. Hands shoved into his coat pockets. The hall was half-full. A few nurses. Two interns. A lab tech pretending not to watch.
She kept her voice low. Controlled. “You didn’t have to talk to her like that.”
He blinked, slow and unimpressed. “Didn’t I?”
“She was upset. She wanted to understand what was going on. And you made her feel like an idiot for asking.”
“That’s because she was asking idiotic questions.”
Y/N folded her arms. “You know you could’ve explained things without being a total—”
“A total what?” he cut in, voice clipped. “A total surgeon?”
She stared at him.
He stepped closer, and the space between them snapped tight.
“You think this place works because of soft voices and bedside manners?” he said, low and deliberate. “No. It works because people like me don’t waste time spoon-feeding reassurance to anyone who walks in with a Wi-Fi connection and a list of Google diagnoses.”
“She was scared. Her mother just had surgery.”
“And she’s lucky it was me in that OR and not someone playing pretend in a lab coat.”
Y/N’s mouth opened, but Harry was already moving. Pacing like she wasn’t even worth standing still for.
“You want everyone to feel seen, nurse? You want to hold hands, give pep talks, smooth everything over with a smile?” He turned back to her, eyes like ice. “Then go down the hall and apply for peds. Otherwise, stay out of my way.”
The words hit like a slap.
She stared at him, frozen in place, chest tight.
He kept going.
“You hover in my OR. You get in the way during trauma. You slow things down with your little questions and your need to be included.” His eyes narrowed. “You want to be useful? Then learn how to shut up and move when I say.”
Y/N didn’t speak. Couldn’t.
Her fists clenched. Her throat burned.
Harry looked at her for one more second like he was checking to see if she’d actually break.
Then his pager went off.
He pulled it from his waistband, glanced at it, and muttered, “Emergency in OR two.”
Without another word, he turned and walked off, coat billowing behind him like he couldn’t get away fast enough.
Y/N stayed right where she was.
The nurses near the station pretended not to have heard every word.
Her heart was racing, but not just from anger.
She hated that her brain noticed everything. The way his voice dipped when he was furious. The way his forearms flexed when he turned. The deep curl of his hair still damp from surgery. The tattoos—barely visible under his rolled sleeves. Sharp ink on skin that looked too good for someone so goddamn insufferable.
He was cruel.
He was arrogant.
And still, a part of her wanted to slam him against the nearest wall and kiss the self-righteousness out of his mouth.
She shoved the thought down hard.
She found herself in the back alcove of the break room. Lights dimmed, vending machine humming softly in the corner. She hadn’t meant to end up here. Her feet just took her somewhere away from him, away from the people who’d heard, away from the burn still crawling under her skin.
The coffee pot was empty. Of course it was. She didn’t even care.
Y/N sank down onto the cracked vinyl couch, elbows on her knees, head in her hands.
It wasn’t what he said that got to her—it was how easy it was for him to say it. Like cutting her down didn’t take effort. Like he’d been waiting for a reason.
She didn’t cry. She didn’t even feel close to it. She just sat there, pulsing with adrenaline, going back over every word like maybe she’d missed a sign—some shift in tone, some hint of restraint—but no. He’d meant it. All of it.
Disposable.
The word stuck the worst.
She leaned back, dragging a hand through her hair, staring up at the flickering ceiling tile. Her ID badge twisted against her chest as she moved, cold plastic pressing into her collarbone.
She didn’t want to care what Harry Styles thought of her. He was a surgeon, not a god. But somehow, every look, every clipped word, every judgment carved deeper than it should’ve. Like he’d found the softest part of her and pressed down just to see what would happen.
The wind outside howled again. Somewhere, a code blue crackled faintly over the intercom, then cut out. Not her floor. Not her concern.
She closed her eyes for a second and exhaled through her nose.
“You want to be useful,” he’d said. “Then learn how to shut up and move when I say.”
She could still hear it. Still feel the heat of his voice in her ear. Still remember how his body looked, standing too close, forearms flexed, jaw sharp, tattoos spilling out from under his sleeves like he couldn’t be bothered to hide them.
He was awful.
And he was beautiful.
And she hated that both things could be true at once.
The door creaked open behind her.
Y/N straightened instinctively, pulling her shoulders back, blinking away the daze. The break room light caught on the name badge of the man stepping in. Chief of Surgery. Dr. Alvarez. Polished, stern, but not unkind.
He paused when he saw her. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” she said too quickly. Then softer, “Just tired.”
It wasn’t a lie.
Her back ached. Her feet throbbed. Her brain still rang with the sound of Harry’s voice. But mostly, she was just drained, emotionally, physically, all of it.
Alvarez nodded once and crossed to the supply cabinet, flipping through a few folders stacked on top.
“You’ve been on since early afternoon, haven’t you?”
“Since noon.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Long day?”
She hesitated. Then gave a small, tired smile. “Something like that.”
He pulled what he needed from the cabinet and shut the door. “It’s not bad tonight. Not yet. We’re overstaffed on this side, and I doubt anything critical’s getting through the snow.”
He paused at the door.
“Go to a call room. Rest. If we need you, someone’ll page.”
Y/N looked at him. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” he said. “You look like you’ve been run over.”
She gave a quiet, breathy laugh. “Thanks.”
“It’s a compliment,” he said dryly. “Means you’re working. Go sleep.”
She stood slowly, body stiff from sitting too long on the busted couch. Her chest felt a little lighter. Not muchbut enough.
Alvarez was already halfway down the hallway when he added, “Grab one of the west side rooms. The residents tend to avoid them. You’ll actually get quiet.”
She nodded, grateful. “Got it. Thanks.”
He lifted a hand without turning around.
Y/N lingered a moment longer, then stepped out into the hallway. It was still quiet. The snow was still falling. And for the first time in hours, she didn’t have to be anywhere.
She walked slowly, tablet tucked under her arm, mind blanking just enough to feel a dull ache settle in behind her eyes.
The on-call room was warm when she finally reached it. Dim lighting. Narrow bed. Spare blanket tossed in the corner. A beat-up armchair sat in the corner beside a cracked wall outlet, and the air smelled like stale coffee and industrial laundry detergent.
She locked the door behind her and exhaled.
The second she sat down on the cot, her body gave up the rest of the fight.
The room was pitch dark. Quiet, save for the hum of air through the vent and the occasional click of the pipes behind the wall. Y/N barely stirred beneath the thin blanket, curled tight on her side, one hand tucked under her chin.
She didn’t hear the footsteps.
She didn’t hear the keycard swipe.
But she heard the door slam open.
Light exploded into the room.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” a voice snapped. “What are you doing in here?”
She sat up fast, heart lurching into her throat. “What the—”
Then she saw him.
Harry stood in the doorway, surgical cap half-off, hair a mess of curls and sweat. His navy scrubs clung to him, neck damp, forearms streaked with faint impressions from gloves. His mouth was twisted in something between disbelief and annoyance, and he hadn’t moved from the threshold, like the very sight of her had short-circuited whatever was left of his patience.
“I asked you a question,” he said. “Why are you in my room?”
She blinked hard, dragging herself up to sit straighter. “Your room?”
“This is my assigned on-call room.”
“I didn’t see your name on it.”
“I don’t need my name on it. Everyone knows this one’s mine.”
“Well,” she said, voice hoarse, “clearly not everyone.”
Harry stared at her like she was a virus he couldn’t sterilize.
“Who told you you could be in here?”
“The chief.”
He scoffed. “Bullshit.”
She pointed to the tablet still glowing dimly on the nightstand. “Page him. Or don’t. I don’t care. He told me to get some rest. That this room would be empty.”
He stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. The overhead light was still on, casting harsh shadows across his jaw, making every angle sharper. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
“You have your own lounge,” he said. “Nurses have space.”
“That’s not a lounge. That’s a glorified storage closet.”
“Then sleep on a gurney like everyone else.”
“I was told to come here.”
“You’re in my fucking bed.”
“Do you ever stop being this insufferable, or is it some kind of compulsion?”
He stepped closer.
“I just finished a six-hour vascular bypass,” he said through his teeth. “I don’t want to argue with someone who barely cleared anatomy in undergrad.”
Her stomach flipped.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Her mouth opened, but he cut her off.
“You wanna play nurse? Go check a temperature. Pass out a popsicle. But this room is for people who actually make decisions. Not follow them.”
Y/N stared at him, chest rising and falling too fast.
And then, the worst part.
The absolute worst part.
He looked beautiful like this.
Hair a mess. Jaw sharp with tension. Eyes glassy from adrenaline. Tattoos dark under fluorescent light, veins along his forearms still raised from scrubbing out.
He was unbearable.
Y/N didn’t move from the bed.
Harry stood just inside the doorway, the light glaring above him, casting hard shadows across his face. His chest rose and fell a little too fast. His hands stayed clenched at his sides.
She stared up at him, heart still thudding from the shock.
His eyes dragged over her, top to bottom. Disbelief. Disgust. Heat.
Then he said it.
“What the hell are you looking at?”
Her jaw tensed. “You.”
His mouth twisted. “You’ve got five seconds to get out.”
She sat up straighter, not moving. “Or what?”
Harry blinked, slow and sharp, like he couldn’t believe she’d spoken to him like that. Like she was wasting his oxygen just by existing in his space.
“Or I’ll page the chief and let him know his precious nurse is squatting in a physician’s on-call room like she forgot how hospitals work.”
“Go ahead,” she said. “Maybe he’ll remind you that you don’t own everything you walk into.”
He laughed once. No humor.
“You walk around this place like you’re part of the team,” he said, voice cold and low. “You’re not. You’re support. Replaceable. You’re here to follow instructions and not get in the way. That’s it.”
Y/N stood now, toes hitting the tile. The blanket dropped behind her.
“You want me to leave?” she asked, voice steady despite the heat crawling under her skin. “Make me.”
His head tilted. He stepped closer.
“You really don’t know when to shut up.”
“You really don’t know how to talk to people.”
“I don’t need to talk to people. I fix them.”
“God, you’re such a narcissist.”
He smiled. Finally. Sharp and slow.
“Better than being delusional.”
She laughed under her breath. “You’re exhausting.”
He took another step. Close now. Too close.
“You’re still staring.”
“You’re still standing there like you expect me to flinch.”
Harry’s eyes flicked over her again, slower this time.
And she hated the way her skin reacted to it.
She hated that even now, angry, tense, burned raw from everything he’d said, her eyes still dropped to his hands, his throat, the ink curling out from under the sleeves of his scrubs.
She hated that some awful, hot part of her wanted him to grab her. Say something else just to rile her up.
He exhaled slowly, like he could feel the shift too.
But he didn’t move.
Not yet.
She stared at him. Breath shallow.
Harry didn’t move. His expression never cracked. He looked at her like he was daring her to speak again. Daring her to step an inch closer.
She did the opposite.
Y/N grabbed her tablet off the nightstand with shaking hands and turned toward the door.
“I’m not doing this,” she muttered.
Harry’s voice followed her. “Running away? Shocking.”
She froze mid-step. Turned back.
“You think you’re so untouchable,” she said. “Because you’ve got hands steady enough to cut people open. Because everyone here is afraid of you. But you’re just a man with a god complex and a shitty attitude.”
He didn’t flinch.
“You walk around this place like everyone’s beneath you,” she continued, voice rising, “but guess what? You’re not special. You’re just mean. And miserable. And maybe if you stopped lashing out at everyone trying to help you, you wouldn’t be so—”
“Say it,” he growled. “Go on.”
“Miserable. And lonely.”
Silence.
The lights above them buzzed faintly.
Y/N shook her head and turned for the door again. “I don’t know why I even bothered trying to talk to you.”
She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. The fluorescent light was colder out here. Empty. Still. She didn’t look back.
Then she heard his footsteps.
Fast. Heavy. Not hesitant.
Before she could turn, his hand wrapped around her upper arm. Not rough—but firm. Demanding. He spun her back, and her back hit the wall hard enough to steal her breath.
“Jesus—”
But Harry didn’t speak.
He pinned her there with his body, one hand braced beside her head, the other still gripping her arm. His chest rose and fell fast. His face was inches from hers, jaw clenched tight, eyes darker than she’d ever seen them.
“Don’t walk away from me like you won,” he said, voice low and ragged. “You think I don’t see the way you look at me? You think I don’t notice the way you breathe when I get too close?”
Her breath caught in her throat.
He leaned in closer, mouth brushing her cheek as he spoke, voice a sharp whisper against her skin.
“You hate me? Fine. But don’t pretend you don’t want me to touch you.”
Her stomach flipped. Every nerve in her body lit up.
She didn’t answer.
Didn’t move.
And Harry didn’t blink.
He just stayed there, chest flush with hers, waiting.
Y/N’s back was pressed to the wall, his chest warm against hers, his words still hot in her ear.
The hallway was empty. Silent. But her pulse was deafening.
“You don’t want me to touch you?” Harry said, mouth just barely brushing her skin. “Then why haven’t you moved?”
She didn’t think.
Her hand snapped up fast, palm cracking hard across his cheek.
The sound echoed.
His head turned with the impact, hair falling into his eyes, jaw tight. He didn’t stumble. Didn’t flinch. Just stood there, breath caught in his throat, cheek burning red from the slap.
Good, she thought. Good.
But she didn’t move.
And neither did he.
Because now their breathing matched.
And her hand, still trembling, dropped slowly from the air only to land flat on his chest.
He looked at her. Really looked. Something in his expression cracked open, sharp edges giving way to something darker. He didn’t speak.
So she kissed him.
Hard.
She surged forward, fingers gripping the front of his scrub top, dragging him down to her. Her mouth collided with his, fast and rough and reckless, all teeth and fury and months of buried want.
Harry groaned against her lips, low and startled, like he hadn’t expected it. Like he’d been waiting for it anyway.
His hands moved instantly. One fisting in her hair, the other sliding down her back, yanking her flush against him as he kissed her back with brutal force. There was no hesitation now. No room for air. He tasted like coffee and adrenaline and blood-warm anger.
She nipped at his bottom lip, and he pushed her harder against the wall, hips pinning her in place.
“You’re out of your mind,” she whispered, breathless.
“You started it,” he growled, voice low and wrecked, mouth already back on her neck. “I just finished surgery and you’re still the most dangerous thing I’ve touched all night.”
Her eyes fluttered shut. She hated how much she liked that.
She hated him.
She kissed him again.
The hallway felt colder the second he touched her. But his body was hot against hers, breath hot against her cheek, hands hot where they held her wrists, her hips, like he’d finally let himself feel what he’d been fighting all this time.
“You don’t want me to touch you?” he murmured, breath ragged. “Then why haven’t you moved?”
She didn’t have an answer. Or maybe she did. But it didn’t matter.
Because her body leaned into him without thinking, and the way his eyes flicked to her mouth made her heart stutter.
She shoved him.
Hard.
Just enough to break the contact, just enough to walk away again except this time, she didn’t make it a full step before his hand caught her arm.
He didn’t yank.
He pulled.
And she followed.
Back into the on-call room, the door banging shut behind them. His hand was still wrapped around her arm, but not like before. Now it was steady. Certain.
He didn’t push her against the wall.
He walked her backward toward the cot, never looking away.
The air between them was tight. No words. Just the thud of their hearts and the shared, electrified silence of two people who’d been trying not to touch for far too long.
Her chest rose and fell too fast.
He looked down at her, eyes dark and unreadable.
“Last chance,” he said, voice rough. “Tell me to stop.”
She reached for the hem of her scrub top and pulled it over her head.
Harry’s jaw flexed.
His hands moved slowly now, like he wanted to memorize every step. His fingers brushed her shoulders, down her arms, and then his palms flattened against her ribcage. He looked at her like she wasn’t real. Like he couldn’t believe she was letting him do this.
She stepped in closer, pulling his scrub top up over his shoulders. The fabric fell in a soft heap behind him.
Her hands skimmed over the tattoos on his abdomen; the butterfly, the swallows, the faint lines of script inked along his collarbone. His skin was warm under her fingers, smooth but tensed like he was barely holding himself back.
His hands found her waistband.
“Still sure?” he asked, voice quiet now. A whisper scraped raw.
She nodded, fingers already at his waistband, matching his movements.
They undressed each other like neither could move fast enough, but both were afraid of rushing. Like they knew how long they’d waited for this. Like every layer was another inch closer to finally not pretending anymore.
Her scrub pants hit the floor.
His followed.
And there they were.
Bare. Breathless.
Staring at each other like the next second might undo everything.
She lay back on the narrow cot, the thin mattress dipping beneath their combined weight. The room felt warmer now, like the air had thickened. Her hands hovered for a second before settling on his shoulders, fingers light, unsure.
Harry noticed.
He always noticed.
“You’ve gone quiet,” he murmured, eyes fixed on her face. His thumb traced the inside of her wrist where her pulse jumped. “That not like you.”
She swallowed. “I just… haven’t done this in a while.”
His mouth curved, slow and knowing. He leaned down, pressing a kiss just beneath her ear, softer than before. Intimate. Intentional.
“Thought you were all fire,” he said quietly. “Turns out you’re a little shy when it matters.”
Her cheeks warmed. She didn’t deny it.
His hand slid down her side, palm flattening against her stomach, then lower. When his fingers brushed between her thighs, she sucked in a sharp breath and tensed without meaning to.
“There it is,” he said. “You feel that?”
She nodded, eyes fluttering shut.
“Look at me,” he said, not unkind, just firm.
She did.
He was hovering over her now, curls falling forward, eyes dark and focused. His hand moved slowly, deliberately, spreading her open, learning her. She trembled at the contact, breath stuttering as his fingers slid through her, slick and warm.
“So sensitive,” he murmured. “All that attitude earlier and now you can barely breathe.”
She made a small sound, embarrassed, and turned her face slightly.
He caught her chin gently, turning her back. “Don’t hide.”
His thumb brushed her clit, light at first, then firmer when her hips lifted instinctively.
“That’s it,” he said, voice low. “You don’t have to say a word. I can feel everything you’re thinking.”
She whimpered quietly, hands clutching the sheets as his fingers slid inside her, slow and deep. He watched her closely, adjusting his movements to every tiny reaction, every hitch of breath.
“God,” he muttered. “You’re dripping.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, overwhelmed, and he smiled again, almost soft.
“Didn’t expect you to be this needy, did you?” he said. “All that fire and you’re melting the second I touch you.”
Her hips rocked up, shy but desperate, seeking more. He rewarded her instantly, thumb circling, fingers curling just right.
“Harry,” she breathed, barely louder than a whisper.
He groaned at the sound of his name. “There you are.”
He shifted closer, pressing himself against her thigh, letting her feel how hard he was, how badly he wanted her. His forehead dropped to hers, breath hot and uneven.
“You still nervous?” he asked.
She nodded, honest.
“Good,” he said. “Means you care.”
Then he kissed her again, slow and deep, swallowing her soft sounds as his hand kept moving, pushing her closer and closer to the edge.
And he didn’t rush her.
Not this time.
Harry hovered over her, breath rough, forearms braced on either side of her head as he looked down at her like he didn’t know where to touch first. His curls were damp at the temples. His eyes were dark, focused. There was nothing soft in him now. Only heat. Only hunger.
She shifted under him, thighs parting in invitation. But her eyes darted away for just a second, lashes dropping like she was suddenly realizing how exposed she was.
He saw it. Of course he did.
His voice dropped, smooth and cruel.
“What happened to all that attitude?” he asked, cock twitching as he ran the head against her, slick and slow. “Thought you had something to prove.”
She swallowed hard. Said nothing.
His hand wrapped around her jaw, forcing her to look at him.
“Oh, I see,” he murmured, mouth inches from hers. “You only talk back when you’ve got clothes on. But when you’re wet for me, you go quiet real fast.”
Her cheeks burned. She clenched around nothing.
He leaned down, tongue dragging across the edge of her lip. “You like it when I’m mean, don’t you?”
Still no answer. But her hips bucked, just barely, betraying her.
He grinned against her skin.
“I fucking knew it.”
And then he pushed inside her in one long, hard stroke.
Her breath left her in a broken gasp, back arching off the cot as he filled her — thick and deep and slow enough to make her feel every inch.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he groaned, jaw clenching. “Tight little thing made for me.”
He pulled back and drove in again — harder.
The cot creaked under them. Her hands scrambled for something to hold onto, fingers gripping his shoulders, his arms, his back. He didn’t let up. Didn’t give her time to adjust. He was already setting a brutal pace, hips slamming into hers over and over, pushing her higher with every thrust.
She tried to muffle the sounds slipping from her mouth, biting her lip, biting her hand — anything.
“Don’t you dare hide it,” he growled. “You were mouthing off in the hallway. Now you won’t even make a sound?”
His hand slid to her throat, not squeezing — just holding her still.
“You take me so fucking well,” he muttered, fucking her harder now. “You let me bend you open and fuck the attitude right out of you.”
Her moan broke free then, high and desperate.
Harry grinned.
“Yeah. That’s it. That’s what I wanted.”
He shifted, adjusting the angle, and she nearly came right there — his cock hitting deep, perfectly, the pressure building fast and sharp.
“You gonna come on me, sweetheart?” he asked, voice rough against her ear. “Gonna make a mess while I ruin you?”
She nodded helplessly, body already twitching under him.
He brought his hand between them and circled her clit with rough, practiced fingers, still pounding into her with hard, unforgiving strokes.
“Do it,” he rasped. “Come for me. So I know you’ll remember who fucked you like this.”
She broke.
Her whole body shook, thighs clamping around him, cries spilling out as the orgasm slammed through her — hard and overwhelming. Harry didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. He chased his own high through her release, groaning deep when he finally came, hips stuttering as he spilled inside her, breath shattered.
For a long second, neither of them moved.
Then he looked down at her — flushed, trembling, dazed.
His voice was quieter now. Still smug. Still sharp.
“You’re not walking out of here with that attitude again.”
She didn’t answer.
Not yet.
She just laid there, wrecked, staring up at him like she didn’t trust herself to speak.
And maybe she didn’t.
The silence that followed was thick, stretched out in the low light of the on-call room. The only sound was their breathing — uneven, heavy. The room smelled like sweat and skin and everything they hadn’t let themselves feel until now.
Harry was still inside her. Still leaning over her, braced on his forearms, sweat clinging to his skin in slow-moving beads. Her hands rested lightly on his biceps, fingers twitching like she hadn’t realized she was holding onto him so tight.
She wasn’t looking at him.
Not really.
Her eyes were glazed, dazed. A little unfocused.
He could see the flicker of it — that shift from release to awareness. The flush creeping up her chest. The slow pull of breath like she’d just remembered how exposed she was.
He didn’t let her retreat.
Instead, he grabbed her chin between his fingers — not rough, but firm enough to make her look up.
She blinked, startled by the contact.
Harry’s voice dropped to a murmur. Deep. Lazy. Still charged.
“If you keep acting up,” he said, dragging his thumb along her jaw, “I won’t hesitate to do it again.”
Her throat bobbed.
He leaned in, lips brushing just beside her ear.
“Put you right back in your place.”
Her breath caught.
She wanted to snap something back — she could feel it rising in her chest. But it caught behind her teeth and stayed there. She didn’t trust her voice.
Didn’t trust what it might reveal.
Her eyes darted away again, this time to the curve of his shoulder, the tattoos trailing down his arm, the scratch marks she’d left there without thinking.
Harry chuckled under his breath.
“You were loud for someone so shy now,” he said, pressing a kiss just below her ear. “What happened to the nurse who was giving me shit in the hallway?”
“I’m still here,” she muttered.
“Are you?”
She bit her lip.
“Didn’t feel like it when you were coming on my cock.”
Her face burned.
Harry finally pulled out, slow and deliberate, and she shivered at the loss of him. He watched her — the way she shifted her legs, the way she tried to catch her breath and smooth her hair, like it would make her feel less wrecked.
Like it would make this less real.
He reached down and dragged the thin hospital blanket up over her body, tucking it around her casually.
She looked at him then — confused, flushed, still breathless.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He stood, muscles tight, jaw flexed. “Letting you breathe.”
She blinked.
He grabbed his scrub pants off the floor and slid them on, not bothering with his shirt yet. She couldn’t stop watching the way the muscles in his back moved as he bent down.
And he knew it.
“You staying,” he said, not really asking. “Or gonna run off again?”
She hesitated.
He smirked, glancing at her over his shoulder.
“Didn’t think so.”
Y/N stayed quiet.
The blanket was pulled to her chest, knuckles white where she gripped the edge. Her legs were still trembling underneath, body humming with the aftershocks, her skin warm with leftover heat and shame and something else she didn’t want to name.
Harry stood near the end of the cot, pants slung low on his hips, hand dragging through his sweat-damp curls. He pulled his shirt over his head. His chest was still rising fast. He didn’t look at her the way most men did after something like that. He didn’t look softened. Or gentled. Or unsure.
He looked like he’d just won.
Like he was already wondering when he’d take her again.
He turned toward the door unbothered, and paused. Just for a second.
Then, over his shoulder, voice quiet but sharp enough to slice:
Y/N huffed, something close to a laugh, “I need to get ready for the day.”
“You need to rest,” he ordered instead, “There is nothing to do today. You aren’t required to do your duties until two days from tomorrow, correct?”
She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head to look at him, “How do you know that?”
“Humans do things in patterns that are easy to follow if you watch enough.”
“Have you been stalking me?”
“I have been watching you.” He finally peered one eye open, “How else was I supposed to discover your true intentions toward me? I thought you were a witch for a while.”
or
Dragons are vulnerable in their heat, and Y/N helps Harry through it
part 1
(16.4k+ words)
ii.
“Your heart races.”
Y/N believes her heart does more than just race; it thunders, tramples, and trips over itself. She can feel it thudding through her ribcage, rattling her bones, echoing up her throat, and sitting on her tongue. Had she felt like this when she lost her virginity? She doesn’t think so – actually, she remembers being mildly annoyed that it was taking Oliver so long to get his kit off. There’d been some nerves just before he slipped inside of her, but those dissipated into an achy sort of pain quickly after.
Still, she’d never felt nerves like this before. How could she not, with a dragon staring at her the way Harry is right now? His eyes glow in something very inhuman. The purple of his irises was brighter than she’d ever seen them. He still wore those pants, garish as they are; they don’t hide the large bulge throbbing and leaking through the fabric. Harry’s demeanor before had been something softer, more curious, even a little sweetened, like he was appeasing an animal he felt endeared by. But that was when she’d humped him like an unruly dog.
However, when she’d split her thighs for him as he’d asked, his manner changed.
It had been awkward, she could admit, as she climbed off his lap and plopped herself to his left, scooting herself up her mattress so she could at least lie against her pillows. She pulled the skirt of her dress up, then tucked her fingers into the waistband of her underclothing, wriggling them down her legs. She knew highborn women had very pretty bloomers, of all different colors and designs, but hers were quite boring in comparison. Before she could toss them to the side, Harry grabbed them from her hand, crumbled the fabric in his large palm, and brought it to his nose. He breathes in deeply, and the action is so naughty that Y/N audibly gasps, “Harry!” His eyes, that had closed as he breathed her in, flutter back open, “That’s – that’s filthy,” she tells him, “Improper, even! I’m a lady, you know?
“Your scent is as alluring as it is tormenting to me,” he replies, “I do not care for what is improper and filthy. I will take these for my nest.” He breathes them in once more before setting them down on the bed beside them, crawling on his knees closer to her. He settles between her legs, pressing his palm against the back of her thigh. Harry gently guides her bent leg up, her knee lateral to her chest, as he spreads her open. The heat from his hand radiates through her skin, melting down through the muscles to her bones, “Just as you are a lady, I am a dragon. Let me see more of your honey pot.”
Y/N feels embarrassed beneath his sharpened gaze, small under the unrelenting focus that he lays upon her. She doesn’t know if any man has stared so intensely between her legs, even as they were preparing to stuff inside of her. She’d just figured it was either not pretty enough to let their gazes linger, or that perhaps men didn’t care what it looked like at all. Yet, Harry will not remove his eyes from where they lie, with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. It looked hard and deep enough that it should draw blood, yet the skin only blanches where his sharpened canine threatens to pierce. His skin is flushed pink all over, and when he blows out a breath, a smoky plume distorts the air in front of his mouth.
She swallows deeply, lowering her hands between her legs again. Harry follows them down to where she lets the pad of her fingers stroke down her slit carefully, slowly, down to the mess that’s outside of her hole. Y/N feels like a virgin again, in this way – like she has no clue what to do with her body or how it works. Her fingers slip through her arousal, coating the tips when she dips them just barely inside before stroking back up her swollen clit and decorating it in the mess. From her angle, she couldn’t see much beyond her mound and her button from where she’s sitting. The high-born women, just as they have their fancy cloth bloomers, can also afford the special services to remove the hair here, but Y/N could not. She wondered if Harry cared – wondered if he even knew. What did dragon women’s hair look like? Did they have any? Did they have holes like hers? The way he is looking at her almost suggests that he’d never seen something close to this, so she can only imagine that they must be different.
Swirling her fingers makes her toes curl, and a soft sigh leaves her mouth. It feels nice, even when she sort of wants to cower beneath his intense stare, and part of that almost makes it even better. He’s staring so hard, so distracted by her that when she feels something wet drip against her thigh, she realizes he’s drooling and something hot coils around her belly, down her lower spine.
That’s when Y/N notices, there are little scales that have emerged from his skin. Not all over, by any stretch, just one here, another there – they’re the same color as his dark green scales she’d seen in his human form. Y/N wants to touch them, just as she wants to touch the horns that he’d had before. Would those come back? She has to see them again, she thinks, or she’ll go crazy.
Transfixed by them, Y/N’s hand leaves her pussy. Maybe it was crazy to reach toward him with the hand she’d been using to touch herself, but she isn’t really thinking. She only snaps out of it when Harry grabs her wrist, his grip tight around her wrist, and her eyes flutter wide, rushing to apologize, “I’m sorry, I should’ve – I should’ve wiped my hands off or asked, I just – your scales –”
Harry doesn’t respond at first. Instead, he splits his lips and shows his tongue. He drags it over his fingers, tasting her again, sucking them into his mouth with not just a moan. It starts like a moan, low and whiny, but it drops into a growl – something animalistic, it trembles through her as he lowers so his face is mere centimeters from her pussy. “I have – I have yet to run my bath, Harry,” she warned him, stopping him with her hand – a palm pressed to his forehead, “I’ve been sweating all day, I’m unsure if you would want –”
“It is not just about wants or desires. This runs far further than a mere craving,” he presses his other hand to her thigh, keeping her spread, “I must consume you. It’s a necessity – a need – to swallow you deep into my belly.” He leans closer, nuzzling his face against her slit and breathing in deeply, his nose pressed against the hairs that sit on her skin, “But you must tell me, if it isn’t to your liking. I’ve yet to do this.”
Y/N doesn’t have much time to wrap her head around what he meant, because his tongue, wet and full, slides a path from bottom to top. Her folds part around the muscle, wet enough that the glide is as easy as licking ice that had begun to melt; she’s sure of it. The groan he makes against her vibrates through her whole being. Her mouth falls open, her eyelids flutter, stuck between wanting to close and wanting to watch him. Y/N had never witnessed someone look so pleased to be between her legs, but his eyes closed, and he hummed, similar to how he did when he ate her pie – like it was just as good and just as sweet.
He’s sloppy and unfocused on only one part of her, instead swirling his tongue all over her. Y/N can’t tell what's wet from him and what’s wet from her, just that Harry doesn’t seem to care about the mess. When she feels more gush out of her, the delighted hum that leaves him would suggest he’d like it to be messier. The sharpened nails on his hands pierce into the flesh of her thighs as he deepens his licking, pressing so close that his nose is shoved against her, and she’s unsure of how he’s breathing.
Y/N had never felt like this before. Harry is a quick learner; from the moment he can tell that she twitches and whines something high-pitched and needy every time he strokes her swollen button, he takes it into his mouth. He flickers his tongue against it before fixing his lips around it, pulling with these long, hard sucks and reading her reaction to it. Harry must like it when she wriggles, if her hips move, when she scrambles to grab at the bare mattress beneath her, and even his head. When her fingers stroke where his horns had been prior, Harry moans into her and intensifies the movements of his mouth.
When she cums, it’s with a cry of warning. Y/N is sure she didn’t even need to warn him, though, from the way her sounds started getting even louder, clipping off as it built up, the pressure in her belly reaching heights she’d never gotten to with a human man. She’d been eaten before, like this, but never so animalistically. Never like they truly wanted to devour her whole, suck her essence from her cunt, embed the taste of her on each little groove and bud of their tongue. It’s too much in the best way, and when she looks down at him again, she sees how his purple eyes glow, and the scrape of these little patches of scales against her sensitive inner thighs shoves her right over the edge.
The orgasm is intense – it rattles through her like all of her bones are vibrating with it. It tingles and buzzes through her whole body, and makes her feel a little crazy, rutting her hips into his face. He doesn’t hold her down – instead, he takes what feels like a handful of her bum and presses her even closer to him, if that’s possible. Like he was trying to melt and merge into her body, he seems keen on staying there too, until Y/N is actively trying to buck away from him, her palm pressed against his forehead to shove.
Once he finally detaches from her, he does so with a gasp, and Y/N makes a similar sound. Only hers was due to the state of him – the strings of arousal and spit that cling between his lips and tongue to her folds, and what looks like steam leaves his mouth with every pant that leaves him. Y/N’s brain is still trying to catch up with the fact that he isn’t exactly human, as she slides her hand from his forehead to his hair, carding her fingers through the strands carefully. A purr rumbles through his body almost instantly when her nails graze his scalp, and the sound intensifies as she gets closer to the area where his horns once resided. She didn’t know he could do that.
Harry nuzzles against her palm, “You taste sweet,” he murmurs, “Why do you taste so sweet?”
She’s blinking at him, shaking her head, shrugging her shoulders, “I don’t know,” she replied, “Nobody has ever – has ever said that before.”
The purr shifts into something like a growl when he darts his tongue out to lick through her folds once more, leaving another sticky string of her cum and spit to bow and snap between them. “Nobody will touch you anymore,” he says, it like it’s a fact, “They will not get the chance to say it. I won’t allow it.”
The possessiveness should likely turn her off, but it only makes the heat coil further in her belly. She nods in agreement before using her foot to pet down his side. Her toes catch at the waistband of his trousers, but she makes no move to tug them down. “You,” she cleared her throat, tipping her head to the side, “Don’t you want – don’t you want to finish too? Aren’t you aching?”
He purrs again, pressing himself up from the mattress after giving her one last kiss to the inside of her thigh, “Yes,” he whines, and Y/N is greeted with the view of his bulge again, only this time he’s tucked a thumb into the elastic band around his hips. He pulls it down; Y/N watches as his prick lowers at first with the drag of the fabric, only the base of the shaft revealed as he unceremoniously tugs them off. His prick bounces out, but it’s so heavy that it doesn’t instantly snap against his stomach. He’s big – Y/N knew he would be, but there’s something about seeing it in the flesh that is 10x more intense than anything she’s experienced. “I ache, so deeply,” he twists his hand around the shaft, pulling up. He’s already leaking so much, dripping from the wet, messy tip. “The urge to breed is intense. It’s very strong.”
“To – to breed?” Y/N repeats, her thighs still fallen open, her eyes wide as saucers. She’d never seen someone so big before – not even in the smutty drawings that artists sell in the back of their stores. Y/N almost wants to measure it – wants to feel it in her hand, the weight of it. Wants to hold it to her forearm and see how similar it is. Did dragons really need pricks this big? What purpose did it serve? Or was it due to them being large in general? Could dragon women take them easily? Could dragon men? Could anyone at all? She simply couldn’t imagine it.
Harry lets his cock rest against her belly, his balls nestled close, on top of her swollen, sensitive button that he’d shown such attention with his tongue. The tip sits at her belly button, smearing precum against her skin, oozing it down into the little pocket. There’s a portion at the base that is more swollen than the rest, and Y/N has no clue what it is or its purpose. He’s so warm – the temperature is hot, sticky, and Y/N’s fingers twitch at her sides until she finally just listens to them. Carefully, cautiously, she extends her fingers out toward him and lets her fingers dance along the flesh. Harry sucks in a breath, and another purr rattles through him. His scales glint and glimmer in the light of her lamps, while the wet precum covering his tip glistens. Everything about him is so mythical, she thinks, even his arousal sort of sparkles.
He rocks his hips, fucking into the makeshift hole her hand makes while he’s still pressed against her belly, “Yes,” he says again, and it burns hot inside of her, “To breed. I want to fill you with my seed until it’s dripping from you. So much of it that your belly swells from me.” Despite how dominant his words are, there’s an underlying whine that laces through his tone, “Lock you in with my knot. Make sure it takes.” He moans again, his cock twitching like the thought alone could make him cum, “You’re too–you’re little cunt is too small to take me yet. I must stretch you.” He shakes his head, “It must not happen tonight.”
Despite his size, and despite Y/N knowing that it was for the best, she didn’t take him tonight, in this state, with little preparation (she would need plenty of lubricant that she does not have), she still pouts. Her hole clenched around nothing, like it only now realizes how empty she feels. It’s horrible, having it right in front of her and not getting it – he’s right there. Maybe it was pheromones he’s pushing out, or perhaps it was just Y/N’s intense desire and attraction to him, or even her in a post-orgasmic and still horny state – but she feels like she could cry, a little. Tears bead up her waterline.
Harry notices it – she doesn’t know if he can smell the salt of her tears or if he can just see how they water (maybe both), but he drags his hand across the mattress before cradling her cheek in his palm. Y/N is unsure why she feels this way, and she thinks it’s some carnal, innate reaction – something more animal than human. Still, Harry leans down, still purring, nudging his nose against hers, “Sweet little human,” he murmurs, almost like she’s speaking to himself, “Your body responds so well to mine, doesn’t it? It wants to be full.”
“Yes,” she frowns, and Harry laughs, warm, dragging his tongue across her jaw, letting his canine drag against the skin, “I can handle it.”
“I’m sure you could,” he shudders when she loops her legs around his hips, curling them tight around his body, and the pace he’d been fucking into her hand falters, “But not tonight. I must. . .I must be careful with you.”
Y/N huffs, a petulant sound, and Harry moves to hover over her face again. The gaze he gives her is unlike any he’d ever given her before; full of hunger and desire, his eyes lidded and his mouth just slightly agape. He would cum soon, she could feel him throbbing against her palm and belly. The closer he got, the more he’d fuck into the little pocket her hand created for him, the more she felt the swelling at his base. Curiosity finally sways her – she squirms her other hand in between their bodies and lets her fingers dance along the swollen bit. It’s unlike anything she’s ever witnessed before, so unlike anything that she’d ever felt. Something twists up inside of her when Harry’s moan gets more high-pitched, louder, and his hips twitch in an uneven rhythm against her.
He growls, his free hand finds her hip, and he digs his nails in deeper than she thinks he intended to. Y/N is too busy marveling over his reaction to really react to the pain, though she does flinch a little, “You are filthy. Such a lewd being in a sweet body – you’re a conniving creature.”
“What is this?” She finally inquires, squeezing it again, “Is it sensitive?”
“Very,” he breathes out, his head bowing between his shoulders, his hips even quicker, “S’my knot, little human, to keep me locked inside of this pretty body. Make sure none of my spend spills from you – keep it nice and safe inside.”
Y/N’s eyes must glitter when she looks into his. She’s overwhelmed, sure, but to see Harry in such a state is mesmerizing. The same man (dragon) who was throwing her out of the forest every time she entered it, now rutting over her, imagining being locked inside of her, thinking about breeding her. Right now, he wanted her so badly that it almost made him look silly. And she could admit that, right then, she wanted him so badly she surely looked silly.
But he seemed resolute in not fucking her tonight, so she made do with what she could. And, at the very least, she wanted to see him cum.
“I want to feel it,” she encourages him, keeping one hand on his ‘knot’ and massaging it gently, and listening to his mewling, “Inside of me, pressing against my – against my walls. I want to feel it tug against me every time you pull it out,” and yeah, sure, at first the words were meant only to rile him up, but Y/N was working herself up again, “Want to feel how it tugs when you can’t remove yourself from me. Want to feel it stretch me open, and –”
“Fuck,” he grumbles low, before his cock throbs, hot and heavy against her belly. The first spurt of cum shoots out high enough to hit her chin and tear a gasp from her mouth. It’s warm and sticky, dripping down her throat as more shoots out, some getting her chest, and a whole lot of it on her belly. At least a fountain of it, really, as it spills over her fingers, coating her knuckles, seeping between her fingers. There’s so much of it, she honestly has no idea how any of it would have fit inside of her. Just knows that there seems there’s no end to it, until a full 30 seconds go by and he’s finally just sputtering and spitting the rest from his slit.
Y/N is a mess, covered in sweat, and sort of horny again. She desperately needs a bath, and she’s kind of starving, but she’s so tired that the thought of getting up seems horrible. And Y/N doesn’t know if Harry would even let her get up, with how he moves over her, heavy stretched across her, but she undoubtedly feels safe. Men, at least in her experience, usually roll over and go take care of themselves afterward – they go have a wee, clean up, a little bit of this, and a little of that. Y/N is left to clean herself up, deal with the weird, sad welt that kind of sits in her chest, wondering how she’s going to get them out of her cottage without seeming rude.
With Harry, it is much different. There’s something very primal about how he stays on top of her, like he is protecting her vulnerable body from the outside world. He’s warm, but it isn’t suffocating. It’s comforting, like when she pulls her winter bedding from storage, the feathers dense inside to help her maintain heat. Especially since she doesn’t have someone to take turns stoking the fire with her at night, but Harry’s body is like a walking fire in itself. Warm either from his mating cycle, or just in general – he never really let her get close enough to see if he was this warm regularly.
He purrs too, still, like a pleased cat. And she feels the wet drag of his tongue against her neck, right over her thrumming pulse. Things that should probably put her off, because she isn’t an animal – not a cat, not a dog, not a dragon – but it doesn’t feel off-putting. She feels like she could fall asleep right now, actually, warm and content, safer than she thinks she’s ever felt.
Eventually, though, the sticky, cooling sensation of his cum starts to be a little much. Y/N wriggles beneath him, but his purrs grow a little louder as if he’s trying to settle her, “Harry,” she murmurs, pressing her hand against his lower belly, “I’m sticky.”
“You’re perfect.” He replied easily, his nose nuzzling into the junction of her neck and shoulder.
Y/N is startled to laugh, pressing into the soft of his belly with her index and middle fingers, even her thumbs, “Aish, that’s sweet, but –” she wiggles again, “It’s a bit uncomfortable, with – with all of that. You came a lot.”
Harry huffs, nestles one more time into her throat, and then presses himself up. He’s pouting – a real-life pout! From this previously grumpy, mean dragon. His cheeks are pink where they’re usually pale, his eyes are glowing less now than they had been, and even the few scattered scales have disappeared from his skin. Y/N squeezes his sides, “It is only partially my fault,” he tells her, “You smell too good and taste too delectable for me to have cum a normal amount. I could not help it.”
Still, he sat up – his cock had softened, for the most part, but was still a massive weight between his legs. And he doesn’t seem keen on covering back up, as he stands up on the side of her bed, shucking his bottoms the rest of the way off and stepping out of them. Y/N’s eyes widen as he disappears from her room, and she hears the front door open and then close. She scrambles up to sit, thinking that even though her neighbors aren’t very close, and winter has dyed the sky black at early hours, someone still may see a naked man walking out of her cottage. Several men have been arrested for public indecency at the tavern in town, so Y/N hardly thinks anyone would let this slide, no matter how big and imposing Harry seems.
Y/N is too messy to get up and follow him outside to call him in. But she thinks perhaps that would call too much attention to them as well. She just sits, waits, and Harry eventually returns with two buckets of water that steam as if he’d just boiled them. Her towels are slung around his neck, and when he gets closer, she can see washing cloths in the water. He drops them beside her fire, on the rug, then comes back to her and slips his arms beneath her body. Y/N squeals when he lifts her – nobody has lifted her in a very long time, apart from when he’s manipulating the air to do so.
But she hadn’t been picked up like this, held close to someone’s body, her cheek against his shoulder, and his arms around her body. Y/N kind of feels like a princess – saved by a knight, like in those novels her cousins would bring for her to read after they’d finished them. Only, instead of the knight, Y/N is being carted around by the very thing the knight was probably trying to save her from – a big, man-eating, fire-breathing dragon that had stolen her away and locked her in a tower. She thinks she feels much safer in his arms rather than some random knight, though.
Carefully, he sits her in front of the fire, on her rug. It was an older rug, but she kept up with it, so it still looked relatively new. The fibers were still soft and cushiony, so it wasn’t the worst place to be. Harry sits back down on his knees beside her, tugging at her dress – Y/N gasps when he eventually gets it above her head, tossing it off to the side, leaving Y/N stark naked. She goes to cover her breasts, even though he’d seen much more intimate parts of her; this was much different – now, not in her horny haze, to just be bare in front of him was sort of embarrassing. But Harry seemed quite unbothered by her sudden nudity. This is probably what he is used to, now that she thinks about it – she wonders if Christopher was the one to convince him to wear clothes.
He grabs the washcloth, dips it further in the water, and squeezes the excess out of the cloth before pressing it against her stomach. Y/N jumps from the sudden wetness, despite how warm it was, and how warm it was beside the fire. Harry pauses, his eyes flicker up to her like he’s searching for any signs of discomfort. Harry hums low, clicks his tongue, then continues to smooth the cloth over her carefully. It was different – odd – but not in a bad way, necessarily. Nobody had ever done this for her, at least apart from the physician in her old village, when Y/N had been struck with a fever, and she wanted to cool Y/N down with a bath.
This isn’t as clinical as that was, but it also wasn’t nearly as sexual as it might have been with someone else, either. Y/N had heard stories about couples bathing together, bathing each other, and that turning into something flirty and filthy. This was different, though – caring differently, intimate, in a way she’d never been with another person. How could she describe it? It was the likeness of a red fox, maybe – she’d read that the males dote on the females. Perhaps this was another version of that. But Y/N isn’t sure – she would be interested in learning the ratio of Harry’s animalistic to his human characteristics, and what determines that. If he had been domesticated as time went on, or if he’d been born into it.
Once Harry gets between her legs, he parts them carefully and runs the cloth back to front. Had he done this before? Y/N stares at him curiously as he works diligently, and he erupts into small cooing sounds when she flinches from the oversensitivity. She remembers, then, that Harry had told her now would be the time to ask her questions because his body seems intent on satisfying her through the courting process. He’d be more inclined to answer without giving her the run around. And instead of silently watching him, she thinks it might be a good idea to fill the air, especially the more her face feels hot at him cleaning her.
“Um, Harry?” He hums to let her know he was listening, “Are there others like you? Like, other dragons around here?”
Harry tosses the wet rag over to the floor before grabbing a new one, “Yes, but not very close,” he replies easily – like he wasn’t just confirming the existence of other real dragons, “Each of us chooses a forest to preside over, and boundaries are drawn on those that are shared. I am the only one this close to humans, though. Well. . .besides two more, but even then, I’m closer.”
Y/N tilts her head, “But you dislike humans so intensely,” she feels like she’s reminding him, because right now it doesn’t seem like he dislikes humans – right now, at least, it seems like he may be fond of one human, who he’s wiping clean, “Why would you choose to live so closely to them? Or, at least close enough that I was able to find you.” She shivers when he squeezes the cloth over her, water cascading down her knee, toward her ankles.
“Because I lost a bet,” he answered again, his eyes flickering up to her – their gazes lock for a second, and his eyes do a weird little glow, like a lightning bug in summer, “There is magic that keeps my boundary away from humans, so I do not have them stumbling upon me all of the time. That would get annoying,” he flicked her ankle playfully, “The forest reorganizes to keep humans away. Only I can let them in.”
Her brows dipped, “But that – when I found you in the trap? Shouldn’t the forest just have moved around then?”
He cleared his throat, “I thought that you may be like Christopher, that's all. I can sense the intentions of those who enter the forest; whether they are there to hunt, to gather – things like that. You didn’t smell of him, but you smelled. . .good. Calm and safe. Then you found me, and were still relatively calm – your intention did not change when you noticed me, or at least, it did not shift to ‘hunt’, so I did not kill you. Then you helped me out.”
“But all of the times after that? You always seemed like you hated me in there?”
Harry sighs, “This is something I, too, wish to know.” His confusion seems clear, like he’d spent days and nights trying to figure this out himself. It would explain why he seemed somewhere between irate and curious every time she showed up, especially if he was intent on throwing her out. “You would appear of your own merit – not even Christopher can do that. I cannot give you an answer. I apologize.”
“That’s okay,” her heart squeezes in her chest – he seems utterly distressed that he cannot answer this question for her, and she wonders if that is a part of his heat too. As if not being able to answer this question made him a less suitable mate. There arises another question, Y/N would like to know – does Harry intend to actually mate her? Right now, he pursues her, but Christopher had even said he could not attest to how Harry may act once the heat is over. When his body isn’t pressing for him to mate. Even Harry had mentioned that all that is left to do is wait for it to pass, but he must have said this outside of a haze in his heat.
Because right now, how delicately he treats her, it almost seems like he’s intent on keeping her. That makes her shiver for a different reason, and she jumps when a warm towel is thrown over her body. “You are cold,” he states, clicking his tongue, “Stay here while I gather your bedclothes.”
“Ah, wait!” She grabs his wrist before he can leave, “You should really put on bottoms again! Going in and out of my house like this is quite. . .um, obscene.”
Harry blinks at her for a while, silence stretching on long enough that it is almost uncomfortable, before he places his hand on top of hers and squeezes, “Do you worry that someone else will notice me? That they will think I’m courting them?” He smiles, like he likes that thought, and doesn’t wait for her to reply. Instead, he takes the other towel and loops it around his waist, covering his privates, “You will not have to worry. Apart from you and Christopher, all other humans I cannot stand. There is no need to get jealous.”
Y/N almost scoffs, wanting to tell him that it wasn’t necessarily jealousy; she just didn’t want anyone calling the sheriff on the man with the huge cock walking around her cottage! However, she doesn’t think that this would register with Harry at all. He’d probably just say he’d burn them alive if they tried to arrest her, and Y/N didn’t want to deal with that either. She lets him go, quietly and patiently waits for him to return with his arms full of her bundled sheets and blankets.
When Y/N begins to stand, he clicks his tongue, “Sit,” he orders, and Y/N drops back onto her bum. “I’m going to prepare the bed for you.”
“But, do you know how to –”
“Continue to ask me your questions.”
Y/N huffs, stretches her legs out in front of her, “Can I know why you dislike humans so much? Is it a sensitive topic?”
Harry shook his head, “Our sensitivities are different. I dislike humans because a group of them killed someone dear to me,” Y/N gasped, but Harry carefully pulls the sheets around the mattress, in a practiced way, where Y/N is quite shocked that he knows what to do. Did he have a bed? Wait, no, she can’t focus on that because – “I would’ve been betrothed to her had she made it past our 17th rotation, but they hunted her, shot her from the sky, and started a war. This preceded years of bloodshed and turmoil until the treaties were signed. Things became calmer.”
“I–I see,” she pulled the towel tighter around her body, “I’m sorry, Harry, that is horrible.”
He sighed, “There’s nothing to do about it now,” and he fanned the sheet out perfectly on the first try, “Don’t you learn about this in your teachings? Killing a princess typically does not go over well in history.”
“She was a princess?” Y/N repeated, “Wait, so are you a –”
“Prince? Yes.”
“Whoa,” she knuckles at her eyes, “I – I come from a small village a ways from here. I heard stories, but I thought they were lore and tales to scare me from the forest.” He fluffs her pillows and intricately places them along her headboard. “Is that why you are always dressed so lavishly with your jewels? I thought that might just be a dragon thing – hoarding riches and whatnot.”
He shrugs, “The others may also own jewels, but I have more.” Harry peels the corner of her bed down, “Have you eaten yet today?”
“Um, no, I was going to eat after my – my laundry, but then – well, you came.”
Harry disappears into her kitchen, and Y/N listens to him move around. She has plenty more questions to ask, but guilt sits heavily in her chest. All this time, Harry must not have wanted to see her because humans remind him of something so horrible, yet she pushed and pushed and pushed. It would be better if he were the one allowing her into the forest, but he couldn’t even stop her if he wanted to, since she somehow kept surpassing whatever boundary was set up to keep her out. And she knew she could not be blamed for the crimes of others, but she supposes if she’d known, she would have been more. . .tender, in her approach. Maybe less forward and pushy? She isn’t sure. There was a woman in her old village who was deathly afraid of wolves after one had killed one of her friends when she was younger, so much so that the howl of them on a full moon sent her into a fit. One riddled with shivers and shaking, tremendous pain, screaming in some cases – what if this is how Harry felt when he saw humans? Before his heat?
But wouldn’t it have been easier to spot? What about the time he fed her the apple? Or when he said he’d allow her one question? He didn’t seem afraid when she appeared, just mildly annoyed. Still, guilt tears through her intensely. What if –
“What plagues your mind?” Harry asks, holding a bowl and a spoon, filled with her roast. It bubbles and steams as if he’d just warmed it on the fire, “I could sense your turmoil in the other room.”
“I’m sorry,” she blurts out, frowning, shoulders sagging, looking down at the lines in her palms, “I’m so sorry, when you asked me to leave you be, I should’ve listened, but I–I wasn’t, and that probably caused you great stress, no? Even if you’d entertain me once in a while, it was–it was probably hard for you? Considering everything. I wasn’t thinking and –”
Harry cuts her off, shoving a spoonful of her roast into her mouth. Her words are swallowed up by roasted carrots and potatoes in broth. “Enough,” Y/N finally drags her gaze from her hands up to his face, where he looks to her sternly, “How were you to know? It is in a human’s nature to be curious about what they do not know or understand.” He defends her from herself, and if you had told her but a month ago that she’d be in this situation with the dragon, she’d have laughed out loud. Harry feeds her again, another spoonful, “I won’t accept apologies on the matter. I cannot fault you for another’s sin, but it is something that I do most readily. If anything, I should be the one apologizing.” He sits down on his knees in front of her, resting the spoon in the bowl so that he can use his free hand to cradle her face, “I am untrusting, and surly. My attitude is poor, and it makes me lash out at others. If it is of any solace, I treat fellow dragons similarly. I am unkind.”
She frowns, “I don’t think you are unkind,” she disagrees, reaching for his hand and pressing it closer to her face, feeling the warmth of his palm seep into her skin, “You would not take care of me so sweetly if you were unkind. Even if this treatment is due to your heat, then part of you must be nice. I think you just are. . .cautious. And a bit grumpy.”
Harry’s smile is faint, soft, and there’s an unreadable expression in his gaze, but it makes her feel warm all over, in a different sense. He caresses her cheek with the pad of his thumb.
“Humans are quite forgiving,” he murmurs, before withdrawing his hand, “Let’s finish eating.”
. . .
Y/N offered for Harry to spend the night with her.
She’s unsure of how long it will last, and when she inquires, the most Harry will explain is that it is “a few moons.” Still, when Harry had appeared like he might leave the first night he had come to her, there was a longing pull in her chest that begged for him not to. To go from being doted on so carefully and intensely to the silent crackling of her fire would have been sad, she thinks. So she offered him the night to stay with her, and Harry had agreed instantly, as if he’d only been waiting for her to.
“Your cave is quite small for two people, but it is cozy,” he told her, “It will make do for now. When I invite you to my cave, it will be very grand. It is apart of my courting.”
He had made her bed quite lovely, and somehow, with whatever dragon magic he was using to keep things warm, they were quite toasty when he held the sheet up for her to crawl beneath it. Harry was quick to follow and immediately pulled her against his body as he had in the wisteria flowers. From this position, Y/N could feel where he was about half-hard against her thigh, despite her back being to his chest, but when she gasped and tried to look down, he held her head, directing it back up. “Not now,” he told her, “Rest. I will wake you if it becomes too much to bear.”
Harry doesn’t wake her, but Y/N doesn’t even know if she would have if he’d tried. She slept hard that night, like a lump of rocks, gone from the world. When she woke, it was hours and hours later, the sun tickling past the tree line and her neighbor’s rooster crowing soundly. Harry was still tucked against her side, his chest rising and falling with each breath, and the sound of his heart warm against her ear. She would have thought he was asleep, but when she tried to move, his arm tightened around her.
“Do not move.”
Y/N huffed, something close to a laugh, “I need to get ready for the day.”
“You need to rest,” he ordered instead, “There is nothing to do today. You aren’t required to do your duties until two days from tomorrow, correct?”
She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head to look at him, “How do you know that?”
“Humans do things in patterns that are easy to follow if you watch enough.”
“Have you been stalking me?”
“I have been watching you.” He finally peered one eye open, “How else was I supposed to discover your true intentions toward me? I thought you a witch for a while.”
Harry does keep her in bed for longer than she usually would. Though he does quite a lot of convincing with his tongue and the thickness of his fingers between her thighs, he gives orgasms that make her all loose-limbed and sleepy, so staying in bed until the sun was high seemed like a fine idea. When she did finally rise, Harry was stoking a fire he already had burning, and eggs were already sizzling in a pan above it. Where had he learned to cook? Was it Christopher? Or was this something that all dragons knew of?
They do have a full day together. Harry helped her gather firewood, collect water from the well behind her cottage, tend to her winter garden, and her pickled vegetables. He follows directions well when she gives them to him, all while tending to the fire throughout the day. When Y/N settled around lunch time, they ate some more of her roast, and then she started working on a dress she promised to make for the little girl a few houses down from her. She did this often, especially when she was able to make dye from the pretty colors she could find in the forest. They weren’t a wealthy family, and most of their outfits were hand-me-downs of hand-me-downs of hand-me-downs, worn from time, color faded. And Y/N had found such pretty red flowers one of the times she had been searching for Harry. So she crushed them, made them into a dye, and had already gone about staining the wool for the winter dress.
While she carefully threaded her sewing machine, Harry busied himself with her books. Particularly, the ones about dragons, he cracked open and tore to shreds, telling her what was wrong and what they were stretching the truth about. He had asked her for a pen so he could fix it, but Y/N had to tell him they were rented books, and she’d get in trouble if there was any damage. Only twice does he stop her so that he can bury his face between her thighs through the waves of his heat, but he never requests her help him through it. He makes use of his hand, moans and purrs against her folds, then goes back to what he’d been doing before.
Every so often, he’d tell her how well she was doing with her creating of the garment, “I am impressed,” he told her, earnestly, “You possess many good skills and traits. It is confusing how you’ve yet been married off – isn’t that what you lot do?”
“My parents sent me here to marry into a wealthy family,” she told him, “But nobody has caught my eye.”
He hummed, low, close to a growl but not quite. When Y/N turned to look at him, stretching out her upper back that had been hunched forward, working diligently, “Well, that makes sense,” he stated when she looked at him, turning back toward the books, but his ears were even redder than the fabric she was working with, “How could any of these measly human men catch your eye?”
Y/N snorted, unsure of what he had to be embarrassed about, but he turned back to her work.
Again, that night, Harry seemed like he might leave, and that same, yearning pull tugged at Y/N’s chest. She offered again, “You can – it is quite late. You can stay the night if you’d like to.”
Harry grinned at her once more, “You love my company,” he doesn’t say it like a question, he says it like it’s fact, “Life is much easier with a dragon involved, isn't it?”
That night, Harry pulls Y/N on top of his body. His cock is heavy and hard in the shorts she’d convinced him to wear (they were a pair she’d made for Niall, intending to give him in the summer, but she never got around to it – Harry is bigger than Niall, and thicker, so they stretch tight around all of him – he looks quite lewd walking around in them). The fabric stretches around the bulge, and Y/N felt goosebumps pimple up her skin. Harry had fit her carefully on top of him, so that her folds rested right against his cock, before he squeezed her hips.
“Rut against me,” he ordered, “It will feel good for both of us.”
So Y/N does, slowly rolling her hips in a wave at first. This is the closest he’d let her get to feel him since last night, but she’d cum several times in that period. Which meant even this left her feeling twitchy and sensitive, enough that she couldn’t come up with any true rhythm, with her hips stuttering and her heart hammering. He squeezes her sides, slipping his hand to her bum and grabbing a fistful, urging her forward, trying to help guide her pace. Y/N bites through her bottom lip, trying to be quiet and to focus, but he huffs, plucking her lip from between her teeth, “I want to hear your noises,” he tells her, sliding his hand to her throat, and he squeezes the sides gently – Y/N doesn’t know why it makes her hips move faster, or why it jolts a broken moan from her mouth. Nobody had ever put their hand around her throat before – in those filthy drawings she’s seen, Y/N had never even understood why it was something that would feel good.
But it does, and she thinks she can feel her throat vibrating against his palm, and his cock twitches against her. Her knees tighten around his hips, and she moans again, even louder this time, slightly more debauced, “What a lewd little body,” he hums, grinning, his gaze lidded as he watches her. He sits up, so he’s closer to her, and Y/N is once again reminded that their lips had never pressed against each other. She wants it, though – more than she would care to admit. Her mouth hangs open, and she wants his tongue to slither between her lips and lick her insides. He’s good with it, she knows, and Y/N’s always been partial to kissing. It’d probably feel good, especially like this, with how she grinds against him, and how lightheaded she feels with his hand around her throat.
When he releases it, she gasps wetly, scrambling for something to grab onto. He wears nothing, so her fingers just dig into his chest. She leans forward, so she doesn’t do something stupid like kiss him unprovoked, and mouths at his shoulder. Then the head of his cock catches against the swell of her clit on a particular hard grind, and she digs her teeth into the muscle there when she cums. Harry groans that kind of sounds like a growl, and Y/N would have been worried that she pissed him off if not for the way he uses both hands to hold her against his cock, feeling it throb and jump, before the wet mess spreads between them.
Y/N detached from him after her orgasm, visualizing the dark red mark where her teeth had dug in. She regards it sheepishly, especially when he takes a look at it, but he only chuckles warmly, “Why look at that,” he teased, though where his thumbs lie at her sides, he strokes and caresses, “Is this your attempt to mark me?”
“Sorry,” she can’t look at it, “I – uh – got carried away, I think. We should probably disinfect that.”
Harry placed his hand on the back of her head and pulled her into him again. Her head tucks into his throat, and he rubs up and down her back, once again, letting himself purr.
“You are quite silly,” he murmurs, “Rest. I will wake you for your baker's work.”
. . .
Going out into town proved to be a little easier than Y/N had imagined with Harry involved.
Y/N had thought that maybe Harry would stay at her cottage while she worked, or perhaps he might make the trek back to his cave finally, without having her sort of ask him to stay the night. They had spent a lot of time there together, day in and day out, the last couple of days. He must feel comfortable enough now to stay even a limited amount of time there by himself. Instead, Harry seems to be glowing, pulling on clothes that Y/N had initially made to send back to her cousin – Harry found them in his pursuit through her closet and drawers, and put them on that morning. When Y/N inquired why, he looked at her like she was silly.
“You whinge about me walking outside nude, so I imagine you want me in clothes at your place of work? Isn’t this important to you?”
That’s how she found out he was coming with her and. . .well, she was comforted by the thought. Knowing that she’d know where he was brought something warm to her chest, soothing, like knowing your room would be warm when you’re walking home in the cold, icy rain. She thinks if she were working all day, wondering where Harry was, what he was doing, or if he’d be there when she returned, she’d be stressed. If he’s just tailing along with her - well, she wouldn’t mind.
So he comes into the bakery with her, where Niall is already setting up the display case, and his head turns toward the jingling bells as she opens the door, “Oh, thank god you’re here. We need to start the bread pudding, but I always fuck it up like three steps in, so – oh? Who is this?”
Harry had stepped in behind her, seeming even bigger somehow, in the bakery. His eyes light up as he looks at the displays, purple as they could be, “This is the dragon,” she told him, “He is spending time with us today.”
Niall blinked at Y/N, then blinked at Harry, then at the muffin in his hand, then back at Y/N, “Excuse me?” He motioned toward him, “Did you convince this guy to play pretend to fuck with me or –”
“I do not play pretend, I’m no child,” Harry cuts in, then, as his proof – beyond the bright purple eyes – he purses his lips and a thin, slivered, flame emerges from his mouth. It’s something Y/N hasn’t even been able to see yet, so her eyes widen too, but Niall’s are comically wide. He stumbles back a little, dropping the muffin from his hand as he holds his chest, “Now, show me your pies.”
He points towards the pies, and Harry smiles, stepping around the tables and leaning toward the glass casing. Niall’s eyes dart from Harry to Y/N, who walks through the swinging half door so that she’s on the same side with him. His mouth is hung open, and she can practically hear his heart thudding against his sternum.
“What the fuck?” He asks, and Y/N shrugs.
“I told you,” she slid her coat off her shoulders, “I told you many times, you never listened.”
“Because I thought you’d truly lost it!”
“What is your name?” Harry inquired suddenly, standing in front of Niall across from the display stand.
Niall was startled at being spoken to again, “Um, I – it’s Niall, Sir.”
Sir – Y/N almost giggles. Niall has never referred to anyone as ‘sir’ before, so he must truly be scared.
“Watch your tongue when you speak to her.” He tells him, then points to the case, “Now what is a meat pie? Give me a slice.”
Harry stayed with them all day. Not many people mention him, but Y/N can tell that they are looking – he is quite the imposing presence, and he’d brought one of the dragon books with him, only he’d demanded that morning that she get him a notepad and pen. He makes note of every wrong thing and tells Y/N that she needs to take these revisions to the library so that they can fix them. So he doesn’t look up at them much, unless they are interacting with Y/N, though she is mostly in the back baking. However, when Niall has to take the garbage again, and a customer walks in, Harry is suddenly very focused on their interaction from where he sits. She can feel his glare cutting through the air, and she looks a couple of times, locks eyes, then goes back to helping the customer.
But as soon as the woman left the store, Harry settled back into his seat and looked back at his book.
Other than that, he is quite calm.
“Is it Bring Your Pet Dragon to work day?” Christopher enters a little past lunch, when Y/N had given Harry a slice of Shepherd’s pie and a strawberry cake slice. Harry spits another little curl of fire toward him that he narrowly avoids with a laugh, “I figured I’d find you here.” He has a bag in his hand, heading straight toward Y/N with it open, “And I thought maybe your life would be easier if you had more clothes to put him in. He prefers his loincloths, but those aren’t very. . public-friendly.”
Niall, who was rolling out the crust for another pie (because Harry had eaten through quite a few at this point), paused and stared, “Okay, what the hell was everyone in on this?”
Christopher stays for a little while and sits across from Harry, who is very animatedly going through all of the pitfalls in the human’s dragon research. They share bread pudding, though Harry growls a couple of times that they both reach for it at the same time, Christopher doesn’t seem perturbed at all. They seem like childhood friends, really. Y/N finds their dynamic quite cute.
While he believes Harry is distracted, Niall whispers the demand, “We are going out for drinks at the tavern soon, and you will explain all of this to me.”
“Niall,” Harry’s voice is commanding, and when they both look over, he isn’t even looking at them – though his tone is warning, “Remember yourself.”
He sighed, “Please?” He inquired, and Y/N giggled.
“Yeah, sure.”
The rest of the day went by pretty quickly. Afternoons are always quite busy for them, so they were cleaning and closing up before long. It was nice because Harry stayed to help, though they did have to explain to him a few times that burning the leftovers to ash wasn’t an option. Harry walks Y/N home, and while she isn’t very scared of her trek to her cottage, there’s still a blanket of safety that comes with him being with her. She feels secure, like nothing and nobody could harm her. She hadn’t felt this way in a very long time. Or maybe that’s a lie, because she’s been feeling this for the last couple of days, since he’s been with her. Harry is a steady, calming, reassuring presence that Y/N has gotten very used to. So used to it, in fact, she isn’t sure what she would do without it.
That night, Harry tucks her back into his chest for sleep, but Y/N’s mind is racing.
This is bad. Very bad. She can feel her heart grow more and more fond with every passing moment they spend together. Y/N could admit that she was always someone who – if in proximity with someone for long enough – would start to have a big, fat crush on them. She’d even liked Niall for a little while, when they first started working together, and Niall didn’t do even half of the things that Harry had done for her. Five days of bonding, five days of seeing him from sunrise to sundown, and five nights of her not wanting him to leave her cottage to go back to his home.
But there was a pulling that she had never felt with anyone before. A tugging at her heart, like he’d tied a string to it and pulled every so often. When he was out of her sight for even a moment, it felt quite painful, like he was unintentionally dragging and plucking at that string when he ambled further away. What would it be like when he had to go back to the forest? Would she be miserable? Would it get easier? She was starting to worry that she’d become too dependent on him in such a short amount of time. Was this some dragon magic? Should she ask Christopher about this?
Sadly, the only person who could probably give her an answer right away would be Harry, but she finds herself shy to ask him. What if this isn’t a normal response to spending a heat with someone? What if his brows curl inward and he puts distance between their snuggled bodies? That would probably feel like a punch to the gut, at this rate, and she really just doesn’t know why.
“This human brain,” his clawed fingers graze at her scalp, making motions like jellyfish tentacles, that send shivers up her spine, “Thinks entirely too much, and entirely too loudly. What troubles you?”
And how could he always tell? Was it something her scent was giving off? Or could he read her mind? Or, perhaps, maybe not her mind, but was he able to sense a turbulence there? Could he tell when she was unsettled?
Y/N knows now would have been the time to probe him, but she won’t – she can’t – it feels too embarrassing, So instead, she drags her finger over the mark she’d made on his shoulder, and her heart races when he hums a soft sound. “You did not need me intimately, today,” she noted, clearing her throat, “Is your heat nearly finished?”
Harry’s fingers pause, like he wasn’t expecting her to bring it up. It’s only for a second, but it was noticeable enough for Y/N to read too deeply into it, when he hums again, “Ah, yes, it should be finished by tomorrow,” he explains to her, “They go by far quicker when you spend it with someone. I’ve been able to satisfy my nesting urges as well, thanks to you.” Y/N doesn’t know what that means, but he seems pleased by it, so she feels happy. At least as happy as she can, though her insides feel sad and squidgy. This is horrible, and nowhere near like the high she’d felt the two days previous.
“I’m glad I could help.” She finally settles on saying, then snuggles closer into him, “Would you purr again for me?”
It rumbles through him in an instant, and Y/N melts.
. . .
Harry stays for two more nights before he finally leaves. And while Y/N had suspected him of leaving at some point soon, she had sort of expected him to at least bid her a farewell. Instead, one night she falls asleep nestled beneath his chin, with his arm around her waist, and his leg stretched over both of hers (this is how he prefers her, beside him, but simultaneously below him, like he could protect her from something if it were to catch them in their slumber), and the following morning, Y/N wakes up alone.
It’s a weird feeling. Y/N had woken up alone for many years – all her life, really, as far as sharing a bed with someone. But she’d grown used to Harry in the week that she’d spent with him. Was used to waking up warm and protected. Used to feeling like she’d slept hard and deep, like she’d danced in the world of dreams all night long and regained every bit of energy she lost throughout the day.
So to wake up alone was odd, and even sadder than she anticipated. To find the note written on the pad that Y/N had given Harry, in his scribbled scrawl, a Thank You – was even worse somehow. This sucked even more than when she’d told the neighbor boy she loved him, he’d slept with her, and then the next day she found out he was betrothed to his fourth cousin, a town over. Because at least Y/N had thought she had a chance with the neighbor boy, with this dragon, she knew she never stood a chance, yet she still let her stupid brain convince her that there was something magical stirring between them.
But whatever. It is fine. Y/N won’t cry about it because she doesn’t cry about silly things, and this is a silly thing. She goes about her day as she always would, and when Niall inquires where “the big meanie” is, Y/N musters up her most unbothered tone to say, “Oh, he went back to the forest today.”
“Oh?” Niall looks horrified, “It’s freezing out, though? Does he live outside?”
“He’s a dragon.”
“I guess you’re right.”
Y/N doesn’t hear from him that day, and she doesn’t seek him out either. Actually, she doesn’t hear from him or from Christopher for two weeks before she decides that instead of being sad, she’s kind of pissed off. Like, sure, she hasn’t gone to look for him, but he knew for sure where she lived! He could have come to check on her at least – it’s really cold, and the whole time he stayed with her, he questioned how she would survive without him there to warm her. He’d said it enough that she started wondering, too! Plus, he’d eaten her food, used her water, and slept in her nice bed, with her soft sheets that smelled so good. And she let him split her thighs whenever he wanted! However, he needed, for his stupid, dumb heat.
What a dick! All men of every species are the same, she guesses!
And that damn tugging on her heart isn’t even making her sad anymore, it’s just pissing her off. Especially when she wakes up in the middle of the night shivering, going to stoke her fire, thinking about how Harry had been the one doing it all night. Or when she sees the dragon books on her shelf, she yanks them out from where they’d been nestled between the others and finally returns them. Or when she sees Christopher out in the town, and he makes eye contact with her, smiling, she scowls and heads the other way, ignoring when he calls after her.
She feels stupid and a little crazy to have gotten so attached. So what, his body was receptive towards her? He’d said they’d just have to wait it out anyway. Y/N was the one who suggested she help him through it; it’s not like he’d made the first move anyway. He’d even told her that being with her helped his nesting or whatever. The only reason he’d even spent it with her is that he doesn’t trust other humans, and there were no other dragons nearby. So he needed someone – a warm human body that could get him through it, and let him fulfill all his possessive, caretaking desires, and Y/N was just the easiest to do it with. Because she’d always been easy, hasn’t she? That’s what everyone always whispers about her anyway.
A knock on her door tears her from her brooding. She’d been grouchy for about a week now, even Niall noticed, and the offer to get a drink was more about letting off steam and less about her explaining the dragon to him. At least that’s how he phrased it – that they’ve been slammed at work lately, and they need to take a break and relax. The few times she was able to muster a smile were when her neighbor came by and offered her more eggs and grain as a preemptive thank you for the socks she was meant to knit their children. Otherwise, she’d been staring at everyone quite irately.
She goes to answer the door, thinking that it’d be – well, she isn’t sure, at this hour. It could be Niall, coming to cash in on that drink, or it could be one of her neighbors – she had finished quite a few clothes for them lately, and one of the older women meant to come for her tea leaves Y/N had harvested.
But when she opens the door, she sees Christopher. Which, honestly, felt as bad as seeing Harry, so she went to slam the door shut on him.
“Wait!” He cries out, slamming his hand flat against the door before she could swing it shut the whole way, “C’mon, wait, Y/N, I know you’re upset with him, but I haven’t done anything.”
“You haven’t beaten him up yet, that’s more than enough reason to be upset.” She gripes, and Christopher laughs, disbelieving.
“Listen, if I could, I would, Honey, but I reckon my chances at winning against a dragon end with me being seared alive.” He presses a little, and Y/N lets him, revealing more of her face, “I have something for you. And I wanted to say something too, because despite being a dragon, his bravery right now is chicken shit.”
Y/N peers at him for a moment before huffing, turning on her heel, and stalking back into her cottage. She can hear Christopher coming in behind her, closing her door carefully. Y/N flops down onto her sofa with another huff, arms crossed over her chest, brows dipped as Christopher kicks off his shoes and rids himself of his coat. Typically, she is a much better host than this. She would offer him a drink, something warm to nurse between his cold fingers, and maybe one of the baked goods she took from her job as her form of daily payment. But since she’s mad, and she can’t take it out on Harry since he’s M.I.A., then she’ll just have to take it out on Christopher.
He doesn’t seem bothered by the lack of hospitality, though, as he produces the very familiar bag that Y/N had been keeping her jewels in that Harry had gifted her. She hadn’t checked on them in a while, which she guesses is a good thing, because they wouldn’t have been where she left them. Christopher takes a seat beside her, smiling softly, “Aish, come on, Y/N, can’t you save that glare for him?”
“Why are you here?” She asks, but she tries to soften her gaze a bit – he’s right, even though she doesn’t want to hear it. Harry’s the reason why she’s upset, so Harry is the person she should be taking it out on, not his friend, but. . .well, she’s still mad and wants someone to feel her wrath. “And where the hell is that dummy?”
Christopher laughs, “That ‘dummy’ is currently stressed in his cave right now because he thinks he’s fucked everything.” Y/N’s brows deepen even further, a frown pulling at her mouth, “Ugh, how do I say this? He always leaves me to explain shit, but then scolds me for doing it wrong, y’know? In this dynamic, I’m a victim consistently.” He grimaces, “Basically, um, while you and Harry were spending his heat together, he may have imprinted on you? Or you imprinted on him? Or, perhaps, the two of you were fated to begin with – he was speaking so fast last I saw him, he barely made any sense.”
“Imprinted?” Y/N repeated, confused, “Like a duck?”
“Ah, yes, I suppose – though I would say his likeness is more to a wolf than a sweet duckling,” he motions towards her, “I’m of the belief that this happened away before his heat, and that’s why you’ve been able to come and go through the forest and his boundaries as you please. Whether it be a red string of fate or something that was written into the stars, or the craters in the moon, there’s a reason that you crossed paths. A reason that you returned despite his turning you away again and again. And a reason that he was so receptive to you during heat,” he motioned outside, “Heats are – from what I understand of them – periods of time that they aren’t just sexually. . .robust, but emotionally very vulnerable. I once stumbled upon him during his heat, and he’d waxed poetic about how dear a friend I am to him, then avoided me for two months out of embarrassment. The words are his own, the actions are his own, but if not for this period of vulnerability, the likelihood of him saying or doing those things is. . .very low. He’s a dragon, but an emotionally repressed one.”
Y/N groaned, pulling her legs up onto the couch and tucking her knees under her chin, “So what? He got embarrassed for taking care of me? For cuddling at night? I’m confused – it’s not like he even confessed to me or something,” she exclaimed, “He just did stuff around the cottage and followed me around!”
“That’s as a profession as any,” Christopher told her, “I need you to stop thinking like a human and start thinking like an animal, yeah? He was taking care of you because he wanted to show you that he could be a good mate. Penguins present pebbles for building nests, and pufferfish create beautiful designs in the sea floor – they don’t vocalize their interest, they show it, yeah? Both his body and mind – and he hasn’t felt this way before, so he’s scared and embarrassed and unsure of himself.”
She groans again, rolling her eyes, “He could’ve just explained this to me himself,” she grumbled, “I never thought him a coward.”
“I know,” he reaches for the pouch, carefully pulling it open and reaching inside of it, “He dropped these off for me to make into jewelry for you, then flustered through his complicated feelings in the most complicated way. I’m not here to encourage you either way,” he pulls out a necklace, much less gaudy than what Harry’s look like, but still bright, pretty, a sapphire gemstone glittering in a pear-shaped cut. On either side of it, on the chain, are more, smaller sapphires cut in teardrops – she thinks the chain is fit in a way that would rest along her collarbones. Christopher holds it out until Y/N takes it from his hand, feeling the weight of it against her palm, “Honestly, I think it’s good on you to make him wait, or to give him hell. Believe it or not, a dragon prince gets what he wants most of the time, so it’s good to make him shake in his boots a bit. But I didn’t want you thinking that he’d just up and left you with no feelings in the matter.”
Y/N is annoyed and relieved. She’s annoyed at her relief. She’s irritated that he didn’t come to tell her himself, but thankful that at least Christopher came to explain it to her.
“What took you so long to come tell me?” Y/N asks, finally, “I’ve been in such a rotten mood.”
“Don’t I know it? You keep staring at me as if I stole from you,” he takes out more jewelry, laying them out on the table in front of them, “I sadly had more faith in Harry than he probably deserves. After I realized you weren’t going to him, I thought maybe he would come to you out of desperation. Instead, every time I visit him, he just sadly asks if you’re okay. It’s getting to be depressing.”
Y/N thuds her head against the back of her sofa, “He’s annoying,” she grumbles, and Christopher laughs.
“That he is,” he answered, “Come, won’t you let me take you for something good to eat?”
. . .
Going out in the middle of the night, in the snow, probably isn’t the best idea.
Y/N isn’t known for her best ideas, though, now that she thinks about it. The issue is, is that after her dinner with Christopher, her belly is full and her mind is a little more at ease than it has been. But she’s also slightly drunk off two glasses of high-dollar wine (because Christopher makes money where this is not putting him out), and Christopher drops her off at her door with a question, “Do you think you’ll go and see him?”
“Yes, probably,” she replied, “If the snow isn’t horrible in the morning.”
But even two glasses of wine in, sleep doesn’t find her. It never finds her easily anymore, now that she knows what it was like to sleep in the same bed as Harry. She tosses and turns for hours, upon hours, until she’s sitting up, looking out her window to see the moon high in the sky and a fresh sheet of snow blanketing the ground. The snow, like tiny mirrors, reflects the light of the moon and the stars, so the sky is much brighter on snowy nights like these. So, while it isn’t safe to travel at night, at least she’d be able to see, and she may be able to put this to rest, and settle this annoying ache in her chest.
She shoves on her thickest socks, puts on her new gloves, and layers her winter robes and dress with her thickest coat. This coat, in particular, she meant to line with fur, but she simply could not wear a poor animal around her neck, so she never got around to it. Still, it was her warmest layer and kept her almost overheated in the coldest of winter winds. She pulls a hat over her ears and – last minute – debates on whether or not she should remove the necklace with his jewels in it. Y/N had put it on before she went with Christopher for food, but she doesn’t want Harry thinking that she’d forgiven him so quickly. He needs to grovel a bit, she decides.
The wind is chilly when it brushes past her face. And even in her snowboots, she can feel the cold worm its way between her toes. This probably should have been her indication to turn around and go back inside, but she was stubborn and on a mission, so she pressed forth. She crunched through the snow, her familiar trek to the forest in the almost eerie quiet of the night. The only thing she can hear is her own breath and the sound of her footsteps, which – if she focused too closely on – would make her panic. But she decided there was no need to. When she got into the forest, maybe Harry would sense her, and out of irritation that she was being unsafe, he’d meet her quickly.
So long as he wasn’t asleep, she guessed. Or, so long that Christopher didn’t have this all wrong, and he actually didn’t want to see her at all. Either way, she was getting an answer tonight, and she didn’t care how she was getting it. Whether it be from his own mouth or from his actions.
Y/N didn’t think about the possibility of other animals being in the forest until she was already a few meters beyond the trees. The wind whistled through the branches, blowing the flakes from on top of the trees down in little dusty plumes around her. It was still snowing, but it wasn’t very heavy, and she could tell beneath the layer of snow it was slick, like ice. That would be annoying, trying to shovel through in the morning, when she made it home safe, back in her bed. Hopefully, with a stupid, annoying, embarrassed dragon at her side, keeping her warm. She’d need this after this bone-deep chill. He’d probably need to thaw her at this rate.
It’s hard to tell where she’s going at night, if she’s honest, especially now that everything looks so similar in the snow. The tree roots and boulders she used as landmarks to make it to and from were covered, so she was moving based off feel alone. But she wonders if the wine has her feeling skewed, because she’s been out for what feels like way longer than it’s ever taken her to find her way before. If she were warmer, then frustrated tears might burn up her cheeks, but she thinks any form of water inside of her must be frozen. She stumbles a few times and just barely catches herself, digging her numb fingers through bark – her gloves are thick, but not thick enough to, it seems, as she can still feel every jagged edge. Now that she thinks about it. Christopher designs things for style, not for usage, so it would make sense.
The further she walks through the forest, the slipperier it feels like the ground is. So slippery that Y/N accidentally steps onto a rock with a thin sheet of ice over the top, and not enough packed snow to give her any form of traction. She saw a fall coming in her near future, but she hadn’t seen the twist of her ankle, or that she would tumble quite as hard as she did. Because with Y/N, things are never halfhearted. If she were to fall, then she would roll down a small hill, her body crashing into the iced-over creek. Her weight makes it crack, of course, and water seeps up into the fabric of her clothes.
Great. This is great. Now her ankle throbs and her clothes are wet, and it’s cold enough that she’s sure to become hypothermic. She’d freeze over at this rate! All for a stupid dragon!
“Stupid, horrible, no good, dragon,” she grumbles to herself, trying to ignore the fear that drips as a solid weight in her chest as she pushes herself up, grabbing hold of a root that thankfully still jutted out from the snow. She drags herself as best she can up on the other side of the creek, where it’s less steep, so she wouldn’t have to lug the weight of her clothes up what looked like a mountain from this angle. This is the worst. She should have just stayed home and let him think she hated him or something; that would’ve been ten times better than whatever this is.
Just as she has yanked herself up onto the other side, she’s about to try and figure out what to do. She’s exhausted, her ankle surely wouldn’t be suitable to walk on without some sort of cane for the time being, and unless she can find a large stick, she’s not imagining she’d be so lucky. Which means if Harry, or someone, didn’t find her, she probably would freeze out here – there’s no way, with how long she’d been out here already, that she would make it until morning. Maybe she could drag herself back home? But that would mean having to get across this creek again, or finding a way across the creek, and from the looks of how long it is from either side – well, her luck doesn’t seem to be there either.
Actually, maybe, her luck has completely run out, because she hears a growl come from her right. When her head whips over, she halfway expects to see a wolf – something that was snapping and gnawing, drool dripping, teeth prepared to eat her. Instead, she sees a dragon – a dragon who has eyes that are not purple. A dragon who doesn’t look like what she remembers of Harry at all. Her insides twist uncomfortably, fear really dripping through her now.
“Oh god,” she lets out a frustrated sound, “Please, I’m no good as dragon food.” It stops growling, at least, and regards her carefully when she holds up her hands, “I was just out here trying to find a different dragon, and then I fell because I’m stupid. I know you can hear me because you’re a human in there, and I know all about the great war and the – the other stuff. I’m not here to be a nuisance or anything. Honestly, if you just like pick me up and drop me off outside of the forest, I’ll figure it out from there. Do you know Harry?” The dragon blinks at her, its huge body blocking most of her vision – how the hell had she missed it before? “He’s who – I’m looking for, because he’s – he’s a jerk.”
The dragon huffs steam through its nose, and Y/N closes her eyes. If they’re going to burn her alive, she truly doesn’t want to see it coming.
But with her eyes closed, the weight of her exhaustion drags her under. Or maybe she was just passing out? She isn’t sure. The still, quiet of the night becomes even quieter, though, and Y/N drifts into a dreamless place.
. . .
“Prince Harry, there is a human in my cave looking for you.”
No words had pulled Harry to his feet quicker. Which should have been a heavy feat, given he’d all but melted into the floor of his cave, cemented in his despondence and general annoyance with himself for being such a coward. He’d spent weeks wallowing in his own misery, feeling an undeniable and insistent tugging at his heart, every time he moved, and every time he stayed still, and every time he breathed. It was horrible – had he just stuck around and explained himself to her, then there’d be no need for such misery.
But how could he? He’d done all of that through sheer instinct and the haze of his heat. It isn’t like they were things he didn’t want to do, but they were definitely things that he would not have had the gall to do without some sort of influence. Especially without speaking to her about it beforehand. To just suddenly impose himself on her after she’d stumbled upon him resting in the forest, after she’d touched his horns, after she had made him something – there were discussions to be had! Boundaries and foundations to be made. Things to do that weren’t just tasting her greedily and grinding against her filthily.
There had been something off about her the moment he’d met her. When she’d found him in the wisteria meadow, trapped, in pain, vulnerable beyond measure – and all she simply did was get him out of it, despite the fear he could smell in her sweet scent. She’d helped him, then went on her way, trying not to show how her whole body trembled from the experience. Harry had been sure he’d scared her off, yet he’d sensed her in his forest again. And again. And again. She had no intention of being scared off, he found quickly, and had no intention of listening to him either when he told her to leave and not return.
He should have known then that there was something deeper that pulled them together. Why could she amble through his boundaries, no problem, stepping passed the invisible divide of his world and theirs. Where he exists, the wisteria flowers are always in bloom, and the trees maintain their leaves year-round. There is plenty of food, foliage, hot springs, and clean water to drink. It is enhanced by magic passed on from generation to generation in the royal family to bring ease in life. While she’d only experienced part of it, he knew she wasn’t returning merely for what felt like a different realm. Honestly, he isn’t even sure if she knew that it was.
No, she kept returning for him. To see him, to be near him, to ask him questions – she wanted to be close, even if she did not understand it. Her body and soul yearned for him before her mind could have ever, and he was in the same boat. It wasn’t just a stubborn attitude, and Harry only found this out for certain when he had stayed for her the week of his heat. While she could be stubborn for a brief moment, if something did not reveal itself ot her, then she gave up rather quickly. So what she felt toward him wasn’t just a normal obstinate character. Something else drove her.
And even after Harry had answered question after question, seemingly satiating her curiosity, she did not seem to bore or tire of him. No matter how pushy he was, how needy he seemed – she appeared pleased to be under his care, happy to wake up at his side, absolutely taken when he brought her release with his mouth and fingers. Had even asked multiple times if he would fill her up, pierce her with his cock, and while he refused for her comfort, he throbbed and leaked at the mention each time.
His mind had felt at complete ease with her, something Harry had not felt in many years. Or perhaps, maybe he had never felt it. He isn’t sure. He just knows that when he was with her, his mind was quiet, his heart felt soft, and the weight of past worries seemed to have lifted. There’s a marrow-deep contentment that came from feeding her by hand, waking in the night to continue the fire, warming her through his natural heat as they cuddled close beneath the covers. To gather wood, to help tend her garden, to fantasize, even, about bringing her food and helpful tools that would bring ease to her life – ran the fulfillment even deeper. When he was with her, he’d only ever been distressed by the fact that he had not been with her sooner.
Harry had never felt this way before, and in all things that are unknown to him, there is fear that manifests its obnoxious head. He woke up the morning he left, feeling clear-headed, and embarrassed for pressing her into this play dragon couple without talking it through with her first. Y/N had gone along with it because she’s kind, and she wanted her questions answered, so why wouldn’t she entertain his dragon musings? And in the haze of his heat, he was just pleased to have this reciprocated. That she was allowing him to care for her like a lover.
But to be completely sobered from the hormones inducing his heat, Harry feels quite silly. Like he’d forced her into it, unintentionally, or made her feel like she had to, to get answers that she wanted. Even though the logical part of his brain tells him that there is much more to it than this, the irrational part says that he should be humiliated by his display. Hell, he’d even growled at someone for ordering food from her! Growled! How outrageously possessive could he get?
Some of him believes she is his; his to claim, to take care of, to love. And some of him believes she might hate someone – dragon or otherwise – who would impose her with all of this.
So he runs, and he hides, and he whines to Christopher about how hard his life is lately. Christopher encourages him to speak to her, but Harry just can’t convince himself that it is a good idea. He’d mess it up somehow, he’s certain of it. He’s never been good with words, least of all communication with humans.
And as far as he’s concerned, she hadn’t tried to see him. The constant nagging and tugging in his heart is as it always is, even tonight. Even when he heard Mitch’s wings, sensed him turning bipedal, and entering the mouth of Harry’s cave, where he’d been sitting close. He was watching the snow from far away, wondering if it was like this at Y/N’s tiny cave. How would she make it outside when it was this cold? He hoped she had proper human winter clothes for it.
But then Mitch says it, so simply, that a human is looking for him in Mitch’s cave, and he’d moved faster than he had in days.
“What?” Harry rushed, “Explain.”
Mitch brushed his long hair off his shoulder (it’s due time he cuts it, but he’d been growing it for a while now, because the dragon he’d courted liked it this way – it was nearly the length of Harry’s but nowhere near as full, curled, and voluminous), then pointed a thumb back toward his boundary. If you could call it that. Mitch stays near Harry’s boundary as something like a confidant – he is the one who transmits messages from the royal court to Harry, and from Harry to the royal court, without him having to do so himself. Truly, Harry likes to be unbothered by all of it, so he does most of his work through Mitch, and Mitch does not mind, so long as he can reap the benefits of royal wealth.
“I was hunting east when I’d heard a commotion, Sir, and a human woman was dragging herself from a creak. She was grumbling about stupid dragon this and stupid dragon that. She inquired if I knew you and said she was looking for you because. . .well, I do not wish to say.”
Harry’s eyes are wild, he knows, he can feel them as heat flourishes through his body, “Is she hurt? Why bring her to your cave and not to me?”
“Because I was unsure of the validity of her statements, Sir. She passed out soon after she spoke to me.” He replied carefully, “My mate tends to her wounded leg now, and dries her wet clothes by fire. Do you wish for me to bring her here?”
He shook his head, “No, no,” he denied him, “I’ll bring her myself.”
. . .
Y/N eases into consciousness slowly.
She feels warm, which is nice. When she had passed out, she recalls the cold chilling her down to the bone, but this warmth is close to something she’d been craving. She thinks that dragon fire is different than regular fires. Dragon fires are hotter, and burn brighter, and the warmth melts into your muscles and loosens every fiber. That’s how she knows that’s what she’s feeling. She’d just hope she wasn’t tied to a skewer and rotating slowly above it like a roast of some kind.
The second thing that comes to her is scent. Y/N is in now cottage right now, she knew that much. There is the damp smell of earth that tickles her nose; of rock covered in moss and fresh water. Y/N doesn’t know what to compare it to – a mountain, maybe? And the echoed crackles of the fire might suggest that she’s enclosed somewhere, along with the way the wind doesn’t seem to be hitting her.
So when she finally opens her eyes, and his greeted with the inside of a cave, the full picture comes together. She lay near a fire, away from the mouth of it but close enough that if she felt the need to escape, she could. Y/N doesn’t think she’d need to, though – her clothes had been stripped from her, down to just her lowest layer, and they were all spread out close to the fire. Waiting for the heat to dry them. Even her socks and shoes were intricately placed. She, herself, is resting on a platform of what seems to be a bed of velvet grass and large leaves, but is nowhere near as rough as it should be. It’s actually quite soft, bracketed by sticks and rocks woven in the plumes of a gossamer plant she didn’t recognize.
To her right sits a woman, naked as Harry was the first time she saw him, only with a cloth covering her bits. Y/N almost screams when she sees her, but manages to hold her tongue, especially when she looks down to see that her ankle is wrapped. Was this the one who found her?
“Um, excuse me?” Y/N began gently, nervously, and the woman turned and blinked at her, a soft smile on her mouth, “Are you – are you the one who saved me?”
She shook her head, “No, not me,” then she pointed out toward the mouth of the cave, “Mitch is, but he left to speak to Prince Harry. They will arrive soon. I smell them.”
Y/N swallows thickly, “Oh,” she pushes herself to sit up, “I see. Thank you for watching over me.”
A couple of things were swirling through her mind. The first being that Y/N has just met two more dragons in the span of. . .well, she isn’t sure how long, but it was still night, so she would guess a couple of hours at most. They seemed nice enough – despite the one who growled at her, he’d probably just been scared. If Harry was wary of humans and he knew Christopher, she could only imagine what it must feel like to not know even a single human and to stumble upon one in the middle of the night. In their territory, no less, that they probably assumed nobody had access to.
The second thing that swirls through her head is that she was about to see Harry for the first time in a while. All the gusto she had fueled by wine and anger had pittered out, left in creak with the slippery ice and snow. Now she was embarrassed, tired, feeling stupid, and sad. The sadness that probably should have lingered for longer before she was just angry. The probably healthier process of feelings that she should have gone through before reducing it all into something grumpy and volatile.
This all got so messed up for no good reason. All he needed to do was talk to her; she would have heard him out, she would have welcomed how he was feeling.
Y/N hears them before she sees them, and the dragon woman she’s with also straightens up and turns her head toward the entrance. The sound of wings flapping is loud, the deep rumbles of something larger than life, and then the subtle but sudden shift of four paws landing, to two feet clicking against stone. Harry whips around the mouth of the cave with a frantic gaze, darting around until it settles on her, where she lies by the fire. Something in said frantic gaze softens considerably as he rushes over to her.
He drops to his knees beside her, his fingers hesitant, hovering over her injured ankle with a pouted frown and a low, pained whine. His eyes look all over her, pressing the fabric of her dress around like he’s making sure there are no other bumps or bruises that he could visualize on her. All until he makes it to her face, grabbing her by either side and moving her head around, “Harry,” she whines, as he moves her about, “C’mon, stop it! I’m okay.”
Harry huffs a sharp breath through his nose before pulling her back to look at him, still holding her. His eyes are soft for her, worried, and fond.
“Come with me,” he tells her, “To my cave. Come with me.”
Summary: “A break-in into Y/N’s home goes a lot more different than she thought it would…”
Tropes: stalker/not really human!harry x Y/N
Wc: 3.3k
Warnings: VERY DARK HARRY, but then also sweet which is confusing, SMUT, dub/noncon, psychological manipulation, dom!harry, rough s€x, praise kink, allusion to violence, talk of postcoital dysphoria
DO NOT proceed if you are triggered by any of the themes above. These topics are rightfully very sensitive, so do keep that in mind. If you are sensitive to these topics, this story is not for you. Please take care of yourself💗
A/N: Listen, I know spooky season is over but I swear I got possessed when I wrote this and I was thinking maybe some of y’all are still up for it lol. Anyway, I haven’t really written Harry this dark before so, again, I truly want you to READ THE WARNINGS before you read it.
General Masterlist
Y/N screamed.
She did everything by the book.
She grabbed the nearest object—the lamp on her nightstand— then moved to the closest open window and made a run for it. She even got so far as to put the ladder of the fire escape down, and still she wasn't fast enough before a pair of strong arms pulled her back to her apartment.
So, she screamed. As loudly as she could. Even as the leathered glove of the unknown man put his hand on her mouth, even as it severely muffled her voice to the point where she felt she was doing more damage to herself than to the intruder.
And she kicked him. Everywhere. But it wasn't long before he had her pinned down on her own bed, and she was confronted with a blazing pair of green eyes. Almost as if fueled by fire, they sparkled in the moon-lit room. They might've looked familiar, had Y/N's mind not been so occupied with the fact that she was being restrained by a man she didn't know, who might possibly kill her at any time.
As if a calming drug had filled the air, Y/N slowly stopped fighting back, entranced by the odd color of green. The voice in her mind that screamed to get out of there was getting smaller and smaller, until it was but a distant echo stored away in the basement of her brain. The uneasiness stayed, as did the suspicion, but the need to run had disappeared.
"There you go."
He had a low voice; the unknown man. Though she wasn't able to see the outlines of his face, she was most certain that there was a smile under the balaclava he wore. Suddenly, she needed him to take it off.
A hushed laugh escaped the man's throat, and he leaned back. With his hands off her wrists, she was free to run, but she couldn't hear the banging from the back of her head over the loud curiosity that consumed her as the man reached for his mask.
The sharp jawline was the first thing Y/N saw, followed by full lips and a pretty nose, and by the time the whole balaclava was off, she was observing the curls on top of the man's head. But then his eyes flicked to hers, and as she focused on them, a thousand memories flew through her head.
On the street outside the office last month, where she ran into him. The bar where her friend's boyfriend was playing, it was him sitting front row. The convenience store where she ran to get advil last week, it was him in line behind her.
She had seen him everywhere, and she hadn't even noticed.
"Who are you?" The words tumbled out of her mouth without second thought. She knew he could kill her, but for some reason she still wanted to know. As if it would matter. The man just looked at her, a slight smile slowly towing up right the side of his mouth.
"You've been waiting for me."
Waiting for him? Had she?
Unlike the usual chaos that flooded her brain, there was now the mere question of a mistake on her side. Maybe she had been waiting for him? Maybe he was here because she wanted him to be?
The faint headache she had began to intensify, but when she looked away and tightly shut her eyes, the man was quick to put his fingers on her chin. Y/N opened her eyes, calmness flooding her skin.
"I have?" She managed to say as his hands pulled up her legs. The man hummed as he grabbed her shorts and underwear and pulled them down her legs. Y/N frowned. "What are you doing?"
"You've been waiting for me." He repeated himself, sinking to his knees as he spread her legs before raising his brow at her. "Can't you feel how wet you are for me?”
Y/N's eyes flicked down to where the man was looking, and although she couldn't technically see down there, all of a sudden she was dangerously aware of how wet she indeed was. It felt like the heat was radiating from her, and her lower belly suddenly swirled.
She was caught off guard when the intruder began to plant kisses on her legs, slowly hovering towards her inner thighs, and for complete unknown reasons the only thing she could do was sigh. In anticipation. She had no idea how she'd given in so quickly. She'd put up such good fight, and now here she was, in the hands of a man who she'd unknowingly been waiting for.
The man got up, and Y/N's eyes widened. She was about to ask where he was going, but he only walked to the other side of the bed, grabbing a pillow. Nothing seemed to be able to come out of her mouth as he propped it under her head. He stroked her head, then went back to his position between her legs, slinging them over his shoulder.
"You've been so good, waiting for me this entire time." He rasped, eyes focused on your pussy as if everything else in the room had faded. You shrieked when he lunged forward and started licking you. Never before had there been a man who had used his mouth on you. Quite frankly, it scared you too much to let anyone do so, afraid something would be wrong with you down there and immediately ruining everything for you. But this man, he just went for it. As if he'd been waiting for it, as if she'd been waiting for it.
Desperately gripping the bedsheets, Y/N tried to focus on the ceiling the best she could in order to not make any noise. There was no urge to scream now. The only defiant act to keep some of her autonomy was not making a sound, even if it was the hardest thing she'd ever done. She had come face to face with a skilled man, and while her voice didn't betray her, her body did. It wriggled and fought to move against the intruder's head as his tongue flicked against her clit.
It was when two fingers slid into her with embarrassing ease, that she slipped up. The smallest whimper escaped her throat, one so soft it would be barely noticeable, but by the vibrations of his laughter against her pussy, she knew he had heard it for sure. For a second—just the smallest second that he hated to admit—she considered to just let go and enjoy. This was the closest she had ever come to coming at the hands of another person. But something in her still knew it wasn't right to do that, so she fought every whimper, moan and gasp that threatened to leave her mouth as the stranger brought her closer to an orgasm. His relentless fingers made her eyes roll to the back of her head, and his tongue had her mouth hanging wide open until that fateful moment where she knew it was too late to go back.
Y/N came the hardest she'd ever had, the orgasm lasting incredibly long due to her willingness to not show her pleasure to the unknown man who had caused it.
After riding out her orgasm, he finally came up to face her again, the lower part of his face now gleaming with her juices, proud of the mess he made.
Slowly, he climbed up until he was laying next to her, head propped up on his elbow. Y/N just looked at him; expectantly. And then, she burst into tears.
Her hands flew to her face as she turned away from the man who had given her this overwhelming experience. It was so... good, even if it was wrong. But even though it was the best she'd ever had, she felt as disgusting as she always did.
Y/N had always had this feeling of shame and disgust after any sexual or sexually tinged encounter. A kiss, foreplay, sex. She'd been going to a therapist about it, and together they had declared it probably came from the deep rooted feeling of unworthiness Y/N had always felt when it came to love. But despite that knowledge, she had yet to fix the problem. So instead, she'd just entirely stopped dating, knowing it would make her feel like shit anyway.
Then, to have this great orgasm. It was just a reminder of everything she was missing, and then an even bigger reminder of the reason why she was missing it.
A soft hand placed on her head, the man began to shush her, stroking her hair over and over until she began to feel a bit more calm again. After a few minutes, she removed her hands from her face, and turned back around. Her red, puffy eyes stared into those flaming green ones, and the only thing she could think to whisper was:
"I'm sorry."
The intruder shook his head. "Don't say sorry."
Y/N scanned his face. Why wasn't he at all scary looking? Why did she have the urge to tell him everything about her just by looking into his eyes?
"I just feel so ashamed, anytime I do these things. It makes me feel so filthy." A tear rolled down her cheek as she explains. "I wish it didn't, but it always does."
It was silent for a moment between the two, the man just gently stroking her hair. It seemed like he was thinking as he observed every feature of her face.
"I can rid you of that. Of that feeling. With me, at least. Would you like that?" He said carefully. Y/N's eyes widened. Was he serious?
"How?" She asked, but he shook his head.
"That's not important. Do you want to, or not?" He vaguely answered. She didn't have to think twice about that.
"Yes, please."
And just like that, his lips were on Y/N's. The sole promise had gotten her so thrilled that she threw her arms around him in a split second, happily letting him roam his hands all over her. He climbed over her, getting off the bed, and grabbed her by the back of her neck to pull her upright. For the small moment he stopped kissing her, Y/N was overwhelmed with the feeling to do something, so she began to unclasp the man's jeans and pull them down. Before she could do anything more, though, she was put back onto the bed, the pillow now under her lower back.
She watched as the intruder took off his underwear, revealing the hard-on hidden behind it. As the nudity of him dawned upon her, so did the realization that she had no idea who this man was. The urge to scream suddenly began to feel a bit more reasonable again. The total stranger, who had broken into her home and thrown her on her bed, began to slide his rock hard cock into her aching pussy.
She screamed. Of all consuming pleasure.
Again, he put his hand on her mouth, but this time it was softer. His lightly loosened fingers muffled her—but not really—as she cried out at the first few thrusts.
From there it was pure pleasure, and nothing more. She couldn't believe it. Again, there was no smoke in her brain. Nothing to keep her from immersing herself into this odd, exhilarating experience.
“There you go. Does that feel good?” The man spoke, and Y/N whined a yes as she relished in the feeling of being split in two. He leaned forward, his hair dangling in front of his forehead.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” He said, his hand tracing over the side of her face at a gentle speed. “You’re so pretty, do you know that? Do you feel pretty right now, baby?”
Her eyes floated to his. Her slacked jaw made it impossible to respond. The way he was working himself in and out of her, slow and harsh, jerking her further up the bed with every movement he made. It was too captivating to muster even one sentence, so she grabbed his wrist, squeezing it as tight as she could.
“Does it make you feel pretty? Feel wanted? Being fucked by your secret admirer?” He said. Y/N watched a silent fury grew on the man’s face, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he spoke. “Being pinned down by a total stranger in the dark who’s been obsessed with you for months? Who has watched you cry and cry, just waiting for the day he could finally induce those tears, and lick them from your cheeks.”
She knew she should have been scared, but she couldn’t help but want that fury to grow, if only so he could pound into her harder. So, she hummed in agreement, desperately wanting him to continue talking. He had the most attractive voice she’d ever heard; a low baritone filled with raspy frustration.
“Yeah?” He croaked out, as if he almost couldn’t believe the confirmation he’d just gotten. When another hum fell from her lips, it was as if something inside the stranger had snapped. A button had been pushed, a knob had been turned, and he was taking it all out on Y/N’s body.
The way his hips moved was excruciating; managed to hit the same spot with precision, growing a bubble in Y/N’s lower belly that felt like a balloon ready to pop at any moment. His hands pinned down her wrists, noses touching each other as he fucked her into the mattress.
Closing her eyes, Y/N let the bubble inside her explode and reveled in the euphoria that spread all over her body like a tidal wave in a big storm. The squeal-like sounds that came from her were quickly silenced as the man’s lips clasped onto hers, ensuring the pleasure solely traveled between the two of them.
Only he didn’t stop. The pace he kept was only briefly interrupted as he threw her leg over his shoulder, but he picked up right where he left off. Trying to keep from bouncing all over the bed, Y/N grabbed on the edge of the mattress, above her, spread out of the entirety of the bed with nothing other than a stranger’s cock on her mind.
“You’ve been wanting this, haven’t you? You’ve been wanting me to come by.” He growled, snapping his hips against her. His hands roughly held her thighs, and Y/N was sure her legs were going to be bruised by tomorrow. “Tell me the truth. Tell me you’ve been waiting for me.”
The demand was clear, but Y/N didn’t immediately respond. She moaned out when his thumb began to feel up her clit, jerking away from him. He tugged her back harshly, making her lose her grip on the mattress for a second.
“Tell. Me.” He ordered.
“I— oh…” She sputtered, closing her eyes to try to focus on her words. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
When she opened her eyes again, the man’s face had gone soft. He looked so… satisfied. As if he’d finally gotten everything he ever dreamed of. Y/N tilted her head slightly at the vulnerability in front of her.
“Tell me your name.” She said, suddenly emboldened by the seemingly even leveled playing field. He had looked just as fragile as her in those few moments.
This time, he sputtered out without much thinking.
“Harry.”
Suddenly, being brought back to reality, Harry increased the intensity of his thrusts again, hammering into her with a force she wasn’t sure human could actually possess. Along with the stimulation on her clit, she couldn’t keep herself silent anymore.
“Oh, Harry! My— God—”
A guttural groan came from the man above her, triggering an increased pressure of his thumb that brought Y/N to her third orgasm of the night. Never before, had she been so caught up in this state of delight before, and as she let go of the quickly built-up pressure, she was praying for it to never stop.
She must’ve muttered the words out loud, because Harry began whispering back.
“I won’t, I won’t baby, I promise. I’ll never stop.” He rambled in her ear, his own high deflating as it spurted into Y/N’a walls. Slowly, he collapsed on her, his weight prolonging the amazing feeling she had been graced tonight.
As he slowly climbed off her, pulling his cock out Y/N, she braced herself for that horrible feeling. She knew it would last days after an encounter like this. She began breathing slowly, waiting for the disgust to kick in.
But it never did.
There was only the bliss of moments passed and a slight stinging feeling in her thighs that occupied her mind as she stared at the ceiling. She turned her head over to the panting man beside her, and began to cry.
Every single feeling came crashing into her. She didn’t always have to feel like this; there was nothing shameful about her; she had finally found someone who’d shown her what she never thought was possible; but he had actually found her; she was lying in bed with a total stranger; she was lying next to someone who had been stalking her for months.
And yet, when his big hands reached out again, cradling the back of her head and pulling her into his chest, she let it happen. Despite the danger, the fear, the anger, the exhilaration, she buried her head in his chest and listened t his calming whispers, telling her to relax and close her eyes.
When Y/N woke up the next morning, she was lying under her bedsheets. She shot upright, the image of the intruder still clear in her mind. Frantically, her eyes scanned the room.
She looked at her nightstand; her lamp stood exactly in the same spot, plugged in and everything. And when her gaze shot to her window, she was only met with the curtain she didn’t remember she’d drawn closed yesterday night.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Not even her body felt weird. She threw the bedsheets off her body, inspecting her legs. They looked fine, and there was absolutely no lingering sensation that could’ve indicated the presence of someone else yesterday.
Y/N fell back onto her bed. Had she seriously just dreamed up the most intense sex of her life? What kind of repressed issues could that dream have possibly been reflecting?
Taking a deep sigh, she took a shower and got ready for the day. It was hard to forget the dream, especially since it had felt so vivid, but she shook off the thoughts anyway. It was no use to dwell, even if it had all felt scarily real.
Even as she walked into the kitchen to make breakfast, she was actually pushing it all away. It wasn’t until she’d reached her cabinet that she noticed something shiny in the corner of the kitchen. Her head snapped towards it, spotting a small piece of paper lying under it.
She felt all her senses go on alert as she scanned the room, making sure there was really no one else. For good measure, she grabbed her biggest knife and—with her back to the wall—neared what seemed to be a house key, and the piece of paper.
In messy, slightly bubbly handwriting, it was written. A short message, yet terrifying all the same, if not even more. Y/N swallowed, feeling like she was about to faint, and suddenly, the pain in her legs appeared.
‘Thanks for letting me borrow your key’
Without a second thought, Y/N grabbed the phone, and called 911…
Summary: Y/n makes a living as a fortune teller and Harry is trying to get answers about his future. When they meet, something inexplicable happens to them both.
A/N: A soft and sweet read for y'all! This is Halloween vibes but nothing scary or dark. This was first posted on Patreon last October. 🎃 Be on the lookout for next week's giveaway and discount to join my Patreon 🎃
Her crystal ball let off a subtle glow from a small slice of sun poking through a strategic gap in her window curtains as she floated her fingers over the clear amethyst sphere. "He's someone you already know. Someone you wouldn't expect. I can see that he's already in love with you but he's never spoken of it for fear of losing your friendship."
"What's his name? Who is it?" The woman leaned in to look into the ball to see if she could get a glimpse of what Y/n was seeing.
Y/n sat back into her chair and looked at her client, "That I can't say. The ball will only reveal so much. I do know he's a friend to you. Someone you trust wholeheartedly."
"Can I book another appointment? Next week?"
Y/n smiled with a nod. "Of course."
Divination wasn't a perfect practice but so many who came to her were looking for answers and often she could help them –at least in the sense that they felt heard and hopeful upon leaving. Though, sometimes her patrons would leave disappointed, wanting exact names and dates. And sometimes Y/n got it wrong.
Crystal ball gazing and tarot reading were her specialty. But mostly it was luck and the act of cold reading. She had spiritual gifts, yes, but if she were to be completely frank, she was just more intuned than most and paid close attention to subtle cues from her clients which made guessing truths about them quite easy.
And she was surprised at how many bought into it when she first decided to try it out on a whim. How many believed that she could read the future. No one would have guessed that she'd make quite the successful little business from being a quasi-therapist and playing pretend with people.
Well, Y/n wouldn't exactly call it playing pretend. She did really pick up energy and sometimes she'd have clear readings on people. She was visited by ghosts and had dreams that foretold occurrences. Sometimes she'd be at the grocery store and see someone who had a spirit attached to them, following behind them in the freezer aisle.
Of course, plenty of people laughed at her and made fun of what she did but if they only knew how much money she was making they might close their mouths. It was a job and a hard one at that. Not just anyone could sit down and do what Y/n did.
She had a handful of clients every day. The front of her house was set up for her business and she'd take each customer in knowing they were humans with real emotions and concerns. She wasn't a grifter. She truly cared and took her work seriously, even if part of it had nothing to do with psychic abilities.
During the cooler months, her business brought in the most money, though. Especially in October before Halloween. Often she'd have to turn away any walk-ins during that time because she was too booked up each day. Sometimes she'd have 6 or 7 clients and that was her max. Once in a while, she'd let someone in after hours if they seemed especially distraught.
Her next client was a new customer and he wanted a tarot reading – And maybe like palm reading or something?… – he added in as she noted what he'd like over the phone. Y/n was preparing for his arrival by cleansing the space. She'd placed her cards on the old table with its dark purple velvet cloth atop. She blew out the incense she'd lit to warm up the place (and to make it smell nice) and stocked her drink fridge (free water and sodas for her paying clients).
Most people visited her because they wanted to know about love. When would they find their soulmate? Who was it they were meant to be with? Were they doomed to die alone? Did they already know the person?
Love was the big seller. Y/n advertised that way as well. Everyone was looking for love, even married couples. It was what drove and inspired most of humanity.
And while the man hadn't specified that that was what he wanted a reading for, he did mention that he was feeling lost and uncertain about his future. It was usually revealed to her what exactly the patron wanted after they arrived so she'd see, but she had a hunch that love might be part of it.
Her buzzer rang when she was in her kitchen sipping up a bit of hot tea with honey to ready her throat for an hour of talking. She took a breath and straightened her back to stand with confidence (it was a very important thing to convey certainty in her skill to anyone paying) and then walked through to her front room to answer her door.
Immediately she felt the air shift around her when she looked into his green eyes. He was familiar to her. She knew him somehow.
"Welcome, Harry, I'm Y/n," she gestured to allow him to enter her home and closed the door behind him when he stepped in.
"Make yourself comfortable. I have beverages if you're thirsty here," she waved her hand in front of the mini refrigerator, "and we'll be over there for your reading. Yours is the chair with the red cushions. I'll let you settle and I'll be right back."
It was her usual greeting and spiel. She liked to let her guests acquaint themselves with her space alone for a moment so they felt more comfortable. But this time Y/n really did need to step away for a moment to regain composure out of his view. For herself.
She walked into her quiet kitchen and clutched her mug for another sip. Who was he? How did she know him? Was this one of her psychic impressions?
It was hard to place. Maybe she had met him before and couldn't recollect? Or was it something deeper? A past life maybe…
Regardless, she had business to conduct and a paying customer was waiting. Looking at herself in the hallway mirror she fixed her hair and blinked her eyes. She needed to mentally prepare for what was about to happen. Because one thing she did know was that this wouldn't be any ordinary reading.
Harry was already seated in the red velvet chair with a bottle of water sat on the table in front of him.
"Thank you for trusting me with your time today," she smiled as she sat down across from him.
He nodded, "Thank you for your time. Um… I've never done anything like this before. I'm a little nervous. Not really sure I believe in any of it to be honest."
"Most people don't believe in this kind of thing. Some come in just to talk and get perspective and leave with a bit of inspiration or hope. I offer my gifts without judgment and without unrealistic expectations."
His eyes… his eyes! She was spellbound. There was so much depth and connection there. And his voice was familiar too. She'd heard him whispering to her in her dreams. A soothing baritone full of warmth and patience. She did know him. She knew this man. But how?
"You're really good at this," he smiled. "I already feel better."
"Good. Okay, Harry…" She picked up the stack of cards and began shuffling, "So you mentioned you're feeling lost in life. You'd like us to focus on the future?"
He cleared his throat, those pretty green eyes still looking into hers, she was wavering just at his gaze, "Yeah. I think so. I uh," he scratched the back of his neck, his thick knit sweater looked cozy, "My uh… well I've had a series of bad luck lately. My grandmother passed a couple of months ago. I was taking care of her because no one else really had time to. And my fiance, at that time, she was getting upset that I wasn't spending enough time with her. She'd get angry that I'd go right after work to my grandmother's house to help her make meals, watch TV with her, get her set up for the nurse who'd visit in the mornings…
"Sometimes I'd wind up staying overnight with her and that really got Tamora mad. She broke up with me right before my grandmother died. She gave me back the engagement ring but I was so upset I went out and got drunk, which I never do, but I lost the ring and it had been so expensive. It was in my pocket and I forgot to stick it somewhere safe before… And that night I didn't go to see my grandmother and that's when she passed. I just… can't seem to get over the guilt of everything. I feel hopeless. Tamora and I were so good together at one time. We were happy."
Y/n listened to Harry's story and she couldn't help but feel deeply for the man. He seemed so genuine, so vulnerable.
"I'm sorry that happened to you. You tried to do the right thing but it seemed to just not be enough. That's how life can be. No matter what we do, no matter how good we are, sometimes there are obstacles we can't control. What would you like to focus on with this reading specifically? Love? Hope for the future? Or maybe there's something else you'd like to concentrate on?"
"Maybe hope for the future. Everything just feels so grim right now. I don't even miss Tamora, to be honest. I think her breaking up with me was a long time coming. Maybe we drifted apart at some point and I didn't realize it until more recently. But I felt like I had my life on track just a few months ago and now it's just… I'm feeling stuck."
"Okay. We'll focus on illumination and clarity for you. A way to move past the stuck feeling."
He nodded as he looked down at the cards Y/n had fanned out toward him in her hands.
"I'll have you pull five cards. Take a breath and focus on the questions and what we want to learn for this reading," she inhaled with her eyes on his and watched his chest expand, "For your first, we'll ask -what is happening in this moment?"
Harry took a card and placed it down face up on the table and then looked up at Y/n, "It says, The Wheel of Fortune."
"It can mean transition, cycles of life, inevitable change. We'll see once we get the rest out on the table. For your next one, we'll ask -how can I get through this time with grace?"
His second card was the Devil, but upside down. Harry's brows pinched together.
"This the Devil card in reverse. It's about freedom and release. Restoring your control."
He let out a breath, "Reverse… So if it's upside down it means something different?"
"Yes. Exactly. And all this winds up all making sense once all the cards are out. Your next card we'll ask -what is the lesson I should learn?"
Harry hovered his hand over the fanned-out deck and pulled a card. The Tower card in reverse.
"Generally this means disaster, upheaval, and broken promises, but your card is reversed so this will be something like disaster avoided and overcoming fear of change."
For his fourth Y/n had him ask -what things are leaving? To which he pulled The Hanged Man.
"This can be sacrifice, martyrdom. Now for your final card. Ask -what is arriving at this time?"
He flattened his lips together and took a moment before plucking his fifth card. The Lovers Meeting.
Y/n paused looking at his spread of cards. It was as if the reading was for her in a way. But her intentions had been properly set for the man in front of her. Not herself.
She pointed at the final card, "Lovers Meeting. This can be about partnerships. New unions. New love."
She let her eyes linger on his as she said it. She felt like something was beckoning her to reach across to him and take his hand, but she didn't know why. He was magnetic. His presence was immense. Resisting her urge to touch his hand she blinked and looked back down at the cards.
"Now, with everything here in front of us we can make sense of the cards and I'm seeing good things. For example, your first card is about what's happening in your present and this suggests inevitable change and cycles of life. You've been through a lot lately and this seems fitting. You're right where you need to be because then for your next card here, it's restorative for you. The past has brought you here, right now. You're releasing what's been and entering into a new way - with your third card pointing to you letting go of your fear of change after having avoided disaster. I'm thinking this might mean Tamora. She was a safe person for you for a season. But maybe that's not what you needed in the long run. Her presence might have been a hindrance. Her breaking up with you is the new change to release you and having done that avoided causing you more strife or harm. Disaster averted," Y/n laughed, "Disaster might be a dramatic way to put it but the cards allow for nuance, so maybe not disaster, but you've dodged a bullet."
Harry nodded, "Yeah. That sounds right actually. She was safe. I did love her, um, but it was more about sticking with what I knew. She and I got along and it was easy with her. I didn't have to get out of my comfort zone."
"And that could be why you say you don't even miss her. You already knew subconsciously that you two had nothing more left for one another. The card is the lesson and it's saying you've avoided something bad in life and now you're free to change and choose.
"Then we have The Hanged Man. Things you're leaving behind. Sacrifice. This could mean that you were sacrificing yourself to be someone you aren't. Maybe you were with Tamora and pretending. You no longer have to sacrifice yourself to be that person. Or it could point to your grandmother's passing. She's gone and you get to move on. You no longer need to carry the burden of taking care of her. She's releasing you to enjoy your life now. It's your time."
Harry sniffed and picked up his plastic water bottle, chugging a gulp down before nodding.
"And of course, what's coming? What's arriving now for you? The Lovers Meeting suggests you could be meeting someone new, a business partner, friend, lover… Whatever it is, means good things. It's something to look forward to."
"Meeting someone new... Well," he grinned, "I've met you today. So off to a good start with that one, I think."
"Yeah. That's a good way to look at it."
The pair smiled at one another for a few beats before Harry blinked and his expression became serious, "I have a strange question. I feel like… Like maybe we've met? You seem so familiar. I don't remember meeting you but I can't shake the feeling that we know each other. You sound familiar, and you look like someone I know but I can't place it."
Y/n's brows raised and she nodded, "Interesting. I don't think we have met. At least… not in this life. Oddly enough," she looked down at the scattered cards and then back up at Harry, "I feel the same way. I did the moment I looked at you when I opened the door. You seem very familiar to me and I can't fugure why."
"In this life…" Harry spoke softly, eyes squinted, "Do you believe in past lives?"
She nodded, "I do. I mean look at what I do for a living, Harry," she laughed. "I know you probably think I'm a kook but yes. I believe in things like past lives."
"I've never really thought about a past life. What does it mean when it feels like this? When you meet someone who could be from a past life? It's never happened to me before. At least I guess not."
"We meet people from past lives all the time we just don't usually recognize them. And I'm not saying for certain that that is what this familiarity is… but it's something to ponder."
"But we recognize each other. We must have been very close then. If that's what it is. A past life thing."
"I would assume that we did know one another very well. That's… It's hard to say but yes. Possibly."
"What are the other possibilities?"
Y/n shrugged and began to push the cards back together to stack, "Maybe we've seen one another in passing. You live in the area?"
He nodded, "Yeah maybe that's it. Saw you at the gym or something."
Y/n sputtered a laugh and shook her head, "You'll never find me in one of those places. Too much testosterone and pheromones. I'm too sensitive to hang around in a gym where everyone's working up their endorphins. I prefer to do yoga in my sunroom. Take walks at night."
She watched his eyes lower over her dress. It wasn't a revealing dress but it made her suddenly aware of the way she looked. He was taking in her appearance. Assessing.
"So you don't like testosterone?" He teased, the edge of his lip quirked up.
"Not usually. Men make me nervous."
He frowned, "I'm not making you nervous am I?"
Quickly shaking her head she stacked the cards neatly on the table, "No. Not at all. Your presence is very calming. You are open and vulnerable. I just mean that I've dealt with… men are strange a lot of the time. Aggressive. Fragile egos. Easily angered or completely apathetic. But not you."
"I can understand that. You'll get no argument from me there."
He really was self-possessed and gentle. She could tell he was curious and patient.
She let her gaze linger on him as smiled. She really felt drawn. And knowing he found her familiar as well made her wonder if he was also experiencing the same kind of pull she was.
"Would you –like a palm reading still? Or we can do another card reading and focus on something different?"
"Yeah. Um, a palm reading, I think."
Y/n pushed her chair back so they could sit closer. It was easier for her to get a better look if she was sat near whoever she was reading. Placing herself at the corner of the table next to him, she reached out with her palm up, "Place your hand in my palm, face up."
"Which hand?" Harry lifted both of his hands and flipped them around.
"I'll do both so whichever one you want to do first."
He slowly placed his hand in hers, palm up. Y/n felt energetic heat from him instantly. And not the heat from his hand, as it was cool to the touch. But it was heat from him. A heat that passed through to her blood and her pith. The startling sensation made her gasp softly and Harry winced as he looked at her.
"That… that's normal?" He had a surprised expression on his face.
Y/n parted her lips and blinked, shaking her head, "No. Did… you're feeling that?"
He nodded looking from her hand to her eyes, "Yes. Like a… I don't know… a surge of something. It's making my heart pound."
"Me too. Um… Hold on…" Y/n slid her hand away and placed her palms on the table flat to collect her thoughts. It had been too much. There was no way she could read him without distraction if she was feeling that kind of energy off him.
"I'm sorry. I don't know–"
Y/n lifted her hand and shook her head, "Don't be sorry. This isn't your fault. I think maybe there's a psychic or empathic connection somehow. We're both picking up on it. Something very unique. That's never happened to me before. I read a lot of palms and never have I felt energy like that."
She felt like if she touched him for a few seconds longer they'd be unable to stop. They'd be connected and fuse together or something. Though, logically she knew that was impossible but whatever it was had been beyond her own understanding. It was a force outside of her control.
Harry placed his palm on the table next to hers, his fingers spread apart, "Do you know what that meant? Ever since I stepped in here there's been a really profound –feeling."
"Well, it can mean different things I guess. But this is very," she cocked her head and looked down at his hand, "… peculiar. I think we should try again. Knowing what it might feel like we'll be prepared this time. Unless you don't want to."
"Okay. Yeah. I want to. I think we should too."
Biting her lip Y/n watched him turn his palm up and she drew the pads of her fingers over his digits. The same energetic jolt reached in through her skin and spread through her body in soft waves.
"You have what we call in palmistry as air hands. It means you're curious and are able to analyze and communicate well. You like to keep busy or else you're anxious and uncomfortable. Um…" She swallowed thickly, trying to concentrate on reading but her heart was lobbing in her chest and she could feel her eyes blurring with moisture, emotion.
"Air hands…" He whispered, his eyes on her face, "And what kind of hands do you have?"
She looked up at him and inhaled, "Water. There are four kinds. Earth, fire, air, and water."
She watched him clench his jaw as he scooted to the edge of his chair, his knee knocking into hers, "You're… I can't describe it. This sensation –like emotion…"
"I can't either. I may not be able to do this properly, Harry. I'm kind of overwhelmed…"
He licked his pink lips and his irises wended down her face to her mouth, her fingers still pressing into his, "Is it okay if I…"
She heard him inhale a shaky breath and she knew exactly what he was going to ask because it was almost as if she could hear the words come out before he spoke them. A kiss to see. To feel it deeper. Just to make sure. A kiss to quell the bizarre draw.
Lifting up his free hand with hers, she brought his palm up to her face and leaned in closer, "Yes. Please."
When their lips met they both understood what it was that had them feeling such a deep and enigmatic pull. There was no longer a question about a past life or having crossed paths unknowingly. It was cosmic design. They were always going to find each other. Their souls were connected in every life. And this life had brought them together again just as it was meant to.
She felt his fingers draw gently around the side of her neck and into the hair at her nape and she placed her hand on his chest over his heart. They were the lovers in the fortune. Meeting again in a new life. A reconvening once more.
Y/n gasped a breath as she parted from the kiss, keeping her eyes pinned to his as she slid her fingers between his digits, "I'm… I don't know. I'm kind of stunned."
"What do we do? I don't want to go yet."
"Then don't. We have a lot of catching up to do."
Harry nodded and smiled. His chest was rising and falling just as rapidly as Y/n's, "Okay. What now?"
Y/n grinned, "How about some tea?"
.
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Here’s the opposite story, though. With apologies because I don’t have the book in front of me, so I may get some details wrong, but I read this “Irena’s Children“ by Tilar J. Mazzeo.
Irena lived in Warsaw during the Nazi occupation, and dedicated her life to rescuing Jewish children from the Ghetto, and her story is complicated in a lot of ways but - well, this story isn’t actually about Irena, per se.
It’s about a bus driver.
It’s about a day when she’s traveling across town by bus with a very young Jewish child, and partway to their destination the child looks up and asks a question - in Yiddish. and the whole bus goes quiet, because everyone knows what that means. And Irena thinks, okay, we’re going to die here today.
And she’s running through her options - all of them bad - and suddenly the bus stops, and the bus driver announces that there’s been a mechanical failure and the bus needs to return to the depot immediately. Everyone off, please.
And she stands and goes to get off the bus and the driver says - not you two. Sit down. So she sits down as everyone else leaves, because, well, what else is she going to do? the options are all still bad, at this point.
and when the bus is empty the bus driver says,
“Where do you need to go?”
And then he drives them as close to their destination as he can, and lets them off, and drives away. And Irena lives, and the kid lives, and they never cross paths again.
So a janitor got three people killed, and a bus driver saved two lives - not to mention all the other lives indirectly saved because Irena was able to continue her work.
I think about that almost every day now, to be honest.
We can’t all be Irena. I couldn’t be Irena. She was in a unique place with very specific skills and connections that let her do what she did. I am just one mentally ill librarian. I can’t be her. But - I can be the bus driver. Or I could be the janitor. Because it doesn’t matter what your job is. It doesn’t matter who you are. In a world like this, every single one of us has the opportunity to do massive harm or massive good. We can save lives or end them.
And that’s scary. but it’s also very comforting? at least for me. Because at the end of the day it means this: no matter of how small and helpless and unimportant you feel, you’re never powerless in the face of great evil.
Welcome to Young God! This paranormal harry x reader tale was started a long while back and I wanted to revamp and revisit. Please feel free to join my Patreon! Content warning: drug usage, violence, dark/mature themes. While there is a female protagonist, she’s identified by name alone and her features/physical appearance (aside from clothing) will not be detailed since she is the reader!
[playlist] — [young god inspo]
I. - Happy Birthday
II. - Same Shit, Different Day?
III. - Gimme a fuckin' break
IV. - Honey, you've got a big storm comin'
V. - The jig is up
VI. - Make it make sense.
VII - Mama said there’d be days like this…
VIII - Damn.
IX - Don't rock the boat, baby... (new, April 24th, 2025)
This is such a smart, well written, beautiful mashup of genres and tropes i love: the supernatural, damsel in distress being rescued, found family, mystery and new orleans. The way it is written lets me imagine things perfectly, it felt like watching a tv series but it all was just projected in my brain, i love the details and how real it feels. The descriptions of the places is really top notch, even though i ve never been to new orleans it let me feel like a local, thats how well thought out this is.
Another thing i love is how not relationship centric it all is. Dont get me wrong, im obsessed with Nova, she s truly a baddie, but i love how we also get glimpses of his normal-supernormal life too, how we see the relationships between him and his closest friends and how as a reader i can even form some sort of sympathy for Elizabeth. Rly rly good, i recommend this to everyone in the mood for some supernatural spooky mystery.
Warnings: Stalking (obviously), masked man/mask kink, mentions of a knife, spit & arousal play (? if you squint), talks of masturbation, degradation/humiliation kink, fingering & protected sex
Plot: An evening out to a haunted house with your friends takes a dark turn when you get separated from them - only to find that every time you look over your shoulder? You’re not alone.
(A/N: This is unlike anything I’ve ever written before, but I’ve been reading a lot of dark romance lately due to spooky season, so I wanted to try something different. If I missed anything under the ‘warnings’, please let me know. I hope you all enjoy!)
🕸️ • 🕸️ • 🕸️ • 🕸️
Fog obscured your vision as you huddled closer to your three friends - your hand coming up to move a mass of fake cobwebs out of the way.
“Do they really have to use this much?” Madelyn complained as she covered her hand with her mouth. “I feel like breathing in that fake shit isn’t good for you.”
“This was your idea, Mads,” Sonya stated as you all moved through the main room of the house and down towards a narrow hallway where the arrows were directing you.
“Yeah, what did you expect? We know this house goes all out every year,” Brody backed Sonya up. “Just embrace it. It’s Halloween, after all.”
Brody glanced over his shoulder to see you trailing behind a bit considering the hallway caused you all to have to disperse into a single file line instead of a group.
“Y/N,” he said while reaching his arm back to wrap around your shoulders as best as he could given the confines of the wall. “Don’t let us lose you now.”
The wink he sent you should be considered harmless, but it was a couple of weeks ago that Brody had tried to ask you out on a date, and you told him you weren’t interested. You didn’t see him as anything more than a friend, and as much as things hadn’t been too awkward between the two of you since then, you still felt like he was trying to convince you to give in and say ‘yes’ to his offer.
“I think it’s pretty impossible to get lost,” you replied with a small laugh while wrapping your arms around yourself - not trying to snuggle up to Brody in any way.
As you continued through the house, there were a few actors that jumped out and scared you and your friends, but soon you all ended up in a fairly open room, not much smaller than the one right at the start of the attraction.
Madelyn looked around as there weren’t any signs directing you all where to go next. “So, how are we supposed to know which direction-”
A loud bang sounded and a strobe light started to flash. Large plumes of artificial smoke and fog started to fill up the room, and you held your hands out as you felt around for one of your friends.
“Guys?!” You called out, but you couldn’t hear anyone around you any longer.
Forcing yourself against one of the walls, you closed your eyes and evened your breathing as you waited for the room to clear, and once it had, you could see that you were the only one still remaining. You stepped back into the middle of the floor - hands tightening into fists.
“Mads? Sonya?”
The only thing you could hear now were the sounds of the music playing in the other rooms of the house, as well as the screams of those who were continuing to be scared.
Deciding to go with whatever direction felt the best, you started down a hallway that was lined with several rooms. You jiggled the handles to see if any of them opened, but it was as if they were glued shut.
“Of course they are,” you said to yourself. “This isn’t a real house, Y/N. It’s fake. Get your shit together and find your way out.”
As you continued walking on the wooden floor, you thought you heard steps that followed close to the pattern of your own. You stopped and glanced over your shoulder, but the only thing you saw was someone standing all the way at the other end of the hallway - where you had just come from. You could tell they were wearing a mask. One of a deep crimson color. Trying to think nothing of it, you turned back around and proceeded forward, but you ended up reaching a wall - the hallway now forcing you to go either left or right.
Taking in a deep breath, you turned to the right and continued on your journey of finding the exit when the steps sounded again. This time when you looked over your shoulder, you saw the same masked figure had gained quite some distance on you, and as you kept your eyes on them, you quickened your pace.
You knew it was silly. This was all just pretend. Just a haunted house you’ve been coming to since you were a teenager, but something about tonight felt different. At first you had played it up to the fact that Brody had tagged along, however, the feeling only increased once he had disappeared with the rest of your friends.
Just as you turned to look ahead of you, you gasped as you almost walked right into another wall. You looked behind you out of instinct, and the figure was now closing in.
With your heart pounding in your chest, you darted down the hallway to your left, the only one you could take, and you started trying the doorknobs again. You could feel your adrenaline spiking. You needed to find the exit, and your friends, now. This didn’t feel like an attraction anymore. This felt too real.
Luckily, one of the rooms ended up opening up, and you could tell you had managed to buy some space between you and the masked figure as he was no longer in your eyesight. You closed the door as quietly as possible, and you cursed when you saw there was no lock. Looking around the room, you spotted a wardrobe in the corner, and you climbed inside - pressing yourself as far against the back of it as possible.
There was the slightest gap between the two doors that made it possible for you to see the room still, and your anxiousness only increased as the person you had been trying to escape stepped inside. Lifting your hand, you covered your mouth, and pressed the side of your index finger up underneath your nose to try and smuggle any sound of your breathing.
Your eyes scanned over the figure as they glanced around, and you could finally make out their mask. It looked like it had to be custom made with how it fit to their bone structure just right. The eye holes were covered in black, and you were sure it was one of those materials that allowed the person wearing it to see out of them, but no one on the outside could see through. The outline of ‘x’s were over each eye - made out of what looked to be black rhinestones that caught the little bit of light filling the area every time they moved their head, and stood out, but not too much, against the crimson mask.
Dressed in tight, black jogger-style cargo pants and a long-sleeved back shirt that accentuated every dip of muscle, you were sure this figure was male. Large hands were adorned in leather gloves, and you were almost positive you saw a knife handle sticking out of the waistband of their pants.
The man stood still and rolled his neck from side to side, and you could see his fingers curling and uncurling - as if he were frustrated. Was he actually trying to hunt you down? If so, did he think he had lost you? With a shake of his head, he turned towards the door, but just as he went to step out of the doorway, he looked back over at the wardrobe.
You could feel your eyes widen as he shut the door, something he hadn’t done when he first entered, and stalked his way over to where you were. A scream flooded from your lungs as he ripped the wardrobe open, and one of his hands bunched into the front of your turtleneck, pulling you out of the space you had thought to be safe.
Your back hitting the wall caused your scream to cease as it almost knocked the wind out of you, but when you parted your lips to continue trying to make noise so someone could find you, two leather-covered fingers pressed down on your tongue - the tips of them almost causing you to gag with how far back they were in your mouth.
“Hush,” the man hissed, and he forced his thigh between your own to keep you pinned to the wall. “No need for all that screaming. No one will be able to hear you anyway, and you’re just giving me a headache.”
Whimpering, your lips closed down around his fingers, and you felt tears starting to press against your lash line. Your eyes followed his other hand as it wrapped around the knife you had noticed earlier, your body shaking as he pulled it out and dragged the rounded end of the handle up your thigh.
“You don’t want me to have to use this, do you?” He asked before reaching out to set it on the edge of the windowsill beside you, but far enough away to where you wouldn’t be able to reach it - not when he had you trapped the way he did. “Now, if I remove my fingers, will you be quiet?”
You nodded as you stared where his eyes should be, where you should see him looking back at you, but you were just looking into two little voids. Opening your mouth, the man pushed his fingers back further to have you make a small choking sound before dragging them roughly against the pad of your tongue as he pulled them out. He wiped the extra saliva off along your chin and up your cheek, and you let out a noise of surprise when his palm took hold of your jaw.
“You just had to make it impossible to get you alone.” The stranger’s tone was low as he shook his head, and then he clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth before continuing. “It’s been…excruciating - not being able to be this close to you.”
Your brows furrowed as he spoke, and your nails dug into the wallpaper of the wall you were still up against. “Brody?”
The silence weighed heavily in the room for several moments before laughter broke the barrier. Not your own. His.
“Brody?” He asked while tightening his grip on your jaw. “Brody wishes he could have you in this sort of situation. Your sweet body pressed up against his. Fingers still damp with your spit. But no, sweetheart, I’m not him.”
As frightened as you were, you were doing your best not to tremble beneath him. You didn’t want to come off as weak. That’s obviously what he wanted. A weak, scared woman. You’re sure that’s probably what got him off.
“Then who are you?”
Leaning down, the man released his hold on your face, but you could feel the thick plastic of his mask right against your ear before he spoke. “I’m becoming your shadow, Y/N. Have been for quite some time now. Would you like to take another guess as to who I may be?”
You started to rack your brain for anyone around you lately that had seemed suspicious, but you were coming up short. You liked to think of yourself as a girl who paid attention to her surroundings - would be on alert if something felt off. You hadn’t felt any of the sort lately. Not in the slightest.
“I-I don’t know,” you whispered.
It took a second before the stranger sighed, and he stood up completely so he was looking down at you once again. “I can tell you that you do know me. It’s just been a while since we’ve seen each other. Well…since you’ve seen me, I guess. I’m always seeing you.”
“That’s how you knew I’d be here with my friends tonight? You were already in here? Just waiting for me to fall into whatever trap this was for you to separate me from them?”
“Two things.” The same two gloved fingers that had been in your mouth were now being held in front of your face. “Number one, you should really stop posting your whereabouts all over social media, especially when you’re still at said location, as I knew which cafe you were sipping coffee at last week because of that. That leads me to number two - because I didn’t need your social media to know you’d be here tonight. You and Madelyn were talking about it. Right out in the open at the cafe the other day while you were buying your tickets. You confirmed the date and time with each other, and luckily for me, I was right by you so I was able to hear it.”
His statement caused you to think back to your coffee date with Madelyn last week. Yes, you had both been talking about tonight, making sure it was all planned, but in no way had you noticed that someone was close enough to be able to hear every single thing you were saying.
“Okay, okay.” The man now held up his hands, as if he were surrendering. “Maybe I wasn’t right beside you. But I was sneaky enough to be able to slide a device into your purse when you passed me to go to the restroom, and it allowed me to hear your conversation. I didn’t expect you to notice me though. I made sure you wouldn’t.”
Your eyes widened, and you opened and closed your mouth a few times before the words came to you. “You were listening to us?” And then it hit you. “Does that mean you-”
“Heard what you were doing the other night when you had a little something that goes ‘buzz’ between those thighs?” He tapped the tip of your nose with his finger. “Good girl. You’re catching on quickly, but obviously not enough to figure out who I am underneath this mask.”
“I don’t know anyone who would do this to somebody. Not a single part of it,” you sneered as you clenched your teeth together. “You’re sick.”
Groaning, the stranger grabbed the knife from the windowsill and held it up between the two of you. “Well, hurry up and think harder then, because you do know me, and I won’t hesitate to use this if you keep playing dumb.”
“Okay, okay.” Now you were the one holding your hands up in actual surrender.
You contemplated what would happen if you tried to knee him in his groin, or if you tried to throw a punch right to his stomach. Would it buy you enough time to run away? Even if it did, would he catch you before you got too far? You had no idea how to get out of this place.
Swallowing down your nerves, you allowed your eyes to trace over the man more than you had before - being able to take in more details considering he was right in front of you now. You tried to catch any sight of skin peeking through between his gloves and the long sleeves of his shirt, to see if there was ink, or freckles, to clue you in, but no such luck.
The only thing you really had to go off of were the chestnut curls that were a bit unruly given his chase, and you tried your hardest to pinpoint them. As much as you didn’t want to believe it, you were pretty sure he was telling the truth about being someone you knew.
“Can I get just a little more from you to help me out?” You asked as you slowly dropped your hands. “Please.”
With a sigh, the man placed the knife back in the spot where had it before, and he lifted just the bottom of his mask so that his mouth was exposed to you.
“I’m going to kiss you.”
“Wait, that’s not what I-”
“Stop whining. It’s nothing we haven’t done before,” he snapped, and then his lips were on yours.
And fuck if it didn’t mess with your head with just how good it felt.
Sure, you had read your little stalker, dark romance novels, and you giggled and kicked your feet most of the time while consuming them, but it wasn’t something you ever wanted to actually happen to you in real life. Regardless of how this man’s mouth felt against your own, you were still petrified of what was to come.
As the kiss continued, you felt his hand gripping to the underside of your thigh beneath your corduroy skirt, and soon he was lifting your leg to have it practically draped over one of his hips. And with that one motion? You now knew who he was because only one other person had pulled that move on you before.
It was Harry. Your ex-boyfriend’s older brother.
Pushing against his chest, you shoved Harry so hard that he actually stumbled just a bit, but the grip he had on your thigh caused him to bounce right back to your body.
“What the fuck are you doing, Harry? This isn’t funny!”
Harry thought it was, however, given the chuckles that were rattling in his chest. “But it is though, isn’t it?”
“No. It isn’t. Let me go. I want to go home,” you demanded while pressing against his shoulders. “I’m not doing this with you.”
“Again, you have before, haven’t you?” His hand moved higher on the outside of your thigh until he let it slide towards the inner part - fingertips brushing along the seam of your underwear. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten, sweetheart. That’ll really hurt my feelings.”
“We talked about that night. It was a mistake.” You tried so hard to mean the words you were saying, but your body betrayed you with a shiver as Harry pulled his mask back down to cover his face completely, and he leaned his forehead against yours. “I was still upset over your brother cheating on me, and you had just broken up with your girlfriend. We were vulnerable.”
Almost six months ago, you went out to a bar with your friends. At the time, it had been only a month since you found out Harry’s brother, Maddox, had been cheating on you for the last four months of your relationship. While your friends were off playing pool, Harry had come into the bar and taken the spot beside you. He opened up about breaking up with his girlfriend a couple of nights ago, and you knew they hadn’t been entirely serious, but they had been together for a little while.
One thing then led to another, and you found yourself face down on your mattress that night with Harry taking you from behind.
It was hands down the best sex you had experienced in your entire life. Both of you getting off multiple times. Not being able to keep your hands off each other even when just cuddling - trying to fall asleep but failing with just how lustful the air was. It wasn’t until you woke up the next morning with his body around yours that the reality had sunk in. Sure, Maddox had screwed you over, but getting under his brother wasn’t the way to go about it.
It could never lead to anything. You couldn’t have Maddox be a part of your life in any sort of capacity anymore. Having anything to do with Harry, of course, would cause the two of you to have to be around each other again, and that was never going to happen.
So that morning, after you woke Harry up, you explained to him that as much as you had enjoyed the night with him, it could never happen again. You let the word ‘mistake’ slip, and you were sure he had winced over it, but he ended up agreeing that’s what the whole thing was. A mistake.
After that, you hadn’t come across Harry, or at least you thought you hadn’t. With the situation you’d found yourself in, and what he had already confessed, it seemed like he was around way more than you ever knew.
“Maybe it was a mistake to you, Y/N, but not once did it feel like that to me. I just said it so I didn’t look like an idiot in front of you, but when I left your place that morning, I didn't stop thinking about you.” Harry reached down to remove the glove on his hand that was still between your legs - letting it drop to the floor. “I tried. I tried so fucking hard, but after having you like that? How the fuck could I ever move on?”
His fingers, now bare, pulled your underwear to the side, but he didn’t make any move to actually touch you yet.
“I figured that if I just watched you, it would be enough. Just to be able to see you from afar, but then fucking Brody had to come along and try and swoop in. I know you told him no, but thanks to that little device I planted, I can also hear just how goddamn desperate he is to somehow get you to say ‘yes’ to him.”
Your knees were now starting to shake, and you reached out to brace yourself on the tops of Harry’s shoulders. “You shouldn’t care what Brody wants from me, Harry. We’re nothing! If you think acting like this, and trapping me like you are, is going to change anything between us, then you’re even more sick than I thought.”
Harry huffed out a laugh, and he pressed his forehead harder against yours as he dragged his fingertips through your damp slit. “I’m the sick one, Y/N? Are you sure?” He lifted his hand to smear your arousal over your own mouth before his fingers found their way right back to your cunt. “If I’m so sick, then why are you so wet for me?”
His digits stroked against you, and you couldn’t help but start to grip to the material of his shirt - bunching it up in your palm. You hated your body for giving in, and now your mind was starting to do the same.
“It drove me insane knowing that I couldn’t have you because of my prick of a brother. He didn’t deserve you. He never did. I couldn’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if somehow you and I had met first. Would you be mine then?”
Harry’s fingers slipped inside of you, and as much as you tried to muffle the moan building, you couldn’t. It passed by your lips as you dropped your forehead to his collarbone - panting against his chest.
“It doesn’t feel like you want me to let you go, Y/N. It doesn’t feel like you want me to be able to let you leave this room before I’ve taken what I’ve so desperately needed for far too long.” His thumb dragged your arousal up to your clit, and he started to move it in small circles. “If you tell me to stop, I will, but I don’t think that’s what you want.”
Once again, your body answered him as your hips bucked against his hand, and now you were shoving your face into the side of his neck. “I don’t…this is-”
“A bit confusing, hm?” Harry continued to pump his digits in and out of your dripping cunt. “But you’ve thought about that night too. I know you have. Heard you moaning out my name the other night when you were playing with yourself. Deep down, you’ve been just as hungry for me as I have been for you.”
“I shouldn’t let you get what you want,” you gasped. “Not when you went about it this way. Why did you wait until tonight to do this? You said you’ve been following me for a while. Why not before?”
“It’s the proper setting, is it not? I knew you’d already be a little on edge considering it’s a haunted house and all - not to mention having to deal with Brody after turning him down. It just seemed like the perfect opportunity for me to finally get to chase you. To hunt you down as you tried to run from me. And you did well, I’ll give that to you, but I knew you’d never be able to get out before I caught you, and part of me thinks you wanted to be caught, Y/N.”
“No,” you whimpered with a shake of your head. “I’m not fucked in the head like you are. Following someone’s every move? Chasing them down? Holding them against their will? That’s not what I want.”
“It isn’t?” His tone was condescending, and he started to drive his fingers into you a little harder. “Then it must be so embarrassing to feel just how much you‘re dripping down my hand - if this is so fucked up. I know you can feel it. Hear it. I doubt anyone has gotten you this wet before, and you loathe the fact that you like it when you know you’re supposed to hate it.”
A startled gasp left you as Harry pulled his fingers out of your pussy, and he held them up between the two of you.
“See?” He asked, almost breathlessly, as if seeing you get so wet for him was working him up without you even properly touching him. He pulled the digits apart to show just how your arousal was webbed around them. “You’ve soaked them already.”
You opened your mouth to speak, but were cut off when his fingers were inside of you once again. As much as you wanted to continue to fight against this, especially with how wrong this entire thing was, you couldn’t help but give in. The pleasure was too much, and you wanted to succumb to it.
Slowly at first, you started to roll your hips back against his movements, and once he caught on to what you were doing, he started to fuck his fingers into you even faster.
“There we go,” Harry praised. “I knew I’d wear you down eventually. This sweet, little cunt remembers how well I treated her last time. I bet she’s been aching to be satisfied in that way again.”
“Harry,” you moaned, and you felt the way his body shuddered a bit.
“That’s right, Y/N. Say my name. Recognize that it’s me who’s making you feel like this. Making you feel so good.”
When his thumb extended back up to start caressing your clit again, you knew it was only a matter of time until you’d be coming all over his fingers. And you wanted to hate that, you really did, but fuck, if you hadn’t been missing what it felt like to have someone take care of you, and now that it was Harry? The man who absolutely blew your mind in a matter of hours one night? You knew all along, once you realized it was him, that it was going to be impossible for you to push him away.
“I can feel you squeezing them.” Harry’s fingers caressed your front wall while speeding up the circles on your sensitive bud. “Give in. Give yourself over to that dirty and dark side that you know is inside of you.”
Your orgasm crashed into you, and your hands clutched to Harry’s shirt as your body chased every bit of that euphoria you could manage. It was the most powerful climax you’ve had since the night the two of you shared, and you didn’t want it to end.
“Good fucking girl.” Harry nudged the cheek of his mask against your own. “I’ve never seen someone look so blissed out when they come. You’re extraordinary, Y/N.”
As your high came to its end, you pulled back to look up at Harry, and something inside of you snapped. You didn’t care about the stalking. You didn’t care about the device he had planted. You didn’t care that he had absolutely terrified you before making you come.
You wanted him.
Reaching up, you removed the mask off of Harry’s face before cupping his cheeks and pulling his mouth down to meet your own. The kiss was hungry, and sloppy, but you wanted more. More of his mouth. More of him, and you desperately needed him inside you.
“Fuck me,” you pleaded against his lips. “I need it.”
“Shit,” Harry hissed as he reached down to undo the button and the zipper of his pants.
You could see him retrieving his wallet, and he pulled a condom out before ripping it open. His eyes bored into yours as he rolled the rubber down his erection - causing you to clench down around nothing at just how hungry he looked.
“Like I said, I knew you’d give in, but I didn’t think you’d let me fuck you. Not here.” Harry shook his head. “Making my fantasies come true, Y/N.”
Once the condom was on securely, he quickly turned you around so your palms were flush to the wall, your cheek planted between them, and you felt him flip your skirt up over your ass. A growl sounded from him as he gripped one of the rounds of it, giving it a shake before he tore the underwear from your body - the sound of ripping material echoing around the room.
You let out a mewl of anticipation when you felt the tip of his cock tracing up and down your slit, tapping against your tightest hole for just a moment before he moved down and started to press into your cunt. Your lips parted, but no noise came out as he rocked his hips back and forth, working you up to his impressive size.
“Haven’t had anyone wrapped around me since you. I just knew no one could compare,” he confessed as his fingertips sunk into your hips. “You feel even better than I remembered, and I thought about this every night since having you.”
Reaching behind you, you latched onto the back of one of his thighs - nails digging into the toned flesh. “I haven’t been with anyone either. There was no point. You ruined me for anyone else.”
A mix between a groan and a whine rumbled in Harry’s chest before he bent forward a bit so his body was curling around yours in a possessive fashion. “I already knew that. Been watching your every move, remember?” He dragged his teeth down the nape of your neck. “But I love hearing you say it. That you wanted me to know there’s been no one else.”
With one final push forward, he was now completely inside of you - tip already nudging that spot that you knew would have to unravel in seconds. His hips rutted against your ass for a bit as your walls pulsed around his length while your nails dug even further into his skin.
“I’m so full,” you mumbled aimlessly, and Harry’s grip on your hips tightened.
“Shut up,” Harry ordered through clenched teeth. “You’re going to have me coming before I’ve even properly fucked you if you keep saying stuff like that.”
It went still as the two of you fought to catch your breath, and your eyes slipped shut while you waited for Harry to move again. After what seemed like forever, but was probably only a few moments, you felt him draw his hips back before he was filling you up once again.
“I always thought you were so beautiful. From the moment I first saw you, but you weren’t mine to be had then,” he stated. “But when I saw you in that bar that night…something changed. And then when I had you underneath me? Once I was inside of you? I became a man obsessed, Y/N. I don’t know how you could have expected me to let you go when what we had felt so good.”
Your body involuntarily arched into him more as he spoke, and you heard him let out a dark laugh. “I think you like how captivated I am by you. The lengths that I went to get what I wanted. And that’s you. Deep down, this is as thrilling for you as it has been for me.”
From there, Harry started up precise thrusts, and the sound of him sliding in and out for your cunt would probably seem lewd to anyone else, but to you? It made you want even more.
“Fuck,” you whined as your other hand that wasn’t still gripping to Harry’s thigh started to knead your breast over your shirt. “Harder.”
Groaning, Harry pulled out of you, and you quickly looked over your shoulder at him to protest, but he was spinning you around and picking you up. You yelped and wrapped your arms around his neck as he walked you over to a table that was pushed against another wall, and he set you down on it.
“You really think this thing will hold up?” You asked breathlessly, but it turned into a moan as Harry entered you once again.
“If it breaks, I’ve got you. I won’t let you hit the ground.”
The next thing you knew, his mouth was back on yours as he pulled you right to the edge of the table - your knees locking against his hips. The groomed hairs around the base of his cock were serving as the perfect friction against your clit, and you could feel yourself right on the edge of another orgasm.
“Not a single person has felt as good as you, Y/N.” Harry started to kiss over your jawline, and then down your neck. “You’re so perfect. Perfect for me.”
You couldn’t find the words to respond as that pleasured coil in your stomach began to tighten, and your hands fell to Harry’s forearms when that beautiful feeling started to take over.
“Yes,” you moaned while your pussy fluttered around his length. “God, it’s so good. Keep going.”
“I’m not stopping until you’re fully satisfied. Even if I come, I’ll keep going as long as you need me to. I’m never going to leave you hungry for more.”
You lazily kissed over Harry’s cheek before finding his lips once more, and you rolled your tongue out to glide against his own. You sucked on it gently which caused him to whimper, and you held onto his shoulder so you could lift your hips to match the pace of his thrusts.
One of Harry’s hands dropped between your legs, and he pinched at your clit, which had your movements stammering for a moment, before you recovered.
“I need to get you there again,” he whispered. “Want you to soak my cock. Get me all wet.”
You nodded deliriously while continuing to cling to him, and you could tell by the way that his body was starting to tense up that he was close.
“Come for me, Harry,” you encouraged. “Want to feel you pulsing inside of me. That’ll get me there again.”
Harry gasped, and you watched as his brows narrowed before you could feel the warmth of him emptying into the condom - his prick throbbing against your walls. He didn’t let up on rubbing your clit as his thrusts grew sloppy, and your third orgasm of the night crept up on you quicker than you expected.
Your chests heaved with harsh breaths as the two of you tried to recover, and you both grimaced when Harry pulled out. Discarding the condom back in the foil wrapper, he slid it into his pocket to dispose of later, and once he buttoned and zipped his pants back up, he helped you down from the table - pulling your skirt into its proper position as well.
His arms wrapped around you as you stumbled just a bit, but soon you found your footing, and you looked up at Harry.
“I…I should find my friends,” you announced.
“I’ll come with you.”
You still had so many questions, and even though you had already given into him, you would need them to be answered before you could fully determine how to go forward with all of this. But looking up at those kind, green eyes, and feeling his large hands running up and down your sides, you couldn’t help but be completely enthralled by him.
The two of you walked out of the room after Harry retrieved his belongings, and he was the one to take the lead and guide you both out of the house. Once you were back outside, you could see Madelyn, Brody and Sonya standing there, frantically typing on their phones before they looked up and saw you.
“Oh my god, Y/N!” Sonya shrieked as she ran up and threw her arms around you as Madelyn approached from the side and did the same thing. “We were so worried. We tried calling you, and we had employees searching the house.”
“It’s okay, I’m fine,” you assured them as you gave them each a squeeze. “I did get lost, but I ran into Harry, and he helped me find my way out.”
Brody approached and looked Harry up and down with his hands tucked in his pockets before looking at you. “You know him?”
“Yeah, this is Maddox’s brother. We hung out once after our breakup.”
Madelyn and Sonya looked at each other before looking between you and Harry.
“Anyway,” you clapped your hands together, “I’m starved. Who’s down for some beer and pizza at Tony’s?”
Your friends shrugged and nodded in agreement before you started towards the parking lot, and you could see that Harry was slowly putting distance between the two of you, and once you were heading towards Sonya’s car, he started the other way. You gathered that he probably thought tonight changed nothing, and you didn’t want anything further to do with him, so he was just going to leave.
“Hey!” You called out to him, and he quickly turned to look at you. “Can I ride with you?”
The shocked smile that pressed onto Harry’s lips had your heart stammering as he nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”
You quickly closed the gap between the two of you, and you took his hands - lacing your fingers together as you walked to his car.
🕸️ • 🕸️ • 🕸️ • 🕸️
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the one where Harry is recovering from his accident, but that's the least of YN and Harry's worries.
author's note: hi! i just want to start this off by apologising for being MIA over the past year. I know how much you all have been waiting for this and I just wanted to make sure it was perfect. It's been a big year for me, as I can now officially say I have a law degree (AAHHHH) but that did mean I had to take a slight break! Im not going to promise that I'll be posting more regularly BUT I am going to make the effort to I promise. ENJOY !!
word count: 10k of more sexy biker!harry (I've missed him, I hope you have too)
WARNINGS: strong language, recovery, angst, smut, bike riding, more bar fights and mentions of a motor accident.
let me know what you think of clover II here! MWAH <3
Thankfully YN hadn’t found herself needing to be in hospitals much in her life. Never with a family member, and never for herself. However, she had heard of horror stories from her friends, of how cold and bleak they could be. How they could suck the life out of the ill and the healthy, just by being in the building.
What YN hadn’t anticipated was the difficulty in finding out any information about Harry. Nobody would seem to tell her where he was, or what was happening.
“I understand, but we can only release that information to family,” YN shakes her head, becoming more and more frustrated by the second.
“I understand that, but I’m the only fucking family he’s got. I need to know if he’s okay,” YN’s voice broke at the end, the frustration and the pain of not knowing if Harry was okay getting better of her.
“Hey,” Taylor appeared at the side of her, “No luck?”
“No,” YN shakes her head, “They only release that information to family.”
“I’m not having this,” Taylor turned to the woman, “Look, my friend’s fiancée just wants to know if he’s okay. Harry Styles. You must be able to tell her at least.”
The woman’s eyes widen — YN hadn’t even thought to say that she was Harry’s fiancée. She was thankful that Taylor could think on his feet quicker than she could.
“Of course,” She nods, looking down at the computer in front of her, “He’s been rushed in for emergency surgery. If you want to turn down the hallway to the left and take a seat, I’ll have someone come speak to you when we know more.”
“Thank you,” YN sighs, a breath of relief leaving her but panic settles in at the idea of emergency surgery being needed.
Taylor wrapped his arm around YN’s shoulder, directing her down the hallway just as the woman had said. Even though she was moving, she wasn’t in control of her body. Even when she sat down, all she could think about was Harry. There was so much going through her head, so much that could happen that she didn’t know how to prepare herself for it. What if he could never ride again? What if he doesn’t recover from the surgery? So many what-ifs that her brain couldn’t comprehend them all.
YN hadn’t known how long they had been sitting there before a doctor appeared at the end of the hallway.
“Family of Harry Styles?” YN shot up from her seat, making a beeline straight to the doctor.
“That’s us. Is he okay? Is he alive?” YN took a sharp breath even at the idea of Harry not being alive.
“Mr Styles is just leaving surgery and moving to a recovery room as we speak,” The doctor nods, and YN’s body immediately relaxes, “He suffered multiple breaks to his ankle on the side that the truck hit him. He is lucky that it wasn’t worse. You are more than welcome to go see him when he returns from surgery, just be aware that when he wakes from the anaesthetic he may be groggy and in a lot of pain.”
YN nods, “Thank you.”
“Someone will be by shortly to tell you which room he is in.”
YN nods once more and turns to Taylor. The man, even though he had been YN’s rock since the news of Harry’s accident had broken to her, had glassy eyes. YN wrapped her arms around his shoulders, giving him the hug that he needed. Harry was an experienced rider, and so was Taylor, but it just showed that anything can happen no matter what experience you have.
It was about five minutes before a nurse came and told them that Harry had been moved to a room on the second floor. It didn’t take long for YN to ask for directions and make her way up the stairs to him.
The door was closed when they arrived at his room, and through the pane of glass in the door, she could see him lying there, his features peaceful. It stopped YN in her tracks. She turned to Taylor, who had the same expression on his face. It was only when the man put a hand on her shoulder that she felt strong enough to push forward into the room.
His leg was elevated, in a cage of some sort that made YN almost throw up. It was truly distressing to her to see him like that. For Harry, who was always so put together, always loved to be on his bike — was always doing something, it was difficult.
But at the same time, he looked so peaceful and at ease. He looked younger, his features seeming more youthful. YN immediately stood at his side, grabbing his hand and placing it in hers. She couldn’t help it when the tears started to fall, streaming down her cheeks. Taylor was crying too, and even though he was trying to wipe them away she could hear his sniffles.
“He should be coming around from the anaesthetic in the next hour or so,” The doctor spoke to them both, “You’re more than welcome to stay for as long as you like.”
“Thank you,” YN spoke, not wanting to seem rude but she couldn’t take her eyes off of Harry.
Once the doctor had shut the door, YN placed her hand on Harry’s forehead, brushing the curls away from his forehead.
“If I go… will you be alright?” Taylor spoke from across the room, “Need to go tell the guys that he’s alright.”
YN turned to him and nodded, “Of course. If he wakes up before you’re back I’ll phone the bar. Tell Mick to listen out for it.”
Taylor nodded, walking over to squeeze her shoulder, “I will do. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
YN nodded once more, offered him a small smile and turned back to Harry. There was no way in hell that anyone could ever get her to leave him. If she had to camp out in this room for days, weeks until he was ready to be discharged she would.
She loved him.
It made her want to cry all over again. It was too much for her, that the man she loved was lying in a hospital bed and she hadn’t even had the opportunity to tell him yet. He needed to wake up, because even if he didn’t love her — he had to know that she loved him.
Sighing, YN dropped back in her seat. She placed one of her hands on her forehead and kept the other firmly around Harry’s hand.
Her thoughts drifted back to the morning they had spent together. To the time they had spent between Harry’s sheets, doing nothing but kissing, touching and being with each other. Silly things such as Harry being the only one seeming to make her laugh until she couldn’t breathe. He took such care of her all of the time, making sure she was okay and had everything she needed. All she wanted to do now was take care of him, to make sure that he was okay.
Time passed, and no time at all seemed to pass and then his hand moved. It was light, but it caused YN to fall forward in her seat.
“Harry, baby, can you hear me?” YN kept one of her hands firmly in Harry’s, the air in the room immediately thickening as her heart raised its speed in both continuous worry and anticipation.
There it was again, the light squeeze of her hand that caused this panic in the first place. YN’s eyes bounced across Harry’s face, watching for any sign of the man waking up. Then his eyebrows furrowed, a pained look crossing his face.
“Oh, baby,” YN couldn’t help it as the tears began to stream down her face, feeling as though these seconds waiting for his eyes to open were an eternity.
Then they were open. Those green eyes that filled her dreams were staring back at her once more, and she felt grounded again. That time, when she didn’t know whether he was alive or not was a kind of torture that she wouldn’t wish upon her worse enemy. She only wished that she would never feel that way again.
YN brushed Harry’s hair out of his face, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. It was probably a little damp, due to her tears but she didn’t care – she just wanted her lips upon his.
“Hi baby,” Harry spoke, his voice groggy, “It must be really bad to have you crying like that.”
YN shakes her head, resting her hand on the side of his face, “You scared the shit out of my Harry. I didn’t… I didn’t know if you were alive or…”
“Hey,” Harry squeezes her hand that was clutching tightly onto his still, “I’m still here… you’re not getting rid of me that quickly.”
YN shook her head, “I thought… I thought you were going to die before I’d gotten a chance to tell you that I love you.”
Harry exhales a chuckle, “It only took me nearly dying for you to say it?”
If he wasn’t injured she would’ve wiped the damn smirk off of his face, “Harry… don’t you joke about that.”
“I’m not… I promise,” He offered her a smile, “I love you too, baby, more than anything.”
“Good,” YN nods, “Because you’re never leaving my sight again, I promise you that.”
Harry’s recovery was intense.
He was allowed to leave the hospital two weeks after his accident, but it was two weeks to long for Harry. For a man that loved to be outside, to feel the wind in his hair and the sun blazing on his skin being cooped up in a room unable to move without any assistance was his idea of a nightmare.
His only saving grace was YN.
For the first week, she hadn’t worked. She had spent every second at the hospital, apart from when Harry forced her to go home to shower and change and eat something that wasn’t the crappy food that the cafeteria served. Although other riders had wanted to visit, Harry hadn’t allowed them to. He didn’t want them to see their leader like this, weak and unable to look after himself. YN hadn’t agreed with him when had said this, arguing that he was still their leader and his injury didn’t negate that. They had compromised with allowing Mick and Taylor to visit him. Taylor, being Harry’s right hand man, had taken over most of the day to day operation of the club, and reported back to Harry with what was happening. Mick, well he was like a father to Harry so it didn’t surprise YN that he was allowed to visit.
That meant that in the second week, when YN returned to work (not by choice, but by force from Harry) there was someone there with Harry and he wasn’t on his own until she returned. YN had also spent a lot of that week moving her belongings to Harry’s house, as they both truly did mean that they wouldn’t leave each other’s sight now. Ashley had been understanding, thankfully, and already had someone in mind to move into YN’s room which eased the girls mind slightly. But, then again, even if Ashley hadn’t agreed she doesn’t think that anything would have been able to stop her from moving in with Harry and being able to look after him during his recovery.
For his first two weeks out of hospital he was wheelchair bound, and pretty much couldn’t do anything. YN was doing her best to help him, but she could tell that he was struggling. He was so independent, and all of a sudden not being would have been difficult for anyone.
It eased slightly when Harry started his physical therapy, to gain strength in his ankle again. It would never be the same, but it could get damn near it.
“Langhorne said that if I carry on the way I am I can probably be riding again within the next two months, how good is that?” Harry spoke one night after his fourth physio session. He was lounged on the sofa, with his leg outstretched on the table in front of him, a cushion underneath for a support.
YN was in the kitchen, cooking them some dinner when he had spoken. She had only hummed initially, mainly because she was focusing on making sure she didn’t cut herself as she chopped vegetables, and the other reason being because she had sort of been dreading this conversation.
Every time that Harry had mentioned riding since the accident, YN’s stomach twisted and she had never been able to respond to him. She didn’t know how to explain to him that the idea of Harry getting back on a bike created more anxiety in her than she would like to admit. She knew that it wasn’t her place to every say to him that he can’t ride, but a part of her wished she could. Riding was in his blood, so it was no wonder that it was his main goal but YN sometimes just wished his main interest wasn’t as dangerous.
“YN,” Harry looked over his shoulder at the girl, his eyebrows furrowing as he watched the girl cut the vegetables in her hand almost in a trance, “You hear me?”
YN shook herself out of her daydream, “Yeah, I heard you… that’s exciting baby.”
“You sure about that?” Harry chuckled, “Your face isn’t really saying that.”
YN sighed, dropping the knife down on the counter and turning her body so she was facing him. She didn’t want to have this conversation, but it seemed as though they were going to have to.
“I’m so proud of you, baby, and I’m happy that you’re so excited to get back to riding,” YN sighed, “But I don’t want you to rush, just because you want to ride again.”
“YN,” Harry shakes his head, “I’m not going to rush anything, I promise.”
“I know,” YN nods, her feet padding on the floor as she made her way towards him, dropping down on the sofa next to him, snuggling into his side, “I just… I’m scared, baby.”
“I know,” Harry leans forward and presses a kiss to her lips, “I know you are, but I’m here, yeah? I’m still here, and I love you and I’m not going to do anything that could put myself in danger.”
“I know,” YN nods, “It’s just… It’s not you I don’t trust it’s other people.”
Harry chuckles, his hand resting underneath the curve of her ass as he pulled her legs over his. YN wrapped her arms around his neck, a small smile gracing her lips. Even when she was slightly spiralling, one touch from Harry and she was immediately calmer.
“I know you don’t,” Harry presses a light kiss to her lips, “But you trust me, and that’s the main thing.”
YN nods, pressing another kiss to his lips. Harry tries to pull her closer if that was possibly, until they were tightly pressed against each other. YN tried to lean back slightly so that she didn’t place her weight on any of his leg but Harry pulled her right back, causing a laugh to escape her lips.
“How about you come with me to physio on Friday, hmm?” Harry pressed, tucking some of her hair behind her ear, “Then you can talk to Langhorne yourself, and he can ease any of your worries.”
“I’d like that,” YN nods, “Maybe he can give us some exercises to do at home that I can help with.”
Harry’s eyes widen, and his eyebrows raise, “I don’t think Langhorne needs to give us those. I, uh, think we’ve got those covered all by ourselves.”
“Harry!” YN exclaims, lighting whacking his shoulder as the man shook with laughter, “You know I didn’t mean exercises like that.”
“I know, I know,” Harry shrugged, “I feel like I might regret introducing you to Langhorne, I don’t think I’ll survive having both of you conspiring against me.”
“We won’t be conspiring,” YN shakes her head, “We’ll just be lightly encouraging you.”
Harry just hums, placing another gentle kiss on her lips, “You feeling better now?”
“Yeah, I’m feeling better,” YN nods, attempting to make a move to lift herself up from his lap, “I better get back to making dinner, don’t want you starving on my watch.”
“No,” Harry shakes his head, tightening his grip around the girl, “I want to cuddle.”
“Harry, we can cuddle later,” YN responds with a laugh, gripping his arm with her hand and attempting to pull him off of her, “We gotta eat first.”
“Nope,” Harry shakes his head once again, “Cuddle now, food later.”
YN gives in, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck once again. As much as she hated to admit, sometimes she struggled to stay strong when it came to Harry. She rested her head against his neck, the two of them lounging in a comfortable silence. That was until Harry’s stomach grumbled against her. YN shook with laughter at the sound.
“Right,” She pushed herself up from him, “I’m making dinner, cuddles can wait until later.”
Harry let her go this time, but not before he grabbed her hand and gave her one last lingering kiss upon her lips. She supposed to the benefit of being with Harry, and being able to talk so openly with him was that he always seemed to manage to put her worries at bay. She supposed that as long as they take each day as it comes, YN can’t really complain.
“You would think he was a toddler by the way he acts sometimes,” That was the first thing that Taylor said to YN as he walked up to the bar, dropping down on the stool with a roll of his eyes.
“Do I even want to ask?” YN spoke, a hint of teasing in her voice as she placed a bottle of beer down in front of Taylor.
“No, but I’m going to tell you anyway,” Taylor picked up the beer and took a healthy gulp before placing it back down with a sigh, “Your boyfriend is what I can only describe as a toddler in a man’s body. He grunts, and he has tantrums and I swear to God YN if crosses his arms and turns away when I’m talking to him one more time I’ll murder him with my bare hands.”
YN just laughs, “Good visit then?”
Taylor sighs one more time, taking another swig of his beer, “I know he’s struggling, and I sympathise, I really do. But, he’s turning into a grumpy fucking old man.”
YN laughs again, and all she can do is shrug. Taylor wasn’t wrong. Of course, it was funny to laugh and joke about how grumpy Harry was being, but Taylor didn’t see Harry in his quiet times. That was when YN was really concerned about him, when he would go quiet and she knew that all he was thinking about was being out and about. Those were the times that YN forgot about any of her worries about him riding again and just wanted him to be happy.
“He’ll get there,” YN shrugs, leaning against the desk in front of Taylor, “Just might take him a little while longer. Langhorne said it’ll probably be next week that he can start going for longer walks out and about.”
“That’ll be good for him,” Taylor nods, “Do we know when he’ll be cleared to go back to work?”
YN just shrugs again, “Langhorne couldn’t give him a date yet. We need to monitor his stamina day by day. I think it’ll be another month or so.”
Taylor just nods, taking another swig of his beer. In all honesty, Langhorne hadn’t said much about when Harry would be able to return to work in the shop or even return to riding. He hadn’t even given a timeline, which was frustrating Harry to no end. He just kept saying that they needed to take every day as it comes, and that putting a timeline in place could hinder progress.
YN understood, she really did. Harry wasn’t as understanding about the situation. He wanted something to work towards, something to look forward to. On the other hand, if progress didn’t go the way he was expecting — it could disappoint him even more. YN couldn’t see him going through that, not after everything.
“Well maybe he come visit the lads. He doesn’t have to ride, but even if he just comes here it might lift his spirits,” Taylor offers, and YN just responds with a sad smile.
YN opens her mouth to say something but closes it again not a second later and shrugs, “I’ve tried, but I get a toddler response every time.”
“Well, the boys miss him,” Taylor offers, “Maybe if he hears that from you it’ll change his mind.”
YN shrugs once more, “I’ll give it a try.”
It was three hours later that YN finished her shift, and she was happy to see the back of the bar that evening. It wasn’t even as though the boys did anything wrong, she just wanted to be at home with Harry. If she had to pinpoint anything, she’d probably say that if she had to explain one more time that Harry’s recovering well, and it won’t be long until he’s back she’d rip her hair out.
She hadn’t told Harry yet that she hadn’t been on her bike since the accident either yet, for her own fear of what would happen. She felt bad, especially since it had been a gift from Harry but she just couldn’t do it yet. Instead, she had been walking. Again, she hadn’t mentioned this to Harry either for fear of his reaction if he knew she was walking around on her own. In all honesty, she was enjoying her walks. It was time for her to decompress, and more importantly get excited that she’d be seeing Harry soon.
By the time she’d made it to Harry’s house, she was completely and utterly exhausted. It wasn’t that late, nearing eleven o’clock at night, and she wasn’t surprised when she saw most of the lights in the house were off. It always warmed her heart when she saw that Harry left the lamp on by the front door, knowing that she wouldn’t have the energy to fumble around for a light and knowing how clumsy she was, she’d probably fall over her own legs.
When she reached the top of the stairs, she could see the faint light coming from their bedroom. It wasn’t surprising to her that he was still awake. That was another way which they matched – they were both night owls. God forbid that in the future they ever needed to be anywhere early morning, because neither one of them would be jumping up in excitement.
“Baby?” She heard Harry call from inside the room, “That you?”
“Yeah, baby,” She turned the corner into the room, smiling when she saw Harry laid on the bed with the covers over him and sheets of paper covering the expanse. YN chuckled, watching as he furrowed his eyes in concentration at whatever he was reading, “You look comfy.”
“Hi baby,” Harry moved some of the papers that were covering her side of the bed, opening a space for her to drop into. She did so without a single hesitation, dropping down onto the bed and snuggling into his side, “Long day?”
YN hummed, pushing her face into the comfort of his neck. He wrapped his free arm around her body and pressed a few light kisses to the top of her head, “I had an annoyed Taylor to deal with.”
Harry goes silent, and YN knows that he knows she’s trying to make a slight dig at him – but only a slight one. When he still doesn’t reply, YN lifts her head up from his arm to look at Harry’s face, which held what she could only describe as a sheepish look.
“Harry…” YN warns, but he still doesn’t say anything, “Why were you being grumpy to Taylor earlier?”
“I wasn’t,” He shrugged, his voice quiet.
“That’s not what he said to me,” YN retorts with a raise of her eyebrow, “Look, I know you’re frustrated but Taylor’s just doing his best, don’t take it out on him baby.”
“I know,” Harry runs a hand through his hair, “I just wish he’d stop asking me to come to the bar or come see some of the lads. I’m not ready for that yet.”
“Well, how about we compromise, hmm?” YN offers, manoeuvring herself on the bed so that she could straddle his waist, taking extra care to make sure that she didn’t hit his leg in the process. Harry’s hands immediately rest on her waist, “You stop being a toddler and pouting at Taylor, and next week we’ll have some of the lads around here. Just Taylor and Mick, and a few others so they come to us and you don’t have to go to them.”
Harry just sighs, his fingers slipping underneath the material of YN’s t-shirt so he was touching her skin.
“Okay,” He hums, leaning forward to place a kiss to her lips, “We can do that, baby.”
YN beams a smile, leaning forward and attacking him with kisses. Her lips land on his lips, his cheek, his nose – across his entire face. Harry lets out a chuckle at his girl’s antics, his hands moving to her ass to pull her closer to him. It’s then that Harry captures her lips in a kiss, and it isn’t just a light peck like she had been giving. When Harry pulls away, YN is slightly breathless and there’s a light heat across her cheeks.
“I think I’ve got an idea about how to get my frustrations out,” Harry offers, his fingers toying with the hem of YN’s t-shirt once again.
YN rolls her eyes at the boys antics, but she wasn’t complaining either. Since the accident, their sex life had slightly fallen off a cliff. Saying that, it wasn’t for a lack of interest, but rather they just hadn’t been able to. For the first few weeks that Harry was out of the hospital he wasn’t comfortable for either of them. Now (after YN had checked with Langhorne that they were okay to do so) they had sort of found a rhythm with it.
As much as this newfound rhythm frustrated Harry, as he usually liked to be the one in control, he never voices his complaints to YN. It usually meant that YN had spent the majority of her time on top, but she wasn’t complaining about it.
In one swoop, the fingers that were toying with YN’s t-shirt pulled it up and over her head, revealing her no-so-sexy work bra that she chose for comfort over aesthetic. For Harry though, it didn’t seem to matter as he immediately began to press light kisses to the swell of her breasts that slipped over the bra.
YN smiled, her fingers immediately threading through the curls resting upon Harry’s head.
“Seems like you’ve perked up already,” YN chuckles, placing her hands on Harry’s cheeks so that she could pull his face up and press her lips against his.
Harry curls his hands around her body, his lips never leaving hers whilst his fingers skilfully remove her bra. YN giggles as the material drops from her body, even more so when Harry’s hands immediately grope at her tits.
“Such a boy,” YN giggles against his lips, pulling away slightly so she can manoeuvre herself further down his body without hitting his leg in any way.
“You can’t dangle them in front of my face and not expect me to touch,” Harry retorts, and YN rolls her eyes, her fingers now toying with them hem of Harry’s pyjama pants.
Harry knows the drill by now, and he lifts his hips up to help YN pull his pants down. His cock bobs up, hitting his stomach lightly. YN giggles and raises her eyebrows.
YN drops down and wraps her hand around the base of his cock, pressing a light kiss to the tip. Harry’s head immediately drops back, a deep grunt escaping from his parted lips. From being together as long as they head, YN knew exactly what buttons to press to get him going and vice versa.
“That’s it, baby, taking my cock in your mouth so well,” Harry mutters through slightly gritted teeth as his eyes watched YN’s head bob up and down on his cock.
YN watches as Harry’s breaths start to quicken, and she decides that it’s the perfect time to pull away. She lifts up from Harry for a second to pull her jeans and panties down her legs in one swift movement, exposing herself fully to him.
“So ready for me baby,” Harry speaks, reaching forward slightly so that he can swipe his fingers against her.
YN shudders at the sudden contact, her hand reaching out to grasp Harry’s and pause his movements. She loves Harry, and she loves everything that he does for her and to her; but it was a little more difficult for him in their current situation. She knew that Harry was itching to touch her and hold her the way that he usually would. That’s why YN wastes no time in climbing back onto his lap. Harry sits up, attempting to aid her in sliding down on his cock but YN shakes her head.
“It’s my turn, baby,” YN responds, pushing him lightly on his chest so that he falls back upon the bed again. One of Harry’s hands falls behind his head, whilst the other one threads its fingers with YN’s.
Using the leverage of her knees and her other hand which grasped the base of his cock, YN sunk down on him. A moan slipped from her lips at the feeling of Harry’s cock filling her up. She was always ready for him, always welcomed him and they always fit together just perfectly.
As YN sunk down further, she felt completely full. He always hit the places within her that other’s hadn’t, and that was why she had said that they always fit so well together. YN rested one of her hands on Harry’s stomach, the feeling of his abs underneath her fingertips. The other one kept clutched to Harry’s tightly, using it as a support as she began to roll her hips at the rhythm which was best for her.
Seeing Harry with his head back, and his eyes slightly clouded as he watched her was enough to spur anybody on, and it certainly worked for YN. The rhythm she deployed to start had him groaning, but when it started to hit a spot so deep in her that she couldn’t tease him — she knew she had to do more.
“That’s it, baby,” Harry urged, his hips bucking up to YN’s as she started to increase her speed, “Riding my cock so well, so good. Perfect for me, aren’t you?”
All YN could do was hum, the feeling becoming all too much for her too quickly. That was solidified when Harry slipped his hand down and started to circle her clit with his thumb, the extra level of stimulation bringing YN closer and closer to the edge. She dropped her head down, continuing her movements but resting on Harry’s shoulder as she did.
Harry was always so good at praise, which wasn’t something that YN had experienced before. It wasn’t that any of her previous partners had were necessarily bad, it was just that they never seemed to know her as well as Harry does. He knows exactly what to say and when to say it to get her going.
With a string of moans leaving her lips, YN could feel herself getting closer and closer to orgasm. From the way she was clenching around him, she wouldn’t be surprised if Harry was close to.
“Come for me baby,” He pressed his lips against her neck, coaxing her towards her orgasm with the exact words that she needed.
“So close, H,” YN murmured, lifting her head up so that she could look at him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, settling her cheek against his. It was almost as though she was trying to get as close as humanly possible that she could to him.
“That’s it, baby,” He wrapped an arm around her back to settle her, “Come for me, know you’re close. I’ve got you.”
That was all that YN needed to hear. Without meaning to, her nails dug into the skin of Harry’s back, her movements stilling and her body shaking slightly. Harry helped her ride through her orgasm, lifting his hips to hers to try and match the rhythm that she had been going.
“Fuck, baby,” Harry’s orgasm came a few seconds later, his head dropping onto her shoulder and his body going slightly rigid.
They both found themselves breathless, and slightly sweaty sitting in the aftershocks of their orgasms. Harry lifted his head up and caught YN’s lips on his own. The kiss was slower than their others had been, all urgency having left their bodies.
YN pulled herself up and off of Harry, wincing slightly as she did. Her body dropped down next to Harry’s on the bed, her breathing still quick. She turned to Harry, who had a similar blissful look on his face as she did, and she smiled.
“Does this mean you’ll stop being such a dick to Taylor?” She probed, a mischievous look crossing her face.
“Shut up and get ready for bed,” All YN could do was laugh.
“They’re a new group that’s come in from the East, they’re not exactly my kind of people,” Mick explained to YN as he was drying some of the glasses that YN had just washed.
Mick was referencing to a new group of bikers that had arrived the day prior, sitting in the corner of the bar making as much noise as humanly possible it seemed.
YN wouldn’t say that she was a bad judge of character, but she trusted Mick’s opinion much more than her own. Therefore, since she had already thought there was something not quite right about them and then Mick solidified that feeling she knew that it must be right.
“Do we know how long they’ll be staying?” YN asked, passing him another glass.
Mick just shrugged, “I don’t think they’ve got a leaving date just yet. These are the days I wish boss man was here, he’d have them up and out before they could’ve even sat their arses down!”
YN smiled at Mick’s words, carrying on with her mind numbing task whilst they found themselves in a slower part of the day.
It wasn’t going to be long now before Harry returned to his position better than ever. Since he started having meetings with a few more of the riders, and more frequently - his mood had increased. With him being in a better headspace, he’d also been making more progress in physio. Langhorne said that it could be a matter of days before he was back to work, weeks before he could be back to riding again.
“Oi,” YN’s peace and quiet was interrupted by the sound of an unfamiliar and quite rude voice behind her, “Does this bar serve drinks or what?”
YN sighed but turned around with her best customer service smile graced on her lips that she could possibly manage. It was one of the new guys, with a stupid smirk on his lips and way too much oil in his hair.
“What can I get you?” YN smiled, leaning her hands against the counter.
The man’s face twisted slightly, “A beer, and I say… you’re the boss man’s bird, ain’t you?”
YN poised a smile on her face and grabbed the man his beer, “Not sure why you need to know that.”
“Well, you see, me and my lads came to see him. There’s talk all of the country about him, about Clover. Yet, we make the time consuming journey only to find out he’s nowhere to be found,” The man waves his arms as he speaks, as though he’s telling YN a profound story and not just public knowledge.
YN just shrugs, “I guess he doesn’t want to talk to you then.”
The man clicks his tongue, “Now I don’t think that’s true. I’ve been talking to some of the riders you see, and they say that your man’s injured. In fact, they haven’t seen him in months. To me, that seems as though you’ve got this group, this empire here and no leader to lead it.”
YN fell silent, in fact the whole bar fell silent. There were so many problems with the words that man had just said. The fact that they had noticed Harry was here was fine, they could deal with that - but the fact that rider’s had been out spilling god knows what to god knows who was definitely a problem.
The silence didn’t last long, though. Not even a second later there was a familiar raw of engine coming down the street. YN gasped and turned to Mick, who had the same look on his face that YN did. They knew who that was.
“Are you fucking dumb or something?” The man continued to speak, “Because I’m fucking talking to you, laying all your fucking wet laundry out on this table about your big boss who’s nowhere to be fucking seen and you’re staring around like a deer in fucking—“
It didn’t matter, nothing that the man said mattered because as he was talking, the door to the bar swung open. It was as though he moved in slow motion. His black biker boots tapped on the floor with every step. The black Clover’s leather jacket swayed with the movement of his body — exactly as it should be.
“What are you doing here?” YN spoke; her lips parted in shock but the corners slightly rising with amusement.
“Hi baby, we’ll chat in a minute yeah?” Harry spoke to her first, his voice cool, calm and collected.
What was not cool, calm or collected but insanely hot in fact was Harry turning to the man who had a few seconds earlier been laying into YN and let his fist meet the side of his face.
“Right.” Harry spoke, watching as the man clutched his cheek from his place on the floor, “Next time you want to threaten my girl, make sure I’m not in fucking earshot, huh?”
The man nodded from where he was laid on the floor. His friends, who had stopped their chatter to come and check on the man on the floor.
“You’ve been back for two seconds and there’s already a man bleeding on my floor,” YN shakes her head, watching as Harry turns his attention from the man and putting it all on the girl he loves.
“You’re saying this as though we both don’t know that if he’d have carried on you wouldn’t have done it yourself,” He leans his elbows down on the bar table in front of him, leaning forward and ushering her towards him.
Without knowing what was happening in the background, she was all consumed by him. She had so many questions, mainly on making sure he had gotten the go-ahead before getting back on that bike and his making his way here.
Instead, no words left her lips. Instead, when Harry’s fingers cupped her chin and aimed her towards him, she fell into his touch and let his lips fall against hers. There was a possessive feeling to his touch, and to his lips but YN adored it. When she pulled away from him, the man with blood dripping from his nose was facing them directly, a scowl across his features.
“I’m not going to be long, hmm,” He smiled, tapping her chin once more, “Get my drinks ready for me?”
“On it,” YN nods, watching as Harry claps the man on the back and pushes him back to his table of friends.
Harry sits down with them, and through the background noise YN couldn’t hear what he was saying. She knew that she wouldn’t have to wait too long to find out what he was saying, because Harry shared everything with her. But, there was a niggling part of her that wished she was a part of the conversation.
“What do you think he’s saying?” She asked Mick as she finished placing Harry’s drinks on the bar for him, a beer and whisky, with ice.
Mick shrugged, “I think we can all hope that he’s telling them to get the hell out of here, and back from wherever they came from.”
As much as YN hoped that was the case, she knew Harry. She knew that whilst yes she would punch a rider for speaking out of turn towards her, he wasn’t going to turn anyone away for no reason.
After what felt like a lifetime but was only a few minutes or so, Harry stood up from the table and made his way towards her. He dropped down on his bar stool and picked up his beer. Mick and YN were stood in front of him, practically gawping at the fact that he wasn’t offering the details of their conversation immediately.
“So?” Mick asked, breaking the silence between the three of them.
“So, what?” Harry shrugged, taking another gulp.
“What did you say to them?” YN offered this time, refraining from rolling her eyes at Harry’s antics.
Harry just shrugged, “If they work, stay out of trouble – they can stay.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Mick asked, voicing YN’s own thoughts at the same time.
Harry shrugs once more, “We’ll see.”
A crash. Followed by screaming. Followed by heavy footsteps.
The first time it had happened, YN had panicked. The second time, she was worried. Now that it happened multiple times a weekly, sometimes multiple times in a night – she wasn’t as bothered with it anymore.
Ever since Harry had allowed those riders to stay, more had turned up. More than the club could keep up with, more than Harry could vet and more than what was comfortable for any of them. It had gotten to the point where something had to be done.
The bar never closed, it was open to all riders for most of the day. But, on the rare occasion where something had to be done – Harry wasn’t against it. That’s what was currently happening. The bar had been shut down for a meeting, housing Harry, Mick, Taylor, YN and a few of the more important riders who had been there for a long time. All they cared about was that none of the new riders were here. Whilst they were the topic of conversation, they didn’t near to be here.
“Right,” YN sighed, placing her hand on her hips as she stood behind the empty chair next to Harry, “Does anyone else need a drink before I sit down? I’m not getting back up.”
“Sit down, baby,” Harry pulls the chair back slightly so she can sit down.
“Actually, YN, can I have a –” Taylor starts, but is immediately interrupted by Harry.
“Get it yourself, mate, yeah?” Harry nods, wrapping his arm around the back of YN’s chair as she dropped back in it.
Taylor grumbles to himself lightly but stands up and goes towards the bar. YN just rolls her eyes but places an appreciative kiss on Harry’s cheek. Technically, even though they were in the bar this was her day off and she hadn’t really planned to be pouring drinks but it was almost automatic when she was in this building.
“Are we going to address the elephant in the room or are we just going to sit here staring?” Kieran, one of the riders spoke from across the table.
Harry sighed, “The new riders from the east have been here for a few months now. It’s passed any point that we can control their intake; their numbers are doubling week by week. And, I think all of you agree that their behaviour isn’t reflecting what we’ve built here.”
YN sat next to Harry but she started forward, her hand resting on his thigh as he spoke. When Harry had told YN that he wanted to hold this meeting, and check that she thought it was a good idea – they had come up with a few ideas of what to bring up. It had been unspoken for a few weeks, but once they had both mentioned it was as though the floodgates had opened and they couldn’t stop.
“You were the one who agreed to let them stay in the first place,” Keiran responds, an obvious annoyance in his tone and on his face.
Harry sighed, “I allowed them to stay. I never made them official riders, and I never even offered them that opportunity. They don’t ride around with our name on their jackets for a reason.”
“They want to, though,” Mick spoke from the other side of Harry to YN, “They want to stay, they want to be riders in fact I wouldn’t be surprised if they want this entire joint for themselves.”
“That isn’t going to happen,” Harry responds, “They aren’t staying, they aren’t taking over. This is our club, our town.”
“Well, what do you propose boss?” Taylor shrugs, “We wait, letting them ruin our town and our name until they get bored and move to the next place?”
YN sighs, running her thumb lightly across Harry’s thigh in hopes that it soothed his stress. Although, with how YN was feeling, she couldn’t put into words how Harry must be feeling.
“They won’t leave on their own account,” Harry spoke, shaking his head. He dropped his hand down onto his lap to grasp YN’s, giving it a squeeze, “We know what needs to be done.”
“No,” Mick spoke, his tone harsh, “Harry, no.”
“What other option do we have?”
“I’ll do it, or Keiran will do it,” Taylor offered, but Harry just continued to shake his head.
“It has to be me.”
“You’ve just recovered,” Mick pointed to the table, “A race, one like this is exactly what you shouldn’t be doing.”
“It’s how we deal with these things,” Harry shrugged and stood up from his seat, “It’s settled. We’ll organise it for the weekend.”
With that, Harry stands up and makes his way towards the bar’s office. They other men start chatting amongst themselves, and with a sad smile to Mick, YN stands up and follows Harry. When she gets there, he’s standing with his hands against the table and his head down. YN leans against the doorframe, her arms crossed as she watches him.
“You’re not doing it,” She spoke after a few seconds. Harry didn’t flinch, and he didn’t turn to look at her. He just kept his head down.
“I don’t have another choice, YN.”
“There’s always a choice Harry. We can wait, like Taylor said. Once they realise they’re not going to join the rider’s they’ll leave. They’d be stupid to stay.”
“We can’t wait for that, YN,” Harry finally turns to look at her, “Think of everything they can do between now and then. The police are stopping our guys and arresting them for things those guys are doing. I had to bail Taylor, Taylor of all people out yesterday.”
“I know,” YN nods, “I know you did, and I’m just as angry about that as you are. But Harry… you have just recovered. Dr. Langhorne said that you can’t go too quickly too soon. That would be going against everything that he said, everything Harry!”
“I have to do this!” Harry hand drops against the wooden table, “This is my club! This is my job! I knew what I was getting into when I decided to do this. You’ve been here all of two minutes, YN, so don’t pretend you know anything!”
YN fell silent. She then proceeded to scoff a laugh and took a step closer to Harry.
“That’s what you think,” YN shook her head, “I may have been here for less than some of the others Harry but don’t pretend that I don’t know anything. That I don’t care about this club. But you of all people know that the club is nothing compared with how much I love you! The club needs you, but I need you Harry.”
“You’re not losing me,” Harry shakes his head, “But we’ll lose the club if I don’t do this.”
YN falls silent, and she knows that if she says anything else it’ll fall on silent ears. Instead she turns and she walks away, “I can’t watch you kill yourself, Harry, I can’t do it.”
YN had hidden at Ashley’s house for the last few days. She had crashed on the sofa and had spent more time crying than she was happy to admit. She had phoned Mick and he hadn’t made her explain the situation, and she was thankful for that. All he had said was that she could take as much time as she needed, and that they were all waiting for her to come back.
The race was today.
She was torn into two halves about the entire situation. On one hand, she wanted to be there to support Harry and the riders, but on the other hand she wanted to be as far away as she could. She wanted to ensure more than anything that Harry was safe, but she didn’t think that she could watch it.
“Right,” Ashley stood in front of her with her hands on her hips, “You’ve not moved from this sofa in two days. There’s going to be an imprint of your ass on it soon.”
YN just rolled her eyes, but she made no attempt to move, “I just don’t want you to every forget me.”
Ashley sighed and sat down on the coffee table across from YN, “I understood your pouting the first day, YN, I really did. The second day I could excuse. The third, YN, no man deserves that much pouting.”
YN sighs and drops her head back on the back of the sofa, “It’s the race today, Ashley.”
“Right, then, that’s something for you to get dressed and go out to,” YN shakes her head, quite vigorously, “Why the head shake?”
“I can’t go and watch him, Ashley. He could die and he’s treating it as though it’s just another day in the office.”
“YN, snap yourself out it,” Ashley almost fizzes, “Yes, Harry could die. Yes, it’s silly for him to be doing so. But, it’s fucking unfathomable that you’re sitting here and pouting and not standing next to him, supporting him.”
“I can’t do it.”
“Can’t or won’t, YN? Because those are two very different things.”
Ashley stood up and left the room, leaving YN sitting with the same thoughts that had caused her to pout for two days straight already. She knows how much the club means to Harry, and she knows that it had only been a year or so but she cared for the club also. YN didn’t want to see the club fall at the hands of a group of imbeciles who have let power go to their heads, but she didn’t want Harry to hurt himself in the process.
But, regardless of anything else – YN loved Harry. She loved him more than words could explain. A year or so ago, when she had gotten the job at the bar she didn’t have time to think of anything but work. Love wasn’t on the cards for her, but here she was. She was madly in love with a man, and that was the reason she was so torn about his actions.
The more she pondered, the more she missed him. She missed the mundane things, the way he left the light on for her when she got home, the way he would make her laugh so much that she snorted. That was why she did get up from the sofa, and why she got herself dressed and shrugged on her Clover’s jacket. That was why she jumped on her bike and drove the journey out of town and to the abandoned racetrack where the race was being held.
It was already crowded when YN arrived. She parked her bike up where some had already been abandoned on the sidelines and made her way towards the crowd. She thought that she would be able to slip in unnoticed, but she should have guessed that would never have been the case. Instead, YN was immediately waved down by Mick who was standing with a few of the other riders.
Without saying a word, Mick opened his arms for YN and she dropped into them. She had missed him these last few days, with him not just being a friend to her but also a father figure of some sorts. He gave her a tight squeeze before letting her go.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Mick gave her shoulders a squeeze, “Harry will be too.”
“How is he?” She asked, nothing but concern laced in her voice.
Mick shrugged, “He’s okay. He’s been missing you. He must have asked me a hundred times yesterday if I’d heard from you.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t want to put you in the middle of this.”
Mick just shook his head, “You two, as much as I never thought I would admit it, are like children to me. I want the both of you happy, together.”
YN just nods. Her attention is then taken by the man of the hour himself, Harry. He steps up to the starting line, where his bike is already waiting for him. He looked at ease, but YN knew better than to believe that. What YN could not diminish was the fact that he looked as though he belonged there. He strode towards his bike, ignoring the shouts from both sides of the track. He looked calm, but then YN noticed his eyes scanning.
It couldn’t have been long before the race was set to start, and yet Harry’s attention had been taken. Then it hit her. His eyes found hers and his features softened. He was looking at her the way she had yearned for in the last few days. All it took was a nod of YN’s head, and a small smile to cross her features and he smiled back. A weight she was unsure she had upon her shoulders had been lifted, and she presumed that it was possibly the same for Harry.
“He’s ready for this,” Mick spoke from the side of her, “I know he is.”
“It’s not really him that I’m worried about.”
These riders do not follow rules. They hadn’t done anything since their arrival that any of Clover’s riders would ever do or want to do. Yes they ran red lights, yes they drove at speeds which nobody should ever reach at midday on a Thursday afternoon. But, they didn’t destroy property. They didn’t cause fights. They didn’t break into people’s houses and steal. The more that YN thought about it, the more she was coming to terms with Harry’s need to finish this once and for all.
Harry and the rider he was up against took their positions on their bikes, and the more that the clock ticked and the start of the race became more obvious. YN couldn’t help it, the second she heard the roaring of the engines starting she turned away, wrapping herself around Mick’s arm as though it was a kind of shield.
“I can’t watch,” YN muttered, the sound muffled by Mick’s arm.
Mick just chuckled, “It hasn’t even started yet.”
“I know, but it’s going to soon.”
It did start, less than a minute later. Although she couldn’t see, the roars and cheers of the crowd let her know that it had. YN kept herself firmly attached to Mick’s arm.
“Is he winning?” YN asked.
Mick laughed once more, “The race has only just started YN, give him time.”
“Is he in any danger?”
“YN!” Mick sounded slightly exasperated at her, “You can stay attached to my arm but watch for yourself. I’m not really a fan of a running commentary.”
Deciding that she would rather not upset Mick anymore, she did as he said. Still clutching tightly to his arm, she peered over his sleeve to watch the race. It wasn’t hard to figure out what all the cheering was about.
Harry had a slight lead when she had first started watching, but the other rider had quickly caught up. It was the twist and turns that caused YN the most anxiety. The other rider swerved around Harry at high speeds, trying to either gain an advantage or swerve Harry off the course. Every time the other rider came too close to Harry, YN gasped. Although she tried her very best, YN tried not to allow the images of Harry laid in that hospital bed infiltrate her mind whilst he was racing.
Her palms started to sweat and her heart started to race faster in her chest the closer they got to the finish line. It was all going smoothly; there was a matter of seconds left in the race. It looked as though it was going to be Harry, and he was going to be triumphant. YN almost let go of her grip of Mick’s arm, but then all of her worst fears came true.
He was at the finish line; the flag had been raised when the rider tapped the back of Harry’s bike. The bike tilted, and Harry flung over the finish line before his bike, tumbling on the ground. YN gasped, and before she knew it her body had pulled away from Mick and was rushing towards the track. People shouted and tried to stop her but she didn’t falter. She ignored the cheers from the other rider’s and focused on getting to Harry.
“Harry!” She dropped to her knees at the side of him, expecting the worst as his body still laid upon the ground.
A groan left his lips, and he moved slightly from side to side as if he was uncomfortable. Then, as the biggest shock of all, a laugh escaped his lips.
“Don’t move, stop laughing – why the hell are you laughing?” YN spoke, her tone pointed.
“I love you,” Harry spoke, reaching out to grab her hand, “I’m sorry for everything I said.”
“I know, I’m sorry too,” YN leant down and placed a kiss to his cheek, “I love you too, now don’t move until the ambulance gets here.”
YN’s warnings fell on deaf ears, because not ever a second later Harry was pushing himself up until he was seated.
“YN I’m fine,” Harry shook his head.
“You were knocked off your bike, how can you be fine?”
“I am fine, I promise you,” YN didn’t believe him, but allowed herself to help him up until he was standing, “In fact, I’m not just find – I’m great.”
“You are?” YN asked, her eyebrows furrowing as she did so.
“I am, because I have my club back and I have the girl of my dreams back.”
“How?” YN furrowed her eyebrows.
“Well, YN, the rules don’t stipulate how you get over the finish line,” Harry shrugged, “I went over first, even if I was on my arse.”
YN just laughed, before her body moved without a thought to follow. She wrapped her arms around Harry’s neck and allowed him to lift her.
“Never again, please, I beg,” She murmured against him, placing her lips to his in a light kiss.
