helladirections

[helladirections]

Please yourself like you mean it. 07.25.2025

[helladirections]

“Grovel”

fiancé!harry x you (CEOrry)

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: very angsty, feelings of insecurity, talks of infidelity, groveling (obviously), oral sex (f receiving), fingering and squirting.

Plot: After overhearing a phone call where your fiancé, Harry, clearly tells someone that he’s been irritated with you, you begin to question your entire relationship together.

(Based off of this ask. Thank you so much for sending this idea in! I had a lot of fun writing this one 🤭)

A/N: I’ve made a post regarding the anonymous messages that have been sent out about myself, and my friends, over the last few months. If you choose to read it, you can find it here. ❤️

𓇬 • 𓇬 • 𓇬 • 𓇬

From the moment that Harry had walked through the front door after his work day, you knew that something was off. You were met with only a kiss to the cheek, and a small squeeze to your hip, before Harry disappeared up into his office - leaving you in the kitchen. You called after him, letting him know that you would come and get him once dinner was ready, but you got nothing back in response. 

The past couple of weeks had been quite tense. You knew that work was stressing him out, and you tried everything you could to help him relax, but nothing seemed to be helping. There had been one night in bed, when you and Harry were facing opposite walls with your backs to each other, that you asked if you had done something wrong. He assured you that you had done no such thing, that it truly just came down to work causing him to be on edge, but that was as much consoling as he had offered.

In your whole time together, which would be three years total next month, you had never seen Harry so unlike his usual self. Everything had been going so well since he proposed to you five months ago, but that all came crashing down when he took on this new deal. You knew he was a busy man, so you were more than understanding that sometimes his work would take a toll on him, or would cause him to be at work for longer hours, but it had never been this bad before.

Tonight you decided that in order to try and brighten his spirits, you’d make his favorite meal. You had to go to a few different stores today to get all the necessary ingredients, but you didn’t mind if the outcome meant that you’d be making Harry feel better.

Just as you had everything plated, only needing to carry it into the dining room to place it down on the table, you removed the apron you had on and started towards the stairs. You couldn’t help but smile on your way up as you pictured what Harry’s reaction would be to seeing his favorite dish on the table.

“Harry, dinner’s-”

You had raised your fist to knock on the door once you reached it, but you hesitated as you heard his voice carrying through the wooden surface. Lowering your hand, you started to back away - deciding that you’d give him a few more minutes and then try again. As you turned to leave, you could’ve sworn you heard him say your name. You contemplated still walking away, but ultimately you were curious as to what he was talking about if he was mentioning you. Quietly, you pressed your ear to the door, and you tried to focus in on his conversation.

“I’m trying not to bring the stress of work home with me everyday, but I end up getting even more stressed every single time I walk through the damn door. Y/N has been hovering so much lately because she can tell this deal is weighing on me, but she doesn’t even notice that she’s making things so much fucking worse,” he spoke, and you felt moisture burning in your eyes, but you couldn’t stop listening. “It’s getting to be so irritating. It’s to the point where I’m about to look into booking her some type of spa weekend. Then I could have the house to myself and just worry about getting this deal done and finalized. I just need to feel like I can fucking breathe.”

Gasping, you pushed away from the door, and you brought your hand up to your mouth. The tears that had formed started to stream down your face once you blinked - standing there frozen. It took you a few seconds to gather yourself, but once you did, you started down the stairs and walked into the kitchen. You took everything that you had made and scooped it off of the plates and into tupperware, and you placed it in the fridge so nothing would get spoiled by being left out. Even though you knew you wouldn’t be eating with Harry, you had lost the appetite to eat at all.

Once you had the kitchen cleaned up, you quietly made your way upstairs and into the master bedroom where you gathered your pajamas and your toiletries. You wouldn’t be staying in here with him tonight. If he wanted space, then he was going to get what he wanted, and that was because you couldn’t even fathom sleeping in the same bed with him at the moment.

You walked into the guest bedroom ensuite where you showered off your day, and you couldn’t help but cover your mouth once again to muffle the sobs that escaped you while you replayed what Harry had said in your head. He had never spoken about you in such a negative way, at least not that you had known about, and you wondered if this is how he felt about you all the time. 

Was he now regretting the engagement?

Staying in the shower until the water started to run cold, you shut it off and stepped out - drying yourself off and then slipping into your pajamas. You walked into the bedroom, and you pulled back the covers of the bed before snuggling underneath them. Laying on your back, you stared blankly at the ceiling as thoughts of insecurity clouded your mind. You also wondered if Harry had even come out of his office yet. If he had checked in the kitchen to see what was taking dinner so long, or why you hadn’t come to get him. 

Hours went by before you finally fell asleep with the heaviest weight of doubt you had ever felt settling in your stomach.

𓇬 • 𓇬 • 𓇬 • 𓇬

The next morning when you opened your eyes, you could immediately tell how swollen they were from all the crying you had done. It was your first reminder of the words Harry had spoken last night. 

The second reminder came in the form of a piece of paper that you saw on the nightstand underneath your phone. Once you sat up in bed, you grabbed the piece of paper, and you blinked a couple of times before you could make out that it was one from Harry’s personalized stationery.

“Y/N,

Last night I didn’t want to wake you when I realized that you were sleeping in this bedroom, but I’d like for you to call me once you wake up so we can talk about why you did. If I didn’t have to be at a meeting so early this morning, I would’ve waited so that we could talk about it in person. I just know that I can’t go all day without hearing why you never came to get me for dinner, and why you chose for us to sleep apart.

Love you,

H.”

It was clear that your feelings of sadness last night had now been replaced by ones of anger and irritation. How dare he leave you a note asking why you hadn’t served him his dinner, and questioning why you had chosen to sleep in another bed. You knew that if he had really tried to think hard enough about it, then he could probably come to the conclusion that you had listened to his conversation without him knowing at the time.

Reaching over, you grabbed your phone and stared down at the device resting in your palm. You were debating whether or not you should actually call him, but ultimately, you decided you’d stick with your decision last night of giving him what he wanted.

Your absence.

𓇬 • 𓇬 • 𓇬 • 𓇬

It had been two days since you had been back to the house that you shared with Harry. When you woke up the morning after hearing those horrid words leaving Harry’s mouth, you went to your friend’s for a couple of days. You had left him a note on the desk in his office to let him know that you would be gone, and that you weren’t exactly sure when you’d be coming back.

You thought that maybe it was a bit petty for you to leave without any further explanation, but then you remembered what he said, and you knew it was what you needed. 

The last two days consisted of shopping sprees to try and mask the emptiness you felt of not seeing Harry, but you also were grateful for how confident the clothing made you feel considering you were feeling your lowest. Your friend, Maggie, had let you know that you could stay as long as you needed, and you made sure to tell her just how grateful you were for her. 

Today you had decided to come home, and you made sure that you did it at a time where you knew Harry would be at work. He had tried to contact you a few times since you had been away, and the only one you responded to was the one asking to make sure that you were okay. Although you wanted him to dwell over your reasoning for leaving, you didn’t want him worrying about your safety. 

Standing in your large walk-in closet, you looked over the lingerie set you had bought yourself when you went shopping with Maggie. It hugged perfectly to your breasts, as well as the rounds of your ass, and the scalloped edges made it one of your favorite sets that you had ever owned. 

You didn’t realize how much time you had taken to put away all of your new clothes, except for the set on your body, and soon you heard the front door opening and closing. 

“Y/N! Are you here?” Harry called from downstairs, and you knew he was panicking upon seeing that your car was back in the garage. You figured that he was nervous that you had just come to drop the car off, and get the rest of your stuff before leaving completely.

Ignoring his question, you walked further into the closet so that you could change into some pajamas and exit the room, but you didn’t move fast enough.

“Oh my god,” Harry sighed in relief behind you, and you glanced over your shoulder to see him leaning against the doorway. “You’re here.”

“I am,” you responded before turning back to the drawer you were sorting through.

It was silent between the two of you for a while, and you looked over to Harry again to see his brows narrowing while he eyed your body.

“Is there a problem?” You asked while standing up straight - crossing your arms over your chest.

“I’ve never seen you in that set before.”

“It’s new,” you commented as you turned back to the drawer to pull out a silk nightgown. “I got it when I went shopping yesterday.”

“Have you been wearing that all day or…”

It clicked in your head what Harry was trying to get out, so once again you turned to face him while clutching the silk garment in your hand. “I’d appreciate it if you just flat out asked what you’re trying to hint around, Harry.”

“Did you buy that for someone else?” 

More silence loomed over the two of you as you tried to figure out how to respond to his claim - many different emotions coming to the surface based on a singular question. First off, you were angry that he would ever accuse you of seeing someone else, and second off, it irritated you that buying lingerie just because you felt nice in it didn’t even cross his mind. Why did the set have to be for someone other than yourself?

“Would it even bother you if I did?” You bit back as you felt your pulse rising. “Or would you be relieved? Because then you wouldn’t have to deal with me anymore if I decided I wanted to be with someone other than you.”

“Y/N.” Harry’s eyes widened as he stared at you. “Baby, what are you talking about? Of course I’d be upset if you were having an affair. How could you ever think that I-”

“Really?” A laugh erupted out of your chest as you shook your head. “You’d be upset? That’s a bit shocking considering you’ve been trying to think of ways to have time away from me. Have you booked that spa weekend you so desperately need for me to accept in order to get rid of me for a few days? Or were the couple of nights I spent at Maggie’s enough for you?”

You watched as Harry’s face fell, and you knew he had come to the realization that you were aware of the conversation that had taken place in his office. 

“Look, I understand what you heard, okay? But I promise you that I didn’t mean any of that. I was just under a lot of stress, and all I could think about was just having some quiet time to myself. I never meant to take what I was saying about you that far, and I-”

“Honestly, Harry, I really don’t feel like hearing this right now.” Not even bothering to turn away from him, you stripped out of the lingerie that you had on - folding it and placing it into one of the drawers as you felt his eyes on you the entire time. After pulling on a pair of fresh panties, you slipped the nightgown you had picked out over your head. “You’re in no position to receive my forgiveness this soon after what I had to hear, and I still need a few days to decide what I want to do.”

“What you want to do?” Harry repeated as he stepped forward, but he stopped when you took a very obvious step back from him. “You’re thinking of leaving me?”

“Yes, I am.” You nodded as you crossed your arms over your chest once more - holding your chin high as you stared into his eyes. “And I know right now you’re going to try and beg me to reconsider, but again, I’m not in the mood to hear it. Like I said, the only thing that’s going to help me come to my decision right now is time. If you respect me and love me, you’ll give me that.”

Harry was a man who was rarely ever out of control, so you could see just how hard it was for him to comprehend your request. He cleared his throat after a moment while bringing his hand up to scratch right over one of his brows with his thumb. “I’ll give you time, I promise. However long you need. Are you going to be staying here…or will you be going back to Maggie’s?”

“I think I need to be here. I have a feeling that being away from the house won’t help me at all when it comes to figuring out what I want, but I’ll still be staying in the guestroom.”

“Of course.” The sadness in his eyes was obvious as he stared at you, and you could also see some hints of regret. The only thing was, you weren’t sure if that regret came from the fact he ever spoke against you, or if it came from the fact that he got caught doing so. “I’ll stay out of your way until you’re ready.”

𓇬 • 𓇬 • 𓇬 • 𓇬

A week later, your eyes fluttered open, and the sunlight peeking through the blinds warmed your skin. You hummed softly while stretching your arms above your head - giving yourself a couple of seconds before climbing out of bed. Opening the guest bedroom door, you were met with the same sight that had greeted you for the last seven days. A tray sat on the ground filled with fruits, pastries and one of your favorite breakfast foods. An eggs benedict.

Ever since the conversation you had with Harry when you returned home from Maggie’s, this is how your days went. You woke up to a tray of breakfast every morning made by Harry himself, and each day he had switched out the main dish for one of your favorites - not a single one having been repeated yet. After you finished breakfast, you would come downstairs to clean up the dishes, and you’d see a note on the counter letting you know that he had made lunch for you, and that it was prepped and stored inside the fridge. Those notes also told you exactly when to expect Harry to be home, however, you still hadn’t faced him since that day in the closet.

Dinner went a lot like breakfast did. He would leave it outside of the guest bedroom door, but since he knew you were awake, he’d actually knock to let you know it was there. Once you finished dinner, you’d wait until you heard the sound of him going into his office, and you’d sneak downstairs to clean the dishes before hiding yourself away again.

Bending down, you grabbed the tray of breakfast that had been prepared for you, and you climbed back into bed - placing the delicious looking food in the middle of the mattress. As you ate, you wondered exactly how much longer you could live like this. Harry had clearly been trying to get back on your good side after what happened, and his dedication to making you meals every day did prove to you that he wanted to make this work.

The food in front of you soon dwindled down, and your stomach was filled. Sighing to yourself, you left the bed once again with the tray in your hands, and you started downstairs towards the kitchen. As you walked through the dining room, your heart leapt out of your chest as you saw Harry sitting at one of the heads of the table with his laptop in front of him.

“What…what are you doing here?” You asked while trying to slow your adrenaline down.

“I decided to take the day off,” he stated while ceasing the movement of his fingers on the keyboard. “I was just finishing up a couple of emails that I needed to send off this morning.”

Biting down on your bottom lip, all you gave him back was a nod before you continued to make your way into the kitchen. You heard Harry let out a heavy sigh behind you as you set your dishes down in the sink - hands cupping the edge of the countertop as you stared out the window that overlooked your backyard.

You decided that you’d leave the dishes for later as you walked back into the dining room, and you sat yourself down at the other head of the table across from Harry. His head snapped up with a clear look of surprise in his eyes that you had come back and joined him. Lacing your fingers together, you adjusted your posture so that you were sitting up straighter while pressing your palms down against the wooden surface.

“I’m ready to talk now.”

Harry stared at you blankly for a minute before he started bobbing his adamantly - closing his laptop. “Yeah…yes.” He cleared his throat as he pushed the closed device towards the side of the table. “I’m just going to sit back and listen. I’ll only speak if you ask me a question, or once you’re finished.”

It was quiet for a moment as you tried to figure out where you wanted to start. You had thought about this conversation a lot over the past week and half, but now that it was actually happening, you were struggling to remember everything you wanted to say.

“For starters, I would like to tell you exactly what I heard through the door that evening.” You saw Harry flinch, and you knew he probably hadn’t expected you to repeat his words, but it was what you needed. You wanted him to hear the words that he had spoken that hurt you so badly coming from your own mouth. “I heard you tell whoever you were speaking to that I was hovering, and making things worse for you. That I was causing your stress to grow even more when you got home. You told them that I was irritating…”

You paused for a moment as you felt a lump growing in your throat, but you needed to remain strong. Harry was looking away from you - his eyes casting down on the table separating you both.

“And lastly, I heard you tell them that you wanted to send me off for a weekend so that you would be able to breathe.”

Letting the weight of his words hang in the air for a moment, you stayed silent, but then you spoke up again.

“If my presence was so suffocating for you…is so suffocating for you, Harry, then I would hope that you respected me enough to have a conversation about it, instead of complaining to someone when you haven’t even let me know that I’ve done something wrong. I even tried to ask, and you told me it was only work.”

“You didn’t do-” Harry started to respond, but he stopped himself, and he looked at you to let him know whether or not it was his turn to speak. Once you gave him a little tilt down of your chin, he continued. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Y/N, I promise. I’ve taken some time to think over why I could ever say the things that I did, and my conclusion just shows how much of a fool I am.

“Work has been incredibly frustrating, and I can only let that show so much in front of my employees and my investors. The only place I can really let that out is here at home. Deep down I know you were just trying to help me. I should be grateful that I have someone in my life that cares so deeply for me, and that you just want to do everything that you can to make sure I’m okay, but instead, I used your kindness against you. I put all my irritation and frustration on you. I can’t tell you how sorry I am for that, and I regret ever letting myself do it. I know me saying I didn’t mean it doesn’t take away the fact that you still have to live with the aftermath of it, but I swear that’s not how I feel about you. Not at all.”

“Well, like you just said, regardless of whether or not you meant the things you said, my feelings are still incredibly hurt. I never thought that you would hurt me like this, and it has me questioning everything,” you whispered, and you blinked - sending the tears that had started pooling in your eyes down your cheeks. “The doubt that has managed to bury itself inside of me is unlike anything I’ve ever felt.”

“Baby.” You could see tears gathering in Harry’s own eyes now. “I will do anything, and I mean anything to make this up to you, and have you see that it’s me who has the problem. It was never you.”

“I’ve appreciated the way you’ve been making my meals for me, and how you’ve been giving me my space like I asked, but I still feel so empty. I don’t know how to make it go away. I’m scared I’ll never feel okay in this relationship again.”

Harry quickly stood from his seat, and he made his way over to you. He turned your chair so that your legs were no longer underneath the table, and he kneeled down in front of you. “Please, Y/N,” he pleaded while burying his face into your stomach. “I don’t want to do this life without you. You are everything to me. I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too,” you sobbed while shaking your head - bringing a hand up to run it through the curls on the top of Harry’s head. “I just don’t know if it can ever feel the same anymore.”

His tears began to soak through the material of the silk camisole you had on, and you heard him gasp out his own sob while clutching to you. “Please. Please don’t leave me. Give me another chance. I’ll never take you for granted again. I swear.”

As Harry lifted up his head, you looked down at him, and you realized this was the closest you had been to him in so long. He lifted one of his hands to cup the back of your neck while resting his forehead against your own.

“Never again,” you whimpered as you clutched to the front of the t-shirt he had on. “Don’t ever hurt me like that again.”

“I won’t. You are the most special thing in my life. Without you, I have nothing, Y/N.”

The next thing you knew, Harry’s lips were clashing against yours, and his hands were against your hips - pulling you towards the edge of the chair. His tongue slipped out to roll against yours, causing you to moan into his mouth while his palms began to graze over your entire body. Before the kiss could get more heated, he separated his lips from yours.

“Harry,” you pouted for only a moment, but then you felt his lips trailing down your neck and over your collarbone - your eyes rolling into the back of your head from how good it felt.

His mouth trailed further and soon you felt him sucking your nipple through your camisole, and you moaned again as you cradled the back of his head in your hand. Harry continued his way down until his face was between your legs. He pressed against the insides of your thighs to spread you further, and he hummed and nuzzled the tip of his nose against your covered mound.

“I can tell you’re not wearing underwear,” he commented before pressing his lips against your clit that was starting to pulsate. “Smell so good, baby. Let me show you how sorry I am. Let me take care of you.”

He licked over you for a moment, but he didn’t let his eyes leave yours as he stared up at you. Giving him a soft nod, he pulled your shorts down your legs - tossing them to the side. Harry reached out with his middle and index fingers to spread your slit apart, and he shook his head.

“Such a pretty cunt. I don’t deserve it.” He spit down against your clit, and you mewled as he spread it around with his thumb while still keeping you open. “Don’t deserve you, but I’m going to show you just how much you mean to me. Show you how much I love you.”

Dipping his head down, Harry pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your pussy while dipping his tongue around your slick entrance. Both your hands flew down to grip to his curls, and you lifted your hips to grind against his face - the bridge of his nose hitting your clit so deliciously.

“Show me,” you moaned. “Prove to me that you’re sorry.”

From there, you could tell Harry was determined to get you off by any means possible. He trailed his mouth up to close his lips down around your aching bud, and then he moved his fingers to have them slipping inside of you now. His digits pulsed in and out of your dripping cunt, and you gasped when the tips of them hit against your sweet spot.

“Oh my god. I already feel like I could come.”

You could feel Harry smirking against you once you said that, and he used his other hand to throw your legs over his shoulders so he could get even closer to you. Holding the pad of tongue against your clit, he licked against you for a while before flicking the tip of it up and down - your thighs beginning to tremble against the sides of his head.

“That’s good,” you praised him while bucking your hips up - as if you yearned for even more. “I missed your fucking mouth, H. Don’t you ever neglect me again.”

“Never.” Harry pulled off your clit as he slipped a third finger inside you. “I’ll satisfy you anytime you need. Any time of day. You need me to come home and get you off? You tell me. I’ll leave right on the spot.”

Spitting against you again, he brought his other hand up to swipe two fingers over your pearl, back and forth, without letting up, and you arched your back against the chair.

“I’m gonna…you’re gonna make me…”

A gush of fluid sprayed against Harry’s fingers - wetting the inside of your thighs and the shirt he had on. You thought maybe he would stop after that, but if anything, he increased his movements even more. A moan that could’ve been mistaken for a scream flooded from your lungs as you felt your actual orgasm take hold while a little more liquid came out.

“That’s it, Y/N.” Harry continued to coax you through your climax. “That’s it, momma. Look so fucking gorgeous like this. I love you so much.”

“L-Love you too,” you panted as you started to come down from your high, and Harry finally ceased the movement of his hands. 

He pulled his fingers from you, and once he cleaned up both sets with his mouth, he lowered your legs while caressing your thighs to soothe you. “I’m gonna let you recuperate a little bit while I start us a nice hot shower, but when I come back and get you, you better be ready for me to take you every which way today.”

Although you had just come out of your earth shattering orgasm, you felt yourself clench down against nothing at his words.

“Oh yeah?” Your chest heaved as you were still trying to catch your breath.  

“Yeah, baby.” Harry nodded while pushing himself up off the ground. “That was just the start of me making it up to you. I’m planning on pulling out all the tricks I know you love once we’re in the bedroom.”

Leaning down, Harry’s mouth found yours and you whined at the taste of yourself on his lips. “If you’re lucky, you’ll have to give me a little break so I can put that new lingerie on.”

The two of you laughed against each other's mouth before he pulled back.

“Let’s hope that I get lucky then.”

𓇬 • 𓇬 • 𓇬 • 𓇬

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[helladirections]

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i know that hand.

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how this new suspected pleasing launch has everyone feeling

[helladirections]

[6] It's Good to Be King | mean king!harry

MAIN MASTERLIST | It's Good to Be King Masterlist

Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.

Note: Harry is mean/uncouth in this, though things do get better. He doesn't treat anyone around him with much respect at all. Expect to not like him much at first. Also, this is set in the 1800s England, and while not completely historically accurate, I did my best to keep it as accurate as possible.

Ch. 6 Word Count: 11,631

Ch. 6 Warning: smut, y/n loses her virginity, brief uncertainty and hesitation

. .

The king’s chambers were safe and inviting, unlike the rest of the castle. Or maybe it was just the way he'd kissed her. Lips soft and tender against hers, like he knew she was nervous. He cradled the back of her head, then slowly drew away, his nose brushing the side of hers.

Gone was the cold austerity of stone corridors and hateful gazes. In its place: warmth and hush. A low fire glowed in the hearth, casting flickering light across the dark wood walls and silk-draped furniture. The scent of rose oil and sweet wine hung faintly in the air, evidence of the staff’s discreet, meticulous preparation. A silver tray waited near the bed with fresh fruit, warm bread, and honey, with a decanter of brandy just beside it. Even the bed had been dressed more carefully than usual with new linens, a scattering of flower petals, and a thick velvet coverlet turned down in invitation.

Y/n stood clinging to the king, the heat of the chamber finally thawing the cold that had settled in her bones. The silk bodice of her gown still pinched her ribs, every shallow breath reminding her this was real. Her veil was gone, entrusted to Pheobe, but the pins remained, biting at her scalp like tiny teeth. She tried to steady her hands against the dark fabric of Harry’s frock coat, but they wouldn’t stop shaking.

They stared at each other… long enough that the fire popped behind them, long enough that she felt her pulse hammer against her throat. He looked as dazed as she felt, lips parted, eyes searching hers.

“You look scared,” he said softly, his brows knitting as he studied her face.

Y/n swallowed. “I suppose I am.”

He placed a gentle hand on her cheek. His eyes were shadowed, impossible to read, but there was warmth there too.

“You don’t have to be.”

She couldn't put it into words the way she truly felt. Every emotion inside of her clashed, unwieldy. She didn't want to be scared but it wasn't a matter of choice. She'd been crowned queen consort over a kingdom of people who despised her. And tonight, she would become a wife in every sense, whether she felt ready or not.

He slid his thumb over her cheekbone, his gaze dropping to her mouth, then lower. “The doctor wanted to have you inspected.”

She tensed.

“I said no,” he added quickly. "They wanted to be certain that you are a virgin. But that never held any importance with me."

Her eyes darted up to his. It didn't?

“I won’t have you touched by anyone unless you want to be,” he said. “And no one will be checking the bedsheets. If anyone asks, I’ll say it was done and they missed it.”

A strange relief gripped her chest. He could've been ruthless, brutal even, she’d seen it in court, heard it in the rumors, but with her, he spoke gently. Protective. Possessive, too, but in a way that made her pulse stir, not cower.

He leaned closer. “You’re mine to protect,” he said, voice quiet but certain. “But I’ll never take what isn’t given. Not from you.”

"I am a virgin. I know there are some who don't believe it, but I swear I am."

He nodded. "I know you are. You told me you were, and I believe you. Even if you were not, it wouldn't have stopped me from taking you as my wife."

She blinked at him. "How can you say that? Don't men want their wives to be virgins on their wedding night?"

He smiled. "Most do. But I, myself, am not a virgin. Would you have expected it of me?"

She shook her head. "No."

“Because in the end, it’s nothing compared to trust. Compared to respect.”

Casting her gaze toward the fire, she bit her lip and began to walk to it, holding her fingers toward the warmth. "Do you have respect for me?"

She felt his hands on the tops of her shoulders, and she turned her head to look up at him, his eyes on the flames in the hearth. "Yes."

"But you did not on the first night we met. You were awful. You frightened me."

He looked down at her, his hard expression softening. "I know. I am deeply sorry for how I treated you that night and the days after that."

She turned to look up at him directly, feeling as if she could speak freely. "Why? Why were you so harsh with me?"

"It's because I had the wrong impression. I've been accustomed to the ways of the kingdom and its people. It wasn't fair of me to judge you in the way I did without making your acquaintance first. It was wrong of me."

"What was your impression of me?"

He stepped back, eyes flicking over her. "On first glance, you seemed hollow-hearted like the rest. And I thought it was possible you were one of the girls who worked at the trap house—"

"You thought I was a prostitute. Is that why Mrs. Mable accused me of being a flag-hopper? Is this what everyone thinks of me?"

He blinked and shook his head. "I don't know what the others think of you, but what they think doesn't matter anyway. What matters is that you are far more interesting and smarter than the whole lot of them. You're better."

"If you thought I was so dull and unchaste, why did you pick me out of everyone?"

“Because you were beautiful, and at the time, I thought unchaste was what I wanted. And I knew it would scandalize everyone when they learned I’d chosen you. It meant almost nothing then. But it means something now. I hope you can see that.”

She stepped away from the hearth, her gaze drifting over the room without really seeing it. Should she feel hurt? She didn’t know. “So that night, when you summoned me… you thought I’d come willing. You thought I'd engage in licentious acts with you as you imagined I was accustomed to."

"Yes. I'd hoped for that. But I was wrong."

She looked at him, her fingers trailing over the table near the tray of fruit. "You were wrong. You treated me as if I were worthless refuse. And maybe in a way I am… I'm from the slums. A beggar with a sharp, unquenchable hunger deep down. No matter how much I eat, it never seems to go away. I always will be that girl. It's where I came from."

He did not answer at once. He understood her anger. He deserved it. He had treated her cruelly, and though his feelings had shifted entirely, he knew she still thought herself only the poor girl from the rookery. He watched as she drifted across the chamber, her gown trailing behind her in soft ripples, until she reached the balcony doors and slipped outside.

He had dreaded this reckoning, though he knew it was inevitable. Soon, she would demand more answers, for her spirit grew bolder each day. What he had not wished to confess was that, at first, he had taken her for nothing more than a common harlot with a fair countenance, someone whose elevation would scandalise the realm. That was all he required then: a face to stir gossip and a womb to bear his heir.

But he had discovered soon enough that Y/n possessed a depth he had not conceived. He regretted every careless slight, every cruel word. All he could do now was show her, in deed and word, that she had altered him and that he would never again fail her trust.

From behind, he admired the shape of her gown, the soft layers shifting as the wind blew against the material. He slowly made his way to stand behind her, placing his hands lightly upon her upper arms. Together they stood, gazing across Thornekeep’s moonlit walls. Beyond the gates, a small crowd lingered, their figures black against the lantern glow.

"You will never demean me so again. I would sooner fling myself from this wall than endure such foul words. I have dignity, and I will not remain the wife of a man who holds me in contempt, be he a king or no.”

He dipped his face close to the back of her hair, his breath warm at the nape of her neck. “I swear to you, I shall never again mistreat you, my queen. I behaved most shamefully, and I shall regret it all my days.”

She savoured the weight of his hands, the low heat of his voice at her ear, the faint trace of sandalwood upon his skin. In that moment, she believed him. She had watched him change… so swiftly it seemed near impossible. Once a brute she had feared, he was now gentle, almost tender. Still a devil, perhaps—but one she could almost trust. And if his kindness endured, she might even learn to yield her heart to him.

The night air bit cold through her lace sleeves, but his nearness set a warmth stirring low in her belly. She drew breath with difficulty, each inhalation a slow, shuddering thing. He always affected her so. His presence like a weight upon her senses. And now that her questions had been laid bare, she was ready to fulfil what was expected of her.

Y/n turned to face him, her palms gliding up his shoulders, down the breadth of his arms. “I am ready. Shall I summon Phoebe to unlace my gown?”

He cocked his head studying her with a look that mingled concern and a faint amusement. “There is no cause to hurry, mouse. We have until tomorrow evening before either of us is expected to emerge. If you wish to shed some of these layers, I am more than capable of unfastening your stays.”

“Are you not eager to have me in your bed? I had not thought you capable of such restraint.”

“I am quite beside myself to have you, my dear. But I suspect you will find more comfort in my restraint than you will from my eager desires," he said, gently turning her to face the balustrade. "You have no idea how much I've been looking forward to this night with you…" His fingers moved deftly along the ties of her bodice, slowly loosening each notch as he went up. "As anxious as I am to feel myself within your quim," his voice came warm over the back of her neck, making her close her eyes as he loosened her from her gown. “As much as I long to bury myself within you,” his voice drifted warm against her nape, making her breath catch, “I would rather you discover each sensation at your own pace.”

She looked upward to the starlit sky above. His words soothed the last of her dread. She had feared the pain of consummation must come at once, that she would have no moment to steel herself. But with each loosened loop and each quiet breath at her neck, her heart drew tight within her chest. Most bewildering of all was how the sliding fabric over her breasts and hips sent a shiver of pleasure low through her belly.

She reminded herself that such pleasure was no sin. That the carnal imaginings which visited her in the quiet hours were permitted now, even expected. She had tried, in small secret experiments, to prepare herself… slipping a hesitant finger within, but it had stirred little in her. No doubt the big nob that hung from him would prove far more demanding. The thought made her cheeks burn hot.

At last, her bodice slipped free, leaving only her chemise and skirts about her hips. His warm hands slid to her waist. He leaned closer, his breath ruffling her hair. “Shall we return indoors? I cannot trust that some watchful eye is not trained upon us this very instant.”

She folded her arms over her chest and nodded, turning toward him. "Yes."

It was far simpler to slip the heavy satin skirt from her hips than it had been to unfasten the bodice. Left in her chemise, while he wore only his linen shirt and breeches, they settled together upon the divan. A bowl of grapes rested on the carpet at their feet, and the fire glowed bright in the grate. She traced her fingertips across the velvet upholstery, striving to maintain her composure, though he sat perilously near, one arm stretched along the back of the seat as he watched the flames."How has your reading been going?"

Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. She knew precisely what he meant, the scandalous tales. Only a handful of volumes dared offer the frank, wicked detail she secretly favoured, though she would never confess it aloud. The rest of the books danced around the truth of what was being written with flowery prose and reserved detail.

"Fine, I suppose."

“Merely fine? That does not strike me as a cause for much excitement. Be truthful with me, mouse. Have your readings not stirred a certain… awakening?” He traced a finger along the nape of her neck, gaze intent upon her profile.

An awakening… Well, yes, they had. She blinked her eyes slowly and gulped to wet her dry throat as she kept her gaze fixed on the flames. "A time or two."

His thumb drew gently up the side of her throat when she felt his plush lips graze her jaw. "Only a time or two? And how did it feel?"

She felt his words scatter across her skin and melt down to her neck as he kissed a slow path toward the underside of her chin. She tilted her head, granting him better access as a breathy gasp wobbled from her mouth. How was she to answer such a question when he was kissing her like that?

"It… It was… ahhh!"

He grinned at how swiftly she yielded to his touch. He had scarcely reached the place he knew would undo her entirely."Oh? Did it please you? Did you find your release?”

Her breathing faltered, chest rising as if the stays were still fastened to her ribs. She turned her face to look at him, lips parted, eyes heavy with confusion and longing.

“I… It…” she whispered, her voice soft. “It felt best when you did it.”

Harry's eyes softened, his hand settling over hers on her lap, thumb stroking the bones of her knuckles. “I see,” he said. He had not expected such candour. In fact, he could almost swear that was an invitation from her.

He leaned in again, that time placing a kiss just beside her mouth. A silent question to her subtle invitation.

She turned her body to face him fully, her hands rising to his chest, fingers brushing the edge of his collar as though daring herself to continue. She wanted more of that kiss. Wanted to feel the ache and the need kindling between them again.

He sat still as she shifted, her pretty eyes steady on his, palm sliding upward against the linen over his chest. Her lips were parted as she angled her face toward his, silently beseeching.

And then, to his quiet astonishment, she quickly moved into him, her lips brushing his with a tentative and curious peck. He hummed low in his throat as he responded, pressing more firmly into her mouth, drawing her deeper with every pass of his lips.

When she sighed into the kiss, he took it as permission, slipping a hand to the curve of her waist, guiding her closer. Her thigh brushed his, and he felt the hitch in her breath at the contact.

“You needn’t be afraid,” he whispered, brushing his nose against hers as he broke the kiss only long enough to see her eyes. “We shall take our time.”

“I do not fear the kiss,” she whispered. “Only what must follow after.”

He smiled. “We shall come to that only when you're ready. And when the moment arrives, I promise you shall find it as gentle and as sweet as you desire.”

He kissed her again, more deeply that time. His hand slipped behind her, tracing the gentle arch of her back, coaxing her to lean into him. And she did, cautiously at first, until her chest pressed to his, and her hands clutched his arms for balance.

She could feel the heat of him through her thin chemise, the strength of him, solid and broad, yet tempered by an unexpected tenderness. His touch remained patient, adoring, but each movement was deliberate, charting the shape of her, as though he meant to memorize every inch.

She startled a little when his palm swept over her hip and down to the back of her thigh. He paused, pulling back just enough to look her over. He needed to calm himself before he wound up devouring every inch of her like he wanted, the urge to overtake his reason.. Looking at her face, he saw only a beautiful woman, clinging to him, wanting… But he had to keep gentle with her. For now.

“Is this too much?”

She shook her head quickly. “No. I'm trying to settle myself.”

“Shall we stop?”

“No,” she whispered, her cheeks blooming with heat. “Please don’t stop.”

His eyes darkened, and he leaned in again, placing a kiss beneath her ear. “As you wish.”

He had envisioned the most wanton imaginings of her earlier that day. Had taken himself in hand, stroking with slow, deliberate intent to the thought of her spread across his velvet coverlet, her hips arching in desperate supplication as he tormented her with his touch. He had spilled the moment he pictured himself buried within her. Even now, he could scarcely fathom how she might feel… soft and wet and impossibly tight around him.

With great care, he guided her onto her back along the divan, the velvet cushions yielding beneath her. He followed, half atop her, propped on one elbow so as not to press his full weight against her. His other hand drifted slowly along the line of her hip, then upward, tracing the side of her ribcage through the soft fabric of her shift.

She arched faintly beneath him, startled by her body’s yearning. It was automatic. His mouth never left her skin. He kissed the slope of her neck, the hollow of her throat, the edge of her collarbone as she moaned quietly.

Her fingers found their way into his curls, tugging gently as he grazed the peak of her breast with the back of his hand. Even that small contact had her gasping, her legs shifting restlessly beneath her.

“Already trembling,” he said, his breath jagged. “You are so sensitive, little mouse."

“I feel it,” she whispered. “It's...” she trailed off, unable to finish any thoughts she had conjured.

He chuckled low against her chest, his nose brushing the thin fabric stretched over her breast. “It is natural to feel it. You are so good… perfect," his words were mumbled against the material. "I, too, feel it. It's in my bones…" He dotted kisses softly over her chemise. "… it's in my chest. And we’ve scarcely begun.”

He brought his mouth upward to hers again, his tongue brushing her lips in a way that made her back arch and her thighs clench beneath her clothing. She slowly parted her lips, her tongue meeting his in a shy, searching stroke. A low moan trembled between them.

Between the steady flicker of firelight and the warmth of his hands, Y/n could no longer recall what fear had once lived in her. He made her forget everything but his breath, his touch, the way his voice dropped when he praised her.

She could feel the hard ridge of him against her hip, unmistakable even through layers of linen and cotton. The knowledge of it sent a hot dizziness through her.

“Allow me to unlace this,” he said, tugging gently at the top of her chemise. “You are far too beautiful to be hidden behind cloth.”

She nodded, raising her arms to aid him. He had sworn he would be patient, that he would not rush her, but she was so pliant already. The soft panting of her breaths, the little gasps, the way she threaded her fingers into his hair and kissed him with shy fervour…the way she lifted her hips to meet him. All invitations.

And when the garment came loose, baring her to the warm air and his hungry gaze, the king did not seize her as some men might have, greedy and rough. He merely looked. Admired. Swallowed hard as if astonished.

He longed to touch her. Wanted to grab her flesh and squeeze at every inch of her that was laid before him. Wanted to dig his fingers into her hips and breasts and spread her thighs open so he could look upon all of her.

“God help me,” he said softly, his voice nearly breaking. “You’re exquisite.”

He was not a man given to faith. But right then, he could kneel in surrender to any deity who had brought her to him. He wanted to nose at her opening, to pry her apart and watch her face as he plunged into her depths.

She reached for him then, bolder than she’d ever been before, and pulled him down into her embrace, and perhaps for a break in the way his eyes were wandering over her peaked breasts and the stretch of her body where his fingers had once touched. She'd never been gazed upon like that before.

His mouth met hers again, slow and indulgent. He kissed her not as a king, but as a starving man at last allowed to feast. Her arms wrapped round his neck, drawing him nearer as his hand roamed down the soft plane of her side, over the tender rise of her hip. His palm, wide and warm, settled low, gripping just above her bottom as he deepened their kiss. She whimpered into his mouth, fingers slipping into his curls again, pulling at them with a desperation she scarcely understood.

Harry shifted atop her, careful not to rest too heavily on her frame, but eager for more of her body pressed against his. Her bare breasts, rising and falling in uneven rhythm, brushed against the linen of his shirt. The sensation tore another moan from her throat.

“There now,” he said between kisses. “D’you feel it, little mouse? What you’ve done to me?”

He took her hand and guided it downward, resting her palm over the thick, straining shape beneath his breeches. She gasped softly, her eyes wide, her breath caught in her throat.

He closed his hand over hers, encouraging her to press gently.

“That is what your sighs have made of me,” he whispered. “A beast of a man, barely leashed.”

Her skin burned hot. Still, she did not pull her hand away as she looked into his eyes.

“It feels so…” she trailed off, lashes fluttering as she dared another tentative touch.

“So alive?” he offered, his voice dark with pleasure.

She nodded, lips parted. “Yes.”

He smiled, then kissed her again, hungrier, less restrained. His hands returned to her body, roaming more freely. He cupped her breast, his thumb brushing over the pebbled peak, drawing a startled sound from her mouth. Her hips lifted slightly off the divan in response, instinctive and needy.

“May I touch you lower?” he asked against her neck, his breath scorching. “Properly?”

She hesitated, not out of fear, but from sheer wonder at the question. That he would ask at all. That he would wait. That a man known to be cruel in court would kiss her so sweetly and speak to her as though she were sacred.

“Yes,” she said, her voice small but clear. “Please.”

His fingers dipped downward, over the warm skin of her abdomen. She squirmed at the sensation, but he hushed her with a kiss to her cheek, trailing his mouth to her temple, her hairline, her ear.

When his hand finally slipped between her thighs, she gasped, her knees parting slightly of their own accord. He grazed her lightly at first with just a brush of knuckles over the soft curls between her legs.

“You’re already damp for me,” he whispered, sounding almost pained. “Oh, my love…”

Her heart was nearly bursting. She arched into him at the sound of that word.

Love.

Whether he meant it or not, it echoed through her like the strike of a bell.

He began to stroke her slowly with the flat of his fingers, spreading her slickness in languid circles without yet delving deeper. Her hips writhed beneath him, her hands twisting in his shirt as he coaxed her body into revelation.

“That’s it,” he murmured, kissing her chin as his fingers circled her pearl with careful attention. “Let yourself feel it, little mouse. There’s no shame in pleasure.”

The sounds she made startled even her… soft, broken cries she’d never known herself capable of. Her legs trembled, and he caught her with his free arm, holding her tightly as he continued to play her like a cherished instrument.

She felt how wet his fingers were as he slid them slowly, teasingly against her. She needed more, needed it desperately if she were to find any relief. But it seemed he had no intention of granting it. Not yet.

He smoothed his lips over hers, and the whole of the sensation was consuming every bit of her body and soul. She was brought to the brink, and then he moved his fingers down… over and over again as he kissed her until she could hear the wet, sinful sounds of her own arousal between them.

Even Harry felt himself nearing the edge, though she had scarcely touched him. Her fingers were still wrapped tightly over him, and the confining barrier of his breeches had begun to grate on his control. He pushed a heavy breath out through his nose when he felt her palm press firmly into him, tugging in a timid experiment.

And, at first, it had been an accident when he eased one thick finger into her. It was just barely, only to the first knuckle, causing her to gasp so sharply he kissed her again to steal the sound, stilling his digit inside of her. But then she shifted down against his fingers, pushing him deeper, to the second knuckle, until he was buried to the last joint and her ragged breaths dissolved into soft, helpless mewls.

Her walls fluttered around his finger, so tight and warm that it nearly undid him. But he held fast, working slowly, watching every flicker of her expression. He drew out and then in again, coaxing her body to relax.

“It feels—oh,” she cried softly, legs tightening around his hips.

“I know,” he breathed, as he watched her pretty face. “I know, darling. I can tell you like that.”

He found her pearl again with his thumb while his finger worked within her, and her whole body tensed, then softened around him. She did like that. He could see it in the way her hips began to roll into his palm, her breaths syncing to the rhythm of his thrusting fingers. Loosening his hold, he drew back just enough to look down and savour the sight of his new wife undone beneath him.

The room could have collapsed on him and he would not have stopped. Her hips were swaying in restless pleasure, her soft breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath, her mouth dropped open wide as her eyes glistened… and her cunt, sucking his finger in and in, making his hand gleam with her slippery, greedy need. He would stay like that with her for eternity if she wanted. Even if his cock was throbbing painfully.

"Mmm…" she whimpered, her eyes blinking up into his. "It's wet. Right here…" She slid her thumb along the head of his length, where he'd dampened the linen through his breeches.

"Yes. You've aroused me, little mouse. It means you're making me feel good. Your hand on me…"

She inhaled a harsh breath as he curled his fingers into her, dragging his pads into something that made her insides swell. "It's good?"

He smiled and pushed his nose into her cheek. "Very good."

The soaked sound of his finger pushing in and dragging out met with the crackle of the fire in the hearth, and their strained breaths and moans. His gaze drank in every detail of her, undone beneath him. She was more than ripe for him… but still… he wanted to see her writhing, begging for him to sink inside before he defiled her completely.

He closed his eyes, letting himself savor it: the feel of her, the scent of her skin, the soft, unguarded sounds she made. It was a dream, having her like this, and he felt certain that the moment he buried himself inside her, he might not survive it. For all his strength, his heart was sure to give out. But he would die happy.

Opening his eyes again, he slid his finger out, and she quickly grabbed onto his shoulder, her lips drawing downward into a sulk. "Harry…"

A low moan tore from him when she spoke his name. She so rarely said it that hearing it now was dizzying. "Oh, little mouse…" he cooed at her, changing the position of his hand, two fingertips circling at her little tight muscle as he looked down at her. "Do you need more?"

She nodded in haste. "More. Please."

"How about two fingers?"

She continued nodding as she glanced down at his hand, hovering just over her thighs in wait. "Yes."

Harry smiled and slowly eased two of his fingers into her. She gasped, her eyes widening with the new fullness. He began to thrust, unhurried, and she moaned, rolling her pelvis upward into his hand. Watching her face closely, ensuring her pleasure, he drew her hand from his shoulder and brought it downward to that tender place he had been stroking. She shivered as he guided her hand to where he had been touching her, where she was slick and tender and pulsing beneath her own hand.

“Feel that,” he said, his voice ragged. “How soft you are… how ready.”

He nudged his fingers inside of her gently as he steered her fingers. Her breath stuttered as she pressed down gently, her fingers slipping over the little pearl that throbbed with every heartbeat. Her thighs tried to close, but he nudged them apart again, kissing her shoulder.

“Take it easy,” he whispered. “Does it feel nice?”

She nodded, unable to find words, her mouth open in a soundless gasp as she watched his face intently. But “nice” was not the word for it. It was so much more. More than she had ever imagined. Better.

He watched her touch herself, her eyes wide, her chest rising and falling, and he knew he would never recover from the sight. But he couldn’t resist adding his own touch, his hand sliding to cover hers, pressing just a little firmer, coaxing a broken cry from her throat as he continued working his other fingers as deeply as she could take.

He didn't rush her. Even as he looked upon her laid bare, perfect and lovely in the firelight, he held her gaze and waited. Anyone watching have thought him a man of infinite patience, given he'd restrained himself from taking her how he wanted over the last month, but truth was, it cost him nearly every ounce of strength not to lay her flat and take her wholly just then.

For the king, this was also a new experience. Her virginity would be his, and it would be the first time he'd ever taken such a thing, from anyone. It had never appealed to him to have to teach and guide a lover during such a delicate moment. To make sure she was happy and that her body was relaxed and receptive.

Yet he found himself rather enjoying this slow, tender exploration. His patience was tested to its limits, but there was no other way. Y/n needed time to open up properly, so, time he would give her, even though every aching inch of him rebelled against such restraint.

When at last she moved her hand from herself and pulled him down to kiss him, he made a soft sound of gratitude in the back of his throat. He let her lead for a time—her sweet, tentative mouth against his, her hands exploring the breadth of his back, the shape of his arms. He could feel the damp trace of her arousal upon her fingertips as they brushed his skin.

Cupping her breast again, he rasped his thumb gently over the sensitive peak, and she gasped, her hips shifting upward toward him, as if she needed more than just his two fingers dragging through her insides.

“You must tell me if anything displeases you,” he murmured against her cheek, voice husky. “I mean to learn every inch of you, but not at the cost of your peace.”

“It does not displease me,” she whispered, a tremor in her voice. “I can hardly find the words to tell you how I enjoy it.”

He smiled faintly. “That is no ill thing, little mouse. You're so good.”

Slowly, he pulled his fingers from her and trailed his hand down the length of her belly, smearing a glistening trace along the path. She bucked as his fingers grazed the softness between her thighs. He kissed her again to soothe her, then slipped lower, brushing her slit with two fingers. She was so soft and yielding. He nearly lost himself at the feel of it, at the sight.

“Shall I taste you?” he asked, voice scarcely more than a ragged breath.

Her lashes fluttered, her lips parting as she swallowed hard. “If…if you desire it…”

He laughed softly. “I do more than wish it.”

He slipped down to his knees beside the divan, urging her to shift her hips closer to the edge. She felt nearly too shy to look down at him, but when she dared, her heart tripped at the sight… her husband, the King of Thornekeep, bowing as though to worship.

He kissed the soft skin of her inner thigh, his hands firm on her hips to keep her from shying away. When he parted her folds with careful fingers and pressed his mouth to her, she cried out in shock, her hand flying to his hair.

“Oh—oh God—”

“Mmm,” he moaned against her.

His tongue traced her with slow, deliberate sweeps, tasting her as though he might starve without it. He relished every sound she made, every broken gasp, every elated cry.

When he closed his lips around her tender pearl and suckled, she jolted so violently he had to press a hand to her belly to steady her. Her thighs trembled as her spine arched off the divan. It was nothing like she'd felt before. Fingers rubbing her little nub were one thing but his lips and his tongue gliding softly, teasing at her and then sucking… For one bewildered instant, she wondered whether such bliss could be sanctioned by God, or was it a wicked, sinful act.

“Harry—oh—oh, I—” she pushed softly at his head, and he lifted upward to look at her, resting his chin on her thigh.

“What is it, mouse?” he asked softly.

"It feels too good. I'm not sure this is right—"

"It's meant to feel good."

"But is it… improper? We haven't consummated the marriage yet, and I'm worried we're in sin."

Harry tugged her fingers into his, squeezing around her knuckles as he climbed back up to the cushion with her. "You and I are husband and wife. We may enjoy one another in whatever way we like. There is no sin here, Y/n. Just me and you together."

She swallowed and nodded, though uncertainty lingered in her gaze. “It feels so…more exquisite than anything I have ever known. I cannot believe something so indulgent bears no consequence.”

"I'm sad that someone taught you that pleasure is akin to wickedness. We are meant to enjoy each other. It is our wedding night."

She moved her palm up to his shoulder. "You should have me then. So we can consummate the marriage first. Is that not what we're really meant to be doing?"

He spread his lips against her cheek tenderly. "Oh, Y/n. We will get to that when it's time. It is important we have patience, so that you find joy in it.”

He kissed her again, lingering near the corner of her mouth. “You are in no danger of judgment here. No priest, no scripture, no God who loves you would condemn the sweetness of a husband tending to his wife.”

Her eyes searched his face, uncertain. “But—”

“No.” He shook his head slowly. “Listen to me.” One of his hands came up to cradle her jaw. “You were made to be cherished. To be touched. To be pleasured. If you believe God made you, then you must believe he made all this softness, all this sweetness, too.”

Her chest rose and fell, breath catching. It felt too good to be innocent, and yet, the king's words calmed her racing thoughts.

“Let me show you,” he murmured, pressing a last kiss to her lips before sliding down again.

This time, she did not look away and she did not deny herself his gifts.

He settled between her thighs, hands gentle but insistent as he urged them further apart. She felt a shiver run the length of her spine when he kissed the delicate place above her mound, then lower, his mouth warm and wet.

He licked her slowly, unhurried, savoring her. His tongue pressed and circled and tasted her with aching devotion. A whimper rose in her throat, and she felt her hips tipping toward him, all her careful modesty dissolving.

“There,” he breathed between strokes, voice husky and warm. “That’s it… You see? No sin. Only your body caught in desire… perfect and good.”

Her fingers threaded into his hair again, but this time she did not push him away. She held him there, trembling as his mouth coaxed more of those helpless little sounds from her.

“Harry…oh…”

He hummed softly in answer, the vibration sparking heat that coiled deep inside her belly. He parted her gently with his tongue and closed his lips around that tender little bud again, suckling with steady, delicate pulls.

Her breath fractured. She clutched at his shoulders, eyes squeezing shut as she gasped. Her body gave way to him, and to herself.

He kept her pinned sweetly beneath his mouth, kept coaxing her higher, higher, until the last of her fear slipped away. Until the only thing she could feel was the pleasure cresting in a rising wave she could not have denied if she tried.

When she came apart, crying his name, he held her steady. Her breath came in ragged sobs. Her body clenched, and he nearly spilled himself just from the sounds she made.

When she sagged back at last, dazed and spent, he kissed her thigh one final time and drew himself up over her. She looked up at him, her eyes luminous and soft with wonder, her lips parted.

“I did not know…” She paused, struggling for air. “I did not know it could feel so…so…”

He kissed her softly. “It pleases me you enjoyed yourself.”

He shifted to sit beside her, his breeches tight to the point of agony. She reached out, hesitant, then laid her hand over the hard ridge straining against the laces.

“I would like…to do something for you,” she said, her voice wavering but earnest.

“Ah.” He swallowed hard. “You’ve no notion how dearly I desire that.”

She sat up on her knees, fingers trembling as she worked the fastenings. His cock sprang free, flushed and thick, the tip glistening. She drew in a startled breath as he drank in the sight of her naked and kneeling.

“It's quite large. I'd forgotten…” she said faintly. The memory of what she'd seen on the first night was distorted. She recalled only the tumult of feeling, but seeing him now, the sheer size of him was formidable.

He laughed then, a rough, quiet laugh. “Aye. But you shall have time to grow accustomed.”

He guided her hand to him, wrapping her fingers around the base. “Just here,” he said. “Slow strokes… That’s it.”

She moved carefully at first, watching his face. His eyes fell shut, a low groan rumbling in his chest.

“Spit on it,” he rasped, voice nearly gone. “Easier for you and better for me.”

Her face warmed, but she obeyed, her tongue peeking between her lips before she gathered her courage and let a small line of spit fall onto the crown. He shuddered, his hand covering hers again.

“That’s it, so sweet,” he breathed. “Ah—God, you are…you’ve no notion…”

When she grew bolder, sliding her palm up and down the rigid length, he dropped his head back against the cushion, breathing raggedly.

“You may lick it if you wish,” he managed, craning his neck to watch. He would ease her into learning how to suck on him, but for now, just to have her tongue against him would tide him over.

She leaned forward, her lips brushing just beneath the tip before she thought better of it, her courage failing. He looked down, his expression soft with amusement at the attempt. She was precious.

“No,” he said, lifting her chin. “You needn't do that tonight. Another time perhaps.”

She swallowed and gathered her courage again, her hand gliding up and down the thick length, the side of her fist grazing the hair at the root of him. Each stroke grew surer, slicker with her spit and the warmth seeping from him at the tip.

He closed his eyes, lashes shadowing his cheeks. “Yes…just like that,” he panted, voice hoarse. “Ah… You are…Christ, you are a marvel…”

She watched in fascination as his chest rose and fell, every muscle taut beneath the fine white shirt he had not bothered to remove. His hips shifted subtly, seeking more friction.

“Is it…very good?” she asked, breathless, astounded.

His eyes opened then, dark and heavy-lidded. “Very good, little mouse. You cannot fathom what it is to feel your hand on me.”

Her cheeks flamed at that, but she did not stop. She tried a firmer stroke, and he groaned deep in his throat, his abdomen tightening as though he fought to restrain himself.

“God above,” he rasped. “Sweet wife—if you keep on in such a fashion—”

He did not finish the warning. His breath turned ragged, one hand clutching her wrist as though to steady himself.

She looked down at her hand moving over him, at the flushed crown peeking from her curled fingers. A drop of pearly fluid welled there, smearing over her knuckles. Her heart thumped madly, part embarrassment, part something far stranger… an unnameable thrill that he trusted her with this, that she could undo him with only her touch.

“Do not stop,” he gasped, voice breaking. “Oh, God, do not—”

And she did not. She watched, transfixed, as his body shuddered beneath her hand. A low groan tore free of his chest, and his hips lifted once, twice… and then he spent himself, hot and thick over her fingers and the flat of his stomach.

She stilled, blinking down at the evidence of what she had done. Her palm felt slippery, and she could see the way he still pulsed softly against her grip as she slowed down the way her hand moved over him.

A curious wonder stole through her, mingled with a shy pride. She had never imagined such a sight, nor that she would be the cause of it. She'd never seen him like that before, but she quite liked it, she decided.

He reached to curl his hand around her wrist, gently drawing her away. His chest still heaved, a dazed smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“My love,” he managed at last, voice warm and ragged, “you have undone me entirely.”

She glanced down again, unable to help herself, her lips parting in astonishment. “I had not known…that it would look so…so much...”

He laughed then, soft and unguarded, even as he caught her hand in his and pressed a kiss to her damp fingers. “Forgive me. You might have found I am quite helpless where you are concerned.”

Her throat bobbed on a swallow. “I do not mind. I…rather like that you should be.”

They both stilled. The only sound was the fire snapping in the hearth.

“I shall see to this,” he said hoarsely, reaching for a kerchief to clean them both.

Once they were made tidy, he drew her into his lap, her bare thighs straddling his. He poured them each a small brandy and pressed the glass into her hand. She sipped, feeling the warmth spread down her throat to join the heat still coiled low in her belly. He watched her over the rim of his cup, a knowing glint in his eyes.

“You look thoughtful,” he said.

She lowered her gaze to the cup in her hands. “I was only considering how strange it is that one may feel so much and still be found well in the eyes of God.”

He chuckled, low and fond. “Aye, that is the wonder of it. Pleasure does not kill us, and neither will God.”

Her lips curved shyly. “You are very certain.”

“I am a man of some experience,” he admitted, one brow lifting in a silent dare for her to tease him. But she did not. She only traced the edge of her glass with a pensive fingertip.

“It did not hurt you?” she asked quietly, curiously.

He looked surprised, then softened, setting his cup aside so he could brush his knuckles down her cheek. “No, sweet. Far from it. You could do the same every night, and I would never grow weary of you.”

Her face warmed again, but she did not look away. “And now? Do you feel well enough to… to continue?”

A smile tugged at his mouth. “Greedy little thing.”

She bit her lip, half-ashamed of the way her body still ached to be touched. The way she wanted more.

He tipped her chin up, meeting her gaze with a softness that made her chest flutter. “I am well enough. But let us take a moment to rest. There is no race to be run here.”

She nodded, exhaling softly. His hands drifted down to her hips, thumbs stroking the tender skin. “If you are patient, I promise I shall have you writhing again before the hour is out.”

Heat moved through her at the promise. She swallowed and lifted her glass for another small sip, grateful for the excuse to busy her hands. And though she was not entirely fond of the drink, the way it warmed her belly and made her limbs loosen was awfully nice.

For a time, they sat like that… her straddling his thighs, the brandy slowly emptying from their cups to the warmth of their bellies, the firelight gilding every slow blink and secret smile. She felt a peace she could not recall ever knowing, threaded through with the anticipation that soon, very soon, he would touch her again. She was entirely too impatient, but she would try not to push more.

Every little stroke of his fingers over her skin drew chill bumps in their path. She toyed with the hem of his linen shirt, pushing at the fabric so she could touch his skin the way he was touching hers. When she'd reached up above his naval, he pushed out an amused breath.

"What is it, little mouse?"

She swallowed, unable to stop herself from asking once more. “I was only… wondering whether it might feel so pleasant again.”

He chuckled, setting his glass aside. “Little glutton.”

She huffed, cheeks hot. “You are unkind.”

“Am I?” He took her face in his hands. “Or am I merely perceptive?”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he kissed her, and her thoughts scattered. When he broke away, his hands drifted down to cup her breasts, thumbs teasing her nipples until she arched. His mouth found her neck, sucking gently.

“You wish for more,” he murmured against her skin.

“I…” She swallowed. “Yes.”

He laid her back once more and began anew—fingers sliding between her thighs, stroking until she whimpered. Until he was fully recovered and his prick was thickened once again.

"Let us go to our bed." He helped her up, his fingers purposely grazing her hip as they both moved to the much more comfortable feather mattress. She climbed on first while Harry stripped his shirt away, his gaze drinking in the sight of her… her bare back, the soft curve of her hips, as she settled onto the coverlet and watched him with wide, wondering eyes.

He could have her any way he wished, and she would not deny him. He moved in next to her and pulled at her hips, settling her astride his hips, his length slipping between her slick folds as he lay down on his back.

“Stay just here,” he said, voice rough. “Let us find it together.”

He guided her hands to rest against his chest before taking hold of her hips. When she looked down, her breath caught at the sight of their bodies pressed together with her slickness glistening on the ruddy crown of him. She gasped as he began to guide her, their bare flesh sliding together, hot and unashamed.

“Oh…” she pushed out the exclamation in a breath. It was so much. So warm and strange and perfect, she could scarcely hold the sensation in her mind.

He watched her face, gaze dark and steady. “Does it please you?”

She nodded, unable to form a word. Her hands splayed over his chest, feeling the solid rise and fall of his breaths. He rocked his hips gently, the hard length of him gliding against the tender pearl of her desire.

The first time she shifted her hips on her own, she startled at the burst of pleasure that sparked through her belly. He groaned low, the sound curling around her spine.

“Again,” he coaxed. “Just like that.”

She swallowed and did as he asked, sliding forward and back with more intention. It was not the same as being filled with his fingers, but oh, it was nearly too sweet to bear. The ridge of his cock rubbed exactly where she needed, every stroke leaving her breathless.

“God…” she whispered, her eyes falling shut. “It's so warm...”

His hands flexed over her hips, guiding her when she faltered. “Yes. That’s it, little mouse… take what you need.”

The fire cracked beside them, casting golden light over their joined bodies. She could not look away from the sight, her slick folds gliding over the length of him, his skin shining with her wetness. His abdomen tightened with each motion, the muscles shifting beneath the fine hair on his belly.

A soft keening sound escaped her, and her cheeks flamed hot at the thought that it belonged to her. But he only groaned in answer, the roughness of it making her clench.

“Look at me,” he rasped.

She opened her eyes, and their gazes locked… hers wide and wondering, his dark with hunger and a tenderness she could not have imagined.

“It feels too good,” she confessed, voice breaking. “I shall die of it.”

He huffed a ragged laugh, his thumbs pressing sweet circles into her hips. “If you die, I shall perish with you.”

It was nearly too much, too raw, too intimate. She pressed her palms harder to his chest and moved faster in instinct, the slippery slide of him sending little shocks of pleasure all through her. He guided her at a slow pace, letting her grind herself over him until her thighs quivered.

“Harry…” she gasped. “I think—I think it’s coming again!”

“Let it,” he urged, his own voice unsteady. “Let it, sweet girl.”

She cried out, her head tipping back, the pleasure cresting all at once. Every muscle in her body tensed as she came, her slick pulsing hot over him.

The sight of her, glorious and undone, dragged him right to the edge. He cursed softly, his hips thrusting up once, twice before he spilled between them, hot and thick, their bellies streaked with the proof of it.

For a moment, neither of them moved. She stayed straddling him, breathing hard, her skin flushed. She could feel the throb of him still fading against her. Her mind was slow to return to itself, dazed and glowing with a satisfaction she had never dreamed of.

At last, he cupped her cheek, smiling up at her with eyes gone soft. “I think,” he murmured, “we have done very well indeed. You are far better than you know.”

Heat prickled along her throat at the praise. She looked down where their bodies were still joined by the evidence of all they’d shared, then quickly averted her gaze, shy all over again.

“Come,” he said. “Let me see you settled.”

He eased her carefully off his hips, rising to fetch a fresh cloth. She lay back against the pillows, limbs loose and boneless, watching as he cleaned them both with gentle hands. When he finished, he drew the coverlet up over her bare body before sliding in beside her.

His arm slipped beneath her neck, gathering her close. She turned to bury her face against his shoulder, breathing in the clean scent of linen and the warm salt of his skin.

“You are okay?” he asked quietly, lips near her temple.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I'm soaring.”

He exhaled a slow, relieved sigh and pressed a kiss to her brow. The fire burned low, throwing shadows across the chamber walls. Her eyelids fluttered, heavy with the soft ache of satisfaction and the weight of her own contentment.

. .

Sunlight slipped past the drapes, warm on her bare shoulder. She stirred, stretching her limbs with tentative caution. Every part of her felt tender, softened by the night they’d shared. When she blinked her eyes open, she found him awake beside her, propped on an elbow.

“Good morning, little mouse.”

She smiled drowsily. “Good morning.”

He kissed her temple. “How do you fare?”

He smiled faintly and reached to stroke the skin of her cheek. “How fares your body?”

She hesitated, then let her hand shyly drift down to rest over his length, already stirring with interest against her thigh. Everything from the night before had been nothing but a delight. She couldn't understand the ache for more, but it was there.

“I would like to do it properly,” she whispered, her skin aflame. “I wish you to have me… wholly.”

His brows lifted, and he cupped her face in both hands. “Are you certain?”

“Yes,” she said, her heart thrumming. “I want to feel you. I want… to give it to you.”

He slipped his hand to her throat, thumb brushing the place her pulse beat so fast. “And what is it you desire to give me?”

He knew what she was seeking but before he took it from her, he wanted to hear her say the words. Her breath came unsteady. She felt reckless, near undone by the safety she had found in his arms.

“I want,” she began, and paused, gathering her courage. “I want to feel you inside me. Entirely. I want to give it to you.”

His eyes darkened, the mirth fading to something deeper. “Do you know what you ask?”

“I do.” She lifted her chin. “I know you said there was no need to rush. But I do not wish to wait. Not if you will have me.”

A muscle in his jaw flexed as he searched her face for any sign of fear. When he found none, only resolve bright as morning, he exhaled and pressed his forehead to her shoulder, his own body vibrating with need.

“Then I shall have you,” he whispered. “But we shall go slowly, and you will tell me of every discomfort. Swear it.”

“I swear.”

He kissed her mouth, unhurried, as though they had endless hours to lie abed. His hand trailed down her side, then further, coaxing her thighs apart. She felt her body already answering him, readying itself as his fingers slid between her folds.

“You see?” he murmured against her cheek. “Your body knows what is to come.”

He worked her gently, drawing small circles that made her hips shift and her lips part with a quiet gasp. She clung to his shoulder, unable to think, only to feel.

When she grew wet and pliant under his touch, he pressed a finger inside, then a second, coaxing her with slow strokes. The stretch made her whimper, but she did not shy away.

“Easy,” he breathed. “Easy now.”

Even as he said the word—easy—he himself was reeling. His heart pounded, his skin was burning, his hand was shaking. He'd never needed to display such restraint in his life and he was nearly at the edge of himself to lose control.

Her body clenched and softened, her breaths coming shallow as he prepared her. When she began to tremble again, he drew his fingers back, pressing a kiss to her temple.

He guided her onto her back and settled between her thighs, bracing himself on one elbow so he could look into her eyes. With his free hand, he took himself in hand, the tip gliding through her slick heat.

Her breath caught as she felt him there, so close she thought she might faint from the wanting. The warmth of him pressing and sliding against her was not unlike the night before, but this time it was different.

“Breathe,” he said softly. “You must breathe.”

She nodded, her chest rising as she tried to steady herself, waiting for him to get on with it. Waiting for the sting, the pain… the blood.

With a low groan, he pressed forward, the thick head of him pushing into her inch by inch. She gasped at the burn, her fingers clutching at his arms. It was much, much more than she thought.

He stilled at once, voice rough. “Is it too much?”

“N-no—only—”

“Only different.” He kissed her jaw, her throat, waiting. “You are doing beautifully.”

When she exhaled and her hips tipped up, he eased deeper, the slow stretch making her cry out, though not in pain alone. He was inside her, truly inside, filling her in a way she could never have imagined.

“God,” he rasped, his breath ragged against her skin. He couldn't help but to peer down at their bodies joined. His cock throbbed at the lewd sight. “You are… you are…”

Her body tightened around him, and he groaned, fighting for composure. His instinct told him to bury in and begin sliding into her at full intensity so he could finally indulge in the slick hug of her cunt around him.

Instead, he took her hand and pulled it down her body, guiding her fingers over her pearl. "Touch. The way you do when you are alone. Like this…"

He moved her fingers there, and she blinked up at him, wide-eyed. She understood his instructions and began to rub over herself, two fingers drifting in circles, pressing until she began to feel the delight all over. It was then that he began to move again.

The king kept slow and steady, pulling back and pushing deeper as she kept her fingers gliding. He could feel her knuckles bumping at his low tummy as she clenched delicately around him. And the deeper he nudged the more she stretched to take him, until at last he was seated fully within her. He stilled, pressing his brow to hers.

“Does it ache?”

“A little,” she whispered. “But—oh—”

He shifted, just enough to make her gasp. “But it is…so full.”

"Don't stop your fingers. Keep them moving, yes?"

She nodded as he moaned against her cheek. He could wreck her without consequence. He could find his own end as he so pleased. But she was too sweet for that. And he was finding that prolonging his own pleasure was quite divine. He'd never experienced it before, always having whatever he wanted when he wanted it.

He kissed her then, his hand gentle where it cupped her face. “We shall wait,” he whispered. “Until you tell me you are ready. Keep going like you are.”

She blinked, her eyes wet. And after a long moment when the ache began to ease and the strange fullness began to feel like something better, she tilted her hips and whispered, “Harry…”

He closed his eyes. "Tell me, mouse. What is it?"

"I think it's okay. Please…"

Her fingers were wet, his length was soaked in her, her body was buzzing with need just as intended. He moved in her slowly, each stroke drawing a breathless sound from her lips. Her hands slipped up his back, holding tight as her body began to learn the rhythm, the pleasure that built with each thrust.

Her hands clung to his shoulders, her breath breaking on every slow push and pull. It was almost too much, the stretch of him, the heat, the knowledge of what they were doing. And yet it was never quite enough to tip her into that blinding release she’d felt before.

He rocked into her in a steady rhythm, his jaw tight with restraint. Every time her body gripped him, he felt himself sliding closer to the brink.

“Ah—God,” he groaned, voice ragged. “You feel…you feel as though you were made to take me.”

Heat swept over her chest. She couldn’t look away from his face, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way his mouth fell open when he thrust a little deeper.

“Harry…” she gasped.

“Tell me,” he rasped. “Does it please you?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes—it’s…it’s so good.”

She meant it. Every slow glide was a kind of sweetness she had never known, an ache she did not wish to end. But it did not gather her up the way his mouth and his fingers had. It only made her feel stretched, possessed. Like she was coming apart without quite falling.

He felt it too, her trembling but never quite peaking. His hand slipped between them, thumb circling over the place she touched before, but still she only sighed, her hips tipping up for more without that final surrender. The angle wasn't quite right, but god did it feel good.

“It's enough,” she whispered, her voice soft and certain. “It is perfect like this.”

He made a strangled sound, the control finally slipping from him. “I cannot—”

She felt the change in him, the deeper push, the tension that turned his body hard beneath her hands. A helpless cry tore from his throat as he spilled inside her, his hips pressing flush as he shuddered against her.

She held him, her palms splayed over his back, her heart thundering. The heat of him filling her was a wonder in itself, even without the peak that eluded her.

When at last he stilled, he pressed his face to her throat, breath coming in ragged gasps. “Forgive me,” he mumbled, his lips moving against her skin. “I could not—”

She hushed him gently, sliding her hands to cradle his face. “It was beautiful.”

His eyes lifted, still dark with the last shreds of hunger. “You didn't finish…”

She shook her head, though she smiled. “Not this time.”

His gaze searched hers, then he withdrew slowly, carefully, drawing a soft gasp from her lips. Before she could shy away, he pressed a lingering kiss to her breast, her collarbone, her throat.

“Lie back,” he whispered, his voice gone low and rough again.

She blinked, uncertain. “Harry?”

“Lie back,” he repeated, easing her down into the pillows. “I would have you finish as you deserve.”

Heat rushed up her neck, but before she could protest, he kissed the inside of her knee, parting her thighs with sure hands. She felt his breath against her, the brush of his mouth.

“You are too good,” she whispered, her voice breaking, not even aware of what she was saying.

He only looked up at her, eyes fierce with devotion. “I shall never have enough of you.”

And then his mouth was on her, hot, slow, unhurried. He tasted her with the same reverence as the night before, his tongue coaxing her toward the pleasure she thought she’d lost.

He laved her tenderly, his spend mingling with her sweetness on his tongue. And he didn't know why but it only made him feel more ravenous. That she was filled up with him, and it was leaking like a posset filled with sweet cream.

This time, there was no strain or fear. Only the molten sweetness building with every stroke of him. And then his fingers met her tender opening, where he pushed them in and suckled her bud with his lips.

Her hand flew to his hair, her thighs trembling as she moaned aloud. “Oh—oh—”

He hummed low against her, fingers gently curling inside of her, and the vibration tipped her over the edge at last. Her body seized, all that wanting flooding out in a rush she could not stop.

She cried out, her voice echoing off the chamber walls. He did not stop until she went limp against the pillows, her breath coming in small, broken sobs of relief.

When he lifted his head, his mouth glistened with her. He kissed the inside of her thigh before gathering her into his arms, holding her close as her heart slowly quieted.

“I believe I adore everything about you,” he whispered into her hair.

She blinked up at him, dazed, her lips parting. “I think… I think I adore you as well.”

He smiled, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand. “Then you are mine,” he said softly.

She touched his cheek, her own face warm with wonder. “And you are mine.”

They lay in the hush, their breathing the only sound.

He stroked her arm, his hand lingering at her side. “You are so good,” he said, his voice hoarse. “My sweet one.”

She smiled at the name. “I thought it would hurt more,” she confessed, blinking up at him. “But it was… Heaven.”

He smiled faintly. “I meant to be careful so it would feel good. I should like you to recall this night with gladness, not dread.”

She let her palm drift over his chest, the steady thump of his heart beneath her fingers. “I think I shall remember it as the night you were…very gentle.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Oh, now, mouse… I am always gentle.”

She lifted a brow. “You are not.”

His mouth curved as he leaned down to kiss her, slow and unhurried. “No,” he admitted when he drew back. “But with you, I find I have a mind to be.”

She felt something unfurl low in her chest… something that had little to do with lust and everything to do with the peculiar tenderness he showed only to her.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “For waiting. For…asking.”

He studied her face as his hand moved idly over her hip, not in invitation but in reassurance. She traced the shape of his collarbone, the line of his jaw.

At last, she sighed. “I think I'm hungry.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm. “So soon? Have I worn you out only to leave you famished?”

“A bit,” she said, smiling. “And I would like something warm.”

“Then you shall have it.”

Reluctantly, he shifted to sit up. He reached for the bell cord near the bed and gave it a firm tug. She watched him, her heart turning over in her chest. Even in the simplest movements, reaching for the cord, smoothing the coverlet around her… he carried himself with a kind of unthinking authority. But there was nothing cold in it now, nothing cruel. Only the easy gravity of a man content to care for her.

“Will they think it odd?” she asked softly. “To be summoned so early?”

He looked back at her, a glint of amusement in his gaze. “Let them think what they like. We have nothing to prove to any of them. My little mouse is hungry; that is my only concern.”

She sank back into the pillows, her body tender and satisfied, her mind hazy with the sweetness of it all.

“Shall we take our breakfast here?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, returning to the bed to gather her against his side. “I should like to keep you to myself a little longer.”

And when the knock came at the outer door, he kissed her hair and mumbled, “After this, we shall rest as long as we please. The kingdom can wait.”

She smiled and let herself believe him.

. .

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[helladirections]

one dream, one band, one vibration ✌️

[helladirections]

Harry on stage in Glasgow - June 11 (via TheUltimateNyan)

[helladirections]

ppasleyy: Cheers 🇬🇧

[helladirections]

HSHQ: Late Night Talking. July 13. 12 pm ET.

[helladirections]

the bunny

the swan final part: tonight marked the end of swan lake, but there was still so much more y/n wanted

wordcount: 18k+

—————

(Y/N) bounced on her toes as she stood around her apartment building. Her tote bag, packed with snacks and a change of clothes, hung from her shoulder. From where she stood, she could spot her car in its usual parking spot. 

A smile bloomed on her features when a familiar sleek SUV pulled into the car park. She couldn't see through the glare on the windscreen, but that didn't stop her from picturing the raspberry lips and lily pad eyes of her... Harry. 

Or whatever he was to her. Her best friend maybe? If having a best friend meant wanting to kiss all over his blushed face until there isn't a piece of him she didn't know. 

It'd only been a week since he spilled his secrets to her on her sofa while she sniffled through a runny nose and hid her face in his neck in a way to both comfort him and to hide the blaring light from her sore eyes. He hadn't been able to stay too much longer after that intimate moment on the couch, but Harry had made a point to stay in contact with her everyday since. 

It had started with check-ins to ensure she felt better through her illness, but hearing about her symptoms only lasted for a few messages each day before he was texting her just to hear from her. There was no longer a veil between them, that thin separation that had formed from Harry's cautiousness and (Y/N)'s constant reminder of what she didn't know. Now all of that was gone, leaving only everything easy. 

That quiet affection she'd been holding for him no longer had a roadblock stopping her from getting butterflies in her stomach and a giddy pattering of her heart when she saw him. She no longer forced herself to wait a couple of minutes when a text message came in from him. When she returned to the stage after a couple of days of recovery, she didn't hesitate to look up at his balcony the second she touched the boards. 

When Harry pulled up to the curb in front of her, she barely waited long enough for him to put the car in park before she was bounding towards him. Pulling open the door, she hopped in before he even had a chance to unbuckle his seatbelt in an attempt to be a gentleman and grab the door for her. 

"Hey you," she chirped, her grin scrunching her eyes.

"Hi," he greeted, a shy smile on his lips as a soft pink glow emerged over his cheeks. He made no move to pull away as she settled in, instead lingering his gaze on her. 

"Thanks for picking me up today," she said, dropping her bag at her feet as she shifted to face him as much as she could in the passenger seat. "You're really okay with waiting so long after the show?" 

He didn't hesitate before he was nodding his head, matching her gaze earnestly. "Of course. What else do I have going on?" 

There was a moment as he gazed at her that felt far too intimate for the front seat of his car in the middle of the afternoon, the weight not quite matching the levity of his tone. He mimicked her body language as much as he could with the steering wheel in the way, his eyes stitched to her own before they shattered into a soft blink, lashes fluttering as the grazed his cheekbones. It was the kind of look filmed in a perfume ad with the fragrance meant to be selling something dreamy and alluring. (Y/N)'s skin warmed at the look. 

Breaking eye contact as she reached for her phone out of her bag, restless fingers adjusting her leg warmers as if there weren't supposed to be so many folds in the scrunched fabric. 

"I don't know, but definitely not work," she attempted to tease, hoping her words came off as unbothered as she wished she was. It was an inside joke of their's, something (Y/N) pointed out when they had spent a few nights in a row with Harry shamelessly texting her into the late hours of the night. 

"Definitely not," he played along, grin stretching his raspberry lips as he finally pulled away from the curb. Heading out of her complex, he peeked at her from the corner of his eye. "I meant to text you before I left m'place, but did you want to stop at Coco's on the way?" 

(Y/N) lit up at the mention of her favorite cafe, the warm tension that had squeezed her stomach leaving her in an instant. Her mind was now filled with the cafe's specialty matcha menu—including their year round raspberry cold foam topper. 

"You already know what I'm going to say." 

Harry let out a laugh at her words, already taking the turn to set them in the direction of Coco's. "Jus' thought I'd ask before I started driving you all over town when 'm supposed to be taking y'to work." 

Laying her head against the rest, (Y/N) traced her eyes over the lines of his profile with what she was sure was plain affection swimming in her features. He had such a nice nose. 

"I wouldn't have questioned it," she admitted, settling in as she watched him, "Did your morning get any better?" 

He sighed as his hands flexed around the wheel. Earlier in the day, Harry had told her he was visiting one of his galleries a little further out of town only to walk into one of their featured artists crying as one of their paintings was sold off to a collector. A painting that they had already made money on when selling it to Harry's gallery, and would be earning a portion of commission on from this sale. It was the kind of situation that wasn't written about in business manuals or HR policy books. 

"'M talking to an HR rep to see if there's anything we can do contract-wise about getting involved in any sales, or if they just won't be a features artist anymore. I felt bad, but there's nothing I can do once the paperwork is signed." 

(Y/N) rolled her lips between her teeth. She didn't envy him in the slightest. "Did they say anything after they stopped crying?" 

"They didn't. Stop crying, I mean." 

Picturing a clean, modern art gallery with glamorous canvases hung on the walls, a patron eagerly admiring their new buy while someone stood sobbing was... hard at the least. All while Harry was supposedly looking on, attempting to diffuse a situation he wouldn't have even had to deal with had he stayed within the confines of the city that morning. It wasn't funny exactly—it wasn't funny that someone was crying over a piece of their work—but it felt like something out of a silly movie. The more dramatic she pictured it, the more comical the moment felt. 

Stifling her growing amusement, (Y/N) covered her mouth. "That's so sad. I hope they're okay." 

Another peek at her from the corner of his eye. "Y'can laugh—'m sure 's even more uncomfortable than what you're picturing. 'S alright." 

"I feel so bad, though," (Y/N) insisted though she couldn't quite hold back the airy giggle that escaped her. "That's so sad." 

"Don't feel too bad," Harry countered, pulling up to one of the few street parking spots in front of Coco's, "From what I hear, after I left they went after the collector and tried to get him to give it back. By yelling. In the street." 

"Oh!" she bubbled, allowing a wave of laughter to take her this time. Drama in the art community—who would have seen it coming? "That's not quite right."

"Exactly," he mused, moving to unbuckle his seatbelt while eyeing the short line through the flossy front windows of the cafe. "Jus' want your usual?" 

"That's what I was thinking," she answered, plucking her wallet out of her tote bag, "Hopefully they still have some raspberry—" 

"Y'don't have to go in if y'don't want," he cut her off before she could reach for her own buckle. "It looks a little busy inside."

She followed his line of sight and did see a handful of people waiting for their drinks with a line of three deep waiting to order. It wasn't super busy, but it was definitely a bit more than she'd like to deal with right now in her warm up leotard. 

"Are you sure?" she pressed, slipping her card from her wallet.

Harry decisively nodded his head. "I think I remember your order, so I should be alright." 

(Y/N) tipped her head, hand stalling with her card. "You do?" 

As far as she remembered, she only texted it to him once almost a week ago when she had mentioned this cafe in the first place. And it was really just a one a.m. babble about how more places should offer raspberry cold foam. 

"Iced matcha with oat milk with vanilla and as much raspberry cold foam as they'll let you get away with. Light ice, too, so it doesn't get all caught up on the lid when you're trying to drink." 

He said it without a shred of doubt. He didn't think he remembered her order—he definitely remembered. 

"That's it," she said, a breathy laugh filling the air between them. Blinking herself out of her head and the implications she was spinning, she offered her card out to him. "Just tip whatever you want." 

Harry barely glanced at her offering before a small pinch formed between his brows. "I've got you, don't worry." 

"No, Harry," she insisted, "Just take it, you're already driving me." 

"'M alright," he dismissed, moving towards his door. "Lock everything while 'm gone, I'll keep it running for you." 

"Harry, reall—" 

He was already rounding the bonnet of his car before she could even finish her words. 

She really wanted to be offended. He shouldn't dismiss her offer of paying for herself, especially when she was in the middle of her debate. She was a working woman in a big city who could take care of herself just fine. She didn't need Harry to buy her little drink before she went on stage as the prima ballerina of Swan Lake. 

But it sure felt nice. 

He didn't even entertain the idea, dismissing it wordlessly. He already decided he was taking care of it all when he offered the detour, she figured. All after he had read off her order as if from memory and not a throwaway text sent in the middle of the night. 

She attempted to bite back her smile as she slid her card away. 

—————

"Jeez, since when was this supposed to be happening?" 

Harry's muttered huff carried over the quiet radio as he made a second U-turn to head back towards the theater. The car park outside the stage door was already small enough, but with a section of it being corded off by a slew of construction vehicles—despite the work being performed on a neighboring building. All that was left was street parking for the time being. At least until five p.m.

Nonetheless, Harry parked his car off in one of the slim street parking spots and started calculating what time he would have to come out and move it to avoid getting towed. 

"Sorry," (Y/N) said, a frown on her lips, "If I had known this was going on, I wouldn't have made you drive me." 

"'S not your fault," he waved off, peering out his window with a stern brow to look for any oncoming cars before pushing his door open, "Ready?" 

"Oh yeah, sorry," she scrambled to grab her tote and her slick iced matcha. 

She caught up to him while digging through her bag for her phone, hoping there was some kind of message from any of the others about what to expect with the construction crew outside. From her periphery, she thought she was catching up to Harry and following his cue as he crossed the street.

Until an arm shot out across her chest before she could step onto the asphalt. (Y/N) jumped back, finally looking up from her bag to see Harry looking down the road with his jaw set in a harsh line.

"Hold on," Harry murmured, corralling her closer to him as a car went barreling past. 

"Oh," she sounded, looking up at him and the way he practically scowled at the car even as it grew smaller in the distance. "Thanks." 

It was so silly, so bottom of the barrel, completely bare-minimum, but there was something about him grabbing her like that to keep her from walking into the street like that. He didn't shout or push, just quietly pulled her to his side. 

Very dreamy, Siobhan would say. Very, very dreamy, (Y/N) agreed.

"Yeah," he said, still looking rather irritated as she blinked up at him, "People need to be more careful. He didn't even look at us." 

"Right," (Y/N) nodded, hyperaware of the way his arm slid around her until his hand was wrapped around her wrist. 

There was a moment, standing where they were on the pavement for a beat, where his hand stayed right where it was. She wasn't sure if he could see her from the corner of his eye with the way he was carefully patrolling the street in front of them. But she still moved her hand that much, shaking off his own until she was lacing their fingers together. 

Harry's only noticeable reaction came in the form of a flutter of his lashes and a soft flush touching his cheeks. 

He didn't speak again as he walked with her, their hands laced together between them, towards the stage door. He made a point to keep his eyes ahead, all while (Y/N) happily followed with the straw of her matcha tucked between her lips. She couldn't help her smile, especially not when he squeezed her hand as they passed the construction crew on break. He kept her particularly close after that. 

"Do you want to come in with me?" (Y/N) asked as they approached the stage door, hands still laced together. 

"I've got to track down Ariel," he sighed, already peering around to the front office area, the space she spent most of her time prior to showtime. "I'll see y'after, though, yeah?" 

"Yeah," (Y/N) nodded, already looking forward to whatever bouquet of flowers he would surprise her with. Especially since she didn't spot even a single petal on the way here—how he would get a new bouquet between now and showtime, she wasn't sure but she looked forward to the reveal nonetheless. "See you later, Harry." 

"What was that word?" Harry mused, cutting himself off just as his eyes lit up, "Merde!" 

(Y/N) let out a boisterous laugh at the pronunciation she had vaguely taught him through voice notes a few days prior. How he'd been a part of the arts for this long and hadn't heard of the French slang for good luck, (Y/N) couldn't believe it. She did have a fun time teaching him, though. 

"Thank you," she beamed, "I didn't think you'd remember—we talked about that at like four in the morning on a Wednesday." 

Harry only shrugged, a bashful smile on his lips as he dropped his gaze to their twined hands. "I've got a good memory." 

It was the way he looked at her through his lashes, the squeeze of his hand around hers, that carried with her even after they said goodbye and Harry waited for her to be safely tucked behind the stage door before going off in his own direction. Not even placing the straw to her matcha between her lips was enough to keep a smile from blooming across her features. 

"Hey," Lydia chirped, slowing down her bustling as she caught sight of (Y/N). Her gaze turned suspicious as she took in the light glowing through her expression. "What's got you all happy?" 

"Nothing," (Y/N) shook off, starting towards her dressing room on light feet. "Just excited for the show." 

"That's good," Lydia mused, clearly not believing (Y/N)'s words. "Good matcha at least? From Coco's?" 

"Oh yeah. No where else to get the right cherry foam that doesn't taste like cough syrup." 

Lydia fell into step with (Y/N) as they traipsed through the backstage area. "I thought you weren't going there for a while since you’re broke?" 

(Y/N) laughed at her words, remembering the exact day she had made the declaration after looking at her bank account after a night out. "Well, I didn't pay for this one so it doesn't count." 

"Oh?" Lydia trained her surprised gaze right on (Y/N)'s giddy smile. A slight narrow thinned her eyes. 

There was a part of (Y/N) that knew better than to start blabbing about Harry to each of the dancers. She'd seen first hand just how quickly news traveled amongst the cast—as well as just how long a rumor could linger within the company and be spread as fact.

But, (Y/N) knew she had nothing to be ashamed about. She knew the truth about Harry and the messy past he held. It wasn't so bad if the girls knew, she thought. If anything, maybe if the rest of the company could see there wasn't anything to be scared of when it came to Harry, it would lessen the claws that had hooked into him years ago. 

"Harry got it for me." 

As expected, Lydia's eyes widened, brows shooting halfway up her forehead. "Oh. I didn't know he was here already." 

"He drove me today actually." 

Lydia paused. "Is your car acting up again?" 

"No," (Y/N) chirped, stepping carefully over a set piece. "He just offered to pick me up today since we were going to the same place anyway." 

"Oh," Lydia parroted, the gears beginning to turn in her head as she shot (Y/N) a pointed look once they were outside of the dressing room door. "Are you guys... together? I know he's been around a lot more, but..." 

(Y/N) shrugged, absently taking a sip of her matcha, "I wouldn't say that. We are friends, though. He helped take care of me that weekend when I was sick." 

This seemed to be more than Lydia had hoped for when she started this line of questioning. (Y/N) caught the way she peered around them, spotting the stage hands on the other side of the stage before training her gaze pointedly on (Y/N).

"Is everything... okay? Are you okay?" 

(Y/N) blinked. She had counted on this being one of the questions, though that didn't really ease her any. "I'm fine—really. It's not really my story to tell," she started, lowering her voice, "but you guys do need to know you're wrong about Harry—about all of the rumors. I don't blame anyone for worrying or anything, but I promise you it's not at all like what people were saying. I really am okay." Lydia scanned her eyes down (Y/N)'s form as if to corroborate her story. (Y/N) tried her best not to be offended. "I just want you guys to give him a chance," (Y/N) pressed onward, "He's incredibly kind and very forgiving given the circumstances around here. It's really okay." 

Lydia rolled her lips between her teeth, dropping her gaze to the floor between them. A beat passed before she perked up again. "You understand how I feel too, though, right? How we all feel? Being nervous for you and everything." 

"Of course," (Y/N) chirped, a soft smile on her lips, "You just have to trust that I'm telling you the truth." 

"I do," Lydia immediately answered, nodding her head as if to self assure her words, "He has been really nice when he's hung around. I'll back off a little—sorry." 

"It's okay. That's all I'm asking," (Y/N) smiled, collecting her friend into a short hug before backing towards her dressing room. "Warm ups at four, right?" 

Lydia, eyes finally free of that lingering doubt, nodded her head. "Right." 

Sealing herself away with her matcha and tote bag in her dressing room, (Y/N) could only assume that her words would be spreading through the company soon enough. There would be a few messages from Siobhan and Kingston most likely, but she hoped this would only ease things for Harry. Even if a few less suspicious eyes landed on him, that would be enough, she thought. If only Lydia came out of this believing that (Y/N) knew better about these rumors, she'd take it. 

Anything to make things easier for Harry. Anything she could do for him.

—————

With Kingston holding her hand, (Y/N) was guided offstage as the raucous applause from the audience died down. The curtain had closed, leaving only a gauzy projection of the Swan Lake title card on the velvet. 

Another successful show. A breath of relief deflated (Y/N)'s chest. 

With each step they hustled back stage, stray flower petals fell from the fluff of her skirt, creating a trail that followed her through the set pieces. Kaleb—in full monster Rothbart regalia—followed behind them, decidedly less out of breath since getting to spend the final moments of the show pretending to be dead behind a cliff. With her own breathing finally regulating and the sound of the crowd outside waning, she turned to Kingston. 

"I'm so sorry I kicked you—I didn't think I was that close," she bubbled off, sure he could still feel the weight of her pointe shoe kicking at his shin during a twirl as the black swan. 

"You kicked me?" he questioned, blinking owlishly at her.

(Y/N) laughed, familiar with the game he was playing. "Stop it, I know you felt it. Do you think anyone else noticed?" 

"Maybe the tears in my eyes, but I'm sure they think I was just really into the story." 

"Stop," (Y/N) laughed again, collecting Kingston into a hug. "I really am sorry. I hope it doesn't bruise too bad." 

"It wasn't that bad," Kingston reassured her, dropping his playful act as he pulled away from their hug, "I really didn't feel it, and I doubt anyone noticed." 

"Let me know if it hurt later, though," she pressed, "I have a bunch of that lotion so I can give you some if you need." 

"It's fine, (Y/N). Really." Kingston flitted his gaze over her shoulder, spotting something in the way of her dressing room. "Besides, I think you'd got more exciting things to worry about tonight anyway. Hi Harry!" 

(Y/N) couldn't help the way she perked up, whipping her head around to find Harry standing at her dressing room door. A large bouquet of roses was tucked in his hands, petals a delicate pink with velveteen leaves of lambs ear stuck in between. Though he was still just as reserved as usual as the cast began pouring back in, a grin unfurled on his lips when he caught her eye. Though, he, of course, still politely waved at Kingston, keeping from shouting across the space. 

"Oh," she sounded, glancing back at Kingston though it was hard to take her gaze off of Harry for long. "I should... Do you think he's waiting for me?" 

"No, the pink roses and the ribbon with little swans on it is for me. Duh." 

Another peal of laughter came from (Y/N) as she playfully pushed her Prince Siegfried. "Shut up. I'll see you tomorrow." 

"See you tomorrow, babe." 

Kingston sent her off with a push to her back, flower petals falling from her flowing skirt as she bounced over to her Harry. A few stage hands and members of her wedge of swans stopped her to congratulate her on another successful show or to bid her a goodnight, though she wasn't the only one catching attention by her dressing room.

More than one cast member or production aide stopped to say hello to Harry. One of the swans, hairpiece already slipped off with a makeup wipe clearing away the feathers painted on her skin, even stopped to compliment Harry on the flowers and ask him if he was going to be in house again for tomorrow's show. Even from where (Y/N) was standing, still working her way over expensive set pieces and bundles of cords and ropes and light fixtures, she could tell Harry was taken aback. She could only imagine the stuttering response he gave and the polite thank you that followed, though the flowers were all the florist's work. Because he was a modest guy. Kind to a fault. 

It'd been only a week—only two days in theater with two extra rehearsal days at the studio—since (Y/N) had confided in Lydia. Though, that seemed to be just enough time for everything to be spread around like she hoped. Even time for opinions to be shifted and minds to be opened. 

By the time she made it over, (Y/N) had also discarded her hairpiece and attempted to brush all of the petals from her skirt. 

"Hey," she smiled, reaching for the door to her dressing room, "How did you get back here so fast?" 

"I know the stage manager," he teased, following after her into the quiet of the green room. 

"Right," she laughed, taking a seat at her vanity to start unlacing her pointes. "It looks like you made a few friends out there." 

Harry shrugged though there was a distinct flush touching his cheeks. "I don't know. I think everyone jus' liked the flowers I got for you." 

"Those are for me?" she sang, batting her eyelashes at him in faux-innocence. 

His grin only widened as he passed them along, the parchment paper crinkling under her hands. "I jus' found them on the way in. Didn't know what to do with them, so y'can have them I guess," he teased despite the bright eyes that watched for her reaction.

Touching her nose to one of the buds, (Y/N) pulled in a deep breath. The velveteen floral scent of the roses, backed by the slightly sweet scent of apples from the lamb's ear. The furls were soft under her touch, the fuzz on the lamb's ear feeling like a peach. 

"They're really beautiful, Harry. Thank you." She beamed up at him as she delicately examined the arrangement. A card placed securely amongst the flowers brandished a familiar, rudimentary drawing of a swan. Almost identical to the one she had tucked away at her house. 

While she hadn't ever doubted that those first flowers came from Harry, especially as the show went on for weeks without a single person claiming them. But this, the little sketch with blocky lines, was the confirmation she needed to send her heart soaring out of this theater and up to the stars. 

"'M happy y'like them," he murmured, growing shy with his knuckle coming up to nudge at the tip of his nose. He cleared his throat, a blush on his cheeks even as he steered the conversation elsewhere, "Did Ariel want to meet with you tonight?" 

(Y/N) shook her head, admiring her flowers still. "Not tonight. We're close enough to the end of the run that I think she just wants us to have fun." 

"That's good," Harry insisted, "Y'can have an early night then." 

Right, (Y/N) thought. All she needed to do was get unready and Harry would take her home until she would see him again tomorrow for the next show. Something in that thought dampened (Y/N)'s mood, picturing herself with her bouquet of flowers alone in her apartment. She was on too much of a high to end her night like that. 

While she didn't necessarily have the energy for a night out, having some company for a night in didn't sound so bad. 

Blinking up at him, (Y/N) wished she knew what he saw on her face that had his pupils dilating and mouth puffing into a small gape. 

"Are you doing anything tonight, Harry?" 

—————

Harry gaped, brow furrowed with chopsticks hovering in the air, up at her television screen. (Y/N) couldn't see a scrape of comprehension as he took in the film playing before them. 

"This is the movie that made y'want to be a ballerina?" 

(Y/N) let out a peal of laughter, pausing in her own take down of a spring roll. "Yes! Is that so hard to believe?" 

She followed his gaze to the bright t.v. The lights in her apartment had been dimmed to give the ambiance of a movie theater despite the less-than-movie-theater kind of budgeting that went into the film playing for them. The animation was rudimentary, blocky and singular in the details of the characters. Nonetheless, (Y/N) still admired the colors and the fluidity of the movements. The voices and scenes were a comfort, taking her back to a time when the world was everything and anything she wanted it to be. 

Including a dream to be a ballerina in her own Swan Lake. Just like Barbie. 

"Is this a real movie? In theaters and everything?" Harry pressed, still determined to figure out how a children's movie starring Barbie set (Y/N) off in her dreams to pointe across the boards herself. 

(Y/N) canted her head, rolling his question around. "I don't think it was in theaters, no. I think it was straight to DVD or something. I had the Barbie to match." 

Harry made a small huh as he took in the beginning scenes of Odette's story. It wasn't too different from what she acted out every weekend, though there were definitely a few discrepancies. Especially when it came to some of the child animals. And Rothbart's daughter. And the unicorn. 

Barbie was an original, what could she say? 

Nonetheless, (Y/N) was not immune to the nostalgia she felt watching the story play out and the feeling in her chest when the music played. 

"Will you just watch it, please? I'm letting you in on a secret, you know," (Y/N) playfully chided, bumping her shoulder to Harry's. "It's good, I promise. It has a better ending than our's anyway." 

"We'll see," Harry countered, though (Y/N) was sure she already won with the way he looked at her with a small smile. 

Silence settled between them as the movie went on, only being interrupted by Harry when he laughed at the serious moments with bad animation. Even that couldn't keep (Y/N) from falling into the scenes playing out in front of her. She enjoyed it too much, remembering her days of rewinding Odette's transformation into a swan, the nights she would spend staying up too late to learn the dances before her parents would hear her stomping around and send her to bed. There had been plenty of throw blankets that had been makeshift gowns, the fabric tied around her waist with a voluminous train as she twirled and twirled in her bedroom. (Until her gown would get twisted around her legs and send her off balance anyway). 

This movie was the reason she spent an adolescent birthday at the ballet, where she saw the real story with real Barbies and ballerinas and swans on stage. This was where she began her journey to where she was now. 

On screen, Odette and her Siegfried (aptly named Daniel, as Ken didn't really look like a Siegfried here) danced along the shore of the lake, looked on by the creatures of the forest as they fell in love with every step. This had always been one of (Y/N)'s favorite moments of the movie—the central love story coming together over the most beautiful of soundtracks. 

With his chopsticks picking through the carton of rice in front of him, Harry nudged her gently. "We tell each other secrets now, right?" 

"Of course," she muttered, shooting him a small smile, "I just told you my favorite movie is a Barbie movie from 2003, so we better be sharing secrets. I feel an uneven balance of embarrassment right now." 

Harry dropped his head, a lopsided smile on his lips as he looks to the grains of rice he was pushing around with his chopsticks. "'S—uh—... I know Kingston isn't interested—would never be—and I've gotten better about it since the show started running, but 's hard not to be a little... jealous when you're dancing up there with him."

It took less than a second for (Y/N) to hear his words, a moment to comprehend and register the meaning, but far longer to react. All she could feel was the flutter in her chest, the squeeze of her lungs. Her stomach even hurt with the way it was immediately full with something so warm and floaty and full. 

Jealous. Harry was jealous. Jealous of Kingston, who was not shy about his sexuality and how it very ardently did not include women. All because Kingston had the role of playing her love interest and got to dance with her. 

All because Kingston got to be close to her. 

Attempting to not look as giddy as she felt, (Y/N) absently poked at the last spring roll on her Styrofoam box. "Really?" 

Harry shot her a look from the corner of his eyes, the apples of his cheeks going pink in the limited light from the movie. "Yeah," he mumbled, "'S not serious or anything, but... yeah." 

"You know Kingston would never with me, right?" 

"I know, I know," Harry waved her off, forcing a short laugh out, "'S just—'M sure being up there with you... it's something special. 'S hard not to imagine... Nevermind." Cutting himself off, another short, airy laugh replaced Harry's voice as he shook his head. 

(Y/N) didn't know what she was feeling. How to describe the kind of energy coursing through her. She felt giddy and excited, eager to start an adventure that could last them all night. Though with all of that excitement, she felt knocked off balance. Butterflies bat at the chambers of her heart, but their wings anchored her to the ground instead of floating off into the sky. 

She just hoped, so badly, she wasn't reading this wrong. That Harry was saying what she thought he was. That he was confessing to a feeling she had wrapped up herself and put away for no one else to see. 

Forcing out a small laugh, she attempted to come off not nearly as giddy as she felt. Nudging his side, she dropped her gaze to his hands, too nervous to look at his face. "Ooh," she sang, a teasing sound that hid the tremor in her body, "You wanted to be close to me instead?" 

A single dimple dented Harry's pinked cheek as he looked at her. "You know that." 

She swallowed, mouth dry. "Do I?" 

Harry tipped his head, feigning thought as the movie scenes flashed across his face in strobes of pink and blue. "I guess I do give every dancer bouquets after every show, drive them around town, and text them all night long. I have been giving some mixed signals." 

A bubble of laughter burst out of (Y/N) then. Her skin warmed as he listed out all of these ways he'd been showing he cared for her. Wanted to be at her side. His teasing voice, the way he plays with her only made her that much more antsy sitting next to him. 

These moments—a confession of feelings, if that's what this was becoming—could be over Chinese takeaway and a childhood film. It could be with stray glitters stuck to her skin and fly away hairs that didn't quite have all of the gel brushed out. It could be with a bruised foot from the amount of fouettés she'd performed earlier in the night and Harry's placemat littered with stray grains of rice from the amount of times he lost control of his chopsticks. It could be with dried roses pinned to her walls and Tupperware she'd been meaning to return to the owner. 

"Maybe," she started, speaking through her smile, "you just have to be a little more clear." 

Harry looked at her then, lilypad green flecked with specks of warm gold. The space between their cushions suddenly seemed too big. Too wide for what she wanted. 

It was hard to tell with the way her thoughts tangled and diverged all at once, just who closed the distance first, but that didn't really matter when the end result came with her lips pressed to his. 

It was sweet and careful the way he pressed into her, the ridges of his mouth lining up with hers as if made to fit. Dinner was pushed to the side in favor of reaching for one another, chopsticks rolling to her rug. Harry held her steady with his hand on her cheek as he tipped his head just so, deepening their short kiss into something more languid. The tip of his nose glanced along her cheek, the touch eliciting a small smile on her puckered lips. 

Of course Harry felt it, pulling away just enough for the full of his mouth to still graze hers. His own lips upturned into a smile. "What?" 

"Nothing," (Y/N) giggled, reaching up to take his jaw in her hands, "Your nose just touched me—tickled." 

"Oh," he breathed, dotting a kiss to the corner of her mouth, "Sorry." 

"No, no," she shook off right away, chasing his mouth for another long kiss, "I like your nose." 

"Yeah? That's a new one." Her smile only widened when she watched him cross his eyes, scrunching his nose.

Tipping his head with her hands on his jaw, (Y/N) pressed a kiss to the tip of his scrunched nose. "It's a pretty nose." 

Harry didn't respond with words, only pulling her back to his mouth. Their lips slotted together with her bottom one between his two. It was sweet and new, both of them feeling out what the other liked with tips of their head and presses of their mouths. It'd been a while since she had a first kiss, but she didn't remember the learning phase ever being this thrilling. 

His stubble prickled under her hands as he pressed into her mouth that much more, feeling the give her lips underneath. The way his jaw worked as he kissed at her bottom lip, a slight draw of his tongue running along the pillow. There was nothing urgent about the way he tested the waters, tasting her kiss. Just the want to know her, to feel her, the way she was eager to know him. 

Harry was the first to draw back as the ending credits of the movie started playing. The flashes of white across the black screen shone over their features, glancing over the light in his eyes and the shine covering his mouth. The very tip of his nose now sported a stray fleck of glitter, no doubt caught from grazing her cheek. 

A bright smile bloomed across her lips. 

"What?" Harry asked again, the pad of his thumb running along her soft undereye. 

(Y/N) swiped at the glitter, removing the fleck from his skin. "Nothing. I just like your nose." 

He kissed her again. 

—————

     27 shows done, only 3 to go! Merde everyone! 

(Y/N) smiled at the mass text that was sent to the whole company from Ms. Ariel. This was the last week of the ten week run that their Swan Lake production had done, with only three more shows standing for the weekend. 

While this was now (Y/N)'s fifth production with the company, this final set felt so much more significant. Not only because she was the prima and would be retiring Odette after this Saturday night, but with everything she'd learned these last ten weeks. Not even including the months they spent rehearsing and preparing for the show in the first place.

She had been deemed principal worthy with this role. She had given the performance of a lifetime, enough so that people noticed and wrote articles. The success of the show was something she'd never seen coming. While she was no Misty Copeland, there were people who knew who she was and had come to the theater to see her dance. There were articles written praising the way she embodied her dream. It was a hard thing to let go of.

But, there was always Harry, she thought. Harry who was the reason her apartment was full of bouquets—both dried and fresh. Little cards congratulating her, singing her praises, or boasting an unskilled sketch were filling a drawer in vanity. Evidence of him came in the form of her Netflix history now being an amalgamation of their tastes thrown together. While she knew where her car keys were, there was no reason to look for them half the time when Harry was already waiting for her downstairs, ready to take her wherever she needed to go and make a day out of it. She no longer stuffed the feelings away when she was reviewing a manuscript and the male love interest's features suddenly resembled Harry in every way. 

Even the times at the theater before and after shows had shifted some. The thin ice Harry had been skating on when it came to the dancers and crew had melted away, leaving him on solid ground. While no one had made it as close to him as (Y/N), there were still more than a handful of dancers and crew members that no longer cringed or whispered when Harry came into the room. Instead, (Y/N) was proud to hear the greetings he would get, small talk always being extended to him even if he still grew bashful under the attention. 

Harry wasn't afraid to walk into the theater or studio with his hand wrapped in hers. The grand bouquets were always handed to (Y/N) with dancers coming by to praise the fragrance or the arrangement of colors. He didn't worry about anyone seeing her duck into his car after the night had ended. Things had brightened for him here. 

(Y/N) may be letting go of Odette, but she would always have this Harry. 

A service had been done to her that she had never seen coming. Only three shows left. 

—————

(Y/N)'s hand absently worried the strap of her tote bag hanging from her shoulder. She could feel the thread she was picking at beginning to loosen, and she knew she needed to stop. But if she stopped, she wouldn't have anything to concentrate on to keep her from crying. 

Ms. Ariel was standing in front of the company with the director, orchestra conductor, and the department heads as they gave their final night speeches. Even Harry was up there shadowed in the back, the face for all of the patrons that helped put the show on this season. 

It was something that happened every season as each run came to a close. (Y/N) had cried before their last show on her first production (a rendition of Magic Mirror with distinct Snow White elements. She had been a bunny), but she'd been able to be put together in the productions that followed. 

Until tonight. 

It hadn't felt real until she and the rest of the company were herded into the front of the house and sat in rows the same way they had been during their final meeting right before rehearsals had started for Swan Lake. Now, here they were with their send off for the season. Odette's final night on the boards. 

Siobhan reached over the arm rest and patted (Y/N)'s leg, a sympathetic smile on her face with her own eyes glossed with tears. (Y/N) couldn't look at her if she wanted to keep it together for a moment longer. 

Once the director took his step back, Ms. Ariel took the center stage. 

"I know we all have to start getting ready, so I won't keep any of you too much longer. Just know that this has been a bigger success than any of us had seen coming—all thanks to all of you. Without your help and hard work and love for the show, we wouldn't have made it so flawlessly through these ten weeks. This has been a one to remember and one that will set us up to be remembered. Merde!" 

A round of applause sounded through the theater as the cast and crew stood from their spots. Before long, as expected, a huddle formed in the main aisle. As with the end of every production, there was always a big group hug orchestrated right before everyone would scatter to put on the show for the last time. 

(Y/N) was readily pulled right in by the rest of the swans and Kingston, unable to keep her tears in this time. If anyone noticed as they all huddled in, no one said anything. Words of congratulations and gratitude were shared among the moving pieces that made the show possible, the murmurs roiling into a quiet purr in the middle of the theater. (Y/N), arms around Siobhan and Kingston, squeezed them tight. She could't wait to see who she was at the end of the next production.

Soon enough, Ms. Ariel dismissed everyone with the reminder that there was still work to be done. All of the fonding and celebrating was to be scheduled later tonight. 

—————

Patting a tissue under her eyes, (Y/N) could only halfway concentrate on catching the tear before it had a chance to ruin her makeup. The other half of her concentration was being spent on the next tear that was working its way out of her other eye. 

It'd been like this off and on since she started warm ups, this roller coaster of emotion following her through her hair and makeup, into costuming, and now when she typically flitted about the backstage area and chatted with her colleagues to keep her nerves down before the show. Instead, she was spending her final night as Odette hoping against all odds that no one would be able to spot the tear tracks in her makeup. 

A gentle knock came to the door of her dressing room. 

Swallowing around her dry throat, (Y/N) quickly patted around her eyes once more with a sniffle of her nose before calling out, "Come in!" 

Instead of Ms. Ariel or Kingston being unveiled behind the door, Harry stepped in. He was clad in one of his signature suits, the creamy sage color tailored to the contours of his frame with a black button down stitched underneath. The hue made his eyes impossibly brighter as they landed on her, a look of sympathy landing on his features. 

"Y'alright?" 

That was all it took before she was tearing up once more, voice thin. "Yeah, j-just excited." 

"Oh, love," Harry crooned, passing the room to her vanity in quick strides. Before even her first tear fell, he had her gathered in his arms. "I know," he murmured into her slicked back hair, "I know." 

"I don't know why I'm so emotional," (Y/N) blabbered, doing her best to keep her face angled just right so she didn't blink away her mascara. 

Harry only squeezed her tighter. "This show meant a lot to you, that's okay. You're allowed to be sad 's over." 

"But," she breathed, taking a moment as her voice shook, "But, it's not like I'm not going to be in more shows. I-I just feel silly." 

"I wouldn't," Harry said, pulling away from her to get his eyes on her own, "This was big, and y'did so amazing. I don't think any of our shows have ever been so positively reviewed until you. You're going to have more opportunities like this, but that doesn't mean y'can't be sad that this one is over. 'M going to miss this too, you know." 

"Really?" she sniffled. 

"Oh yeah," Harry smiled, thumbing at a tear under her eye, "Y'made this one of m'all time favorites, love. 'M going to miss seeing y'be the best swan ever up there, but I know this isn't going to be your last time as the prima."

"I hope not," (Y/N) laughed, the sound watery and thin. 

"'M far from the only person so impressed by you. You'll have more moments like this, (Y/N). But 's okay to be sad that this one is over." 

(Y/N)'s bottom lip wobbled, another round of tears collecting in her waterline. "Thank you, H."

A small smile graced his features before he pulled her in for another hug. "I've got you, love. Always." 

She didn't let him go until they heard the first notes of the prologue on stage. 

—————

Lifted over Kingston's head, (Y/N) let her tears freely fall as Odette. A blissful afterlife with her Prince laid before her while all of her cursed swans were left to freely roam in their original forms. 

Tonight, these crystalline tears had little to do with the love bursting from Odette and much more to do with the gratitude in (Y/N). She would never have another night exactly like this again, with these exact people and this exact audience. She couldn't keep her eyes from sweeping across every face every time she twirled out. 

Though it was hard to keep from falling into the pattern of looking right up on the balcony. Right where Harry sat, his own eyes glossy as he gazed down at her so adoringly. 

With her arms raised around her, (Y/N) floated like a swan over the boards, a beaming smile on her lips with her eyes fluttered to a close. 

—————

Still in her bow, the curtains dropped over the entire ensemble gathered on stage. Ms. Ariel and the other department heads still had their bundles of flowers clutched to their chests—all gifted by the cast and crew—even when the only stage light could be seen peering under the hem of the heavy velvet curtain. 

The final set piece for the story—the glade with which a finally human Odette and Siegfried danced together for a blissful eternity—was frozen in time around the. Stray flecks of faux-snow and glitter from the costumes littered the boards, all complimented by stray feathers scattered about. Flowers still littered the stage that had been thrown at their feet. The limited light from under the curtain bounced across the final moments of this set's life. 

Another set of tears touched (Y/N)'s eyes, tears she saw mirrored in Kingston's gaze when he looked down at her. A bright smile took over his features before he pulled her in for a hug. It wasn't long before the rest of the cast and crew were there in the huddle with her. This group huddle felt tighter and warmer than the pre-show snuggle, leaving (Y/N) to feel every bit of the drop now that she was leaving the stage as Odette for the last time. 

(Y/N) could have stood there for hours before Ms. Ariel, her voice coming from somewhere in the crowd, reminded everyone of the group reservations that were made for later in the night. A post production celebration that occurred after every wrapped run, though this one felt particularly special for (Y/N). 

At that, the group scattered, dancers moving to change out of costumes and crew working to break down the sets. (Y/N) and the swans stayed in their costumes as long as they could, flitting about to help take down the glade and stack away the rest of the pieces until a new home could be found. Flower petals and feathers followed their steps, flecks of glitter marking who had helped where until the stage was back to a base of brown boards with bare bones behind the curtains. The audience had long since gone home by the time (Y/N) made her way to her dressing room, deigning herself to shed her Odette costume at last. 

Sitting at her vanity, she spotted Odile's tutu hanging on the rack behind her. The black jewels gleamed. around the onyx feathers, sending shadowy rainbows over the long tulle skirt of the human Odette dress. Her toes went numb just looking at the black pointes strung up next to Odile.

(Y/N) was going to miss her, too.

The last look at swan Odette came in the form of the costume being strung up on the padded satin hanger, laid against the plain wood of the dressing room door. The tutu sparkled even under the low lights, matching the stray shimmer that stuck to (Y/N)'s skin. She hoped she would have a hard time ridding herself of the sheen. 

A knock came on her door, jostling her costume. The tutu flounced at the contact, a small smile drawing on (Y/N)'s features at the sight. Just like when she twirled and jumped. 

"Yes?" she called, pulling Odette off of the small hook embedded on the door.

As expected, Harry was unveiled as he pushed open the door, a shy smile on his lips. "Doing alright?" 

"Yeah," (Y/N) chirped, her own features twisting into a smile. "I'm not crying anymore, if that's what you were wondering." 

Harry cooed at her, his smile turning upside down into a sympathetic frown. "Love, that's making me sad. Don't say that." 

"I'm sorry," she laughed, bagging up the outfits just as the costume department requested, "But it's true. I think I'm all done, though. I'm going to miss it but at least I have all the videos and things to look back on. Maybe in a couple of years I'll try to convince Ms. Ariel to do the show again." 

"I don't think that'll be very hard," Harry mused, holding out his hand as she approached him. "Do we need to take those anywhere?" he asked, jerking his chin towards her costume rack. 

(Y/N) shook her head, looking forlornly towards the covered outfits. "Lea said we could leave them wherever tonight." 

Lacing his fingers with hers, he matched her gaze with his lilypad eyes. "Did y'want to get out of here, or do y'want to take one last look around before?" 

Brightening at the suggestion, (Y/N) peered around him out to the empty backstage. "Are we allowed to do that?" 

He shrugged, "I have a key." 

As if that proved anything, (Y/N) thought. Nonetheless, she eagerly nodded at his idea. 

With their hands twined, Harry carefully guided her over the stray set pieces stacked on top of one another, ropes and cords and light fixtures being avoided as well. Until they were stepping out on stage. 

The house lights were still on, leaving the rows and rows of seats exposed. All empty. Though it appeared someone tried to clean up the stage, there were still lone feathers and flakes of fake snow stuck in the grooves of the wood. 

Without the sets, the stage didn't look all that important. Without her costume and the watchful eyes of her audience, there was the facet of being the prima (Y/N) no longer had. 

But that feeling in her chest hadn't changed. It wasn't hard to call forth those memories in her tutu with admirers watching every lithe move of her body and strong push of her legs. It felt wonderful—full of wonder, to be specific.

"So this is what y'see every night," Harry mused at her side, gaze cast far out to the back of the theater. "How do y'do it?" 

(Y/N) hummed, bright smile on her lips. "I usually just kind of focus up there. It makes it a lot easier." 

Pointing to a specific balcony, (Y/N) waited as Harry followed the line of her hand. It didn't take long before pink was staining his cheeks and the tops of his ears, a bashful smile on his lips. 

"Every night?" 

"Every night." 

She wondered if Harry was realizing just how many faces she saw each evening while spinning and twirling on her toes. How easy it would have been to pick a new one each time to focus on, beam her smile or direct her frown to. Instead, she always came back to him. Even before their time together became something tangible. 

Using her grip on his hand, (Y/N) tugged her towards him, growing antsy under the silence after her small confession. "Come here. Dance with me." Harry blanched at her request, earning a bubbling giggle from her. "You've seen the show enough to know the dance," she pressed, already hooking his hand over her ribs the way Kingston did earlier in the night. 

"I don't know, (Y/N)" he countered though he didn't stop her from moving his hand wherever she wanted, "We don't even have the music. We'll lose count." 

"I'll hum it for you, it's fine." When he didn't look particularly convinced, she fluttered her lashes up at him. "You said you wanted to be Kingston sometimes, right? Here's your chance." 

Unsurprisingly, Harry blushed at her poking, though it did seem to work with the way he solidified his grip on her. "Um, is this before or after y'jump off the cliff?" he murmured once (Y/N) hummed the promised song. 

"After," (Y/N) laughed, dropping her hands to his shoulders, "This is the epilogue." 

Despite the small panic that was brewing in his eyes, Harry did let a small smile slip. "I do like the epilogue." 

"Really?" she asked, leading them in rudimentary steps that had them spinning in a slow circle. Without pointes, some of the moves would be impossible, but hopefully Harry wouldn't mind the difference. 

He nodded. "Y'look the happiest then." 

(Y/N) held that thought with her as she let her features mold into a grin. Harry allowed her to lead them as they moved across the boards in clunky steps. It was far from the scene critics raved about, but it may be (Y/N)'s favorite rendition she'd ever been a part of. 

Harry held her close, keeping her steady as she got ambitious and split her leg up high behind her. The form was wobbly through her sneakers, but he still looked at her in awe as she barely twirled. 

"Ready for a big one?" she asked, twirling back into his chest. 

"What big one?" 

"The lift, remember?" (Y/N) could only laugh when the color seemingly drained from his face. "It'll be fine, just hold me." 

Though he needed a bit of instruction on where exactly to hold her—tight around her waist, high enough that he could feel her ribs under his palms—he did as instructed without a qualm. On a three count, Harry lifted her over his head, leaving her to do as Odette with her legs extended into a split. It lacked a bit of the drama that the fluttering skirt reserved for Odette's afterlife had, but it worked fine enough in her tights. 

She continued to hum the song for Harry, even when she peeked down at him, only to find him looking up at her so adoringly. She hadn't been aloft for very long before Harry was carefully lowering her to him once more. Her body brushed along his with the slow movement, the thin cover of his black button up doing little to hide the ridges of muscles that blocked his abdomen. The strength in his hands, muscles corded up his arms and strapping across his shoulders kept her steady, even as she wrapped her legs around his hips once she was level with him. He didn't stop her as the soft of her thighs closed around his middle, ankles crossed at his back. He only pulsed his hands around her waist, the green of his eyes deep enough to suck her in when she dared to meet them

The song died in (Y/N)'s throat. This was a different number, one not performed on the stage for others to see. One that she didn't perform with Kingston—not with the way her breath grew a bit more shallow. 

Her hands on his shoulder shifted until they were coasting up the sides of his throat, thumbs touching the hinge of his jaw. Harry's own hands moved until he formed a bar with his forearm across her back and another hand rounded under her thighs. She didn't direct him into any other moves despite the both of them knowing this was far from the production's choreography.

Harry's throat bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze dropping from hers only to land on her lips.

Surging forward, (Y/N) had a stray thought hoping that he didn't mind the taste of her stage lipstick. If she had known this was how she was going to spend the prelude to dinner, she may have actually wiped her makeup off. Though she didn't let that stop her from letting Harry suck her bottom lip between his two, getting a taste of her mouth. 

There was something more urgent to this contact that hadn't been there the other times they'd locked lips. Harry pushed that much harder, pressing into her lips as if wishing to leave his indent. He didn't care when the tip of his nose smushed into her cheek or grazed the bridge of his own when he canted his head just right. Puffs of breath fanned between them the few seconds they broke apart. Moving distractedly, (Y/N) ran her fingers through the waves of hair framing his face, pushing back the baby hairs that tickled her skin. 

Without thinking, she curled her fingers in the strands, pieces getting caught in the fray until a light tug was delivered to the roots. A low, rumbling moan escaped Harry, dripping over her mouth. 

(Y/N) sucked in a breath at the sound, thighs pulsing around his middle. Had he always done that when she ran her fingers through his hair? Or was this new? 

Before much more jumbled contemplation could occur, Harry pulled away. His typically pink cheeks were branded a warm red, lips swollen and spit slicked. He loosened his hold on her, signaling her to land safely on the floor. 

"We—um—we should get with the others," he said, the suggestion coming out uncertain. 

She lagged in response. Dinner was quite possibly last in line of her needs at the moment. Though this prioritized need was new—added to the list only within the last handful of minutes as she felt the stretch of his body against her own—it felt terribly important compared to everything else. 

Nonetheless, (Y/N) nodded her head, knowing they both had a responsibility to show face at this dinner. 

"Right," (Y/N) muttered, sounding just as unconvinced as he was, "Right." 

Harry's hand stayed tight in hers as he escorted her out to his car. 

—————

"Ms. Ariel, can we do Midsummer's Night Dream for the summer production?!" 

Kingston's tipsy outburst had come after prodding from many of the swans, who were also on the same level as him if the empty drink glasses were anything to go off of. (Y/N) watched in amusement as Ms. Ariel peered down her nose over to where Kingston was standing up from their table. 

"Maybe." 

(Y/N) was sure that when Kingston groaned and fell back into his chair, laughter from the dancers around him erupting, that this had been just the reaction Ms. Ariel had been going for. As stoic as she could be, she had a had time biting back her smile with her own margarita half drunk in front of her. 

"Is that the third time he's asked for a different show?" Harry murmured into (Y/N)'s ear, too quiet for the rest of the guests at the table to hear. 

"The fourth," she corrected, turning until her lips were level with his ear, "I'm pretty sure we are doing Midsummer's Night Dream though. She has to be messing with him."

Harry let out a soft laugh at her whispers. "'M sure of it." 

Leaning back in her chair, she watched the rest of the show move on around them. She and Harry had been the last to arrive to the dinner reservations, leaving them to catch up to the room that was already buzzing with post-show energy. Gone were the weeping and tear tracks, now was the time for speculating about the future and raving about the time had on and off stage during the Swan Lake  run. 

Once butting into their saved chairs with the rest of the swan wedge and Kingston, (Y/N) had soaked it all in, feeling a sense of deja vu to a night so similar to this ten weeks ago. Though this time, she was much more sober and Harry hadn't had to be dragged to her side. Instead, she had stuck right with her the whole night, keeping a hand on her knee even as he was pulled into different conversations with members of the cast and crew. 

Despite her mind being tugged into the memory of whatever it was that had threaded between them on stage at the theater, this was a welcome distraction. This was all (Y/N) had hoped for when she started sprinkling in her defenses of Harry to the company: for him to be given a chance. Though the taxes of being a social butterfly came with more effort than she was sure he had planned on expending tonight. 

While everyone was fixed on the game being planned between Kingston and Ms. Ariel, (Y/N) leaned across Harry to reach for the glass of wine they had agreed to share for the evening. She pressed her lips to the rim where her lipstick mark—though faint given the fact much of it had been rubbed off not too long ago—taking a sip with the weight of Harry's eyes on her. 

"Hm?" she hummed, bouncing her brows above her head as she caught Harry's gaze. 

With a blink of his dark lashes, Harry shook away the gloss that had formed over his eyes. "Nothing, sorry. How are you feeling?" 

His question came with a squeeze of his hand over her knee, the fabric of her sweats giving against the pad of his thumb. 

"Tired," she admitted, rolling her neck, "I think the last ten weeks are starting to set in a little." 

"Yeah?" he pressed, a furrow in his brow, "Anything hurt?" 

"Not yet, but that'll happen in the morning I'm sure." Nothing quite like finding immaculately colored bruises all over your feet after having the time of your life the night before. She would gladly be taking these next two weeks of break to soothe her limbs.

"Is there anything I can do to make it better?" Harry asked, mouth still in a frown though there was something brighter floating in his eyes as they scanned over her form. 

(Y/N) rolled her lips between her teeth. She had an idea, though it didn't necessarily have much to do with avoiding any aches in the morning. It would make her feel better though—possibly even ready her to see the day tomorrow. 

If he wanted to anyway. 

She had paused long enough that Harry flitted his gaze back up to her own. That brightness she had spotted looked a bit more like a warmth now that he wasn't shying away from her gaze—a smoldering burn behind the moss of his irises. 

"Did you have to go back home tonight?" she started with, a lilt to her voice as if she weren't leading into taking him home with her. 

Surely, he had to have felt the same way on the stage as she did. Right? Otherwise he wouldn't have kissed her the way he did, held her so tight against his body, dent the soft of her waist with his fingertips as if to keep him under her skin forever. 

Harry shrugged. "Not really. Why?" 

A soft smile curled her lips as she gazed at him, her lashes creating a frame around his face. "Did you want to come back to mine instead? We can watch some more movies." 

He let out a laugh at her movie suggestion, the activity growing into an excuse to get him in front of her television before she showed him a movie he'd never heard of from her childhood. 

This time it was him reaching for the wine glass, peering at her from the corner of his eye as he pressed the rim to his lips. Right over the print of her lipstick. He took down the rest of the alcohol, the last two gulps staining the center of his mouth a soft red. 

The sight mimicked the freshly kissed pout she had given him in the theater. 

"I think we could do that," he nodded, glancing at the time on his phone, "Ready to go now, or want to wait a little?" 

Casting her eyes around the room, (Y/N) could see the way everyone was still entrenched in the energy of a newly closed show. So many of the girls were still clad in their swan accessories, some with feathers still drawn in white paint across their cheeks. Even the backstage crew wasn't immune to the fun of the night, specks of glitter and fallen snow having clung to their clothing. The department heads and Ms. Ariel were even in their own eased bubble, different from what the start of the production run did to them. 

It was a perfect night. The right ending to one of the most memorable runs she was sure to ever have. 

And (Y/N) was ready to go home. 

She looked at Harry with a barely stifled grin. "I'm ready." 

—————

(Y/N) sighed as she ran her fingers through her hair. The damp strands were finally free of the layers of gel taming them away during her performance, and the tension headache she was getting had finally ceased. The warm water of her shower had done wonders to loosen her muscles and make her feel real again. 

Finishing with rubbing lotion into her hands, she left her bedroom to find harry just where she left him on her couch. On the television there was a movie playing, though it didn't seem he was paying much attention to any of the scenes. Instead he was wrapped up in a binder clipped bundle of pages splayed open in his lap. 

"Is that one of my manuscripts?" she asked, dumping her used towels and dirty clothes into her hamper. 

Harry, with a furrow in his brow and fist under his chin, nodded his head. "Yeah. This is the one y'were telling me about the other day?" 

"No, that was a different one. I just got that one this morning before I left." 

(Y/N) felt a bit restless as she watched him on her couch. It would be annoying in any other context, but him being sat there with his legs spread wide, his pistachio colored trousers stretched over his thighs. He made himself at home right in the middle of the sofa, taking up space with his broad shoulders. The look on features was tense, concentrating fully on the manuscript in his hands as if it were a thesis paper. She wondered if this was what he was like when he was working, looking over the financials or critiquing art he wanted to buy for the galleries. She wondered if Harry knew that some of the reason people were so intimidated by him was because he was just really hot; it was hard to interact with him normally. 

Not for the first time, she thought about what it would be like to tag along with him to those visits to his properties. She was so used to seeing Harry bashful and letting her make way for him in the world of ballet, she wanted to see what he was like when he was in his chosen environment. When he was the one that held the knowledge and connections and confidence. 

The ghost of his hand on her leg, the way he had held her when taking Kingston's place on stage, the sight of him pressing his lips to the same spot she had sipped from the wine glass—it all lingered over her. There was a pitch in her stomach that tightened and hadn't loosened through the night. It made her skin crawl, every cell seemingly urging her next to him; to convince him to get his hands on her once more, his lips on her own.  

Realizing she had been staring at him for far longer than would be appropriate even if he was her bonafide boyfriend, (Y/N) shook her head, blinking away from him. She took her time heading towards the kitchen and filling her water. She should be too tired to even be thinking like this—to be rubbing her thighs together and spreading her fingers through her hair as if they were as satisfying as Harry's touch. She had just concluded a ten week run in her dream role, she should be exhausted, not verging on needy. 

Clearing her throat, (Y/N) called over her shoulder, feigning nonchalance, "Did you want any water? Or did you already get yourself something to drink?" 

A beat passed with no response. 

"Harry?" she tried again.

"Hm?" he answered, shifting in his spot though a glance in his direction granted only a view of the back of his head. He was still reading. 

"I asked if you wanted something to drink," she repeated through an amused smile. 

"'M alright, love. Thank you, though." 

With her own cool bottle in hand, (Y/N) gave in and crossed her apartment to settle into the cushion beside him. As predicted, the manuscript was laid out in his lap, with a heady amount of pages already turned. 

"Is it any good?" she asked, attempting to peer over his shoulder to see what exactly had taken his attention, "I don't even remember the description of it that the publisher sent over." 

"'S... something," Harry mused, clearing his own throat as he peeked at her from the corner of his eye, "Have y'read it at all, yet?" 

A pinch formed between her brows at the vague review he gave to something he couldn't seem to put down. "No," she started, "Is it weird, or something?" 

Harry rolled his lips between his teeth. "I wouldn't say weird, jus' not what I was expecting from something called"—he flicked to the plain white page acting as the cover—"In The Margains. I thought these people were supposed to be librarians." 

The pinch in (Y/N) expression only deepened at the extra information Harry prattled on about. Sidling up next to him, she got a clearer view of the typed passages open in front of him. 

     Reid hoisted me onto his lap, strong hands holding the swell of my ass tight. He tugged me tight to his chest. The feel of his starched shirt against my breasts was a stark reminder that he was clothed and I was not. I was at his mercy, the twinkling stars I could spot through the skylight were silent observers to my submission. 

     "You like being my whore? Is that why you're so wet, Maggie?" His voice was as rough as his touch as his hips shifted under mine. Goosebumps textured my skin as I clung to him. He took my silence as an answer enough, amusing enough for him to smirk at me. "You think everyone would still think you're nothing but a cute little librarian if they knew you've been letting me in after hours just to fuck you against the shelves?" 

     I moaned. 

(Y/N) stopped reading then, unable to go any further when she could feel the way her cheeks were heating up. This was definitely not what was included in the blurb the publisher had sent over—she would have remembered. 

She felt embarrassed as if she had been the one to write this kind of smut, taking the manuscript from Harry's hands. He let her flick through the pages he'd already passed, spotting much of the same occurring so early in the story. She could only imagine what kind of development was created through the rest of the pages. 

"I am so sorry," she bubbled, frantically taking the pages away with the rest of the manuscripts she was in the process of reviewing and editing. "I had no idea that it was that kind of story. I wouldn't have left it out for you." 

She couldn't help the air of laughter clinging to her words, the sound lacking humor when she felt so awkward. 

Interrupting her rush to reorganize and somehow hide what he had already seen, Harry dropped a hand onto her own. She stilled under his touch, letting him collect her until she was settled once more against the cushions and Harry was carefully holding both of her hands in one of his.

"'S okay," he insisted, a faint smile on his features, "I don't know why you're getting all upset. 'S fine, love; 'm not mad if that's what you're thinking. I don't mind if those are the things y'read, I jus' wasn't expecting it. That's all." 

(Y/N) opened her mouth before closing it before anything could escape. She felt like a guppy, mouth dry and gaped as she tried to speak. 

"They're not all like that," she settled on, mumbling the insistence, "You know that." 

"I know," Harry laughed, clearly not as disturbed by his discovery as she was, "But it would be fine if they were. I don't know why you're all flustered." 

(Y/N) blinked, lashes fluttering as she fixed her gaze on their folded hands. For some reason, being on the boards of the stage, if Harry had picked up on the direction of her thoughts, it didn't feel so bad. She was already so used to performing when she was up there. But here, in her apartment with her full laundry hamper and mismatched—though still pink for the most part—decor, it felt so much more vulnerable. If he knew what was in her head here, it would be real. She wouldn't be making a show of it, using the confidence of a spotlight and predetermined choreography. Every move would be her own doing. 

If he knew that she'd made a bit of a habit of seeing his face as the love interest in her manuscripts, it wouldn't be because of a script or a plot line. It would be because she saw him in everything and wanted those intimate moments with him. 

"I don't know," she got out, a light-hearted laugh accompanying the words though she felt far from light. 

Harry shifted in his spot, his grip on her hands moving until he was using it to tug her into his lap. (Y/N) moved pliantly, eager to be in his arms and hide her face against his throat. He may be able to feel the heat emanating from her cheeks that way, but at least he wouldn't be able to see her face and the open book her expressions were. 

He smoothed his hand over her drying hair, toying with the ends while his other arm created a bar around her back. He held her close to his chest, so similar to the way he had back at the theater. Though this time, the thin bed shirt she wore was little protection as her breasts squeezed against the planes of his chest, the buttons of his suit jacket denting her softened skin. 

"I thought it was nice, you know," Harry prattled, his voice a low mumble the same volume as the quiet movie on screen. "The book." 

(Y/N)'s features twisted up where she was hiding in his neck. She felt him laugh more than she heard it, surely able to feel her reaction. "You think so?" 

"That part was a little intense," he clarified, "But the rest of it wasn't so bad. They seemed very in love at least. He took care of her." 

The rumble of his chest against her was a surprisingly comfort that had her limbs loosening. She could equate it to the roll of a car coasting down a straight shot, leaving her to daydream out the back window and settle into the upholstery. 

She did the same in Harry's lap. Her thighs bracketing his hips curled tighter around him, holding her closely as the knobs of her spine relaxed. She fell against him, her body conforming to his own. 

"You think so?" (Y/N) mumbled into his neck.

His hand on her back ran up the length of her spine, fingers gently denting the flesh. He hummed, another calming feeling that had her burrowing closer. "I do." He paused, throat bobbing next to her face. "She kind of reminded me of you a little." 

"Really?" 

"Mhm. She was sweet," he mused, his hand returning to her hair as he tucked through the strands to graze the back of her neck, "Took care of her friends. Talked a lot,"—that was said with amusement, enough so that had (Y/N) laughing into his neck even as she scolded him with a Heyyy—"I pictured her as you." 

A smile lingered on her lips even as she registered what he was saying. Harry had cutely pictured the main character of the manuscript as her. Did that include the more scandalous pages he perused? 

The idea had that tightening in her stomach returning with all of the force that had waned as they talked. She hoped he didn't notice the way her thighs pulsed around his hips. 

While (Y/N) couldn't quite see Harry as that particularly main character, he was a regular in her casting calls for these books. 

Grateful for her hiding place, she let the words fall out. "I've pictured you before. For my books." 

His hand in her hair stuttered. "Yeah?" 

She nodded against his throat. "Yeah. For most of them, actually." 

A beat passed. Harry's chest rose against hers in a heavy breath. 

"Even for—um—books like that?" 

If his murmured question wasn't enough, the shifting of his hips under hers made it abundantly clear what Harry was going for with his line of questioning. Through the threadbare material of her bottoms, she could clearly feel the outline of something more pressing against her from Harry's lap. More than just the square of his phone or the stiff form of his zipper. 

(Y/N) couldn't find words. Instead, she nodded quietly into his neck. 

His hand coasting through her hair found the back of her neck once more. Instead of a grazing touch, he gently cupped the nape and pulled her away from his own throat. He peeled her off of his chest just far enough to look at her clearly, even if (Y/N) could only manage to make eye contact with his nose. 

"(Y/N)." 

"Hm?" 

His hand on the back of her neck tightened just enough, a pulse on the soft skin. (Y/N) flicked her eyes up to his finally. Blown pupils and a thin ring of forest green met her head on. 

"What were y'thinking when we were back at the theater?" 

Her breath caught. He wouldn't be asking if he didn't already have an idea. That was why he didn't look much surprised when she shared one word: 

"You." 

"I kind of hoped so," he smiled, dipping his head until their foreheads rested against one another, "What about me?" 

The way he looked at her felt akin to an adoring audience member, waiting for the show of a lifetime. The kind of breathtaking moments that would linger with him for much longer than the duration of the show. Just like the way he had up in his balcony. 

"Um," she started, tapping into a small reserve of that spotlight confidence to keep her form completely clamming up, "Just you. The way you were holding me. I could feel a lot of you when you helped me down, and it was... I liked it. Being close to you like that." 

His hand on her back turned steely, pushing her heavily against his chest. His nose bumped hers, something that had her core tightening instead of an affectionate smile blooming on her lips.

"Like this?" he prodded.

While (Y/N) was used to feeling strength and lithe muscles on her fellow dancers, specifically the male ballerinas that were trained to lift her over their heads and to launch themselves over the stage in barreling moves. But this was different. Harry didn't have to worry about his muscle mass limiting his flexibility. He was able to be strong and hard, with cut lines and sharp edges. 

It was nice. Very, very nice. 

"Yeah," she breathed, her eyes hooded as she tipped her head just right. 

The full of her lips had only a moment to graze against Harry's before he was finishing the job. That same urgency that had filled their kisses on stage had returned, filling the indents and ridges of her lips with his own. She could feel the way they swelled some against his kissing, only for his tongue to swipe out and soothe the irritation. 

She didn't hesitate to part her lips for him, feeling his tongue sweep through her mouth. It was far from the first time they had made out like teenagers, but there was something more to every pressing and parting of their mouths. Heavy breaths fanned out between them, too busy tasting and trying each other to pull apart for air. The soft smacks of their lips meeting and departing filled the quiet of her living room. 

(Y/N) wound her arms around Harry's neck, shuffling her that much closer to him. There were only mere inches of her body that weren't feeling some part of him. She could feel the hard lines of his body, the way his muscles moved under his skin with the express purpose of holding her. 

Between her thighs and under the heat collecting at the apex, (Y/N) could feel that hard ridge she had only grazed before. His cock pressed against the flimsy middle of her sleep shorts, the material beginning to soak as she had forgone underwear when readying out of the shower. (Her past self had such good hindsight, Present (Y/N) could have cried had she not been busy). 

Before she was aware of herself, she was rolling her hips against his. His hand on her back and her own arms around his neck had her torso stationary against his, leaving her hips to move as she so pleased against him. The angle of his cock was just so that (Y/N) felt the ridges of his zipper hitting her clit.

The sensation was enough to have a breathy moan falling from her mouth. Harry eagerly consumed it, kissing her that much harder as he let her have her way for a moment. 

His nose knocked into hers as he pulled away, his lips trailing over the apple of her cheek and down the line of her jaw. He couldn't get enough of her, even when his chest was heaving, searching for air. 

"(Y/N)?" he crooned. A wordless nod of her head told him she was listening. "Wh-What do y'want tonight?" 

"You—" 

"I know, love," Harry pressed, drawing away to meet her eyes once more, "I know, but what from me? I-I don't want to do anything y'don't want." 

It took her a breath to tap into her rational brain. What did she want tonight? 

(Y/N) guppied before him, mouth opening without a word before falling closed again. 

A soft smile took Harry's swollen lips. "Can I tell y'what I want?" 

She nodded, fingers curling against his back.

He didn't drift his eyes from her, even when a soft flush covered his neck and worked up his features. "It's been a while since I've done anything... like this. ‘M worried I don't even remember how." 

Despite the breathy laugh he let out, (Y/N) face twisted into a frown. "Don't say that," she whined, "You're doing perfect. I'm having a great time." 

That was enough to have a bright laugh filling his chest—dimples, bunny teeth and all. (Y/N) couldn't help but to match his beaming smile as he tightened his arms around her in a clinging hug. The innocent contact grounded her as he spoke. 

"That's good, love," he said, pecking a kiss to the bridge of her nose, "I jus' want to take care of you, 's all 'm trying to say. If 'm a little lost, forgive me, but I promise 'm trying."

(Y/N)'s lips fell into a pout as she listened to him. That wasn't at all what she was expecting him to say. Almost at the very bottom of the list of options she could think of. 

"Harry," she cooed, craning her neck to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, "Stop." 

"Stop what?" he laughed, chasing after her kiss. 

"You're going to make me cry, and that's not sexy." 

Stealing the kiss he had chased, Harry shrugged around her. "Depends on who y'ask actually," he mumbled just before pulling away, "But I don't want to see y'cry right now. It'll make me sad." 

"You're just cute, that's all," (Y/N) insisted, gentle smile on her lips, "I'm happy with anything you want. I trust you." 

Those seemed to be the exact words Harry wanted, his eyes softening as he gazed down at her. One of his hands slid over her body until it was cupping her cheek, the pad of his thumb running over her cheekbone. 

"I trust you too, love. Thank you." 

He dipped down then and smeared his lips over hers in a drawing kiss. (Y/N) gave into him without a thought, barely registering the way he was careful moving her over his lap until she sat with her legs on either side of one of his. 

Harry shifted underneath her, his thigh coming up to press heavily against her core. (Y/N)'s breath stuttered, her legs tightening around his own. A part of her didn't really understand why he had moved her so; she had been right over his cock before, what was the point of being moved away. Before she could thread together any coherent thought, Harry dropped a hand down to her hip and started egging her on to move against him. 

Her shorts did little to protect her as she was slowly dragged over the firm muscle of his thigh. The seaming of her bottoms pushed directly against her clit, with the heavy material of his trousers dragging against the sensitive inside of her thighs. It was a lot for being so little. 

She clung to Harry, letting him get her started on grinding down on his thigh. It didn't take long for her to start taking over, moving her hips at the pace that felt the best. Harry's hand stayed a perfect anchor on her hip, but she was the one keeping herself so crushingly close to him, that rutted against him without much coordination. If not for the way he captured her mouth in a searing kiss, she would have slumped against him as a whiny mess with nothing to keep her upright. 

"Harry," she murmured against his mouth, her hands gliding over his form until they were skating through his hair. 

"'M here, love," he crooned, buttoning his mouth to hers as a languid moan bubbled from her throat. He bounced his leg under her core, the motion bringing her high against his chest with her clit smushing headily against him. "I've got you, 's okay." 

"B-But," she started, only to have her voice go out when he rocked his leg once more. Rutting against his leg felt dangerously good given they were still in their clothes. True to his word, though, Harry kept his grip on her hip, his hand on her face looping around the back of her neck to keep her face titled against his lips. "But," she tried again, "But, you. Wh-What about you?" 

He shook his head. "I told y'what I wanted," he murmured, decidedly a bit breathless even without his own pleasure being the forefront. "I want to take care of you. This is what I want." 

"But—" 

Using his hand on the back of her neck, he pulled her mouth to his once more. Their noses knocked, (Y/N)'s lips parted with a moan as Harry licked into her mouth. It was a wonderful distraction—the kind that left her with swollen lips and a jumbled head. All while he kept her moving against his thigh, even when her own movements lagged in distraction. 

"This is what I want," he said again, this time the words dripping over her mouth, "Let me see y'feel good. I know you're gonna be so pretty when y'come on me, love. Let me see that." 

She would get him next time, she thought. She'd take care of him tenfold the next time. But right now, if what he wanted was to see her come and feel good all from the few touches of his thigh against her pussy, she was going to give him that. 

Their murmured words devolved into breathy sighs and moans that Harry swallowed, tongue tasting each of her cries of pleasure as if the sweetest wine. His mouth never strayed far from hers, though he didn't hesitate to drip his trail of kisses over her cheeks and jaw, down the curve of her neck. 

"C-Can you—" she panted, cut off by a messy kiss pressed to the center of her lips, "Can you do that thing? Please." 

She didn't have to see him to feel the lopsided curl of his lips. "What thing?" 

(Y/N) shook her head in an attempt to clear her mind. "You know. The thing—when you—against me." 

It was disjointed and breathless the way she talked. Words weren't coming to her as easily as the pacing of her hips. 

Harry drew back from her just enough to gaze up at her, his eyes dark and wide. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, the skin already flushed from the time spent pressed against hers. His cheeks were a warm red under his spray of freckles. 

Before she could whine about the space he was putting between them as he laid back against the cushion of her sofa, Harry bounced his leg between her thighs. It was just what she had been looking for, though he didn't stop with just the one. He made a rhythm with it, her clit hitting the corded muscles of his thigh, the material of her shorts completely soaked through and straining the harder she ground against him. 

"This?" he finally spoke, his hand on her hip wiggling its way under the hem of her top.

She frantically nodded her head, hands sliding down until they were braced against his shoulders. "Uh-huh." 

(Y/N) rocked against him with the added wave of his leg under hers in a near-frantic rhythm. She could hardly find her breath as she sat over him, thighs straining around him. From under the sound of her desperate breathing, the softest wet sounds came from between her legs.

"Harry, I—" she blubbered, eyes cinched shut. 

"I know," he crooned, his hand working up the hem of her top until he was touching the bare skin of her midriff. "Keep bouncing on me, love. You're close, huh?" 

"Yeah," she nodded, a moan forced out as a pit in her stomach opened up. It filled her middle, taking her breath away and sinking every coherent thought right into it. It only made her work herself harder against him, her clit surely swollen hidden behind the confines of her shorts. 

"Like a bunny," Harry prattled, words leaning into a slur. His eyes were wide as he looked at her, hands drifting up her side. "That's the first time I saw you, you know that?" 

"Wh-What?" she blubbered, a pinch between her brows. Did he expect her to have all cognitive function right now? When she had her head thrown back as he rocked his leg particularly hard under her. 

"Y'were a bunny last year. In the show," he elaborated, sentences broken and heavy as his hand grazed the swell of her breast. "All sweet with your little tail and ears. Y'were so excited every night. I couldn't stop thinking about y'for months." 

It was then that (Y/N) was able to recall a memory of herself prancing across the stage as Snow White's rabbit in last year's production. A grey tail had been pinned just above her bottom and ears were smoothed into her head. It wasn't an impressive role, leaving her time to join the ensemble and spend some time backstage even. But (Y/N) distinctly remembered how excited she was to be in her first role with the company, happy to be there every night even if she was on stage for less time than it took her to get her hair and make up. 

"Y-you remember that?" she breathed, grip on his shoulders tightening with her nails scratching into the material of his suit jacket.

"Of course, bunny. Y'became m'favorite thing in the world right then." His dark eyes flashed up to hers, entranced with the way she moved over his thigh. "And now I've got y'right here. Bouncing like a bunny right on m'lap. You're m'bunny now, right?" 

At that, he bounced his leg underneath her with his hands on her hips pressing her against him. The contact was enough to take her breath and send her eyes fluttering to a close. The pit in her stomach had finally found a bottom, where every bit of fiery want was being fueled. 

It only needed a bit more kindling, a touch of kerosene before the whole thing was going to blow. 

"I am, I am," she bubbled, using her grip on his shoulders to force him against her once more. She needed to feel him again, the weight of his body and the blocks of his muscles. She needed to know he was here, that this was Harry on her. Harry that she trusted and cared for and, god, was she in love with him? Or was she just so incredibly close that her eyes had changed to the shape of hearts? "Please, H." 

He didn't waste a second to have her wrapped up in his arms once more. He hugged her to his chest as her hips stuttered before dragging heavily over his thigh. That was all it took then. 

The pit in her stomach closed up and expelled every singe of pleasure that had devoured her. It was consuming her, tightening her muscles and squeezing between her legs. Her thighs around his own tightened until she was barely able to rock herself through the fireworks. She could vaguely hear him murmuring something to her as she shook in his arms, but she would have to ask him what he said later. She was too busy feeling every brush of her skin against her clothes, the press of his thigh against her pussy, the stitching of his trousers between her legs. 

Her world began to broaden first with the sound of Harry's voice registering in her ear. 

"You're so pretty, bunny, so so pretty," he murmured, lips pressed to the space before her ear, "I've got you, yeah? You're m'bunny now—I'll take care of you." 

She was slumped into his arm, unable to hold herself up and steady now that everything of her had gone into the fireworks shooting through her veins. "Harry." 

A smile bloomed across his lips then. The curls remained even when he drew away just far enough to match her shuttered gaze. His nose knocked hers as he pressed his lips to hers again. 

The urgency was gone now, leaving behind only sweet affection. (Y/N) happily sank into the kiss, hugging him just as tightly as he did her. 

"Back?" 

She gently nodded against his kiss. "I'm back." 

Another soft kiss was pressed to her lips. "Good. I was starting to miss you." 

A quiet laugh fell from her then, the sound fanning between them. "Sorry." 

"'S alright," he assured her, carefully repositioning himself on the sofa with (Y/N) still in his arms. "'S what I wanted, right?" 

Her breath hitched when he shifted his leg underneath hers, way too sensitive to feel any more, even if only a graze. The way he had her moved, she could feel the lump of his cock pressed to her thigh, the ridges of his zipper still straining. Drawing back, (Y/N) matched his eyes as best she could through her hooded lids. 

"Are you... sure?" she asked, dropping her gaze between their snuggled bodies, "About not—?" 

The smile he gave her was affectionate, soft and swollen with the traces of her kiss written all over it. "'M sure. Today was your big day, wasn't it?" 

"I guess so," she laughed, suddenly remembering that this wasn't the only major event of the night.

What a day she had. She had finished her run as Odette and within hours of the show's close, she had become Harry's bunny too. 

He let her lay against him as he ran his hand over the planes of her back. It was a soothing motion, enough so that she couldn't help the way her eyes fell into a close, her cheek smushed against his shoulder. She would need to get up and clean up soon, she knew. At least change out of her shorts and get something for Harry to wear instead of his sodden trousers. But now wasn't the time, she decided. 

Now was for listening to the pacing of his breathing, feeling the soft touch of his hands over her body. To bask in the feeling of being adored by someone she adored just as much. If not more. 

"Are you staying tonight?" she asked, voice muffled by her squished cheek.

"Y'want me to?" 

She hugged him that much tighter then. "You know I do." 

"Then, I'll stay."

—————

(Y/N) practically crossed her apartment in record time after dropping her phone to her bed. Her tied back hair flopped over her face as she stumbled through unlocking her door. 

"I'm so sorry," she bubbled before she had even pulled it open, "I just saw your text. I didn't think you'd be back so fast, so I put on my headphones and everything." 

"'S alright," Harry laughed, arms laden with take out containers. She could smell their breakfast inside, arms watering. "I was there for only a minute, 's fine." 

"Still," she insisted, locking the door behind her before prancing to the sofa to meet him there. "Thank you for going, though. Was it busy?" 

Harry shook his head, laying out their meals with peeks into the boxes. "Not really. The drive was longer than the wait." 

Snuggled into the corner of her couch, (Y/N) couldn't wipe the smile from her face. With her eyes trained on Harry, she felt the familiar beating of butterflies wings heading through her stomach and pumping of her heart's missed beats. He was always entirely too gorgeous, but this morning he was just so much more. 

Maybe it was the borrowed clothes—a set Kingston had left behind after his weekend long excursion at her apartment when his was getting renovated—leaving him so soft and casual compared to the times she usually saw him. Maybe it was the mess of his hair on the top of his head. Maybe it was the pillow creases still denting his cheek from when they woke up next to one another. Maybe it was because she had spent such a special night with him, lips still swollen from the tastes she couldn't get enough of. 

Maybe it was just because it was Harry and she was ninety-eight percent sure she was in love with him. 

"What?" he asked, cheeks turning a bashful pink as he took her space next to her.

"Nothing," she crooned, snuggling into his side without a second thought. "I'm just happy you're here. Thank you." 

Harry answered simply with a kiss to the top of her head, his arm coming around her to squeeze her to his side. 

"Before we eat," he started, reaching for another bag still packed at his feet, "I want to give y'something before I forget again. I wanted to give this to y'last night, but we got pretty distracted." 

A small smile crossed her features as she watched him dig through his bag. It wasn't before long that she had a silver wrapped present in her lap. A card with a crudely drawn swan was on the front. 

"You're getting better, I see," she teased, bumping her shoulder against his as she carefully tore the taped card from the top. 

"By next year, I think you'll be able to tell what they are without me telling you." 

(Y/N) let out a boisterous laugh, slipping her finger under the edge of the wrapping paper. Harry watched her intently until she had unwrapped a picture frame. The frame itself was painted in hues of watercolor pink and blue, a shimmering white sparkled in the morning sun. 

Inside was a framed ticket to the company's Swan Lake production. The date showed it was from opening night—the show that had launched off the positive reviews and the videos (Y/N) would forever be able to look back on. Next to the ticket was a slice of the playbill, showing off her name next to the role of Odette/Odile.

"For you to remember," Harry murmured next to her. 

The quickly cooling breakfast on the table and glimmering picture frame was forgotten in favor of (Y/N) collapsing into Harry. She hadn't realized there were tears in her eyes until she sniffled against Harry's throat. 

"Don't cry, bunny," he crooned, hand on the back of her head to keep her cozy next to him. 

She shook her head, nose grazing his throat. "I love it. Thank you." 

I love you, I love you, I love you.

"'S the least I could do, (Y/N)," he answered earnestly, "Really. You've done so much more for me than I think you'll ever know." 

I love you, I love you, I love you, "I love you."

Harry's arms around her stiffened for a breath. For a heartbeat, she wondered if he had heard her thoughts. That he hadn't wanted to hear what he did. 

But that was before he was curling around her, holding her tightly to him with gentle hands. His lips landed on her hair, the tip of his nose grazing the crown of her head. 

"I love you, too, (Y/N)." 

The words she had thought she'd been repeating in her head had actually fallen from her lips. Harry knew she loved him. And he loved her back. 

It was in a rush, the way she pulled her head from her neck and pushed her lips against his. It was clumsy and off center, but (Y/N) didn't mind. Not when she could feel him smiling into her kiss. 

"I love you, bunny." 

She drew away enough to catch the light in his eyes. Something so bright and joyous in his gaze that hadn't been there when they met. 

"I love you, too." 

She kissed the tip of his nose. 

—————

the bunny made snow white's companion in the classic ballet, magic mirror.

that's it wooooo bunny h lives! thank u sm for reading, so sorry for any mistakes nad please let me know what you want to see next!

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still haven’t emotionally recovered from this photo 🫠

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@kittycat1210: @Harry_Styles Thoughts on @DearEvanHansen ???

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Mic cord: 1, Harry Styles: 0 | NYC Night 3 - 22.08.2022

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LOVE ON TOUR - Glasgow, Uk • June 11

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Harry Styles releasing dildos instead of hs4 is killing me 😭

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