#one direction blurbs

[littlethie]

I haven’t been here for like ages it feels like. I enjoyed writing HR fanfics but I’ve had two tumblrs before dedicated to One Direction. That’s how I started this journey. I cannot express the heartbreak I feel.

I was like 10 years old when it all started.

Liam, no matter what we know now, was always a huge part of our fanbase.

He’s always been a part of our lives and he will always be.

My mind cannot comprehend. I hope he is well now.

My love and heart goes out to his family, friends; to Zayn, Harry, Niall and Louis and to you guys.

All the stories and fanfics have etched him into the universe and we will never forget. 🕯️

Love forever 🖤

[finelinefae]

bambi [ceo!h x shy!reader]

synopsis: y/n tries a dating app and meets the CEO of Pleasing

word count: 8.6k

contains: ceo!harry x assitant!y/n, deer!reader vibes, dating app, online dating, deer!reader, first date, first kiss, fluff, age gap (9 years)

a/n: this is the first part of a new series. as usual the first part is a lil slow to set things up but I'm excited for what's to come of this one. there's going to be a lot of cuteness and all the things i love writing about in this one so i can't wait to share more !

this is part 1 of Bambi, read part 2 here

. . .

Most of the time Y/N didn’t want to be in control of things. 

From a young age, she had to be in charge of everything. She had three younger brothers and was born to a single mother who worked hard to keep everything afloat in their tiny, townhouse. So inevitably she became an adult before she could even buy a lottery ticket. 

Her life wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t easy. With the constant nagging from her much younger siblings and the dampened sleeve of her t-shirt—evidence of the hours she spent comforting her mother through tears—Y/N had just had enough.

Her life had become an abundance of things she was struggling to keep up with. She had no reprieve throughout her daily life, no way of stopping or just letting go. 

She worked six-hour shifts at the supermarket, studied marketing at university, did the school run in the mornings, and often in the evenings too, if her mother was too tired to get off the couch. She tutored her youngest brother, who was falling behind in math, and kept the house in order while all three of them stayed glued to the television.

Even worse, her social life was practically nonexistent.. She was twenty-one and spent her Friday nights making dino nuggets and catching up on an incessant amount of laundry from the past week. 

Y/N wasn’t sure where her life was heading. The loneliness and stress was so overwhelming she could barely breathe. 

One night, the weight of it all brought her to tears as she thought about her future after graduation. Most of the girls she knew were planning gap years, travelling to places like Brazil or Italy. She tried to picture herself boarding a plane, but the only thing she could imagine was her mother calling mid-flight, asking her to pick up one of the boys from school.

She pulled open her phone eyes blotchy and nose stuffy from crying. Her loneliness was hitting her hard and she was desperate to feel some kind of connection, even if it was five minutes of conversation. So, she opened the only dating app she had on her phone, one that she’d installed many moons ago when she wanted to open herself up to meeting new people. 

She barely used it after realising she wasn’t the best at small talk and whenever a guy would ask for a date, her introverted self would refuse to step foot out of the house. But on occasion she’d find herself wondering, searching for someone to take her mind off of everything. 

Y/N swiped past copious images of men, seemingly unphased by all of them. She swiped through so many, that they almost began to look the same - 5’9, tanned, shirtless or lifting weights trying to show some kind of strength that proved to women they were most definitely ‘manly’. 

When she started to believe all hope was lost, she paused when her eyes settled on a man who didn’t look much like the others. He was tall, with brunette curls and green eyes that crinkled when he smiled. He wore rings on his hands in every single picture and in one of them he wore a shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal a sleeve of tattoos. In most of his pictures he wore comfy sweaters and knitted cardigans with grey or black trousers. In one of them he wore a pair of blue jeans and had a small, battered copy of The Catcher in the Rye in his back pocket. 

She read his bio beneath. 

‘Harry, 30

Likes: scrabble, food, cats, books, cardigans

Dislikes: loud chewing, music played too low, emails, wearing sunglasses indoors at dinner is absolutely criminal’

She clicked the heart on his profile, eyes widening when the words ‘MATCH’ appeared on the screen in big bubble writing. He hadn’t sent her a message but clearly he had liked her own profile which was surprising considering she had barely anything on it. 

As she was mulling over what to say to start the conversation, three bubbles quickly appeared then disappeared, replaced by a message. She held her breath, reading the words. 

Harry: Hey, pretty dress

She frowned, wondering what he meant by that but then remembered she had a picture of her on her profile, showcasing one of her favourite dresses. It was a baby pink slip dress she had made out of silk fabric. 

Y/N: Thank you, I made it! :) 

Harry: You did? Wow! Looks better than most of the ones I’ve seen in my own store.

Y/N: Do you own a clothing store?

Harry: Something along those lines

Harry: Although they don’t sell pretty dresses like yours 

Y/N: They’re probably a lot better, I use cheap materials 

She cringed at her message, hoping she didn’t sound broke or not put together by saying she used something cheap.

Harry: I’m even more impressed

She smiled, watching him type a new message. 

Harry: What brings you here?

She tried to sum up how she was feeling without making herself seem like a weirdo. She didn’t want to sound like a recluse looking for human interaction no matter how much she felt like it. 

Y/N: I’m tired of everything, just want someone to keep me company 

Harry: I get that. Should I be worried? Are you okay? 

Her heart warmed, she couldn’t remember the last time someone asked her if she was okay. 

Y/N: I’m okay now, thank you for asking !! it’s just everyday life stuff.

Harry: Of course. Just let me know if there’s anything you want to talk about. I’m right here to listen… or read 

Y/N: thank you, that truly means a lot!! xx

Harry: No problem, love x

Y/N’s heart flickered at the name he had placed on the end. 

They texted for hours, well into the middle of the night. Y/N was giddy, rolling around on her bed, smiling so hard her cheeks ached. They had so much in common—both preferred quiet nights in, were family-oriented, loved literature and art and even fashion. He was funny and sweet, always checking in to make sure she was comfortable and that he wasn’t overstepping with his questions. Despite how much they had in common, they had a lot of differences too.

Y/N: Is it raining where you are? Xx

Harry: Hm, just checked outside and I think the clouds are coming over. I don’t mind though autumn happens to be my favourite season.

Y/N: omg really? 

Harry: What? You don’t agree?

Y/N: No omg are you kidding? I’m much more into spring. I like that it’s sunny with a slight breeze so it’s warm but not too warm so you can still wear a sweater

Harry: Ahhh I see, you do give spring I must say

Y/N: You think so?

Harry: Even from looking at your pictures, you look like a tulip or something. 

Harry: Or the little deer from that movie

Harry: What was it?

Harry: Bambi!

Harry: Maybe that should be your name - Bambi 

Y/N: That’s one of my favourite movies !! 

Y/N: I happened to think Bambi is a very pretty name 

Harry: Then I’ll call you Bambi 

Y/N: Well what should I call you?

Harry: Anything you like, Bambi 

. . . 

Y/N was working her shift at the supermarket. She was already entering her final hour, her stomach rumbling as she packed frozen pizzas onto the shelves. Although she had been working hard to get things done so she could go home on time, her mind was constantly wandering. 

It had been a full week of talking to Harry. They had converted to messaging on WhatsApp after exchanging numbers and every day Y/N would wake up to a morning text message from him telling her to have a good day and that he would be right there in her pocket if she ever needed anything. In the evenings, he would make sure she wasn’t going to sleep with anything heavy on her mind. He’d ask her questions about what she ate and if she had any time to herself in the day. For the first time in a long time, Y/N felt a little less lonely. She went about her day with a little pep in her step feeling the excitement of texting the man she had only just met. She didn’t know what it was about him but a part of her felt safe with him. Maybe it was the fact he was nine years older than her and knew what it was like to be under stress with so many things but he understood her in a way no one else did. 

And Bambi.

Every day, it was Bambi this and Bambi that, and every time, she’d swoon or smile at the nickname he had given her. It was silly, maybe even a little ridiculous, how much it affected her. But she couldn’t help it—every time he said it, a bubble of excitement grew inside her. She liked someone for the first time in a long time, and it brought something new, something light, into her overwhelming life.

After days of just simply texting, Y/N had asked him if he wanted to video call tonight. It would be her first time hearing what he sounded like and part of her was nervous. What if he came across differently from how he was over text? What if he didn’t look the way he did in the numerous pictures he had sent her? What if after calling tonight, he didn’t like her anymore?

Hours later, Y/N was tucked up in bed readying herself to call him. She had showered and blow-dried her hair, wearing her comfiest pink pyjamas with her body wrapped up in her duvet. Her thumb hovered over the call button, gnawing on her bottom lip as thoughts raced through her mind.

She gasped when Harry’s face appeared on her screen just seconds after she pressed call. It was their first time ever talking like this, and her heart raced as she took in the sight of him. He was sitting in a desk chair, a large framed artwork hanging on the wall behind him. His shirt was slightly rumpled, his tie loosened around the collar, and his curls fell lazily across his forehead. He looked so effortlessly handsome, it almost didn’t seem real.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice breaking the stillness of her bedroom. It carried a warmth, soft and steady, like the glow of a campfire, and she felt herself melt under its gentle heat.

“H-Hi,” she squeaked, her cheeks immediately flushing with warmth. Her nerves bubbled up as she realized she was staring at him, trying to comprehend that this was actually happening. Surely she was dreaming, she pinched herself to make sure. 

Harry’s eyes softened when he heard her shaky greeting. “You alright?” he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small, amused smile. His tone was gentle, almost teasing, but there was something deeper there—like he was studying her reaction and enjoying every second of it.

She nodded quickly, fumbling with the hem of her pyjama shirt. “I’m good! Just… surprised you answered so fast.” She giggled nervously, her voice high-pitched and sweet, like she couldn’t quite believe this was happening. “I thought it’d take a few rings at least.” Her blush deepened as she tucked her knees up to her chest.

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm, making her heart flutter. “I was waiting for you to call,” he admitted, a soft smirk tugging at his lips. 

Her heart skipped a beat, and she shyly glanced up at him through her lashes. “Really?” she asked, her voice soft and a little disbelieving. 

He smiled, a slow, adoring smile that made her stomach flip. “Yeah, really. I’ve been thinking about it all day.” His voice had that low, confident tone, but his gaze was gentle, like he wanted to make sure she knew he meant it. “The only thing getting me through work.”

“You’re still at work? It’s nine-thirty!” she exclaimed, glancing at the clock in disbelief.

Harry’s lips curled into a playful smirk. “Is it past your bedtime, Bambi?” he teased, leaning back in his chair as he glanced at her through the screen.

Her heart stuttered hearing that nickname come from his own mouth. She felt like if the camera wasn’t on, she’d be floating around her room like a bright pink orb of light, “N-No,” she stammered, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. “But shouldn’t you be going home by now? You’ve been working all day.”

He let out a small chuckle, shrugging as he glanced down at the papers scattered across his desk. “Got a lot to catch up on. Too many late nights spent talking to you.” His voice was warm, laced with affection despite his teasing.

Her heart sank for a moment, guilt creeping in. They’d been texting non-stop for weeks, and she hadn’t once thought about how it might be affecting his workload. He’d told her before that he worked for a clothing company, and it suddenly hit her how busy he must be.

Noticing the shift in her expression, Harry’s voice softened. “Y’thinking too much in that little head of yours?” he asked, cutting through her thoughts.

“Maybe a little,” she admitted quietly, biting her lip.

He shook his head, eyes never leaving hers. “You know I didn’t mean it as a bad thing, right? I love talking to you, Y/N. I think... I might even be a little obsessed with you,” he confessed, his smirk turning into a softer smile.

Her breath caught in her throat, and for a second, all she could do was stare at him, her heart thudding in her chest. “I-I think I’m obsessed with you too,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. 

“Yeah?” His voice was full of warmth, a hint of disbelief in it, like he hadn’t expected her to say it back. She nodded shyly, clutching her pillow tighter against her chest, her heart racing.

Harry huffed out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face to hide the wide grin that had taken over. “God, you’re even cuter than I imagined,” he murmured, his words full of adoration.

They talked for hours, diving into everything and anything that crossed their minds. It was the longest conversation they’d had since they started talking, and Y/N found herself more captivated by Harry than she thought was possible. The way he laughed, the way he listened—it all just pulled her in deeper.

In the middle of her sentence, she noticed Harry looking at her with an unusually soft expression, his eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite place. He suddenly spoke, cutting her off mid-thought. “Can I take you on a date?” His voice was gentle but firm, catching her completely off guard.

“O-Oh,” she stammered, blinking in surprise. She hadn’t expected him to want to meet her so soon, but her heart leapt at the thought. “I’d like that,” she replied, a soft smile spreading across her face. “Very much.”

His own smile widened, a mix of relief and excitement in his eyes. “How about Saturday evening? I could pick you up.”

“But wouldn’t that be too long of a drive?” she asked, biting her lip. She knew he lived in the city, about forty minutes away without traffic, and she didn’t want to inconvenience him.

Harry’s expression didn’t falter. “It’s not too far at all. Trust me, I don’t mind,” he said confidently. “I’ll pick you up at 8, sound good?”

Y/N’s heart fluttered, the idea of seeing him in person making her pulse race. She nodded shyly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Mhm, that sounds perfect.”

Harry’s grin grew, his eyes twinkling, “Can you wear the pretty dress you made?”

Y/N blushed, “You don’t want me to wear something a little more sophisticated?” 

“Y’ can wear whatever makes you comfortable, I don’t mind but I think I’d like to see that little dress y’ made.” 

She nodded, stifling a yawn as it slipped out. It was getting late, and Harry was still at his office, working. “Y’tired, lovie?” His voice softened.

“A little,” she lied, knowing full well she was more than exhausted. But the thought of ending the call made her chest tighten—she wanted to keep him on the line, even just for a few more minutes.

Harry chuckled softly as if he could see right through her. “Why don’t you rest those pretty eyes for me, yeah?” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, the gentle authority in his words making her entire body relax. She practically melted at the sound, her heart skipping a beat.

“M’kay,” she whispered, her eyelids already heavy as she let herself sink deeper into the comfort of his voice.

“I’ll be right here, alright?” he reassured her, his tone gentle and full of warmth.

She managed a soft smile, her words barely audible as her exhaustion overtook her. “Promise?”

“Promise Bambi,” he whispered, his voice the last thing she heard before sleep pulled her under.

. . .

“Mr. Styles?”

Harry looked up from his computer, peering over the rims of his glasses. His receptionist, Lindsey, stood in the doorway. “The samples for the newest collection have arrived. Would you like me to bring them in?” she asked, her voice polite but efficient, as always.

“Yes, please, Lindsey,” he replied with a sigh, signing off another email before hitting send. The endless stream of tasks had him feeling drained.

Though Harry wasn’t usually the type to show much warmth towards his employees, Lindsey was different. She’d been with him for years—long enough to earn not just his respect, but his trust. She was one of the very few people he relied on within his company. 

Harry was the CEO of Pleasing, a major fashion company he had built from the ground up. His first line had been designed in a small studio, crafted with his own hands and the help of a few close friends who still worked by his side. Now, it was a global brand. He was on Forbes 30 under 30 and had features in magazines like GQ. He was even in Time magazine for most influential people. 

Despite all the success, his day-to-day life had become an endless loop of emails, business meetings, and deadlines. Time for anything outside of work was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Lately, though, something, or rather someone, had started to make him reconsider how he spent his time.

He checked his phone once more having only picked it up a minute ago for the same reason. He hoped to see a message from Y/N, in fact he was eager to. Ever since he had messaged her on the only dating app he used, he hadn’t thought of anyone else but her. 

It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, one born out of the loneliness that weighed heavier than ever that night. Harry sat in his dimly lit office, the silence around him almost suffocating. He hadn’t dated in over a year, not since his last relationship, which had ended on a bitter note. That girl had taken advantage of him, using his desire of the relationship he wanted to manipulate him. She had drained his bank accounts, maxed out his credit cards on shopping sprees and lavish holidays with her friends, leaving him both financially and emotionally exhausted. After that, he’d grown wary of trusting anyone.

When he joined the website, he wasn’t exactly hopeful. The chance of finding someone who truly understood his career and mirrored his desires in a relationship seemed slim.

But then he met his Bambi. 

He hadn’t been searching for anything specific that day, just scrolling aimlessly, but something about Y/N’s profile made him pause. There was a warmth to her, a genuine spark that went beyond her pictures. She didn’t seem to realise just how captivating she was, and that drew him in even more. It wasn’t just her beauty—though she was stunning—it was the way she spoke about the things she loved. Her messages were full of passion, filled with rambles about her favourite books, little moments in her day, or random thoughts that popped into her head. 

Y/N had ignited something within him. He was excited for this newfound thing they had going on, a spark he hadn’t felt in years. Every message from her left him smiling at his phone, wondering what she’d say next. It was the kind of excitement that made the day feel a little brighter, knowing she was just a text away. He found himself looking forward to the simplest things—her daily updates, the way she’d ramble about something she’d seen or read, and even the photo updates she’d send him of things she was doing.

For the first time in a long time, he found himself imagining what it would be like to share his life with someone, instead of the quiet solitude he’d grown so used to. He couldn’t shake the thought of Y/N being that person—the one to bring warmth into the corners of his once-lonely home. He pictured what it would be like to have someone in his space, their presence adding a new kind of lightness. Someone to be there in the small, everyday moments and to keep him company after a long day at the office. 

He couldn’t wait to meet her in real life, hold her in his hands and kiss the lips he spent nights dreaming about. 

Harry snapped out of his daze when Lindsey opened the door and the manufacturers entered the room behind her, holding the fabric samples in their hands. They greeted him timidly, laying the samples on the table by the large floor-to-ceiling windows. 

He walked over, black polished shoes clicking against the mahogany wood floor. He sighed when he took in the samples, he didn’t need to feel them to know they weren’t good enough. Uncapping the red pen, he drew a cross beside each sample, the men behind him releasing a shaky breath. 

“Come back when you have what I want,” He murmured, dismissing them with a wave of his hand. 

He checked the time on his watch and cursed. Today was his niece’s birthday and he promised his sister he’d visit in time for her birthday party this afternoon. “Lindsey,” He called, hearing her shoes against the floor before she opened the door to his office. 

He pulled on his blazer, “I’ve got to leave, did you wrap that gift I gave you the other day?” 

Lindsey frowned, “It’s under my desk but what about your meetings this afternoon?” 

“Cancel them.” He shrugged.

His Porsche was parked out front by the time he stepped out of the building. He put the gift into the passenger seat and made a mental note to stop somewhere to buy a birthday card. 

He glanced at his phone when a text came through.

Bambi: Half way through my shift. It’s been pretty rough, sorry for the late reply xx

His heart leapt when Y/N’s name appeared. He took his phone when he reached a red light and typed in a reply.

Harry: it’s okay lovie, call me when you finish yeah? x

He was desperate to speak to her even if it were just for a mere few seconds. 

Making a left turn, he pulled into the parking lot of a small supermarket on the highway. It looked run down and old but there wasn’t anywhere else he could go to before he reached his sister's house.

People sat outside, smoking cigarettes and drinking out of beer cans. He ignored the glances they made towards him and his car. 

He stepped inside and walked along the aisles, pausing when he noticed someone stacking things onto a shelf. His heart skipped a beat when he saw her. She was wearing blue jeans and a fuzzy white sweater, her hair was braided and fastened with pink, silk bows. She wore wired earbuds, her pink ballerina flats tapping against the laminate flooring. 

She must have felt his gaze because her head lifted, eyes widening as they met his. Her soft, pink lips parted slightly, and in that instant, it was as if the world shifted—everything falling perfectly into place between them, as though they were always meant to find each other naturally. 

Harry hadn’t noticed the sugar spilling from the bag she was holding until the store manager stormed over. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The sharp tone made Y/N jump, her body snapping upright as she stood frozen in front of her manager, fear flashing across her face.

“I-I’m s-sorry, I—” Y/N stammered, her voice trembling.

“How many times do I have to hear the same excuse from you?” her manager snapped. “Stupid, useless girl, costing me the whole damn shop.”

Y/N’s bottom lip quivered, her eyes welling up with unshed tears. “I-I know... I promised it wouldn’t happen again. It was an accident, really,” she whispered, her voice barely holding steady.

Harry’s frown deepened. Again? This had happened before?

From the way Y/N stood there, trying so hard not to cry, it was painfully clear—this wasn’t the first time her boss had spoken to her like this.

Harry’s jaw tightened as he watched the exchange, a surge of protectiveness rising in him. He had only known Y/N recently, but seeing her like this—small, vulnerable, and clearly hurt—stirred something deep within him. He couldn’t just stand there and let it happen.

“Excuse me,” Harry spoke up, his voice calm but firm, stepping closer. The store manager turned to him, annoyance flashing across his face.

“This doesn’t concern you,” the manager spat, his glare shifting to Harry.

“Actually, I think it does,” Harry replied, his eyes steady on the man. “You don’t need to speak to her like that.”

The manager scoffed. “And who the hell are you?”

Harry didn’t blink, his voice lowering. “Someone who knows when respect is lacking.”

Y/N looked up at Harry, wide-eyed, as if she couldn’t believe he was stepping in. Her heart raced, a mix of relief and anxiety bubbling inside her. She wasn’t used to anyone standing up for her like this.

“Y/N, why don’t you take a minute?” Harry said softly, glancing over at her, his voice now gentle and reassuring. The tears in her eyes made his chest physically hurt. He’d be quick with this useless piece of shit so he could give her all his attention.

She hesitated but then nodded, her gaze flicking between Harry and her boss. She quickly turned, slipping away from the confrontation, her hands shaking as she tried to compose herself.

Harry turned back to the manager, his calm exterior masking the frustration brewing underneath. “Speak to her like that again, and I won’t hesitate to have this place torn down, brick by brick, and replaced with a building I own. Then you’ll know firsthand what it’s like to deal with a real fucking manager.” 

With that, he turned on his heel, already making a mental note to have his team look into this place. It was clearly lacking in more ways than one—enough to warrant being shut down for good he hoped. 

Y/N stood behind the building, her back to him, shoulders trembling as she cried into her sleeve. Harry’s heart clenched at the sight. “Hey, hey, hey,” he murmured softly, stepping forward and gently pulling her into his chest. “Tha’s enough now, Bambi. Don’t waste your tears on him,” he whispered, his large hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. Holding her close felt unexpectedly right, as if this was exactly where she belonged, even if the circumstances weren’t ideal.

“I’m so embarrassed,” she sniffled, her voice small. “This isn’t how I wanted you to see me for the first time.”

His eyes softened with affection as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. Carefully, he wiped her tear-stained, blotchy cheeks, his touch tender. “You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about, sweetheart,” he whispered, “S’alright now, y’ don’t have to go back in there.” He cupped the back of her head, feeling how soft and silky her hair was. He couldn’t seem to fathom that he was actually holding her after days of imagining what she would feel like.

She pulled away and for the first time Harry could get a proper look at her. He didn’t think it possible for her to be even more beautiful than the pictures he had of her on her phone but she was. Her features were soft, cheeks permanently pink like the colour of tulips on a spring day, her lips were the perfect shape, so delicate like two petals pressed together. She was a walking angel. 

“Hey stranger,” He grinned, those perfect cheeks turning pink. If Harry had one goal in his life it was to make her all flustery and blushy. 

“Hi,” She peeped, hands fiddling in front of her.

Her eyes widened when she saw the tear stains on his shirt, the damp spots revealing the tiniest hint of the tattoos on his torso. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your shirt,” She cringed.

“Hey no need to apologise, ‘s not even ruined and I’d rather you were okay than some easily replaceable shirt.” He assured her. “Are y’ sure you’re okay? Don’t need to go in there and beat him up or anything,”

She smiled at that and the sight made his heart sing, “No it’s okay. I-I’m okay, thank you for looking out for me. I don’t normally have people doing that very often.”

He frowned. He didn’t like how often she spoke about how little help she got from other people. If anything, it made him want to take care of her even more than he already did. 

“I should probably head back in. I still have three more hours of my shift,” she huffed, clearly reluctant. It was the last thing she wanted to do.

Harry’s expression softened, but his tone remained firm. “You don’t have to,” he said, his gaze holding hers, protective and unwavering.

Y/N frowned, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “But I need the job, Harry,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “I can’t just leave.”

His jaw tightened at her words. He hated seeing her stuck in a place that didn’t value her, where she wasn’t respected. “I know you need the job,” he replied, gentler now, trying to ease her worry. “But no job is worth being treated like that. Not by him.”

She bit her lip, glancing back at the store, anxiety clearly weighing on her. “What am I supposed to do, then? I can’t afford to lose it.”

Harry stepped closer, his hand finding its way to her cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear. “You’re not going to lose anything,” he said softly. “Let me take care of it. Of you.”

Y/N blinked up at him, her heart pounding. “Take care of me?”

“Come work with me,” He offered. 

There weren’t many positions available at Pleasing, but Harry didn’t care. He’d make something work—anything to keep her from going back into that place and dealing with the jerk inside.

“In the city? I... I can’t do that, Harry. I still have school, and my brothers...”

“You can work around it,” he said quickly, eager to find a solution. “I’ll pay for your gas to and from the city, or I’ll have someone drive you. Hell, I’ll drive you myself if it makes you feel better. Whatever you need. Just don’t stay here.”

He sighed softly, taking her small hand in his larger one, her warmth a comfort even as doubt flickered between them. “Just... think about it, yeah?” His thumb traced gentle circles on the back of her hand, trying to ease the tension.

Y/N hesitated but nodded slowly. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur.

A grin spread across Harry’s face, his relief palpable. “Thank you Bambi.” He swore he saw her pupils carve into love hearts at his words. 

. . . 

Y/N hadn’t returned to her job at the store just as she promised Harry. It wasn’t only because Harry was insistent she didn’t go back but her manager had been pretty verbally abusive for quite some time now and she thought better than to go back and work for someone who was just plain mean. 

A few days had passed and Saturday rolled around quickly. Y/N was giddy with excitement, preparing everything in time for Harry to pick her up to take her on their very first date this evening. She had arranged a babysitter to look after her brothers since her mother wouldn’t be home until late. It wasn’t often they splurged cash on hiring a babysitter but Y/N wasn’t going to rearrange her date with Harry for anything.

She’d made a list of everything she needed to do: wash and blow dry her hair, shave every inch of her body, and paint her nails with the glazed pink polish she’d ordered online. Her hair was in curlers as she carefully laid out her outfit for the evening—a pink satin slip dress she’d made herself, paired with white kitten heels that matched perfectly. With the season shifting into autumn, she added a thin white cardigan to keep her warm in case the night turned chilly on the way home.

She wanted to look perfect. Especially after the fiasco the other day when he had rescued her from her mean manager. 

Everything seemed to move in slow motion the moment she laid eyes on the man from her phone. He was even more perfect than she had imagined—taller too. It still hadn’t sunk in that she was about to go on a date with this man—the one who wore a black suit to work and had saved her from cruel, terrifying managers.

And the way he spoke to her afterwards, comforting her with his big, heavy hands around her. She wanted him to pick her up and take her wherever he went. 

Y/N sighed blissfully in front of her vanity. As Y/N finished her makeup, her phone buzzed with a message from Harry. 

Harry: Just outside x

She peeked through the window, catching sight of him standing by a sleek black car, leaning casually against the door. He looked breathtaking in a fitted black suit, hands in his pockets as he scanned the street. Her nerves fluttered, a mixture of excitement and anticipation bubbling up. She took a deep breath, smoothed down her dress, and grabbed her cardigan before heading out the door. 

The moment she stepped outside, Harry’s gaze snapped to her, dark and intense. He straightened up, eyes travelling over her form, taking in every detail of her appearance. The way he looked at her sent a shiver down her spine.

“Y’ look stunning, Bambi,” he murmured, his deep voice sending shivers down her spine. He took a step closer, his large hand cupping her cheek, thumb grazing her soft skin. “All this f’ me?”

Y/N blushed, biting her bottom lip nervously. “I-I wore the dress you wanted,” she mumbled shyly, looking up at him through her lashes, “Do you like it?” 

“‘S perfect,” He murmured lowly. 

“Ready to go, sweetheart?” He opened the car door for her, watching as she slid into the passenger seat, her delicate form contrasting with the dark interior of his Porshe. Harry’s eyes lingered on her legs for a moment before he shut the door and walked around to his side.

Once inside, he reached over, resting his hand on her thigh, the warmth of his touch comforting her immediately. “You nervous?” he asked, glancing at her with a small smile, though the look in his eyes held a trace of dominance.

“A little,” Y/N admitted, her voice soft and shy.

Harry gave her thigh a gentle squeeze. “Y’ don’t have to be nervous around me, love, promise ‘m not scary. Least of all t’ you.” 

Y/N smiled, loving how he made it clear she was different, that he treated her in a way no one else could. It warmed her to feel special, especially when that feeling was rare for her.

As they drove, their conversation flowed easily. Y/N found herself opening up more and more, rambling about anything that came to mind. Harry listened intently, his smile soft as he asked questions, showing genuine interest in everything she said. Her eyes sparkled in the dim light of the car, and each time she answered bashfully, his lips curved. 

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed as they drove deeper into the city. The lights grew brighter, illuminating a part of town she rarely found herself in—where the wealthy lived, with towering apartment complexes and upscale restaurants lining the streets. Harry pulled over in front of a sleek Italian restaurant, where a man stood waiting by the curb.

“Are we allowed to park here?” Y/N asked, her face bathed in the glow of the restaurant’s lights.

Harry suppressed a grin at her confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well… I just assumed we weren’t eating here, which is totally fine! You don’t need to impress me with a fancy restaurant.” Her cheeks flushed pink as she tried to clarify.

Harry’s lips curled into a teasing smirk. “What if I told you we are eating here?”

Y/N’s eyes widened in disbelief. “A-are we?”

Without answering, Harry reached for her hand, brushing his lips over the back of it. “Y’ too cute,” he murmured. “Come on, they’re waiting for us.” He stepped out of the car, passing his keys to the valet standing nearby, before adjusting his blazer and moving to open the door for her, his hand stretched out toward her for her to grab onto. 

Y/N hesitated, her mind reeling. There was no way they were eating at this restaurant—the kind with a year-long reservation list and three Michelin stars. She’d heard rumours that a single course here could cost more than her entire paycheck for the week. But as she took his hand and stepped out, it felt impossible to believe this was really happening.

Harry intertwined their fingers, offering a brief nod to the waiter who opened the door for them. “Harry… are you sure? They probably don’t have any tables for people just walking in,” she whispered.

He chuckled softly. “Don’t worry, love. I made some arrangements.”

Her brows furrowed in surprise. “Arrangements? How?”

Stopping at the ‘Please Wait to Be Seated’ sign, Harry finally turned to her with a playful twinkle in his eye. “I own the restaurant.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open as a waiter approached, menus tucked neatly under his arm. “Good evening, Mr. Styles. Your table is ready.”

Feeling like she was in a dream, Y/N walked hand-in-hand with Harry to a private table near the large glass windows at the back. The breathtaking view of the city’s skyline stretched out before them, and the table, set for two, was tucked away to offer them some privacy. 

As they were seated, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the quiet stares and murmurs from other guests. She knew Harry owned a clothing business, but… just how successful was he?

The waiter laid the menus out in front of them and left them to decide what they wanted to order. Y/N hadn’t even noticed as her wide eyes gazed around the room at the glowing chandeliers. 

Harry reached for her hand beneath the table, “Are y’ okay love?” He asked. Y/N’s gaze snapped towards him, “I hope ‘s not too much.”

“H-Harry, I really appreciate you bringing me here, I mean even stepping inside is a dream come true, but… I c-can’t afford this.” She felt awful saying it but it was true and it was better to tell him now than when she’d finished her meal, she wouldn’t want him thinking she was out for his money.

Harry frowned, “Bambi, this is a date. Y’ don’t have to pay for anything.”

“B-but I can’t use your money.” She told him. 

She couldn’t hear it but Harry’s heart was singing in his chest. She was exactly what he was looking for someone totally opposite to all the women he had dated in his past. 

He cupped her cheek in his hand, “Look at me Y/N,” Big, doe eyes gazed into his, “Please stop worrying and let me take care of you. I know y’ haven’t been given that in the past but ‘m here now and I want this. I wanted to bring y’ here and I want y’ to be spoiled and I want to treat you in the way you deserve. So can you pick something from the menu and let me look after you Bambi baby, please? Think you can do that?”

Her lips parted, slowly nodding her head but she quickly said one last thing, “You don’t have to take me to fancy places to make me feel spoiled Harry. I already feel spoiled enough just getting to be with you.”

He smiled, eyes glistening under the low light of the chandelier. He placed a hand on her thigh and squeezed as a small thank you. “Have you decided what you’re going to eat?”

"Hmmm," Harry grinned, watching Y/N's pouted lips as she studied the menu with intense concentration. "I can't decide between the truffle pasta or the smoked salmon!" she huffed, clearly torn.

"How about this," he offered with a shrug, "I’ll get the smoked salmon, you get the truffle pasta, and we can share? That way you can try both."

She glanced up at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “You don’t want something else?”

He had been planning on ordering the steak and potatoes, but seeing how much this small decision seemed to weigh on her, he didn’t mind changing his mind. The smoked salmon was one of his favourite dishes anyway.

When the waiter came over, Harry confidently placed the order for both of them, which made Y/N visibly relax. She hated the pressure of ordering her own food, so the simple act of him taking charge made her feel instantly at ease.

“We’ll make sure to have your order as a priority, Mr. Styles,” the waiter nodded respectfully before walking away.

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wow. They must really like you here.”

Harry chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. “Didn’t I mention I owned a clothing business?”

“Mhm,” she nodded, “But I thought it was just a boutique or something.” She shrugged, clearly unaware of the scale.

Harry laughed a warm, deep sound that made her stomach flip. “Bambi,” he said, pulling her gently into his side until their cheeks were almost touching, “See that guy’s sweater? That woman’s hat? And that lady’s dress over there?” She nodded everytime he pointed towards them, her heart skipping a beat at their closeness. “We made all of those.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “W-wait, you own Pleasing?”

Harry nodded, a small, proud smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Y/N couldn’t even count how many times she had opened the Pleasing website, scrolling through pages of clothes she desperately wanted but couldn’t afford. And now, she was sitting across from its owner—no, she was on a date with him.

“Mhm,” he hummed, pulling away slightly to gauge her reaction. "Which reminds me, have you given any more thought to the job?"

She had, actually. The idea had been rolling around in her mind ever since he’d mentioned it. "What's the role again?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

"My assistant," Harry replied smoothly. "You’d help with emails, scheduling meetings, running errands—nothing too complicated. Just being my right hand.”

“Wouldn’t that be awkward, though? Since we’re, y’know... dating?”

Harry smirked, catching the implication. "So, there’s going to be a second date?" His teasing tone made her blush. “And if anything, it makes it better. I’d get to see you every day instead of just texting."

“But what about school?” Y/N asked, trying to think practically.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said easily. “Whatever you need. We can make it work.”

“Shouldn’t there be an interview or something?” she quipped, trying to lighten the moment, though her heart was racing.

Harry sighed dramatically, playing along. “Alright. Hello, Miss Y/L/N. Welcome to your official interview for the position of Mr. Styles’ personal assistant.”

Y/N giggled, her nerves easing as she followed his lead. “Well, hello Mr. Styles. Thank you for having me.”

Harry’s lips curled into a smile, his eyes twinkling as he played along. “First question,” he said, leaning closer, their faces now just inches apart. “How do you feel about spending every day with me? Answer carefully—it’s a tough one.”

Y/N couldn’t help but giggle, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. “Well, Mr. Styles, I think I could manage that.”

“Good answer,” he praised, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. “Next question: Can you handle a man who’s very particular about his coffee?”

She tilted her head, raising an eyebrow in playful suspicion. “Are we talking normal particular, or... like, twelve-steps-to-make-a-single-cup particular?”

Harry chuckled, his dimples deepening. “Maybe somewhere in between. But don’t worry, I can teach you.”

Y/N laughed softly, her nerves easing even more. Being around him was easy, natural—like slipping into something familiar and warm. “I think I could handle that.”

"One last question," Harry murmured, leaning in even closer. His gaze flickered to her lips for a brief second before locking back onto her eyes. "How do you feel about sneaking around with your boss?"

Her laughter died down, a trace of seriousness replacing it. She knew the risks—things had to stay professional, no hint of their relationship could slip through especially since Harry would not only be her boss but was the Senior Director and had to have the respect of everyone.  But still, she couldn’t resist.

“I think it could be fun,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Good,” He murmured, “I think you’ve passed the test, Bambi,” Y/N noticed how close his lips were to hers, if she moved her face forward they’d be touching, “Any questions?”

. . . 

Harry pulled the car up to the curb just outside Y/N’s house, the gentle hum of the engine fading as he switched it off. The street was quiet, the only light coming from the street lamps casting long shadows on the pavement. Inside her house, the windows were dark, and she silently hoped her brothers were already asleep, sparing her the awkwardness of explaining why she wasn’t rushing inside.

The silence between them felt comfortable yet charged, neither making a move to leave. It was as if both of them knew the night shouldn’t end yet, even though it had to at some point. Y/N looked down at her hands, nervously tracing the edge of her coat, stealing glances at Harry every few moments. He seemed deep in thought, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel, but the same hesitation hung in the air between them.

“Thanks for dinner,” she said softly, her voice breaking the silence.

He turned to her, his expression soft but intent, as if weighing every word. “Don’t need t’ thank me Bambi,” he replied, his eyes lingering on her face a moment longer than necessary. 

“I wish I didn’t have to go home,” She huffed, looking down at her fingers on her lap.

Harry’s lips curved into a small smile, but there was a seriousness in his eyes. He leaned back in his seat, turning his body slightly toward her. “Y’ want to go back to mine?”

She wanted nothing more, the pain of saying no physically paining her, “M-my brothers... they have school,” she murmured.

“S okay,” He smiled. 

The air between them felt thick with unspoken feelings, and she could feel her heart race as the weight of his gaze settled on her. He reached over, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his touch soft.

“Bambi,” he said quietly, his voice suddenly more intimate, like he was laying something important on the table.

She turned to face him fully, her breath catching as his fingers brushed against her cheek, lingering just long enough to make her pulse race. The space between them seemed to vanish, and suddenly, all she could think about was the way his lips would feel against hers.

Neither of them spoke. The tension that had been simmering all evening finally boiled over. Harry’s hand cupped her cheek, and in that quiet moment under the dim streetlights, he leaned in.

The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, like they were both testing the waters. But as soon as their lips touched, a wave of emotion flooded over her, and she couldn’t help but respond. Her hand found its way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, slow and lingering. It wasn’t rushed or hurried—just soft, warm, and full of everything Y/N had been dreaming about for longer than she cared to admit. 

When they finally pulled apart, Harry rested his forehead against hers, both of them catching their breath, their lips still tingling from the kiss. His hand lingered on her cheek, as though neither of them was ready to let the moment slip away just yet.

Y/N opened her mouth to say something, maybe to break the silence or make a joke about how long they’d waited for this. But before she could speak, a loud thud startled her. She turned her head, eyes widening as the lights in her house flickered on. And there they were—her brothers, pressed against the living room window, grinning like fools and making exaggerated kissy faces at them.

“Oh my God,” Y/N groaned, mortified. Her face flushed a deep shade of red as she fumbled with her seatbelt. "This is so embarrassing."

She pushed the door open and scrambled out of her seat, grabbing her purse in a flurry of panic. “I am so sorry, Harry. I-I have to go,” she stammered, her words tumbling out in a rush as she awkwardly tried to regain her composure. “Thank you for dinner, a-and the kiss! Oh, and the job too!”

In her haste, her heel caught on a paving stone, and she stumbled slightly, her purse nearly slipping from her hand as she made her way toward the front door.

Harry watched her, his mouth half open, caught between amusement and disbelief. She was flustered, rambling, and absolutely adorable. He couldn't stop the soft chuckle that escaped him as he leaned back in his seat, shaking his head.

"Bambi!" he called out the car window, grinning. “I'll take that as a yes on the job?”

Y/N turned back briefly, her face flushed but her smile shy and genuine. “Yes! Definitely yes!” she called over her shoulder, before hurrying inside, her brothers still laughing from the window.

As she disappeared through the door, Harry chuckled to himself, the warmth from their kiss still lingering. He turned the ignition on, shaking his head in disbelief at how the night had unfolded. It was far from the graceful goodbye he had imagined, but somehow, it felt perfect. He couldn’t stop smiling as he pulled away from the curb. 

Yeah, he thought to himself, that definitely meant she was taking the job.

[1d1195]

HOV

~8k words

From me: a one-shot

Warnings: enemies to lovers (because WHY NOT), panicked Harry, car accident, hospital visit, etc.

Summary: Two environmentally friendly people carpool to work and almost kill each other every day. Harry brakes too much. She lets people go when it's not their turn. She gets crumbs all over her car. Harry listens to really boring podcasts. Harry thinks she's beautiful even if she's annoying. She thinks Harry is unbelievably sexy even if his opinion of her music is rude.

It’s for the environment. It’s for the environment. It’s for the environment.

Every day he waited for her to get to his car he had to chant it to himself that it was worth it. “We’re not going to fight today,” he mumbled to himself as she left the apartment building. It was exactly one building next to his and so it made sense.

She looked really pretty. She always did. It was brutal on his psyche because he wanted to like her. He was desperate to like her, but she was just so... annoying. But her hair was half up in a clip, pieces spilled from it almost artfully. That was the only way he could describe her: art. Harry wasn’t sure if she wore makeup, he suspected she did but if he found out she was naturally that stunning he wouldn’t have been surprised either.

Her dress pants looked perfect on her legs, not quite painted on but close. Her bright blue button down was tucked in and complimented her complexion so well. She wore a pair of heels to complete her look which he knew she didn’t like doing so he was bracing for her complaints—she was much more of a flats person; but she felt she had to wear them to be taken seriously. She looked professional, beautiful, but approachable.

Harry took a deep breath trying to quell the frustration, anxiety, and adoration he had for her before she got in the car. We’re not going to fight today.

“Hi,” she greeted quietly.

“Hi,” he answered as she got settled. She put her coffee mug in the cup holder, her lunch bag and work bag went to the floor by her feet. Harry much preferred her weekend look, and he was sure she did too; sweatpants, a hoodie or T-shirt, sneakers or slippers was much more her style and she wore that just as beautifully as she did her professional outfit.

Jesus Christ it was going to be a long week. How was it only Monday?

“Do y’have a presentation today?” He asked as she finally settled herself into the passenger seat.

“Yeah, why?” Harry noted she was immediately distrustful and did his best to ignore it because he was trying, with everything in him, to be polite and kind. More than he usual.

“Y’look nice,” he shrugged.

“As in I don’t usually look nice?” She asked defensively. “Are you playing a trick on me? Is this a joke?”

That was short-lived. He sighed and looked at the ceiling for help like the answer to this complicated woman was going to be there, finally. “No, s’not a joke. Y’always look nice, love. But y’look extra nice today.”

“Oh,” she pouted, the pucker between her eyebrows making itself known. He was used to seeing it and he found it cute since she looked so serious and her face was just so sweet it almost didn't make sense for her to look so grumpy. But Harry knew better. “Thank you,” she murmured, surprise laced in her voice. “Sorry... I’m nervous,” she explained.

He frowned. “M’sure you’ll be fine.”

“Mm.”

They didn’t speak for several moments. Silence was a lot better for them. Less of a chance to argue with one another. “How was your weekend?” She asked. Small talk was typically safe. As long as there wasn’t a lot of details.

“Good, finished m’book,” but he didn’t offer what he read because he knew they didn’t share the same taste in book genres and she would probably wrinkle her cute little nose in distaste. “How was yours?”

“Fine, visited my friend,” but she didn’t say which one because he would just tell her how she was being used for her money and networking to get into nice restaurants. The silence continued for another few minutes. She scrolled on her phone then pulled her laptop out of her bag. There was about forty minutes until they reached their office so maybe she would go over her presentation.

Harry would have offered to listen to it, but from experience, she would argue every point of constructive criticism he had to offer—only because he had done the very same. In actuality, her presentation was probably perfect. There was no need for her to be nervous. But as she had explained many times over, she was a woman in a corporate office with a bunch of men who didn’t trust her. She had to work twice as hard to get things done her way.

The silence was interrupted by her stomach growling loud enough for Harry to hear it. He sighed and rolled his eyes like it was a major inconvenience for him. “What, Harry? What?” She grumbled.

“Why don’t y’jus’ eat before y’leave?”

“I told you, I’m nervous about my presentation today.”

“What’s your excuse for the other days?”

“Happy Monday,” she grumbled and put her head on the window. But of course, at that moment Harry stomped on the brake as he was wont to do. Meaning her head all but smacked off the glass. “Ow! For God’s sake, Harry! You don’t have to slam on the brakes!”

“I’m not,” she pulled the visor down to look in the mirror to inspect her forehead as if it was going to create a bruise instantly. “My God, you’re dramatic,” he muttered under his breath.

“You drive like a grandma,” she retorted.

“What, safely?!” He hissed through his teeth. He wanted to actually slam on the brakes. Her stomach growled again only further fueling his annoyance with her. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he pulled off the closest exit and headed for a nearby coffee shop so she could get a pastry or something for her.

“We don’t need to stop.”

“You need t’eat something. Sounds like y’trapped an animal in there.”

Her cheeks felt warm with his comparison. “That’s so fucking rude Harry.”

“I don’t care, y’need t’eat!”

“I’m not hungry. I’m nervous about my presentation.”

“S’gonna be a shitty presentation if y’stomach keeps growling over the sound of your voice.”

She inhaled deeply, closed her eyes and turned to look at the window. “I’m too nervous to eat; thank you for caring in your overbearing, aggressive way, but I won’t eat anything. I’ll eat a granola bar from my desk when we get to the office,” she explained.

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head but returned to the highway after their tiny detour. “You’re sure?”

“Yup. Can’t eat in the car anyway and I don’t want to be any later than we already are.”

“Late,” his eyes were going to get stuck trying to look at the back of his brain. “You’re ridiculous.”

The spat simmered tensely in the silent air between them. They went a whole four minutes without arguing. That had to be a record, even for them.

*

The drive home was much less tense almost always. Usually, they were both too drained to speak to one another, so it made it a lot easier to tolerate the other person’s existence.

So, it was Harry’s fault that they argued again on the way home.

“How was your presentation?” He asked politely.

“Fine,” she shrugged.

“Jus’ fine?” He frowned. “Y’were all worked up ‘bout it this morning.”

“Yeah, because no one takes me seriously,” she snorted, but her laugh didn’t have a trace of real humor in it.

“Right, so it was just fine?”

“What are you looking for here Harry?” Her irritation was evident in her voice.

“I don’t know, a better adjective? Y’got through t’them? They hated it? Fine makes y’sound like a teen coming home from school.”

She rolled her eyes. “They’re going to table my idea for another day,” she sounded exhausted, and Harry was tired too, so in hindsight, he was willing to take the entire blame for the argument and subsequent tense ride home.

“How do y’feel ‘bout that?”

“What do you even care for, Harry? What’s with the interrogation?”

“Forget it,” he sighed. “I was jus’ making conversation. Y’didn’t even ask how my day was.”

“How was your day?” She snapped.

“Fine.”

Her hands clenched into fists in her lap, and she inhaled deeply. “Don’t talk to me,” she grumbled.

“Fine by me.”

*

She drove every other day; it was their routine. It saved wear and tear on their cars and since her car was a hybrid, they really saved on gas and were doing their part to save the environment. If either of them had a car appointment or stayed home sick, then the other one would of course drive and they would pick up the following day, right where they left off.

When she drove, however, Harry was even grumpier, somehow. Though, it seemed impossible someone could be grumpier. But she made him leave an hour earlier than necessary. Harry was already awake and ready but he very much enjoyed a gradual wake up. He liked the time in the morning to do the daily NYT crossword puzzle and to meditate or workout before going to the office.

He did not like arguing an hour earlier than normal.

“It’s for the environment,” she mumbled to herself as Harry approached. He was otherworldly handsome. He looked like he should have been a model, not a financial wizard. His hair was perfectly messy, his eyes sparkled, and his entire frame was just meant to tempt her. In a suit (which he wore every weekday), he looked fan-fucking-tastic. Everything ironed crisply, his tie perfectly straight. He was sincerely hot—there was no other way to describe him.

But his weekend look? When she saw him out and about lounging in joggers and T-shirts that clung to every muscle in his torso? That was her favorite version of him. They usually ran into each other on nice weather days when they both wanted sunshine and air. Harry jogged a lot. She would read on the bench in front of her building. Sometimes they saw one another at the grocery store. But given they spent two hours every day in an enclosed area and argued for nearly the entire time, they were not spending any more of their weekend doing the same thing, so not much more than a polite hello was said between them.

“Good morning,” he murmured as he got in and settled his bag at his feet. Harry didn’t have a presentation to prep so he was planning on sleeping and meditating this morning with his head propped against the window.

“Morning,” she answered softly.

“Sleep okay?” He asked. “The rain and wind woke me a lot.”

“Same,” she agreed. “You’re going to try and sleep then?”

“Mmm,” he hummed. “S’that okay?”

“Yeah, of course.”

It felt less tense today. We’re not going to argue, she thought to herself.

While Harry slept, she remained focused on the road. Her mind making a mental to do list for when she arrived at the office. She knew Harry hated getting there early, but her brain focused so much better without people constantly bothering her.

For a company that clearly had it out for a woman in finance, they sure did need her a whole lot.

She had music on low that she sang quietly along with while Harry slept. If it bothered him, he didn’t say anything today.

Even with Harry sleeping most of the way, it had to be a record that they didn’t argue all the way until they were a mere five minutes from their building. Naturally, their getting along came to an abrupt end. A truck roared in front of her, cutting her off and merging with very little space between them so it could get to the next lane and off at the next turn. It made her gasp and slam on her brakes at the same time. Instinctively, she tossed her arm out to save Harry from whiplash, her arm pressed to the front of his body. “What the fuck!?” He shouted and jolted awake.

“Sorry! Sorry! I was—” She dropped her arm quickly and her hand went back to the steering wheel quickly, hiding the shake she felt in it.

“Were y’letting someone randomly go again?”

She had a penchant for being too polite on the road—it was Harry’s least favorite thing about her driving habits. “N-no—” her palms were sweating against the wheel, her heart pounding as she gripped at it tighter. She parked and felt a wave of frustration and worry fall over her. Even some embarrassment as Harry yelled at her.

She hated being cut off by another driver. It made her so nervous. She wasn’t a car person, but hers was her baby. She didn’t want anything to happen to it and if being a little extra nice and cautious on the road would keep it safe, then she would do it.

“S’more dangerous t’be polite,” he grumbled. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m sorr—”

“Jus’ another reason we should get here so fucking early,” he snapped. “Forget it,” he shook his head and got out of the car and headed into the building without looking at her again. Still shaking, she pouted, took a few calming breaths and composed herself before she followed Harry’s path to their office building.

*

On the ride home she stopped for coffee and kindly purchased Harry one as well without asking—but when he heard her order it at the drive-through, he felt the argument from the morning disappearing slowly from his mind. “Thanks,” he mumbled from beside her.

“You’re welcome,” she figured less would be more in talking to him—especially after their morning.

But it didn’t help that she let two people merge in front of her as they got on the highway—almost like she was still nervous from this morning. Harry sighed heavily, like he was personally inconvenienced by her kindness to other drivers. She ignored it and continued home. Harry watched as she bit into a powdered donut she got. He rolled his eyes.

“What?” She asked through a mouthful, the sugar floated all over herself and her gearshift. He shook his head.

“S’a messy donut.”

“It’s my car,” she pouted. It was hard to take her seriously when she had powdered sugar all over her mouth. She was pretty adorable with sugar all over her cheeks, though, Harry would give her that.

“If y’want t’trade y’car in, they like it to be clean.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not getting rid of her ever.”

He just shook his head again. Some mornings she ate a breakfast sandwich and Harry watched the crumbs of her croissant rain on her outfit like confetti while she drove with one hand on the wheel. His car was pristine while hers was not. There were half empty water bottles in the back and random pieces of her “emergency” kit strewn about in the boot of her car in a way that Harry doubted would ever help if there was truly an emergency. There were blankets and reusable grocery bags all across the backseat—there was just no order. Which was so weird because she was one of the most organized people he knew.

“Y’know y’shouldn’t use plastic water bottles,” he rebuked as he caught sight of another one on the floor behind him.

She sighed. “I recycle them, Harry. Do you honestly think I don’t care about the environment when we carpool every day? Do you think that arguing with you for an hour and a half every day is because I hate the environment?”

“Forget it,” he sighed not wanting to argue. “How was your day?” He asked trying to recreate the tension free car ride that was present first thing this morning before they fought in the parking lot.

“It was okay,” she shrugged but immediately, Harry knew it was a lie. He quirked one eyebrow at her in disbelief and her unsure tone. With a bigger sigh, she relented. “I got yelled at for something that wasn’t my fault and then I didn't even get an apology when they realized it wasn’t.”

Harry frowned. “Did y’say something?”

“Did I try to hurt the male ego?" She shook her head with another eye roll. "Harry, I would never.”

He smirked and looked out the window. She was funny. Even if she was annoying. “Y’have no problem hurting my ego.”

“I hurt your ego?” She asked in surprise. He shrugged and nodded with a smirk still on his lips. That cute little wrinkle between her eyebrows pinched together and made itself known again. Harry once more was overcome by how adorable she was. He didn’t understand her question. Or why she cared. But he wished he had paid closer attention to her reaction because she suddenly looked so upset. “I didn’t know that,” her voice was soft. “I’m... I’m sorry, Harry,” and it really sounded like she was.

He blinked. “S’fine,” he shrugged one shoulder. “I know y’don’t mean it.”

“I don’t, truly.” It felt really important that Harry knew that. Maybe it was her crummy day. Coworkers continued to not trust her nor believe she was capable of doing well, which made her feel worse. God why did she continue working where she wasn’t wanted? Where she wasn’t appreciated? She was still a little shaken from her almost accident and her uncanny ability to piss Harry off. She was suddenly very forlorn over the idea that she had hurt Harry in any way. “How...how was your day?” She asked tentatively her voice catching.

“It was good,” he nodded, but he was looking at her suspiciously and the sound of anxiety coating her words. “Ordinary... Nothing t’really report... Who yelled at you, by the way?”

“No one, it’s nothing,” she shook her head quickly.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Then jus’ tell me, love. S’not a big deal.”

She sighed, irritated, dejected, and tired of arguing. “Do you know Jason?”

Harry scoffed. “He’s a prick and can’t add two plus two. Don’t let him get t’you. Sorry he yelled at you.”

It was one of the nicest things Harry had ever said on her behalf. “S’not your fault,” she mumbled.

“Yeah, but he shouldn’t. M’sure y’do everything perfectly. He’s probably jealous and stupid and everything else.”

“Thank you,” her voice was still soft. Her eyes felt misty at his kindness. Harry being nice on top of her shitty day was so overwhelming—too overwhelming.

Harry noticed right away. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, m’fine,” she nodded, wiping at her cheek.

“Y’don’t look fine, love... Why don’t y’pull over? I don’t want you t’drive if you’re emotional. S’not safe.”

She sniffed. “It’s fine. I’m just being overly sensitive. Not a lot of sleep and... It just... it wasn’t a very good day,” she swiped her hand beneath her nose and wiped her below her eye again while her words got caught in her throat a few times as she spoke.

“Hey,” his voice was gentle. More gentle than it ever had been toward her. “Please, love... jus’ pull over,” he encouraged quietly, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Love, please,” he pleaded. “S’okay t’be emotional.”

“No, it’s not,” she whimpered but pulled to the shoulder of the road at the same time as she heaved on a shaky breath. Cars whizzed past them and Harry watched her closely. “I work in a sea of testosterone, and I’m never appreciated, never respected, and I can’t be emotional,” she fanned her hand in front of her eyes trying to will the tears away. “Especially in front of you.”

“Me?” He pouted, anger took the forefront of his mind, but he had never seen her like this. He felt bad because she was so upset. So, he refrained from snapping back at her.

“You’ll just use it against me or save it for a rainy day to embarrass me.”

“Is that what you really think?” He tutted, his voice devoid of emotion.

She sniffled again. “Yeah... you yelled at me this morning... I didn’t mean to jostle you like that but someone cut me off and—”

She was still upset about that? That seemed like a lifetime ago. Yeah, Harry was irritated, but he felt bad she was holding onto something so small all day. It wasn’t that big of a deal. Her day must have been really shitty if she let one of their arguments take hold of her emotions all day long.

“Hey... hey don’t cry. M’sorry—I shouldn’t have—it doesn’t matter... But y’have t’know, I would never do that, love. M’sorry if I’ve made y’feel that way,” he soothingly rubbed her arm up and down. “S’okay,” he reassured her. “M’gonna drive the rest of the way home. Jus’ slide over for me, love, yeah?” He asked and before she could protest, he was getting out of the car and going to the driver’s side. Not that she really wanted to protest.

But she would have if they were in a parking lot or on a non-highway road. She tried the door handle but Harry shook his head as he approached the driver’s door and jutted his chin to the passenger seat again. Again, she might have argued, but she didn’t want Harry subjected to the busy traffic for any longer, so she awkwardly slid over the console as Harry stayed pressed to the side of the car.

One small piece of her brain realized the most handsome man she knew wasn't letting her get out on the traffic-side. It was a protective, chivalrous moment that made her stomach do a somersault.

Once in the passenger seat, she brushed the powdered sugar that was on the driver's side just before he sat and got powder all over her pants. “Why don’t y’nap or something?” He suggested quietly and pulled into traffic again without any other fanfare.

“Alright,” she sniffed. “Thanks, sorry again.”

“No problem, love,” he mumbled and drove the rest of the way home in silence. He hoped she felt a little better by the time he parked and gently shook her awake. He didn’t say much other than he would see her tomorrow and returned her keys to her. “Have a good night, love,” he murmured as he gathered his belongings and left before they could return to their natural instinct of arguing with one another.

*

After her mini meltdown she was really hopeful that they had turned a corner in their arguing. She couldn’t remember who started the first argument so long ago. When they realized they lived near one another and worked at the same place, it only made sense to carpool. But she didn’t know they would find fault in every little thing.

Harry was constantly late. (But he wasn’t. Not really. He was on time. Which may as well have been late in her book.) It made her insane. He braked too hard—just like the other day. His choice in podcasts was too real and scary at times (she couldn’t get on the true crime train). His favorite book genre was history, which was fine, but he often made fun of the lighter romance novels she liked. There was the no eating in the car rule. And of course, there was his constant backseat driving—it was never-ending.

It's for the environment. She reminded herself.

It was another long day. Her meetings didn’t go well. Her coworkers undervalued her worth and if wasn’t for the fact that her main supervisor gave her stunning reviews and the money was so good, she would have quit ages ago.

Harry was irritated, and she wasn’t sure why. She had cleaned her car over the weekend. She even had it detailed so it was as pretty as Harry’s car. All her blankets were neatly folded, water bottles recycled, and she organized the trunk. There was a new air freshener and everything.

And yet, Harry was still annoyed. He turned the fan off. Twice. She adjusted the settings, they hadn’t even left the parking garage, and he still turned it off. “S’hot.”

“It’s not hot,” she grumbled.

“It feels like m’sweating. Gonna have a heat stroke.”

“Well, I’m cold.”

“Of course you are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

It seemed Harry’s day wasn’t too good either as he was just as willing to argue and just as willing to stand his ground. While they argued they continued turning the temperature knob from one extreme to the other.

“You’re gonna break it!” She whined.

“You’re such a brat.”

Her neck snapped to face him. Her cheeks felt hot with embarrassment. “A brat!?” Her voice was three octaves higher than normal. It felt like the car was shaking.

“Yes, a brat who throws a fit when y’don’t get your way. All the time. Y’want t’leave an hour earlier. Y’want t’eat in the car. Roll the windows down, no now up. Y’want t’listen t’your dumb radio station that is ninety-percent ads. You’re. A. Brat.”

She did slam on her brakes at his explanation. She pulled toward the sidewalk right outside their office building. “Get. Out.”

Harry stared in disbelief. “You’re joking,” he cackled.

“I’m tired of arguing. You’re such a dick to me all the time,” she smacked her hand on the steering wheel. “I had a bad day, and you clearly had a bad day and you can’t leave well enough alone! So yeah. The environment can spare two less people carpooling. Get out of my fucking car, Harry Styles before I run us both into a telephone pole.”

“You’re so judgmental and so ridiculous—”

“Get out!” She practically shrieked.

Harry glared, yanking his stuff from where it sat at his feet. He got out of the car, slamming her door hard. He wouldn’t be surprised if it got stuck shut or if the whole frame shook as he did so. She peeled off the curb leaving Harry to fume. They never fought like that. Almost all their arguments always ended in a quiet “good night” or “have a good day.” Never did she shove him out of the car.

He was simmering with anger. He paced a few steps on the sidewalk trying to calm himself to figure out what to do. Maybe he could call her back. An Uber was going to cost a small fortune to get back home. Worth it, he supposed. God, she drained the life out of him.

He was breathing heavily. Good riddance. It was a dumb idea trying to carpool with someone that made him infuriated. Incensed with the feeling of being right, he scrolled on his app for a new ride.

Before he could submit his request for the most expensive Uber in the history of the world, all anger left his body—floated away as if it wasn’t even there in the first place.

There was a screech of tires and a sickening crunch of metal. Harry looked up just in time to see her car do a full 360 before landing upside down in the middle of the intersection. Her car teetered back and forth as it balanced on the roof. His jaw went slack as he watched the car of the pretty girl he was just arguing with crunch in the middle of the roadway. He was practically ready to strangle her himself but he never wanted—

“Oh my God,” he whispered to himself. Before he fully grasped his own movements he was sprinting into the middle of the roadway.

Without knowing what else to do, he knelt to the ground in a spray of plastic, metal, and glass, his face was almost pressed to the ground as he tried to peer into the only available space. “Baby? You with me?” He asked looking at the terrified, shaking girl. There was blood pouring from her hairline, her hands gripped the steering wheel around the deployed airbag like she was still driving.

“H-Harry?” She whispered. A switch flipped inside him. He wanted to rip the upside-down door off and yank her out. He wanted to hold her. All those annoying things she did, they didn’t bother him anymore. She was so pretty, so sweet, and so funny. The mere thought of her injured, terrified him and broke his heart. He didn't know he felt that way and he was mortified that it took this to realize it.

“M’here, love. M’here, you’re okay, just focus on me,” he was shaking as he dialed on his phone for the emergency line. “There’s been a car crash in the intersection outside of Prosperis Financial,” he said. “There’s at least one injured party.”

“Harry,” she whimpered.

“I know. I know, my love. I know,” he cooed.

God how could he be so stupid? How could he get out of the car? How could he take so long to get out of the car? If they just didn’t fight, they would have been through the intersection and—

“Harry, my head hurts,” she interrupted his spiraling.

“I know, kitten, I know,” he repeated.

“A-and my leg hurts really bad,” she whispered a small break in her voice. She was shocked and in near tears.

“Don’t move your neck, baby,” he ordered.

“I’m scared,” she cried.

“I know, love, I know, m’scared too. But m’not going t'leave you for one second, baby, okay? You’re going t’be fine, everything’s going t’be fine,” he sounded pretty reassuring considering he was freaking out too.

“I didn’t—I didn't see it,” she sniffled.

“S’not your fault, kitten. S’okay. You’re okay, love. Just breathe, and keep talking, yeah?”

“I didn’t mean to yell at you...” she croaked, the anxiety in her voice broke his heart. He hated she felt she had to say it. “I don’t mean to, ever. I-I don’t know why—”

“Shh… we’re not talking ‘bout that. S’okay, my love. We’re okay,” he promised. She could argue whatever she wanted. Harry was in complete agreement. She was right. Every time. He did brake too hard. She wasn’t too nice to others on the road. She could eat in the car or have the heat on in the middle of the summer. Whatever she wanted.

“Okay... I'm sorry,” her voice sounded quiet.

“Help is coming, baby. M’not gonna leave your side, yeah? Jus’ hang on a little bit longer. I know—”

“I’m sorry I eat in your car sometimes,” she whispered her voice cracking more as she apologized for things that no longer mattered. “I’m sorry I’m a brat—”

“No, no, my love. You’re not a brat... shh...” he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her figure, clutching the wheel like she was scared to let go. His heart was aching to do something more, beating too loud in his ears. He wanted to keep her talking. Wanted to rip her out of the car and make sure she was alright. She could do whatever she wanted in his car for the rest of her life. As far as he was concerned, he would be driving her every day for the rest of time. She was never getting behind the wheel again. “S’okay, baby. Whatever makes y’happy.”

She sniffled. “Harry, I don’t feel very good,” she mumbled. “My head hurts.”

“I know it does, kitten,” his voice cracked hearing the exhaustion in her voice. “I’d trade with y’in a heartbeat,” he mumbled.

She sniveled. “I wanna get out.”

“I know, my love. M’trying. They’ll be here soon.”

“I’m scared,” her voice was soft again.

“Baby, I know,” he groaned. Where the fuck was the ambulance?!

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m glad you weren’t in the car,” she whispered. His heart shattered.

“M’not, kitten. M’not glad at all,” he shook his head.

“I think I’m going to pass out,” she warned and then her neck went limp.

“Baby?” Her hands slid from the steering wheel and her head lolled to the side. “Shit!” Harry reached through the broken glass, but the angle was too awkward, and he couldn’t see and reach at the same time. “Kitten, love,” his voice pitched an octave higher with hysteria quickly flooding him. “Baby? Open your eyes! Please,” he begged. “Kitten? Come on,” he muttered reaching blindly for her again. “Fuck,” he croaked.

“Excuse us, sir,” an EMT was finally at his side pushing Harry out of the way. He covered his mouth, sitting back on his heels as they pulled the car to its wheels once more. There was a flurry of movement as they pried through the metal and glass to get her. He choked on his breath as they removed her and he swallowed hard, his heart felt broken as they put a brace around her neck and lifted her onto a stretcher—still unconscious much to his horror. “Are you the boyfriend? Coming on the ambulance?” the paramedic asked.

“Yes,” he answered immediately and filed in behind them.

*

Harry called her mom and sister. They were on their way. He paced the waiting room with the biggest teddy bear the shop had to purchase while he waited for her surgery and tests to end. It felt endless. Harry thought he had aged ten years during the time he was there waiting.

He also got her a balloon—a heart shaped one that said get well soon. He got flowers. And chocolate too. Once he saw her pretty eyes open again and her family was present, he was going to get her a coffee and breakfast sandwich too.

His clothes were dirty from lying in the street, the knees of his slacks had the tiniest holes and rips. His cheek had a few cuts and scratches from pressing it to the ground while he spoke to her upside-down body.

“Are you the boyfriend?”

He shook the thoughts of seeing her bleeding, terrified body away from his mind at the sound of someone speaking to him.

It was hard to believe only yesterday he would have shuddered at the thought. “Yes,” he answered instantly, not caring in the slightest that he was lying for the second time in several hours about their relationship status. “Is she alright?”

“She’s fine,” the doctor stated. Harry sighed with relief, dragged a hand through his hair and swallowed around the relieved tears that filled his eyes and cut off the voice in his throat. He coughed awkwardly.

“Can I see her?” He asked. “Please?”

“Yes, she’s just coming out of the anesthesia,” he explained and tilted his head toward the hallway. Harry grabbed all his presents for her and followed. “She’s a little out of it still,” he warned.

“But she’s okay?” He repeated like he didn't believe the doctor.

“Yes, she’s fine,” he knocked and opened the door.

“Oh, your boyfriend is here, miss,” an older nurse smiled at her as she fiddled with her pillows and the IV stand.

The sweet girl looked high as a kite, her eyes wide, the cut on her forehead stitched. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” she frowned. That cute wrinkle between her brows appeared and Harry wanted nothing more than to smooth it away and ease the tension she felt.

“You might want to rethink that,” a woman smiled at Harry with a wink. “He’s very cute and he brought you gifts.”

“Hi, kitten, baby,” he cooed and crouched beside her bed.

“You’re my boyfriend?” She mumbled in surprise. Her eyes were so wide with the loopy medicine, and he smirked, tears filling his eyes again.

“Yes, my love,” he didn’t even feel like he was lying. To her nor to himself about their relationship. It made sense and he truly adored her so easily. He was grateful for the switch in his mind, he just wished a car accident wasn't the cause.

She smiled, self-satisfied. “I knew you liked me,” she mumbled.

He chuckled and leaned forward to press his lips against her forehead. “Y’okay, baby?” He asked.

“They gave me medicine,” she explained holding up her arm that had three or four needles sticking in it.

“Easy, kitten,” he grabbed her outstretched arm and cupped her hand in both of his with a chuckle. He brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed her knuckles as the nurse pulled a chair up beside her for Harry to sit in.

“Harry," she said suddenly. Like he wasn't listening to her or paying attention to every little movement. "I broke my leg,” she pouted.

“M’sorry, kitten,” he was livid she was injured but with pain meds she was so cute and adorable that he almost chuckled at the way she sighed and frowned about her situation.

She glanced at their interconnected hands. “Have we been dating long? I didn’t know I had a boyfriend. Do I have amnesia?”

He snickered, kissed her fingers again. “No,” he shook his head. “S’quite new.”

“Oh,” she blinked and a smile grew on her face. “I like that you’re my boyfriend,” she sighed dreamily. “Isn’t he hot?” She asked the nurse who was checking her vitals again. Harry rolled his eyes, smirking and looking away from her and the nurse at her appraisal. It was good to know she felt affected by his presence as well. He liked her loopy thoughts and he hoped they would remain true when the medicine wore off. “Did you call my mom?” She asked curiously.

He nodded, cleared his throat as he focused on more important facts and not worrying about their fake relationship status. “Yes, she’s on her way with your sister. I need t’call them, actually,” he pulled his phone out.

“How did you get their number?”

“I looked them up on social media,” he mumbled keeping hold of one hand as he pressed the phone to his ear.

“Harry?” Her sister’s voice asked alertly.

“Hi Thea, she’s okay. M'sitting with her now. She’s loopy from the anesthesia but she’s awake.”

“Tell her to get me coffee,” she whispered loudly. Loud enough for her sister to hear through the phone. Harry smiled.

Thea sighed with relief and snickered. “Sounds like her,” she mumbled. “Thank you, Harry. We’re about twenty minutes out.”

“Of course,” he assured her. “You’ll tell your mum?” He asked.

“Yes, I got it.”

“See you soon.”

Harry placed his phone back in his pocket and watched her loopy mind work through something on her extremely expressive face. “Are you going to kiss me?” She giggled.

Harry laughed. “Later, baby.”

“When’s later?”

“When you’re a little coherent, m’love.”

She blew a breath through her lips making them sputter. “S’not fair.”

“I know,” the smile remained on his face knowing she was okay, and she wanted him to kiss her. It was a bit wild that the switch flipped so rapidly. This was someone he argued with for over two years every day and now he wanted to kiss her, hold her, and never let her go.

“Can I take a nap?” She yawned. “I’m sleepy.”

Harry turned to the nurse. “Can she? Does she have a concussion?”

“Shockingly, no concussion,” the nurse said reading the chart. “You can nap for a bit.”

She closed her eyes instantly. “Night Harry,” she sighed. “I love you.”

He felt his cheeks warm. Ignored her sweet words regardless of how much he would like them to be true. “Night, baby,” he chuckled and pressed another kiss to her forehead as she drifted to sleep without letting go of his hand.

*

When she woke up the next time she was staring at Harry in awe.  “Thea, I’m fine,” she rolled her eyes. The anesthesia had worn off a bit and she didn’t seem to remember she said I love you nor that Harry claimed to be her boyfriend. While she was hesitant to believe that Harry was really there for her, she was glad he was. She was foggy on the details but there was no mistaking that she felt a pull toward him. Maybe it was the kindness he showed her.

“You live in a fourth-floor apartment. You’re not fine. And your car is trash.”

Harry sat quietly to the side of the room while her mom and sister doted on her. Her mom was on the phone with the insurance company taking notes and questioning a lot. “Well, what am I supposed to do? I don't have a choice, I have to figure it out,” she shrugged.

“Figure what out? You’re going to just stay in your apartment for the next six weeks? You’ll go insane. And what if there’s a fire?”

“The chances of me getting in a car wreck and have my apartment catch on fire is probably astronomically small.”

Harry chuckled from his spot, but the sisters ignored him. “You hate your job. Why don’t you just quit and move back home for a bit?

Back home? Harry thought. Not next door? That wouldn't work for Harry's already obsessed heart. “I have a spare bedroom,” Harry said in offering. “First floor apartment in m'building next t'hers,” he was speaking to Thea and not her.

She and Thea both turned to look at him. “I cannot—” She started.

“Really?” Thea interrupted. “You won’t mind? She’s going to need... a lot of help.”

“I can handle it,” he assured her. Thea knew they drove together. She was also well aware that her sister and Harry argued every day. There was no way Harry was going to survive taking care of her if they couldn’t spend more than five minutes in a car without arguing with one another. She watched Harry, bewildered by his kindness toward her. His willingness to take care of her and let her be a burden when he couldn’t stand her most days. “Are y’alright with that, love?”

It might have only been minutes between arguing and her accident, but the change of heart in herself over Harry was something to be admired. Harry was there almost before her airbag finished deploying. He kept her as calm as he could while they waited for the ambulance and promised her it would be okay. He reassured her that all their arguing didn’t mean anything and she softened. She felt herself melting for him. All the little things he did no longer bothered her. He really didn’t slam on the brakes. It was rude of her to want to eat in his car and make a mess. Perhaps it was too hot in her car and she was a little too mean about his favorite book genre.

Am I in love with Harry? She thought to herself. “If...if you’re sure... That’s an awful lot of time to spend with me,” she reminded him wondering if it was only her that was warmed by the near-death experience and she was imagining the knight-and-shining-armor-complex.

“Happy to,” he nodded and remained in his seat.

Harry was holding her hand when her sister and mom arrived, he gave her a gentle shake and called her kitten. Kitten your mum s’here. His voice was so warm and soothing. He didn’t remove his hand until she opened her eyes and his kind smile was a sweet greeting. He cupped her face and brushed his thumb against her jaw. M’gonna sit by the window while they visit, yeah?

“Do you ladies need anything?” He asked standing. “Coffee? Tea? Food?”

“All set, thank you Harry,” her mom smiled around the phone.

“I’m good too,” Thea nodded.

“Baby, all good?”

She nearly choked on her own spit hearing the pet name directed at her, in front of her family.  “Yes,” she murmured then shook her head. “Um... maybe just water?”

“Sure, love. Be right back.”

“I thought he hated you,” Thea was smiling excitedly.

“I thought he did too,” she shrugged a shoulder.

“You’re just going to live with him?”

She smirked. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, right?”

*

Harry carried all her stuff into his apartment and settled it in the spare room. He made sure she was safe in his apartment while he went with her sister to her place to get a suitcase of her clothes from next door. Harry was going to take her to get a new car as soon as the insurance check came through. He helped her to the couch and made sure she felt comfortable. Her foot was propped on a pillow as she stretched out on his furniture. For six weeks they were going to live together.

“Are y'in any pain? Do y’need anything?” He asked making sure she had the remote, a book, water, and blanket all within reach.

“M’fine,” she nodded.

“You sure y’don’t need anything?” He frowned.

“Harry,” she reached for his hand and held it. “Could you sit with me?”

His frown deepened. He crouched beside her, sitting on the coffee table close to her. He squeezed her hand. “What’s wrong?”

“Thank you for being there for me,” she whispered. “I was very scared.”

“Course, baby.”

Her heart skipped a beat with the sweet name again. “Do you like me?” She whispered.

“Was I unclear?” He asked, reaching for her face. His hand fit her cheek perfectly and he rubbed his thumb on her lower lip. The way his eyes softened as he looked at her was the stuff of her romance novels. His eyelids lowered and the smile on his mouth was equal parts sexy as it was innocent. “S’a little selfish of me inviting you here while you recover, don't y'think? S'a reason for it, love."

She cleared her throat, trying not to melt under his touch, his gaze. It seemed impossible. “But... we—we,” she took a deep breath trying to get the sentence in her head to form in her mouth. “Argue so much.”

“S’maybe we could try not arguing.”

“I feel like we’re incapable—”

He interrupted and normally she would have been mad, but his words made her feel hot, burning, like she wasn’t going to get relief unless he kissed her. “Jus’ gotta find a different way t’keep our mouths entertained, kitten,” he leaned forward and stopped when their lips were all but a millimeter apart. “May I?” He asked politely.

“Uh-huh, yes,” she nodded, her brain short circuiting just a hair. Her lips brushed his as she nodded, creating a spark of electricity unlike anything she had felt before. He moaned quietly at the contact. The sound was short-lived, and he tilted her chin and slid his lips over hers.

She gripped at his shirt by his shoulders, pulling him toward her. She felt herself opening to him: her mouth, her brain, her legs. She wanted him all over her and he couldn’t get close enough. It felt insane that less than twenty-four hours ago she would have strangled him for breathing too loudly beside her in the enclosed space of his car and now she wanted him breathing too loudly because of her kisses and more.

He caressed her jaw and the back of her head, tugging her hair ever so softly so she tilted her head back further. “S’nice, baby,” he sighed softly and trailed a path of kisses down her throat. “Knew we could not argue.”

She laughed and nodded. “Guess that’s what’s been missing.”

He chuckled. “Mmm,” he hummed in agreement. “Worth it,” he shrugged one shoulder and dove back in for another heated kiss, making her moan quietly into his mouth. His lips were warm, soft, firm, and perfect. It was a quick path to addiction, and she was happy to have him as her drug.

“Y’said y’loved me when y’came out of anesthesia,” he practically giggled as he pulled away.

She gasped. “I did not.”

“You did.”

“NO.” She slapped a hand over her warm, embarrassed face. “No I didn’t. You're lying.”

“You did, kitten. So sweet of you,” he winked.

She groaned and turned away from him. “I should have just gone into a coma.”

He laughed stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. “It was cute. You were all loopy.”

“I am not cute. I’m an adult woman and I’m not cute.”

“You’re adorable, actually. S’probably why m’obsessed with you.”

“You only knew you were obsessed with me twenty-four hours ago.”

He shrugged. “And I can’t get enough,” he assured her with a wink. “Now, m’thinking I’ll kiss you for another long while and then I’ll make you dinner?”

Her heart fluttered. “I like you a lot better when we don’t argue," she agreed.

He chuckled. “Me too, kitten. Me too,” he mumbled but followed through on his promise to kiss her again and not argue.

--

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

@straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals

@angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams

@summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland

@lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles

@tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter

@kissinthekitchen @boopookie @indierockgirrl @stylesfever @michellekstyles

@just-another-reader1098 @hermionelove @tiredinwinter @whimsy-willows @hannah9921

@fangirl7060 @triski73 @vikiii07 @prettygurl-2009 @mads3502

@angeldavis777 @tchlamqtsgf @lizsogolden @me-undiscovered @you-sunshine

@rose-girls-world @claimingharrystigertattoo @inlikea-coolway @theseaview @lunaharrygurl @emmie2308 @fruity-harry @somebunnybaby @avas-queen-black @mema10 @tulips4harry @spinninc @sassamanda77 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @mp-269 @jmp1494 @fangirl509east @sideboobrry11 @drewrry @dutchtheatrelore @copiastricycle @mypolicemanharryyy @harry2121 @inharryshelter

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist here

[sushirrrry]

PATIENT | a harry styles x reader one-shot word count: 13,405 content warning: mentions of sickness, hospitals, mentions of surgery, pain, mentions of sex

summary: you’re stubborn; harry knows this, but it’s one of his favorite parts about you. his protectiveness goes into full panic mode when you start to inhibit symptoms of a serious medical emergency. as a medical professional himself, he helps you through the scary parts, the recovery, & the parts of life we fear the most: being vulnerable.

authors note: thank you to the anon who sent in the request for protective!doctorry x stubborn!reader <3 here's my take on it, hope you enjoy - sorry for the wait!

________________________________________

You’re sitting on Harry’s kitchen counter, legs swinging slightly, watching him stir something on the stove; it’s his favorite pasta sauce that he claims is made from scratch but is actually a hybrid or jarred and fresh, with a focused furrow in his brow.

There is a candle burning on the table behind you. It is something warm and woody that smells vaguely like cedar and oranges, and if you weren’t sweating through your shirt, you might actually enjoy the atmosphere.

He glances over his shoulder and offers you a small smile. “You alright?”

You nod, instantly, almost too quickly to think about it. “Fine. Just a bit hot in here,” you reassure him, “Must be the stove.”

He doesn’t push that, knowing the cooking could have been a bit much for the small apartment space. He just tilts his head in that knowing way of his and goes back to stirring.

But you can feel his eyes on you when he thinks you’re not looking

They are sharp and perceptive, like he’s filing something away in that trauma surgeon brain of his.

Truth is, you haven’t been feeling alright for days— days have turned into weeks by now.

It started as a weird heaviness in your stomach. You thought it was just something you ate. But then came the fatigue, the nausea, and the low fever that refused to budge that you tried to work through since it felt like you may just have something viral.

And now your entire lower abdomen feels like it’s trying to fold in on itself. But you hate fuss, and you hate the attention that something like this would bring. You hate being the reason anyone has to stop what they’re doing.

Especially Harry— a surgeon who has a lot more to process in his brain than your simplistic day to day life.

So, you just take a slow, deep breath, trying not to wince. Your fingers clench around the edge of the counter as another wave of sharp pain rolls through your side.

“Seriously,” Harry says again, concern is gracing his features as he tries to be a bit gentler this time, “you look a little pale.”

You roll your eyes and grin like it’s nothing. “I’m just a bit hungry.”

He huffs a soft laugh, scrunching his nose as he pushes his glasses up on his face. “Cheeky.”

There’s a pause as he turns the heat off and grabs two bowls from the cabinet. You shift your weight, but the movement sends another stab of pain through your lower abdomen, and your hand shoots out to grip the counter more tightly.

You don’t say anything, you just breathe through your nose and count backward from ten. Each number lasting longer than you anticipated.

When you open your eyes, Harry’s standing in front of you with a bowl of pasta with sauce and a raised brow.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks again, tone still casual but layered with concern. “You’ve been quiet all day and your knuckles are white from gripping that counter a bit hard.”

You shrug, accepting the bowl with a shaky hand and trying not to let the fork rattle too obviously. “Tired. Work’s been a lot and maybe just a bit anxious for the week.”

He crouches slightly so he is eye-level with you, hands on either side of your hips as he stares and your stomach twists—not from pain this time, but because that look that he gives you is so damn gentle. It’s quite infuriating, if you were honest.

“I can check you out, you know,” he says carefully. “Just in case. I’m a doctor.”

You shake your head immediately. “Harry—"

He lifts his hands in surrender, still standing in front of you. “I’m not pushing. Just offering. Doesn’t have to be now.”

You take yourself off of the counter and move towards the small breakfast nook that you use in his apartment for eating meals together; it’s cozy, and it makes you feel domestic together. You take a large bite of the pasta and force it down even though your stomach lurches in protest. Tomato and roasted red pepper—your favorite. He always remembers.

“I’m fine,” you repeat. “Don’t want to waste your time.”

His jaw ticks. That’s the only sign that your words bother him, but he leans against the counter and takes his first bite of his pasta.

“You could never waste my time,” he says quietly, chewing around his words.

You don’t reply to that, and just look down at your pasta, the steam fogging up the lower half of your vision. Your hands are trembling a little, and Harry notices. Of course he does. But he doesn’t say anything else.

Instead, he sits down at the table near you, resting his forearms on the wood as he starts to eat his own bowl.

“So,” he says casually, giving you an out, “I had a guy come in today with a screwdriver embedded in his shoulder. Said it slipped while he was ‘fixing the shed.’” Harry makes air quotes with his spoon. “Pretty sure he was trying to pry open a beer fridge.”

You chuckle softly. “Sounds like a productive afternoon.”

“Oh, he was very committed to the fridge. Stabbed himself, passed out, then woke up and walked into the ER holding it like a party favor. Bleeding all over the floor.”

You smile in spite of yourself, the image absurd enough to cut through the pain. “Did he get to the beer, though?”

“Of course,” Harry says, mock-serious, shaking his head. “It was a matter of principle by then. I think he really just needed his ego to be met at that point.”

You chuckle a little bit, and Harry watches you with something soft in his expression—like the sound eases something tight in him.

“How about you?” he asks. “What chaos did your coworkers create today?”

“Oh God,” you say, perking up a little as you tried to think about your day. “Okay, so you know Ben from accounting—the one who always brings canned tuna in and eats it at his desk?”

Harry grimaces, stabbing another penne noodle. “Unfortunately.”

“Well, he walked into our morning meeting wearing—no lie—sunglasses and a cape. Just stood in the doorway like some kind of budget Dracula and said, ‘I am here to suck the inefficiency from this budget proposal.’”

Harry snorts, shaking his head as he looked back over at you with complete uncertainty that you’re actually telling the truth. “Please tell me you’re making that up.”

“I wish I were. He had charts.”

“Jesus Christ,” he laughs and wipes his mouth with a napkin before he presses his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “You attract the weirdest people.”

“I think it’s a gift,” you say solemnly, pursing your lips.

“Or a curse,” he mutters.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” you ask, tilting your head a bit as you stare at him and notice that his eyes blink up at you with a chilling smirk of his lips. The laughter was good, but your body is rebelling again—tired, hot, shaky. You try not to let it show.

Harry watches you for a beat, noticing that your laugh is cut short. “You sure you’re okay for a movie? We don’t have to do anything else tonight if you’re exhausted.”

“No, I want to.” Your eyes open slowly. “I need something stupid and funny. Something with explosions. Maybe a car chase.”

“Explosions, huh?” He leans back in his chair, considering a few options. “So, like, Fast & Furious stupid? Or actual quality stupid like The Nice Guys?”

“The Nice Guys, please. I have standards, and Ryan Gosling meets all of them.”

He grins, taking the last bite of his meal even though he started eating after you did. “Excellent choice. I’ll set it up after we clean up.”

You slide off the counter carefully, hoping he doesn’t notice how much you’re leaning on it. The pain hits sharper every now and then, like something inside you is straining, waiting for the moment it can give out completely.

But Harry’s eyes are already on the sink, rinsing bowls and talking about how Ryan Gosling in short-sleeved shirts is unfair to everyone involved. You hum your agreement and move toward the couch.

You hate this feeling— the feeling fragile, feeling like something’s breaking apart inside of you and you’re powerless to stop it. But you hate even more the idea of letting Harry see you weak.

That’s the thing about you and Harry: you’ve only been together for about ten months now. It’s hard to find that perfect medium of wanting to be taken care of and making sure you don’t feel like a victim to every situation. Harry has enough to deal with during the day, you don’t want to be a hassle.

You tell yourself that you will make a doctor’s appointment tomorrow if your symptoms don’t cease – Harry doesn’t have to be involved.

So, instead, you smile and say, “I’ll grab the blanket. You get the snacks.”

And you pretend that nothing’s wrong, because it’s easier than admitting your faults.

But now, you’ve curled up on Harry’s couch with a blanket over your lap, the faint blue light of the TV flickering against the windows. The Nice Guys is halfway through, and you haven’t laughed once since the first scene. You want to—Harry’s chuckling quietly beside you, quoting half the lines under his breath like he does in movies that he loves, but everything feels distant, like there’s a thick layer of static between you and the rest of the world.

You shift beneath the blanket and the movement sends a jolt through your right side, and you let out a breath through your nose. The pain has sharpened, localized, like someone has driven a hot poker just below your ribs.

You suck in a breath and try to play it off as a yawn. You lean into the corner of the couch, curling tighter, biting the inside of your cheek as your vision blurs for a second as you start to feel yourself sweating through the sweatshirt you had thrown on over yourself to get more comfortable.

“You cold?” Harry asks gently, his eyes not leaving the screen except for a small movement to glance over at you.

“Mhm,” you hum, swallowing hard. Your throat’s dry, scratchy and soft. “Just cozy.”

He throws a soft arm over the back of the couch and lets his hand settle lightly on your shoulder. He definitely knows you’re lying, but he doesn’t press.

The minutes start to pass, and you lose track of the plot of the movie even though you’ve seen it a million times. Your head starts to pound, and the nausea you had before eating dinner creeps back, stronger now, twisting your stomach with every second that ticks by. Your hands start trembling under the blanket, and your breaths come shorter, faster.

You press your fingers into your side hard, almost like it can cancel the pain. You’re jolted out of your head when you hear Harry’s voice instead of Ryan Gosling’s.

“Alright,” Harry says suddenly, pausing the movie and turning toward you, voice still calm but firmer now, “that’s enough pretending.”

You blink up at him, dazed at his comment, removing your hands to stop yourself from wincing. “What?”

“You’re not okay.” He shifts on the couch, eyes narrowing. “You haven’t been okay all day– all week, really. And I’ve been trying not to push, but… your skins clammy. You’re shaking. And you haven’t touched your tea in twenty minutes, which is your biggest red flag.”

You try to laugh, but it comes out wrong like your vocal cords are tight, cracked. “I’m fine.”

“You are not fine.” He presses the back of his hand to your forehead, and the way his jaw tightens says everything. “You’re burning up.”

“I probably just have a flu or something,” you mutter, shrinking under his touch.

“You’ve had abdominal pain for days,” he says, sharper now. “And a fever. And you keep pressing your side like it is the only thing keeping you from falling apart.”

You look away. He’s right, of course. But you hate this—the exposure, the vulnerability, the way he’s seeing through every wall you’ve built.

“I don’t want to go to the hospital,” you whisper to him, eyes beginning. “I promise I’ll just—”

Harry breathes in slowly, fighting to keep calm. “Let me check you out. Properly—just here, it will be quick and professional.”

You shake your head.

“Why?” he asks softly, voice laced with concern like he feels a bit unsure of your level of trust towards him. “Why won’t you let me help?”

At this point, you really just don’t have a good answer. It stems from the fear of being a burden, of needing too much from someone else. Of being someone whose pain rearranges other people’s lives because you had seen it so many times before, so you decide it’s better to leave him out of it.

“I’ll feel better tomorrow,” you lie— you know it's a lie the second it leaves your mouth.

Harry studies you for a long moment, then sighs, sitting back and running a hand through his hair as he stretches back out on the couch. “Alright. I’m not going to force you. But I need you to promise me—if it gets worse, even a little, you’ll tell me first.”

You nod way too fast and automatically that you feel like you don’t need to say anything else, so you just take a piece of popcorn and place it on your tongue. The salt causes a wave of nausea, but you smile back at him for reassurance.

He doesn’t believe you. But he lets it go, because you can tell that he really, really cares.

But then you only last another thirty minutes of the movie.

The pain turns cruel, truly cruel. It sinks deep, radiating outward, until you can’t focus on anything else. You’re sweating through your clothes and then shivering at the feeling of dampness on your skin under your sweatshirt.

Taking off the blanket, you throw it on the couch next to you, not making eye contact with Harry before you make your way into the kitchen. It may make you feel better to try to make it to the kitchen to splash water on your face, but the moment you stand, the floor tilts under you like a ship.

The wave is intentionally harmful to you as you try to level yourself against the wall in his apartment by the fridge, hanging onto it to keep your balance.

“Harry?” you croak, feeling your tongue slur before everything goes sideways.

You collapse to your knees, gasping, the pain in your abdomen stabbing so violently it knocks the air out of you. You barely register Harry flying upwards from the sofa, shouting your name before you hit the floor.

The last thing you see before the black creeps in is Harry’s face hovering over yours with a look that screams terrified and helpless. There may be some anger in there, but he doesn’t let it show yet.

When you come back to the world, your head is in his lap and you feel the sweat dripping down the side of your face. His fingers are on your neck, checking your pulse. His other hand is brushing hair away from your clammy face, but his voice is anything but soft.

“Jesus, I knew something was wrong,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “What the hell is going on with you?”

You groan, trying to sit up, but the motion tears through your core like glass. “Harry—”

“No.” He shakes his head, eyes flashing. “No more of this. You’re done hiding.”

“I didn’t want—”

“I don’t care what you want right now,” he lifts you with terrifying gentleness, cradling you against his chest like you weigh nothing. “We’re going to the ER. Right now.”

“I just need a minute— I got dizzy.”

“You collapsed, you didn’t just ‘get dizzy’.” His voice cracks at the end, and that’s when you stop arguing.

Because you’ve never heard Harry Styles sound scared before. You decide it’s not worth it to fight anymore, and that maybe it would be best to just allow this to happen – to allow him to have the pleasure of figuring out if something is wrong.

You decide to let your guard down for the moment, and take a deep breath before you concede to his request.

He moves like a man possessed—no fumbling, no hesitation this time. He sets you down, you lean against the kitchen cabinets just long enough to grab his keys, his phone, his ID badge for the ER. You try to speak again, but the pain cuts you off, so you just focus on your breathing instead.

Harry scoops you back into his arms without missing a beat and carries you down to the car, muttering under his breath the entire time—things you can’t make out, except for the way your name keeps slipping through like a prayer and a curse all at once.

In the car, you’re curled against him in the passenger seat, your body lurching with every bump in the road. He keeps one hand on the wheel, the other on your thigh, grounding you.

You’re half-conscious by the time the car pulls up to the hospital entrance, the world a blur of lights and color through half-lidded eyes, you feel yourself groan out. Harry doesn’t waste time; he pulls you from the passenger seat with practiced urgency and strides through the ER doors like he owns the place. Because, in some ways, he does.

“Patient presenting with acute abdominal pain, fever, and collapse,” Harry calls to the intake nurse. His voice is sharp, commanding, not loud, but nothing like the soft way he talks to you at home.

The nurse’s eyes widen as she recognizes him. “Dr. Styles—”

“Let’s do vitals first. Please page Dr. Carson for consult. I’ll stay with her until someone gets here.” He doesn’t wait for a response before steering you into the nearest exam bay, gently easing you onto the bed. You hiss in pain as your body curls inward, instinctively guarding your side.

Harry’s jaw tightens. “You’re okay,” he murmurs, brushing damp hair off your forehead. “I’ve got you.”

You try to speak, but your throat is dry, your lips cracked.

“Kinda hot how you act like you own the place,” you rasp, trying to make a joke before he rolls his eyes.

He lets out a humorless laugh, kneeling beside the bed to stay eye level with you. “Just try and take it easy, will you?”

“I didn’t want to—”

“I know.” His voice softens, nodding as he understood what you meant. “But I don’t care how tough you think you are. You scared the hell out of me.”

You blink up at him, and in the bright hospital lights, his worry is plain: the crease in his brow, the tight grip on your wrist where he’s still checking your pulse, the way his eyes won’t leave yours like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he looks away.

A nurse appears with a blood pressure cuff and thermometer, giving you a quiet smile as she looks between you and Harry. Harry steps back just enough to let her work, but stays close—hovering, watching every reading with clinical precision. You can see by the way that his fingers pinch his lower lip that he would do anything to be the one checking this – just to make sure you’re okay.  

“Your fever’s over 102,” The nurse states, writing down your vitals on the chart before she watches your blood pressure, “Heart rate’s through the roof. Blood pressure is low.”

You look back at Harry to get his reaction before you take a deep breath. Your body lays on the small bed, feeling the weight of your body now.

“Any chance of pregnancy?” the nurse asks casually, more out of habit than suspicion.

“No,” you both say in unison. Harry’s voice is firm, yours is barely audible before you catch his glimpse.

The nurse jots it down, unbothered by the speed. “Pain on palpation?”

Harry’s eyes meet yours. “I’m going to press on your abdomen, okay?”

You nod weakly, as you look back at the nurse who watches for a moment. His fingers are careful but methodical as he moves across your stomach. When he reaches your right lower side, you jolt violently, a strangled sound escaping your throat.

“Rebound tenderness,” he mutters; the nurse writes down his notes as you take in a breath. Then louder: “We need an ultrasound. Maybe a CT, but let’s start there.”

“Harry—” you manage, a whisper, barely audible as he starts to move away to allow the nurses to take more charge on the case.

“I’m here,” he says immediately, stepping closer, one hand steady on your arm as he moves to squat next to you. “You’re okay, in good hands. I’ve got you.”

The nurse has found a vein and starts drawing blood. You hate needles, always have which may be a subconscious reason you didn’t make your way here on your own earlier, but you don’t flinch. You’re too far gone to care, and you just keep your eyes on Harry.

Someone is speaking to you, asking for your name, your birth date, the onset of symptoms. Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

“She’s had intermittent lower abdominal pain for days,” Harry says, voice even but clipped, like he’s trying to stay calm and professional. “Fever, nausea, and then collapsed at home tonight. RLQ tenderness on palpation. I would suspect probable appendicitis with high risk of rupture.”

“Has she eaten anything in the last few hours?” a nurse asks while sliding an IV catheter into the crook of your arm.

“Yes, we made dinner tonight, but I don’t think she’s eaten or had an appetite for a few days.”

You feel the IV thread into your skin, a deep ache blooming up your arm, and instinctively try to pull away. Harry presses his hand over yours, firm but reassuring.

“Sorry, sweetie,” The nurse tells your gently; her hands are light, and you can tell that she doesn’t like making your uncomfortable.

“Easy, love,” he says gently, his thumb brushing over your wrist. “It’s just fluids. They’re trying to help.”

He doesn’t let go, either. One nurse places a cool hand on your forehead while another adjusts the monitors. The pulse oximeter beeps on your finger before the curtain rustles again, and a technician wheels in the portable ultrasound machine.

Harry steps aside just enough to give them access to your abdomen, but his hand lingers at the edge of the gurney, eyes locked on the screen as gel is applied to your stomach and the wand begins to sweep over your skin. You feel like everything is happening so quickly, but you let yourself breathe.

Your hand starts to tremble, and he takes note of it quickly before taking it in his.

You don’t remember what they say, or how they say it. You just remember the sound of your name spoken in Harry’s voice—soft, steady, anchoring you through the white noise.

“Why didn’t you bring her in sooner?” someone asks, not unkindly.

Harry doesn’t answer right away, but just glances at you.

“Because she’s stubborn,” he finally says. “And I didn’t want to push her.”

You want to apologize, but your body won’t let you. You’re too tired, too sick.

The next hour passes in flashes: the cold gel of the ultrasound wand against your skin, the dim blue light of the imaging room, the sharp sting of the IV drip as fluids rush in. You think you hear someone say “rupture risk” again, but your brain is floating too far away to make sense of it.

As time passes, you let your eyes close for a moment as you try and calm yourself down. Everything feels very overwhelming, but Harry is by your side, arms crossed, talking in low tones with another doctor. You recognize Dr. Carson—she’s senior, good, calm under pressure. She had always talked so highly of Harry and his skill, and you trust that you’re in excellent hands.

“She has acute appendicitis,” Dr. Carson says gently, confirming what Harry already knew. “Looks like it’s close to rupturing which is causing all of the severe pain and fever symptoms. We’ll need to take her in immediately.”

Harry nods once, sure of his choice. “I’ll assist.”

“Are you sure?” Dr. Carson asks, lowering her voice. “You’re close to her.”

“I won’t cut into her,” he replies, steel in his voice. “You can lead. I’ll assist. But I want to go in.”

You watch as Dr. Carson nods and steps away, her arm resting on Harry’s shoulder as he moves to turn back to you. You’re more alert now, the fluids helping, but your stomach still feels like a war zone and every breath sends new pain radiating through your side.

“I have to go scrub in,” he says softly, brushing your cheek. “Dr. Carson’s the best. You’re in good hands. But I’ll be there and get all of the information I need, alright?”

You nod, tears threatening at the corners of your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, feeling yourself sink into the gurney. Everything seems to be slipping away from you as you shake your head and feel like a complete fool for not allowing Harry to help sooner.

His brows furrow, thumb brushing against your cheek. “What for?”

“For hiding it. For making you—”

“Don’t,” He leans down and presses a kiss to your temple, lingering there for a second longer than he should. “You’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever loved.”

You freeze; he doesn’t take it back, but you watch as the smile creeps on his face and lingers. You swallow back the words before you watch as he moves out of the room, leaving you with the nurses and the words floating around you.

+++

It had been a while since Harry had left you – not super long, but long enough. You tried to take a small nap, maybe allowing your body to catch up with how exhausted you really felt besides all the pain.

They wheeled you through the wide corridors of the hospital with purposeful ease, the fluorescent lights above blinking in rhythm as your bed glides beneath them. You try to keep your breathing steady, to focus on the clatter of wheels or the gentle murmur of nurses beside you, but every nerve in your body feels exposed, raw.

Your mouth is dry; your fingers twitch restlessly on the starched sheet draped over you and your new hospital gown that they had helped you change into.

Then, through the hum of motion and soft beeps and antiseptic air, you see him.

Harry.

He’s just outside the surgical suite, standing tall beside Dr. Carson, already dressed in surgical scrubs. The navy-blue fabric clings to his frame in all the right places—familiar, but different now, clinical and commanding. His hair is tucked beneath a surgical cap, a few curls escaping at the nape. A mask hangs loose around his neck, not yet covering his face, and his eyes—those bright, sharp, impossibly expressive eyes are now locked onto yours the moment he sees you through his wire framed glasses.

His spine straightens against the wall; his face softens. And then he’s moving toward you.

You try to sit up but don’t make it far—pain curls hot and fast through your side and steals the breath from your lungs. You flinch, and instantly, Harry is there, crouched beside the gurney, reaching for your hand.

“Hey,” he says quietly, but his voice trembles at the edges. “Looks like you’re still here on Earth with us, huh?”

“You look… unfairly hot right now when I have to look like this,” you murmur, feeling the drugs working through your system.

He lets out a laugh—sharp and short, surprised, but it cracks something in the tight line of his shoulders.

You scan him again, head to toe, trying to take it all in. The sleeves stretched over his forearms. The pale green ID badge clipped to his chest. The way his scrubs hang slightly loose on his hips, the stethoscope still slung around his neck even though someone else will be listening to your heart soon.

Harry raises an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re drugged.”

“No,” you breathe, letting out a smaller laugh, “Well – yes, but I’m also scared. And you look like you could fight death itself and win.”

He shakes his head softly, eyes glinting in the light as he blinks back at you. “That’s not the part that scares me.”

“What is?”

“That I can’t protect you from this the way I want to – I’m not in charge of this, so that’s difficult for me.”

You lift a hand slowly to brush the backs of your fingers over his jaw. He leans into the touch, just a little.

“You’re here and you made sure I was here,” you tell him. “That’s enough.”

Dr. Carson approaches then, calm and capable in her own scrubs to match his. “I think we’re ready to bring you back, we have a plan of action and we’re going to make sure that everything goes smoothly.”

Harry’s hand lingers on yours before he stands up and moves closer to Dr. Carson.

“I’ll be with you the whole time,” he promises, nodding back at you for assurance. “You won’t be alone for a second.”

You blink up at him, throat tight as you try your best to keep it together. “And you won’t be distracted thinking about how good I think you look in those scrubs?”

He huffs out a broken laugh. “Not a chance.”

The gurney starts to move again, and Harry squeezes your hand once more before letting go—slowly, like he’s reluctant to release you.

The last thing you see before the operating room doors swing open is him, and you think, just before the anesthetic clouds your thoughts: if he’s in the room, you’ll make it out.

+++

The first inkling that you’re awake is the sound of the soft beeping and the distinct chill of a hospital room.

Your mouth is drier than it was before, your throat aches. There’s an oxygen cannula nestled beneath your nose and an IV in your arm, but none of that bothers you half as much as the tight throb in your side, wrapped in bandages and freshly stitched.

You blink slowly. The lights are dim. Outside the window, the sky is a deep indigo, early morning maybe. Everything’s quiet, except the small sounds of the hospital that feel at peace. It almost feels hard to breathe with the tightness at your side.

“You’re awake.”

Harry’s voice is a whisper, hoarse and laced with relief. He’s seated beside your bed, still in his scrubs, hair a mess, exhaustion etched deep into his face. His hand is already on yours, thumb stroking your knuckles.

“You scared me,” he says. Not accusatory. Just honest.

You try to speak, but your voice barely comes out. “Didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” He squeezes your hand, grabbing the ginger ale that sits by the bedside and hands it to you. “Surgery went perfectly well. It was a textbook appendectomy. No rupture, but it was close—maybe another hour and we’d be having a very different conversation.”

Your heart stutters as you look at him, really look at him, and the façade he always wears in his scrubs is gone—no cool detachment, no clinical efficiency. It’s just Harry – the guy you met on Hinge on a random Thursday night, went to dinner with after his long 12-hour shift, and he’s looking at you tired and worried and still so soft.

You take a sip of the ginger ale, gently, through the straw and blink a few times before your throat starts to ease.

“You said you loved me.”

The words hang in the room, and he goes still. You feel the way that his fingers brush over your hand, softly allowing there to be a moment between you.

“I did,” he says, voice barely audible. “And I meant it.”

You stare at him, searching his face. The room feels incredibly intimate, and you wonder if you want to stop talking about this until you’re in a better state of mind, but you continue to joke, “You’re not just saying that because I almost died?”

A weak smile tugs at his lips. “No. I promise I’ve loved you through much less dramatic situations.”

You want to laugh, but it hurts too much; you can feel how tight your stomach feels. So instead, you let the silence settle between you again. You don’t say it back, not yet, but the way your fingers curl tighter into his says enough.

A nurse enters with fresh fluids and checks your vitals, taking notes about your coming out of anesthesia. Harry steps back just enough to let her work, but stays in your peripheral, arms folded, eyes locked on every number on the screen.

“She’ll be in overnight,” the nurse says. “Barring any complications, you should be able to go home tomorrow.”

Harry nods at the direction. “Thank you.”

Once the nurse leaves, you glance at him again starting to get comfortable against the leather sofa in the room, the one direction next to your bed. “You’re really not going home?”

He shakes his head, kicking off his shoes. “Not a chance.”

“You need to sleep.”

“I’ll sleep when you’re back in your own bed.” Harry curls into the chair, letting his head rest against the side of the chair before he throws his legs over the side of the armrest. It’s like he’s done this before, multiple times, so you don’t feel as bad.

You sigh, your heart full and aching all at once. “You’re impossible.”

“Takes one to know one.”

+++

Later, when you drift back awake in the early morning, Harry’s still there. He’s kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the chair beside your bed, legs slung over the armrest, head tilted back. His neck looks like it’s going to regret that nap.

You shift slightly, and it’s enough to wake him. He jolts upright, instantly alert.

“You okay?” he asks, voice very raspy from the momentary nap he's taken.

You nod, because that doesn't hurt as bad as the rest of your body. “Just sore.”

He moves to your side, throwing his legs back over the chair and wiping at his eyes to wake himself up. “You need anything? Ice chips? Pain meds? I can call the nurse.”

“I’m fine.”

He raises an eyebrow, licking his lips as he shakes his head at you. “That phrase is banned until further notice.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile cracks your lips. “Okay. Maybe a little water would be good.”

“See? Progress," Harry smirks, grabbing a cup of water with a straw.

He helps you sip slowly from a cup with a straw, holding it for you like you’re made of glass. You hate how helpless you feel—but you also love that it’s him willing to help.

“How long till I can leave?” you ask after you swallow, wiping at your lips.

“Tomorrow morning, maybe,” he says. “They want to monitor you overnight tonight. Make sure there’s no fever, no signs of infection.”

“And then?”

“Then I’m taking you home.” His tone is final, nodding at you as he sat next to you. “You’re not lifting a finger for at least a week. I already put in leave. My schedule’s clear.”

You shake your head, sighing at his sudden need to protect you, “Harry, you don’t have to—”

“I want to, and I will."

You swallow thickly. “But—”

“You took care of me after that car accident last year. Remember? You didn’t sleep for two nights. You made that weird soup that had the broccoli puree.”

You groan, remembering it well. “That soup was delicious.”

“It was awful,” he says with a grin, which only makes you grin back in response. “But I drank every bowl of it. Because I love you.”

Your eyes sting when you blink; taking in a breath when you hear him say it again. You still haven't said it— but you feel it. You know what it feels like, and you just don’t know when you're going to feel it.

“Let me return the favor,” he says gently, taking your hand in his. “Please.”

You nod, finally. And he kisses your hand again, this time without hesitation. This time, with solidity that he won't hurt you.

+++

You had spent the night in the hospital again— much to your dismay, as you really didn't get too much sleep when you were there. You didn’t show any negative symptoms and seemed to be doing fine walking on your own to the bathroom and back to your bed.

So, it meant that Harry could bring you home to care for you. Harry was happy that all of you seemed to check out, leaving him with a proud look on his face as he kept you company and took care of you when the nurses weren’t available.

You barely make it to the couch back in his apartment before you’re ready to collapse.

Harry has one arm around your back holding you up as you took many little steps, ignoring every protest you’ve muttered since you left the hospital. He practically carries you across the threshold like it’s a wedding night instead of post-op day one and gently helps you settle down on the plush cushions, adjusting the pillows behind you with absurd precision.

“I could’ve walked on my own,” you grumble when you're finally settled.

He raises a brow, settling your items down on the counter. “You nearly passed out getting into the car.”

“I stood up too fast,” you tell him, defensively, “Blood pressure dropped.”

He points at you with the same finger he uses when lecturing interns. “You had surgery less than thirty-six hours ago. You’re not standing at all unless I say so," He furrows, biting on his lip, "Or you need to use the bathroom, then we can figure it out."

You open your mouth to argue again, but he’s already moving to start to figure out your recovery plan. He folds a blanket over your legs, checks your temperature with a forehead scanner, fluffs your pillow one last time, and disappears into the kitchen to start getting food together for you.

From the couch, you hear cabinets opening and the soft sound of a kettle clicking on.

“What are you doing now?” You call back, licking your lips as you pull the blanket over you a little bit. Harry’s kept the cooling temperature of the apartment to ensure that you don’t get too hot.

“Making tea and heating up your broth,” he calls back. “You’re not getting solids for another day, and you need some useful fluids.”

You roll your eyes, but a small smile tugs at your lips. He’s in full-on doctor mode—bossy, precise, focused on the end goal of making you feel better. But there’s something else underneath it; it’s something that’s been only meant for you.

When he returns to the living room, it’s with a tray: a warm mug of peppermint tea, a bowl of steaming broth, a water bottle with a straw, and a little notepad where he’s apparently tracking your medication times and vitals. He’s written your most recent temperature and a log of medication times.

“You’re actually keeping a chart?” you ask, incredulous as you take the cup of tea in her hands.

“I trust myself more than your memory right now,” he says smoothly, sitting at the end of the sofa where your feet lie. “Now, some small sips. Ten minutes between liquids and meds. And if you so much as try to get up alone, I will have to personally tie you to the couch.”

You snort, holding the warm tea between your hands as you bring it to your lips. “Kinky.”

He grins, but the look in his eyes is anything but playful.

“I mean it,” he says, more softly now. “You were really sick. You need rest. Let me take care of you, yeah?"

The gentle edge in his voice pulls the air from your lungs. You nod, pressing your lips together. Something about this feel so safe; it’s such a different situation than you’ve ever been in, and you feel so lucky that he has taken charge.

He gives you a quiet smile, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you in the quiet room. There’s no more sounds of the hospital, no more beeping or interruptions, or squeamish sounds and feelings. You, half-draped in blankets, are just recovering. Him, sitting on the edge of the sofa like he can’t afford to lean back until he’s sure you’re 100 percent out of the woods.

You glance at the notepad again. Temperature log. Pain rating. Medications. Everything lined up in neat rows with Harry’s sharp, slightly slanted handwriting like he did a million times in med school, you’re sure.

It’s the kind of personality that made you fall from him; it’s so different, but it’s so him.

“You’re kind of amazing, you know that?” you murmur, nodding a few times. You want to express your attention to his detail, and want him to know that he’s made it beyond all expectations.

He shrugs, eyes flicking down at his lap like he’s almost embarrassed. “I’m just… really relieved you’re okay.”

There’s something about the way he says it—quiet, tightly reined in—that makes your chest pull.

“You were scared.” Your words are barely a whisper.

He doesn’t deny it, shaking his head. “Terrified.”

You reach out, hand trembling a little, and rest your fingers lightly over his wrist. “I’m sorry I let it get that bad.”

His eyes lift to yours again, hidden behind the glasses. “Just promise me you’ll never do that again. I don’t care how stubborn you are or how much you hate hospitals—if something feels wrong, you tell me. No toughing it out, no hiding it. Not from me, at least.”

You nod, slowly, taking in every word. “I promise.”

“Good,” he says, but there’s something thick in his voice, like he doesn’t quite trust his emotions to behave if he says anything else.

You let the silence settle, because it feels natural. It never felt natural before; only replacing the feeling of awkwardness.

Eventually, when the mug of broth is nearly empty and your eyelids are getting heavy again, he sets the tray aside and helps you shift further into the cushions.

“You okay to sleep for a bit?” he asks, already reaching to smooth your hair away from your face.

You nod, throat tight with a kind of gratitude you don’t have words for, so you just nod.

“I’ll be right here,” he says, settling beside you, hand resting gently on your leg through the blanket. “Just rest. You’re safe.”

+++

Over the next few days, your body slows to the rhythm of recovery—and Harry is always two steps ahead of it.

He sets alarms for every pain med dose, checks your incision daily with the careful precision of someone who’s done this a hundred times but never with this much worry in his chest. He monitors for signs of infection like he’s preparing for rounds. But it’s the little things that get you that you can’t imagine without him there.

The way he practically carried you to the bathroom the first night because your legs were too shaky, so he stayed and was so patient. The way he set up a mirror in the living room so you can brush your hair from the couch, even taking the brush a few times himself to help you with the back. The way he sits beside you during every meal, making sure if you need help, he's right there.

At one point you say, “You know, I can do somethings myself.”

He lifts an eyebrow, almost like you had said something so absurd. “You want to re-open your incision over pride?”

You glare back him, biting the inside of your cheek. He kisses your forehead, and you feel the way that he wants to linger. "Thought so.”

That night, he sleeps in the recliner beside you, one hand always within reach almost like you would disappear if he didn’t reach out. The third evening, you wake from a nap to find him checking your temperature, thinking you’re asleep.

“You’re still running a little warm,” he murmurs in the darkness. “But you’re okay. You’re okay.”

You pretend to stay asleep, just so you can hear him say it again; just so you can hear him in your dreams.

+++

By the fourth day, you feel marginally more like a human being. So much so, that you actually convince Harry to let you walk to the kitchen – of course, with him hovering behind like a bodyguard, and you even manage to sit upright for breakfast.

“I will need a shower,” you announce at the table, “Desperately.”

He puts down his spoon from his yogurt bowl that he’s constructed. “You’re not cleared for that yet.”

“Harry—” you argue, glaring up at him with a huff.

“Nope. Not arguing. Sponge bath or nothing.”

You blink at him, taking a bite of apple slice that he’s cut – in extremely small pieces so you don’t choke. “Are you offering?”

He smirks, shrugging like he knew exactly what you were asking, but didn’t want to say. “Are you asking?”

You throw an apple slice at him. He catches it with a cackle, and you feel the blood in your veins starting to heat with anticipation for the way that he looks at you.

It had only been ten months together, but this past week had felt like a year alone.

He sets the apple slice on the table and leans forward just enough to narrow the distance between you, elbows braced on the wood. His grin is lazy, knowing, but there's a softness behind it—something warmer than teasing, something quieter than lust.

“You know,” he says, voice low and slow, “if you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to forget you’ve got stitches and make a very poor medical decision.”

You lean your back on the chair, the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. “I’m not doing anything.”

His eyes flick down to your mouth, then slowly trace their way back up. “You don’t have to.”

Your pulse jumps at his words, soft and subtle and full of extraordinary remarks that blow you away each time. He sees it in the way your breath stutters, in the way your fingers curl a little tighter around your spoon.

He leans back a bit, giving you room to breathe but not taking his eyes off you. “You’re healing,” he says gently, knowing, “I know that. But don’t think for a second I haven’t been thinking about you every night I slept in that recliner next to you.”

You smile—soft, surprised at his statement. “Every night?”

He nods, acknowledging with certainty. “You’d shift in your sleep, make these little noises when your incision tugged. And I’d want nothing more than to crawl over with you and make it all better.”

Your throat goes dry, shaking your head with a serious flush on your cheeks that is definitely not a fever. “Harry…”

“But I couldn’t,” he continues. “Because the only thing I wanted more than to hold you was to make sure you didn’t break open again.”

That shuts you up. The moment hangs—sweet and aching. Then he clears his throat and smiles again, something lighter this time.

“So unless you’re asking for a very awkward sponge bath with medical-grade wipes and an extremely flustered nurse—”

You laugh a little at that, owning the surrender. “Okay, okay! Message received, thank you.”

“Good.” He pops the last apple slice in his mouth, smirking. “Because when you’re better, I won’t be this restrained.”

You swallow hard, thinking of the last time he spoke to you this way and knowing that it may have only been this one time. “And if I said I’m already feeling better?”

He grins, licking juice from his thumb, the flush now on his face. “Then I’d just tell you to prove it. But only after a full abdominal check, clear vitals, and a signed-off discharge from your primary care provider. Which is me, by the way.”

You groan, rolling your eyes as you take another bite of oatmeal. “You’re impossible.”

However, much to your dismay and utter begging, he doesn’t let you shower.

In fact, he actually pushes for the sponge bath more than you wanted, but in a clinical way that allows him to check on the incision and make sure that infection won’t happen. When he does help you clean up with warm cloths and gentle hands, it’s quieter. More tender than he originally stated, which makes your muscles loosen.

His fingers move carefully over your skin, like he’s afraid you’ll break again or make you think otherwise of him. You don’t speak much, just look at him while he works, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Stop huffing,” you murmur eventually.

“I’m not huffing,” he states defensively, shaking his head as he wipes away a bit of water on your skin, “I’m being thorough.”

You smile, biting on your lip. “You’re a good doctor.”

His hand stills on your arm. “I wasn’t scared like this with patients before,” he says. “Not like this.”

You look at him, heart thudding slow and deep. “Because it was me?”

He meets your gaze for a moment before pulling away. “Yes, because it was you.”

After your sponge bath, he dresses you back into another set of pajamas that aren’t tight and that feel comfortable. You feel clean and like you can breathe again, and it makes you feel better that he’s satisfied with how the recovery is going.

It was finally time that you were allowed to sleep in a bed rather than on a sofa with him next to you. He helps, but you finally make it back into your bed and under the covers, and for the first time in nearly a week, he lies beside you.

“You can sleep in your bed again,” you murmur as he slides under the covers. “I’m not a fragile porcelain doll anymore.”

“No, you’re always a fragile porcelain doll, but now I know how easy it is to break you,” he says, pulling you in close without jostling your sore side. “But I’ll keep you from breaking again, don’t worry.”

You lean your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. It feels nice to be close to him again, knowing that the pain is getting further away and you’re feeling stronger each day.

“Still love me even though I’m gross and stitched together?”

He laughs, the sound vibrating through you as he held you close, not hard. “I loved you when you were hiding a fever and yelling at me for fluffing pillows wrong. I’ll love you until you’re ninety and yelling at me for taking your walker away.”

You grin, the smell of cologne lingering on the t-shirt he wore to bed so now it’s just a remedy of essential scents by him. “Sounds romantic.”

“It is,” he whispers, brushing a kiss to your temple. “You just don’t see it yet.”

+++

You wake up without pain.

It’s the first time in over a week that your body doesn’t feel like it’s on fire or stitched together with barbed wire. You’re still tender, still moving carefully, but you can breathe without flinching, stretch your legs without feeling like you’ll crack open.

Harry’s already up; he’s not next to you anymore, which is shocking. The past few days, he hadn’t let you leave his sight. But now you lay there in the bed, alone, and let your mind wander for a moment – thinking about how he’s in the kitchen, just a few feet away.

You hear him puttering around with pots and pans—eggs, probably, or toast, and that god-awful green smoothie he insists is “medicinal.”

You find that you can finally get up from the bed on your own. So, you shuffle out, dressed in the sweatpants and a t-shirt that you realize is his. He’s standing at the stove in his joggers and a hoodie, hair damp from a shower that morning, flipping something in a pan, listening to it as it sizzles. The Eagles play softly next to him, he whistles along to the soothing sounds of Life in the Fast Lane play out of his Spotify.

He turns and sees you leaning on the counter; your breath halts when he looks at you because it’s almost atrocious how beautiful he is in the mornings. “Morning, love.”

“I think I’ve overcome – I’m alive again,” you cross your arms, “Though I do feel like a troll.”

The smile on his face is a big and proud one, and he crosses to you in three steps, his hand ghosting over your waist like he’s still afraid to touch too hard. Instead, he just kisses your forehead and lifts your jaw to look up at him.

“You do look good,” his voice is soft as he pushes some of your bedhead out of the way, “Color’s back in your face.”

You rest your forehead against his chest. “I feel less like a Victorian orphan.”

“You smell better, too.”

You slap his chest weakly. He kisses the top of your head as he walks back to the breakfast on the stove.

He feeds you eggs and toast and you sit at the table like a real human, even though he still insists on giving you your pills with a full glass of water and checking the incision before you’re allowed to stand back up. But you catch him watching you differently now—less like a patient, more like a person he wants to wrap in his arms and keep forever.

“You’re gonna go back to work soon,” you ask softly, “Aren’t you?”

He nods, reluctantly. “Tomorrow, supposedly. Just a night shift. But I’ll be close, if you need me.”

You try to act nonchalant, like you wouldn’t be calling him right if you admitted you were quite scared to be on your own for a moment. “I’m sure the hospital has struggled without your dramatic hand-flourishes and bossy clipboard routine.”

He smirks, laughing a bit at your joke. “I’m sure they have.”

The next day, Harry had his first shift back at the hospital – you had your first night at home without any issues. It felt like you were on top of the world when he got back in the morning; you felt like a human being.

So, you don’t want to say anything at first, at the onset of the symptoms.

You’ve come so far—out of the woods, out of the hospital, out of Harry’s eagle-eyed surveillance every time you so much as sigh too heavily. You’ve had three full days now of sitting on the balcony of his flat with tea, of laughing without wincing, of Harry letting you walk to the kitchen unsupervised.

Everything had started to go back to normal – you were preparing to go back to work.

But tonight, you’re cold. Freezing, even under two blankets.

And there’s a low throb in your belly again—familiar and nauseating, not painful like the incision but just a low roar that you wished would go away. You brush it off as too much movement, maybe something you ate. You don’t want to alarm him. But, of course, Harry notices.

You’re curled on the couch with your knees tucked up, a movie flickering on the screen in front of you that afternoon, when he turns from the kitchen mid-sentence and freezes. “Hey,” his voice is a bit low; his scrubs sat on his body as he prepared to get himself back to work that night, “You doing okay?”

You try to nod, watching the TV without another thought. “Just tired.”

He’s already moving toward you, crouching by your side, palm to your forehead before you can stop him from touching you altogether.

“You’re clammy,” he murmurs, his voice already tight as you watch the expression on his face start to get a bit frustrated. “You’re shaking. When did this start?”

“I don’t know,” you say quietly, almost ashamed of your quietness to the matter that obviously is important – your health is important, but you promised him you would speak up. “An hour ago? I thought it would pass.”

“God damnit,” He scoffs, breathing out with his hands on his hips. “You should’ve said something.”

You bite your lip and didn’t know what else to say, “I didn’t want to worry you.”

He’s already halfway across the room, grabbing the thermometer, checking your pulse. His fingers move fast, methodical—but there’s a tremble in his jaw that he can’t hide, and you aren’t sure if it’s anger or terror.

“Your temp’s up to 101.6,” he shakes his head, setting the thermometer down, almost like he can’t believe you would just let this go. And you can’t either, but you stay quiet. “How’s the pain? Tell me exactly.”

“It’s dull,” you tell him honestly, “Just kind of… tight? I don’t know – not as painful as before.”

“Any nausea?”

You nod, reluctantly this time.

That’s all it takes. Harry’s voice goes clipped, firm, the way he gets during trauma intake.

“Okay. No more moving until I know what we’re dealing with.”

He stands back up, and you watch him pace the room, phone in hand, dialing the on-call nurse he trusts most. He rattles off the symptoms you’ve given with a clear urgency, asks to schedule back-up labs, then glances back at you.

He disappears into the hallway with the phone pressed against his ear. You start to hear cabinets opening, something dropping onto the floor, a sharp curse under his breath.

When he returns, he’s already in motion—wrapping the blood pressure cuff around your arm with quick, practiced hands, stethoscope slung around his neck. His movements are efficient and quiet, and you don’t question him because you feel like you’ve disappointed him. But you can feel the tension rolling off him in waves.

“Harry, I—” you state quietly, but are cut off firmly.

“Don’t,” he says, not harshly, but with finality. “Just let me check you.”

You do. Because even your stubbornness can’t compete with the shift in his voice. He listens to your heart. Counts your breaths. Watches the clock. Then checks your temperature again and exhales through his nose like it takes effort to stay composed.

“Blood pressure’s low,” he mutters. “Pulse is elevated, mostly due to the fever, but fever would indicate an infection or illness.”

You start to sit up, pushing yourself against the sides of the sofa. “Let me just—”

“No.” He looks at you then, level and serious, and you back down for a moment. “You’re not getting up. We’re not waiting this out. You need to be seen.”

You hesitate, chewing on your lip as you shake your head and start to feel like you made a huge mistake by just letting it go. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

He straightens up, hands on his hips, staring at a spot on the floor like he’s trying to keep his temper in check. “You passed out in my apartment less than a week ago. Do you really think I give a shit about you ‘making a big deal’? Your appendix almost ruptured on my kitchen floor, I sew people up for a living and you think you’re making a big deal?”

You flinch slightly, but not because he’s raised his voice—because he hasn’t. That flat tone is worse, you think.

“I’m sorry,” you say, quietly, the apology hanging in the air as you dare to look up at him.

He looks over at you, jaw tight. Then softer since he knows that you are just as scared and annoyed at the way that your body is reacting, “You promised you’d say something.”

“I know.” You nod, licking your lips.

“Then why didn’t you?”

You don’t answer, because there’s nothing good to say – you really don’t have a good answer to give him. He doesn’t push, either. Just crouches in front of you, pulling the blanket tighter around your legs as you start to shiver again.

The way that his voice sounds like velvet even when he’s angry is something that you can’t understand, but you appreciate. “I’ll grab your shoes. Don’t move. I’ll drive you in.”

You nod, finally.

He doesn’t say anything more. He just moves with purpose—grabs your bag, your coat, his keys. He helps you into your shoes, lifting your leg when you struggle to bend. He’s calm, efficient, but you see it now—he’s pissed. And maybe rightfully so.

When he comes back over, he places a hand at the back of your neck and steadies you, lowering you into the passenger seat before strapping you in himself. You don’t argue, because you just want to appease him, want to make him feel like he’s doing the right things.

The car ride to the hospital is quiet – no music plays, you don’t talk. Just the sound of the road, the heater blasting warm air against your cheeks, and his hand flexing once in a while on the gearshift like he’s holding something back.

He doesn’t say I told you so. He doesn’t ask why again. He just drives faster than usual, eyes flicking to you at every red light, jaw set the whole way. And somehow, that quiet says more than anything.

At the hospital, everything moves fast. You’re ushered into a room immediately, which you think is due to Harry’s reputation at the hospital. Harry hands off the chart after completing it to the best of his knowledge to a nurse but stays in the room with you. Always at your side.

Your fever’s climbing; 102.3 now. Your head starts to feel murky as you lay against the gurney and feel your eyes start to shut at just how bad you feel, emotionally and physically.

He sits at your bedside, holding your wrist in both hands, silently counting your pulse again like he doesn’t trust the monitor.

“You’re scaring me,” you whisper.

He looks up, eyes glassy but locked on yours. “I’m just being thorough.”

“Harry.”

You can see the look on his face shift from pissed to annoyed to an unrecognizable one; your tongue glides over your lips as you study him.

“You scared me the first time,” he tells you honestly, quiet murmurs from his accent. “But this? This is worse. I let myself breathe – I was going to go to work, I thought you were okay. And now –”

“I’ll be okay again.”

And you say that to yourself because it makes you feel better, but you can see that he’s just shaking his head. He can’t tell himself you’ll be okay, because if you’re not, then everything he’s ever known has fallen to pieces.

Harry’s stepped out to talk to one of the attending physicians; you don’t know if it’s about you, or just a friendly face to keep him occupied while you wait. You didn’t ask him to—you didn’t have to. He knows this routine better than you do. And while part of you is grateful, the other part is… embarrassed.

You told him you’d speak up next time. You meant it – you really did, at the time. And yet here you are, laying back in a gurney and listening to the sounds of the heart rate monitors.

You pick at a thread on the blanket and try to figure out what exactly is broken in you that makes it so hard to ask for help. It’s not pride, not really. It’s more like… you’ve spent so long pretending everything’s manageable that the idea of saying “I need you” still feels like a kind of failure. Like admitting weakness will confirm every fear you’ve worked so hard to outrun.

And in some ways, you feel guilty for needing Harry. He’s needed constantly – every move he makes at work is because he’s needed, and in some subconscious way, you feel like that makes you the burden. You’re the one that’s supposed to be his go-to when he gets home from work.

You don’t want to be the reason someone worries, you don’t want to be the weight someone else has to carry. Especially not him. But the truth is, Harry isn’t just carrying it. He’s choosing to. Over and over.

It’s Harry’s love language.

And maybe the real weakness is pretending you can do this alone when you don’t actually have to anymore.

The labs come back quickly, which is a relief to all of you. Dr. Carson informs you and Harry that it’s a post-op infection. Thankfully, it’s mild, but enough to flare your fever and irritate the healing site. Nothing that IV fluids, antibiotics, and a couple more days of close monitoring won’t fix, she tells you.

Still, Harry insists on doing every damn thing himself. He helps place the IV, reviews the bloodwork three times, checks in with the infectious disease team to confirm the antibiotic regimen for the next few days.

He never leaves the room, not even once.

+++

Three days later, your fever finally breaks without the need of medications. Of course, you’re still on antibiotics and will continue the dosages that Harry maintains for you.

You wake up bathed in sweat but feeling lighter, alive again. And Harry’s beaming so wide it’s like someone let the sun back into the room.

“You’re okay,” he whispers, kissing your forehead, your temple, your hair. “You’re really okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you say groggily.

“Yeah,” he says, voice breaking a little. “But it’s nice to know.”

+++

A few days later, back at home, he’s gentle in a different way. Less clinical, more personal. Less doctor, more man who is just caring for his sick girlfriend.

He still checks your chart, yes. Still times your pills to the second. But there are longer hugs now, more forehead kisses, more moments where he just looks at you like he can’t believe you’re real.

You recover slower this time, but you never feel alone. You’re on the couch, you must’ve fallen asleep there in the middle of the night when Harry had made his way to work, when the door clicks open.

It’s early—barely past dawn—but you’ve been awake for a while. The house is still, quiet except for the soft hum of the kettle warming in the kitchen. The air smells like lemon balm tea and the faint remnants of lavender from your blanket.

You hear footsteps. Heavy. Slow.

Then, “Hey, sweetheart,” comes Harry’s voice, low and rough with exhaustion.

You turn—and your breath catches.

He’s still in his scrubs. The navy ones. A bit wrinkled from hours of wear. The top clings to his chest in the best way, the drawstring of his pants tied in a loose knot that dips low on his hips. His hair is mussed from the surgical cap, and his eyes—though heavy with fatigue—light up the second he sees you blinking at him with flushed cheeks and your own clear eyes.

“Well, don’t you look snug,” he murmurs, dropping his bag by the door, toeing his sneakers off.

“I made it to the couch on my own last night and stood up to make myself a can of soup for dinner,” you say proudly, stretching your arms above your head.

He grins and walks over to you then, “That deserves a medal.”

You open your arms, and he doesn’t hesitate. He sinks to the couch beside you and pulls you into him like gravity’s in charge, one arm curling protectively around your waist, the other smoothing over your thigh. His lips find yours instantly, letting himself fall into your touch almost like you’re there to revive him.

“You okay?” he murmurs into your hair once you pull apart. “No more fever?”

“Not since yesterday morning. And I kept my breakfast down.”

He pulls back just enough to press his palm to your forehead. Not because he doubts you—because he needs the confirmation on his own.

“Have I ever told you my thoughts of you in scrubs?” you say softly, looking at him to break him away from his fixation on your fever.

He raises a brow, quick-witted. “No, tell me again.”

“It’s an absolute fantasy,” you shake her head, “Truly an eight wonder.”

His lips twitch into a smile. “You saying I look good right now?”

You shrug—noncommittal, teasing. But your eyes drop again, flicking over his chest, down to where his sleeves stretch a little over his biceps, then back up to the cut of his jawline still dusted with stubble.

Harry notices. Of course he does – he never misses anything, the eyes of an eagle.

You shift slightly in his lap, just a little, just enough that his eyes darken.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “You’re still healing.”

“Are you going to medically restrain me to the couch?” You ask, nose nuzzling into his jaw before he lets his head lean back.

“Don’t tempt me,” he bites his lip as he lets you tease him, “I’m trained in medical sedation and restraint.”

Your fingers trail over the fabric at his collar, the small v-neck below your fingertips. You look up through your lashes, tucking your hair behind your ear. “I’m just saying. M.D. or not, you look really hot right now.”

He groans softly, tilts his head back before he looks at you again. “You’re killing me.”

You grin, feeling bold, feeling like yourself again. “You’ve seen me puking, unconscious, stitched up – you’ve literally seen my organs, and sweating through a fever, and now you’re the one blushing?”

Harry draws in a breath and lets his hand slide slowly around your waist—not pulling, not rushing, just grounding you there. It’s like he’s testing the waters, but he doesn’t test very well – not when he knows what’s on the line and how he can hurt you.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks quietly, nose nuzzling into your temple as you kiss along his jaw. “You don’t have to prove anything. Not tonight.”

“I’m not trying to,” you tell him, biting the inside of your cheek. “I just… when I look at you now, I don’t see just my hot doctor boyfriend. I see the Harry who drove me to the ER, who didn’t sleep, who tracked my meds like he was prepping for boards.”

You pause, your voice going softer.

“The Harry who spoon-fed me broth, and held my hair when I was sick, and made sure my shows were queued up on Netflix so when I woke up, they’d already be there,” you smile at that small tidbit and brush some hair off of his forehead, “The Harry who still looked at me like I was whole when I didn’t feel like it.”

His eyes are glassy when they meet yours again. You rest your forehead against his, and his hands slide up your back, holding you close, steady.

“I’m in love with that Harry,” you whisper, letting your words dance across his skin like you only want him to hear it, not the whole universe. “All of him.”

He exhales like he’s been holding that breath for days, most likely because he has. “You always manage to say things when I’ve got no good response lined up, and my brain is complete mush from setting a kid’s broken collarbone from a ski accident.”

You smile, shaking your head with a laugh. “I know. It’s one of my more dangerous talents.”

“You’ve got terrible timing,” he mutters, brushing his nose against yours. “You know that?”

You smirk, letting your lips pucker to meet his in a quick peck. “You’re the one kissing your patient.”

He huffs a soft laugh and kisses you anyway—slow, deliberate, and entirely unhurried because it makes more sense to let things sit in this world for a moment. It’s the kind of kiss that says finally, and carefully, and I meant it. You press your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck and lean into him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And it is because you haven’t felt this good in a long time, it feels like.

When you break apart, his lips hover near yours.

“Let’s just stay like this a while,” he says. “Until you’re steady.”

You smile, tracing your finger along his jaw as you catch yourself staring at his lips. “And when I am?”

His grin curves against your cheek into one like the cheshire cat. “Then I’ll show you why surgeons are very, very good with their hands. Steady, some may say.”

Your laugh bubbles out of you before you can help it, and he just kisses your smile like he wants to memorize it – and good news for you, he’s got a photographic memory.

Somewhere, between the tea he puts in the kettle after you snuggle on your couch, and the medicine and the kiss and the way your heartbeat skips every time he walks into a room, you realize something: you almost broke trying to keep things to yourself.

But Harry? He put you back together—with feverish nights, sponge bathes, and stitches, sure. But also with care, presence, and love so patient it hurts.

And you think… you just might let him do it forever.

+++

The scar is barely visible now. It sits low, a thin pink line just above your hipbone—quiet proof of everything you’ve survived.

You’re standing at the bathroom mirror when you hear Harry call from the kitchen, “Do you want almond milk or oat milk in your coffee?”

You smile, pulling your oversized sweatshirt back down over your bare legs. Your body feels a sense of liberation from the morning that the two of you had. “Surprise me.”

He hums something tuneless from the other room, and you hear the soft clink of mugs and the whir of the coffee grinder. The scent drifts down the hallway like something holy.

When you pad into the kitchen, he’s already got everything waiting on the little breakfast table: coffee, toast, fruit. The sunlight catches the edge of his glasses—he’s been wearing them in the mornings now, before he has to squint at patient charts all day.

That smirk you know too well curls across his face. “Struggling to walk?”

You shrug, as you watch him start to watch as you make your way to the table, all faux-casual. “Someone decided this morning was the perfect time to test the limits of post-op clearance.”

He shuts the water off and turns toward you, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “I was being gentle, was I not?”

“You said, and I quote, ‘You better hold on to the headboard.’”

He steps closer, standing just in front of you now. “Which you did,” he licks his lips, kissing your forehead, “You’re very good at following directions.”

“Barely,” you laugh, and he smiles, but there’s something else behind his gaze—something warm and proud and a little possessive.

“I wasn’t allowed to touch you for weeks,” he murmurs, biting on his lip as he shrugged, buttering some bread. “I was trying to make up for lost time.”

“You did,” you say, looping your arms loosely around his waist as he stood by the counter. “My thighs are still shaking.”

He groans under his breath, ducking his head. “You can’t say stuff like that and expect me not to lose my mind.”

“You said you’d be good.” He turns in your hug, facing you now as he leans against the countertops.

“I said I’d be careful,” he corrects, brushing his lips just beneath your jaw. “Never said anything about being good.”

You tilt your head back slightly, letting him graze his nose along the edge of your collarbone, your skin still carrying the faint scent of his body wash from earlier. It would be so easy to pull him closer again, to let it start all over, but the laundry buzzes, and a pot simmers on the stove, and somehow you both feel… full. Satisfied.

Still, the way his hands rest on your hips, thumbs moving in soft circles, tells you he hasn’t stopped thinking about it. Neither have you.

You press your mouth to his ear. “Tonight, if I can still move…”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his own darker now as he likes where your promises are going. “Yeah?”

You nod. “I want you again. Slow this time. Less headboard, more…” You trail off, letting your smile finish the sentence.

His mouth curves with intent, and he leans in to kiss you, soft and slow. Just a taste. Just a promise.

“Done,” he whispers.

The memory from earlier is still humming low in your limbs—lazy and molten. His mouth trailing down your stomach just after sunrise, fingers splayed warm and reverent across your hips like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch you again. There had been no rush, no teasing—just need. Messy, sleepy, real, and quite nasty if you weren’t kidding yourself. Your legs wrapped around his waist, laughter muffled into the curve of his neck when the bed creaked too loud and neither of you cared.

He’d kissed your shoulder as he moved, breath hot against your skin, mumbling something about how he’d waited weeks to make you feel good again. And God, he had. The ways that his hands moved were no joke, and you couldn’t believe the weight of them on your lower abdomen as he pushed himself into you.

You could feel every inch of him.

You’d gone boneless beneath him by the end; sweaty, grinning, and completely undone.

“You’re spoiling me, you know,” you say, sitting down.

Harry glances over, grinning. “You got your stitches out. I figured that deserves strawberries.”

You sip your coffee. He got it right: oat milk, two sugars, just how you like it.

“Thanks,” you say softly, your tongue too quick, “But it also deserved the absolute nasty morning bone session, so I appreciate both.”

He leans over and kisses your temple. “I’d do it every day for the rest of my life.”

You blink. He freezes a little, realizing what he said. Then you both smile, slow and certain.

A month ago, you couldn’t stand up without help.

Now, you’re dancing in the kitchen to a song from the radio while Harry flips pancakes and sings off-key beside you. You’re sleeping tangled together. You’re holding hands at the grocery store. He has a photo of you on his desk at work. You’re kissing in public sometimes just because you can, because you need to know that he’s there.

Later, after breakfast, you water the plants while Harry reads the paper with his glasses slipping down his nose. There’s a new ease between you—a comfort that didn’t exist before the chaos. You’ve been through something sharp and ugly together and come out on the other side softer for it.

The scar on your skin has faded. But the love you hold for him, and he holds for you? It sat in the room with you, like a third character, just the beginning of it’s wonderous story.

[purplecoffee13]

Cross The Line*

Summary: “Harry and Y/N have always had a great professional relationship, all based on one rule; a line they drew the first time they met. But when one day that line accidentally blurs, Harry finds that he doesn’t want it to go back to the way it was…”

Wc: 13k

Tropes: Boss!rry x Secretary!Y/N

Warnings: A LOT of back and forth (this is what Katy Perry wrote hot and cold about), arguing, curse words, smut, dirty talk, degradation, light ch0king, dom/sub dynamics, edging, b0ndage, and recording while… yk🤗

A/N: I’m terribly sorry to have been testing your patience so much the second half of this year, here is a long one shot to say I’m sorry🥲 and I appreciate all of you and I hope you are happy and healthy and will get everything you want in the new year xx💘💘

General Masterlist

HEADER = POV change

Harry's relationship with his secretary is completely normal.

At least, he’s always thought it is.

Sure, it may have seemed more friendly than the usual boss/secretary relationship, but that was only because Y/N was special. She was one of the kind. Smart, stealthy, and sneaky if need be. She did everything he asked for, sometimes before he even realized he should ask her, and was always ready to do more.

Of course, she was attractive as well. Shit, attractive may have even been an understatement. Y/N was drop dead gorgeous and Harry was entirely aware of it. Her ambition made her even sexier, and it's one of the reasons he hired her in the first place.

When Y/N walked through his office door that first time three years ago, he couldn't believe his eyes.

He remembers it like it was yesterday, those wide eyes staring back at him as she froze a couple feet away from him. She was quick to regain herself, though—he had to give her that. But she was nervous as she sat down, even though her movements were calm and the tone of her voice stern. He saw the slightest shake of those hands of her.

Because that job interview hadn't been the first time Harry and Y/N came across each other. It was actually a Halloween party at some high end secretive club in New York one month prior. A night that ended with them hooking up in one of the private lounges.

Even back then, when he never thought he'd see her again, he knew that he would never forget that night, nor the way her face scrunched up as she clenched around him, or the sounds that she made as he drove into her.

He could see that she remembered it as well as she sat across from him that day, but Y/N had quickly made it clear that she was serious about pursuing a career in the film industry. She said she could prove what a great secretary she could be for him, as long as they could put that Halloween night behind them and pretend it never happened. She wouldn't make him regret it, she had told him. He took the chance.

And she had been absolutely right.

Three years had passed and Harry was still thankful to himself for hiring Y/N. She was the best around; fiercely loyal as well. Y/N had been offered jobs by other companies, but she turned down every last one of them. Harry liked to think their relationship played a bit of a part in that as well.

They had become friends—if that's what you could call it—over the years. They had a playful dynamic filled with flirty jokes and random phone calls and favors that blurred that line they had drawn so carefully during Y/N's job interview.

No matter what, Y/N would be the first Harry would call, every time. Whether it was bad business news or a drunken phone call, her number was most likely to be at the top of his last calls. And she always answered, even though she didn't have to. It was a special bond, and while they always danced on it—especially Harry—they never crossed that one line.

Not that Harry needed to. As a matter of a fact, he had quite the adventurous love life. With plenty of people on speed dial and a charming smile that could make anyone's panties drop, Harry wasn't short on romantic escapades. The one thing they all had in common, though, was that it'd never last longer than a few days, and they were rarely ever repeated.

The same couldn't be said for Y/N. In fact, Harry had never seen her with anyone outside of her work, and he never heard her mentioning anything about it...

He didn't know why, but somehow, that thought popped up into his head last Friday as they sat in his office with a drink, celebrating the outstanding reviews that critics had given the newest produced film that was set to premiere next week. Before Harry knew it, he was asking about it.

"Why are you rubbing your temples?" He questioned, watching Y/N massage the side of her head with her eyes closed. He was leaned back in his seat, whiskey in hand as he observed the woman across from him.

"Tension headache." She groaned in response. Despite her grumpiness, Harry couldn't help but grin. What could he say? She was cute when she was grumpy.

"We are literally celebrating, Y/N. What could you possibly be so tense about right now?" He teased, and felt his stomach swirl as a smile painted her lips. She might have rolled her eyes, but she still thought he was funny.

"Oh you have no idea." She mumbled, grabbing her glass and leaning back into her chair. She took a big gulp, her face pulling at the strong taste of the liquor. Harry chuckled.

"You should relax more. Maybe get a hot date to take care of some of that stress for you." He suggested jokingly. Y/N scoffed at the insinuation.

Shaking her head, she said: "I get taken care of just fine, thank you very much."

The equally teasing tone in which she responded caught Harry seriously off guard. Her slight grin pressed down on his chest, and despite having started this joking banter himself, he suddenly didn't find the topic very funny anymore.

"When?"

Y/N locked eyes with her boss. “What?”

"You're here 24/7, when do you even have time to hook up with someone?"

"You know there's this thing called weekends." She joked, but the amusement faded when Harry's mouth didn't even quirk upwards in the slightest bit. It fell quiet for a second or two, and just when Y/N opened her mouth to say something else, someone knocked on the office door.

"Come in."

Harry had said, and soon enough Robin, one of the managers walked in, telling them everyone was going to the pub down the street to celebrate, and if they wanted to come along.

Harry didn't even have the chance to reject the offer—he'd rather spend his nights with his secretary—before Y/N agreed to go along. Feeling obligated, Harry reluctantly gave in as well.

He ended up going home quite early that night, not even properly saying goodbye to Y/N like he normally would before leaving, and he couldn't get the image of her wrapped around another man out of his head the entire ride home. He didn't know why it bothered him so much. Maybe it was the fact that it shouldn't, and more importantly, couldn't bother him, which made it even less bearable.

Whichever reason there may have been for it, he decided to drown out his thoughts by inviting one of his old hook-ups to his house. But even as he drove himself into her as she kept screaming his name, he couldn't stop thinking of Y/N. When she had reached her climax and he began to chase his own high—Harry was caught off guard by Y/N's face flashing through his mind, and extremely embarrassed when those images triggered his orgasm.

The next week is awkward, to say the least. It started out Monday, when Harry could barely look Y/N in the eye. She had received the sudden cold shoulder pretty well, but Harry still felt horrible about it. His attitude got less stiff throughout the week, but it was still bad.

By the time Thursday rolls around again, Harry still hasn't had the chance to get that weird feeling out of his system. So when he approaches his office and spots Y/N behind her desk smiling at him, a wave of guilt washes over him.

He curses himself as he sinks into his desk chair, absentmindedly turning on his laptop. What is he doing? Y/N is his assistant. He shouldn't let his protectiveness of her get the best of him. He does not want to lose her in any way.

Harry flinches when there is a knock on his door. He looks up, finding Y/N standing in his doorway. Immediately, he signals for her to come in. She seems a bit nervous as she nears him, and considering she's never been nervous around him, his heart sinks at the idea that the cold shoulder he's been giving her the other night might have affected her way more than he thought.

He just doesn't know how to behave instead.

"You have a meeting in conference room C in five minutes. It's the banker's son who's been proposing his script for the past year. I  know your schedule is tight, especially with the premiere coming up, but I thought you might as well get it over with." She says, putting a stack of papers on the table that Harry can only assume is the script. He nods, quirking up the corner of his mouth.

"Thank you, smart thinking." The praise falls from his lips in a casual manner, and he doesn't miss the way she physically relaxes at the positive reinforcement. She nods at him, and turns back to the door. Right before she is about to leave the office, she turns around again. Harry leans back in his seat, waiting to hear what she'll say.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped last week." She says, and Harry frowns at the apology.

"What?"

"I clearly said something that ticked you off." She explains,her shoulders slumping slightly. "I know we joke around, but I was afraid that maybe I'd accidentally crossed a line—“

"Y/N, stop it." Harry interrupts her, getting up from his seat. Her lips are locked within a second, and she stares at her boss with wide eyes. His stomach twists at the sight of it. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"But— if I said something inappropriate then I want to apologize for it." She says, straightening her posture again, biting her bottom lip so he won't see it quiver. As if he doesn't know the way her body works. As if he hasn't known for three years.

Putting his hands inside his pockets, Harry walks around his desk and stands in front of her. A little closer than he needs to, and yet not as close he would like.

"Let me ask you this: How many times have you declined booty calls for me?" He asks, tilting his head a bit. A slight smile appears on Y/N's face, and she pretends to think it over.

"Twenty-seven." Her smile crinkles her eyes, making them even more glassy. Harry quite literally feels his hand itch to touch her face, but he keeps it sternly in his pocket. "I kept track so I could count all the reasons you definitely won't get into heaven."

At that, he lets out a snort. Y/N can't help but chuckle too, and slowly but surely the weirdness dissolves from the room. When the laughter has died down, she speaks up again.

"So... we're good?"

"We're good." Harry smiles at his secretary, and his chest heats up when he spots the faint blush that appears on her cheeks. Jesus Christ, did she become even more beautiful than she was yesterday or was he just too stupid to notice earlier? Probably the latter.

"Well in that case you need to leave because your meeting is like, right now." She reminds him, and he hums in agreement as he gets up from his seat and walks towards the door with Y/N.

"Already gone, love." He winks at her, walking out the door with a lot more confidence in his relationship with Y/N. Maybe everything can go back to normal again. Maybe he was just exaggerating when he couldn't get her out of his head this weekend. Perhaps it was just a glitch, a temporary error in his brain that had come and gone in a flash.

That must've been it, he tells himself as he makes his way to conference room C. He takes a deep breath, musters a polite smile, and opens the door to the room. Harry already knows this guy is going to be wasting his time, but he made a promise to hear him out, so he will.

The guy sitting at the table is the stereotypical spoiled rich son. When John Longwell—a long-time business partner of Harry's— asked him to revise his son's script as a favor, Harry told him he'd do it if he ever found the time. He always hoped John's son would lose interest and forget about the script by the time Harry could find a free space in his agenda, but unfortunately that hadn't been the case.

And although the arc of the story had sounded absolutely horrendous— something about zombies fueled by a brainwashing radio song, which didn't even make sense to Harry because zombies don't have brains—he couldn't back out anymore. So he needs to get it over with, starting now.

Harry loudly shuts the door.

The guy—whose name he can't really remember at the moment—flinches and turns around, a big grin on his face as he gets up from his seat.

"Mr. Styles, it's a pleasure to see you." The man says, extending his hand, which Harry, in turn, takes. He only gives a slight nod before heading over to the other side of the table and sitting down.

"So, where's your script?" Harry asks, eyeing the empty table. The guy looks flustered, opening his mouth to say something, but the opening of the door interrupts that. Harry leans back in his seat when he spots his secretary walk through it, not even eyeing the other guy as she struts over to him and lays the printed out script on the glass table.

"Sorry, you forgot this. It was still on your desk." She says, finally turning to the man to throw him an innocent smile. His sheepish grin satisfies her enough to turn back to her boss and focus all her attention on him. "I also forgot to ask you— do you want to move up lunch today?"

The corner of Harry's mouth tugs up. Over the last three years, the concept of 'moving up lunch' has become a code for 'should I get you out of this early?'. Y/N came up with it a long time ago, and it has stuck ever since.

"Yes, I would very much like that. Thank you, Y/N." He says, and the way a smirk slowly creeps onto her face makes the hairs on his body rise.

"It's my pleasure, Mr. Styles." She gives one final nod before walking out of the room and closing the door behind her. Harry would lie if he said he didn't let his eyes fall onto the way her hips moved as she strolled away.

Unfortunately the fun doesn't last long, and with the slam of the door Harry is reminded that he still has to sit through this meeting a little longer. He looks down at the script.

"A Thousand Zombies

By Jason Longwell."

Right, Jason, that was his name.

"Jesus Christ, if that were my secretary I'd have her bent over my desk all day. How do you get any work done?" Jason breathed out, grinning like a stupid fucking schoolboy. Harry quite literally felt the storm cloud that came floating right above his head the second he heard that incompetent loser say those words. His hands balled up into fists at the suggestive comment, knuckles getting whiter by the second.

"Get out." Harry growls. John raises his eyebrows, looking around him as if Harry couldn't have possibly been addressing it to him.

"W— what?" He stumbles.

"I don't do business with insolent idiots. Get out." Harry repeats, getting up from his seat and buttoning his suit jacket. John follows his movements, anger starting to cloud on his face.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" He exclaims in a failed attempt to sound intimidating. At least, Harry assumes that's what he's trying to do.

"I called you an idiot. Now, get the hell out of my face before I boot your sorry ass right to the front door." With one brow raised, he waits as John tries to muster a response until he eventually gives up and storms out of the room. Harry throws the script into the trash as he walks out of the conference room half a minute later. Y/N is immediately by his side.

"That was quick, I didn't even have time to think of an emergency." She jokes as they walk back to Harry's office together. He raises a brow.

"Yes you did. What was it this time? Food poisoning?" He guesses, holding the door to his office open once they've reached it. Y/N grins as she walks past him and takes a seat at one of the chairs in front of his desk.

"Actually, your car was going to get stolen in about five minutes." She responds, the blush of her cheeks revealing the slight embarrassment of having to voice this excuse out loud. Harry's eyes widen as he walks over to his desk, feeling his assistant watching his every move. He quite likes the feeling.

"No way." He laughs. "You just get more creative by the day."

"What can I say, I'm good at crisis management." She shrugs, crossing her legs and getting into a more comfortable position on the chair. Harry tries his best to not let his eyes float to her legs.

"That you are." He murmurs, the huskier sound of his voice giving a different ambiance to the conversation. As Harry feels the mood switch, he curses himself. Why did he have to ruin it?

Y/N clears her throat. "Anyway— why'd the meeting end early?"

"It ended early because Jason Longwell is a sleazy douchebag." He responds shortly, straightening in his seat in an attempt to gain control of the situation again. He can't let himself slip like this again, and she can't know the real reason he kicked out Jason. But there is no denying the sheer rage that boils his blood when that comment flashes through his memory. He hates that the asshole thought he could just speak about Y/N like that.

"Ooh, what did he say when you kicked him out?" Y/N asks eagerly, still in a playful mood. "You did kick him out right?"

"I don't have time to get into this right now. I need to sign those contracts that were sent in yesterday before I go home." Harry says sternly, avoiding eye contact with Y/N as he speaks, but he still sees the slump in her shoulders at his sudden shift in attitude.

"Right, of course." She immediately returns to the responsible secretary she always is, getting up from her seat. He hears her exit the room, heels clacking against the wooden floor. As soon as the door has shut, Harry throws his head back in frustration.

So much for going back to normal.

Playing into the teasing will only rope him further into that forbidden fantasy, and he clearly won't be able to stop himself from resisting her if he does. But he's the one who started all the playfulness, massively screwing himself over he realizes now. If he shifts his behavior, she's always going to think he's mad at her because of something.  But he's going to have to, because Harry can't go back to normal anymore.

Deciding he needs to clear his head, Harry grabs his coat and heads for the elevators without so much as a word. He pretends not to notice the way people's eyes widen when he walks by, suddenly on their best behavior, and although it used to give him an ego boost back when he started, nowadays he just prefers it if people aren't scared of him.

It turns out to be a particularly nice outside for a winter day in London. Not to get it twisted— it's still freakishly cold. It's just that the sun has replaced the endless rain of this entire month. Harry suppresses a chuckle at the irony of the sun finally being out at the very first moment where he's felt so shitty in a long time.

He doesn't know how long he's outside, so he knows it's not fair to be frustrated when he comes back and Y/N isn't at her desk, but he can't help the slight distress that washes over him at the empty seat.

"It's just a date—"

"Your second date!"

Harry creased brows don't do much to hide his feelings when he turns around to see his secretary with a co-worker. The shy smile on her face—accompanied with that blush on her cheeks she always gets when she's secretly giddy about something—disappears at the sight of her boss looking at her like she just killed a puppy.

"Ha— Mr. Styles." She is quick to catch her almost error. Her wide eyes bore into his, filled with confusion and worry. But Harry's frown doesn't give away much, aside. From the fact that he is obviously annoyed.

"I was looking for you." He states stoically, not even acknowledging the employee that is standing next to her. The woman takes the hint and gives Y/N and Harry a small nod before walking away. As soon as she does, Harry turns around and walks towards his own office. He can hear her footsteps following him inside, and with the inconsistent clacking against the floor he can tell she's having a hard time keeping up with his long strides. Still, he doesn't slow his pace.

"I need the papers for the donations printed out and on my desk. And I'll need you to move the meeting with the director of the romance movie to Tuesday evening."

"Yes, of course." The breathy response falls from Y/N's lips the second he finishes his sentence, and by the time he enters his office, she is long gone to do exactly what he asked. Harry shuts the door a little louder than intending to, accidentally shaking the framed artwork on the wall.

Y/N isn't very talkative for the rest of the day, that usual spark of hers seemingly having dimmed. Harry's chest is heavy, knowing his cold attitude was the catalyst for that, but he keeps it up nonetheless. He can't help himself from falling back into it every time he sees her face.

A date. She's going on a date. A second one at that. He can't believe it. Is this who she referred to when she said she gets taken care of? His stomach churns at the possibility.

He tries not to, but Harry still gets warped into the spiral of overthinking about 'date' Y/N has tonight. So much, in fact, that he almost doesn't notice the time flying by until Y/N knocks on his door at 6PM. Harry spots the coat that hangs over her desk chair, and he realizes the work day is over.

"Everything is done for the day and ready for next week. I also sent the papers about the donations with a courier who owed me a favor, so the documents are signed on both parts and the donations will be officially registered by Monday." She explains, hands behind her back. Her new shy behavior—while quite endearing—is excruciating to see. She had always been comfortable around Harry, until now. Until he had to ruin it for the both of them.

"Thank you." Harry gives her a firm nod.

"No problem." She responds a bit awkwardly. "So... I'm going to clock out for the day."

Y/N has already turned around by them time Harry's voice croaks out a 'no'. She whips her head towards her boss, head tilted as she awaited whatever it was that he was going to say.

"I need those contracts for that romance movie." He says before he can even comprehend his words.

"But you won't be negotiating that deal for another two weeks." Y/N retorts, her tone more stern than usual. He can tell she's tired.

"I don't care. I want them on my desk tonight." He holds his head high, despite knowing damn well what he's doing.

He's stalling. Long enough for... he doesn't know actually. For her to cancel her date? It sounds ridiculous now that he really thinks about it.

"Harry, I have an appointment tonight—"

"I said I don't care. I pay you to do as I ask. This is not something you can argue me on." He grumbles. With how Y/N's jaw is clenched, he can't say the same for her attitude. Without another word, she leaves the office.

Harry's worry begins to grow every minute that passes with Y/N out of sight. But when she returns with a stack of papers in her hand after a bit—seven minutes to be exact—that worry evolves into surprise. Walking over to his desk, she plops the papers on them a bit carelessly before speaking up.

"I had them made on Monday because I like to be a few steps ahead." She elaborates. "Now, if that's all, I'm going home."

Y/N doesn't even say goodbye when she grabs her coat and walks to the elevators. Harry sighs to himself, not knowing how the hell he should handle this. It takes him a few seconds before he realizes he really can't do this anymore. He needs to talk to her, if only just to clear the air.

And so, he gets up from his seat and hurries after his assistant.

He catches her just as she walks into an empty elevator, and he joins just before the doors close. Her knitted brows make it clear that she is not in the mood to talk to him.

"I'm sorry... about the documents." Harry confesses, but she doesn't face him. It stays quiet between them for a bit, until the biting sentence falls from Y/N's lips.

"You said we were good."

His heart cracks at her wobbly voice. He can't believe he made her feel this way. If any other person would've brought her to tears, he would've beaten the shit out of them. He reaches for her arm.

"W— we are." He lies. It's the biggest lie he's ever told her, and she knows it, because she immediately turns around.

"No we're not! I said I was sorry if I did something wrong, and you told me it was okay, and now all of a sudden you're being so... cold. I don't understand—" her eyes become glassy. "I don't understand what I did wrong."

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Harry opens his mouth, ready to spout out his apologies, when Y/N's phone starts to ring. It takes them out of their little trance, and Y/N fumbles around her jacket for a bit until she's finally found her phone. He can't see who's calling her, but it can't be an expected call if he has to judge by the expression on her face.

"Marco, why are you—" her eyes widen at whatever the voice on the other side of the line is telling her, and Harry subconsciously finds himself leaning in a bit in the hope to find out what's wrong.

"What?" Y/N breathes. Her voice is small, and it sounds defeated, tired. The elevator dings, signaling they're downstairs, but Y/N doesn't move, so Harry doesn't either. She seems to notice and lets out a huff before storming out of the confined space and pacing around the lobby.

"You said we had a green light! That was months ago, Marco! Did you even—" She growls, clutching at her phone so hard Harry is afraid she's going to break it. "You know what, never mind. Give me his number."

The Marco guy seems to say something that he really shouldn't have said, because with the way Y/N's face twists Harry swears he can see steam coming out of her ears

"I don't care that they're not answering, I'll make them answer. Give me their numbers and then go find them." She orders before ending the call. And although the thought really shouldn't be crossing his mind right now, Harry can't help but notice how attractive Y/N is when she's mad. He shakes off the thought, telling himself that's the last thing he should be paying attention to right now.

Y/N paces around one more time, cursing under her breath, before striding past Harry and pushing the elevator buttons like a maniac.

"What's going on?"

Y/N shakes her head. "N— nothing. Just a little hiccup that could've easily been prevented. I won't be long."

Harry raises a skeptical brow, but she doesn't dare to meet his eye. She's lying through her teeth.

"Y/N—"

"Harry, really, it's nothing. I'm taking care of it." She tries to convince him, but he notices the way her hands are slightly trembling. "I'm sorry I was unprofessional. You're my boss. It's my job to take your orders, not question them."

Wait, no.

That aching feeling fills his stomach. His entire body, for that matter. He doesn't want her to be a silent and compliant assistant. That's not why he hired her. He needs someone to push back, to joke around with. Shit— what has he done?

Harry finds himself speechless as she enters the elevator and pushes the button of the seventh floor; the office. His brain isn't fast enough to think of what to say before the doors shut and the elevator ascends.

His feet stay glued to the ground as he ponders, his mind reeling like a rollercoaster. Frustration fills his body to his every finger tip. Everything has gone wrong, and he has no idea how to make it better.

At least ten minutes must've gone by by the time that a concierge taps Harry on the shoulder to ask him if he's okay. Still a bit wary, he nods before excusing himself and leaving the building.

Everything is going wrong.

Leaning over the desk with her face buried between her arms, Y/N is unable to hold back the tears that glide over her cheeks.

First, her boss gets mad at her, and she has no idea why. Then, just when they seemed to be okay again, he changed his attitude up again. And what does she do instead of letting it go? She starts a fight. And now Marco drops a disastrous bomb in her lap that could entirely ruin the movie premiere on Sunday. And if that wasn't enough—and she really thinks it was—this sudden crisis caused her to cancel her date of tonight.

It wasn't anything special, really. Y/N had met Jamie a few weeks ago, and they went out last week. He was a nice guy, handsome too, and she thought he was perfect for a short lived affair. Besides, her vibrator just couldn't live up to her fantasies. She was human, she needed to get off every now and then too. It was like Y/N had this itch in need of scratching, one she hadn't been able to reach in what felt like years.

But that wasn't going to happen now. In fact, she was risking being fired if she didn't solve this problem as soon as possible.

Damn! She really thought she had kept it all together, despite the extreme business this year. She thought she'd done a good job.

But that was a lie, because if she had done a good job, Marco wouldn't have ever gotten into the position where an artist on the soundtrack could manipulate the contract they signed. Y/N had told Marco to make it airtight, already having been suspicious of the artists' integrity from the moment they became part of the soundtrack. She assumed that they would try something.

'Chain' was an up and coming band known for their indie sound, but Y/N would just describe them as two pricks. Not only had they been subtly demeaning to her when Harry met with them, barely acknowledging her existence, they were arrogant as well. They came in expecting a lot more money than Harry and the rest of the company were willing to give them. It was absurd that they expected such a big number, but their cocky attitude didn't fade throughout the meeting.

It was truly a favor to the director, why Harry worked so hard to compromise with Chain. The director had been so passionate about the movie, and he had really wanted the song. If one thing was important to Harry, it's that there went passion onto the projects he produced and invested in. So, he decided to help, and eventually managed to struck a deal with the singers. It was still way above the pay grade they should've got—in Y/N's opinion—but they agreed.

Having seen first hand how greedy those two were, she had told Marco—the guy who handled all the legal documents—to make that contract airtight. She demanded to look it over, but because of her busy schedule, she let Marco have another lawyer look at it before sending the contract.

And now, because of a lazy mistake Chain's lawyer found, they are demanding more money or they'll waive their rights to the music. Something which would be absolutely detrimental because the entire climax of the movie, the cinematography and timing are all tuned to the song.

If she doesn't find a way to solve this problem, this entire premiere could fall apart, and it would all be her fault. She gave the green light to Harry, who gave it to the director. It's all her fault. 

She should've fucking read that contract herself, then this would've never happened.

Between Harry being mad at her, the fact that she was in her luteal phase, and this sudden disaster, the tears began streaming down her face, and the soft crying only turned into full on sobs the more she tries to calm herself down.

She allows herself the mental breakdown, but when she begins to regain control of her breath again after a few minutes, Y/N decides that it's enough. She has a job to get done, and no one was going to swoop in and save her.

So, she starts making call after call, ringing everyone in the immediate vicinity of the two arrogant bastards. It's crucial she reaches them before the night is over. Only forty minutes have passed by the time she is on the seventh person, but it feels like an eternity nonetheless.

She flinches when, while trying to reach Chain's tour manager, the elevator door dings and a shadow nears. Her tense shoulders sink a little bit at the sight of Harry, glad it's not some creep. Her brows crease as she watches him walk towards her. He's carrying a couple of bags with... is that food? It sure smells like it.

When the call goes to voicemail—for the third time—Y/N puts down the phone and gets up from her seat, hurrying over to her boss and stopping him before he could reach her desk.

"What are you doing here?!" She asks, blocking his way. He lifts the bags, a subtle, apologetic smile on his face.

"I brought food—" He looks up at her, and his eyes darken as soon as he takes in her face. "Have you been crying?"

Y/N raises her hands to her face, quickly glancing at the ground while she wipes her cheeks before meeting his eyes again. Harry puts the bags down, and it feels like her heart skips a beat or two when his thumbs stroke the skin under both her eyes. He leaves his hand around her face, cupping her jaw while he stares at her with such a piercing pain in his eyes that it makes Y/N's eyes water altogether again.

"What's wrong?" His voice is soft, and the feel of his big, warm hands holding her is comforting her in a way she hasn't experienced in a quite some time. Y/N only focused on his chest, afraid that the welled up water in her eyes will spill out again the second she looks at her boss. She told herself the crying was over, so why wasn't she able to control herself?

A few seconds pass, and silence runs between the thick air that makes it nearly impossible to breathe normally. Then, Y/N feels the slight pressure of Harry's hands, inching her head upwards. Automatically, her gaze flicks to that of her boss, and when she sees the worry on his face, a tear escapes her eye. His thumb catches it before it has the chance to roll down all the way down her cheek.

"I messed up." She only says, closing her eyes in shame. Harry says nothing, only letting out a sigh as he continues to caress her cheek.

Suddenly, the phone rings. Y/N reluctantly backs away from Harry's touch, and runs over to her desk to pick up the phone.

"Hello?" She says, her voice laced with such desperation that she internally cringes at it.

"Y/N? It's Marco. I found them, they're at a studio just outside the city."

She hums, grabbing a pen. "Give me the address."

"No, I'm going. This is my mess, Y/N, I'm not going to let you clean it up." Marco croaks from the other side of the line, and Y/N feels his voice tug at her heartstrings.

"Marco, listen to me. This is as much my fault as it is yours. I should've read the damn thing and notice the mistake." She replies, leaning over her desk to grab her coat.

"Y/N, I'll take care of it, okay? I found a fault in their loophole, they're stuck. Let me handle this. You just go home and enjoy what's left of your evening I ruined—" Marco tells her. "Wait, didn't you have a date tonight? Oh my god, did I ruin your date?"

"I did... but it's alright. It probably wouldn't have worked out with him anyway." Y/N chuckled awkwardly and glanced towards Harry, who looked weirdly annoyed at what she said.

"I'm so sorry, I promise I'll make it up to you." Marco shares the desperate plea.

"You can make it up to me by giving me the address of the studio." Y/N tells him cheekily.

"Y/N..." he warns.

"What? I promise I'm going home. It's just so I know where you are." She lies. Y/N is a good liar, except in front of Harry. Having a tendency to get nervous, she always betrays herself. She's lucky that this is a phone call, otherwise Marco would've known she wasn't planning on going home at all.

Hesitantly, he gives her the address, which she immediately writes down on her hand.

"Okay, thank you Marco. Good luck." She says, hanging up the phone with a lot more confidence than ten minutes ago. She can feel Harry staring her down as she puts on her coat, clearly waiting for an explanation for this whiplash-like behavior.

"I really have to go."

Harry shrugs. "I'll give you a ride. You can explain everything to me on the way to your house."

Y/N shakes her head, walking towards her boss. "No, really, you don't have to."

"Yes I do." Harry argues.

"You really don't."

"Do you have a problem with me bringing you home, Y/N?" He asks as if he's dumb, as if he doesn't know she's secretly trying to go to that studio.

"No!" She is quick to protest.

"Or does it have anything to do with the address of that mysterious studio you've written on your hand?" He teases, and Y/N clenches her jaw in frustration.

"I just— I need to make sure it's handled." She sputters. Harry shrugs.

"From what I heard it's being handled just fine." He points out. "You've got to learn to let things go sometimes, Y/N."

She shakes her head, looking the floor. "I can't. Not with this."

Harry lowers his head, trying to get on the same eye-level as her and searching for her eyes. "Why not?"

"I told you; I messed up." Her voice quivers as she tells Harry the truth. "There was a mistake in the contract with Chain. Somehow they found a loophole, and now they want more money or they'll waive the rights to their song."

"What?!" Harry growls, exactly like Y/N anticipated he'd react. God, he's going to fire her any moment.

"It's my fault. It was a reference mistake I could've easily spotted if I had taken the time to revise it." She admits, feeling extremely shameful of her lazy actions.

"What are you talking about? This is the legal team's fault, they should've seen that damned mistake! It's not in your job description to revise a contract, it's not your responsibility. It's not your fault, Y/N." He explains. She sucks in a breath, his words hitting her harder than she expected. Heart aching, the one sentence rings in her head.

It's not your fault.

That couldn't be true, could it? She was responsible for this deal, and for Harry. She should've seen this coming, even though she couldn't have possibly known. Did she not always pride herself in having this sixth sense, in being ahead of everyone else? What was she without that? What was she if not the best at the one thing that made her special, that set her apart from the crowd. What was she worth without that invincibility?

"You revise every contract, don't you?"

Her eyes flick towards her boss. She doesn't say anything, but the answer is hidden in her pupils. And it seems Harry can read them like an open book. "How long have you been doing that?"

"Two years." Y/N stammers, her arms crossed as if it will keep her body from revealing whatever her mouth won't. Harry just lets out a breathy chuckle before pulling her into his arms, taking her into a sweet embrace. With his chin leaning on her head, Y/N takes the opportunity to bury her face in his chest, trying not to bask too much in the heavenly scent of his cologne.

"Remind me to give you a raise." He jokes in a soft whisper, earning a sniff of laughter from Y/N.

For a while it seems like everything that tore her down, including what went down between her and Harry, didn't exist anymore. There was just him and her, their embrace and a distant ticking clock, the only indicator of time passing. Yet it felt like the world stopped, or slowed down at least, being in Harry's arms like that. And suddenly, that itch that she hadn't been able to scratch in so long, it felt like it was soothed by a stroking hand instead, and in a way it fulfilled her. It just so happened to be a way she did not expect.

The initial shock at the realization—this puzzle piece that suddenly clicked—made Y/N back away. She clears her throat, fiddling with her hands.

"They're supposed to be at this studio right outside the city. It's only twenty minutes away by car. I just need to be sure." She announces. Harry grabs the bags of food he put down before placing his hand on her lower back and guiding the both of them back to the elevator.

"We'll take my car." He states, and although Y/N can tell by his tone that Harry expects there to be no talking back, but she just can't help herself.

"Harry, I told you I can take a cab." She suggests as they wait for the elevator door to open. Harry doesn't respond as he guides them both into the small space and pushes the button for the ground floor. When the door closes, he turns to her, looking down at her with such an intimidating stare that Y/N feels like she's shrinking.

"And I told you: we're taking my car." He says sternly, his low voice twisting her stomach in an interesting way. When Y/N goes to open her mouth again, Harry lays his finger on her lips. He hums in disapproval, shaking his head.

"I was being clear, right?" He asks rhetorically. His gaze sweeps over her mouth before settling on her eyes again. Not daring to speak another word, let alone breathe, Y/N only nods in response.

"Good." Harry responds, a cocky smirk framing his face as he strolls out of the elevator, leaving Y/N breathless and in a slight trance. Blinking a few times, she comes back to her sense and hurries after her boss.

Richard has always been a master at reading people, and this time is no exception. The second he began driving, he raised the partition, leaving Harry and Y/N with some privacy.

Harry really has a knack for hiring the right people.

The first few minutes of the car ride are silent, and Harry spends it observing Y/N as she picked at her nail beds, frantically looking at of the window as if it would make the car move faster. She has so much tension inside that little body of hers; she is clearly in need of a distraction.

"I think I'm jealous."

Y/N's head whips to him, brows raised at the sudden confession. Her body turns with her, knees now in Harry's direction as she leans back into the seat, getting comfortable as she lays close attention.

"Of me?" She asks, utterly confused. She seems very lost, not really connecting the dots. Harry doesn't blame her; that confession was quite out of the blue.

"Of whoever gets to take care of you."

Pure silence. Harry swears he could hear a pin drop. Y/N stares at him like a deer in headlights, probably having no idea what to say or do or think. She gulps.

"What?" Her voice is so soft that he almost doesn't hear her, but since all his focus is on her, he doesn't miss it. Letting out a breath, he leans forward, placing a hand on her thigh. His face inches closer and closer until their mouths are mere inches away from each other. Checking for her reaction with every small movement, he can't help but notice how she doesn't stray away from him. In fact, she leans in, causing their lips to brush against each other.

"The idea of another man touching you, having you, it makes my fucking blood boil." He says, voice hoarse. Her eyes frantically search every last inch of his face, looking for something she seemingly can't find. Perhaps she's attempting to find the usual playfulness that always accompanies any conversation that blurs that line between them. In that case, she could keep looking forever and ever, because he is dead serious. Fuck how it used to be and fuck whatever's right or wrong.

And most of all, fuck that line, because he's crossing it.

Harry closes the small gap between them, trying to suppress the moan that threatens to work up his throat at the sole feeling of her lips against his. What a fucking idiot he was for ever agreeing to forget about that Halloween night. Not that he ever truly did forget about it. Besides her obvious competencies, hiring Y/N was a way of keeping her where he seemed to like her best from the moment they met; close to him.

With that thought in mind, he wraps his hand around her face and pulls her closer. She complies, clicking her seatbelt free to move further towards Harry when he slips his tongue inside.

Their mouths move against each other like it's both the first time and the hundredth time they've done this. So familiar and yet it's like nothing he ever felt before. A sensation so different from three years ago, one so heavy and laced with a detail his brain can't quite seem to grasp. Deep down, he knows what it is, he just can't quite lay his finger on it.

But his body can, and it does, and so does Y/N's, because her grinding against him is exactly what he needs. His hand sneaks around her neck, lips curling into a smile at the familiarity of the curves of her neck and the identical moan that falls from her lips just as it did three years ago.

Harry groans when the car suddenly stops and Y/N falls forward a little bit, the friction against his trousers being a bit too much to bear at the moment. Slowly, the partition lowers, and without so much looking at them through the mirror, Richard speaks up.

"We've arrived."

Wrong. Harry clearly hasn't.

Before Harry can catch his breath, Y/N can get off his lap, and either one can even answer, the partition rises again. Immediately, Y/N throws her face into Harry's neck.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." She wheezes out in pure, utter shame. Harry shakes his head, a faint grin on his face. He would have been laughing his ass off if he wasn't so painfully hard right now. Instead, he only pats Y/N's back, telling her it's fine. She groans and opens the car door.

"No it's not! God, I will never be able to look him in the eye again!" She says, punching the bridge of her nose. Harry shuts the door and grabs Y/N's waist, pulling her towards him. She stumbles into his chest. He lifts her face with his fingers, forcing her to look up at him.

"You're going to have to, because I don't want to fire him." He jokes, and Y/N bites her lip to keep her smile from growing too wide. Not wanting to give Harry the satisfaction that he made her laugh, she looks to the side, but her face expression falls quickly.

"This is not my apartment." She notes, looking at the huge building next to her. "This is yours."

Harry nods.

"I can't be at your apartment, I have to—" Y/N stops herself before she can say more. But Harry already knew what she was going to say. Playfully, he raises a brow.

"You have to... what?"

"To... I have to—"

"Sneak out to that studio?" He finishes her sentence, and her eyes widen. She tries to regain herself but her cheeks are flushed and there is nothing she can do anymore. He's got her. "Yeah, that's not going to happen."

With that, he places a hand on her lower back and guides her towards his building. She stumbles a bit, but eventually catches onto the pace. But her body language is apprehensive, looking back at the road where Richard is standing. Or well, was standing. Harry ordered him to drive away as soon as they got out of the car.

Still, she turns around in a quick motion, trying to get to a cab. Harry's arm catches her, however, and he pulls her back against his chest. Along with his other hand, he turns her around, catching sight of her big eyes boring into his.

"Don't try me." He speaks slowly, dipping his head down until he finds himself inches away from Y/N. "You know what happens if you try me."

His voice is lower than before, having flipped a switch now that her mouth has been on his. He got a taste for the first time in years, he wasn't going to let her get away now. Y/N's breath hitches, eyes flicking down to his mouth.

Knowing he's got her right where he wants her, Harry pulls back and strolls toward the entrance of his apartment building. Soon enough, he hears those heels behind him and he smirks.

It's silent when they step in the elevator, and for the first few seconds, as Harry leans agains't the wall and observes his secretary, it stays that way. She eyes him a couple of times, her ears getting redder.

"What?" She breathes out, looking down at her body like there must be something wrong if he's looking at her for so long. He simply shrugs.

"Nothing. Just admiring you."

At that, Y/N vigorously shakes her head and crosses her arms. A soft scoff leaves her mouth, one she didn't think Harry would hear, but he did. He takes a few steps towards Y/N, inching her against the wall.

"You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?" He asks sincerely, searching for her eyes. When she finally looks up at him, the nervous smile on her face fades a bit.

Harry doesn't like that look on her face. Needing to fix it, he leans forward and plants his lips on hers again, grabbing her face and pulling her into him. It only takes a matter of seconds before her arms are wrapped around his neck and their bodies are impossibly close to each other again.

Tongues delving deeper into each other's mouth, Harry feels himself floating on some sort of feeling. Despite not being able to define it, he is absolutely positive that he doesn't ever want it to stop. And since kissing Y/N causes this specific feeling, the only feasible option is to never stop kissing her. It's the best plan he's had in ages.

It doesn't take long before the situation gets heated, much like it did before, and Harry's hands trail to Y/N's hips to pull her against him. Desperate for any sort of relief, Harry's hips automatically start to move, and Y/N immediately responds. His body feels like it's on fire, and he tries not to let out any sounds as his strained cock rubs against his tight pants.

Harry takes his lips off Y/N's mouth, peppering kisses to her jaw instead. Slowly, he works his way towards her ear, where he stops to whisper in her ear.

"I'm going to remind you how fucking beautiful you are." The hot breath that left his mouth had her shuddering against him, a slight whine escaping her lips. As he leaves sloppy kisses on Y/N's neck, Harry's free hand slowly travels under her shirt, finding her bra.

She gasps softly when his hand starts to massage her breast, the sensitivity of both spots leaving her hot and bothered under Harry. Fuck, she is so fucking stunning, how did she not see it herself?

Suddenly, the elevator stops, and the door opened. Taking a step back, Harry only winks at Y/N before he turns around and strolls out as if it's a casual Friday. As if he doesn't have his secretary, whom he left high and dry, trailing behind him like a lost puppy.

"Would you like something to drink?" He asks when they enter his home, Harry immediately going into the kitchen.

"Absinthe." Y/N breathes out, leaning over the kitchen island. Harry peeks inside his fridge.

"I only have white wine."

Y/N shrugs. "I'm sure it'll have the same effect if I just keep drinking."

Harry chuckles, grabbing the bottle of wine and placing it on the counter. He walks to a cabinet and takes two wine glasses out of it. Placing one in front of Y/N and the other in front of himself, he opens the bottle and starts pouring, not stopping until the glasses are halfway full. Y/N laughs at the ridiculously full wine glass that he pushes her way, but takes it gladly. He doesn't miss the way her breasts nearly spill out of her top as she leans forward a bit further than intended to in order to grab the glass.

"To the unexpected." She says it like it's a dare. Amused, Harry decides to entertain it, and nods his head.

"To the unexpected."

They raise the glasses before both taking a long sip. Y/N rests her arms on the table, giving a perfect view of her tits right in Harry's frame. She smirks when his eyes accidentally fall on it, and Harry's stomach swirls with excitement. She's trying to play.

"Crazy, how fast life can change, isn't it?" She asks rhetorically, and Harry just hums, waiting patiently for her to reveal what she's trying to do. "I mean, I got up today thinking I'd end the day in another man's bed."

There it is.

She's always been smart, and she knows how to push Harry's buttons. Though his fingers grip the kitchen counter tightly, so much that his knuckles turn white, Harry keeps the corners of his mouth lifted.

"And now you're here." He says, head tilting just a bit. She hums in agreement, taking another sip from her wine.

"Yeah, but just crazy to think that I went into the day thinking I'd hook up with someone else." She tells it so innocently, as if she's mostly talking to herself. Harry's jaw clenches as he stalks around the kitchen island and nears Y/N.

"But you're not, though." Harry notes, falling right into the trap. He knows what she's trying to do but he just can't help himself. He doesn't like the idea of her being with another man. He waits for her answer, hearing his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"I know, but I could have—"

Before the sentence has entirely left Y/N's mouth, Harry's hand flies to her neck. The amused look on Y/N's face tells him enough, but he doesn't care.

"You're not. You're in my bed tonight, and any night after that as far as I'm concerned, so I don't want to hear another fucking word about it."

Her eyes twinkle with amusement as she stares up at him. "You really are jealous."

The corner of his mouth tilts upwards, "And you've gotten feisty over the years."

Y/N bites her bottom lip, humming in agreement to his observation. Harry lets out a soft chuckle, tightening the grip on her neck. Y/N gasps in surprise.

"But do you still like to be put in your place?" He asks, inching his face close to hers. The answer is written in her eyes, and yet Y/N doesn't respond. When it's clear that she won't anytime soon, Harry's free hand sneaks around the waist of her pants. She shivers at the touch.

"Well? Do you?" He repeats himself, and slowly but surely, Y/N nods her head. Harry lets out a disapproving noise. "That's not a proper answer."

Closing her eyes, Y/N lets out a deep breath. "Yes, I like to be put in my place."

"That's what I thought." Harry laughs, taking his hands off of her entirely. She frowns, but her eyes widen when he barks out a demand. "Take off your clothes."

He watches carefully as she follows his orders, and she clearly takes her time stripping down to her underwear. When she has, she looks to him for some sign of approval, but Harry just raises his brows. His hands are sunk into his pockets as Y/N lets out a little breath and takes off her bra and panties.

His eyes trail down her body, his cock hurting at the sight of her. God, she's beautiful. He feels like an absolute idiot for not having fought for her earlier, but he reminds himself that he can't change the past and that she is here now, stark naked in his kitchen. A grin spread across his face.

"Do you remember how you addressed me all those years ago?" He asks. It takes a few seconds before Y/N answers, but she gives him a firm nod.

"I called you sir."

Harry nods. "Rules haven't changed. Now, get on the counter."

Her eyes flick to the marble countertop, shock flashing through her eyes. "But Har—"

His right brow lifts ever so slightly. Catching the hint, Y/N stops herself before she can finish the sentence and hoists herself on to the cold countertop. It must not be very pleasant to lay your naked body on that freezing surface, but it was an uncomfortable temporary obstacle. The results would be great, and in about thirty seconds, she'd forget all about that cold touch against her skin.

Harry pulls out one of the bar stools and sat directly in front of Y/N. Spreading her legs apart, he catches sight of that perfect pussy he has been waiting three years to taste again. Like a starved man sat in front of a feast, the urge to dive right in is almost too strong to bear. But before he has her writhing under him, he wants to make her shiver.

"Can't believe it took us so long to get here." Harry hums, tracing his fingers up her thigh, carefully observing the way Y/N tries to control her breathing. Her fists are balled up into curls, attempting to send her concentration to anything else than Harry. He tries not to let his smugness show too much, but he has to say he likes seeing her struggle a bit. A bit of payback for trying to toy with him just now.

"You've always been stubborn." Y/N jokes, a gasp strangling out of her when Harry's fingers ghost over her clit. He chuckles, the tone of his voice so low that it could almost be considered evil.

"If I remember correctly, you're the one who wanted to forget about that Halloween night." He notes. Y/N hums.

"I also made the condition to act professionally, but we didn't do that either." Her eyes gaze into his, catching the fond smile with which he stares at her. A faint blush erupts on her cheeks.

"You drew the line." Harry retorted, and Y/N scoffed.

"You crossed it about a hundred times." She argues in response. He only hums, that cocky smirk on his face.

"I did, and consider this hundredth and first time to be the last, because I'm not getting behind that line again."

Y/N has never been so turned on her in her entire life. Harry’s words are the epitome of determination, and the way his fingers slip inside her so easily the second he finishes his sentence only solidifies that notion. The gasp that leaves her mouth is cut short and evolves into a low moan as Harry’s lips latch onto her clit.

Sensitive would be an understatement for her current state. She is aching, and the way Harry is ravishing her almost hurt. But any pain dwells in comparison to her desire she was overcome with at the situation she currently finds herself in. She is on Harry's kitchen counter, legs spread wide open and letting him do all the things that slipped into her dreams over the past three years.

Harry sucks in all the ways that made her squirm, moving his fingers with such ease that made it seem like he has fingered her a thousand times already. As if he knows her like the back of his hand, as if he knows all her secrets, even ones she doesn't know herself.

Y/N's hand buries itself in Harry's hair when he begins to kitten lick her clit, and she feels that inevitable climax inching closer and closer. She wonders how she had been able to keep herself composed for so long, because the high that creeps up on her feels like it was long overdue.

Unfortunately, the sensation comes to a grinding halt when Harry backs away from Y/N. Her head shoots up, and finds him leaning over her body, wearing boyish half-smile that is now glimmering with her juices.

Wrapping one arm around her waist and the other one under her legs, he picks her up bridal style. She holds onto his shoulders, burying her face into his neck as he carried her to his bedroom. When she begins unbuttoning his shirt, he throws her on his bed. She lets out a soft yelp, bouncing onto the bed.

"So greedy..." Harry tuts in disapproval, but Y/N doesn't quite care. She wants him, bad, and now that she's had a preview of what's to come she doesn't want to wait any longer. She needs him and she needs that orgasm.

She pulls him closer by his pants and starts to unbuckle his belt. "You're taking too long."

Y/N is about halfway done when Harry's firm hand wraps around her neck and pulls her closer to his face. Inching down, he growls: "You'll take what I give you."

"Then give me something." She spits back, and Harry's eyes turn five shades darker at her invitation to a challenge. He slowly leans back, Y/N watching his every movement in anticipation.

"On your stomach."

Y/N stomach swirls at the command, and she obeys as quick as she can. It stays silent for a little bit, and she awaits his further actions eagerly.

"Hands behind your back."

Again, she does what he says. Y/N doesn't dare to turn her head as she hears Harry walking around his room. When she feels a silky material around her wrists, she knows enough. He's tying her up.

Knowing better than to do otherwise, Y/N keeps her mouth shuts as Harry makes an impenetrable knot with his tie. She moves her wrists, assessing how tight it really is, and gets interrupted by a punishing slap on her ass. The sting remains for a couple of seconds, and she is sure there is now a red print the size of Harry's hand on her right cheek.

"Ass up." He barks out his final order, no doubt smirking as she changes her position, slightly struggling now that her arms are of no use.

Y/N bites her lip in anticipation when Harry's hand grabs onto her hips, steadying himself behind her. She slightly flinches forward when the tip of his cock teases her entrance, and attempts to speed up the process by leaning backwards a bit. She's rewarded with another slap on her ass.

But then Harry finally sinks in, and that dreadful itch that plagued Y/N for such a long time is finally scratched, over and over again as he begins to pound into her with long, slow strokes.

"Fucking hell..." Harry murmurs, his cock suctioning into Y/N's tight, clenching pussy. He is so big, and it bruises her in all the right ways.

"Oh baby... thaaat's it." He groans when Y/N begins to bounce back on his cock, aiming to get it even deeper inside of her. She is ruthless in her movements, groaning at the overwhelming sensations. When Harry gropes her ass— and his nails bite into her skin—she loses control.

Burying her face into the mattress, Y/N screams as she reaches her peak. The sound of Harry's moans at her pussy convulsing around his cock only strengthens her orgasm. Her mind goes entirely blank as the shattering release ripples through her like an earthquake. The only thing she can think of is Harry's name, and it's the only thing she cries out as the dizzying explosion settles all over her body.

"You really are desperate, aren't you?" Harry sneers as he pulls his cock out of Y/N, letting go of her hips. She nearly falls over, her tied up hands making it difficult to catch herself. This orgasm was so intense, she could feel the three years of pent up tension as it washed over her. Her cheeks are burning red and her teary eyes makes her vision somewhat blurry.

Y/N is thrown off when Harry suddenly turns her around and she finds herself lying on her back. The way he towers over her would have been intimidating had it not been extremely hot.

"Came on my cock so fast..." he mumbles cockily, corner of his mouth pulled up like the arrogant bastard he is. "Such a slut for it."

Y/N wants to give him some snappy comeback, but her brain is still fried from the orgasm and she's always liked to be degraded in bed, so she decides to only glare at Harry while he speaks. He catches it, and his grin only widens.

"You know it's true, baby." He tells her, bringing your legs over each of his shoulders. That deviant smirk is the last thing Y/N sees before her eyes roll into the back of her head at the feeling of Harry's cock stretching her out again.

He leans forward, almost folding her in two, and reaches deeper. He stays there for a few seconds—as if he is catching his breath—then slowly backs out of her before slamming right back in. Y/N lets out a screech that, if it hadn't been for the desperation laced in its tone, would've sounded like someone was trying to murder her.

Trying to keep her own moans at a minimum, Y/N closes her eyes and listens to the harsh slaps of Harry's skin against hers, and the groans that escape his mouth with each thrust. The strength behind each movement makes her clench around Harry, who in turn hisses her name as if it were a curse word. It only causes her to clench more. 

"Fuck, such a pretty little whore." Harry praises as he drives into her. Y/N can only whine, her tits bouncing uncontrollably at the impact of his motions. She must look fucking helpless. Opening her eyes, she catches the way Harry looks at her; like she's a dream. Like she's his dream.

"My pretty little whore." He growls, leaning back and holding one of her legs with his arm while the other reaches for her breasts.

"Yes..." Y/N breathes as he begins squeezing her breasts, getting lost in the sensations of him. Somehow it feels like Harry is everywhere. As if he has latched onto a part of her soul and she feels him coming to claim that every time his cock sinks into her.

"Such a tight fucking fit." He groans, taking her nipple between his fingers. "You should see how perfectly your pussy sucks in every inch of my cock..."

Y/N bites her lip as Harry talks, trying not too get too overwhelmed by the filthy things he's telling her as he plunges in and out of her. Her eyes catch the flex of his muscles that occur with every thrust, and she wonders how she got a man so perfect to fuck her stupid like this.

"Should record it... make a little video for just the two of us. What do you think?"

Oh my god.

"Don't you want to see how perfect we fit together?" He taunts, thrusting his hips harsher than before, hitting a spot that had been untouched for quite a while now. Y/N's face scrunches up.

"F—fuck! Yes, yes..." She responds when Harry stills inside of her to await an answer. He chuckles at the apparent hurry in her voice and reaches for—what Y/N assumes to be—his phone, on the bed. His motions are slow and soft, determined to keep Y/N satisfied at least a bit while he logs into his phone and searches for the camera app. She notices the start of his recording by the sudden change of pace and force of his movements.

His camera is pointed right at her pussy as he begins thrusting deep inside of her, and Y/N screams out Harry's name. The concentration on his face as he captures how she takes him proves too much to bear, and she shuts her eyes tightly, head flopping to the side.

She can hear his ragged breathing over all the other sounds that their bodies are making. The small grunts he makes in an effort not to moan too loudly is all she can focus on, and the tension in her belly grows exponentially with each vibrations of his voice that reaches her ears.

Harry slows his pace, putting more emphasis on the impact of his moves. It allows him to bring his free hand down to touch Y/N's clit. Her legs begin to shake the second he does.

"Are you gonna come again for me? I'm so close, baby. I can tell you are too." The softness in the delivery of his words have Y/N's ovaries rattle. She can only nod, a whine that was an attempt at a 'yes' falling from her rosy lips. Harry grins, his eyes flicking from his phone to her face. Everything feels so hazy, much like a daydream.

"Please don't stop." She squeals in such a high pitch that surprises even herself. Y/N had no idea she could go that high. Harry's bringing out an entirely new side of her.

"I'll never stop, baby." Harry rasps, pressing down on her clit in such a way that Y/N becomes cross-eyed for a second. Her nails grip into the bedsheets, the second release rippling through her like a hurricane. She never quite understood the word bliss, until now. This must be it; this feeling of... pure ecstasy.

Like a blank canvas splattered on with all the bright colors that exist in the world; fresh and exciting and psychedelic in a way. Impossible to define yet such a specific feeling. Y/N let all of it tingle from her head down to her toes, wanting to remember it forever.

The continuous pounding Y/N through her orgasm comes to a grinding halt when Harry reaches his own, pulling out just in time for his sperm to coat her puffy clit and swollen tits. His camera is focused on her frame, recording every spurt that paints her. She's the canvas, he's the colors, Y/N realizes. Harry is her definition of bliss.

The words shared between the two are scarce as Harry unties Y/N's hands, picks her up and carries her to the bathroom to clean her up. But the smiles on their faces says enough, both knowing what they feel is rare, and beautiful. Y/N assesses Harry's face, concluding that the soft edges of it makes him look like a proper angel.

When he's dressed her in one of his shirts, he takes her back to the bedroom, where he pulls her against his frame. Y/N wraps one leg around his torso, hugging him from the side with her head buried into his neck. The way his chest rises and lowers fills her with pure ease, and she leaves a few soft kisses in his neck as a silent thank you. Harry only hums in satisfaction, his arm only tightening around you, as if he's afraid you might let go.

"I'm never gonna let you go now." You tell him before you can even fully comprehend your words. Your heart starts racing, afraid that might've been too soon to say.

"Promise?"

Your racing heart is now melting as you turn your head and see Harry holding up his pinky. You are quick to interlock it with your own.

"Promise." You say with a smile.

General taglist: @mema10

[lazysoulwriter]

menace to society – harry styles . ✦

content: chaotic couple energy, pda, teasing, public mischief, soft!harry behind it all

---

The thing about dating Harry Styles was that people expected charm. Grace. Mystery, maybe. Something refined and a little poetic.

What they didn’t expect? You.

You—his loud-mouthed, snort-laughing, lip-gloss-wearing girlfriend with an attitude and a complete disregard for appropriate public behavior. And, somehow, the absolute love of his life.

It starts with you dragging him into a photo booth at a random LA diner at 11pm, both of you tipsy on milkshakes and fries. He tries to behave, poses with a shy little smirk for the first photo—but then you lick his neck in the second one, and he’s gone. There’s no recovery from that. The third frame is a mess of teeth and hands and your laughter echoing way too loud for the sleepy place you’re in.

He has the strip of photos in his wallet to this day.

Then there’s the incident at Whole Foods.

Harry’s just trying to get oat milk. That’s all he wanted. Oat milk.

But you’re pushing the cart and suddenly you’re leaning in, whispering in his ear, “If you bend over like that again in those pants, I will climb you like a tree in aisle seven.”

He chokes on air. Knocks over a box of granola bars. An old lady gasps. You grin like the devil.

Later that day, you’re walking down Melrose hand in hand, and you keep pulling him into alleys to “make out like teenagers.” You make him hold your leg up against a brick wall. Harry can’t stop giggling, hiding behind his sunglasses as if they make you both less obvious. The paparazzi photos are wild. You’re labeled “the menace.” Harry’s grinning in every single one.

At a dinner party, you slide your hand under the table and trace your name on his thigh while maintaining a perfectly polite conversation with Olivia Wilde. Harry nearly knocks over his wine glass when your fingers go a little too high. “Can’t take you anywhere,” he hisses, cheeks red, eyes dark.

“Then stop taking me,” you shrug, licking dessert off your spoon like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.

But the truth? He lives for it. For you.

You with your shameless affection and chaotic flirting and your need to pull him into dressing rooms just to "check how the lighting looks on your outfit while he's inside."

You are a menace.

And Harry Styles is happily your accomplice.

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work.

© lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[jarofstyles]

Worshiped

Who doesn’t love a simp-y Harry? I’ve been in a kick lately of writing him but this is next level. He loves his girl and does not play about her!

Check out our Patreon for early access to almost 300 exclusive writings and series!

WC- 4k

Warnings- smut, soft dom!H but some switch vibes, praise kink, spit play, unprotected sex (wrap it up), slight pain kink on his end, oral, etc

With her standing there in the dress he had bought her, he found himself thoroughly distracted by the way the fabric hugged her body. A body he had no idea how whoever was the creator of life itself managed to sculpt, because just being able to see it was a gift from the gods. His hands traced her silhouette, starting from her shoulders and slowly moving down her arms, then around to her waist.

"Fuck me, Angel…." His lips muttered softly, more to himself than to her. "You have no idea how stunning you are, do you?" Thumbs gently traced the waistline of the dress, admiration clear in his voice. It would be hard for her to forget with how often he tried to remind her, but he still did wonder if she ever truly got it. If she could fathom how insanely other worldly she was.

The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a warm, golden hue over the room, highlighting her in a different way than the rest of the night had. The candlelight in the restaurant had been incredible to see her in, but this was special.. Any difference if lighting had him appreciating her in a different way, but something about the glow of their bedroom, the most intimate place of the house had him feeling it tenfold. 

Harry lingered behind her, unashamed as he allowed his ring clad hands to slowly explore the dips of her body. Y/N was a masterpiece he couldn't get enough of, as if someone had dipped their paintbrush into the depths of his foggy brain and brought his ideal to life. Nimble fingers traced the delicate lace detailing on the bodice of the lavender dress, feeling the soft fabric breathe heat against her skin. He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to the back of her neck, grinning to himself as he felt her shiver at the touch.

"I need this off you, please." Returning to her shoulders, he made work of slowly pushing the delicate straps down her arms. As the fabric fell away, exposing her bare décolletage, he let out a soft puff of a breath against her hair. “You are… Unreal.” His words were quiet, but he knew she could hear them over the sound of the fabric being dragged down her form. In his mind, it was in the top five sounds he could hear from her, right underneath the breathy moan of his name and slightly above the little gasp she made when he smacked her ass. 

 Y/N simply stood there, letting him remove the dress completely until she was standing before him stripped bare. The dress fell from her body and onto the floor with a soft whisper, allowing Harry a moment to truly appreciate the view before him. Her body was like a damn map that he had become all too familiar with but wanted to study every day so he never had the opportunity to forget. The dip in her lower back that he loved to kiss. The waist that his hands loved to grasp. The pretty ass that he had smacked more times than he could count. Her long legs and those thighs that had his mouth watering, he had a hard time keeping it together. Her stomach, soft and sensitive every time he kissed it. Her breasts were made for his palms and nipples perfect to pinch. He loved her body. He loved her body. every single part of her called to the base level of his attraction. He couldn't help himself.

Harry had always been a man who appreciated a woman's body, but the higher power had truly outdone herself with Y/N's.

It was hard to not love her body. Especially when it fit every part of him like a puzzle piece. He loved how it was soft where he was hard- How it was round where he was angular. He had a hard time getting over the dip in her waist and how his large hands could span it. God, did he adore her thighs and how they felt wrapped around his waist. Sometimes his favorite was the curve of her ass and how it fit up against him when he bottomed out inside of her- but he was careful to choose favorites when he had so many. She was made out of a fantasy he hadn’t been creative enough to conjure up himself, only able to fathom it in front of his own eyes.

She let out a small hum, shivering slightly as his eyes worshipped her body. Y/N knew he loved looking at her naked. He was almost like an artist, taking his time to study every little thing. She trusted him implicitly with her body, so when she felt him press against her back, she automatically leaned back into him, letting her body mold against his like it always did. Her bottom pushed back against his crotch, making him grunt softly. Her head fell back against his chest, baring her neck to him. 

"Fucking beautiful." The man murmured against her skin, his voice husky as it remained quiet. His hand palmed her breast, his fingers splaying out to cover as much of her soft flesh as possible. It was selfish of him to want to be all over her, but it’s all he wanted. Really, it felt like a need to have his hands touching every inch of her even if it wasn’t fully possible. Kneading the soft mound of her breast, his thumb brushed over her hardening nipple with a soft coo. Feeling her react was a privilege he didn’t take lightly. His other hand wrapped around her waist, keeping her flush against him. Nuzzling himself into the crook of her neck, he pressed open-mouthed kisses to her sensitive skin.

 "God, you're gorgeous. Can’t get over it.” He whispered against her, his touch soft and slow. His fingers gently pinched her nipple, making her arch back against him with a soft whining sound leaving her swollen lips. "Look at you. My gorgeous girl…" The man murmured, taking her in. "You're a damn goddess. Every inch of you is made to be worshipped. N’I’m your main follower." His lips found the particular spot she liked underneath her ear, letting his tongue brush it before sucking softly on the skin. "Y’know I'm obsessed with you, yeah baby? Like dangerously obsessed?"

Y/N could feel his obsession in every touch, in every whispered word. She loved how he worshipped her and how he always made her feel cherished. Most of all, she loved how he talked to her like she was the most precious thing in the world to him. She loved his hands on her nearly all the time, like he couldn’t help but touch her- and how he always made her feel protected, honored. Even when he was filthy, in the depths of their passion, Harry had no issue with making her feel worshiped. She turned her head to the side, allowing him better access to her neck as she whispered back "You are. I love it."

It was the truth. Y/N had wondered if someday, someone would be able to match the amount of passion she knew she could bring into a relationship. It was hard to imagine someone feeling so intensely in the way that she did, but she had met her match when Harry had waltzed into her life.

"You love it?" he murmured against her skin, a coo of pleasure in his voice. He nipped at her spot to make her squirm a little in his arms, soothing the small sting with his tongue. "You love how fucking obsessed I am with you, my perfect girl?" His hand slid down her stomach, his fingers splaying out possessively. "You love how I can't keep my hands off you? How m’always touching you, kissing you, fucking you until I break? Because that’s what y’do to me. Ruined and saved me all at the same time.” He was waxing on and he knew it, but it was only her right to know how twisted up she managed to get him. “All I can think about is how much I love you,I spend my days dreaming about you. S’that make you happy?"

"Yes." The word came out breathy and needy as he continued to run his hands south. "I love how you can't keep your hands off me. I love how you make me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world every single day." She met his eyes in the mirror as she continued in the whisper, despite there being no need to keep the volume low. The intimacy of it all had it cocooning them in their own personal bubble.. "I love how you speak to me like I'm your own personal heaven."

"Oh, but darling… You are." Harry groaned, his hand sliding between her legs to get a taste of it. "My own personal fucking heaven. If I’ve died n’this is where I end up, I don’t want anyone t’bring me back. I want to live here." The words were murmured against her neck, his fingers finding her wet and ready for him between her sacred thighs. "So sweet and so fuckin’ mine," he praised, his touch gentle and calculated as he pet her, making her gasp. "You're my everything, Y/N. My love, my life, my whole fucking world." His other hand came up to cup her breast, rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger again to get her to let out one of those pretty noises again. 

"My beautiful girl," He crooned, his damp fingers slipping through her slick folds, parting her gently. "My precious, precious love…" His fingers found her sensitive bud, circling it slowly and feeling her pulse against his fingertips. Having the key to his pleasure in the palm of his hand was a gift he wasn’t going to waste. "What am I going to do with you, hm? How should I spend my night ensuring you know just how much you make me feel?”

His fingers continued their maddeningly slow circles around her clit, teasing her mercilessly. "Tell me," he spoke, his voice a low rumble against her ear, "Do you want me to fuck this sweet cunt until you're screaming my name? Or should I worship it with my mouth until you're dripping down my chin, begging for my cock?" His other hand tweaked her nipple sharply, sending a jolt of pleasure through her. "How should I show my goddess that she's worshipped?"

"Both," Y/N gasped breathlessly, her body arching into his touch. "Fuck, please..." Her eyes fluttered closed briefly before catching his gaze in the mirror again. "I want... I want your mouth first. Make a mess on your face. I want to watch you worship me." Her hips rolled forward, pressing against his fingers that were still teasing her clit. "Then... God, then fuck me into the mattress." She was already panting, her body completely pliant against his. Even if he held the physical power, he would bend at the knee for her. His girl was the one in charge. 

"Knew you'd be a greedy little thing today. S’a good thing I love fulfilling all your desires." He loved how she wasn't shy about telling him what she wanted.  She knew exactly what she liked and how to ask for it, and it made his job of giving it to her a million times easier. "On the bed, then. I’ve missed that cunt. Show it off for me." He removed his hands from her body, albeit a challenge, giving her a gentle pat on the bottom to urge her forward.

Y/N's legs shook slightly as she moved towards the bed, feeling the familiar adrenaline light her up. It was hard not to feel on the good side of the edge knowing she had a man who never, ever failed on delivering what he promised. Once she was standing next to the bed, she slowly climbed on her knees, gripping the duvet with both hands. She looked back over her shoulder at him, her eyes burning with need. "Like this?" She asked hoarsely, spreading her legs wider to expose her glistening cunt to him.

Harry's gaze was riveted to the sight before him. his love, on her knees, bare and open for him. The sight was exquisite. he couldn’t believe how perfect she was. “Yeah, I love you like that. Fucking stunning.” He murmured as he slowly crept closer to her, crawling onto the bed. His large hands gripped her ample ass, his thumbs spreading her wide for his own inspection. “S’My favorite view.”

Harry couldn’t deny that it filled him with a sense of pride to see evidence of her arousal like this. He pushed his fingers through her messy slit, spreading her juices around. The sound of wet, squelching noises filled the room as he touched her, making her whimper softly. "God woman, you're so fucking wet." He muttered, dragging his fingers back and forth through her dripping cunt. It would almost sound like he was pissed but he was anything but. He was aroused, more than ever.

"Look at me." He commanded, his voice deep and authoritative as he continued to spread her juices around her slick cunt. She immediately turned her head to look back at him over her shoulder, her eyes glassy with need. Without breaking eye contact, Harry leaned down and spat directly onto her cunt, the warm liquid mingling with her own arousal. "So fucking filthy," he growled, using his fingers to massage the saliva into her folds. "Just like my girl should be."

Y/N felt slightly lightheaded at the view, the feeling, all of it. As filthy as he claimed for her to be, he was her perfect match. He knew how to make her crazy because he was just as insane. He brought his spit covered fingers up to her mouth, pressing them against her lips. "Taste yourself." Harry ordered. "Taste how fucking wet you get for me. How your cunt cries for me." He held his fingers there, not moving, waiting for her to open up and take them inside. "Go on, baby. Show me how you clean my fingers."

She parted her lips obediently, taking the digits into her mouth. Humming softly, the taste of her arousal sending a fresh wave of heat through her core. It was very dirty, something she wouldn’t have ever thought of liking before, but Harry had managed to open her up to all sorts of things she never thought she would like. Being spit on and cleaning off her taste off his fingers was one of them. As she sucked his fingers clean, she maintained eye contact, her gaze smoldering with lust and obedience because she knew what it did to him. Playing with fire? Perhaps. But Harry would give her what she wanted. After a long moment, she released his fingers with a soft pop, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his digits for a brief second before breaking. 

"Fuck, I love you." It was a strange time to declare it but seeing her do that stuff had him feeling every sort of insane that he ever could. He couldn’t get enough of how she tasted, how she looked on her knees, how she whimpered and begged when he touched her. Slipping his wet fingers back into her cunt, he let out as he moved where he wanted to be- with his mouth right on her. as he buried his face between her thighs, his long fingers curling up to hit that spot inside her that drove her wild and had her humping back to chase the feeling. "My filthy, perfect girl," he mumbled against her flesh, his hot breath making her shudder. "Spread wider f’me, baby. Let me in." He demanded, pushing her thighs further apart to give himself better access.

Finding her clit with his lips, Harry latched onto the sensitive bud and sucked hard, letting his tongue flick over it. Her taste coated on his tongue and he groaned in pleasure, the vibrations sending waves of ecstasy through her. His arm wrapped around her hips, pulling her cunt closer to his eager mouth as he devoured her like a starving man presented with a feast- his favorite meal. "Fuck, you taste divine." he murmured before sucking her clit back into his mouth eagerly. Harry had tasted plenty of people before and as cliche as it most definitely sounded, Y/N was by far the best he ever had. He could spend days here and not get tired, wear her on his skin if it was appropriate.

"Oh my fucking God," she whimpered, her hips bucking forward as she pressed against his face. Her fingers tangled in his hair as she reached behind to grab him, holding him exactly where she wanted him. "Right there, baby... just like that..." Her voice was breathy and urgent, completely lost in the sensation of his tongue against her sensitive nerves. She could feel every suck, every flick sending jolts of pleasure through her entire body. It was so hot having a man who wanted to make her feel good, but knowing he got off on it too? Hearing his groans and moans and feeling them vibrate against her? That was a whole other level.

"Harry..." She gasped, spreading her legs wider for him, because fuck, what wouldn’t she do for him in this position? " Holy shit." Her back arched slightly as he continued to suck her clit like it was his favorite candy. "Baby, wait..." She tugged lightly on his hair, her thighs tensing around his face. "You're- You're too good at this..." The whimper was lost as his fingers slid back inside her hole, curving up to hit that sweet spot again. "Oh my God." Her inner muscles clenched around his digits. 

Y/N was getting close, he could feel it in the way her legs trembled and her cunt clenched around his fingers. But suddenly, she pulled him away, panting heavily. "Wait, wait.” she gasped, turning around to face him. "I need your cock, Harry. I need you inside me right now." Her eyes were wild with desire, her chest heaving with every breath. "Please, baby. Fuck me." 

He wasn’t sure why she didn’t want to finish on his face this time around, but he wasn’t ever going to say no to being inside of her. 

"With pleasure." He growled, quickly unbuckling his belt and pushing his pants down. His hard cock sprang free, already leaking precum. Like she was weightless, there was no hesitation in grabbing her hips and flipped her onto her back, settling between her spread thighs. 

The days at the gym spent specifically to be able to toss her around were proving to be very successful, and Y/N made a mental note to test some of that out later.

"You want my cock, baby?" He asked, teasing her entrance with the head of his dick. "You want me to fill you up?" He leaned down to kiss her deeply, silencing the moaned response she gave. He knew what she wanted- that was his job.

With a deep groan against her mouth, his hips pushed forward, sliding his thick dick deep into her. He panted into her mouth as her walls stretched to accommodate him, wrapping around his shaft like a vice. "There we go. S’perfect. M’home." he mumbled against her lips, beginning to move his hips in a steady rhythm. It may be very cliche, cheesy to say, but nothing made him feel as at home as being close to her did. Nothing. He pulled back until just the tip remained inside, then pushed heavily back in, skin colliding with a solid thud.

"Ahh- fuck. Harry…" She cried out, her back arching off the bed as he filled her completely. Her nails dug into his toned back, sure to make the marks he loved as she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. 

He set a slow, sensual pace, angling his hips to bury himself as deep as possible with each thrust. Harry wanted to feel every inch of her gripping his cock, each deliberate movement dragged his shaft along her inner ridges, have her feel it just as much. They were made for each other just based on how she took him and he wanted to remind her each and every time. "Feel that, baby?" He purred, his breath hot against her ear. "Feel how deep m’getting? Claiming every fucking inch of this perfect cunt."

He made love to her slowly, his touch everywhere as he adored her body. His thick hands roamed over her, his calloused fingers tracing her soft skin. "My beautiful girl," he murmured, kissing down her neck as he continued to fill her completely as she clung to him. "My precious, precious love..." His touch was soft and gentle the best he could, his movements slow and deep, taking his damn time with her. Every single time he got to be with her in this way was one he cherished, but it was hard to pound into her when he felt overcome with how much he loved the woman. "My treasure..." He whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "My heaven...S’what you are.” 

There had been no exaggeration on his end. Being inside of her, being close to her was what he considered perfection. Getting to have the woman he would have only ever dreamt about in his physical hands, feeling the heat of her skin on his palms and the pleasure of her wrapped around him like a lock to a key, it was unreal to him at times. Waking up to her face or her voice, getting to be the one she loved was everything he could have asked for. 

 "You're my everything," he breathed, his pace unhurried yet intense. Each thrust was deliberate, designed to hit that spot deep inside her that made her eyes roll back. All he wanted was for his sweet angel to feel good. His thumb brushed gentle circles over her clit in time with his movements, his touch light. "I worship you." The man confessed, voice hitching as she squeezed around him. "Your body... your heart... your fucking soul." He leaned down to capture her mouth in a deep, loving kiss, swallowing her whimpers and moans.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he murmured against her lips. His eyes met hers, burning with an intense, adoring gaze. The longer he was with her, the more the fire was stoked. He was engulfed in the flames of her but he never felt it burn. Only the most comfortable warmth someone could ever imagine. 

"I was a lost, broken man before I met you. But you... you put me back together. You made me whole again." His movements were slow and deliberate, each thrust meant to draw out their pleasure as long as possible. They were both too close and he knew it, but this wasn’t the end of their night. It was only the beginning. Burying himself deep inside her, his hips grinding against hers as he felt the nails dig into his back and her mouth open to whimper his name, he let out a breathless laugh as she lost herself on his cock. "Yeah- that’s what I want, baby. Let go on me. Give me everything, and M’gonna give it right back.” It was what he was meant to do. Harry didn’t know before Y/N, but he sure as hell knew now. “You're my redemption, my salvation, my fucking everything. M’gonna spend my whole life showing it"

[jezebelblues]

𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋 | 𝐇.𝐒 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐟𝐨𝐫 ���𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬—𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞.

𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐚𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭, 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲.

𝐂𝐖: smut18+ fingering, penetration (p in v), a smidge of spanking, mommy issues, 2016!harry, angst, i guess. all in upper case if that gets u goin. fem!reader, unedited cause i fell asleep writing this. gn. mwah :*

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 17k

❏ burning hill by mitski teehee !! was the main inspo for this

not my gif. if u have the info of the original creator, lmk so i can appropriately credit them.

masterlist

It’s been fifteen months since the group announced their hiatus.

Phone calls became scarce, and so many words were left unspoken, drifting into that space where they might never find their way back. For the first time in years, he felt free—untethered from the rhythm of living intertwined with three other lives. At first, the quiet felt unbearable, like the silence after the crowd fades and the lights go down. But slowly, the loneliness began to feel like home. A strange sort of comfort in the quiet. He found a semblance of privacy—at least a bit more than he had in the band.

Harry felt that, since the hiatus, the fans had grown older with him, their wide-eyed fascination dulled by time and reality. There were fewer frantic moments, fewer desperate hands pulling at him. Now, on a good day, he could stroll through his hometown, maybe get stopped for a polite photo. Occasionally, there were still shadows trailing him—paparazzi or a fan trying to be invisible but failing, always just out of reach. He didn’t like it, not really, but he’d learned to live with it. It’s what came with the territory, a price he thought he’d long accepted.

But it was the writing that kept him grounded. Kept him real. The one thing that still felt like his own. His debut album was close to finished now, though the mixing, the rewrites, the constant tweaking—it never felt like enough. There was this tightness inside him, a knot of anxiety that refused to unravel. Would anyone like Harry styles, the solo artist? Or would they always only care about Harry, the boy in the band?

He wasn’t ungrateful, not for a second. But deep down, he craved something more. He needed the space to finally figure out what he wanted, to break free, to become something else entirely. Something new.

It’s been eight months since he met YN.

It was happenstance, through his manager—though sometimes Harry liked to imagine it was fate. It was one of those coincidences that felt too deliberate to be real, like something out of a half-finished song. She was Jeff’s goddaughter, on the periphery of his world, but until then, she’d been just another name mentioned in passing.

YN started her internship at the recording studio in the beginning of April of this year. She moved to New York with a close friend shortly after her twenty first birthday, saving up for what felt like forever, and Jeffery instantly had the idea of corroborating with the studio about an internship. He knew of her uncertainty about the future. He knew about the interest in music YN had, and he wanted to give her a chance.

Jeff had told her it was a paid internship, though it really wasn’t. He was the one who was paying her through check, under the guise of the studio. She would freak if she found out, turning it all down—Jeff knew that all too well.

Her first month was moreso about passing time. She’d work on any logistics, learning about the soundboard and how it worked hand in hand with the recording aspect, not to mention the process of remastering, mixing, finalizing. Harry was in and out those first three weeks, still finishing up a few interviews and whatnot. YN talked to him a few times when he’d pop in before taking off again, he was sweet. Still, she needed something to do until he was finally able to settle down to focus on one of the last stretches of the album—and giving her busywork was just that.

She wasn’t supposed to be at the office that day in May, but Jeff made her come along before they would continue their constant work at the drawing table, in the booth. It was the day he decided to cut his hair—and there she was, sitting quietly on the edge of the room, trying not to be seen, caught up in the swirl of conversations she didn’t quite belong to yet. There was something about her, something he couldn’t put his finger on. The way she observed everything, but didn’t feel the need to make herself known. A quiet confidence, maybe, or just a complete lack of pretense.

When she offered to help with the cut, everyone laughed, but he said yes. He didn’t know why, maybe because she didn’t treat it like this big, defining moment. The whole world was making such a fuss about his hair, like that was all he was, all he’d ever be. But YN? She just smiled, grabbed the scissors, and got to work. No ceremony, no theatrics—just a few careful snips, and suddenly he was lighter, like he could breathe again.

Afterward, they’d joked about how she should switch careers. But she’d only smiled that same quiet smile and said she was more interested in being on the other side of music. She was learning everything she could. At first, she was just there, hovering at the edge of things. But before long, she was everywhere. Quietly slipping into conversations, offering up ideas that stuck with him long after she’d left the room.

She wasn’t like the people he usually worked with. She wasn’t starry-eyed, wasn’t afraid of him or the idea of him. YN spoke to the brunette like he was just a guy making music, figuring things out. And maybe that’s what drew him in, slowly at first, then all at once. She didn’t see Harry Styles, the soloist. She saw Harry—the restless, uncertain man who wasn’t sure if he was running from his past or trying to carve out a future. He was human, an equal, not an enigma.

He caught himself thinking about her more than he should, replaying their conversations in his head when he was alone in his flat, the silence pressing in around him. She had this way of getting under his skin without even trying, making him wonder if he’d been doing everything wrong up until now. Or maybe, just maybe, she was the first person to make him feel like he didn’t need to have all the answers.

There was something magnetic about her, a pull he couldn’t quite shake. He’d see her in the studio, headphones on, scribbling notes on a track they’d been working on, her brow furrowed in concentration. She cared about the music, really cared, and he respected that more than he could say. In the rare moments she’d look up and catch him watching, she’d smile—soft and unassuming, as if she wasn’t at the center of this storm he was slowly getting lost in.

He’d thought about it, late at night when the studio was empty, and all he had were his thoughts. He wasn’t sure if it was the music that kept him coming back, or if it was something else entirely.

But the truth was, ever since she walked into his life, the world didn’t feel as heavy. It didn’t feel so lonely anymore.

YN had a quiet way of carrying herself, something light and untouchable, like she’d mastered the art of being present without ever fully giving herself away. It was part of what made her so magnetic, Harry thought, but it also kept her at arm’s length—just out of reach. The more time he spent with her, the more he sensed there were pieces of her story she wasn’t ready to share, things she held onto with a grip so tight, it almost hurt to watch.

Her father had been older when she was born, older than Jeff was, at least—a man who had already been through his share of mistakes and regrets by the time he met Jeffery in college. YN’s dad had been trying to start over, to build something solid for himself after years of wandering. They clicked right away—two guys who didn’t have much in common on the surface, but who understood each other in the ways that mattered. Jeff was young, still wide-eyed and ambitious, while YN’s father had lived a little longer, seen more of the mess the world had to offer. They bonded over that, and when YN was born, Jeff had been right there, practically family.

YN’s mother had left when she was just a baby. No warning, no messy custody battle, just gone. Her dad was the moon, always there—faintly during the day when he worked, but always present by night. Her mother was a solar eclipse, popping up in certain areas every now and then, but never staying. Maybe she’d call and wish her a belated happy birthday, or send a card for Christmas that year. She was always fleeting. And YN thought herself the stars, always there, always ever connected to the two despite time and space.

So, her father had raised her on his own, doing his best with what little he had. Jeff had been named godfather not long after her birth, and though he didn’t say much about it, YN knew he’d always carried a quiet kind of guilt. Like maybe if he’d been around more, her life might’ve been different. She never blamed him, of course—she adored Jeff, looked at him like he was some kind of anchor in her life, a second father figure, someone she could always count on. But there was no denying that a part of her had been shaped by absence, by the cold reality of her mother’s abandonment.

She didn’t talk about her mother much. When they’d first started getting to know each other, Harry had asked her once—offhandedly, without thinking—and the way her expression shifted, the way her walls shot up so quickly, he knew not to push. He’d seen it before, in himself, the instinct to hide away when the past felt too close.

Harry didn’t know much about her. They hadn’t talked about personal things, not really. Her past wasn’t something she talked about, not with anyone, and especially not with people like Harry—people who had the world’s attention, people who might think she was just another girl with a tragic backstory. But he knew she was Jeff’s goddaughter, that she was interning at the studio, trying to figure out if music was the career she wanted. He knew her favorite artist and color, knew her favorite subject in school and her best friend’s name—Marisol. He knew she preferred sunsets over sunrises, mountains and forests over beaches. But it felt superficial, barely scraping the surface. He wanted to know more. She seemed talented, driven, but there was something else—something in the way she held herself back.

There were moments when he’d catch her smile, but it was always soft, fleeting. Like she was offering a glimpse of something deeper but never letting him get too close. It intrigued him, the way she could be so kind yet so guarded, as if she’d learned not to give too much away. It was a look he recognized, one he saw in himself sometimes, when the weight of expectations and the uncertainty of his solo career pressed too heavily on his shoulders. But with YN, it felt different. It felt like something that had been there long before she ever stepped into the studio.

Moving to New York had been her way of starting over. She’d wanted to escape the weight of her past, to carve out a life that was her own. Jeff had given her that opportunity, and even though she hadn’t been sure it was what she wanted at first, she found herself falling into the rhythm of it. The work was hard sometimes, but it felt good, like maybe she was finally building something of her own. But even here, in this new city with new faces, YN still felt that familiar pull—the instinct to keep her distance, to protect herself from getting too attached.

He wasn’t sure she’d let him in, anyway. YN was like that—careful, cautious. Maybe she always would be.

In June, a little over two months since YN started working in the studio, she and Harry had formed an easy, steadying friendship. YN wasn’t like most people in his world. She understood his music in a way that felt rare—intimately, deeply, as if she could feel the weight of each word before he even sang it. It touched him more than he could admit.

But as much as he was drawn to her, Harry could sense the distance she kept between them. It wasn’t obvious, not in a way anyone else would notice, but there was a part of YN that stayed hidden. She had a warmth to her—she was kind, smart, and always knew exactly what to say when he asked for her help. But when it came to the deeper parts of herself, the parts Harry desperately wanted to know, she stayed locked away. He saw it in the way she smiled when something hit too close to home, or the way she never let conversations stray too far from the task at hand. It was as though she’d built an invisible wall around herself, and no one—not even him—was allowed through.

But he knew better than to push. For now, their connection revolved around the music.

Sometime in early June, they were hunched over in their usual studio chairs, working on the final track of his debut album. The song had taken weeks to perfect, but they were close now—closer than they had been. From the Dining Table was raw, achingly personal and YN, somehow, had helped him shape it into something even more honest than it had started.

“What if you lean into the third verse more?” She suggested, her pen tapping the page thoughtfully. "The emotion's there, but it's like you're not letting yourself feel it fully. Especially in that second verse–maybe one day you’ll me, and tell me that you’re sorry, too. You're pulling back right when you should lean into it."

Harry stopped playing with the strings on his guitar and looked up at her, brow furrowed. "What do y’mean?"

She hummed, biting her lip as she considered the words, her fingers brushing the edge of the paper. “Maybe drop the keys lower in the last chorus..” She trailed off, lost in her own thought process. She shifted in her chair, leaning forward slightly as she studied the lyrics. "It's heavy, but it could be even more vulnerable. You're singing about something really personal here, about the kind of loneliness that feels like it's eating you alive. But in the melody, it feels..safe. I think you need to make the vocals feel a bit more broken, like you're barely holding it together. Let the silence in the song do some of the work. Think about pulling back on the production, too–keep it more stripped down.” She laughed lightly, a bit sheepish. “If that makes sense.”

Harry nodded slowly, the words hanging in the air between them. She got it. She always got it. The lyrics had been twisting inside him for weeks, and it was YN’s careful guidance that had finally helped him pull them into something real, something tangible. He picked up his guitar, adjusting the chords she mentioned, and played the verse again. The notes hung heavier in the air this time, more space, more quiet.

“There.” YN murmured. “That’s what it needed—the space between the words, the silence. That's where the emotion is."

For the next few hours, they went back and forth, fine-tuning the melody and adjusting the lyrics. YN suggested cutting down the instrumentation, making it feel more intimate, like a conversation Harry was having with himself. And as the song started to take shape, Harry felt a weight lifting. It’s what he wanted for the song, it deserved this rawness, this vulnerability.

Over the next two weeks, they worked tirelessly on the track, tweaking the lyrics, adjusting the production. YN had suggested subtle changes in the arrangement—adding faint background harmonies, letting the piano take the lead in certain sections. It was her idea to introduce a low hum in the final chorus, something atmospheric that made the song feel like it was dissolving into the empty spaces of the room. Harry trusted her instincts completely by now, her intelligence and understanding of the music so sharp that he barely needed to question her advice. She had a way of knowing what the song needed, even when he couldn’t see it himself.

By the time they reached the last day of recording that track, the song had transformed into something that felt like a piece of his soul, laid bare for the world to hear. It was time to play it for the team, to record the final version that would make it onto the album. She didn’t hear it in its entirety yet, only the parts Harry would reveal that he wanted insight on.

The band was ready, gathered behind their instruments, and the rest of the team sat in the control room, waiting to hear what he had spent weeks perfecting. The studio felt heavier than usual, the air thick with anticipation. Harry glanced over at YN, who was standing by the glass that separated the studio from the control room, her arms crossed loosely in front of her. She was watching him, as she always did, but there was something different in her eyes tonight. He couldn’t place it—something softer, more vulnerable than usual.

Harry picked up his guitar, gave the band a nod, and stepped up to the mic. The first notes echoed through the room, soft and haunting. His voice followed, low and steady, each lyric pouring out an isolation he had written into the song, each verse dripping in melancholy. The room around him seemed to blur, and for a moment, it was just him, the music, and the truth of what he was singing.

“Maybe one day you’ll call me, and tell me that you’re sorry, too.”

His voice cracked slightly on the word sorry, just as it had in practice. But this time, it felt different. More real. More final.

As the song continued, Harry’s gaze flickered over to YN. She was still standing by the glass, but something had changed. Her arms had fallen to her sides, and her eyes were fixed on him, wide and shimmering with unshed tears. It was subtle at first—a quick blink, a shift of her expression—but then he saw it. A tear slipped down her cheek, and YN quickly brushed it away, trying to hide the emotion that was overtaking her.

But she couldn’t. Not this time.

By the time the song ended, the room was filled with the soft, fading echoes of the final notes. Harry stood still, the guitar resting against his chest, his breath uneven. He watched as YN slowly stepped forward, closer to the glass, her eyes still glistening. She rested her hand gently on the pane, the only thing separating them, and gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod.

It was all he needed. That nod, that single moment of unspoken approval, meant more than words ever could. She understood—she always had. But seeing her moved by the song, seeing the tears she tried so hard to hide, told Harry more about her than she’d ever let on.

For the first time, Harry felt like he had reached her core, even if just for a second. And as the team buzzed with quiet admiration for the track, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from YN. Because in that small, fragile moment, she had let her walls down. Just enough.

And Harry realized, standing there with the music still humming through his veins, that maybe he wasn’t the only one who felt something more between them. Maybe YN wasn’t as unreachable as he had once thought.

July had seemed to’ve breeze past, almost gone in a daze. It was Friday, and there would only be two more Fridays left till they would have to flip the colander pages to August. The heat of the day still mingled in the air as the studio settled into its usual weekend quiet. The crew had all left for the night, tired but satisfied after wrapping another long day of recording. The album was nearing completion, and the tension that had built up over the past few months was finally starting to lift. Harry could feel it—the sense of relief, of something monumental coming to an end—but there was still so much hanging in the air between him and YN, at least that’s what he felt.

They were alone in the lounge now, the soft glow of the low lights casting faded shadows on the walls. YN sat on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her as she sipped from a recently topped-off flute of champagne, her eyes tired but content. They had opened the bottle to celebrate finishing another track, Two Ghosts. YN wasn’t there when the production first started for this song, only there for the finalized remastering of it that finished today—and she had insisted he must celebrate, the fizzy sweetness a small reward for everything he’s been pouring into the album.

"Cheers!” Harry had laughed, clinking his glass against hers with a lopsided grin. "One more down."

He didn’t quite remember what glass he was on, but he could feel the familiar buzz of being tipsy, like he could float. Besides the lounge, the rest of the building was dark, only light seeping through was from the city outside. Harry leaned back against the arm of the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, the remnants of his drink swirling lazily in his glass. He felt relaxed—more relaxed than he had in weeks. Maybe it was the champagne, or maybe it was the fact that they were finally nearing the end of the album. But it wasn't just that. It was YN, too.

And god, she looked gorgeous.

She dressed down for the day, knowing it was Friday and she could fall into bed as soon as she got home. A hoodie hung loosely over her frame, the pair of lounge shorts coming a little bit above her mid thigh. The alcohol seemed to give her eyes more of a sparkle, her skin flush—Harry wondered if alcohol could make him look as pretty as she, but he ended up on the conclusion of probably not.

“I know I said this already.” She giggled, taking a sip of the bubbly. Her smile was hazy, eyes clouded over. “But the song sounds great.” She enthusiastically sent him a thumbs up, the bottom of his feet against the bend of her knees as his legs remained sprawled out over the couch. The curly haired boy already asked if he should move to give her more space, but her dismissal was a shouted, pleading whine of no, stay! “You should be famous or something.” She sent him a wink, and he couldn’t stifle the laughter that escaped him from how slow and exaggerated she’d done it.

The lightness in the air was contagious, and they both seemed to be floating, untethered and free from the usual tension. He rested his temple against the back cushion of the sofa, his lazy grin seemingly impossible to wipe off. “Dunno, sounds like a lot of work. Maybe I’ll jus’ start a bakery instead.” He shrugged, taking a swig of what was left in the flute after parting ways between his head and the cushion beside him. “Styles’ Pies, what d’you think?”

YN snorted, nearly spilling her champagne as she pictured it. “You? In a bakery? I don’t even think you can make toast without burning it.”

Harry’s eyes widened in mock offense. “Hey, m’great in the kitchen. You’ve just never seen me in action.”

“Oh really?” YN arched a brow, clearly unconvinced. She set her glass down on the table, waving her hand as if conducting an imaginary cooking show. “Alright, Chef Styles, what’s your signature dish? Burnt toast with a side of undercooked eggs?”

He groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “I’m never gonna live that down, am I? That was one time!”

“Ah-ha!” She teased, biting her lip to hold back another laugh. “You know, they might not even let you into the bakery with that track record. Health code violations, and all.”

“Oh, come on!” Harry huffed, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll have you know, I’m actually a master at making..” He paused, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Pancakes.”

YN burst into laughter again, this time nearly doubling over, gently clasping her fingers around his ankles for support. “Pancakes? Oh god, I bet you’d flip them right onto the floor.”

“Oi, that’s not true!” Harry was laughing now too, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the easy back-and-forth. YN had placed her hands back into her lap after grabbing her glass again, legs still tucked underneath her. “I’ve got skills. Just wait. I’ll cook f’you one day, and you’ll be begging for more. You’ll never want to leave m’kitchen.”

She wiped away a tear from her drunken laughter, a banter that probably would not be as entertaining if she was sober. “We’ll see about that. I’ll be your taste tester—but don’t be mad if I spit it out.”

“Oh, y’ruthless tonight, huh?” He nudged her playfully with his foot, legs still draped along the sofa. “Well, if pancakes don’t win y’over, I’ll just serenade you with some of m’songs. You won’t stand a chance.”

YN’s laughter turned into a snort as she brought the flute to her lips, taking another sip before grinning at him. “Woo me with your guitar? Play a little ditty about burnt toast?”

Harry leaned forward, dramatically mimicking strumming an invisible guitar, his expression serious as he sang, “Maple syrup, coffee, pancakes for two..”

YN feigned a cringe, holding her ands out in front of her as if to block the very sight of him. The tune was cute, but she would never admit that. Harry could barely keep it together as he leaned back against the sofa’s arm, rolling his eyes as she finally lowered her hands. “And I’ll have you know I worked n’a bakery in Holmes Chapel, favorite employee, too.”

“My god, aren’t you a prodigy?” She smiled, tilting her head to the side as if pretending to be bashful. “Singer, songwriter, baker of the month.”

“Y’damn right.”He tipped an imaginary hat on his head, “I contain multitudes.” He winked, a better one that YN had sent earlier, his grin wide and a little bit tipsy.

They sat in the comfortable silence that followed, both of them still chuckling under their breath, the champagne buzzing through their veins like a soft lullaby. Harry glanced over at YN, her face flushed from laughter, her body relaxed in a way he hadn’t seen before. She looked free. Happy. And it did something to his chest, a tug he couldn’t ignore.

“Hey.” he said softly, stretching his ankle ever so slightly to gently nudge her knee with his foot. “Y’having fun?”

She nodded, her smile softening as she glanced at him. “Yeah. I am.” Her voice was quieter now, the playful energy of a moment ago still lingering, but with something else creeping in. Something softer, more intimate.

Harry smiled back, his heart doing that stupid fluttering thing it always did around her. “Good, m’glad.”

There was a beat of silence before she spoke again, her words coming out slower, as if she was trying to steady herself. “You’re..not what I expected.”

Harry tilted his head, a curious smirk tugging at his lips. “What’d y’expect?”

She hummed, “Don’t know.” She said with a shrug, her fingers tracing absentminded circles on the cushion. “Someone a little more, I don’t know–untouchable? Like, y’know, the harry styles,’ the big deal. But you’re just harry styles, my friend.”

He laughed softly, playing with the hem of his bright pink shorts. “Jus’ me, huh? Guess that’s not s’bad.”

“It’s not.” She smiled, her eyes locking with his, and for a moment, something passed between them. Something heavier, like an acknowledgment of everything unspoken.

Harry shifted, suddenly aware of how close they had gotten during her revelation. His hand, which had been resting on her knee, slid a little higher, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her thigh. The playful banter was still there, but it was quieter now, replaced by a tension that neither of them could deny any longer.

“Y’know.”she said, breaking the silence with a small smile. “I still don’t believe you can make pancakes.”

His eyes darkened with a mixture of amusement and something deeper as he leaned in, his voice low and teasing. “Maybe I should make you breakfast tomorrow morning then.”

YN’s breath hitched, her pulse quickening at his words, and she opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, Harry’s lips were on hers. She instantly melted into it, as if an instinct. However, after a beat, the palm of her hand pressed against his shoulder. Their lips slowly separated, strings of saliva snapping at the middle from their mutual departure. Her breath rose and fell rapidly, a small smile on her lips. “How are you gonna make pancakes at the st–.”

Harry had cut her off with a groan, but it was humorous, mixed with his giggles. “Y’stopped that t’get technical?”

YN shrugged before pulling him back into the kiss, unwavering, still. It was tentative for a moment, as if he was waiting for her to push away again, but she didn’t. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his t-shirt, lips in sync as she deepened their kiss.

The taste of the fruity champagne lingered between them, intoxicating and heady. It grew hungrier, more desperate as if months of unresolved tension had finally snapped. YN’s tongue found itself swiping a soft stripe against his bottom lip, a heavy sigh emerging from him as his fingers brushed along the hem of her hoodie, slipping his hands underneath, his palm resting on the warm curve of her waist.

“H–” She whispered against his lips, her voice breathy, almost a plea. But it wasn’t a plea to stop—it was a plea for more.

His name on her lips drive him mad. With a low grown, he shifted, pulling her into his lap in one fluid motion. Her legs straddled him, holding herself as close to him as she could, their kisses turning feverish. His large hands pulled her even closer—not a centimeter of space to be left. He parted his lips, a broken breath tumbling from his mouth as she started to roll her hips against his growing cock stuck underneath the hot pink shorts.

His ring clad fingers slip father up her hoodie, the coolness of the medal a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off the both of them. Harry tugged on the fabric, pulling it over her head in a rush, revealing the thin bralette underneath. “Fuck–” He mumbled, breath caressing her skin as his lips skimmed the bone of her jawline, placing a slow, tentative kiss right at her pulse point. “So beautiful.” He was drunk in the moment that was her—figuratively and literally—his voice distant and light, like a voice breaking through a daydream.

She rolled her hips harder against him as his hands slipped under the hem of her shorts, lips sloppily trailing her chest, her nose buried in his curls. A soft moan is drawn from her as Harry’s hands grip her ass, aiding her movements of dry humping his cock. His tongue grazed the fleshy part of her breast that threatened to spill out of her bra, a shuddering exhale brushing from her lips, right into his disheveled locks.

She hastily cups his chin, pulling him from her chest to messily kiss him again. She wanted to taste the faint peach on his tongue from the champagne, to feel the stubble above his lip tickling against her. They both moaned into each other’s mouths, her fingers running down his shirt, tugging at the hem. He smiles, parting from her to pull his shirt off. It was rushed, his chin getting caught in the collar which made laughter sit between them comfortably. YN gently helps him pull the shirt from his head. It was discarded somewhere on the floor, its whereabouts not a priority.

Their cheeks are flush, lips plump and vibrant as they fall into each other’s eyes—their giggles fading out and their heavy breaths replacing it. “I want you.” She whispered, her gaze trailing from his eyes, to his lips, along the markings of his torso, then back up again.

He nodded, pressing his forehead against hers with a shaky breath. “Yeah?”

She hummed, though it sounded similar to a purr—a divinely feminine melody that made him twitch under the fabric that held him from her. “Yeah.”

He gives her a quick peck before tapping her thigh and guiding her off his lap. He looks at her as his thumb slips under the waistband of both his shorts and boxers, his glance expectant of some sort of approval or denial.

Her hands reach back behind her, unclasping the bra and letting the straps fall from her shoulders; to which he took that as his go ahead. Harry bucks his hips from the couch, tugging the clothing down his legs and letting it fall onto the floor. His cock slapped against his abdomen from the sheer force of how quickly he freed himself. It was bigger than she had expected, the head a pretty pink that glistened with precum.

He didn’t give her a chance to react for herself as he pulled along her bare waist, ushering YN back onto him. He planted kisses along her breast, the hem of her shorts sitting right against his chest, his large hands holding her inches above the cock she so desperate to fill herself up with.

His tongue encircled the bud of her nipple, one hand still gripping her ass to keep her pressed against his chest, above his length—while the other fell a tad lower, his index and middle finger slipping underneath the leg of her shorts and panties, brushing along her wet folds.

She could feel his lips spread into a smirk before he began to suck on her nipple. She buried her face into his curls, grasping onto the roots as his digits sat at the entrance of her core, heat radiating from her cunt as her arousal soaked the tips of his fingers. She whimpers, wanting to grind down on them and fill her up until his knuckles sat harshly against her folds, but he held her in place—the grip on the soft part of her ass feeling rougher. He looks up at her through his eyelashes, though her face is hidden in his hair, he still revels in it. “Y’that desperate for it, hm?”

She nods against the top of his head, eyes squeezing shut. “Yes, Harry.” She whined, fingers tightly laced between his locks. “Fuck–please, I need it.”

His mouth finds its way back to her tits as he eases his thick fingers into her cunt, tauntingly slow. Her walls fluttered around him, a soft moan escaping her as he pumped his fingers in and out, the sound of her wetness was hot, filthy—the way it bounced around the room. It only made him harder knowing that no one else will know what happened here besides them.

He curls his digits into a spot that makes her hips buck harder against his chest, a yelp emitting from the top of her throat, which he takes as a moment to smack the fleshy part of her ass, it wasn’t very hard, as if he was testing the waters to try to understand what she needed. Judging from the noises she made, and how her bum seemed to push a slight wiggle into the palm of his hand, he figured she liked it.

He pumps his fingers faster, his knuckles almost pounding against her core as he sneaks the opportunity to spank her again. A string of profanities and whiny pleas fell from her, her hands falling to a grip on his shoulders as he coaxed her to the brink of coming on just his fingers alone.

His lips are sloppy against her chest, more focused on how his digits buried themselves into her pussy. Her words aren’t coherent, a ringing faint in her ears as she tightens around him, her hips erupting into a shudder as she rides out her orgasm. He lightens the grip from her bum, allowing her to roll her hips with his fingers still deep inside her, basking in how she tried to milk herself of every drop she could.

Once her movements still, he slowly pulls out of her, the two making eye contact as he brings the two fingers to his mouth, wrapping his lips around them prettily, licking her arousal from the source.

Her breaths were heavy, eyes darkened as she watched the dirtiest thing play out in front of her. His eyes flutter to a close, a smirk speaking across his lips as if it was the most heavenly thing he’s tasted; she already feels the knot in her tummy tightening again.

She pulls him into a kiss, meeting each other harshly as she tastes herself from his lips. His hands brush along the small of her back, then to her hips, slipping the shorts and panties down her legs and off her ankles with an awkward, momentary shift in position to do so. She lowers herself as much as he’d allow, his lips stilling as he feels her heat against the head of his cock. He pulls away slightly, forehead against hers with a small flicker of disappointment on his features. “I don’t have a condom.” His voice low and raspy, thick with lust as he held her against him once again, unable to fill herself as she desired.

Her chest rose and fell heavily, eyes meeting his. “M’on the pill.” She whispered, voice breathy and light from her previous orgasm.

His eyebrows furrowed, gaze unwavering in hers. This is something he normally would never do, fucking someone unprotected. But the way his cock ached for her was damn near painful, and he trusted her. A friend he’d come to cherish, although in the back of his mind, he wanted her more than a friend. He darted his eyes between hers and the way her tummy fluttered with heavy breath. His glance was expectant again, silently needing approval to even think of continuing.

She wiggled her hips in his grasp once more, her a whiny plea a soft mutter—and it’s all he needed to hear. She sank onto his length, a slow strain befell them from how he had to ease his cock into her pussy, stretching her out with every upward motion of his hips.

The feeling of him filling her was addicting to both, pleasured sighs and moans emitting from each of them as she adjusted around his length, sinking down the shaft completely. Only a beat had past before she started to roll her hips into him, adjusting to the feeling of him. One hand sat sprawled against her back, will the other remained on her ass. Harry’s head leaned along the edge of the couch, watching through half-lidded eyes at the way her tits moved as she began to bounce on his length, having him draw sharp inhale at the feeling. “Jus’ like that.” He groaned, the hand on her back and bum guiding her movements. “Good girl–y’feel so good, jus–” He cuts off his own sentence with a moan, his head falling forward now, just a bit. His forehead grazed along her shoulder—barely—every time she’d bob up the length of his cock. “Like that, bunny–fuck.” His voice was breathy, listening to the pretty moans that escaped her and the way her cunt sounded riding his cock.

His hand slid down her back, both gripping her ass a bit roughy as he guided her movements with more force. Her lips fell agape, a whimper falling out now and then as Harry held her weight as if it was nothing, moving her up and down his thick cock with an ease that made her cry out his name.

He pushed and pulled her onto him greedily, her head falling onto his shoulder as he rested his chin on hers, watching as he pounded her onto the base of his length. The sharp sounds of skin against skin mixed in with their moans, a cacophony of their pleasure filling the lounge.

He loosened his grip from her bum, smacking her ass as his other hand gathered her hair into his fist, jerking her head back to force a semblance of eye contact. The palm of his other hand rested over her thigh, continuing to guide her movements though the momentum from her own hands against his shoulders was enough.

He knew he was close, and the way her noises got louder, how her cunt tightened around him—Harry knew she was close, too. The tiny fraction of him that held an ounce of logic through his drunken pleasure told him to pull out, but it fell to the back of his mind, silenced with the sound of his own moans and the way his length twitched, the knot in his belly rounding tightly. “Look at me.” He forced through a grunt, his toes curling against the carpet and his jaw tightened as he tried to stall his release.

The grip on his shoulders was lethal, though the only thing he could feel was her pussy fluttering around him. Her hair was still balled tightly in his fist, craning her head into a position where their foreheads were only a few inches away—the only thing that would keep her from looking if she closed her eyes. She wouldn’t though.

His hand pushed harder against her thigh, both of their skin flushed a pink from the force of the contact of the way her ass and thighs slapped along his pelvis. “Say my name–” His groan was guttural, as if he was teetering on the edge of losing his composure. With his grip still in her hair, he pressed her forehead into his, both slick with a gleam of sweat. “When you come—say it.” He grunted, eyes meeting hers once again. “Or I won’t let you.”

She felt her legs to tremble, her lips parting as the cries and whimpers of his name escaped her like a mantra. His chest rose and fell unevenly, pressing her forehead into hers further as they met their release simultaneously. Thick ropes of come fill her cunt to the point where it drips out around him. Their breaths are heavy and quick, his hands soft against the skin of her legs as they tremble, pressing his lips atop her shoulders as she sinks into his chest.

*

The next morning arrived in a hazy blur. The sky was gray as it prepared itself for a summer thunderstorm. The pitter-patter of rain hitting the window caused him to stir first, a wince from feeling the stiffness in his neck before anything else. His back was pressed awkwardly into the couch, his arm draped around something soft and warm. He blinked his eyes open, the dull light from the stormy sky offering not very much of anything as it bled through the blinds. The familiar scent of the studio mixed with something more intoxicating—YN.

He nudged his chin down to glance at the girl curled up on his chest, his shirt from last night adorning her frame as soft snores fell from her mouth. Their legs were tangled together underneath a thin throw blanket with Christmas patterns he didn’t remember grabbing before passing out. The events of last night came in a rushed haze from the smell of the champagne on his own breath. He shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable, but the movement pulled YN from her slumber. She let out a small groan before nuzzling deeper into his bare chest, not wanting to let go of the warmth.

The smell of Harry’s cologne caused her eyes to peel open, her brow furrowing in confusion as she took in her surroundings.

“Morning.” Harry had rasped out, voice still thick with sleep.

She blinked, and then placed her palms against his chest to push herself up. She glanced around the studio with the turn of her head, then back at Harry with an unreadable expression. Her hair was disheveled, Harry’s discarded shirt hung loosely around her—she could feel the thickness of his come seeping out of her, pooling in her underwear and forming a dampened spot. “Oh my god.”

He winced involuntarily, and this time it wasn’t from the ache in his neck. “Um.” He paused, voice cautious. “Yeah.”

YN bit her lip, sitting up fully as she slipped into a spot between his thighs. The cushion was soft against her bum as she pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “Yeah.” She echoed his words, unsure of what to say.

Harry had scoot up slightly, the small of his back against the arm of the sofa. He rubbed his neck, sighing from the crick he developed for sleeping in such an awkward position. “Are you okay?”

She looked at him, her eyes still a bit dazed from the remnants of sleep and the weight of their shared moment. YN offered him a small smile, “Mhm.” She hummed, but an uncertainty glimmered along the edge of her pupil, unsure of what came next. “Not exactly used to waking up like this, I guess–but I’m okay.”

He nodded slowly, though a frown threatened to spread across his lips. He reached out hesitantly, palm resting on her knee as he sighed. “You regret it?” He asked, though it sounded rhetorical.

Her face seemed to soften at his words, sincerity and a hint of hurt evident in his expression. A furrow formed in her forehead as she shook her head, placing a hand on top of the one he sat on her knee. “No, H. ‘Course not.” She paused, shifting in her seat before forcing herself to stand, his hand slipping from her knee back into his own lap. It felt cold, and he knew she was pulling away. She very quickly stripped Harry’s shirt off—to which he averted his eyes to the ground—shrugging back on her own hoodie and shorts.

“YN.” Harry mumbled, his voice shaking as he pulled his shirt back over his head. She seemed distracted, slipping her shoes back on and putting her phone into the hoodie pocket before she trailed back toward Harry, gazing down at where he sat on the couch. He had looked at her the way he always seemed to look at her, eyes full of things that would stay unsaid. “What does this mean?”

She kneeled before him almost immediately, combing her fingers through his hair in a moment of comfort. “Doesn’t have to mean anything.” Her voice was soft, kind, as if that was the thing he wanted to hear. “We’re friends, this won’t make it weird, okay?”

He could feel his heart sink into his stomach as he nodded with slight trepidation, wishing she would just open herself up and allow him to hold her, to show her that he wouldn’t let go. “I don’t regret it, never ever.” She murmured, ducking her head down a bit to meet his gaze that seemed to lower at her words. “I swear it.”

He forced a smile, her hand pulling away from his curls—the curls she previously moaned into, the hair that she tangled her fingers in from an orgasm that crashed over her like a wave. He swallowed dryly as she back stood up, still not looking away from him. A defeat settled over him, an impatient longing as he realized if he was ever going to have a chance with the woman before him, he’d have to wait. He didn’t know what pain she held, the things she guarded so strongly, but he knew she would have to admit to herself first that she was worthy of something good. Harry parted his lips, taking a deep breath to keep his voice steady. “Stay friends?” He asked expectantly, holding out a pinky to her.

She smiled, a sad one, however. She wanted to wrap him into her arms and apologize for making the choice to walk away, but she felt it was best. YN believed she wasn’t what he deserved, and it would be in his best interest to pretend like everything went back to normal. She lowered her hand, intertwining her pinky with his. “Stay friends.”

On August fourth, The studio was bathed in a soft, golden glow, the late afternoon sun filtering through the one window in the control room. Everyone, besides YN and Harry, went out for their lunch break. Harry had asked if she would help her tweak the soon-to-be third track on the album, Carolina.

Since waking up from the sex they had in the lounge, they hadn’t brought it up—though it didn’t disappear. There would be moments where it loomed over them, heavy and unrelenting. It took everything in them not to bridge that specific gap, took everything in Harry not to bend her over the soundboard to feel her again, took everything in him not to fall to his knees before her, hugging her legs while he cried about how he was helplessly falling for her.

It was the hottest day of the year, and though the air conditioner was humming in a low buzz, the air was thick with warmth. The kind of still, lingering heat that made everything feel slow and hazy, like time itself had paused for a moment. Harry picked up his guitar, fingers brushing over the strings, testing the familiar weight of it in his hands. The sound of the first strum seemed to melt into the air, easy, relaxed, as if the room itself was humming along to the rhythm.

She kneeled down, across from the spot Harry sat on the floor, guitar in lap. She pressed on certain strings on specific parts of the neck, eyes flickering between Harry and the instrument expectantly. They both knew the notes and the chords, the tone it could give. “Try those notes.”She murmured, moving Harry’s Hand from where it sat on the neck to where she wanted his fingers to be. Her touch was delicate, and if Harry didn’t reground himself he would’ve forgot what was happening all together. “Lean into the groove more?” Her words were laced with a light chuckle as she stood up, looking back down at the brunette on the floor. “Loosen up a bassline, could add some layered harmonies, something subtle, but it'll give the track more depth."

Harry's eyes lit up, a spark of excitement that always seemed to come alive when YN shared her thoughts. She had this uncanny way of making the most complex ideas sound simple. He nodded eagerly, strumming a few playful chords, the sound bouncing off the walls of the empty studio. "Yeah, that's it.” He whispered to himself excitedly, already hearing the song in his head. He began playing, the cords, melody bright and carefree, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the strings.

The atmosphere shifted almost instantly—no longer weighed down by deadlines or pressure, but filled with something light. Harry stood up without a word, the grin never leaving his face as he strummed the revisioned tune, the guitar hanging casually from his shoulder as he waltzed across the room, his voice bouncing with the light-hearted lyrics. The brunette’s footsteps were lazy, carefree, his long legs carrying him in wide, exaggerated circles as he moved with the rhythm, his laughter spilling out between the lyrics. It was easy—so easy—that the line between the song and the moment blurred.

“She’s a good girl.”

his voice bright and full of mischief as he twirled past her, catching her eye. He wiggled his eyebrows, a playful challenge, daring her to join in.

YN couldn’t help herself, he was infectious . She laughed, the sound so genuine and pure it filled the air. She pushed away from the soundboard, and before she could even think of hesitation, she was dancing and hopping around in time to the music, letting herself get lost along with him.

“Such a good girl”

She really was, like when he buried himself between her legs a few weeks ago.

The hem of her dainty sundress swept around her shins in a slow, lazy twirl. Her laughter mixed with the sound of the guitar, light and unguarded, like the weight of the world had lifted, just for this one moment.

Harry’s voice followed her as he floated around, his fingers never missing a beat. The melody was effortless, the chords bright and warm like the fading summer light that filled the room. His gaze flicked toward her every few seconds, catching the way she moved, her arms outstretched as she spun in gentle circles, her hair catching the golden light in soft waves.

The whole scene felt like something out of time, like they had stepped into an old, grainy film reel—faded sun, carefree laughter, and the kind of simplicity that made everything else fade into the background. There was no rush, no pressure, just the music and the way they moved through it together.

Harry kept playing, his voice growing louder, more animated, as he circled back to her, his laughter echoing in the small space. He swayed, leaning into the guitar as he strummed, almost tripping over a cable but catching himself at the last second with a dramatic flourish. YN continued her movements, her arms floating through the air, soft and unhurried, like she was dancing with the music itself.

And then, in one smooth motion, Harry waltzed closer, standing just a few feet away from her as he played the final chorus. His smile was wide, eyes bright with the joy of the moment, and YN met his gaze with the same carefree energy, spinning one last time before she collapsed against the stool, breathless from her giggles.

The last chord hung in the air for a moment longer, lingering like the final rays of sunlight spilling through the window. The room was still humming with the energy they’d created, the echoes of their laughter and the bright notes of the guitar lingering in the walls. Harry let the guitar slide gently to his side, leaning against the stool as he caught his breath, his chest rising and falling in time with YN’s, her face flushed and glowing. He was grinning, the kind of grin that reached his eyes and made his dimples crater.

For a second, everything felt perfect, untouched by the noise of the outside world. It was just the two of them, the fading summer light, and the echo of a song that hadn’t yet been recorded but already felt like it was carved into their shared memory.

All he wanted to do was kiss her again.

She was perched on her chair now, her legs crossed, still smiling from their little impromptu dance. She glowed with the warmth of the sun filtering in through the window. The carefree, playful energy between them began to settle, but the air didn’t lose its charge. Instead, something softer slipped into the space between them, a kind of comfortable quiet as they both let the last traces of laughter fade away.

Harry wiped a hand across his forehead, pushing back a few stray curls as he looked over at her, the easy grin still tugging at his lips. The guitar rested against his knee as he sat down, but he didn’t play, didn’t move. He was just watching her now, the way her fingers traced absentminded circles on the edge of the stool, the way her gaze was still bright with that unguarded laughter. It was rare to see her like this—unguarded, fully present—and Harry found himself caught in the moment, not wanting it to end.

Just as that night in July, when we pulled her into her chest to sleep for the night—when it felt like he could call her his as he wrapped his arms around her, basking in their afterglow.

YN let out a soft sigh, the last of her breathless laughter leaving her, and when she looked at him, her expression shifted. Something quieter, more serious. The playful glint in her eyes softened into something almost reverent, like she was seeing him—really seeing him.

“You know, Harry.” She smiled, her voice gentle but firm, like she was about to say something important. “This album–” There was a pause as she exhaled through her nose, but it was light from her enthused realization. “It’s going to go down as a classic. It’s real. You’re real. Your talent, the rawness of it—it’s something people won’t forget.”

The words landed between them like a weight, soft but undeniable. Harry felt his heart skip, his smile faltering just slightly as her words settled in. He’d heard compliments before—so many, often thrown around casually—but this… this was different. The sincerity in her voice, the way her eyes held his, unflinching, unwavering, as if she wasn’t just saying something kind, but something true.

For a moment, the room seemed to shift around him. It was like the air grew thicker, the light softer, the world quieter. He felt exposed, in a way he hadn’t expected, like her words had peeled back a layer he’d been hiding under, a layer he hadn’t even realized was there. The compliment wasn’t just about the music, wasn’t just about the work they’d been doing. It felt personal, like she saw him—not the version of him the world saw, not Harry, the soloist, but him, Harry. The guy trying to figure it all out, pouring every piece of himself into this album, hoping that it would matter.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly tight, and for a second, he wasn’t sure what to say.

He thought about telling her thank you.

He thought about remaining speechless.

No one had told him something like that in a long time—not like this, not with this kind of weight. He could feel his chest tightening, his pulse thrumming a little too fast, the gravity of her words sinking deeper than he thought they would.

He thought about her words.

He thought about her.

“YN, I—” He started to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time, he wondered if maybe she understood him more than he’d ever realized. Maybe that was why her words felt so heavy, why they struck him in a way nothing else had. Because they came from her.

He thought about how much he wanted to say he was starting to fall in love with her.

But before he could say anything else, the door to the studio swung open with a loud creak, breaking the moment like a pebble dropped into still water. The team was back, their voices filling the room as they filed in, the soft hum of conversation and the shuffle of papers cutting through the silence that had wrapped around him and YN.

“Alright, alright, back to it.” Jeff chuckled, ever the dad friend, clapping his hands as he made his way toward the control board. The mood shifted, the studio returning to its usual buzz of activity, the easy rhythm of work settling back into place.

Harry blinked, the spell of the moment breaking as he straightened up, shaking off the sudden heaviness in his chest. YN gave him a small, knowing smile, her eyes still holding a trace of the warmth from before, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She’d already said what mattered.

She knew the look in Harry’s eye.

She had thought about how much she missed him.

She thought about how much that scared her.

With a soft sigh, Harry adjusted the guitar on his lap, nodding as the team gathered around, discussing admin details, technical tweaks, and publicity strategies for the album’s release. The room was buzzing again, the easy laughter and lightness of earlier replaced with the steady hum of work. But Harry’s mind was still lingering on what YN had said, the quiet sincerity of her words looping in the back of his mind.

As the evening stretched on, the work became more mechanical—emails, calls, planning—but Harry’s thoughts kept drifting back to her. He couldn’t shake the way she drifted around the room earlier, like a dandelion wisp dancing in the wind. How her laugh sounded so pretty he wanted to put it in a song. How real it had felt when she’d looked at him and told him what his music would become. It was a compliment, sure, but it was more than that. It was a belief. And for the first time in a long while, Harry felt like someone saw him exactly as he was, and believed in him all the same.

That day at the studio soon began to draw to a close, the golden light from earlier now softening into deep ambers and long shadows. The room, once buzzing with activity, had fallen into a more relaxed rhythm as the team packed up their things, saying their goodbyes with tired but satisfied smiles. The project was moving, inching closer to the finish line.

Harry leaned back, watching from the corner of the room as the last of the crew made their way to the door. The sounds of zippers closing and bags being slung over shoulders filled the space, each member of the team calling out their see-you-laters, their voices fading as they spilled out into the hallway. One by one, they disappeared, until the door swung shut with a final, quiet click, leaving just Harry and YN behind.

The silence settled in slowly, wrapping itself around the room like a warm, familiar blanket. It was the kind of silence that felt more like a presence than an absence, thick and heavy with something unspoken. Harry ran his fingers over the neck of his guitar one last time before placing it back on its stand, the metal strings catching the fading light. His movements were slow, almost deliberate, like he was trying to hold on to the quiet a little longer.

He glanced over his shoulder, noticing that YN was still at the small table near the edge of the room, shuffling her things about. She was moving slower than usual, her hands hovering over her notebook, lingering on the scattered papers like she wasn’t quite ready to leave. Harry chuckled softly, the sound breaking the stillness.

“Need help with all that?” he asked, his voice airy, teasing in a way that felt natural between them.

But YN didn’t respond right away. She kept her eyes down, focused on her things, but her movements were stiffer now, less fluid. There was something different in the way she stood there, something quiet but undeniably present—an undercurrent of tension Harry couldn’t quite place. He felt the air shift, that familiar warmth between them suddenly giving way to something more solemn, more guarded.

“YN?” Harry asked, his voice softer now, his smile fading as he stepped toward her. “Everything alright?”

She looked up then, her eyes catching his for the briefest moment before she quickly glanced away again, like she couldn’t hold the gaze for too long. Her expression was calm, but there was a tightness in her jaw, something held back, something she wasn’t sure how to say. She let out a soft sigh, the weight of whatever was on her mind finally beginning to show.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you.” She started, her voice low and measured, like she was carefully choosing each word. “August thirty-first.” She bit the inside of her lip momentarily. “It’ll be my last day here. My internship—it’s ending.”

The words landed between them like a quiet echo, reverberating in the space left behind by the day’s fading energy. Harry felt the weight of them settle in his chest, heavier than he had expected. He knew the internship wouldn’t last forever—of course, he’d known that—but hearing it out loud, hearing it from her, made it feel real in a way he hadn’t prepared for.

For a moment, Harry didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at her, trying to make sense of the sudden tightness in his throat. It felt like the air had been knocked out of him, but he didn’t quite understand why. She was still there, right in front of him, but the idea of her leaving, of this chapter ending, hit him harder than he thought it would.

“Your last day.” He repeated quietly, more to himself than to her, his brows knitting together slightly.

YN nodded, but she didn’t look at him. She busied herself with the papers in her hands, though it was clear she wasn’t really doing anything—just moving things around to avoid the heaviness of the conversation. The atmosphere had changed, charged with an unsaid emotion. It reminded Harry of the way people talk about those long, hot August nights, the kind where the sky is still bright at 9pm, but you can feel autumn creeping in around the edges, making the warmth feel both infinite and fleeting.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, letting out a quiet breath as he leaned against the control board. He wasn’t sure what to say.

Part of him wondered if it was because of the sex. A part of him wanted to ask her to stay, to find some reason to keep her there, keep things as they were. But he knew he couldn’t. That wasn’t the way the world worked, no matter how much you wanted to freeze a moment in time.

“How come?” He finally asked, his voice quieter now, softer in a way that mirrored the dimming light of the room.

YN shrugged slightly, her shoulders barely moving. “I’ve known for a bit. It’s temporary, only a summer internship.”

Harry nodded, understanding, though the weight in his chest hadn’t eased. It was hard for him, realizing that after all the late nights, the music, the moments shared, things would change. And YN—who had always kept that quiet distance, who never let anyone too close—wasn’t just leaving the studio. She was leaving him, even if she didn’t mean it that way.

The room felt smaller now, the silence between them growing heavier with every passing second. Harry looked down at his hands, tracing the worn edges of the soundboard with his thumb, searching for something to say that wouldn’t feel like an end.

“I’ll miss you.” He admitted solemnly, the words simple, but honest. They hung in the air like a truth too big for him to admit, they hung in the air like three words she wouldn’t have believed if he said it.

YN smiled then, a small, bittersweet smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She still looked guarded, her walls firmly in place, but there was something soft in the way she glanced up at him, like maybe she felt it too—the finality of the moment they were both trying to avoid.

“I’ll miss you, too.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

And for a brief, fragile second, it was just them again, standing in the soft glow of the studio lights, the world outside forgotten. The weight of time, of change, of things left unsaid—all of it hung between them, heavy but delicate, like a glass teetering on the edge of a table.

Harry opened his mouth, wanting to say more, to ask her something, anything to keep her there a little longer. But before he could find the words, the moment slipped away, the weight of reality settling back in as YN turned away, gathering the last of her things.

The light from the hallway spilled into the room as she reached for the door, casting a long shadow across the studio floor. Harry watched as she stepped toward it, his heart heavy with the knowledge that everything was about to change, whether he was ready for it or not.

YN hesitated in the hallway, every nerve in her body begging her to leave. Her heart sat heavy in her chest, tongue in cheek as she turned back around, opening the door back up with trembling fingers. She stood in the doorway, cracked enough for her frame to linger. A stripe of the nauseating white light of the hallway waned over him and he remained in the same place she had left him moments ago. “Harry.” She muttered, her voice low, almost weary. There was something in the way she said his name, something different—like maybe she wanted to say more but didn’t know how to.

He perked up, his tummy doing flips. The pearly glow behind her made her seem ethereal—angelic. “Yeah?” His tone gentle but searching, like he was trying to pull something unspoken out of the quiet between them.

She looked at him then, fully, her eyes catching the last remnants of the dim light in the studio. For a moment, the guardedness slipped, just a fraction, and Harry could see something underneath—something vulnerable, something that felt a little like goodbye.

“I’m really glad I got to work with you.” YN’s voice was delicate, her words carrying a weight that made it threaten to crack. “This–this has been more than I ever could’ve asked for.”

She was referring to more than just the music and the internship.

Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He didn’t know what to say to that—didn’t know how to tell her that she wasn’t just some random, throwaway intern to him, that these past few months had meant more than just music and late-night studio sessions. She had become a part of his world in a way he hadn’t anticipated, and now that she was leaving, it felt like something vital was being pulled away, leaving him standing on unsteady ground.

“Me too.” He confessed, though he could’ve said more. Harry’s voice was quieter than he intended, his hand running over his face from a feeling he couldn’t admit.

The words hung in the air, soft but honest. YN had seen parts of him that few people did—had understood his music, his vulnerabilities, in a way that made him feel seen. And now, the thought of her not being there—of her walking out that door and leaving all of this behind—made him feel strangely untethered.

YN’s lips curved into a small, almost wistful smile. She looked down at her shoes for a moment, the tip of her sneaker nudging a stray cable on the floor. “I didn’t mean to stay so late.” A weak attempt at lightening the moment. But her eyes betrayed her, the flicker of something deeper still lingering behind her words.

Harry took a step closer, closing the distance between them just slightly. “You know.”Harry mumbled, his tone lighter now, though the heaviness between them still lingered. “This feels a lot like a goodbye when y’have a few weeks still.”

YN glanced up at him, her smile fading into something more thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess we do.” She let out a breathy chuckle, though her voice sounded distant, like she was already somewhere else in her mind.

Silence settled between them again, thicker this time, like the room itself was holding its breath. Harry wanted to say more—wanted to ask her what came next for her, wanted to tell her that maybe things didn’t have to end here—tell her to stay. But he didn’t. The words caught in his throat, tangled up with all the emotions he wasn’t sure how to name.

After a moment, YN shifted her bag on her shoulder and let out a soft breath. “I should get going.” She sighed, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s late.”

Harry nodded, but his chest felt heavy, like he didn’t want her to leave just yet. “Yeah. Right. Let me know you got home okay.”

YN’s smile was small, almost bittersweet. She began to turn in the doorway, her movements slow, like the action of leaving pained her. He sent her a small wave as she gave him one last glance, the door softly clicking shut behind her.

The summer had begun to slip away quietly, the August sun sitting lower in the sky at earlier hours. The air was different that day—thicker, heavier with the weight of something ending. There was a finality to the way the light filtered through the studio’s window, soft and hazy, like the last days of vacation in an old photograph. Everything felt suspended, as though the world was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable.

Harry had known this day was coming. He’d tried not to think about it, tried to focus on the album, on the music, on the thousand little tasks that came with putting it all together. But today was different. No matter how much he had tried to push it out of his mind, the date had circled back around, staring him in the face.

August thirty-first.

YN’s last day.

He arrived at the studio earlier than usual, the streets outside still quiet, the early morning light pale and soft against the burning. The usual buzz of excitement—the thrill of working on his debut album—was muted, overshadowed by the knowledge that by the end of the day, YN would be gone.

As he set his guitar in the corner of the room, he caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye. She was already there, sitting at her usual spot by the control board, her notebook open in front of her, a pen poised between her fingers. She was focused, scribbling something down, but her movements were slower, more deliberate today. Harry could tell. She knew it too.

The room was quieter than usual, the hum of the equipment the only sound as he walked over to her. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy either. It felt like there were a hundred things left unsaid, hanging in the air between them, waiting to be acknowledged. But neither of them said anything. Not yet.

“Morning.” Harry said softly, settling down into his chair across from her. He didn’t dare to greet her with good morning, because it really wasn’t. Not today. He didn’t know when it would be again.

“Morning.” She murmured, voice almost resigned, not looking up from her notebook. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and Harry felt his chest tighten.

They spent the morning working in the usual rhythm, going over the last details of the album. It should have been a day like any other, but there was a tension under the surface, something neither of them could quite shake. Every moment felt like it was leading up to something, like the end was creeping closer with each passing minute.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, the studio had filled with the usual buzz of people—producers, assistants, technicians—all busy, all focused. But Harry’s mind was somewhere else. He kept glancing over at YN, watching the way she moved around the studio, the way she interacted with everyone, like it was just another day. But he could see it in the way she lingered on certain tasks, the way her eyes scanned the room as if she was memorizing it.

It was nearing the end of the day when the rest of the team began wrapping up, gathering their things, making plans for the next session. The sun had begun to dip lower in the sky, casting the room in that soft, golden light that made everything feel both beautiful and bittersweet. Harry watched as the others said their goodbyes to YN, one by one, thanking her for her work, telling her to stay in touch. She smiled, gracious as ever, but there was a faraway look in her eyes, as if she were already one foot out the door.

And then, it was just the two of them.

The door clicked shut behind the last person, and suddenly the room felt much bigger, the space between them much quieter. Harry stood by the window, his hands in his pockets, watching the light fade as the day slipped into evening. YN was still by the control board, slowly packing up her things—her notebook, her pens, the little scraps of paper she’d scribbled ideas on over the past few months. Her movements were slow, deliberate, holding onto to the moment just a little longer.

Harry turned to face her, his pulse thrumming a little too fast. He wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t prepared for this moment, not really. He had spent the last few weeks trying to avoid thinking about it, but now, standing there in the dimming light, he realized he still didn’t want her to leave.

“Are you all set?” He asked quietly, his voice sounding too casual for how much dread he felt inside.

YN glanced up, her eyes meeting his for the first time all day. There was a flicker of something there—something that matched the weight in his chest—but she quickly looked away, zipping up her bag with a small nod.

“I guess so.” She forced a smile, standing up from her chair. “I think that’s everything.”

The silence that followed felt as if nails scratched an old chalkboard, stretching out between them like a line drawn in the sand. Harry took a slow breath, trying to steady himself, trying to find the words he hadn’t been able to say all day. He watched as she slung her bag over her shoulder, her fingers brushing lightly over the edge of the soundboard one last time, like she was saying goodbye to something bigger than just the room.

Harry wanted to ask her to stay, wanted to tell her that things didn’t have to end here—that maybe, just maybe, there was more for them beyond this room, beyond this summer. But he couldn’t. He knew her too well by now, knew that she had already made up her mind.

“I guess this is goodbye then.” She frowned, eyes glasses over.

His stomach lurched. She had his number, of course, but Harry didn’t know if she would keep in contact. He didn’t know she would erase the summer from her mind to ease her heart. Harry swallowed hard, the lump in his throat causing him to wince. “Goodbye, YN.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The room was bathed in the last traces of sunshine, everything feeling suspended in time. And then, slowly, YN stepped toward the door, her fingers brushing the handle. She paused, glancing back at him one last time, her expression unreadable.

And he caught himself. The all too familiar lump in his throat at a dull ache, the tip of his nose tickling as he felt tears well up. His feet moved faster than he could think, just a blink of time, and his hand was wrapped around her forearm, pulling YN away from the door. “That’s it?” He asked, his cheeks flushing red and his voice cracked. “That’s all?”

She frowned, her nostrils flaring as she willed away her tears. She adjusted the tote on her shoulder, averting her gaze from Harry to the wall behind him.

“Stay.” He pleaded, she only shook her head.

Stray tears fell from his eyes, heartbroken. “I can have them extend your internship, or something—please.”

Her eyes met his again, stomach twisting at his tears. “Harry that’s a hand out.” She muttered, sighing with a sadness she tried to push away. “I have to move forward.”

He sniffled, lighting placing his hand on her cheek as he brought her into a kiss. His tears made his lips wet, nose too stuffy to breathe through it—but he didn’t care. He figured this was goodbye, for a while.

Her lips were stilled against his until she melted into it, but it was fleeting. She placed her hand upon the one he had on her cheek, removing it as she pulled her face away. She intertwined her fingers with his, placing a few soft kisses to his knuckles.

He only stood there, lips quivering with tears that were unable to stop. As she began to loosen the grip on his hand, putting his arm back to his side, an audible cry left his mouth. It wasn’t loud, barely above a whisper, but it was there. “Y’pinky promised me.” He shook his head, “That we would stay friends.” He took a deep breath, wiping away some of his tears. “But I know you’re gonna disappear on me.”

This time she let her tears fall, taking a step away—the guilt was allconsiming. “Take care of yourself, H.”

And just like that, she was gone as quick as she came.

But that was two months ago, and Harry was right—she barely kept in contact with him. He tried not to take it personally for a while, seeing as she didn’t update her socials as much either. She disappeared just like a snuffed out flickered flame of a candle.

She would respond occasionally, curious to know if he was okay, how the album was going. It was always fine.

Fine, fine, fine.

But he wasn’t fine, it wasn’t fine. He missed her, Harry felt that she broke their promise. And he wanted to be angry, to block her from his mind, but he couldn’t.

He was planning to fly to LA to finish the rest of the album in late September, but couldn’t do it. He remained in New York, not ready to let go of the many things created in that studio.

It was two in the morning as he stared at the bright glare of his phone, the recently sent attachment of the final cut of Carolina staying the dismal state of delivered.

He knew she had her read receipts on, which is why he didn’t swipe away from their messages—heart thudding against his chest as he waited to see if status would ever change to read.

Of course, undeniably so, the song was about another girl. But now it felt like a contradictory, because the only thing he thought about when listening to it was YN.

He knew now that he loved her, that he was in love with her the minute she sent her nod of approval for the From the Dining Table recording.

He was a walking joke to the saying of, she fell first, he fell harder—because he fell first, and then fell even harder.

Harry groaned, shutting his phone off and letting it slip into his lap as he leaned back onto the bed. The heel of his palm sat against his eyes, the pressure allowing for the kaleidoscope of colors and patterns to play on the inside of his eyelids.

He wondered if slamming his head against the wall would feel better than the ache of heartbreak.

However, he didn’t want to test that theory out. He’ll let it remain as a hypothesis for now.

His hands brushed down to his sides, his vision fading back to normal as he stared at the ceiling. He wanted to see if he could go to sleep, maybe even watch a movie—but his phone vibrated against his thigh and he swore the world stopped spinning on its axis for a beat.

He hesitated to look, if it was another weather notification he would probably lose his mind.

But he sat up anyway, grimacing as he clicked the power button, dreading the possible sight of the familiar blue icon.

Yn: everything i imagined it to be and more

Yn: forever proud of you harry styles

His shoulders faltered, a frown settling upon his lips.

h: I miss you.

YN stared at the message, lips parted. She still sat on the bathroom counter where she had been for the last ten minutes, smooshed close to the mirror in attempt to shape her eyebrows.

But as soon as she saw the song attachment pop up three minutes ago, the tweezers remained in its clattered state in the sink.

When the song emitted from her phone she couldn’t help but smile, she swear she could’ve floated. And then she cried.

h: I have 2 more songs to finalize before we send it through to be released next year.

h: Miss picking your brain.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, a pause in her breath. She wasn’t sure what to say. Part of her wanted to respond right away, to fill the silence with words, to close the gap between them that had grown wider with every passing day since she left. But the other part of her—the part that had been protecting her heart all these months—wanted to stay distant, to keep things as they were, safely tucked away in the past.

YN sighed, running a hand through her hair as she glanced at herself in the mirror. She barely recognized the woman staring back at her. The one who had walked out of the studio with a heavy heart and the quiet resolve to move forward, to start anew. But that resolve was wavering now, and Harry’s words were making it impossible to ignore the ache she’d been trying to avoid.

Her phone buzzed again. Another message.

h: Still time to come back, you know. We could finish the album together.

Her heart clenched at the invitation. She could picture him, sitting in the dim light of his apartment, maybe lying in bed, the soft glow of his phone the only thing lighting up his face. She imagined the look in his eyes as he typed the words, that same softness she had seen in him so many times before—when they worked late into the night, when he caught her staring too long, when he let his guard down just enough for her to see the vulnerability underneath.

But she had walked away for a reason. She knew what it would do to her—how easy it would be to fall back into the rhythm of working with Harry, of getting lost in his music, in him. And she wasn’t sure she was ready for that. She wasn’t sure if she could handle the intensity of what lingered between them, the unspoken connection that had grown stronger with every conversation, every glance, every laugh shared.

She didn’t know if she wanted to take the risk to be left again.

h: Please. Just think about it.

Her fingers trembled as she typed, mouth ran dry. She didn’t know what to say, but she knew she couldn’t leave him hanging.

Yn: i’ll think about it

It was short, maybe too short, but it was all she could offer in that moment. She stared at the message for a long time before hitting send, her stomach twisting with the uncertainty of what came next.

On the other end, Harry stared at his phone, his heart sinking as he read her reply. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. It was something in between, something that left him in limbo, waiting for an answer he wasn’t sure would ever come.

He sat there in the silence of his apartment, the city outside moving on as it always did. He wanted to see her again, wanted to finish what they’d started, not just with the music, but with whatever had been building between them all those months. But he knew he couldn’t push her. YN was careful, guarded, and he had learned that the hard way. She had her reasons for keeping her distance, reasons she had never fully shared with him.

But still, he hoped. Hoped that maybe, just maybe, she’d come back. That maybe, for once, she’d take a chance.

And so he waited, the phone resting in his lap, the weight of the unsaid words heavy in the room around him.

The days passed slowly after that, each one blending into the next as Harry focused on finishing the album. He threw himself into the work, pouring all of his energy into the final tracks, refining the sound, changing some lyrics, adding new elements.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. The songs were good—great, even—but without YN’s input, without her presence in the studio, it all felt a little hollow. He missed her—missed her laugh, missed the way she’d furrow her brow when she was deep in thought, missed the way she made him feel like he didn’t have to be Harry Styles all the time. With her, he was just Harry. And that was enough.

He loved her.

He hadn’t heard from her since that night. No messages, no calls. It was like she had disappeared all over again, slipping out of his life as quietly as she had entered it.

It was November sixteenth when his phone buzzed again, a message lighting up the screen. The sky was dull, a harsh breeze whipping around the branches of trees—gearing up for a downpour. His heart raced as he saw her name, his fingers fumbling to unlock the phone.

Yn: you’re in ny still?

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t expected to hear from her again, not after weeks of silence.

h: Still here. Why?

There was a long pause before her next message came through.

Yn: i’ve been thinking about you

It was as if the system his body needed to stay alive had paused, his mind racing with possibilities. He couldn’t believe it—after all this time, she was finally considering it.

h: If you ever feel ready, I’m right where you left me.

Another pause.

Yn: it was ever just about the album h

Her message hit him like a punch to the chest, the weight of it settling in slowly. He had known—of course, he had known—but seeing it there, written out in front of him, made it all the more real.

Harry stared at the message for a long time, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he tried to find the right words. But what could he say? He felt the same way, had felt it for months, but he hadn’t known how to tell her.

He attempted to, the day she left, cried even. But she walked away before he had the chance to continue.

h: I know.

It was simple, but it was true. He did know. He had known all along.

Yn: are you still recording at the same studio?

Harry’s heart leapt at her words, a surge of hope flooding through him.

h: Yeah, actually here right now. Brainstorming by myself for a bit.

Yn: buzz me in. i’m outside

Harry blinked, rereading the message a few times, the tips of his fingers all pins and needles

Outside.

She was there—outside, in the cold, waiting. Without thinking, he shot out of his chair, the legs scraping the studio floor with a harsh screech. His phone almost slipped from his hand as he fumbled to send her a quick reply. His movements were so frantic he had forgotten to press send.

He grabbed his jacket, threw it over his shoulders, and bolted for the door, his mind racing. She was here.

He wondered if he should slow down, would it be weird to greet her breathless at the door?

He rolled his eyes at himself. stop overthinking.

The hallway lights flickered slightly as he made his way down the corridor, his steps fast. He wasn’t sure what he would say, wasn’t sure what she would say, but none of that mattered. All he knew was that she was here, and that was enough for him right now.

When he finally reached the front entrance, he paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the buzzer. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the rush of emotions bubbling inside him. There was a weight to this moment—something bigger than just a simple reunion. He could feel it, like the air had thickened with all the unsaid words between them.

He pressed the button.

A soft buzz echoed through the small space, followed by the familiar click of the door unlocking. Harry pulled it open, stepping out into the crisp November air. The wind whipped around him, biting at his skin, but it didn’t matter because there she was.

YN stood a few feet away, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, her hair tousled by the wind. Her face was partially shadowed in the dingy light from the streetlamps, but he could still see her eyes—those same eyes that had watched him in the studio all those months ago, the ones that saw more than most people ever did.

The eyes of a girl he fell so pathetically in love with.

They stood there for a moment, staring at each other in the cold, neither of them moving. It was like time had paused again, just as it had so many times before when they were alone in the studio, surrounded by music but drowning in something deeper. Harry’s breath caught in his throat, unsure how to break the silence.

Finally, YN spoke, her voice quiet but steady, cheeks flushed from both her deepening blush and the cold. “Hi, Harry.”

The sound of her voice hit him like a wave, familiar and comforting, and all the tension he’d been holding onto seemed to unravel at once. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and smiled, though his heart was still racing. “Hi.”

It was such a simple exchange, but it felt like everything. For weeks, Harry had been caught in this strange limbo, not knowing if he’d see her again, not knowing if the distance between them was permanent. But here she was, standing right in front of him, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like things were finally shifting.

“It’s cold.” His voice is light, jutting his chin ever so slightly to the outside that existed around them. “Come in, please.”He felt unsure of how much to say, how much to push.

YN hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering toward the door behind him. She shifted on her feet, the wind catching the ends of her coat and lifting it slightly. For a second, Harry thought she might say no, that maybe she was having second thoughts. But then, she gave him a small nod, a barely-there smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Harry held the door open as she walked past him, the familiar warmth of the studio wrapping around them both as they stepped inside. It was quiet—just the two of them now, the usual noise of the team gone for the night. He led her down the hallway toward the control room, the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, thoughts spinning with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t quite figure out how to.

When they reached the room, Harry gestured toward the seat she’d always occupied—the one by the soundboard where she’d spent so many hours offering ideas, tweaking lyrics, helping him make a few songs what they were. YN paused for a second before sitting down, her hands resting in her lap as she glanced around the room.

“It feels the same.” Her laugh was breathy, a sadness to it. Her eyes lingered on the equipment, the scattered notes, the half-empty coffee cups that still littered the space. “Like nothing’s changed.”

Harry sat down across from her, his fingers brushing absently against the neck of the guitar that leaned against the chair. “Not much has.” He admitted, his voice quiet. “Except for you not being here.”

She looked at him then, searching his face, and Harry felt that familiar pull—the one that had always drawn him to her, even when she’d kept herself at arm’s length. There was something in her gaze, something heavy with unsaid words, and he wondered if she could feel it too.

A beat had passed. “I missed this, she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I missed you, H.

His cheeks felt hot, the words landing between them like a confession. He swallowed, his chest tightening with the weight of everything he wanted to say in return.

“I missed you too.”Harry murmured, the truth of it echoing in every syllable. And for the first time in months, the silence between them didn’t feel so heavy. It felt like maybe, just maybe, things were starting to fall back into place. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.

She shifted on her feet, eyes falling to the floor. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was sincere, dripping with the guilt she’s battled for months. “I’m sorry for leaving you. I needed to take some time, figure things out.”

He nodded, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. He would’ve tried to look better if he knew he’d be seeing her today. “It hurt.”

She pulled her lips between her teeth, eyes glossed over as she nodded. She had to look away, not able to face him. She knew she had done to him the same thing she was so afraid of—she just left. It gutted her for a while, wanting to reach out and apologize. She had this anxious feeling he wouldn’t forgive her. Rightfully so.

But it’s Harry.

He ran his hand down his face, a swirl of emotions becoming a cyclone within him. He frowned, seeing how spaced she was—as if she wasn’t here. “You need to tell me what’s on your mind.”

His tone was a bit more straightforward than he originally intended, but it was the truth. She showed up asking to be buzzed in, he felt as if he shouldn’t be the one digging.

She shook her head, trying to blink away some of her tears. “Guilt, sorrow, you.”

He nodded, looking at her expectantly to finish. He wished she could say her feelings as fast as she could walk away from them, but she was trying at least, and it felt like a start.

She inhaled shakily, running her fingers through her hair as her lip continued to tremble. “Guilt for leaving you the same what I feared being left.” Her voice had a tremor, her breaths a bit quicker. “Guilt for not saying sorry sooner. The pain of missing you—.” She whimpered, the same as Harry did the day she left.

“The guilt and sorrow will fade.” Harry murmured, his heart aching at the sight of her tears. “Y’just to work through it, don’t ignore it.”

YN wiped her cheeks, fingers shaking as she tried to regulate her breathing.. “And you?” Her voice was small, fragile, afraid of the answer.

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Me?”

“Have I lost you?”

He frowned, the words caught in his throat. The question felt like it knocked the air from his lungs, and for a moment he didn’t know how to respond. The silence stretched between them, unbearable. He let his shoulders falter, “I love you, YN.”

The words hung between them, raw and unfiltered. It was stripped of all pretense, just the truth he carried with him for months. He watched her for any sort of reaction, and she just kind of stood there. He wondered for a moment if he even said anything, if it was just loud in his head but he actually had just left her hanging. “I love you.” He repeated, just in case.

"I–” She tried to speak, but her voice cracked.

She swallowed hard, tears still clinging to her lashes as she searched his face. The pain, the guilt, the regret—it was all still there, but beneath it, there was something else, something softer. Something she had kept hidden for so long, she wasn't sure how to let it out. “You do?”

He nodded, remaining vulnerable. He had no clue if she would reciprocate, or if she’d just walk away if met with the familiar fear. “Think I always have.”

For the first time, it didn't feel like there was a barrier. It felt like something was breaking, something that had been keeping them apart for far too long.

Without thinking, she reached for him, her fingers brushing against his arm, tentative at first, but then firmer as she closed the distance between them. He didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close. She melted into him, her face pressed against his chest as the tears flowed freely now, the weight of months of separation, guilt, and pain finally slipping away.

Harry held her tightly, his chin resting on top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair, the warmth of her body against his. This was what he had been missing—this. Not just the music, not just the friendship. It was her. All of her.

"I love you," he whispered again, the words soft and full of promise. "I’m here."

It was them, just them—like she’d never left.

[grapejuicenharry]

Angel

Harry and Y/N are best friends— except they have feelings for each other (4k words)

warnings : smut 18+, fluff, kissing, grinding, jealous h

read part 2 of angel here

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆ . ✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶. ⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶ ⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

Harry really liked—no, loved—Y/N, but he would never admit it to her. She was his best friend, and he couldn’t imagine a day without her. She was like sunshine in his life, someone he could always rely on.

“Harry, my feet hurt,” Y/N whined beside him, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glassy from one too many drinks. They were walking back from a party thrown by one of Harry’s friends, Alex. It was his birthday, and even though Harry and Y/N hadn’t planned to attend, today had been their last exam of the semester. That called for celebratory drinks after all the hard work they’d put in. Sleepless, stressful nights spent preparing for exams, completing assignments, and submitting papers—it had all been overwhelming, and tonight felt like the ideal way to finally blow off some steam.

“Didn’t I warn you about those heels?” he asked, amusement lacing his voice as he raised an eyebrow. He knew those heels always gave her trouble and told her to wear something more comfortable, but Y/N, being Y/N, never listened.

“Yeah, but they make me look sexy, and I wanted to be tall enough to at least reach your neck,” she replied absentmindedly.

“Well, guess that means I’m carrying you the rest of the way,” Harry said, and before she could protest, he hoisted her up onto his shoulders.

“Harry, my dress is too short! I’m going to flash everyone,” Y/N laughed, though there was no real concern in her voice.

Harry chuckled, placing his hand carefully to keep her covered. Besides, the streets were almost empty at 2 a.m., and there was hardly anyone around to notice.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

Y/N met Harry on the first day of college. She was nervous and eager to make friends. Hurrying to her seat, she noticed Harry sitting next to her. The first thing she saw was his mop of curly hair, and she thought he was incredibly cute. He looked so innocent and nerdy in his black-rimmed glasses. He was just too adorable.

He wore a white T-shirt that highlighted his bulging biceps, with tattoos peeking through. Suddenly, Y/N found herself wanting to see every tattoo that adorned his beautiful body. She was so curious and lost in her thoughts about him that she didn’t realize Harry was, in fact, looking at her.

Harry thought he was dreaming as he looked at Y/N. She seemed like an angel, a beautiful one at that. She wore a cute white hoodie adorned with pink bows, and her curly hair framed her lovely face perfectly. What captivated him the most were her eyes; they were alluring, radiant, and a luminous shade of dark brown. Next were her luscious pink lips, so full and plump that he suddenly wanted to kiss them and taste them. He wondered if they tasted like berries or cherries, secretly hoping they tasted like cherries, his favorite fruit.

“Do you have an extra pen?” Y/N asked in a hushed voice. “I forgot to bring my pouch,” she added with a little pout.

“Y-yeah, yeah,” Harry replied, fixing his glasses, clearing his throat, and answering in a hoarse voice. He couldn’t believe she was actually talking to him.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

Later that day, they sat together at lunch, talking as if hours had passed. Y/N was so grateful to have found someone as kind as Harry, who listened to every word she said with such intent. They chatted about random topics, like their favorite TV shows and ice cream flavors. When Harry revealed that his favorite flavor was mint chocolate chip, Y/N made a weird face.

“Shut up—no, don’t you dare say it!” Harry exclaimed, amused.

“But it tastes like toothpaste!” Y/N whined playfully.

“No, it does not!” Harry shot back. Y/N made a mental note to convince Harry to try every other flavor until he grew to hate mint chocolate chip.

They soon became inseparable—best friends. Harry didn’t realize just how much he had started to like Y/N until it was almost too late. He thought frequently about confessing his true feelings, but there never seemed to be the right moment. He cherished the friendship they had, and the thought of losing her terrified him to his core. So he kept those feelings hidden, bottled up, and accepted her as his best friend.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

Harry set Y/N down on the couch when they reached her apartment. He kneeled down to take off her heels. “Ouch, slowly please,” YN whined.

“I am never letting you wear these stupid shoes again. Your feet are all red and swollen,” Harry countered, looking genuinely concerned. He hated seeing Y/N in pain. He wanted to protect her from everything and keep her safe in his cocoon—just him and Y/N.

He then carefully carried a sleepy Y/N to her bedroom and started looking for a comfortable shirt for her to wear. After finding a suitable shirt, he went to the bathroom to grab her makeup wipes and returned to find half-asleep Y/N lying on the bed. “Sweetheart, this will only take two minutes, I promise.” He began wiping her face gently.

After getting Y/N all ready for bed, Harry changed his own clothes. Y/N had “borrowed” too many of his shirts, but honestly, he never minded it. In fact, he secretly liked when Y/N wore his clothes. She looked breathtaking in his oversized shirt paired with her tiny shorts, which made Harry lose his mind.

“Come to bed and cuddle me; I need to sleep,” Y/N grumbled, rubbing her tired eyes.

“Coming, sweetheart, just two minutes,” Harry replied with a smile. He knew how grumpy Y/N got when she was sleepy. He quickly climbed into bed, set his glasses on the side table, and pulled her to his side. Cuddled next to him, Harry didn’t mind being the big spoon. He loved having Y/N molded to his side—the sweet scent of her hair, which smelled like strawberries on a sunny day, and the soft skin that felt like vanilla sundae. He adored every inch of her. Whenever he was with her, he felt like he was on cloud nine. Everything around him was rainbows and sunshine; she made everything look like it was through rose-tinted glasses.

But Harry also loved being the little spoon. There were days when he just wanted to be held, and honestly, Y/N loved having him like that—clingy, needy, like a cute little puppy.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

One day, Harry arrived at Y/N’s apartment looking extremely worn out. Y/N was lying on the bed, comfortably engrossed in her favorite novel. She grew concerned upon seeing Harry. 

“I am so exhausted, and my head hurts,” Harry exclaimed, throwing his bag on the floor. “I had to sit in Professor Martin’s class for two hours, plus I had a psychology presentation today,” he stated tiredly while rubbing his drowsy eyes behind his frames. 

“Oh no, I’m so sorry you had such a long day, baby. Come on, lie down, and I’ll massage your head,” Y/N replied, removing the blanket from her lap. Harry immediately climbed onto the bed and dropped his head in Y/N’s lap. She carefully removed his glasses and placed them on the side table before starting to massage his head.

She threaded her fingers in his curls, scratching his head lightly, rubbing, and applying just the right amount of pressure. Harry let out a soft moan as he could already feel the tension melting away, his body instinctively relaxing further into her lap.

 “Feels amazing,” he murmured, his voice slightly muffled against her legs. 

As her skilled fingers glided over his scalp, working their magic and easing the stress that had built up after a long week. 

Y/N smiled, enjoying the way he melted under her touch. She varied her movements, alternating between gentle rubs and firmer pressure, focusing on the areas where he seemed to carry the most stress. Her fingers danced through his hair, and she leaned forward slightly to whisper, “You deserve this. Just relax.”

After what seemed like hours of massaging, Y/N realized Harry had fallen soundly asleep on her lap. His face looked peaceful, with his eyes closed and soft snores slipping through his pretty pouty lips. He looked so adorable, and Y/N couldn’t help but wish she could freeze time to savor this moment longer.

Knowing Harry would probably complain about his back in the morning, she gently shifted him, lifting his head from her lap and placing it on a pillow. His brows furrowed slightly, so she soothingly rubbed his forehead, trying to smooth away any lingering tension. Half asleep, Harry instinctively moved closer, wrapping his arms around Y/N’s waist and nuzzling his face against her boobs. His personal pillow: He always has the best sleep whenever she holds him. Y/N smiled down at him. His curls tickled her jaw, and she couldn't resist leaning down to plant a soft kiss on his head.

“Goodnight, sleepyhead,” Y/N whispered, smiling at Harry, who had already drifted back into a peaceful slumber.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

Harry was never the jealous type—at least, not until Y/N came into his life. but right now he cant help but a bitter sensation rises up his throat when he sees yn with Jacob. A total douchebag who flirts with every girl in the college, Standing next to Y/N, too closely according to harry. Harry had come to find Y/N so they could grab tacos at their favorite spot, but instead, he’s witnessing this. Does Y/N like him? Does she have a crush on him that he doesn’t know about? What if Y/N is interested in him and wants to end her friendship with Harry? Will she forget about him? All these questions overwhelm Harry’s mind at the sight. No, no—Y/N was only his. His best friend, his angel, his sweetheart. She would never do something like this. His chest suddenly started burning at such thoughts. 

Jacob says something which makes Y/N burst into laughter. His chest tightens at the sight. He wants to be the only person to make yn laugh like that. He curses inwardly that jacob gets to experience the sweet melody of her laughter, her laugh that can instantly brighten up the room with warmth and sunshine. He thinks to himself, Does Jacob know her eyes crinkle whenever she laughs? or how the mole under her right eye disappears when she laughs because of the fullness of her cheeks? 

“Oi, whatchu looking at?” Y/N snapped her fingers in front of Harry’s face. He hadn’t realized she had come over and was talking to him. “You look like you could kill someone,” she teased, giggling as she spoke to him. 

“Was that Jacob talking to you?” Harry asked, trying to sound casual even though he was fuming inside. “Yeah, he wanted my chemistry notes because apparently he spilled coffee on his,” Y/N replied, wrapping her arm around Harry's as they walked together. 

“Did you give them to him?” Harry asked, mentally cursing Jacob and hoping she hadn’t. 

“No, obviously I know he just wanted an excuse to hit on me. I’m not dumb,” Y/N exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “Besides, you know I don’t like sharing my notes with anyone except for you, because you know how to take care of them.” She chided and planted a kiss on Harry’s cheek. His face instantly heated. 

“Good,” Harry whispered quietly, fixing his glasses, looking at the ground, too embarrassed to hide the blush of his cheek and unable to suppress a smile at the thought of Y/N rejecting that jerk. 

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

Harry loves when Y/N gets touchy like this with him. When randomly she hugs him, kisses him on his cheek, forehead, or settles on his lap while watching a movie. Her spontaneous kisses leave a soft tingle on his skin, and he can’t help but smile every time she curls up in his lap. It’s in these moments he feels closest to her, as if every touch and every kiss is a silent confession of how much she means to him. His arm instinctively wraps around her waist, pulling her in a little tighter, enjoying the way she fits perfectly against him. The movie on the screen fades into the background; all he can focus on is the warmth of her body and the way she makes him feel—like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. It all feels so natural. And they never have those awkward moments because they both love these touches. Whenever yn touches him, he feels electricity buzzing through him, in a good way. His skin feels like jello and his heart is thumping loudly, His brain is all muddled with goo and sparkles. 

He wants to treasure those moments forever and constantly wishes for more and more. 

It was one of those rare evenings for Harry and Y/N, Where the world seemed to quiet down just for them. They had just finished with their midterms and needed this for the longest time. Dim yellow lights, a bottle of red wine sitting on the table, a soft record player playing in the background. Legs tangled under the blanket as Harry and Y/N sat closer to each other, just enjoying each other’s presence. The warmth of Yn’s body pressed against him felt like home.

Harry’s fingers absentmindedly played with a strand of Y/N’s hair, twirling it between his fingertips. His eyes traced over her face, taking in every detail — the curve of her lips, the soft rise and fall of her chest.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Harry whispered, his voice low and soft, his breath tickling her ear.

Y/N turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze with a soft smile and cheeks already flushed because of wine, changed into a deeper shade of red at his words. “You always say that.” Slurred her words lightly. 

“Because it’s true,” he murmured, leaning in closer, their faces just inches apart. His fingers gently tugging at her bottom lip, eyes flickering to her mouth. “And I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of telling you that.” 

For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them thick with unspoken words and emotions. Y/N felt her heart race as Harry’s eyes locked onto hers, filled with something deeper than just affection.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Y/N tilted her head, her lips brushing against Harry’s in the softest kiss, testing the waters. It was brief- just a featherlight kiss- but enough to send a shockwave through him. Harry let out a quiet sigh, his hand moving to cup her face as he deepened the kiss, slow and tender. As he leaned in closer, Y/N gently pushed his glasses up onto his forehead, making it easier for them to get lost in each other. Suddenly, he realized what he had done.

Harry pulled back immediately, his eyes wide with surprise at his own action.

“Sorry,” he blurted out, his voice panicked. “I don’t know why I did that.”

Y/N blinked, her cheeks flushing, but there was no trace of anger or discomfort on her face. Instead, she smiled softly, a warmth blooming in her chest at his sudden vulnerability. “No, Harry… It’s okay.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure? I didn’t mean—”

“Harry,” Y/N interrupted gently, her voice barely a whisper as she moved closer, her hand resting on his cheek. “It’s okay, I want this, I promise.”

Harry couldn’t quite grasp what was happening—it all felt too surreal, like something straight out of his dreams. Yet, here it was, playing out in real time. In the blink of an eye, Y/N tossed the blanket aside and straddled his lap. Her hands slid up his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt as she pressed closer to him, wanting to be as near as possible. Her fingers trailed up his chest, feeling the heat radiating through his shirt, before cradling his face. Without hesitation, she pulled him into a deep kiss.

Harry was still trying to make sense of it all, but instinctively, his hands found their place—one tangling in her hair, the other resting gently on her neck.

The kiss was slow, tender, and filled with all the emotions that had been simmering under the surface for so long. His lips were soft, and she could taste the faint hint of wine on them. Their lips molded perfectly, like it was meant to be. Time seemed to blur. It must have been five minutes, or five hours; neither of them knew. It was a heated blend of tongue, teeth, and lips. 

Y/N’s hand reached for the hem of his shirt, lifting it. Harry pulled back, catching his breath, resting his forehead against hers. His heart pounded, blood rushing south; he was so hard, making him ache beneath her. 

“Can I take off your top, baby?” He whispered, his breath warm against her jaw as he kissed and nipped at it.

“Yes, yes, please,” she murmured, and that was all the permission Harry needed. He swiftly pulled off her shirt—his shirt—and eagerly ran his hands over her smooth, soft skin. 

“So soft, your skin is so soft,” he murmured, his hands working behind her, unclasping her bra. 

Her tits were a piece of art—Round, so full and perfectly perky. His large hands cup them, gently rolling the nipple between his fingers. 

Now she sat only straddling him in her thin, barely there sleeping shorts; she could feel his hard cock beneath her, thick and throbbing, nudging her entrance. Her dampness was seeping through both of their shorts. A delicious remainder, how much she wanted him. He could feel her cunt fluttering around nothing, desperate for him. 

 Harry had to shut his eyes and  take  a few steady breaths as his chest rose and fell with anticipation. Slowly, he leaned forward, prepping light kisses along the curve of her breast. Y/N moaned softly, arching her back, giving him more access to her boobs. He latched onto her nipple, sucking lightly, while his free hand teased her other breast, tugging and rolling the sensitive nub. Y/N hips began to move instinctively, grinding against him, writhing on his cock couldn’t help but start grinding, writhing on his lap.  

"Feels good," she murmured, eyes closed as  she gently took his glasses from his head and placed them on the couch next to them, her fingers threaded through his messy curls. His cock twitched beneath her, nudging her clit, and she could feel her body growing even wetter, soaking through the fabric that separated them. Harry kept switching between her breasts, his mouth worshipping each one as he sucked harder, sending jolts of pleasure through her core.

Making her more drenched 

“Just like that, ride me Y/N” Harry growled, his voice low and demanding. His hands slid from her breast to her waist, guiding her movements. Making her move forward and backward, her clothed, dripping core dragged across his cock, making them both shiver with need. His tattoos peeked through as he finally tugged his shirt off, revealing his inked chest - abs flexing under the butterfly, the black ink stark against his flushed, heated skin.

Y/N's fingers trailed down, dragging her nails across his chest, loving the way his tattoos twisted beneath her touch. She leaned down, biting his neck, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise. Harry groaned, loving the possessiveness of it—her mark on him. He was hers. 

“You’re doing so good, Angel” he murmured, nipping her ear. Harry was a complete mess beneath her. His eyes glossy, pupils blown away with lust, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, lips slick and swollen from their kisses. He looks so sexy, Y/N leaned forward, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth, swallowing each other’s  moans while increasing her pace. 

He could not believe Y/N was on top of him, grinding against his cock, her sweet little moans filling the air. He was sure he’d reached heaven. He glanced down between them, seeing the wet patch her arousal had left on his shorts, mixed with his own pre cum. 

As Y/N ground herself against him, her clit dragged over the thick length of his cock, and each upward motion had his tip grazing her entrance. The feeling made them both shiver. Her blunt nails dug into his shoulders as her eyes squeezed shut in bliss, her lip caught between her teeth, trying to hold back a whimper. 

Harry slid his hand down, rubbing her clit with his thumb in slow, tight circles, giving her that extra bit of pleasure she craved. “I want you to feel good, baby,” he whispered, his fingers working faster, determined to push her over the edge. His angel deserved to feel good. 

Y/N threw her head back, overwhelmed by the sensation. “I’m gonna cum,” she whimpered meekly, her voice shaking. Harry quickened his pace, his fingers pressing into her clit with just the right amount of pressure. “Cum for me, baby,” he urged, his voice thick and desperate.

Y/N cries out as her orgasm rips through her, the coil in her belly finally exploding, sending waves of pleasure through her entire body. She felt like she was floating—fireworks and butterflies all at once. 

She has never cum so hard in her life. Her fingers never did the job, and vibrators were too boring for her. 

Below her, she feels Harry twitching. He buries  his face in her neck, biting down a patch of her skin to stifle his own moan as he reached the brink. Both arms wrapped around her waist, his eyes shut, loud and desperate whimpers falling from his lips. 

“That’s it, honey,” Y/N cooed, her voice soft and soothing, threading her fingers through his damp curls as she continued to ride him. She could feel him shaking beneath her as his orgasm finally hit, releasing with a loud groan as his body went rigid. His vision blurred, ears ringing, as the bliss overwhelmed him completely. He felt like he was in paradise, his body melting into hers.

For a moment, they just stayed like that—foreheads pressed together, hearts beating in sync, both of them coming down from their highs. Still trying to make sense of what just happened. Harry let out a breathy laugh, looking for his glasses and placing them again on his face. He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, still catching his breath.

Y/N smiled down at him, her fingers tracing the tattoos on his chest, loving how warm he felt under her touch. “And you’re a mess,” she teased softly, laughing with him. Harry grinned, pulling her closer.

"Yeah, but I’m your mess," he murmured, kissing her softly, the intimacy between them palpable.

They stayed like that, in each other’s arms, exchanging gentle kisses. “I want this with you, Y/N” Harry whispered, “I’m tired of pretending I don’t feel something for you. That I don’t feel this whenever I’m around you.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, her eyes widening as his words hit her. She opened her mouth to respond, but no sound came out.

Harry pressed on, the confession spilling out of him like a flood. “I’ve been holding back because I didn’t want to ruin us. You’re my best friend, Y/N. The most important person in my life, and I was terrified of messing that up. But tonight... it just felt right. It always felt right with you.” 

The air hung heavy between them, the weight of his confession pulling her down, making her chest tighten. Y/N swallowed hard, her mind racing. She had always felt something too—always pushed it aside, too afraid of what it would mean for them and for their friendship. But now that it was out there, she couldn’t run from it anymore.

Harry’s eyes softened behind his glasses,  his heart racing a mile a minute. He had finally said it—the words he never thought he’d be able to voice, yet they spilled out of him because he couldn’t hold them in any longer. He had to tell Y/N everything. 

But he still didn’t know if she felt the same, if she liked—no, loved—him back. And though the thought of her rejecting him terrified him, he was ready for it. His heart would shatter into a million pieces, but he would respect her decision, even if it meant she wanted him out of her life completely. It would hurt—of course, it would—but the idea of staying by her side and making her uncomfortable hurt even more.

He braced himself for her response, never expecting what she would say next.

 “I love you, Harry. I think I’ve loved you for a long time... but I was too much of a coward to confess it,” Y/N murmured, her eyes glistening with tears. “All this time, I didn’t want to lose you, so I just... ignored it. But tonight? It meant everything. I want this with you too.”

She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him, resting her head on his chest. She could hear his heart pounding beneath her ear. 

“I always thought you had a thing for Emma from our sociology class,” Y/N added with a teary giggle, realizing how silly it sounded now.

Harry’s brows furrowed in confusion. Emma? He had never thought of her as more than a classmate. His friends had mentioned once or twice that Emma might have a crush on him, but he’d never taken it seriously. His focus had always been on Y/N.

Before he could explain, Y/N cut him off. “But now I get it—you don’t like her. It was probably just my insecurities talking,” she said softly, her eyes dropping to her lap as she fidgeted with her fingers, a nervous habit of hers.

“Baby, Y/N, look at me,” Harry gently commanded. “I had no idea you were worrying about all of this. Emma? I’ve probably spoken to her five times at most, and I don’t like her that way at all. You have nothing to be insecure about.” He cupped her jaw tenderly, his thumb brushing her cheek. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, my angel. The only girl I love and care about.”

Harry's thumb continued to stroke Y/N's cheek gently, his eyes soft and unwavering as he held her gaze. “You’re everything to me, Y/N. I’ve never even thought about anyone else the way I think about you. It’s always been you.”

Her breath hitched at his words, the insecurity that had weighed her down for so long now starting to lift. She opened her mouth to say something, but Harry wasn’t finished. His other hand slid down to cradle her waist, pulling her more closer if that was possible. They were basically molded together. 

“I love the way you say my name; I love how you play with my rings whenever you get nervous; I love the way you get excited over little things; I love the way you get grumpy whenever you are hungry; I love the way you look at me when you think I am not paying attention. And I love you; don’t ever want you to doubt that, okay?” 

Y/N felt warmth flood her chest as his words washed over her. She’d spent so long overthinking everything, never realizing that Harry had been feeling the same all along.

She blinked back the last of her tears, smiling up at him. “I don’t know why I thought otherwise,” she whispered, her voice shaky but full of emotion.

Harry pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering there. “Because you care so much,” he murmured against her skin. “And that’s one of the things I love about you.”

Y/N leaned into his embrace, feeling safe and cherished in his arms. the tension in her body melting away.

Harry resting his chin on the top of her head. “But now, no more hiding, yeah? No more overthinking or doubting. It’s just us now. I’m yours, and I’ve always been.”

Y/N tilted her head back to look at him, her smile widening as her fingers laced through his. “Just us,” she repeated softly.

Harry’s heart swelled as he brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles softly. “Just us,” he echoed, his voice a gentle promise.

[uhuhmaries]

The Tension Between Us

Summary: You approach Harry Styles as a fan while in Tokyo on a girls trip just for a moment, but Harry doesn’t let it stay innocent. There’s something about the way he says your name, like he already knew it—he’s not done with you.

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

Word Count: I honestly have no idea. +/- 2k???

Warnings: smut (18+), unprotected sex mention (condom removed mid), breeding kink, size kink, age gap tension, dirty talk, mild degradation, power imbalance, emotional cheating (reader has a situationship), public setting lead-up, alcohol mention (light), reader is a fan, emotionally confusing hookup.

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

He’s right there.

A few tables away, in a dim-lit Tokyo bar tucked inside a luxury hotel your group definitely wasn’t meant to find. But your friend spotted his bodyguard first, whispered his name like it was a spell, and now… here you are.

He’s got his curls pushed back, a silk shirt unbuttoned far enough to make you forget how to blink, and a drink in one hand that’s barely touched. He’s laughing at something a friend said, but it’s casual, like he’s used to people noticing. Like he knows you’re watching.

“Go say hi,” one of your friends dares, nudging you with her elbow.

“No way,” you say—but your feet are already moving.

You don’t plan to say much… Just “Hi,” maybe “Big fan,” maybe “Can I get a picture?” and then you’ll disappear back into the crowd and let your friends scream about how close you got. You tell yourself it’s harmless. You have someone back home anyway… whatever that means lately.

You’re halfway through your polite smile when he looks up.

And you freeze. Because Harry Styles doesn’t just glance… he sees. Eyes trailing down, then back up, like he’s tasting the air around you.

“Hi,” you say. Voice too soft.

He leans forward slightly, lips quirking. “Hi.”

“I—I didn’t wanna interrupt. Just wanted to say I love your music. Big fan.”

He smiles, slow and wicked. “You sure that’s all you wanted to say?”

Your throat tightens. He says it like you came for something else. Like he’s already undressing the idea of you in his head.

You laugh awkwardly. “I should get back to my friends—”

“Wait,” he says quickly. “What’s your name?”

You hesitate.

“…(Y/N).”

He repeats it. Testing it. Letting it roll off his tongue like it’s something sacred. “(Y/N)… That’s nice.”

“I really should—”

“You can leave,” he says, tilting his head. “But if you do, I’ll spend the rest of the night wondering what your voice sounds like when you’re not being polite.”

Your breath hitches. You hadn’t expected him to say something so direct—so honest. Especially not to you. A fan. A stranger in a city far from home.

“I really shouldn’t. I have… a relationship—well, situationship, back home.”

You offer a small, unsure smile. “Still, it’s surreal meeting you. Thank you for being so kind.”

His gaze softens. That crooked smile doesn’t fade.

“I respect that. And if I came off too strong, I apologize.” He shrugs. “You’re just… stunning. He’s lucky. Hopefully he knows it.”

He offers his hand. You take it, briefly, then you walk back toward your booth.

By the time you’re on your fourth drink, you’re staring into the glass and thinking about how unlucky your situationship really is. How he never really listens. How he rolls his eyes at your passions. Never once hyped you up, supported your ideas, or made you feel fully seen.

Harry did all of that with a single conversation.

You glance toward where he’s still sitting, now talking to someone else, but his gaze flicks toward you anyway. Brief. Charged.

You feel it in your chest.

And just like that…

You never make it back to your friends.

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

The hotel elevator ride is short but sinful. He stands behind you, close enough that your back almost touches his chest, and his voice slides against your ear like silk dipped in heat.

“Thought you were just a fan with a situationship, sweetheart,” he teases.

“I thought this is the benefit of being one, isn’t it? Your ego is probably so big right now,” you reply coyly. That earns you a tight grip on your waist by the one and only, Mr. Harry Styles.

“You’re cute. You’re lucky I’m feeling generous tonight.” He murmurs, lips grazing your neck as he inhales your perfume like it’s a drug he’s just discovered.

When the door opens, he doesn’t ask. Just leads you by walking in while his hand still sits on your waist while caressing it.

His hotel suite feels like it doesn’t belong on this planet.

Neither do his hands as he starts unbuttoning your dress from behind while kissing the curve of your neck, murmuring filth that makes your knees threaten to give out.

“You nervous?” he asks, palm skimming your thigh.

You nod slowly.

“You were pretty bold a minute ago,” he murmurs, voice low and amused as he walks you backward to the bed. He sits first, spreading his legs, then tugs you between them, guiding you down onto his thigh.

The pressure of him under you is already making your mind static. “Yes, Harry. I am nervous,” you admit, fingertips gliding up the back of his neck, playing with his necklace chain resting against his collarbones. “But also… I’ve dreamt about this for a long time.”

That earns you a low groan.

His hands settle on your hips, grounding you. “You’re trouble. You know that, right?” he mutters against your throat. “I hope you realize I’m gonna make you forget every name but mine.”

And he does.

You’re naked and under him in minutes.

Your legs are already trembling and he hasn’t even given you his cock yet. His mouth traces a path down your chest, your stomach, lower… slow, unhurried. Fingers slide into your panties, then inside you, and he groans at how wet you already are.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, looking up from between your thighs. “You get this needy just from a few kisses? Don’t know how that boy back home’s been surviving.”

Your hips twitch. Your breath stutters. You’re not sure what to say. You don’t want to say his name. You don’t want to think about anything but Harry’s mouth.

Your legs fall open wider for him instinctively, but Harry isn’t satisfied until he’s got them hooked over his shoulders—mouth locked on your clit like he owns it. His tongue works you over with slow, punishing precision, lips wrapped around you as if he’s starved for it.

You barely register the moment he pulls away, breathless and glistening with you, only to strip his shirt off in one swift motion, then his pants, slow like he wants you to watch. You do. You can’t look away. Your eyes trail across every tattoo inked into his skin, each one telling its own story, each one only making the ache between your legs worse.

He catches your stare and smirks.

“Like what you see?”

You only manage a breathy nod, already reaching for him.

“I want the whole city to hear you,” he growls, sliding a finger in deeper. “Let them know who’s making you feel this good.”

Your moan breaks the silence like glass.

He talks you through it.

“You’re so small,” he mutters, tearing off a condom and sliding it on his cock, then quickly lining himself up after you’ve begged for it.

“Gonna take me so well, though. You’re made for this.” You whimper when he presses in slowly—stretching you, filling you with an ache that borders on unbearable. He hushes you through it, mouth at your ear, hands guiding your thighs higher.

“That’s it, baby,” he coos. “There you go. Good fucking girl. So tight. So fuckin’ tight for me.” The stretch makes your vision blur. He’s thick, bigger than anyone you’ve had before. And of course, he knows it. Using it so well.

You wrap your legs around him instinctively and he pauses, breath sharp against your cheek. You try to stay quiet. Civilized. But neither of you were built for restraint.

Not when he starts thrusting slow and deep. Not when he kisses your throat and moans into your skin, “This pussy’s too good. Gonna ruin me.”

And especially not when he groans:

“Fuck, I could fill you up so deep. Get you so full of me and I will be cleaning you up afterwards.”

You moan—loud and desperate as your body clenches around him involuntarily, and Harry groans through gritted teeth. He stills, then pulls out just enough to slide the condom off with shaking hands, tossing it aside like it’s the last thing on his mind.

“Harry—” you breathe out, voice barely a whisper, heart pounding against your ribs so hard it hurts. You’re not sure if it’s adrenaline, fear, or the heat of finally having him like this.

“I know,” he murmurs, forehead pressed to yours. “It’s not right. I know.”

But his voice drops lower, filthier. “Still… fuck, if you could see how pretty you’d look dripping with me.”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

And then he’s pushing in—slow, deliberate. Watching the way he disappears inside you like he wants to burn the image into his brain. His fingers tighten on your waist, eyes flickering between your face and the stretch.

You’re too full. Too overwhelmed. But you don’t dare stop him.

Not now.

Not when every second of it feels like sin you never want to be forgiven for.

Your walls flutter around him like your body’s answering back.

It’s almost too much.

He presses your thighs up, holding you open like you’re something fragile and filthy at once. His thrusts go deeper. Rougher. Your cries spill out freely now.

“Taking it so well, baby,” he pants. “Such a good girl. Letting me stretch this sweet cunt like it’s mine.”

You’re already unraveling when he says, “You feel that? That’s how deep I am. Fuck. I should stop before I make a mess inside you.”

“… Come inside me, Styles,” you gasp out, wrecked and breathless, your body trembling as you try to hold off your release, even while he pounds into you harder, deeper each thrust making you cry out louder than the last.

“Fuck, (Y/N)!” he snarls, head thrown back. “You can’t just say shit like that—”

But it’s too late. The second those words leave your lips, he loses it.

You both do.

You break first—legs shaking, walls fluttering around him as your orgasm hits like a wave crashing through you. He follows a split second later with a broken groan, hips slamming into yours one last time as he spills inside you, deep and heavy and unrelenting.

Even through the haze, you feel him twitch, feel every thick pulse of it.

And neither of you can bring yourselves to move.

Not yet.

Not when it feels this good to fall apart together.

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

You’re both quiet after. Tangled in the sheets, soaked in sweat and something too real.

His hand lazily strokes your hip as you stare at the ceiling.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

You turn your head, meeting his eyes. “What now? Like… how do I do this?”

He exhales a laugh—low, breathless, bittersweet.

“Don’t worry, love. We’ll figure it out.”

But his thumb keeps drawing circles into your skin like he already knows it’s not over.

Not by a long shot.

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

📝 Author’s Note:

……. This got way too long and wild than what I had in mind. This was supposed to be a one-night fan fantasy. a tokyo slip-up but I definitely can see a few more chapters of this or just leave it as is. Let me know if you want part two. I kinda already know what harry does the morning after 😵‍💫💌

Ps. This is actually my first time writing again after more or less 8 years!!!! Wild. (I’m jobless now so I got more time).

Second Part: https://www.tumblr.com/uhuhmaries/785944844429361152/if-it-lingers-why-leave

[practistyles]

party 4 u

Inspirations: party 4 u by charli xcx my queen!!

In this part: smut!! also mean!harry, exes, slight dom!harry, choking (light), slapping (light), unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, size kink, belly bulge kink👀 , dirty talk, soft!harry at the end

word count: 2.5k

Y/N stood with her hip against the kitchen counter, frowning at everyone over her glass, as the lights and music thumped. She'd been stood here for a while, not because she liked the people here - she didn't even know them, or because the food was good - she wasn't hungry. The only thing that rumbled in her belly was a deep, fiery need.

A need to see Harry saunter in through her front door. She was down bad. It had been a month since they'd last seen each other, and as much as Y/N could tell herself she'd thrown his party because she needed to let loose and have fun, she knew the real reason deep down.

He still wasn't here, and now Y/N couldn't remember why they'd fought. Why she'd screamed, and he'd screamed back, and she'd locked him out in the middle of the night. The next day, he had moved out. And honestly, that first week without him, Y/N was happy. She felt free and joyful and embraced her single status. But now everything was different. She wanted to be near him, she wanted to feel his hands on her. Anytime she thought of fucking someone else to satisfy the itch, an ugly pit formed in her stomach.

She'd thought it was very smart to have this party, to invite all their common friends and ask them to bring everyone. She made sure someone texted Harry. But it seemed very much like there was no use. He was nowhere to be seen.

Y/N pushed herself away from the counter, avoiding the calls of some of her friends. Her mood was sour. What could he be doing instead? Y/N felt the snake of jealousy crawl up her chest. She'd been feeling restless enough this entire week, and she'd convinced herself that today was the day Harry and her would finally talk. But now she guessed she'd lie alone in her bed.

Outside the kitchen, people danced and grinded against each other. Y/N wanted to shove every single person outside her house. But she smiled as people pulled her into their groups, and she had no choice but to sway her hips along to the music.

She turned around, throwing her hands above and shaking her head, and then, their eyes met. Y/N's body kept moving, but she felt mentally paralysed. Harry stood in his black jacket at the edge of the room, sipping from a drink, eyeing everyone like they crowd bored him. He smirked, and lifted his drink up at Y/N. She saw his eyes move up and down her body, and every single thing she felt for him came rushing back.

She turned her body back toward the music, trying to ignore the way her entire body buzzed, but her head just wasn’t in it anymore.

He was here. He came.

She felt him before she saw him again - cutting through the crowd like a tide, eyes laser focused on Y/N. His hair had grown out a bit, and his emerald green eyes flashed in the lighting. There was a tingling in her belly, amplifying every minute.

And then he was beside her. He ducked his head to put his mouth next to her ear. "Nice party," he whispered. Y/N forgot how deeply his voice affected her too. She felt his lips almost graze her ear, and the shiver that went through her body was almost shameful.

"Didn't think you'd show up," she said. Huge lie.

Harry cocked a brow at her. "Really? I would say that all you've thought about is me showing up."

"Don't boost your ego too much. I just wanted to let loose."

Harry's face was impassive. With a clench of his jaw, he put his hands on Y/N's waist and turned her around to be pressed up against him. "Why'd you stop dancing then, hm?" He patted her hip. And like she was hypnotised, her hips started slowly moving side to side again. Harry's arms slid all the way around her waist, and he leaned in closer. Y/N felt intoxicated on his smell, mixed in with a bit of whatever drink he'd had.

"Tell me the truth, Y/N," he started, moving along with her. "No call, no text. But this entire house full of people just to run into me. Am I right?"

His fingers wandered underneath her top, pressing lightly at her belly. Y/N contained her groan but let her head fall back into the crook of his neck.

"Only threw this party for me, didn't you?"

Y/N turned around to face him, and she could tell he was just as turned on. She leaned in close, seeing how far she could go, and then her tongue shot out to lick against his jaw. Harry's breath hitched, and Y/N revelled in it.

"You know me so well. Why did you come, Harry?"

Harry's hands slid up her body to her neck. He put a bit of pressure, and Y/N's eyes almost rolled back, but then he went higher up and pressed her cheeks together, making her lips pout.

"Same reason as you I guess. Missed this little bratty mouth." He released her. "That's exactly what you are, right? A little brat, just dying for a bit of attention from me."

Y/N tugged on his shirt. "I could go to anyone..." she started, but he did not let her finish. He grabbed her hand, pulling her with him down the hallway into her room. As the door shut, Y/N was slammed against it, and Harry's mouth was on hers.

Y/N groaned into his mouth as he moved his tongue around dominantly, and bit her lip before releasing her.

"Don’t even think about touching anyone else" he spat out. "You understand?"

Y/N nodded. She was a bit too far gone in her horny state of mind to care about any self respect she had.

"Say it," Harry said. He lightly slapped her cheek with his palm. "Missed this, didn't you? Missed being roughed around by me."

She kept her head nodding. "Yes, Harry, fuck. I'm yours, just please..."

"God, Y/N, already begging. What do you want, hm?" Harry's fingers reached inside her pants. The moment they made contact with her wet, bare pussy, he groaned.

"Fuck, baby. I missed how wet you get." He slipped one finger inside Y/N, and she felt like she was going to burst with bliss. She moved her hips around his finger, head turning away from him, eyes shut tight. It was just one finger, but she felt full and achy already.

"More, please..." she whined, and Harry chuckled meanly. He put another finger inside her and Y/N let out a lewd moan.

“This what you want?” Harry growled, burying his fingers deep inside her until the heel of his palm was pressed tight against her clit. He rotated his hand, slow and deliberate.

Y/N nearly screamed. “Harry—oh my God!" She couldn’t do much but revel in the pleasure rolling through her body. It wasn’t enough. She needed more.

Y/N reached down and pushed his hand away from her pussy. Without a word, Harry brought his fingers up to her mouth, tapping gently at her lips.

“Open up,” he said.

Her mouth parted automatically, and he slid his fingers between her lips. “Suck.”

She wrapped around them, sucking greedily, tasting herself. Harry's free hand came up to wrap around her neck, squeezing possessively. His voice was strained.

“Fuck, Y/N. You’re so hot. You know that?”

She sucked harder in response, her eyes fluttering shut, needing him in every way.

“I want you,” she whimpered around his fingers, but he understood. He always did.

“You want my cock? Think you deserve it?”

“I’ve been good,” she mumbled.

“Yeah? But can you take it?” he taunted, pulling his fingers from her mouth, eyes dark.

“I can. I will. Harry, please, I’ll do anything. I’ll beg...”

He clapped a hand over her mouth, pressing her back against the wall. “Shut up. I got it,” he hissed. “You’re just needy for my cock, aren’t you? Can’t think about anything else.”

Y/N shook her head frantically, tears of frustration starting to gather in the corners of her eyes. Harry unbuckled his jeans, shoving them down with one hand. Y/N groaned at the sight of his bulge, thick, hard, perfect, and reached for him instantly.

Her hand wrapped around the base of his cock and she let out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut. She forgot how big he was, how heavy, how deep he could reach inside he, and she needed him now.

Harry leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers as she stroked him once, then twice.

“Hands off,” he warned, voice rough.

She let out a whine of protest.

“You only touch what I tell you to.”

He grabbed both her wrists and pinned them behind her back, pressing her harder into the door. Harry pumped himself a few times and lined himself up to her entrance. Y/N felt like she was on a rollercoaster, waiting for the peak to happen. She felt him nudge her hole with his cock and she jerked forward at the contact.

When he finally pushed in, he was kinder than she'd thought. He didn't slam all the way in, but tortured her with a slow, increasing pace. When he pushed all the way in, Harry slammed his palm on the door behind Y/N.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed. His forehead came to rest next to hers, and he stayed still for a second, buried deep inside her. Y/N felt like she had passed out for a second. She didn't think she'd ever felt this full, even they fucked before. She moved her hips around and another noise drew out from Harry.

He pulled back and put his hand against her stomach, pressing lightly. "Fuck, I can feel my cock in here, baby. So deep inside you."

"Oh my god," Y/N whined at the visual. "So fucking deep, feel you everywhere."

Harry suddenly pulled out and jerked his hips forward. Y/N cried out. "Your little belly just swells up with me in it, doesn't it? Tiny little hole you've got. I can tell you didn't let anyone else in here," he said and bought his fingers to strum on her clit.

"Just you," Y/N trembled. "Harry, I'm going to cum," she cried. He said nothing, just increased his strokes. His cock bullied in and out of her pussy which opened up for him nice and easy with how wet she was. The sound of the door rattling behind them accompanied the squelch of his hips snapping at her soaking pussy.

Y/N came suddenly and all at once. She went completely silent and she felt something burst within her. Her eyes rolled back and her head tilted up against the door. Harry continued to hammer in and her pussy squeezed him tight as she came.

Her orgasm only made him go harder. Y/N's hip bone hurt with how hard she was being pressed into the door behind. Harry continued rubbing her clit, and Y/N felt faint. "It's a lot," she whined. "Too big, I can't take it anymore Harry..."

"Aw is it too much for your cunt? Just want your own and be done, huh?"

"Noooo," she cried.

"Bad luck, Y/N. I haven't had your cunt in a month. Gonna have my fill now." He continued thrusting, and Y/N felt the rise of another orgasm.

"Please," she pleaded, not sure if she was begging him to go harder or easier on her.

"You gonna cum again?"

Y/N shook her head no — even though her body said something completely different.

"You will. I wanna feel your cunt squeeze my big cock again. She’s so good to me even after all this time away. You can pretend all you want to hate me, Y/N, but no doubt your little wet pussy missed me a lot."

Y/N was crying now. Tears rolled down her cheeks. This is what she wanted — but she forgot how good, how full, how too much it felt. How deep he got inside her, how her entire body seemed to open up just for him.

Harry periodically slammed his fist against the door. Y/N was sure people knew what was going on behind it — with the way the moans were ripping out of her, the way Harry was fucking them out of her so clearly.

She felt the bubble pop again and she screamed — only to be silenced by Harry stuffing something in her mouth. It was her underwear, she hadn’t even realised when he’d snapped it off her, but it muffled her screams and loud moaning.

Harry was breathing hard and deep. He pulled out of her, and Y/N saw his cock glistening with her juices. She drooled at the sight of his red, angry, pulsing tip.

Harry put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her down to her knees. He tapped her cheek with his wet cock, and Y/N opened her mouth.

"I’m gonna cum in your other hole so you can swallow me into your belly, okay, baby?"

Y/N nodded and opened up wide. Harry grabbed her underwear out of her mouth and threw it behind him. He tapped his cock on her tongue, and a deep moan left him. Y/N wrapped her lips around his cock and moved her head up and down his length. Harry thrust his hips in time with her movements, and in no time, she felt his warm cum flood her mouth.

There was a lot of him, but Harry pressed her mouth down all the way to the base of his cock — and she had no choice but to swallow it all. She kept sucking and trying to lick, she wanted to please him as much as he had her, and she knew what he liked.

Harry pulled out of her, a string of saliva connected his cock to her mouth. He pulled her up, and Y/N was barely able to function with how hard she'd been fucked. Harry let her fall against him.

"My good girl," he cooed, and kissed over her face. "I missed you so much," he said, the roughness leaving his voice. Y/N felt her heart flutter. He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around him, to walk her to her bed. Harry put Y/N in, and her eyelids fluttered with tiredness.

"Where do we go from here, H?" Y/N mumbled as Harry pulled the covers over her.

"Well for starters, party over. I'm gonna throw everyone out. And next time you want to get fucked just find me, okay?"

Y/N smiled. "Are you gonna stay?"

Harry's face fell. "I don't know, might not be the best idea."

Y/N frowned. "You can't leave after you just fucked me full."

He needed no convincing. Harry nodded. "Fine, baby. Go to sleep. I'll be back."

Y/N snuggled deeper into bed, feeling the soreness all over her body. She knew she was gonna wake up with his head in between her legs.

****

this was so hard to smash out for some reason. writing smut is still a bit weird for me lol but anyway hope this was fun!! i couldn't stop thinking of this scene. we love a bit of mean dom h. 🤭

also idk if people who wanted to be tagged for ewh want to be tagged for all posts. so let me know if you want to be tagged for all posts!

[ghstyles]

Safe | His Angel

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

Pairing: College!Yn x CrimeBossl!Harry

WC: 3.4k

Summary: Your turn to get drunk and make confessions that only the alcohol can pull out

His Angel Masterlist

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

It's been two weeks since Harry's uncharacteristic drunken confessions, and true to Y/N's prediction, he remembered almost nothing the next morning beyond the fact that he'd called her and she'd come over. She's kept his vulnerable admissions to herself, treasuring them privately while watching him return to his usual controlled demeanor as if nothing had happened.

Tonight, however, the roles are reversed. Y/N has been out celebrating the end of finals with her college friends, the relief of completing her semester meriting more drinks than she typically allows herself. By midnight, when her friends suggest moving to another bar, Y/N decides she's had enough and opts to head home instead.

But once in the taxi, sitting alone with her thoughts swimming pleasantly through a haze of tequila shots and fruity cocktails, she finds herself giving the driver Harry's address instead of her own. It's late, nearly 1 AM, but the pull to see him is stronger than her better judgment.

In the elevator up to Harry's penthouse, Y/N checks her reflection in the mirrored walls. Her hair is slightly tousled, her eyes bright with intoxication, a flush spreading across her cheeks. She's wearing a form-fitting black dress that hits mid-thigh, with a neckline just low enough to be enticing without being overtly revealing. It’s a balance she's learned to strike since dating someone who gets territorial when other men look at her too long.

Using her key, Y/N lets herself into Harry's penthouse quietly, not sure if he's still awake. The main living area is dimly lit, but she can see the familiar sight of light spilling from his office. Harry rarely sleeps before 2 or 3 AM, always working, always planning, always one step ahead of potential threats.

She makes her way toward the office, her heels clicking softly on the hardwood floors. At the door, she pauses, suddenly struck by an uncharacteristic wave of self-consciousness. What if he's busy? What if he's annoyed by her dropping by unannounced? What if—

Before she can finish the thought, the door swings open, revealing Harry standing there in black slacks and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, his forearms marked with the intricate tattoos she's come to know by heart. His expression shifts from alertness to surprise, then to something warmer as he takes in the sight of her.

"Angel," he says, his voice that familiar low rumble that never fails to send a shiver down her spine. "This is unexpected."

Y/N sways slightly on her feet, steadying herself against the doorframe with a smile that's a little looser, a little more uninhibited than usual.

"Hi," she says, then giggles—actually giggles—at how inadequate the greeting sounds. "Surprise."

Harry's eyes narrow slightly as he studies her, immediately assessing her state. "You're drunk," he observes, no judgment in his tone, just that characteristic directness.

"Mmhmm," Y/N confirms, nodding perhaps a bit too emphatically. "Finals are over. We were celebrating. I wanted to see you."

Without further comment, Harry steps back, making space for her to enter his office. It's a familiar room to her now with its the massive desk of dark wood, the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and the leather furniture that manages to be both imposing and comfortable. There are papers spread across the desk, alongside a laptop and a single glass containing what looks like whiskey.

"Working late?" Y/N asks, moving past him into the room, trailing her fingers along the edge of his desk as she passes.

"Always," Harry replies simply, closing the door behind her. He leans against it, arms crossed, watching her with that intense focus that makes her feel like she's the only person in the world. "Did you need something?"

Y/N turns to face him, her inhibitions lowered enough that she doesn't second-guess herself as she saunters toward him, a playful smile on her lips.

"Do I have to need something?" she asks, stopping just in front of him, close enough that she has to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. "What if I wanted to call to hear your sexy voice?"

A slight smirk tugs at the corner of Harry's mouth, amusement dancing in his eyes. "You didn't call. You showed up at my door at one in the morning, drunk and looking like that."

"Like what?" Y/N challenges, placing her hands on his crossed arms, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt.

Harry uncrosses his arms, placing his hands on her waist instead, his touch firm but gentle as he steadies her slight swaying.

"Like trouble," he replies, his voice dropping lower. "The kind of trouble I'm particularly fond of."

Y/N laughs, the sound light and uninhibited as she leans into him, resting her forehead against his chest.

"I missed you," she admits, the alcohol making her more forthcoming with her feelings than usual. "We've both been so busy lately. You with your... business things, me with finals. I just wanted to see your face."

Harry's hand comes up to cup the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair in that possessive yet tender way that's become so familiar.

"You could have called," he points out reasonably. "I would have sent a car."

Y/N tilts her head back to look up at him, her lips quirking into a mischievous smile. "Where's the fun in that? Besides, I'm a strong, independent woman. I can get myself to my boyfriend's place without assistance."

"Strong, independent, and drunk off her ass," Harry adds dryly, but there's affection in his tone.

"Only a little drunk," Y/N protests, then immediately undermines her argument by losing her balance slightly as she steps back, saved from stumbling only by Harry's quick reflexes, his hands tightening on her waist.

"A little," he agrees sarcastically, guiding her toward the leather couch against the wall. "Sit before you fall, angel."

Y/N allows herself to be led to the couch, sinking into the soft leather with a contented sigh. "You're so bossy," she complains without heat, kicking off her heels and tucking her feet up beside her.

"Someone has to be the responsible one tonight," Harry replies, moving to his desk and closing his laptop, then picking up his whiskey glass. "Clearly it's not going to be you."

He returns to the couch, sitting beside her close enough that their thighs touch, and offers her the glass. "Water would be smarter, but if you're already drunk, one sip won't hurt. And this is better than whatever cheap shots you were doing with your friends."

Y/N accepts the glass, taking a small sip and wincing slightly at the burn. "Tequila, mostly," she admits. "And something blue in a fishbowl glass that tasted like candy but was definitely stronger than it seemed."

Harry shakes his head, a rare genuine smile softening his features. "Amateur move, falling for the sweet drinks. Those will fuck you up faster than anything."

"Well, I'm not a professional drinker like some people," Y/N teases, nudging him with her elbow before taking another small sip of his whiskey and handing the glass back.

Harry accepts it, setting it on the side table before turning his attention fully to her. "So, finals are over," he says, his hand coming to rest on her bare knee, thumb tracing small circles on her skin. "How did they go?"

The simple question, the genuine interest in her academic life, makes Y/N's heart swell with affection. This is the side of Harry that few people get to see. The attentive listener, the man who remembers details about her courses and professors despite his own chaotic and dangerous world.

"Good, I think," she says, leaning into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "The literature analysis was challenging, but I felt prepared. The photography portfolio review went really well. My professor said my urban decay series was 'evocative and haunting.'"

"It is," Harry agrees, his arm sliding around her shoulders, pulling her closer against his side. "You have an eye for finding beauty in broken things."

The casual compliment, delivered in that matter-of-fact tone he uses when stating what he considers obvious truths, warms Y/N more than the alcohol in her system.

"Is that why you like me?" she asks, the question slipping out before she can censor it, the tequila loosening her tongue. "Because I find beauty in broken things?"

Harry goes still beside her for a moment, then shifts to look down at her face, his expression suddenly serious.

"Is that what you think? That you're with me because I'm broken and you're trying to find something beautiful in it?"

Y/N blinks up at him, realizing belatedly how her question might have sounded. "No, that's not what I meant," she says quickly, reaching up to touch his face, her fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "You're not broken, Harry. Complex, yes. Dangerous, definitely. But not broken."

His expression remains guarded, those eyes that miss nothing studying her intently. "Then what did you mean?"

Y/N sighs, struggling to articulate her thoughts through the pleasant haze of alcohol. "I just meant... you're scary sometimes, you know that?"

Something flickers in Harry's eyes. Was it surprise, perhaps, or concern?. "How?" he asks, the single word carrying weight, a demand for honesty.

Y/N shifts, sitting up straighter to look at him directly, her hand still resting against his face.

"Not in the way you think," she clarifies. "Not because of what you do, or who you are to other people. You're scary because... because of how you make me feel. How much I care about you. How much it would hurt if—" She cuts herself off, suddenly feeling exposed, vulnerable.

Harry's hand comes up to cover hers, pressing her palm more firmly against his cheek. "If what, angel?" he prompts, his voice gentler now, coaxing.

Y/N feels unexpected tears spring to her eyes, the alcohol amplifying her emotions, breaking down the careful walls she usually maintains around her deepest insecurities.

"If you left," she whispers, the tears spilling over despite her attempt to blink them back. "I'm just scared that one day you'll realize I'm too boring for you and then you'll leave. Please don't leave."

The naked vulnerability in her voice, the tears now flowing freely down her cheeks, transforms Harry's expression completely. The guardedness vanishes, replaced by a fierce tenderness that few people have ever witnessed.

"Come here," he says roughly, pulling her into his lap in one fluid motion, cradling her against his chest as if she's something infinitely precious. "Look at me, Y/N."

She raises her tear-streaked face to his, sniffling slightly, feeling both foolish and relieved to have voiced the fear that's been lurking in the back of her mind for months.

"First of all," Harry says, his voice low and intense as he wipes her tears away with his thumbs, "you are many things, but boring has never been and will never be one of them. You challenge me, surprise me, fascinate me every fucking day."

He presses a kiss to her forehead, then continues:

"Second, I'm not going anywhere. Do you understand? What we have isn't temporary for me. It's not a phase or a passing interest or a convenient arrangement. It's everything."

The conviction in his voice, the rare directness about his feelings, makes fresh tears well in Y/N's eyes.

"You're just saying that because I'm crying," she mumbles, burying her face against his neck. "You hate when I cry."

Harry's chest rumbles with a low chuckle. "I do hate when you cry," he agrees, his hand stroking soothingly up and down her back. "But I'm not just saying it. I'm telling you the truth. You think I give keys to my place to just anyone? You think I let just anyone see me like this, no guards, no pretenses?"

Y/N shakes her head against his neck, her tears dampening the collar of his shirt.

"I have never let anyone as close as I've let you," Harry continues, his voice taking on that edge of intensity that indicates absolute seriousness. "Not in business, not in my personal life. Never. You're not something temporary to me, Y/N. You're it."

She pulls back slightly to look at him, her eyes still shining with tears but a small, hopeful smile beginning to form on her lips.

"I am?" she asks, sounding so young, so vulnerable that Harry feels something in his chest constrict painfully.

"You are," he confirms, cupping her face in his hands. "And I'm not leaving. If anything, I'm the one who should be worried about you coming to your senses and realizing you could do better than a man like me."

Y/N's expression shifts to one of indignation, the alcohol making her emotions swing rapidly.

"Better than you? There's no one better than you," she insists with drunken conviction, poking him in the chest for emphasis. "You're perfect."

Harry can't help the laugh that escapes him. Its a genuine, unguarded sound rarely heard by anyone outside this room.

"I'm many things, angel, but perfect is definitely not one of them," he says, catching her finger before she can poke him again. "I'm possessive, controlling, dangerous, and involved in things that would terrify you if you knew the full extent."

"I know exactly who you are," Y/N counters, echoing the words she spoke to him during his own drunken vulnerability two weeks ago, though she doesn't realize the parallel. "And I love who you are. All of it."

The declaration, spoken so plainly, so without calculation, makes Harry go still again, his eyes searching hers. 

"Even the parts that scare you?" he asks quietly.

Y/N nods, reaching up to push a strand of hair back from his forehead in a tender gesture.

"Especially those parts," she confirms. "Because they're what make you, you. The man who would do anything to protect what's his. The man who never backs down, never shows weakness to anyone but me."

Harry studies her face for a long moment, as if memorizing every detail, before leaning in to kiss her. It's a gentle kiss, almost reverent, lacking the usual hunger and possession that characterize most of their physical interactions.

When he pulls back, there's something in his eyes Y/N can't quite name. A vulnerability that mirrors her own, perhaps, or a decision being made.

"Stay tonight," he says, not a question but not quite a command either.

"I was planning to," Y/N admits with a small smile, her tears forgotten now. "I didn't bring a change of clothes, though."

"You won't need clothes," Harry replies, that familiar smirk returning to his lips as his hands tighten possessively on her waist.

Y/N laughs, the sound light and happy, her earlier insecurities soothed by his reassurances and the physical comfort of being in his arms.

"So confident," she teases, shifting in his lap to straddle him, her dress riding up her thighs.

"With good reason," Harry counters, his hands sliding up her bare thighs to the edge of her dress, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. "But first, water. And food, if you've haven't eaten. I'm not taking advantage of you while you're drunk off your ass."

Y/N pouts playfully, draping her arms around his neck. "It's not taking advantage if I'm begging for it."

"Even so," Harry says firmly, though his eyes darken at her words. "Water first. Then we'll see about the begging."

With surprising gentleness, he lifts her off his lap and stands, extending a hand to help her up.

"Fine," Y/N concedes with an exaggerated sigh, taking his hand and allowing him to pull her to her feet. "Water, food, then you can have your wicked way with me."

"My wicked way," Harry repeats, amusement coloring his tone as he leads her toward the door. "You've been reading those romance novels again, haven't you?"

"Maybe," Y/N admits with a grin, leaning into him as they walk, his arm secure around her waist. "They give me ideas."

Harry glances down at her, his expression a mixture of amusement and heat. "We don't need books for ideas, angel. I have plenty of my own."

As they make their way to the kitchen, Y/N feels a profound sense of contentment settle over her. The insecurities that had bubbled to the surface with the alcohol haven't disappeared completely, they rarely do, but they've been soothed by Harry's reassurances, by the steady strength of his presence beside her.

In the kitchen, Harry fills a glass with water and hands it to her, watching with satisfaction as she drinks it all. Then he moves to the refrigerator, pulling out cold pasta from a restaurant they'd ordered from the night before.

"Eat," he instructs, setting the container in front of her with a fork. "You'll thank me in the morning when you're not praying for death."

Y/N takes a bite obediently, suddenly realizing she is hungry after all. "So bossy," she says again, but her tone is affectionate.

"You like when I'm bossy," Harry points out, leaning against the counter across from her, arms crossed as he watches her eat.

"I like everything about you," Y/N admits, the alcohol still making her more forthcoming than usual. "Even when you're being a controlling asshole."

"Especially then," Harry corrects her with a knowing smirk.

Y/N blushes but doesn't deny it, focusing on her pasta instead. After a few more bites, she looks up at him, her expression turning serious again.

"Thank you," she says quietly.

"For the pasta?" Harry asks, though his eyes indicate he knows that's not what she means.

"For making me feel safe," Y/N clarifies. "For letting me be vulnerable without making me feel weak for it."

Something flickers in Harry's eyes, a rare glimpse of that same vulnerability he allows no one else to see.

"You're the strongest person I know," he says simply. "Nothing could make you weak in my eyes."

The statement, delivered with such matter-of-fact conviction, warms Y/N from the inside out. She sets down her fork, suddenly no longer interested in food.

"I think I've had enough water and pasta," she says, pushing the container away and standing, moving around the counter to where Harry stands. "Take me to bed now."

Harry's eyes darken as she approaches, but he remains still, letting her come to him.

"Bossy," he says, echoing her earlier accusation, but there's heat in his voice now.

"You like when I'm bossy," Y/N counters, using his own words against him as she reaches him, pressing her body against his.

Harry's hands come to her waist automatically, holding her against him as he looks down at her with that intensity that never fails to make her breath catch.

"I like everything about you," he admits, his voice low and rough. "Even when you show up at my door drunk in the middle of the night, crying about fears that have no basis in reality."

Y/N smiles up at him, her earlier insecurities feeling distant now in the face of his steady presence.

"Good," she says simply, rising on tiptoe to press a kiss to his jaw. "Because I'm not going anywhere either."

Without warning, Harry bends and scoops her up into his arms, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back. Y/N lets out a surprised laugh, wrapping her arms around his neck as he carries her toward the bedroom.

"I can walk, you know," she points out, though she makes no move to get down.

"I know," Harry says, pushing open the bedroom door with his shoulder. "But this way is faster. And I've waited long enough."

As he lays her gently on the bed, looking down at her with a mixture of possessiveness and something deeper, more profound, Y/N feels the last of her drunken insecurities fade away. In their place is only certainty that this man, with all his complexities and dangers and fierce protectiveness, is exactly where she belongs.

And as Harry joins her on the bed, his movements deliberate and focused entirely on her, Y/N knows with absolute clarity that her earlier fears were unfounded. Harry Styles isn't going anywhere. And neither is she.

Taglist:@silastylesswiftb@babegoalsn@harryssunflower17n@puzio19 @goldensunflowerss-blog @drewrry @tinawritesstuff @dipmeinhoneyh @spinninc @harrystyleshotwife @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @estaticheart @harrysguccihandbag @mads3502 @harrydeary @valuunit @myfavfanficsever @lunaharrygurl @prettygurl-2009

[finelinefae]

friends [ceo!h x shy!reader]

synopsis: bambi meets harry's best friends.

word count: 8.8k

contains: ceo!harry x assitant!y/n, deer!reader vibes, fluff, age gap (9 years), drunk harry, shy reader, boyfriend!h

this is part 3 of Bambi, read part 2 here

. . .

Y/N was slowly but surely finding her rhythm at Pleasing. Thanks to Harry’s advice on making the most of each day (advice he apparently wrote a book about—though when Lindsey mentioned it, Harry had quickly shushed her and changed the subject), she had developed a solid morning and evening routine.

Her workdays at Pleasing fell on the busiest days of Harry’s schedule, which meant she was there three times a week. Those mornings began promptly at 7 a.m., with her clothes already laid out from the night before. After waking, she’d prepare breakfast for herself and her brothers, speaking to Harry on the phone as they went about their respective routines in separate homes. Once breakfast was done, she’d brush her teeth, do her makeup, and style her hair. By the time the school bus arrived to whisk her brothers away, her car would be rounding the corner to take her into the city.

Despite her hectic schedule, Y/N was managing to juggle her studies—though she couldn’t ignore that they were beginning to take a backseat. Lately, she’d found herself questioning whether she even wanted to continue her course. But with life moving at such a whirlwind pace, the thought of making a definitive decision felt overwhelming. For now, it was easier to just focus on the day-to-day.

To her surprise, Y/N was actually enjoying her job—something she’d never expected. She’d never been a fan of “adulting”; being forced to grow up quickly didn’t mean she had to like it. Paying bills, going to work, and worrying about the future had always felt like too much. But having a steady job offered her a rare sense of stability—one she appreciated more than she wanted to admit. It kept food on the table, gave her some consistency, and most importantly, brought her closer to Harry.

Keeping their relationship a secret, however, was proving to be a challenge. Surprisingly, Y/N was the more professional of the two, maintaining her composure in the workplace. She kept her hands to herself and avoided lingering glances, even when they were in the same room. Harry, on the other hand, wasn’t quite as disciplined. He had a knack for initiating little interactions that straddled the line of propriety—always claiming they were “accidents.”

Like the time he held her hand just a second too long. Or the time he “accidentally” kissed her in the elevator right as the doors were opening. Then there was the incident during a meeting when, as she served tea, he tugged on the hem of her dress—apparently needing a refill.

Y/N couldn’t help but adore how infatuated he was, but she was determined to keep things professional. The last thing she wanted was for her coworkers to think she had an unfair advantage because of her relationship. Still, Harry’s innocent looks and playfulness made it hard to stay mad at him for long.

“I need to ask you something,” Harry said from his desk. 

It was Wednesday evening and everyone had gone home. Harry had needed to catch up on some work so Y/N stayed behind after some convincing with the proposition he would drop her home afterwards. Y/N was sitting on the chair opposite, her notebook open and laptop screen. Her laptop was on its last legs, taking forever to load and lagging every five seconds but she could never afford a new one and having one was better than nothing. 

“What’s wrong?” She looked up, wearing her glasses and face framed by wispy bits of loose hair that had escaped her messy bun. 

Harry’s face brightened when she looked up at him. “C’mere, Bambi. Too far away.” He pushed himself away from his desk and gestured to his lap. 

Y/N smiled and walked around the desk to sit in his lap. She straddled herself across his lap and wrapped both her arms around his neck, “Y’ smell good,” He murmurs, smelling her gingerbread cookie perfume even though it was Autumn, she was already excited for her favourite day of the year. 

“What did you want to ask?” She pouted. 

As if remembering he bought her over for a purpose, he continued, “This weekend, y’know you’re coming to stay the night?”

How could she forget? It was all she had been thinking about since he asked her. She had even bought brand new pyjamas with the remaining paycheck from her old job because her usual ones were worn and not as pretty. She had never been to a sleepover before let alone one with a man. She was’t sure what to expect but had seen movies where girls would sleepover and they’d paint each others nails and eat ice cream. She knew that wouldn’t be the case with Harry but she had made a list of other things they could do together that he’d enjoy too. 

“I know,” Y/N nodded, brows furrowed as she waited for him to continue. Part of her couldn’t help but worry. Did he not want her to sleep over anymore?

"Some of my friends are having a dinner get together type thing," Harry said, his tone casual but hopeful. "I haven’t said I’ll go yet because I knew you were coming over, but I wanted to ask if you’d like to come with me?"

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise. "To the dinner party? With you?"

Harry smiled, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Yeah, with me. Who else?"

She blinked, processing his words. "I’d be meeting your friends?" she asked cautiously. "Are you sure about that?"

"Why wouldn’t I be sure?" he replied, his brow lifting slightly.

"I don’t know, I just..." she trailed off, suddenly unsure of how to explain the nervous flutter in her chest.

"Ah, there y’go, Bambi," Harry smirked, leaning in just enough to make her cheeks burn. "Getting all flustered."

"I’m not flustered!" she protested, though the warmth in her face betrayed her.

Harry chuckled, his gaze warm and steady as it met hers. "It makes me happy, you know—thinking about introducing you to my friends. They were excited when I mentioned you."

"They were?" Y/N asked, her brows lifting in surprise.

"Mhm," he murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips. "They know it’s rare for me to bring someone I’m dating into the mix this early on." He leaned in, nuzzling against her neck and pressing a soft kiss to her skin. "So, will you come? We can head back to mine after."

She hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Okay... but I don’t know if I have anything to wear."

Harry smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Y’know I can sort that," he teased.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed instantly, and she bit back a shy smile as his confidence and charm worked their usual magic. 

. . .

Y/N glanced down at her suitcase, biting her lip. Did I overpack for one night? Probably. She always did.

Growing up, money had been tight, but once Y/N started earning her own at sixteen, she’d developed a habit of indulging herself. Not extravagantly—there were no designer handbags or flashy purchases—but enough to feel like she was treating herself after the grind of a day. Skincare, makeup, clothes—her modest earnings often vanished in the blink of an eye.

Fashion was her weakness. Her clothing rack groaned under the weight of her ever-expanding wardrobe, frequently collapsing as if protesting her relentless shopping habit. Packing for this overnight stay at Harry’s had been no exception. She’d started with a backpack, then upgraded to a duffle bag, only to realize that wouldn’t fit everything she might need. Now, her suitcase sat by the stairs, practically mocking her indecision.

“Whoa.” Sammy’s voice broke her thoughts as he sauntered into her room, a chocolate bar in hand. “Are you moving in?”

“No,” Y/N huffed, hands on her hips. “I just want to be prepared.”

Sammy raised an eyebrow. “You know, he could just stay here instead.”

Y/N stilled. The boy’s first night without her had everyone feeling uneasy, and she knew Sammy wasn’t looking forward to it. His gaze was guarded, but she could see the vulnerability underneath.

“It’ll be fine,” she reassured, stepping closer. “It’s just one night. If you really hate it, we’ll—”

“You’ll what?” he interrupted, his voice breaking slightly. “There’s going to be a day when you move out. And leave me. With Mom. Or... without her.”

The words hit harder than he intended. Y/N swallowed the lump forming in her throat, reaching out to him. She saw the sadness etched in his eyes, a reflection of her own fears. “Wherever I go, you go,” she whispered firmly.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Sammy leaned into her, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug. Y/N held him close, closing her eyes for a moment before pulling away.

The sound of a knock at the front door jolted her. She glanced at the clock, muttering a quick, “That’s Harry,” as she rushed downstairs. She wanted to intercept him before Archie could get started—her little brother’s chatter had a way of turning quick visits into extended stays.

Yanking the door open, she froze. Harry stood there, a beaming smile lighting up his face despite the chill in the air. He wore a puffer jacket and shorts, his casual confidence making her heart skip.

“Hi, Harry,” she greeted, cheeks tinged pink, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or his presence. Without thinking, she leapt into his arms, her sock-clad feet barely touching the doorstep.

“Hi, Bambi,” he chuckled, steadying her as his arms closed around her. “Y’ready to go?”

“Mhm.” She pulled back, slipping on her shoes. “Let me say goodbye to the boys.”

Harry’s gaze shifted behind her, landing on the suitcase by the stairs. A laugh bubbled from him. “Are you planning on moving in?”

Y/N furrowed her brows, following his line of sight. When realization dawned, she flushed. “Oh, that. I, uh... didn’t know what I’d need.”

His grin softened as he stepped closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “S’alright, Bambi,” he murmured. “M’just excited to have you over.”

She smiled, her heart swelling as he leaned in for another kiss. Then, without missing a beat, he grabbed her suitcase and carried it effortlessly to the car.

After she had bid goodbye to her brother’s and promised them some much needed one on one time with them once she came back from Harry’s house, Y/N took a deep breath and mentally prepared herself for the next twenty four hours. 

. . .

In the car to Harry’s apartment, Y/N sat in the passenger seat with one hand intertwined with Harry’s whilst he drove with his other. The radio played through the car speakers, avoiding complete silence on the journey. The dulcit tones of Marvin Gaye playing throughout. 

“Y’ hands are freezing,” Harry said. Y/N instinctively tried to pull away as though her hand being cold was a bad thing but Harry clung tighter, raising both their hands and kissing her knuckles before blowing his warm breath over her hand. “Do you need me to up the heater?”

Y/N shook her head, “No it’s okay, my hands get cold when I’m nervous.” She confessed. 

Harry frowned, “Nervous? Are you okay?”

Y/N cringed, “M a little worried about meeting your friends. What if they don’t like me?” 

Harry gave her a comforting smile, “Bambi, they’re so excited to meet you. You have nothing to worry about. They’ve met other girls I’ve dated and trust me when I say you’re a walking angel in comparison to them.” 

“H-Have you dated a lot of other girls?” Y/N felt awkward bringing it up but her curiosity was getting the better of her. Harry had only mentioned briefly of the other women he had dated. Of course he had dated other women, he was a successful, handsome millionaire with a fashion company. It would be pointless trying to deny it. 

Harry thought for a moment like he was trying to think carefully about his response, “I’ll be honest, I used to date a lot of women when I first started making money. I wasn’t very good when I started getting attention from the press. I drank a lot and spent money on buying out nightclubs and bars for the night.” 

Y/N was shocked. She tried to picture her Harry being the version of himself he spoke about. “But my company was no where near as successful as it is now so even though I was spending a lot, I was losing a lot too. I nearly went bankrupt at one point which really gave me a kick up the ass. My sister, she’s an accountant back home in England, she came to visit and helped me get my act together.” 

“Oh wow,” Y/N didn’t really know what else to say. She couldn’t seem to envision her sweet, soft and wholesome Harry being a party animal and spening nights in bars for days on end. 

“Did that put you off?” Y/N immediately shook her head. 

“Of course not, we’ve all got things we’re not proud of.” Y/N replied. 

Harry smiled, “What about you? Any psycho ex-boyfriends I need to worry about?”

Y/N laughed, “No lucky for you, I don’t think a single guy has ever taken interest in me.” 

“I highly doubt that Bambi but you’re right, I am very lucky.” Harry flashed a cheeky grin, turning the wheel around the corner and stopped outside the tallest building she had ever seen that looked as though it was completely made of glass. 

Y/N’s was unable to say anything when her eyes gazed up at the towering stack of apartments. “You live in this building?” Y/N couldn’t take her eyes off, her neck permanently craned to look up. She was pretty sure the hjgihest point of the building resided in the clouds. 

Harry said nothing, parking his car in the private parking spot. He went to the back to grab her suitcase, Y/N stepping out of the car and walking around to meet him. 

“C’mon Bambi,” Harry chuckled at her awe-struck expression. 

They walked hand in hand through the lobby which looked as glamorous as you’d expect. Harry gave a nod to the security at the door as they went past and headed towards the elevator. Y/N’s eyes widened when his finger pressed the button for the top floor. 

The doors to the elevator opened and Y/N thought she might actually pass out. 

She stepped into Harry’s penthouse, her breath catching as her gaze swept over the space. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline, all the people and cars down below looked like ants. The open layout was both elegant and inviting, with warm ambient lighting casting a golden glow over the neutral-toned furniture and rich wooden floors.

“Wow,” she whispered, taking a hesitant step further inside. The plush cream sofa, the sleek coffee table stacked with books, and the faint scent of vanilla in the air all felt so Harry—effortlessly stylish and welcoming.

Harry chuckled behind her, setting her suitcase by the door. “You like it?”

“Like it?” she breathed, turning to face him with wide eyes. “Harry, this is... incredible.”

He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “M’glad you think so. Wanted it to feel comfy, y’know? Somewhere I could actually relax.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes drifting back to the view. “Sometimes I forget how rich you are.”

Harry chuckles from behind her, “I’m actually very glad to hear that.”

She walked over to the windows, pressing her hands gently against the glass as she looked out at the city sprawling beneath them. For a moment, it felt like they were floating above it all, separate from the noise and chaos of the world below.

Harry joined her, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. “S’better with you here,” he murmured, his voice soft.

Y/N’s heart thudded in her chest as she leant into him. Harry kissed her shoulder, turning her round to face him. He smiled when her eyes met his, “We have some time before we need to get ready, do you want to go unpack?”

“Oh of course, am I sleeping on the couch?” Harry furrowed his brows before bursting out laughing, water almost fell from his eyes. Y/N frowned, confused at his reaction. 

“You don’t want to sleep in my room Bambi? With me?” Y/N’s cheek scorched red but Harry just continued to laugh, “I mean I’m happy to sleep on the couch and let you sleep in my room if that’s what would make you comfortable.”

“No, it’s okay! I was just messing around,” She was all flustered. The idea of sleeping in Harry’s bed with him hadn’t crossed her mind like it maybe should have. 

“Are you sure? Y’ know I wouldn’t do anything to make you uncomfortable.” Y/N’s shoulders sunk at his sincere concern, she stood on her toes and kissed his lips. This time it was his turn to be surprised since it was rare for her to be the first to initiate a kiss between them. 

“I know,” She smiled, “I want to sleep in your room… with you.” 

Harry smiled, “Good. Let me give you a tour first.” 

Harry led Y/N back toward the kitchen, still holding her hand as they strolled through the open-concept living area. “First stop: the kitchen,” he said, motioning grandly as they stepped into the sleek, modern space.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she took in the marble countertops, state-of-the-art appliances, and a large island that looked like it had been plucked from a home design magazine. A trio of pendant lights hung above, casting a warm glow over the pristine surfaces.

“Wow,” she breathed, running her fingers along the smooth countertop. “This is amazing. Do you even use it?”

Harry grinned, leaning casually against the island. “I use it for takeout. Does that count?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t know how anyone could resist cooking in here.”

“I can resist pretty easily, love,” he said with a smirk. “But if you ever fancy cooking together, I’m happy to assist. I’m great at stirring things and, uh… taste-testing.”

“Of course you are, no wonder you own a restaurant.” Y/N teased, giving him a playful nudge.

Harry chuckled, then nodded toward a door off to the side. “Alright, next stop: my office.”

He guided her through the door and into a smaller, cosier room that contrasted with the open, airy feel of the rest of the penthouse. The office was lined with dark wood shelves filled with books, a few framed photos, and scattered trinkets. A large desk sat in front of another set of floor-to-ceiling windows, the view just as stunning as the one in the living room.

“This is where I get most of my work done,” he said, walking over to the desk and leaning on it. “Or where I try to, anyway. Sometimes I just sit here and stare out at the city.”

Y/N wandered over to the shelves, her fingers lightly brushing the spines of the books. “It’s so… you,” she said softly, glancing at the little details—a framed photo of him with his family, a guitar pick sitting on a stack of papers, and a candle that smelled faintly of cedar.

He raised an eyebrow. “You mean messy?”

“No,” she said, laughing. “I mean it’s thoughtful. Personal.”

Harry’s smile softened, and he reached out to take her hand again. “Alright, enough of the boring office. Time to show you the best room in the house.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as he led her back down the hallway to his bedroom. When he pushed open the door, her breath hitched.

The bedroom was even more stunning than she’d imagined. The centerpiece was a massive bed with crisp white linens that looked impossibly soft, surrounded by sleek, minimal furniture. The far wall was made entirely of glass, offering an unobstructed view of the glittering city below. Heavy curtains were drawn to the sides, framing the view like a painting.

Harry watched her take it all in, a small smile tugging at his lips. “So? What do you think?”

“It’s… incredible,” Y/N whispered, stepping into the room. She walked over to the windows, pressing her hands against the glass as she gazed out at the city. “I don’t think I’d ever sleep. I’d just stay up staring at this view.”

“Well, lucky for you,” Harry said, coming up behind her and resting his hands gently on her shoulders, “the bed is comfortable enough to make you forget about the view.”

She turned to look at him, her cheeks warming. “I don’t know if that’s possible.”

Harry grinned, his dimples on full display. “Challenge accepted, Bambi.”

He took her hand and led her to the bed, sitting down beside her. The mattress really did feel like a cloud as she sank into it.

“I was serious earlier,” Harry said, his tone softer now. “You can sleep wherever you want—the bed, the couch, the office chair if you’re feeling adventurous. I just want you to be comfortable.”

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling at his thoughtfulness. “I already told you, Harry. I want to sleep here. With you.”

His eyes lit up at her words, and he leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead. “Good. Because I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want that too.”

Harry stood up, “I’ll leave you to unpack. I’ve just go to make a few calls but there’s an ensuite bathroom you can use to freshen up.”

After Harry brought her suitcase to the bedroom, he left her to unpack. Y/N unzipped it and pulled out her washbag, heading into the ensuite bathroom.

The bathroom was stunning—a walk-in shower with dark tiles and jets built into the walls. She stepped to the sink, admiring the clean lines of the vanity, and placed her washbag carefully on the counter. She couldn’t help but smile when she noticed all of Harry’s skincare neatly organized in a cute little spinning container—it was such a contrast to her own chaotic setup. But then her eyes landed on the glass by the sink, where his toothbrush rested.

Beside it was a pink toothbrush.

Her heart softened at the sight, a warm flutter spreading through her chest. There was something about that simple detail that made her feel all warm and gooey inside. She’d never believed she would find someone she’d want to spend so much time with but here she was staying the night with Harry and about to meet his friends. 

Y/N walked into the living room, where Harry was already sitting on the couch with his laptop perched on her lap. He smiled when he saw her, and then his gaze fell to the object she was holding. “Is that Monopoly?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N nodded, her grin widening. “Yeah, it’s the original version. I asked my brothers if I could bring it with me since we've had this set forever, and they would absolutely murder me if I lost any pieces. We have to be able to play it at Christmas."

The corner of Harry’s lips quirked in amusement. “Hmm, may I ask why you decided to bring Monopoly with you today?”

Y/N paused, clearly puzzled. “Isn’t that what people do at sleepovers? Play games?”

Harry’s grin spread wider. As she stepped closer, he reached out, pulling her toward him. She ended up collapsing onto his chest with a soft laugh.

“Oh, Bambi,” he murmured, showering her face with quick kisses. His lips tickled her skin, making her giggle uncontrollably. “You’re the most precious girl I’ve ever known, you know that?”

She smiled up at him, her cheeks flushed. “Does that mean you want to play?”

Harry gave a dramatic sigh, still grinning. “Of course! Are you kidding me? I love this game.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her voice playful. “Well, be prepared. I’m not one to brag, but I’m pretty good at it.”

His eyes lit up with challenge. “Oh, Bambi’s competitive, I see.”

A spark flickered in her eyes as she leaned in slightly, “Just a little.”

. . .

Harry loved discovering the many layers of his Bambi. To the outside world, she was shy and quiet, but to him, she was a multi-faceted woman, full of surprises he was peeling back one by one. Yet this afternoon might have revealed his favorite side of her yet.

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with excitement and mischief as she declared her victory in Monopoly—long before the game had officially ended. Harry had debated whether to let her win, as any gentleman might, but it turned out he didn’t need to. She was fiercely competitive and had wiped the floor with him in just thirty minutes.

If time had allowed, Harry would’ve played another round or concocted a new game just to watch her face light up with that same playful energy. The afternoon spent with her, laughing over a simple board game, had him envisioning Christmas mornings and holiday traditions for years to come. It was silly, perhaps, to think so far ahead so early in their relationship, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t picture a future without Bambi in it.

Still, as the game wrapped up, he could see her nerves creep back in. The mention of preparing to meet his friends made her retreat into herself, her earlier exuberance melting into quiet apprehension. Despite his reassurances, Harry knew she’d wrestle with her anxiety until the dinner was behind them.

His friends, on the other hand, were eager to meet her. Their group chat had been buzzing with excitement about “the girl who finally tied him down.” Since Harry’s family was back in England, his friends were the closest thing he had to family in LA, making their opinions matter. But he had no doubt they’d love her.

In the living room, Harry waited for Y/N to finish getting ready, dressed in his tailored dark suit with a relaxed fit. The loose white tank underneath, with its wide scoop neckline, subtly revealed his tattoos, and the Pleasing logo stitched at the hem added a personal touch. Cream-colored loafers and white socks completed the look, his short curls neatly styled to keep them from obscuring his face.

The click of the bedroom door snapped him from his thoughts. He rose from the sofa, as alert as a puppy hearing its owner return. When Y/N stepped out, the oxygen seemed to leave the room entirely.

Her dress was light pink, soft and flowing, with thin spaghetti straps and a V-shaped neckline that showcased her décolletage. The slightly sheer fabric hinted at her elegant curves, while the asymmetrical hemline added a whimsical touch. Her hair was slicked back into a high ponytail, and her makeup was pink-toned and dewy, enhancing her natural glow. She paired the dress with strappy silver heels and a small, dainty bag dangling from her shoulder.

Her hand clung to her opposite arm, feeling vulnerable as she stood before him. Harry felt his breath hitch, his lips parting as he tried to absorb how breathtaking she looked.

“Bambi…” he managed, his voice low and reverent.

Her cheeks flushed. “Is it too much?” she asked softly.

Harry stepped closer, taking her hands in his and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You look beautiful. I don’t even have the words to tell you how incredible you are.”

She ducked her head, shy like the deer he affectionately nicknamed her after. “Thank you. You look very handsome, too,” she said with a smile.

“Thank you, baby,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on her like she was the only thing in the world.

“Do you like my dress?” she asked, her voice tentative.

Harry’s hands slid to her waist, feeling the soft fabric and the gentle curve of her silhouette. “I love it.”

“I made it,” she admitted, her blush deepening.

His brows lifted in surprise. “You did?”

She nodded, and Harry was awestruck. He’d seen her sketches before—ones she had reluctantly shared after he begged—but seeing her creations come to life was something else entirely.

Harry glanced at his watch, sighing reluctantly. “We should probably get going, but first…” He pulled out his phone, aiming it at the two of them. Y/N laughed, trying to push the camera away, but eventually relented, leaning in to kiss his cheek just as he snapped the photo. His grin widened, his eyes crinkling with joy.

Taking her hand, he asked, “Do you need a jacket?” His gaze flicked to her bare arms.

“I’ll be okay, as long as the bar has heating,” she replied with a small laugh.

Harry chuckled but grabbed a jacket on their way out anyway. He knew her well enough to anticipate the moment she’d get cold but wouldn’t say a word about it.

The drive to the bar felt like it took forever, thanks to the heavy city traffic. Harry’s hand remained warm on her thigh, and she wrapped her arm around his, seeking comfort from his touch. She chewed on her bottom lip, a nervous habit she couldn’t seem to stop.

“A little,” she confessed, glancing over at him. “I just want them to like me. I’ve never had to introduce myself to anyone’s friends before... I don’t want to mess up.”

“You’ll be fine, Bambi,” Harry reassured her, his voice calm as always. He’d said it so many times already, and she knew he’d say it dozens more if she needed to hear it. “Just be yourself. That’s all you need to be.”

Y/N wouldn’t say it out loud, but the age difference between her and Harry’s friends had been weighing on her mind all evening. The nine-year gap between her and Harry had never been an issue for them—it felt inconsequential when they were together. But his friends might see it differently.

What if they thought she was too young, too inexperienced, too… immature for someone like him? Worse, what if they assumed she was with him for his success, for the money he worked so hard to earn? The mere thought made her stomach twist. She didn’t want to be judged on circumstances she couldn’t change or assumptions she couldn’t dispel.

Harry’s friends meant a lot to him, and their approval—or lack of it—would sting far more than she cared to admit.

She nodded anyway, letting out a slow breath and turning her gaze to the window. The city lights blurred outside, their glow reflecting in her eyes. Even though his words helped calm her, she still couldn’t shake the nerves.

When they pulled up to the bar, the fancy building loomed in front of them. A valet was already waiting, and Y/N couldn’t help but notice how Harry always seemed to have the luxury treatment everywhere they went. It was a reminder of how different her world was from his, but she tried not to dwell on it.

As Harry stepped out of the car, Y/N noticed the photographers waiting outside. It wasn’t a surprise, but it still made her stomach tighten. Harry wasn’t a mega-celebrity, but he was well-known enough in the business world that the occasional paparazzi was inevitable.

Harry opened the door for her, his hand gently resting on her hip as he helped her out. His arm wrapped around her, pulling her close. He kissed the top of her head, and it felt like both a reassurance for her and a subtle message to the photographers.

The bar was dimly lit and sophisticated with shiny tables and chairs with red upholstery. Live jazz music played as people chatted over glasses of wine that probably cost more than Y/N’s monthly wages had to offer. “Do you own this bar?” Y/N asked, clinging a little bit tighter to Harry’s hand. 

Harry chuckled, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Not this one,” he said, guiding Y/N toward a booth at the back of the bar. As they approached, the laughter of a group already seated at the table reached her ears. The sound was warm, familiar, like a group of people who had known each other for years.

A man with long brunette hair had his arm around a woman with similar dark hair that cascaded in waves down her shoulders. The two of them were laughing, their faces lit up in shared joy, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel a little nervous as they neared the group.

Before she could even take a deep breath, one of the men spotted them walking over. He had a rugged beard, and he stood up with a grin, his drink in hand.

“Harry!” he called out, extending his hand.

Harry gave him a knowing grin and shook his hand firmly, his other arm still wrapped around Y/N. “Mate,” he greeted warmly, pulling him into a quick hug.

Y/N watched the exchange, trying to hide the anxious flutter in her stomach. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but she knew this was an important moment for her. She hadn’t met many of Harry’s close friends yet, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that this would be a defining moment—how they reacted to her, how she’d fit in with this group that meant so much to him.

The man with the beard turned to Y/N, his eyes flickering with curiosity, and then he offered her a smile. “You must be Y/N,” he said, his tone warm and welcoming. “It’s great to finally meet you.”

Y/N smiled, a little relieved at the friendly tone in his voice. “Yeah, it’s nice to meet you too,” she replied, her nerves still there but starting to ease. “I’ve heard so much about you guys.”

Harry stood beside her, his hand still resting at the small of her back, offering her silent support as she navigated this new territory. 

The man with the beard grinned as he stepped back, giving Y/N a moment to breathe. "This is Mitch," Harry said, gesturing to the man with long brunette hair who was seated next to a woman with equally dark hair. Mitch gave her a warm, easy smile, his arm casually wrapped around Sarah’s shoulders.

"It’s great to meet you, Y/N," Mitch said, his voice easy and friendly. "Harry’s told us all about you."

Y/N’s nerves eased a little more as Mitch’s friendly demeanor helped her feel at home. "I hope it’s all good things," she said, a nervous laugh escaping her lips.

"Oh, definitely," Mitch replied, nudging Harry with his elbow and giving him a teasing grin. 

Sarah, Mitch’s girlfriend, stood up from the booth with a bright smile, her waves of dark hair catching the light. She reached out to shake Y/N’s hand, her voice warm and welcoming. “Hi! I’m Sarah. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered, but Sarah’s friendly tone immediately put her at ease. “Nice to meet you too,” she replied with a smile, trying to match Sarah’s warmth. "Harry's mentioned you guys a lot."

“Good things, I hope,” Sarah teased, winking as she sat back down beside Mitch.

Before Y/N could respond, a deep voice from the other side of the booth spoke up. “You must be Y/N,” a man with a thick beard said, “I’m Jamie.”

“It’s good to meet you,” Y/N smiled.

Jamie gave her a smile that seemed to take up half his face, his eyes twinkling with humor. "Harry’s been keeping us in the loop." He offered her a firm handshake, his grip warm. “It’s about time we met the girl who finally has him whipped.”

Finally, a woman sitting across from Jamie stood up, her presence immediately commanding attention. Alessia was striking—her short hair framed her face with confidence, and her posture was strong. She offered Y/N a small, warm smile. "I’m Alessia," she said, extending a hand. "It’s so good to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from Harry."

"Nice to meet you too," Y/N said, shaking her hand with a smile. There was something calming about Alessia’s assuredness that made Y/N feel at ease, even though she was a little more reserved than the others.

As Alessia returned to her seat, Harry’s hand still rested on Y/N’s back, a silent comfort in the midst of the introductions, as they sat in the booth next to Sarah and Mitch. His friends were exactly as he’d described—kind, welcoming, and playful. They were a perfect match for Harry and that bought a sense of relief to her. 

“Can I get you a drink?” Harry murmured to Y/N, his hand gently brushing against hers as he leaned in.

Y/N hesitated, biting her lip. She had never really drunk alcohol before—not because she didn’t want to, but simply because she never really went out drinking. Whenever she was out with her brothers, she always stuck to something safe like Coke or Sprite. She felt a little embarrassed to admit that she wasn’t sure what to order.

“Um…” She fumbled for words, feeling self-conscious. "I...I don't really know what to drink."

Harry’s smile softened, as if he understood right away. “Would you like me to pick something for you?”

Y/N felt a wave of relief wash over her. He wasn’t making her feel stupid. "Yes, please," she said gratefully, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

With a nod, Harry turned and motioned for the guys to follow him toward the bar. As they walked off, Y/N felt her nerves kick in again. She was left standing with Sarah and Alessia, the two women who already seemed so at ease with each other and the group.

Y/N suddenly felt a little out of her element. She wasn’t used to hanging out with other women in this kind of setting. With her brothers, everything was easy and casual, but this... this felt different. She was afraid that her awkwardness would be obvious, so she searched for something to say, anything to break the silence.

It didn’t take long for Sarah to sense her discomfort. She leaned forward with a welcoming smile. “Where’s your dress from? It’s gorgeous,” she asked, her voice light and friendly.

Y/N's face softened at the compliment, and she felt more at ease. “Oh, um, I actually made it,” she said, a little shy but proud. "I love fashion, so I’ve been sketching designs for a while."

Sarah’s eyes widened, impressed. “Wait, you made it? That’s amazing!” She looked at Y/N with genuine admiration. “It looks beautiful on you. I honestly thought it was something you bought from a high-end store.”

Y/N laughed softly, feeling a bit shy but happy with the compliment. “Thanks, that means a lot. I’ve kept a lot of my sketches in an old notebook, but I’ve always wanted to show them to someone.”

“I would love to see them sometime,” Sarah said enthusiastically. “I’m obsessed with fashion too. Maybe we can swap ideas sometime.”

Alessia, who had been listening with a smile, chimed in. “You’re really talented. I’m sure Harry’s lucky to have someone so creative around especially with his company.” 

“Do you guys work in fashion too?” Y/N asked, genuinely curious about the two women she’d just met.

“Just Harry, I’m afraid,” Sarah replied with a playful smile. “We all went to art school, though. Mitch and I own an art gallery together, and Jamie runs a theatre company.”

“And I design album art for artists,” Alessia added, her voice warm and casual.

Y/N’s eyes widened in genuine awe. “Wow. That’s so impressive. Is that how you all met? Through art school?”

“Yep, we were kind of the outcasts of our year group,” Sarah said with a chuckle, “so we stuck together. And look where we are now.”

Y/N smiled, feeling the closeness between the group. “That’s so cool. And... were you and Mitch together back then?”

“Oh no,” Alessia laughed, shaking her head. “Sarah and Mitch didn’t get together until after art school. It was excruciating to witness—those two pining over each other for four years and never doing anything about it.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at Alessia’s blunt description. “That sounds like a movie.”

“It kind of was,” Sarah said, laughing with her. “But it worked out in the end.”

“I bet Harry told you about us,” Alessia continued, leaning in a bit. “He told us he was bringing you tonight, and we were all nervous, actually.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows, surprised. “Really? I was nervous too.”

“Are you kidding? After Harry’s last ‘girlfriend,’” Sarah said with a playful eye-roll, “we thought we’d be meeting some bitchy gold-digger who’d be all over him, trying to separate him from us. But then we met you, and it was like, thank God—you’re nothing like that. Honestly, we’re so relieved.”

“Harry talks about you non-stop,” Alessia added with a teasing grin. “For the last month and a half, it’s been ‘Y/N this, Y/N that,’ in our group chat. It’s kind of sweet, honestly.”

“Really?” Y/N blinked, her face softening with surprise.

Sarah smiled warmly. “Yeah, don’t worry, it’s nice to hear. He deserves someone who treats him right, you know? Especially after everything he’s done for all of us.”

Alessia nodded, her expression turning a little more serious. “He got me out of some serious debt. I was on the brink of losing everything, close to being homeless... but Harry stepped in. He rented me a place, helped me get back on my feet, and even called in a favor that landed me my first real job. He’s the most caring person I know.”

Y/N’s heart warmed at Alessia’s words. This wasn’t the first time she’d heard someone speak so highly of Harry, but it never failed to move her. Hearing it from his friends, people who had seen him at his best and worst, made her realise just how deeply Harry cared about the people in his life—and just how lucky she was to be part of it. 

Soon Harry returned with the boys, sliding into the seat next to her. He placed a drink in front of her, “I got you an Aperol Spritz but if you don’t like it I can get you something else.” He told her. 

“Thank you,” She beamed up at him and took a sip of her drink. It was light and bubbly with a slight bitter yet citrusy taste. The more she drank, the more she enjoyed the taste of it.  

Harry continued conversing with his friends, and Y/N found herself enjoying the easy banter between them. It was nice to see this side of him—relaxed, almost boyish, and playful. The way his friends teased each other with such familiarity made her smile, and it felt like she was catching a glimpse of Harry’s world before she’d come into it.

She liked his friends. All of them were warm and welcoming, each with their own distinct personalities, but there was a genuine closeness that she could see. They kept her in the loop, filling in the gaps on things she might not have fully understood—like an inside joke or a shared memory—until she felt like she was beginning to grasp the dynamics between them.

Sarah and Alessia were especially attentive, constantly asking her questions and trying to learn everything about her. Y/N appreciated their curiosity and kindness. They didn’t make her feel like an outsider, instead showing genuine interest in her life and her background. 

Every so often, Y/N would catch Harry looking down at her. He’d check in on her, his gaze soft, making sure she was okay and not feeling overwhelmed. His protective instincts were clear, and she was grateful for it. He didn’t hover, but whenever he could, he’d quietly reassure her with a small smile or a squeeze of her hand under the table.

Despite the lively atmosphere, Y/N felt like she wasn’t just another guest at the table—she was part of the conversation, part of the group. And it was easy to relax into that sense of belonging as the night wore on. Even though she was still a little out of her comfort zone, she couldn’t help but feel more at ease with every passing minute, especially with Harry so nearby.

She laughed at something Sarah had said, a light, genuine sound that felt more natural than she expected. The whole night had been surprisingly fun, and for once, she was enjoying being part of something so lively, instead of shrinking back.  

“So Y/N, what’s Harry like as a boyfriend?” Jamie asked, causing Y/N to freeze in her seat.

Harry’s hand stilled from where it had been drawing invisible circles on her knee. The table seemed to pause, sensing the awkwardness in the air.

“That bad?” Jamie chuckled, trying to lighten the moment.

Y/N’s mind scrambled for the right words. She wasn’t sure how to describe their relationship—things were still new, and they had never really put a label on it beyond "dating." Her mouth felt dry as she fumbled for a response.

“U-um, we’re not— I don’t think—” Y/N stumbled, her face flushing. She didn’t know how to put it into words, not wanting to make things awkward or overthink it.

Before she could continue, Sarah quickly chimed in with a grin, “A better boyfriend than you.”

The entire table burst out laughing, and the tension in the air seemed to lift immediately. Jamie threw his hands up in mock defeat, shaking his head with a smirk.

“Alright, alright. I’ll take the loss. But I’m definitely curious now,” he said, leaning forward. “What makes Harry such a great boyfriend, then?”

Y/N glanced at Harry, meeting his eyes, which were filled with amusement but also a warmth that made her heart skip. "Yeah, Bambi, what am I like as a boyfriend?"

Her lips parted at the question. It was the first time he had referred to their relationship so openly, and the realisation hit her in a way that made her smile nervously.

“Well,” Y/N began, her voice softening as she relaxed, “he’s incredibly thoughtful. He’s always checking in on me, making sure I’m alright, and—he actually listens. He’s not the kind of guy who brushes off what I say or rushes through things. He’s really present.”

Harry’s hand slid over to hers under the table, his fingers intertwining with hers in a quiet show of support. He squeezed her hand gently, his gaze tender, saying everything without needing words.

“And he’s fun,” Y/N added with a light laugh, her nervousness easing. “He doesn’t take himself too seriously, which is honestly one of my favorite things about him.”

Harry’s smile deepened at her words, and there was something in the way he looked at her—like he was asking her a question without saying it aloud. “I love it… Being his girlfriend.” Y/N blushed but Harry’s face widened into a grin, one of his dimples appearing on his cheek. 

The group exchanged knowing glances, clearly enjoying the moment. Alessia raised her glass, her eyes twinkling.

“To Y/N, we wish you all the luck in the world for having to put up with us.” she said, toasting her with a wink.

Everyone joined in, lifting their glasses, and Y/N felt her heart swell at the way Harry’s friends rallied around them. 

. . .

Y/N hadn’t noticed how much Harry had had to drink until his head rested on her shoulder, in the middle of her conversing some more with Sarah and Alessia,  “Think I want to go home Bambi,” He murmured. Y/N pushed his droopy curls back and saw the hazy look in his eye, a lazy smile on his lip, “So pretty,” His lips puckered as he spoke. 

Y/N giggled, “How are we meant to get home silly, you drove us here.”

“Oh yeah,” Harry huffed, “I did didn’t I?”

Sarah chuckled, “We can drop you guys home on the way back to our place. We’ll just tell the valet to keep hold of his car. He can pick it up tomorrow as punishment.” 

Y/N laughed softly, nodding her thanks to Sarah. "That sounds like a good plan," she said, looking down at Harry, whose cheek was now squished adorably against her shoulder. He was humming a tune she couldn’t quite place, the sound low and soothing despite his obvious tipsiness.

Harry’s hand found hers under the table, his fingers clumsily lacing through hers. “Y’ make me the happiest Bambi. ‘M so happy y’ m’ girlfriend.” he mumbled, his words slightly slurred but unmistakably earnest.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, her heart skipping a beat. “That’s a lot of happy,”

“It is isn’t it?” Harry laughs. 

Sarah stood up, grabbing her bag. “Alright, let’s get you two lovebirds home.”

Y/N helped him to his feet. He wobbled slightly, leaning heavily against her. “You’re my favorite person ever, you know that?” he said as they made their way to the exit, his voice loud enough to draw a few amused glances from nearby tables.

“I think I’m starting to get the idea,” Y/N replied, her tone affectionate as she wrapped an arm around his waist to steady him.

“I’m hungry,” he announced loudly. “Can we get chips? Or pizza?”

“Let’s get you home first, superstar,” Mitch said, clapping him on the back and making Harry stumble slightly into Y/N.

“You’re my hero,” Harry murmured dramatically as they shuffled toward the car, his arm draped over her shoulder. “You saved me, Bambi. You’re the best.”

“You’re going to think otherwise when you see how many embarrassing photos Sarah and Alessia probably took tonight,” Y/N quipped, her laughter blending with the others’ as they piled into the car.

“Embarrassing?” Harry blinked at her, his expression mock-serious. “Never. I look good in all lighting.”

Y/N shook her head, letting out a laugh as Harry’s head found her shoulder once more. “We’ll see about that in the morning,” she said, her voice fond.

Harry let out a contented sigh. “You smell so nice,” he murmured sleepily.

Y/N giggled, smoothing her hand over his curls. “You’re ridiculous.”

As the car pulled away from the bar, Harry mumbled something about her being “too good for him” before trailing off into a soft snore. Y/N looked down at him, her heart swelling. Even in his drunken, clumsy state, he had a way of making her feel like the most important person in the world.

Once Sarah and Mitch dropped them off right at Harry’s front door, Y/N was left with the daunting task of lugging Harry to his room. He wasn’t exactly helping, his body swaying dramatically as she tried to steady him.

“Harry, you’re not making this easy,” she huffed, half-laughing as he stumbled. By some miracle, she managed to guide him to the bed, where he flopped down—half on the mattress, half on the floor.

“Mission accomplished,” she muttered under her breath, crouching down to untie his laces. But just as she reached for his shoe, he playfully kicked his foot away, his lips curling into a cheeky grin.

“C’mere, Bambi,” he murmured, his voice low and a little slurred.

Y/N stood, brushing off her knees, only to find herself being tugged down onto the bed when he grabbed her wrist. She landed on top of him with a surprised gasp, her hands braced against his chest.

“Harry!” she exclaimed softly, but he didn’t say anything, just looked up at her with those green eyes, hazy but full of something she couldn’t quite describe.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world around them seemed to blur as they gazed at each other, an unspoken connection passing between them. Harry reached up, his fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The faint smell of alcohol lingered on his breath, but his touch was steady, his expression achingly tender.

“Mean it,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “You make me the happiest.”

Y/N’s heart twisted at the sincerity in his words, her breath catching in her throat. Her lips curved into a soft smile as she cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing against his skin. “You make me the happiest too, Harry.”

Taglist~

ravenclawmarvel noididnotsignupforthis comicalivy @boomitsallie1 @hazzarules @squirreljoe @c3lline0 @harry2121 @lizsogolden @its-his-dimples @tchalametishot @youngpastafanmug @awritingtree @reidsblessing @idontcareforausernamesblog @mads3502 @cherrys4suckers @lomlolivia @tenaciousperfectionunknown malf-azx @angeldavis777 fruity-harry he6rtshaker vikiii07 hannah9921 pepperonipastas sideboobrry11 soteric-princess madelinelcl ciriceimpera angelbunny222 dutchtheatrelore tchlamqtsgf hawkinsavclub1983 ironstudentlady tpwk-harry-styles angywritesstuff hstbsl06

[1d1195]

Pucking Rookie I

~8.4k words

From me: here she is. gonna be at least one more part (probs 2) sorry. I didn't mean to do a series. I just can't shut up and I introduced too many fun characters. I don't know a lot about hockey so a lot of this is probably unrealistic.

Warnings: douchey ex-boyfriend, a little violent (it's hockey after all)

Summary: When the assistant coach's niece comes to take pictures of the team, her lens isn't the only thing capturing Harry Styles heart and soul on and off the ice. Harry wants to win her over more than he wants to win the entire league championship. (Although it would be nice to rub it in her ex's stupid face if he won that too).

The rink was chilly even with the appropriate clothes on. Despite the fact she practically lived in ice arenas for the two years, it never ceased to catch her off guard with how cold it was. To be fair, she was a lot closer to the ice this time around. Her camera pressed into the little glass cutout, her eye checking the visual before she clicked the shutter.

Quickly she pulled away as two of the guys pressed against the glass right next to her. “Hey Sweetheart,” Noah Ashford smiled briefly as he skated off in the other direction. She rolled her eyes. Uncle Charlie, assistant coach of The Arctic Chargers, warned the entire team that his niece was taking residence at the rink and would be part of media photos, headshots, and would be submitting to all major sport reporting outlets. The team was told without question, not to bother her in any way.

Naturally the group of twenty twenty-something year-old hockey players were going to do nothing of the sort.

Captain Evander Langston swished almost gracefully over to her. He stopped in front of her with a puff of ice at his feet. “Do you think I have a good side?”

She shook her head with a smirk and looked over the photos she just took in the last three minutes. “Probably not the left. You’ve been checked into the board over there about five times this practice alone.”

He put a hand on his chest. “Sweetheart, you wound me.”  Sweetheart was the name Uncle Charlie called her in front of the whole team during the introduction and so it was the only thing any of them paid attention to from their coach. “Don’t say that in front of the others,” he pleaded quietly.

“I would never, Cap,” she smiled kindly.

He returned her grin with his own. “You call me Cap, and I’m going to have a problem with Coach’s rule, Sweetheart. But I know we’re all going to like having you around to keep us in check.”

“Lang, you better not be flirting when your technique needs work!” Kian Calloway shouted across the ice where he slapped a puck into the open net from the blue line.

“You better not be flirting, period, Lang!” Uncle Charlie called.

“Yeah!” Callie repeated to his captain. She had gone over the nicknames with her uncle before starting. Lang, Asher, and Callie were easy and as some of the major stars of the team, it made sense she would chat with them most. “If anyone is going to flirt with her, it’s going to be me!”

“I’ll sit you for less, Callie,” Charlie warned.

She couldn’t help but laugh. But she didn’t mind the attention nor care. It was adorable. Like a group of puppies looking for attention. With a shake of her head, she made her way around the glass and boards for another angle of the players on the ice. She wanted shots of the goalie. Niall Horan seemed much too nice to be a hockey player but perhaps that’s why he was the goalie. He was the first one to introduce himself and he didn’t seem to have the temper that the other players did over trivial things (like tying skates together or putting salt in someone’s Gatorade). Niall blocked shots from his teammates as if it was nothing but breathing. In a way it was stunning, nearly beautiful.

Hockey was violent, yes. But there was beauty in it, too. The way players skated backwards, cupped the puck on their stick. The speed, agility, and gracefulness required to stay standing. It was all really beautiful, and she was excited to be up close this time around. For the last two or so years she had been in a box cheering for her ex-boyfriend, right forward for the Glacier Wolves, Kael Crowe.

To be completely honest, she should have known it wouldn’t have worked out. Among the cheating, the belittling, and all the other things that were, in hindsight, an abysmal part of dating him, the orange and blue coloring wasn’t her favorite. The Arctic Chargers black and silver jerseys were much more her speed. Kael was her boyfriend of years and years but once he made it to the majors three years ago, things were very different.

“You can come on the ice, Sweetheart, we’re almost done!” Asher said.

Even though she had dated a hockey player for nearly a decade (most of which took place during college) she couldn’t skate. Uncle Charlie tried when she was younger to teach her, but the balance and coordination was not in her wheelhouse. She longed to skate better. Figure skaters were so dainty and beautiful as they glided on the ice. She was neither of those things and almost dreaded getting on the ice in the boots she was wearing. If she fell in front of her uncle, it was embarrassing. She could only imagine how embarrassing it would be in front of an entire professional hockey team.

“One second!”

She wanted to prolong the agony. Plus, with her fragile camera it seemed like a death sentence to send her out there. Even if it was what she was getting paid to do. It wasn’t the most lucrative job she had, but it was what she wanted to do most. She was grateful for the opportunity and hoped it would kickstart into something more. Photography was a major passion for her. Pictures of anything. Her computer was filled with pictures of the sun and sky from the summer. Snowy days in the winter. Pictures of her parents’ dog. Her uncle’s kids on birthdays. She was the official photographer of family weddings and more. But it wasn’t steady. A lot of her post-college young life had been put on hold to dote on Kael. Something she regretted but couldn’t do anything about now.

Uncle Charlie was kind to help her out and she thought starting now was better than never starting at all.

“Styles is that you?!”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t piss yourselves in excitement,” the voice was right beside her.

“You better be fucking cleared before touching this rink,” Ray Wheeler, head coach and another surrogate uncle to her was a bit gruffer in his delivery to the players than Charlie most of the time.

The man beside her slapped his hand, paper held pressed to the glass. “Doctor-cleared for takeoff,” he called. A round of cheers went up and she snapped another picture of the excitement, ignoring the one and only Harry Styles beside her.

Harry Styles was Kael’s rival. The same draft class (although begrudgingly, Kael would admit Harry went first), and almost the same position—left forward. Fortunately, they were in different conferences, so they only ever played one another twice a season. Unless they made it to finals which hadn’t happened yet. But in her opinion, it was only a matter of time. Harry made headlines for his skill and ability, fitness, and overall dominance on the ice. He was protective of his best friend in goal—he and Niall were a pair like no other. Which meant when they did play each other, Kael knew exactly how to get under Harry’s skin.

“Who are you?” He asked.

Harry wasn’t here for her formal introduction to the team. Before she could open her mouth, Uncle Charlie was there. “That’s my niece Styles. She’s off limits so just make your way to the locker room.”

“Ah,” he smiled.

It should have been noted that in addition to skill and ability, fitness, and dominance on the ice, Harry was one of the most beautiful men she had ever seen. His eyes were green which sure as hell meant God was in fact a woman because no man would know to make Harry even more beautiful with forest green eyes. He was tall, even taller on skates. His skin glowed in a way that should have been illegal when she spent half an hour dousing her face in ten moisturizing products each night to achieve the same look and Harry spent most of his time indoors on an ice rink. Was it the chill that made his cheeks pinker? Would she get the same glow working here all season? She could only hope.

But it was that smile that did her in. His straight teeth peeking out from his lips. The dimples. The arrogance behind the expression. The pink curve of his upturned lips went right through her as he grinned at her.

“Nice t’meet you,” he held his hand out.

“Hands off!” Charlie shouted again.

Harry chuckled as she took his hand with an eyeroll introducing herself. “I’m your photo media specialist, if you will.”

“Excellent,” Harry grinned. “Let me know if y’need me t’pose a certain way,” he winked.

She shook her head and Niall skated up to the side. “Hey Sweetheart,” he said.

“Hi, baby, I missed you,” Harry answered with a grin. Niall shook his head flipping his friend off which made her giggle. Niall remained focused on her.

“Your Uncle said you might need help walking out here.”

“Oh, do we have a skating rookie on our hands?” Harry asked. Her cheeks felt hot under the assumption. Even though it was accurate.

“I suck at skating,” she shrugged. There wasn’t any use playing it off—they would know in a matter of seconds. “I get too nervous and lose my balance,” she admitted.

They both tilted their heads at her. She knew that vulnerability wasn’t something seen on the ice. It seemed almost trivial to admit, but she knew it clearly threw them for a loop. “I can walk you out,” Harry offered with that sinfully delicious smile.

“Coach said he was going to rebreak all of your fingers if you touch her."

“Oh, please let me walk you out,” Harry practically bounced with excitement.

She worried her eyes were going to remain in the back of her head from rolling them so much, but she supposed that would come with the territory with working for a group of boys. “Thank you, Niall. I should be okay. Just don’t let anyone laugh at me too much if I fall on my butt.”

“We don’t want you t’fall on such a pretty asset, Rookie. Are y’sure I can’t help?”

She ignored Harry, keeping her eyes on Niall. “No one will laugh,” he assured her, a smile toying at his lips as he slipped his helmet back on. “I offered, but she’s stubborn like you, Coach!”

The laughter that ensued was a good distraction for her to make her move. She unlocked the rink door and stepped onto the ice following behind Niall. Each step was carefully taken, knowing the traction of her winter boots were better than any other pair of shoes she owned but would never compare to the blade of skate.

Three little steps was about as far as she could go it seemed. Right as her footing was about to be lost on her and send her to the hard ice, a hand caught her elbow and kept her upright. “Rookie, love,” he tisked. “I told you I could help.”

She looked at him briefly knowing that his good looks got him any girl he wanted. She heard the rumors of the string of girls he had (perhaps one for every city he visited) and she knew of every bad thing that Kael had to say about him. But the kindness of him to catch her was sweet. Even she couldn’t deny that. Kael merely laughed each time she fell, it wasn’t mean spirited per se, but it was almost like he was glad she couldn’t skate. A way to be better than her.

God, she wished she had taken the hint a lot sooner.

Harry’s skates weren’t even tied yet. “Jus’ wait,” he said and knelt to lace them up. She had to imagine he rushed to get out here just knowing she wouldn’t make it across the ice.

Once tied, Harry held her elbow again and skated so effortlessly beside her barely moving as he glided alongside her. No one paid attention to her slow steps, and she could feel Harry’s grip firm but not hard on her arm. Almost sensing when she was going to misstep before she did. It made her heart skip a beat.

No. She couldn’t think like that. She wasn’t going to fall for another hockey player ever.

“M’teaching m’niece t’skate. I can teach you,” he shrugged. It wasn’t arrogant the way he said it. She was sure anyone else that knew she was in their mid-twenties (especially someone with a famous hockey player for an ex-boyfriend of eight years, and famous major league hockey coach for an uncle) would expect her to be able to skate. Instead, one of the top players in the league was at her elbow barely acknowledging that it was weird. Perhaps the vulnerability she mentioned to him and Niall really meant something to him. Or maybe she was just reading into it—which she definitely shouldn’t have been reading into it.

“It’s a real shame you won’t have that hand to play with after all, Harry,” Uncle Charlie shook his head.

“Don’t worry, Uncle Charlie, I can handle a group of boys,” she rolled her eyes again, earning a bout of laughter from the group. But she knew that Uncle Charlie was worried about Harry specifically. He was a lot like Kael. In another life, Harry would have been a weakness for her. But not anymore. She was done with hockey guys.

“M’jus’ making sure she doesn’t fall. Sad y’couldn’t teach her t’skate. Some uncle you are,” he shrugged casually.

The group laughed again, and she smirked. Charlie ignored the childish behavior of his players but rubbed his middle finger on his nose like he had an itch aimed for Harry “They’re all yours, Sweetheart. Just tell them where you want them. They’ve all been instructed to listen carefully unless they want to do suicides tomorrow at practice, so be honest if they don’t listen. Or lie if you see fit,” Uncle Charlie remarked making everyone groan. “Harry, go get your gear she needs individual pictures too.”

His eyes flickered to Niall for several seconds. Right as he released her arm, Niall now stood beside her and waited for direction. He didn’t hold her elbow like Harry did, but it was clear there was an unspoken message they shared telepathically. That little flutter in her chest made it’s appearance once more solely because Harry was kind to her about her inability to skate.

No, she wasn’t going to fall for it.

She wasn’t going to fall for the hot left wing of her uncle’s team just because he offered to teach her to skate and didn’t make fun of her because she couldn’t.

Nope. She wasn’t.

Not even a little.

Right?

*

The boys were decidedly sweet. Despite the fact it was like trying to wrangle a group of twenty toddlers into one spot. They sat nicely for their headshots individually, but once she tried to get them into various poses and group shots with their respective lines it proved a little more difficult. (Don’t even get her started on how the whole team shot went).

Harry stood beside her while she took pictures of everyone but him. His presence was comforting in a way she didn’t want to admit so readily. It had been less than an hour since she spoke to him. When he returned with all his gear in place, he held a small rug that the coaches often used to stand at center ice and call drills. He laid it before her feet, and she didn’t have to worry as much about falling. Niall was her test subject in front of the goal. When she wanted to get another angle, Harry scooped up the little mat and held her elbow and let her guide while he slid alongside her at a pace that was much too slow for a professional hockey player. But Harry didn’t seem to mind.

“Can I see?” He asked while the others skated around, messing around at the other end of the rink. She was now at the bench where she was safe from slipping. Harry leaned over the rail, dropping his gloves onto the wooden seat beside her. She offered her camera to him. Carefully he cradled it, like he knew it really was precious to her. Silently, he looked at the little screen. A smile grew on his face as he admired how his pictures came out. “These are awesome, Rookie.”

“Thank you,” did her cheeks feel warmer from the compliment? She smiled softly as he looked through several photos of himself. Harry Styles was lucky he didn’t have a bad side. Not that she would tell him that.

“How come y’didn’t do this for Crowe’s team?” He asked clicking through photos of his teammates.

She blinked, the smile melting from her face. “You know about me and Kael?”

“Well, yeah. S’the whole hands-off talk Coach gave us. Said you’re done with hockey players,” Harry shrugged one shoulder, his gaze focused on the lines and group shots on the screen of her camera. “Fortunately for me, I don’t consider your ex a real hockey player,” he smiled at the screen. “But I haven’t told Coach ‘bout that loophole jus’ yet.”

She snorted and shook her head. The flirty comment was cute. She could admit that. Plus, a dig at her shitty ex made her feel a little lighter. But she wasn’t going to fall for Harry’s easy-going charisma.

If she repeated it to herself enough, it would stick.

“I will not be dating real and-or imaginary hockey players,” she told him.

“At least give me a chance t’change your mind, Rookie,” he offered.

“No, thank you,” she shook her head politely. He frowned. She laughed softly. “You genuinely look down by my answer.”

“Hell yeah,” he scowled. “Y’take pretty pictures and y’wrangled this ragtag group,” he sighed almost dreamily. “And you’re absolutely beautiful t’boot.”

That made her smile, at least. He was an expert flirter. “Thank you, Harry. I appreciate that.”

“Enough t’let me take you on a date?”

“No.”

“Ugh.”

She laughed again. “Thank you for helping me around the ice,” she said graciously. “I’ll tell Uncle Charlie you were a perfect gentleman after he left.”

“Rookie, love, you’ll ruin m’reputation,” he called after her as she made her way around the rink toward the exit.

*

Her apartment was not in the nice part of town. To be fair, it was only just over the border from the nicer side. From her place she could see the bar she would be working at on the days she wouldn’t be at the rink. She hadn’t told Uncle Charlie about it because she knew he would be pissed if he saw where she lived. But it was the right price and honestly, the other tenants weren’t bad.

She suspected one of her neighbors on the first floor was... an entrepreneur... for his... small business. Michael was very wary of her at first, but she was lucky because he wore a hockey jersey the day, she met him, Callie’s number and name on the front and back. She hadn’t gone to the rink yet because she was getting a lot of her things and affairs settled. That evening she moved in, she got him tickets to a home game through her uncle (along with a dozen cookies to welcome herself to the building). To his credit, Michael looked weary that the tickets were fake, but the cookies were good. They weren’t special seats or anything, but they weren’t bad seats either. He knocked on her door the day after the game and it was clear she wasn’t going to have any issues with her neighbor. “That was cool. If you need anything, I got you,” he assured her with a grin. “That car you got, I’ll keep an eye on it for you when you’re not around... you’re too sweet to be living here.”

She smiled. “Thanks Michael.”

On the second floor lived an older couple. They kept to themselves, but she was sure to give them a dozen cookies as well and offered to shovel out their cars when it snowed. But once Michael saw her out there shoveling, he joined her as well. She brought a hockey stick autographed by the whole team for their grandson. She couldn’t wait to hear how he enjoyed that Christmas gift.

Her neighbor on the third floor just down the hall was Marcellus. He went by Marc and told her that he had a boyfriend and if she had an issue with that, it was too fucking bad. The previous tenant must have been a piece of work. She laughed at him, handed off her dozen cookies and shrugged. “If he breaks your heart, I have a team of hockey boys who can take him on,” she giggled.

So, Marc loved her too.

She wouldn’t be jogging around the neighborhood any time soon, but it was nice she wouldn’t have to worry about her car being stolen (although good luck to anyone who tried to get that piece of crap to start without a prayer), or getting robbed on her way into the building.

Inside her little studio apartment was a small kitchen. There was enough space for a small loveseat, a bed, and TV. She had a coffee table and a counter to sit at for breakfast. The bathroom was surprisingly spacious and modern for a rundown studio apartment building.

After a full day at the rink, she was chilly. A shower was just what she needed before she ventured into the cold again. Letting the hot water soothe her cold neck and back was so nice. While her hair air-dried, she transferred and then sifted through her pictures on her laptop. The edits she made were small. The lighting and shadows only needed to be adjusted a little. She loved the natural look of the of the players in their element.

She forwarded the photos to Charlie for approval, and he would send them to the higher ups for printing.

They look stunning, Sweetheart. Incredible job.

Grinning she looked over the photos she took of Harry again. He was by far the best-looking guy on the team (not that the others weren’t good-looking but alas). Even in the photos where you couldn’t see his pretty face, there was a presence that made him look more attractive. It was obvious he was a good player. His talent was evident in the photos, and she was proud of herself for being able to capture it.

There was a knock on her door. She padded quietly across the room, peeked through the peephole to see Marc, before she opened it. “Hi,” she smiled.

“You have to teach me hockey,” he said. “This man is obsessed, and I don’t even know what you call the ball.”

“Puck.”

“Exactly.” She laughed. He glanced around her apartment. “Your talents are wasted on this run-down place—holy hottie, who’s that?”

Her computer screen remained on Harry’s smiling individual photo. Dimples on full display and looking intense but happy. “That’s Harry Styles.”

“I think I’ll like hockey after all.”

Shaking her head, she sighed. “Listen, I have a shift I have to get to, but there’s a game on tomorrow afternoon, come over and we’ll watch it, and I’ll teach you,” she offered.

“Bring flashcards of the players. It’ll make me more interested.”

She tied the apron around her waist as he sifted through the photos. “God damn, is this what all hockey players look like?” He asked.

“Bye Marc,” she pulled his arm and pushed him toward her door. “See you tomorrow.”

*

The Locker Room was a local restaurant owned by Louis Tomlinson. It was a hot spot for the players to go to on off days and after a win (they refrained from going after a loss unless absolutely necessary). The fans that went were not allowed to be aggressive about the players, but after a while, they got used to seeing the players so often, it became a nice place to be themselves.

Asher and Lang were playing darts while Niall and Callie focused on a game of pool. Harry sat back sipping his beer analyzing his contacts looking for the hookup he wanted for the evening. They had curfew at midnight since there was a game tomorrow evening which left him with ample time to peruse his list, meet up with the girl, and get home by midnight before he turned into a pumpkin.

“Who’s the lucky lady tonight?” Louis asked clapping a hand on Harry’s back.

“Haven’t decided yet,” he chuckled.

“Well, when the new waitress comes over, you are not to make her uncomfortable. I already warned her.”

“I would never,” he rolled his eyes, still scanning the names.

“Uh-huh,” Louis nodded. “Of course. Tell your teammates too. She’s off limits.”

“What’s up with every new girl being off limits in our life?” Callie asked.

“Coach won’t let us date his niece and you won’t let us date the new girl,” Niall explained to Louis for clarification.

“Fortunately, it’s the same person, so you don’t have to lose out on two girls.”

Harry pulled away from his screen to admire the pretty girl he met at the rink earlier in the day. His grin grew. “Oh, Rookie, it’s you,” he cooed.

“Oh Jesus,” Louis sighed. “Watch out for that one, love,” he patted her on the back.

“So, I’ve heard,” she smiled.

“Is she ours?” Asher asked excitedly.

“As long as you don’t torture her,” Louis shrugged.

“We would never!”

“Eleanor refuses to set foot back here because of you all.”

“Hire meaner waitstaff.”

“Best of luck, love,” Louis shook his head.

“What can I get you guys?” She asked sweetly.

“Uncle Charlie doesn’t pay you enough that you have to slum it here?” Lang asked.

“I heard that!” Louis shouted.

Harry was...quite taken. From the moment he laid eyes on her. The concentration on her face as she took pictures, the way her hair was pinned up, how bundled she was. Her smile was sexy. The quips that spilt from her mouth perhaps even sexier. Harry was certain she was a dream because good things at the rink consisted of goals, interviews, and the pizza from the snack bar. Not a pretty girl with an expensive camera and his assistant coach as her uncle.

Now her hair was still pinned back, an apron tied around her waist, and the black and silver uniform as homage to his own. Harry wanted her draped in the number eleven and his name on her back ASAP.

It was cute she couldn’t skate. Cute how passionate she was on day one taking pictures. She wasn’t flustered by their rowdiness, or their annoying nature. Harry knew that she was used to hockey boys—had to be if her ex was one of the top forwards in the league (although Harry didn’t recognize that too often). He liked how she didn’t take shit from them but was still kind. She was funny, creative, and lovely.

And he only saw her in action for a short time.

But it was enough to make him put his phone away and not think about hooking up with someone tonight. His focus would be on her waiting on the team and (hopefully) getting to know her more so he could rationalize falling for someone so out of his league and someone so off limits.

“Hi Rookie, love,” Harry smiled as she approached his table. She took orders from the other four hanging around.

“Hi Harry,” she answered.

“M’happy to see you again.”

She nodded. “It’s only been a few hours, Harry.”

“S’too long t’go without seeing your pretty face,” he assured her.

She rolled her eyes, but Harry noticed how her cheeks flushed with color. “What do you want to drink?” She asked instead.

“Are you on the menu?”

“Does that work on other girls?”

“Yes.”

“It’s probably because of the hockey thing you have going on. I promise it wouldn’t work if you weren’t a professional,” she shrugged.

“Good thing m’very professional,” he continued, his voice flirty.

“I’m putting down whatever the other guys said,” she shook her head and headed off to get the drinks.

“Harry, don’t bother her. Coach said she’s off-limits,” Niall reminded him while Callie took his shot.

“Yeah, she doesn’t strike me as one-night-stand material,” Asher murmured focusing on his dart going directly into the board.

“Mmm,” Harry sighed. In the brief interaction he had with her, he kind of figured that too. In fact, given she had been with Crowe for nearly a decade, he imagined she didn’t have too much experience dating other than her ex. Not that he would force her—or any woman. Like he said they all knew what they signed up for. Harry wasn’t great at the whole relationship thing. He was constantly traveling with the team. Practice most days, games most nights. Relationships were often one-sided and tiresome. It wasn’t fair to expect someone to wait for five months of the year to have a relationship.

One-night stands were better for him.

But he could at least ask her if she was willing to try him out. God, knew he wanted to try her out the second he looked at her.

“Your drinks,” she announced setting them on Harry’s table. He eyed her as she set the drinks down from the little tray in her arm. “Do you guys want food?” She asked.

“Are you on the menu now?”

“Jesus Christ,” Lang shook his head.

“You’re embarrassing us, Styles,” Callie sighed.

“Chicken wings, you said?” She asked scribbling on the pad of paper in her hand. “Great choice. Do you want anything else?” Harry smiled, opened his mouth to speak but she turned immediately. “Not you,” she said over her shoulder and sauntered over to the pool table. Lang and Asher chuckled to themselves at Harry’s strike out.

“You’re our hero, Sweetheart,” Asher sighed dreamily.

*

When Harry was on the ice there were zero thoughts of anything but slicing up the ice with the blade of his skate. He thought about the opponent across from him. The puck sliding across the ice and into the net. Protecting Niall in goal if anyone dared to lay a hand on him.

But now when they had timeouts, or when he was waiting for the puck to come up to him, he saw the pretty girl with her camera lens pressed to the glass, or in the cut out for the press. Her little badge draped around her neck looked so cute. Everything about her was cute and dainty.

Crowe was a fucking idiot to let her go.

Which made him wonder why he chose to break up with someone so pretty and witty. Creative as well.

Fuck. Coach was going to kill him.

But she really stood her ground. In the month that she had been part of the team, she seemed damn near impervious to Harry’s flirting. Harry worked hard to make her blush (which he could see was easy) but it took a lot to make her speechless. It was obvious Crowe didn’t treat her well. It seemed like Harry’s attention to her was the only time she had been shown affection. That alone pissed him off and made him hate him more. It was like she had never been told how pretty she was. Even when Harry wasn’t actively flirting with her, when he complimented her hair or how her pictures came out, she seemed completely off-guard.

What a fucking dick.

Harry once more wondered why they broke up. He still hadn’t figured it out. There was no way she wasn’t the perfect girlfriend. Especially for a hockey player. For all the reasons Harry didn’t date, she knew precisely what she was getting into and did it anyway. But she doted on his teammates as if she was dating all of them (there was no other way to describe it.) She always had extra tape for sticks. She walked with her cross body filled with supplies for hangovers, minor injuries, and the like. When she waited on them at Louis’ place, she knew their orders and had them ready almost like clockwork for when they arrived.

“Styles!” Coach Wheeler called. “If you’re not going to practice, you can sit out!” He shouted.

Shaking his head, Harry tried to rid his mind of the team’s photographer. The coach’s niece. His pretty waitress.

The star of all his dreams as of late.

*

“Sweetheart, where do you want us?!” Lang called.

She was on the bench, waiting to take some gameday photos. Today she was wearing skates, which made Harry nervous. He knew if she went down, she would protect her precious camera and he didn’t blame her, but it he hated the thought of her getting hurt. “Just by the—” She sighed, closing her eyes mid-sentence and she put her phone to her ear. “Stop fucking calling,” she snapped and then put her phone in her pocket again. “By the goal,” she cleared her throat.

The team stared at her. “Do you have a stalker, babe?” Asher asked.

“No,” she snorted and looked at her camera. She took a test shot of the empty net to make sure everything was set. She stepped tentatively onto the ice, more graceful than the last time she did. But Harry glided over to her quickly. He didn’t touch her, but he was more than ready to catch her. She ignored his presence, not in a mean way at all. Not an ounce of her was mean. Which is why it was so surprising she had that much malice in her voice on the phone.

“Everything okay, Sweetheart?” Charlie asked.

“Yup,” she popped the ‘puh’ sound.

She slid forward very carefully. “S’kind of shooting yourself in the foot here, Rookie. Figure skates have a better blade for beginners. S’harder t’skate on hockey skates for what you’re doing.”

“Oh, I was always told a hockey blade was thicker, so it was better.”

Harry shrugged. “S’not really that big of a deal in m’opinion. Figure skates have a longer blade, better for y’balance. Charlie set y’up with those?” She shook her head.

“No,” her voice was quiet.

“You bought hockey skates on your own?”

“Can you go stand with your team?” She asked dodging his question. He frowned.

“Yeah, sorry, Rookie, love,” he skated off but whistled at his younger teammate, Garrett, the third string forward for his position. Harry tilted his head in her direction and Garrett went over to her, standing way too far away in case she did fall.

“Who got her the skates?” He mumbled to Charlie. He shrugged.

“Not sure. Probably Kael. I would imagine he got a deal from his sponsors.”

God Harry hated him.

*

Mila was someone he saw on a semi-regular basis. Which meant she knew the drill. After their win, they would do their thing. Harry would stay until she fell asleep—because he wasn���t an asshole; and he wasn’t too proud to admit that he liked cuddling. Even if it was only for a little while—and he would send a text the next day to make sure she felt okay. There was no breakfast, no awkward small talk. Just sex. There was no setup to get feelings hurt or hearts broken. Harry was too busy for a girlfriend, and he would make for a shitty boyfriend.

It was cold when he left her place, and he blew into his hands for warmth when he as he headed to his car. There was a text on his phone from an unknown number.

Thought you would want to see the picture that’s on the front page of the sports section for tomorrow :) There was an impressive picture of Harry’s game winning goal. It wasn’t time sensitive but it was the one that broke the tie. The rest of the team held off the offensive line for the remaining ten minutes of the game.

Thanks, Rookie. I’m going to send it to Mum. She’ll print it for the fridge. How’d you get my number?

Kian gave it to me. Is that alright?

Who?

Callie 🙄 You should really learn your friends’ names. Is it okay I have your number?

Of course it’s alright. Just surprised YOU asked for it. Didn’t know you would want to talk to me so bad. You could have asked me yourself.

Sorry, I think have the wrong number.

He chuckled to himself while his car warmed up. The seat heater was heaven on his stiff muscles. Harry liked the cold—he had to being a hockey player. But it was her funny wit that warmed him from the inside out. Are you all still at Louis’?

Yes. Niall and Noah are about to break the air hockey machine.

Who?

🙄 Asher. Sorry. Jesus.

I’ll be right there, Rookie.

*

The next time the team won, Harry looked at the message from Layla asking if he wanted to come over to celebrate. He didn’t really want to. The guys were headed home because they had an early flight and there was no celebrating. Which meant that the pretty girl he wanted to celebrate with wasn’t going to be out and about either. She wouldn’t be doting on his drunk teammates. Wouldn’t be stopping their stupid fights about who’s turn it was to play her in darts. She wouldn’t be making sure they all made it home safely in the Ubers she ordered.

But Harry couldn’t just hang out with her either. There was no reason. She was basically his teammate and he couldn’t figure why she was so guarded. At least not beyond whatever it was she was dealing with Crowe.

“Is he still calling?” Niall asked looking at her phone the bench while she looked at her camera. Her hair always fell so perfectly as she watched the screen.

“Who?” Lang asked.

She sighed. “It’s just Kael.”

“Why?” Callie asked.

She shrugged. “I would have to answer to find out. Which is the last thing I want to do. I need a new phone number; I just haven’t gotten around to it. My schedule conflicts with most regular business hours so I could go to the store.”

“Charlie, you can’t spare her to give her a day off?” Asher asked.

Her uncle rolled his eyes, flipped him off, and continued practicing with the second and third stringers.

Harry sat beside her and peeked over her shoulder at her photos. “Do y’have any non-hockey photos?” She nodded and picked up her phone that was still showing Crowe blowing up her phone with calls and texts. “Why don’t y’block him, Rookie?” She swiped his notification away and she opened the web browser. It was currently on a recipe for carrot cake cupcakes. “Those look good,” he smiled.

She smirked. “It’s Ray’s birthday next week. Carrot cake is his favorite. Figured I’d make you all cupcakes.”

Harry thought she was too sweet for him. Someone with a lineup of women didn’t deserve her sweetness. Someone who was meeting Arya at her place after practice because he could didn’t get a girl like her. Him meeting Nyla after tomorrow’s away game three states away didn’t get someone like the pretty photographer.

Kael’s name kept popping up. “Y’probably never had t’block anybody before,” Harry said quietly. “D’you know how?” He hoped he didn’t sound condescending. But he had the unfortunate pleasure of blocking someone every now and again.

“I know how,” she laughed softly. “It’s just... with Kael, it’s likely to be a thing, you know?” She shrugged. “It’s easier to ignore him.”

“It probably gives him hope,” Harry frowned.

She held out her phone to him and shrugged. “That’s not my problem. I’ll see him in a couple weeks when we’re up North,” she reminded him. “Hopefully by then he’ll get the message; or I’ll have to talk to him in person.”

Harry took her phone and admired the portfolio of photos she displayed for him. The website was all black making her images pop. She was so talented. There were babies and weddings. There were family portraits and just general landscape shots. All of differing but equal beauty and perfection. Natural. Lovely.

Harry swiped away Kael’s name again and clicked on the menu item of the about section.

Two side by side pictures of the pretty girl next to him were on the screen. One with the camera in front of her eye, the other a sweet smile on her face camera in front of her like a prop. Behind the Lens... Thank you for browsing. If you like what you see, I’d be happy to quote you for any need. I have experience in just about any area of photographing. Thank you for letting me part of you day!

Too sweet for someone who was going to never be able to settle down because of his job. No matter how much he wished she could be part of his day.

Kael’s stupid name popped up again. Without another rational thought, Harry answered the call, pressed the phone to his ear, and skated off knowing she couldn’t go after him.

“Finally, baby,” Kael groaned.

“STYLES HOW DARE YOU!” She screamed.

“Crowe, nice t’hear from you.”

“Who the fuck is this?” He growled.

“HARRY!” She was on the ice in her ever-present boots. They weren’t great for walking on ice. She slipped immediately but Lang was right nearby to help her up. Harry was going to feel guilty about that for ages.

“None of your business,” he shook his head. “She doesn’t want y’calling anymore.”

“What the fuck? Put her on the phone!”

“No,” Harry said defiantly. “She doesn’t want t’talk t’you. Ever. Stop calling y’piece of shit.”

Lang looked at Harry wildly as he glided with the pretty girl clutching to his arm. She smacked Harry multiple times on the arm and chest making the coaches laugh. “Give me the phone!” She snapped.

“Give her the phone!” He repeated. “Listen to her!”

“No, y’don’t deserve her,” Harry stepped out of her reach where she lost her balance as she lunged for him. She fell again catching her hands. Thank God she didn’t have her camera. Lang helped her to her feet again and Harry felt a wave of guilt wash over him again. “Y’didn’t appreciate her, her talent, or anything. Y’didn’t get her the right skates, and I don’t know what y’did t’piss her off so bad, but y’not getting her back,” Harry said it so casually. But every word was meant for her.

“Is that you, Styles?” Crowe snarled.

“Bye Crowe, see you in a month!” He said cheerily handing the phone off to her.

She nearly fell again despite holding onto Lang. “What the hell, Harry!”

“I got rid of him,” he shrugged. “You’re welcome.”

Her face was beat red with embarrassment. Her hands had to be cold from the fall. But she still looked adorable as always. Even with a sour expression, she was sweet. Pretty beyond belief. Wide eyes, soft skin, even her nose was cute. She glared at him and spun on her heel. “Get me away from him,” she snapped.

Harry sighed, feeling bummed he pissed her off too much. Lang shook his head at Harry as he helped her back to the bench. She packed up her things and left.

But he couldn’t help but notice that her phone had stopped ringing.

*

She was still mad at him a week later. If she ignored his flirting before, this was an entire new level. She hardly acknowledged his presence. He missed her. In a weird way. He enjoyed bugging her, but perhaps it went to far. It was an invasion of her personal life that he wasn’t privy to, and he didn’t really have any right to deal with her ex-boyfriend.

That didn’t mean anything he said wasn’t anything but the truth.

“Hey Rookie,” he said as she entered the room to get their drink orders for the evening.

“Hi everybody,” she grinned at everyone in turn and glared at Harry.

“Boy you pissed her off,” Niall chuckled.

He shrugged. “Worth it,” because it was. He hated Kael before, he hoped he got the clue.

“You know she had to talk to him, right?” Callie asked. Harry’s head snapped up from his phone screen looking at his contacts once more. Harry wasn’t sure he could pinpoint it exactly but his evenings with the women in his phone were leaving him less and less fulfilled. He wasn’t looking for any grand pronouncements of love. That wasn’t his thing. But the idea of spending the evening with someone didn’t give him the same excitement as it used to.

It was probably the day he met her. But it was sinking in more over the week she had barely spoken to him. “What do y’mean?” He frowned.

“Crowe? She had to talk to him after that stunt you pulled.”

Harry glowered at the table. “Why?”

“Because he wouldn’t stop blowing up her phone and he was threatening to come to her if she didn’t just talk to him. Why do you think she didn’t come with us on the plane the next day?”

Harry felt like a jerk. “Oh.”

“She hates you,” Asher reminded him.

He rolled his eyes. “She could have told one of us,” he mumbled. Harry would have sat outside her apartment waiting for him.

“I don’t know if you noticed Harry, but she’s pretty private,” Niall sighed leaning on his pool stick. “I know you meant well, but it kind of fucked up her day.”

Harry pouted. He met her gaze as she brought their drinks out.

And if she spilled Harry’s on him, well, he supposed he deserved that.

*

Harry was a great hockey player, a great friend. A great brother and son. Not to toot his own horn but he thought he truly was the World’s Best Uncle like it said on the T-shirt Gemma had got him when she told him she was pregnant. He was still pretty humble all things considered; always looking to improve. Coach Wheeler was one of his favorite mentors (right after his mum) and he strived to do better by them.

He was bad at Chemistry in school. He wasn’t good at Sudoku. Most recently he felt like he was bad at having sex. The thing he had going with the women he knew didn’t seem to be working for him the way it used to. There was an awkwardness to the hookups when he left. He wasn’t mentally present in the moment.

Harry was pretty certain he would be a shitty boyfriend.

He needed her forgiveness, or the other remaining areas of his life were going to get worse too.

Most notably, he was shit in practice. He worried he was going to be demoted to second string.

Harry arrived early to practice, putting goals in the net two hours before everyone else arrived. He would have to pay to resurface the ice twenty minutes before practice officially started. But he hoped that she was going to show up early with her carrot cake cupcakes. He anticipated she would be just one short. Which Harry deserved on top of everything else too.

Fortunately, she did arrive early.

“Hey,” he waved.

She ignored him, set the cupcakes down on the bench and pulled out her camera. She fiddled with it, wiping the lens off with a cloth, and took some test shots of the ice.

“Rookie, love,” he sighed and skated over to the bench.

“Yes, Mr. Styles? Can I help you?”

“C’mon, Rookie, I’m sorry,” he frowned. “I was just trying to help.”

She rolled her eyes and ignored him. “You must get whatever you want all the time.”

He frowned. “No, I don’t actually,” although from her perspective he could see what she meant.

“Well, me either, so if I’m going to be miserable. So are you.”

He snorted, shook his head. He stepped off the ice and sat on the bench beside her. “I’m sorry, Bunny. Really. I hated that he was bothering you. I didn’t mean t’make it worse, honest. I would have done the same for m’sister or any one of the guys’ girls.”

“I am an adult Harry. I’m independent and I can handle my own shit. You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I understand. M’sorry, really. I won’t do it again. But m’sick of y’being mad at me. S’been no fun this week without skating you around, grossly overtipping you jus’ so you’ll spend extra time with us,” he smiled shyly at her.

She sucked her lip into her mouth. For a moment she looked at her lap, obviously thinking something over. “How’d you know he bought me the wrong skates?” Her voice was quiet.

Harry blinked wondering how long she had that question locked and loaded. He shrugged. “I asked Charlie. He said he didn’t. So, I assumed it had to be him.”

She sighed and looked up. “He said figure skates would make me look like try-hard. Hockey skates would make me look more like I belonged on his arm,” she explained. “I didn’t know. I would have...” she shook her head. “It was eye-opening when you said that, and it hurt... and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry too.”

Harry sighed with relief. “You don’t have t’apologize,” he promised. “I’m sorry. Seriously.”

“Apology accepted.”

Harry grabbed her shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Thanks Bunny.”

She wrinkled her nose at him in distaste. “I don’t like Bunny.”

“Oh...” his smile grew by the second. “Y’don’t Rookie, love?” He chuckled standing up and getting back on the ice. “Y’probably shouldn’t have told me that,” he winked and skated off.

“There’s no cupcake for you!” She called.

“That’s okay, Bunny!” He shouted back with a grin and sank a shot from half-ice.

Maybe Harry would be a shitty boyfriend, but he was going to be her best friend instead.

--

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

@straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals

@angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams

@summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland

@lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles

@tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter

@kissitnhekitchen @boopookie @babegoals @indierockgirrl @michellekstyles

@just-another-reader1098 @hermionelove @tiredinwinter @whimsy-willows @hannah9921

@fangirl7060 @triski73 @vikiii07 @prettygurl-2009 @mads3502

@angeldavis777 @tchlamqtsgf @lizsogolden @me-undiscovered @you-sunshine

@rose-girls-world @claimingharrystigertattoo @inlikea-coolway @theseaview @lunaharrygurl

@emmie2308 @fruity-harry @somebunnybaby @avas-queen-black @mema10

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist here

[narrycherries]

(1) how’s one to know..

harry is just an ass and she is just a stranger — series introduction, bit of angst (8.6k)

(2) an incandescent glow

She just wanted to have a fun night out, but Harry has a tendency to ruin things.. — angst and sadness filled (10.9k)

(3) putting roots in my dreamland

Despite wishing he didn’t exist, she had no choice but to be around him.. — short but necessary angst for the story (8.4k)

(4) and now I’m covered in you..

She can’t seem to keep herself out of trouble and it irritates him more than it should. — a scary situation creates a lot of conflicting thoughts for both characters.. angst (14.3k)

(5) magnificently cursed

She can’t seem to ignore him and he’s rather observant of her.. - angst, little dramatic incident (11.4k)

(6) clover blooms in the fields

She needs help and he just so happens to be the only one available.. - little angst, more fluff (tw: does mention surgical procedures) (12.3k)

(7) crescent moon, coast is clear

She was struggling to let go of her worrying thoughts, but he was determined to help her through it. — there’s some angst & fluff (15.2k)

(8) he’s gonna burn this house to the ground

He has added insult to injury and she gives him one chance to make it right. — bit of angst lots of fluff and dialogue (17.5k)

(9) for moments that we stole

She was trying to figure out how to understand her own body, and he was attempting to help as much as he could.. — includes fluff, angst, hints of smut but not smut, & jealously.. (29.7k)

(10) on begged and borrowed time

She builds up her confidence and he takes care of, just as he promised he would.. — fluff, angst, and finally smut (26.7k)

(11) so tell me to run

He lies too easily to her at times, and she always seems to believe him.. — little bit of smut but mostly angst maybe it’s dramatic maybe not (13k)

(12) watch what we’ll become

She can't get over him and he finally does the right thing. — angst, smut (20.7k)

(13) my house of stone, your ivy grows

He works hard to change his ways and she maintains her patience. After all the hardships, it seems they have figured out how to love each other. — slight angst, smut. the final official update (14.7k)

this series is loosely inspired by the song “ivy” by taylor swift

more pics // more pics (2) // more pics (3)

part 8 teaser post (with photos)

part 9 teaser post (with photos)

part 10 teaser post (with photos)

part 11 teaser post (with photos) extra photos

extra photos 2

part 12 teaser post (with photos)

part 13 teaser post (with photos)

‧₊˚ playlist ‧₊˚

(just a few songs that inspired this series & what I listen to while writing it :: these are my music preferences so if you don’t like them.. don’t listen) •••slight spoilers so be aware/you can skip over this•••

ivy - taylor swift

lie to girls - sabrina carpenter

my boy only breaks his favorite toys - taylor swift

norman fucking rockwell- lana del rey

right now - one direction

souvenir - selena gomez

something in the way - nirvana

fine line - harry styles

guilty as sin - taylor swift

cinnamon girl - lana del rey

brain stew- greenday

the next best american record - lana del rey

dancing with our hands tied - taylor swift

lips of an angel - hinder

tonight - zayn

meet me in the hallway - harry styles

small talk - niall horan

iris - goo goo dolls

so it goes - taylor swift

stay over - tove lo

love is a wild thing - kacey musgraves

false god - taylor swift

little freak - harry styles

crimson and clover - joan jett (& the blackhearts)

I can fix him (no really I can) - taylor swift

get stoned - hinder

angel - kacey musgraves

there you are - zayn

nobody gets me - sza

alone - heart

cardigan - taylor swift

lover of mine - 5sos

mateo- tove lo

strong - one direction

[purplecoffee13]

Miss Possessive*

Summary: “You’ve been dating the ice hockey team captain for a while now, and while you’ve gotten used to his popularity, you can’t keep yourself from getting jealous at all the attention he’s getting at his house party…”

Tropes: ice hockey player!harry x medical student!y/n

Wc: 5k

Warnings: SMUT, possessiveness (surprise surprise), chok!ng, dirty talk, exh!bitionism (if you squint), overst!mulation and some angst and then some fluff at the end😊

A/N: hi y’all! I got two things to say!

1. I wrote this one-shot based off the song miss possessive by Tate McRae and this tiktok I saw of the hottest things guys can say in bed, and I incorporated all of them😈. Screenshot of the tiktok below:

LMAO, anyways…

2. I’m thinking of making more parts to this, like how they met and stuff, so let me know if that’s something you’d like!

Okay happy reading!!!

Oh here’s my general masterlist

Harry has been your boyfriend for almost two months now. It's so nerve wracking, but also the most fun you think you've ever had.

God... to think you found him such a pain in the ads when you first met him. The version of yourself that you were five months ago would be straight up laughing at you if she'd see you now. But then again, that version doesn't know what you know now.

Life works in miraculous ways. If Harry hadn't been one of the athletes you'd been paired up with for your assignment, you probably would've never talked to him. And if his physical exam results hadn't forced you to check up on him afterwards, you probably would've never ended up dating him.

So, despite the result being a bit negative, the positive thing is that you had to talk to him one more time, otherwise you would've never fallen in love the way you have now.

You also never would've been at a house party off campus organized by the ice hockey team.

You'd never been before, but Harry really wanted you to experience it at least once. Besides, it was his last year playing for this team, and as captain he had to be present for team bonding activities.

It wasn't like you didn't like to party, you just ran in different crowds before. It just so happened to be that you didn't attend the same parties as the student athletes. You usually found yourself more with the IT and Engineering people, who seemed to have a very strong opinion on the people who were more athletically inclined. You never shared that same opinion, not liking judgment all too much. Besides, any analyzing of athletes on your part usually involved a lot of gawking and not a lot of talking. You couldn't help it, you've always liked muscles.

Lucky for you, Harry is not short of them. Something you have found other people also tend to notice.

You're not entirely sure if it's your insecurities or the result of being an only child, but you've never particularly liked sharing what's yours. Harry had a blast with that fact when he found out, stating it was 'hot as fuck' that you were so possessive of him. While that's all fun and games, it's a little less nice when your boyfriend happens to look like he was shaped by a skilled group of greek gods.

It's why you were hesitant about this party tonight. Harry warned you that there's always puck bunnies at their parties, mostly because the single guys like to invite them.

The other day, you kind of had an argument about your possessiveness when you glared down a girl from his class that he had to do an assignment with. He ended up having to switch partners because the girl suddenly didn't want to work with him anymore. He got mad at you, telling you that you needed to get it in your head that he was yours, and that he didn't want anyone else.

You felt incredibly guilty, more towards him than to towards the girl, which was something you would unpack in therapy a week from now. You apologized and he forgave you immediately, because Harry hates to fight. But it does make you feel a bit queasy about tonight, because if there's going to be girls staring at him all night, you'll have to put a damper on your temper, which might be impossible if you've consumed alcohol. It always gets worse after a few drinks.

Doing some final touch ups in front of Harry's bathroom mirror, you give yourself a silent pep-talk. You won't do anything, unless they actively flirt with him. That'll give you enough grounds to play the jealous girlfriend card without it resulting in a huge fight.

The first hour of the party goes by pretty fast, and you've done surprisingly well so far. About five girls have walked up to Harry and struck up a conversation with him—not acting doesn't mean not observing—but he's handled it perfectly so far. You've talked about boundaries in the months that you've been dating, and he respects every single one of them.

You have to admit that you're a bit bummed out that you don't know many people here. Sure, you know Harry's teammates, but they're busy with other friends or people they're trying to hook up with. You're not going to be the annoying girlfriend and bother them while they're trying to get laid.

To be honest, you kind of miss Harry, despite the fact that he's in the same house. Then again, you knew he was going to know a lot of people here. You decide you'll find him and stick by his side as soon as you finish your drink.

You're still assuring yourself you're going to be fine tonight when a blonde girl with bright blue eyes appears from behind Harry and grabs onto his arm. You lean towards Connor, Harry's teammate, who's sitting next to you on the couch.

"Who's that?" You ask. Connor looks over at the pair and lets out an exasperated sigh.

"Sydney." He answers. "Why doesn't she ever talk to me..."

You look at the boy next to you who is now slumped in his seat and staring over at the blonde girl with the tiny figure with wide eyes, and suddenly your stomach turns.

"Hey." Dan, Harry's other teammate suddenly appears in front of you. "You okay?"

You don't answer, your eyes traveling to Harry who— isn't there anymore. Seeing red, you down your drink in one go. Dan is about to say something, but you push him to the side and walk towards the spot where your boyfriend was five seconds ago. Frantically looking around, you feel some sort of relief when you spot your boyfriend, but it quickly burns to rage when you see he's still talking to that girl.

Your blood is close to boiling as you march over to where Harry and that girl are talking. He doesn't seem to notice you nearing, and your organs twist when you see him chuckle at whatever the girl in front of him said. You can see she's reaching for his arm, stepping closer to him. You're next to him in a millisecond.

"Hi." You say, announcing your presence to your boyfriend as if he didn't already feel it two seconds before. The girl has retracted her arm by now, which is good because if she didn't you would've cut it off with the nearest kitchen knife.

Harry senses your mood, because he immediately wraps his arm around your waist to calm you down.

"Hey babe."

"You two having fun?" You quirk up an eyebrow, crossing your arms, not even glancing at the girl once. You swear you see a hint of a smirk on Harry's face before it fades away.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom." The girl announces, clearly sensing an awkward situation on the horizon.

"Bye!" You chirp, still not taking your eyes off your boyfriend. He doesn't seem all too pleased with you, but you don't care because it's not like you can't say the same thing for him.

"What are you doing?" Harry asks once the girl has left the kitchen. He looks genuinely confused and somehow it pisses you off even more.

"I don't know, what are you doing?"

"Are you jealous or something?" He asks, taking a sip of his coke and bacardi. You let your eyes wander down his body, his gaze suddenly feeling quite heavy.

"She was hitting on you."

"We hadn't even started a conversation!" He responds.

"Well— she was trying to hit on you." You huff, because it's true. You know body language and you know girls, and you guess it's fine she couldn't have known that Harry isn't single, but that didn't mean you wouldn't just let her find that out herself.

Harry scoffs, and you're quick to look up at him. Your brow creases as you watch him shake his head in what appears to be disbelief.

"You know you don't have to do all of that." He says, and you can tell he's irritated. You try to control your breathing, trying not to let it waver from the turbulence you're feeling in your body. "Thought we agreed to talk about it."

That sends you over the edge for some reason. Partly, you know he's right. There is nothing for you to worry about. But for him to say it in this way, at this moment? It's so hypocritical.

"Talk? How? I thought I was going to have fun at a party with my boyfriend, but you've ditched me from the moment we stepped into this party." You bite back, and you can tell he didn't expect it, nor does he agree with what you're saying.

"What are you talking about? I told you I would probably run into a lot of people tonight."

"Yeah but you could've at least taken me along with you, couldn't you?" You frown at him. Harry stays silent, but when you try to slide past him to walk away, he grips your arm and stops you in your tracks.

"So, this is about you not getting enough attention?" He growls so lowly that it's almost a whisper, his eyes checking his surroundings to see if no one can tell that you're fighting. It rubs you the wrong way that he's annoyed with you right now, so you decide to get your claws out.

"Oh don't worry about me getting attention." You say slowly before shaking loose of his arm and walking back to the couch.

"Hey." Dan greets you when you appear again, standing up and gesturing for you to sit on the couch again. You thank him and sit down, letting out a sigh.

"What happened? Are you okay?" He asks again, and this time you answer.

"I'm fine." You brush it off because you don't want him to know the content of you and Harry's disagreements. You're a private person, and it's none of his business anyway.

"Is it because of Sydney?" Dan questions anyway. You look up at the guy next to you, a frown on your face. He shakes his head, throwing his hands up. "No, I'm just saying— if it is about her, I get it. Not the first relationship she's tried to fuck up."

Your eyes go wide, and your throat clamps up. Was your gut feeling right?

No.

You slowly shake your head, ridding yourself of that intrusive thought because just thinking it felt unfair and wrong. Harry would never do that to you, nor did he ever give you a reason to.

"That's a shitty thing of you to say." You say, getting up from your seat and heading for the stairs. This party suddenly has a bitter taste to it, and it's frustrating that you have yourself to blame for that.

You quickly do your business, but you stay in the bathroom unnecessarily long, fixing some of your make-up and your hair as a way to stall going back downstairs. After ten minutes of procrastinating you figure you've officially been here too long and it's time to get back to the party. You swing the door open and enter Harry's room.

You shriek when you see your boyfriend sitting on his bed. With your hand clutched to your chest, you let out a deep breath.

"Jesus fuck! You scared me. I didn't see—"

But Harry's already charging towards you, and before you can finish your sentence he's got you with your back against the bathroom door and his hand wrapped around your neck. You're stunned to silence.

"Is this what you wanted?" Harry asks, tightening his grip. Your mouth is going dry, and your heart rate picks up even more when you see his dark, lust-filled eyes. To the untrained eye you would think he was possessed by some feral animal, but you knew this is how Harry gets, and it's especially how you like him to get; unapologetically rough.

A slight smirk grows on Harry's face when you don't answer his question, just bucking your hips forward instead.

"What happened to all that attitude, sweet girl?" He asks as he strokes your neck with his thumb. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel his free hand roaming down your stomach and towards your inner thighs. When his fingers suddenly stop tracing, your eyes shoot back open again. He acts surprised, his brows a bit raised and his eyes slightly widened, but you know he's enjoying the hell out of this.

You whine incoherently, easily giving into to the role he wants you to play. You have no problem doing it, especially knowing what's going to follow when he gets like this.

"Hm?" He hums innocently, his hand traveling to your ass and squeezing it before he pushes your heat against his crotch. "Use your words."

You gasp at the contact with his body. Even after being together for a year, you're still so hungry for his touch every time. In fact, it feels like it's only magnified since you've been in a relationship. "Please..."

"Please what? Tell me what you want." He tuts you, his hand loosening on your neck and sliding over your chest a bit.

"Please touch me." You say in hushed tone, pushing yourself against him again. You can feel he's hard as well, but he's actually composed. You never understand how he doesn't fall apart in these kinds of situations, his self control is astonishing.

"Where?"

"W— what?" You breathe out. Why is he making this so unnecessarily hard?

"Take my hand where you want it." He demands, although the way he brings it might lead one to think it's a suggestion. Then again, you know your boyfriend; it's an order.

So, you do as he says and lead his hand from your ass to your pussy, pressing his finger against your clit. It's all Harry needs, the gentle direction, before he goes to work with his fingers. He rubs them over your panties, soaking them with each movement. You let out an impatient whine, the friction bringing so much stimulation and still it’s not enough. Harry laughs.

"So wet for me baby. Is this what I've been neglecting all night?" He asks sweetly, pulling down your panties until they fall to your ankles. The sounds of your drenched pussy filling the room is almost embarrassing, would it not be so fucking hot.

"Yes..." you say stubbornly, biting your lip to prevent yourself from moaning too loudly, which miserably fails when he slides one of his long fingers into you. "Oh..!"

"Could've just said you wanted me to take care of this." He goes on, a certain nonchalance to his tone that makes you go weak in the knees. His tone makes it seem like he isn't currently bringing his girlfriend dangerously close to an orgasm in a minimum amount of time. "Didn't have to run t'my teammates, now did you?"

You shake your head at his question when he slips in another finger. You've gotten used to the size of his fingers, but the harsh way he's thrusting them into you right now does somewhat hurt. He is punishing you by going rougher than usual, and the sole thought of that makes the pain melt away.

"Think I deserve an apology for that, don't you?" He says, slowing down his movements on purpose to get you riled up. He knows you want to come.

"I deserve an apology too." You say breathlessly, standing your ground despite the weak position he has you in. Harry raises a brow.

"Well I'm making it up to you now, aren't I?"

You're about to respond to that when Harry silences you by increasing the speed with which his fingers drive into you. Your jaw is slack as you feel the bubble in your lower stomach growing, especially as the heel of his palm continuously slaps against your clit. Your eyes are closed, so you don't notice Harry leaning in until you feel his hot breath fan against your ear.

"Apologize, and I'll let you come." He says, not slowing himself down in any way whatsoever. But you know your traitorous body by now, and you know how it always waits for Harry's permission to explode. It's as if he's in possession of a red button, and only when he presses it, it goes off.

"S—sorry..." you say, but it's barely comprehensible. You're beginning to fall apart.

"What was that, baby?" Harry's condescending tone matches his wicked grin as he waits for you to articulate yourself better.

"I'm sorry!" You sputter out, that explosion feeling awfully close by now. You throw your head back, holding onto the door knob for a bit of support.

"For?" He goes the extra mile, and you could kill him would you not be on the brink of death right now yourself.

"F—for being jealous." You cry out, your other hand quickly grabbing onto Harry's arm before your knees can buckle. He is quick to wrap his free arm around your waist to keep you upright.

"Good girl." He breathes out, his fingers soaked as they pound into you. You finally begin to explode. "You can come now. There you go, nothing to be jealous of. I'll always make you come baby... no one else."

Your cries are downright pathetic as you come around Harry's fingers, and as you ride out your release, you realize your mind is all foggy. You can't really comprehend Harry leading you to his bed and laying you down on it. The only thing you know is that he hasn't stopped moving his fingers.

"Harry..!" You croak out before you cut yourself off with a loud moan the moment that his tongue starts to suck at your clit. You begin to squirm, trying to get away from the sensitivity, but your boyfriend won't let you.

"N—no...oh!" It's hard to get a word out with him working on you so roughly. The sounds of his mouth and his fingers are extremely vulgar and equally the most arousing thing you've ever heard. "Harry I'm too— no!"

Your boyfriend keeps his pace despite your attempts to make him stop. You gasp when he takes his tongue off your clit for a split second. You look down at him, his chin glistening in your arousal.

"Beg for it." He commands, and attaches his tongue to your clit again.

Like a mindless fool, something switches inside you, and despite the uncomfortable sensitivity of your pussy, you find yourself begging for it, for him.

"Please, please, make me come!" You shout, and Harry really takes your begging to heart, because he adds even more pressure to your clit. And just like that, you explode again.

Despite having your eyes shut, you swear you're seeing the light as you convulse around your boyfriend's fingers. You can't control anything. The volume of your moans, the way your body spasms, or the amount of liquid that releases from your pussy.

Your cheeks are flushed and your ears are ringing by the time you open your eyes again. You look at Harry with tired shock in your eyes, but he just looks amazed.

"Fuck, I've never made you squirt before." He says, eyes flicking from you to the mess you made under him. He looks incredibly proud, which nicely compensates for the sheer embarrassment that has washed over your body.

He leans over you, whispering for you to look at him. You obey him sheepishly. The hint of a smile on his face is gentle now, and as soft as the thumb that sweep the lingering tear from your cheeks. He places a kiss on your nose, telling you you did good without saying anything at all.

"D'you need a minute baby?" He asks sweetly, but you're sure he must know you well enough by now to know what your answer is to that. You immediately shake your head. He smiles, fully this time. "No? You're ready to take me already?"

You nod frantically, and Harry chuckles as he unbuckles his pants and pulls out his cock. The sole sight of him makes your cunt ache to be filled up, and you find yourself moving towards him to hurry up the process.

"Aw, look how needy you are... already squirming and I haven't even been inside you yet." He tilts his head like the mean guy he is. You frown at your sadistic boyfriend, not saying anything. Instead, you buck your hips and hope your glistening pussy will speak for you.

It does, because Harry is quick to line up his cock with your entrance. However, instead of just entering you, he drags his tip over your slick folds, wetting his tip even more. You move your hips a couple of times, hoping it'll make his cock slide in by accident or something, but you have no luck.

"Harry!" You whine. "Please..."

The smirk on his face has turned evil once again as he drags his tip from your clit to your entrance.

"Poor baby..." He says in the most condescending tone that you clench around nothing. You swear you could come solely from that specific tone of his voice. "You getting frustrated?"

"Yes." You're swift to answer. "Please, I need it so bad..."

"Oh yeah?" He teases, pushing into you, but just the tip. You gasp at the crumbs you're getting, moaning in agreement.

"Yes! Please, more Harry, give me more." You try to convince him. He is painfully hard right now, so you know he's bound to give in sooner or later. It appears to be sooner, because with a moan, he pushes himself entirely into you.

You lose your breath as he fills you up all the way, getting more and more knocked out of you as he starts to set a pace. You can do nothing but cry out as he drives himself into your tight cunt, the sound of his groans making you even wetter.

He leans back a bit, observing you from above as he fucks you. Your tits are nearly bouncing out of your bra from all the movement, and your mouth doesn't do anything other than let out desperate moans as you let your boyfriend wreck your pussy. He relishes the sight.

"Taking it so well, baby." He breathes, pressing down on your lower stomach. "Can you feel that? Can you feel me?"

"Y—yeah! Oh my god..." Your eyes roll into the back of your head at the added pressure. Harry curses under his breath.

"God, if you could see yourself... You look so pretty for me right now." He mutters, his thrusts slowing slightly. You're lost in your pleasure, but you immediately notice when Harry's pulled out. Your head snaps towards him, confused as he pulls at your arm.

He doesn't say anything, just leads you to the bathroom. You're still a bit lost as to what is happening when he places your hands on the counter and forces you to bend over. You know what you're in for by the time he stands behind you.

"Watch yourself." He demands before pushing right back into and continuing the speedy pace he had before. Your strangled moans are hardly louder than the sound of skin slapping that echoes the bathroom. You do as he says, observing how your body moves in reaction to his actions.

A quiet gasp escapes your throat when Harry leans forward and tugs down the top of your bandeau dress, along with your strapless bra, causing your tits to recoil more heavily while he slams into you. Your knuckles go white from how hard you're holding onto the sink.

"F—fuck! I'm close!" You tell him, like he couldn't tell already by the way you're pathetically clenching around his cock.

"I know baby." He shushes your cries, but not slowing down in the slightest. In fact, his finger finds your clit, and when he starts to rub it, you realize just how sensitive you are.

"O—oh..! Wait, I don't know if I can—" You sob out, your head falling forward. You shut your eyes tightly, your orgasm starting to feel so incredibly big that you don't know if you can handle it.

"You can take it baby, c'mon..." He encourages you, and it takes everything in you to lift your head to look at him through the mirror. You don't want to miss his face when you come.

It's then that there's a knock on Harry's bedroom door.

"Fuck off!" Harry shouts, vigorously ramming into you like the interruption fueled him to stay focused.

You would've been thrown off by the door opening if you hadn't been so close to coming. That doesn't mean you're not slightly thrown off by the girl from earlier locking eyes with you through the mirror. You look back at Harry, who frowns and slams the bathroom door shut.

"I said fuck off!" He shouts angrily before his voice goes softer. "Come for me, baby."

That's all you need to climax around him for the third time tonight. The whole ordeal is too hot not to come like crazy around him, and your orgasm fuels his as he stills inside you with a loud groan.

"Fuck... So. Fucking. Good." He says, each word accompanied with a thrust as he spills his cum inside you.

Both of your breathing is still heavy as Harry collapses next to you. You lay there in silence for a couple of seconds, staring at the ceiling.

You slowly get up and enter the bathroom to pee and just clean yourself off a bit in general. Harry doesn’t come in, you think he doesn’t know if you would like that. You did just have a fight, and that girl barging into Harry’s room unprompted did kind of prove your point that she was trying to flirt with him.

When you walk back into the room, Harry is fully dressed again, sitting on the edge of the bed like he was when you came out of the bathroom the first time. The air is thick with unresolved tension. You take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widen at the identical words that are coming out of Harry’s mouth. You didn’t expect him to say that at all.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone so much.” Harry says, standing up and walking over to you. “I got caught up in talking to everyone and I saw you sitting with the guys so I foolishly figured you were having a good time.”

“Harry—”

“No, wait. I swear, at every person I talked to I thought, after this one I’m gonna go to Y/N, and then I kept getting interrupted. But intending to do something and then not doing it is just bullshit. I didn’t mean to be a bullshit boyfriend, I’m sorry.” He adds before you can try to intercept him. You sigh, a weak smile slowly appearing on your face.

“I love you.”

Somehow it’s the only thing your mind manages to come up with. You haven’t told each other that yet, so your ears immediately go red. Harry looks shocked, you can tell, but his eyes are beaming and in a matter of seconds he is smiling from ear to ear.

“And I’m sorry.” You continue. “I trust you, I swear, I do. I just saw the way she was looking at you and I mean— I get it, but it also made me sick because I feel I look at you like that. And if she can look at you that way, then maybe— I don’t know… my point is I’m sorry.”

“Maybe she can what?” Harry asks, suddenly frowning. When you don’t immediately answer, he grabs your face, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes go a little misty.

“Nothing, I’m being overdramatic.” You try to wave it off, but Harry doesn’t let you. His single raised eyebrow tells you to spill it, and so, naturally you do.

You sigh. “If she can look at you like I do, then she might be able to love you like I do, maybe even better.”

“No one can love me like you do.” Harry answers, determined. Your brows crease.

“How do you know that?” Your voice is trembling, and by the way Harry winces, you know you’ve just cracked a piece of his heart.

“You want to know why I’m sure no one can love me like you do?”

You nod, wondering how he can be so certain about this, about you.

“Because I’m letting you love me like no one else can.” He says it like it’s a fact. “I know there’s this narrative that love is this uncontrollable force, but it’s not, not for me. I let you love me, because I wanted you to. You let me in too, didn’t you? Because I love you.”

“Yes.” You croak.

“Right, I need you to understand that I didn’t fall in love with you. I walked into this with my eyes wide open, and I didn’t even fucking blink once. I still haven’t, and I’m pretty sure I never will.” He tells you, and you swallow, your throat burning from his heavy words. “I choose you, this, us, every day, and it’s the easiest and most natural decision I’ve ever made and will ever make.”

You smile at him, a tear rolling down your face.

“And no random girl at a party or whoever the fuck else can come between that, because I don’t want them to.”

You let out a small sob, and even though it’s a happy cry, it still weighs a ton on your chest. Harry pulls you into an embrace.

“Don’t keep those thoughts from me. I understand your anger way better now that I know this.” He tells you, rubbing your back. “I promise I’ll be more considerate of it.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve such an emotionally mature boyfriend.” You say, your words a bit muffled because your face is buried in his neck. Harry chuckles. You pull out of the hug.

“But I also need to figure out a way to prevent those thoughts from occurring, because I know they’re not true.” You say, sniffing a laugh. “I mean, I knew it when I thought it tonight as well. I was so mad it even popped up, but I guess what Dan said just kind of pushed me over the edge—”

“What Dan said?” Harry interrupts you. “What did he say?”

You bite your lip, afraid you might have said too much. “Just— that I was right to be jealous because it wouldn’t be the first relationship that girl has ‘ruined’.”

Harry’s jaw is clenched, and his eyes travel to the door. “I’m gonna have a word with him.”

You grab Harry’s arm, but he keeps heading for the door.

“Harry— stop!” You push the door shut when he opens it. He turns to you, and when you see the look on his face, you realize what’s happening.

“…Are you jealous?” You question carefully, and when he breathes out through his nose and looks away instead of answering you straight away, it’s only more confirmation that he is. “Oh my god… you’re jealous!”

“He’s been after you since that fucking assignment. I already reminded him you’re mine once, I have no problem reminding him again.”

The corner of your mouth lifts, and you cross your arms. “What happened to choosing to love each other? Don’t you trust that I’m choosing you— wait, what do you mean you already reminded him once?”

Harry rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t respond.

“When?” You urge.

“Couple months ago.”

You think back on a couple months ago, trying to figure out if anything was off, and then, suddenly you remember.

“You gave him that black eye?” You gasp, and he nods in confirmation. “Oh my god, he said it was from a game!”

Harry shrugs. “It was during practice.”

“That’s why you got benched?” You finally put the pieces together. “You little liar!”

There is not one ounce of regret on Harry’s face as he takes your small slaps to his chest. You’re not mad, in fact you’re amused. You’re so getting a free pass from now on.

“So what? You’re gonna beat him up because you want him to know I belong to you?” You tilt your head, and Harry winces, probably realizing how old-dated that sounds. You smirk.

“That’s so fucking hot.” You confess in a whisper. That catches Harry’s attention. You back up towards the bed, and he follows you like a puppy.

“D’you think you could put that on hold, though, and remind me who I belong to first?” You ask, sitting down and leaning back on the bed. The sight of Harry being so primal about you has fired your whole body up again for a round two, despite the three orgasms you’ve had already. Harry grins.

“You know I’ll never say no to you…”