daylightmidnights

[daylightmidnights]

It's been ages since this was posted and I got time to read it today. Finally!

I cannot begin to tell you how happy I am that they're married now. My babies!!!! I love them so much. Kingrry has turned into such a pookie bear for her I can't help but love him. Can I have him please? I need someone who'd fight everyone for me like he did for his Queen 🥺

Those people are so disgusting and real pos. The audacity of Lord Mayor, Mrs Mable and the doctor!!! They all should rot in hell. And they don't even have any respect for harry as their king and what he wishes. Fuck all of them. Especially Mrs Mable because why the fuck would you want your daughter to be a mistress and then you are offended when he calls her ugly? That bothers you? And you're fine with using your daughter as your golden ticket to secure a spot at the palace? Disgusting!! I kinda feel bad for Pearl because that girl is also a victim of the system. Yn is 20 so I'm guessing Pearl is younger than her. That girl's brain is not fully developed yet and she's being fed all this bs by her mother and the people around her and the society. Just a horrible time for women to live in. That being said, i absolutely loved the way harry insulted her looks. I lost it at the bug comparison. Especially loved when yn said "I heard her tell this one..." Imagine being referred to as this one! Poor pearl, but deserved 😂

I have to mention the words you used tho. Bedswerver, i never heard of it. Gutter-waif, I don't even no what that means. There's so many words you use that are so fascinating. Must take so much time researching for all that. Thanks for doing that.

Love her friendship with Phoebe so much. She even kisses her when tucking her in? That's so so sweet it made me emotional. I love them. Everyone deserves a friend like Phoebe. When yn said "I'm not queen yet" and Phoebe replied "You are to me" aahhhhhh i love her so much. Supportive bestie!!!!

And I was so glad when the new dressmaker treated yn so nicely and with respect. And I found this hilarious for some reason "She wasn't sure if he'd said leave this dress to me, or leave the stress to me…" my sleepy confused queen.

Lastly their wedding was beautiful. I know no one in attendance was actually interested or happy but it was still beautiful solely because harry was super happy and excited for her to be his wife. He's just so in love. He even kissed her properly. I love him more than i hated him in the beginning. That says a lot about how the story has progressed and how well you wrote him.

This chapter was so eventful and action packed. A rollercoaster really. Made me angry on so many instances but also soothed me with the little bit of wholesomeness in between. You did so good wrapping it up nicely and leaving the spicy part to the next chapter.

I just cannot thank you enough for this story. You don't understand how much this means to me. It has become my favourite and i look forward to it so impatiently. I appreciate you for taking your time researching for this and making time out of your home life and busy patreon schedule to write this for free. Just know that you make me and many of us happy and we are so thankful to you for everything you put out on here. I love you so much and I'm so proud of you for pulling this story off so perfectly. Can't wait for the next chapter ❤��

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

MAIN MASTERLIST | It's Good to Be King Masterlist

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

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

Ch. 5 Word Count: 8,476

Ch. 5 Warning: Discrimination, bullying, slight angst and miscommunication, jealousy, hurt feelings, wedding scene -> smut will be in ch. 6, for those anticipating it

. .

The Duke remained quiet and sat in the comfortable feather-down cushioned chair near the fire as he watched Harry and Virgil go back and forth. He'd been meant to mediate the discussion, but Harry overrode that decision and told him to sit before he was removed from the castle. The king didn't need someone there to arbitrate anything. Harry would be the one with the final say, no matter what the Duke's opinion.

It started, on the surface, amicably. But quickly spiraled when Virgil told him he'd regret his choices as king (stripping the Lord Mayor of his title for one, and marrying Y/n for another). Harry'd expected to hear the Lord Mayor bemoan his decisions again. It was no surprise to him, but it was quite galling to listen once again to the same justifications.

Harry rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "And I thought you came here to accuse me of theft. You are a sad, tiresome man, Virgil. I'm bored listening to this drivel."

Niall watched from the door, letting his eyes rove the three gentlemen slowly. He was only there to protect Harry, should he have needed to. But more than that, he found their little tiff to be quite amusing, though he'd never let on to it.

The Lord Mayor continued, dismissing Harry's comments. "And furthermore, it's clear to everyone that you do not have Thornekeep's best interest in mind. Marrying a gutter-waif? Setting her up in the castle like she's been bred for the crown? Why… It's preposterous!"

Harry bristled at gutter-waif, but decided to hold his tongue (and his anger) in front of the Duke. "Bred for the crown? What are you? A husbandry worker now? You breed animals and ready them for royalty?"

A quiet breath fell from the Duke as he turned his head away from the pair arguing. Even he was amused.

A sputtered noise of disbelief fell from the Lord Mayor as he shook his head. "Quite vulgar! Once again!"

The king laughed sardonically and stepped around the edge of the table, glancing at Niall as he ticked his fingers, tapping his nails together slowly. "Are we done here?"

"Before we make our leave, I want to discuss the young woman again. Pearl."

"And what would you like to tell me about the young woman with whom you are infatuated?"

"Your Highness! I am not infatuated!" Virgil pushed himself up from the chair and stepped near to Harry, but not close enough that the king could get his hands on him. "I'm trying to offer you a better choice of wife. Pearl will not disappoint you. She is happy to serve you as a good wife and queen should, and she learns quickly. She will see to it that you are well taken care of."

"I do not want Pearl. I've already made my choice. If you want her so badly, you can have her. Your wife seems quite meek. She wouldn't mind you taking a lover, I'm sure. Most men of your ilk do."

Virgil sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, ignoring how Harry had once again suggested that he wanted Pearl for himself. "My Lord, we can attest to and confirm that Pearl is a virgin, which is required of the queen consort. I have my doubts that Y/n is pure and virginal."

Harry laughed darkly, without a single drop of humor. "I suggest you make your leave before I become violent with you. My future wife is not up for discussion. I will not have you speak her name again."

"Then a mistress! Pearl would make a lovely mistress for you. She's fine to take on the role as long as you keep her and take care of her and her family in return."

Clenching his jaw, he shook his head and looked at the Duke. "Is he deaf? Dumb? Were you able to understand my orders just now, or am I the mad one here?"

"My Lord, I understood well your desires," the Duke said, not daring to look the Lord Mayor in the eye as he sided with the king.

"You cannot expect to be satisfied with just one woman. Surely you have plans in place to accommodate a mistress, if you haven't already," the Lord Mayor added.

Harry sighed and looked toward Niall again before stepping closer to the old man. "I think I can infer what's going on here. You and Mrs. Mable were quite close at one time, weren't you? The rumors were true then. She was your house-fed lamb, and you're a bedswerver. Your poor wife. Is Mrs. Mable threatening to let the cat out of the bag if you don't secure her virgin daughter a place in the castle?"

Virgil's mouth dropped open as his eyes nearly bulged from his head. "I… Why that's not even—"

The king moved closer, and the old man backed up to keep his distance. "That is what this is all about, isn't it? Most would wonder if Pearl was your daughter and not Mr. Mable's, but I'm convinced you're all dried up, impotent. And you, being like every other fleece-monger in Thornekeep, took Mrs. Mable as your secret, fancy piece."

"This is outrageous! I take umbrage at your accusations!"

Calmly, Harry looked at the Duke with a pleased grin. "Our old billygoat here takes umbrage. What do you say to that, Duke?"

Duke Hughes looked from the King to the Lord Mayor and stood up from his seat. "I say that it's time for us to make our leave."

"Now that is a smart answer. You could learn a lot from the Duke, Virgil."

"Just one meeting with Pearl, my Lord. She is ready to serve and would make a beautiful Queen, if not a kept mistress…"

"I said, get out! I'm quite finished with you, worm. Niall, remove him from the lounge…"

The old man raised his hands in surrender as Niall stepped forward. "We're leaving. No need for intervention. But please, consider meeting with the girl once. You will not be disappointed."

The dress was exquisite. Y/n glanced at Phoebe, who had covered her mouth with her hands after seeing all the pieces put together. She grinned at her friend and looked back at her reflection and couldn't help but focus on the young woman who Mrs. Mable had brought along for the final fitting. She had not been introduced to her, but Y/n could see that the girl was dissatisfied and annoyed.

"It's a shame this wedding and everything to do with the king's selection was rushed," the dressmaker said as she pulled at the fabric and tightened the bust, making Y/n gasp.

"Mama… When can I meet King Styles? I'm bored, and the stench in here is unbearable."

The young woman looked directly at Y/n as she mentioned the stench but Y/n was more worried about the girl's request to see the king. She'd become accustomed to insinuitive remarks and had learned to brush them off. But she did not like the idea of this pretty, young, blonde asking about her husband-to-be.

"Soon. He's been summoned. I imagine he'll be coming in any minute."

Y/n quickly grabbed her skirts and lifted them as she stepped down from the platform and looked at Phoebe. "He can't come in here! I'm in my bridal gown. It's bad luck—"

"It won't matter anyway. There's nothing customary about any of this. No one is so deceived as to think you're a virgin anyway…"

"It's so vulgar to think of it!" The pretty blonde said as she stood up and stepped in front of the mirror, smoothing out the silk panel in her dress. "The king deserves purity and beauty above all."

"Who is this? Why is she here? What business has she with the king?" Y/n pointed at the blonde as she stepped in behind her.

"There's the stench," Pearl said as she turned to look at Y/n, a smug expression drawn on her face.

Just then, the door opened and Harry barreled in with Niall and his assistant Fred trailing behind him. "Y/n… Is—what is this?"

He looked at Pearl, her mother, and the other women in the room, his brows pinched together dubiously. Y/n tried to hide the fabric of her skirts and duck behind a wooden table, but it had all been too late. He'd seen her gown.

"This is my dress fitting. You're not supposed to see me like this!" Y/n was almost in tears, and she knew it was a trivial thing to be so worked up over, but she had envisioned the surprised look on his face when she walked down the aisle toward the altar. She'd been so excited for that moment, and now that would be taken from her. He'd already seen her beautiful dress and it would no longer be a surprise.

Harry let his eyes sweep over her gown and back up to her face. "I was told that I was needed urgently. Who sent for me?"

The room fell quiet as Y/n narrowed her eyes at Mrs. Mable and then Pearl. "They did." She pointed. "I heard her tell this one that you'd been summoned but I did not call for you."

Harry could see the dismay on her face. To him, it was all the same. It didn't matter if he saw the dress now or on the day of their ceremony. But it was clear that it meant a lot more to Y/n and so for that he was livid.

"You're the dressmaker. Mrs. Mable…" Harry said and then he set his eyes on the pretty young blonde who was blushing softly and lowering her gaze in respect. "And you must be Pearl. Virgil has spoken highly of you, but unfortunately, you're wasting your time here."

Mrs. Mable rushed toward Harry and pointed at her daughter. "She is ready, Your Highness. She's been trained for this and she will do anything you ask of her. Give her a chance. You may take her into your chambers if you'd like to make a more informed choice."

Harry sniffed and looked at Y/n before he shot a look of disdain at Mrs. Mable. "Are you dull in the head? Your conniving with the Lord Mayor is pathetic. I know what you two have done and I care not if you expose him and yourself for the bedswervers you are. But do not pull my bride-to-be into this ratbag scheme."

"Is she not more lovely, not more fit to your tastes and to the kingdom's? You will require a virgin—"

"Pish! You and Virgil seem to think I hold virgins in high regard when that is the least of my concerns. Take her away. I don't wish to look at your daughter or to have her near Y/n. I can tell by just a glance that she's jealous."

Pearl let out a frustrated laugh. "I would never be jealous of her! She's akin to the filthy swine at the entry of the rookeries from where she came!"

Harry calmly stepped in front of the blonde, a rage boiling beneath the surface that he had to tame. She had to crane her neck back to look up at him. "I pity people like you," he said in a dark, spiteful tone. "Wrapped up in silk with pink lace bows and a turned-up nose. You haven't a single original thought in that tiny brain of yours and that's the most unattractive thing about you. Moreover, I can't find a solitary redeeming quality that you possess. I do not find you to be pretty. On the contrary… Your face is too wide and pasty, your wrists like a hollowed sprig, and your eyes are set too close, reminiscent of those fat bugs that like to feed off dung in the farmyards. I would never take you as my wife, much less a mistress. You are no better than anyone in this room, and you never will be."

Pearl stepped back and turned her face downward as tears threatened to burst from her eyes. Y/n felt a spike of satisfaction course up the knobs of her spine. She had been blind sided by their little trick to get the king to walk into her room for her fitting, so to hear Harry speak his mind to the young girl in that way had her holding her head a little higher, despite the devastation she felt at him seeing her dress before he was meant to.

"You bootjack! Do not speak to my daughter that way!" Mrs. Mable wrapped her arms around Pearl protectively.

Harry laughed. "Brave soul you are to mock the king and your queen-to-be. What did you expect of this disgraceful, desperate exhibit? That I'd look at her…" He gestured toward Pearl, who still had her face downcast. "And find myself smitten by her pastel garments and curled locks? She is nothing more than the dressmaker's daughter. She does not interest me in the least."

Mrs. Mable scoffed and looked at Y/n, Phoebe next to her, holding her arm. "She's a regular street beggar turned flag-hopper. Who knows how many men she's done the business with and if you want to marry into that kind of rubbish, then you dishonor your father's legacy. You are an embarrassment to the kingdom."

Letting his eyes flicker over his bride-to-be, he clenched his jaw. "If you were a man I'd have you tossed from the window down to your painful demise for speaking that way about her. Does she look rubbish to you? And who do you see standing before you as King? Not my father. He's dead, buried in the ground where he belongs."

One of the seamstresses gasped and turned away quickly in surprise at Harry's rough words for the beloved, deceased King Augustus. He shook his head and pointed toward the door. "Niall, take Mrs. Mable and her daughter down to the study and wait with them until I arrive. The rest of you are dismissed. Phoebe, you may stay with Y/n and help her out of this dress."

Niall motioned to the pair and Mrs. Mable scowled at the king on her way out of the room. Pearl kept her head down in shame with cheeks wetted by tears. Y/n watched with cautious delight, her eyes shifting from Mrs. Mable and Pearl, and then the workers as they all filed out of the Rose Room.

Then, before she even realized he'd made his way to her side, she felt his hand wrap around hers, and she turned to look up at him. "We'll have a new dress made for you. A better one. You will never have to see Mrs. Mable and her insufferable, hideous daughter ever again." He thumbed at her cheek as she nodded, a small smile working up on her lips.

"But the wedding is in two days. I don't know that that's possible. There is no better dressmaker in the kingdom than Mrs. Mable."

"I will find you a better dressmaker even if I have to bring them in from another province. Fred," Harry said, his sight still on his bride-to-be, "go find Luther and have him send for that Parisian man in Bethel. Find out who he uses and have them brought here at any cost."

The door closed behind Fred, and Phoebe stood to the side, watching as Harry and Y/n stared at one another. "You are not upset by them, are you?"

She blinked and looked toward the door. "I'm unsure how I feel. I found Pearl to be very pretty, and I imagined you would like the looks of her." She turned her gaze back to him. "Is it true you find her to be hideous?"

Harry continued running his thumb along her cheek as he lifted his other hand to the opposite side of her face. "Compared to you? She's repulsive and boring."

"But you wouldn't even take her as your mistress?"

"I won't be taking a mistress."

Y/n shook her head. "Isn't it customary for the king to have mistresses to keep him satisfied? What if I cannot make you happy?"

"Do not worry about that, little mouse. Now, I need to go and sort out the hatchet-faced sows who await me."

She giggled quietly as he stepped away from her, a cheeky grin on his face.

The moment he closed the door, Phoebe stepped in behind her and began helping her untie the corset. "She's not pretty. Not at all."

"Who? Pearl? I believe she was very pretty."

"Her attitude was ugly. I can't believe he compared her to a dung bug!"

The girls laughed together. "I wonder what he's going to say to them in his study."

"He's already love-stricken. It's so romantic," Phoebe said as she laid the corset down on the dressing table.

"Love-stricken? I don't believe so."

"Oh, but he is. I have a secret. Something I've wanted to say but didn't know if I should… But now I can't hold it in any longer…"

Y/n looked at Phoebe. "Well, what is it?"

"He's telling you the truth that he doesn't want a lover. I overheard him with his assistant and the castle steward telling them to clear the room that was meant to be kept for a mistress, but he didn't want it. He had changed his mind. Mr. Fred told him to leave it just in case, but the King insisted they give the room another use. He said it was no longer necessary, and I think it's because he can't imagine having anyone but you."

Y/n smiled and looked toward the window as her heart thumped in her chest. It was becoming quite common for her heart to patter harder every time she thought about Harry. He made her skin heat and her fingertips tingle. And she even indulged in touching herself as she imagined his eyes and his lips and his fingers… She knew her feelings about him were different than anything she'd felt before.

She had never belonged anywhere before, begging in alleyways, sleeping on the floor in her family's cramped tenement, ignored by carriages that splashed muddy water on her skirts. And now, she stood in there in castle with a little more meat on her bones and a relaxed smile on her face. The king had not only chosen her but defended her with the kind of fury only true feelings could ignite. Her feelings of being an impostor still bubbled to the surface at times, but she couldn't deny that Harry soothed the rising simmer with each passing day.

When the new dressmaker, Eugène Louise Lafitte, arrived the following evening, he had brought with him a whole caravan of helpers. Three covered carts filled with dresses, designs, supplies, and materials; two hairdressers, three seamstresses, a milliner, and two of his own assistants; as well as all of his personal belongings, as he was going to replace Mrs. Mable as the official royal dressmaker.

Y/n found the whole ordeal to be chaotic, but if she insisted on a new gown (she didn't really), then this was the only way. Eugène had set up everything in the Rose Room, and he began to measure and fit her right away. And despite the fact that there were a dozen people milling about in the room, jumping at every command Eugène spat, she found this fitting to be much better than with Mrs. Mable. For one, he never "accidentally" poked her with the pins the way Mrs. Mable had. For another, he treated her with appropriate respect. As if she were the queen already.

"Bring me the white silk Lanvin bodice…" Eugène said as he waved an arm toward his assistant, his other hand clutched at the middle of Y/n's back as he held fabric in place, and then snapped his fingers. "And check the third trunk for the custom silk skirt with cream lace. And those silk flourettes I've got in my leather satchel. I need them here."

And it went like that until Y/n could barely hold her eyes open. The buzz in the room continued for hours until Eugène was pleased with the look. Of course, he checked in with Y/n, often asking her opinion, of which she had none.

It embarrassed her, in a way, that she had no clue about what looked pretty and what did not. She didn't know fashion, but she did love the little silk flowers that were pinned along her outer skirt between bunched lace and smooth satin. The dress was lovely, Y/n could tell that much. And the finished product (which needed to be ready by midday) would be stunning. It would be paired with the original Turkish diamond necklace she'd been gifted and the finished veil that Mrs. Mable had made.

"Now, you rest," Eugène said to Y/n after Phoebe had helped her out of the delicate material and tucked a robe around her chemise. "The most important part of any outfit is the person wearing it and her disposition. Your beautiful smile will be the star of the ceremony, and you need your sleep. I will take care of the rest for you, madam. Leave the stress to me."

She paused and squinted at the odd man (he was quite odd, but she rather liked him). She wasn't sure if he'd said leave this dress to me, or leave the stress to me… Either way, she was too exhausted to think of much else than her comfortable bed as all of the workers left the room and Phoebe tucked her in and kissed her cheek.

"Goodnight, Queen." Phoebe smiled.

Y/n fluttered her eyes closed with a small, quiet laugh and whispered tiredly, "I'm not Queen yet."

"You are to me."

Despite the pre-wedding spiky nerves Harry was feeling, he was pleased and maybe even a little excited. The ceremony was only a couple of hours away and the castle was abuzz with activity all over. His suit was ready. He'd hidden in his study in hopes of a bit of peace and quiet before the doctor had forced his way in and begun talking nonsense.

"She has not yet had her physical examination, My Lord. It would require, at minimum, a quick and simple two-finger test, which is very run-of-the-mill."

Harry pinched his brows together and nodded with a sneer, his leg draped over his knee as he listened to the castle doctor. Sucking at his teeth he narrowed his gaze. "That will not be happening."

"Excuse me?" The doctor looked surprised.

"I said… That .. will not .. be happening."

"I don't understand. It's customary to check that the bride of the king is a virgin. How will we determine her virginal status if she doesn't have an examination?"

"I am sorry you're confused, but I believe I made myself clear. She will not be needing an examination. She's already told me she's a virgin." Not that it mattered to him in the first place.

"Please accept my sincerest apologies, My Lord, but how do you know she's telling you the truth? That is why we have protocol for this kind of thing. We cannot trust her to be honest about that. Of course, she'd tell you she's a virgin in order to procure her spot as Queen."

Harry sighed and placed his foot down on the floor, as if her were about to stand, his posture only slightly threatening as he leaned forward and kept his eyes hard on the doctor. "When I first picked her, I sought a woman who was not a virgin on purpose. I had hoped to enjoy some wick-dipping with her right off, but she was quite unsettled by the idea, worried about God and purity and all that. She's a virgin."

"My Lord, this is a—"

"This is a discussion that has come to an end. I won't hear of it anymore. You may take your leave. I'm busy. If you hadn't already realized it, I'm getting married today. I don't have time for your nonsense."

The doctor seemed rather vexed but he left the king's study without another word. Harry understood the usual traditions. He knew that it was expected that Y/n be a virgin. He was also not under any illusion that the people would demand proof and want to see their bedsheets the following morning to check for her blood.

He shook his head and gulped down the last of his gin. He hadn't even wanted a virgin. Mostly for selfish reasons but also because he'd never been with a virgin before. The very first time he saw her up close outside the castle gates, he found her features to be very pleasing and he made the mistake of assuming she was not a virgin. Though even after learning she was, he didn't regret his choice after getting acquainted with her.

He smiled as he stood from the chair. That's what she did to him when he thought of her. She made him smile. The kind of drowsy, sappy smile that told the world he was done for.

He wished he could see her right then. Ask her how she was doing, make sure she was being treated well… and perhaps to soothe his own nerves as well. What if she ran off? What if the foul treatment she'd been subjected to had finally gotten to her and she was on the run? Not many would stop her from running because they didn't like her anyway.

With a heavy sigh, he looked out the window to find the day overcast in soft pewters, clouds hanging low as if reluctant to bear witness to the scandal of the century. He was looking forward to making Y/n the Queen, but even more than that, he was looking forward to having her as his wife.

Y/n tried to stop the tears from escaping her eyes as she looked at herself in the mirror, the final product of her hair, the dress, her jewelry... The gown was even more luxurious than the previous. It had a fuller silk skirt with ribbons of cream lace and soft pink, green, and yellow satin flowers delicately sewn in. The bodice gave everything structure and form at the top, and the thin lace sleeves fitted over her arms like a second skin.

She grazed her fingers over the diamond necklace and inhaled a wobbly breath. "I can't believe it. I've never seen anything so beautiful."

Eugène stood behind her with a smile on his face. "I've never seen a more beautiful bride. You wear this dress well, my dear. I know it's not in keeping with tradition but I've been told that you and Harry are not a traditional royal couple. I hope it's just scandalous enough to make everyone turn heads and talk. If anyone can pull this off, it's you."

"And all in less than 12 hours! It's magnificent!" Pheobe exclaimed.

"Thank you, sir. I didn't believe it would be possible, but you've proven me wrong. I'm overwhelmed with happiness."

"Then I've done my job. Now, I believe your carriage awaits to bring you to the cathedral. I will be riding with you and your family, should anything come loose and need fastening."

.

The bells of Thornekeep Cathedral tolled with a heavy, ceremonial rhythm, each echo rolling over the gray-tipped rooftops of the town center like a reluctant proclamation. Inside, sunlight filtered through tall stained-glass windows, coloring the polished stone floor with fragments of ruby, emerald, and sapphire light. It was beautiful, solemn, and grand.

The nave was lined with nobles, foreign dignitaries, and members of the peerage, each clad in their finest silks, lace, and tailored uniforms. Rows of powdered wigs and jeweled collars bobbed stiffly above tight lips and narrowed eyes. They did not applaud. They did not smile. But they did watch carefully. Judging as if they were qualified.

A hush settled as the great organ began to play, a stately, thunderous processional. In the vestibule, Y/n stood just beyond the threshold, her hands trembling against the folds of her gown. The dress was nothing like the ones she used to imagine when watching brides pass in the street. It was better. Phoebe stood at her side, fussing with the long veil that trailed like mist behind her, whispering encouragement.

“You look divine,” Phoebe said, adjusting the fabric atop Y/n’s head. “Now, chin up. If they’re going to hate you, let them hate a queen, not a beggar.”

At the front of the cathedral, King Harry stood waiting beneath the high stone arch of the altar, dressed in a black frock coat with gold embroidery along the cuffs and collar. His ceremonial sword hung from his hip—a nod to tradition he’d allowed begrudgingly—but his cravat was loosened ever so slightly in subtle rebellion. Fred stood just behind him, rigid as he watched on.

Harry’s expression, however, was anything but restrained. He grinned brightly when he saw her appear at the end of the aisle, arm looped with her father's. Gasps rippled through the crowd, not at the gown, not at the diamond necklace, but at the girl wearing them. A commoner. A beggar, soon to be their queen.

Y/n walked slowly down the aisle, trying not to falter under the weight of stares that clung to her like sticky brambles. Her breath caught when she met Harry’s eyes, mischievous, proud, and tender. There was something grounding in his gaze, like a rope cast to a woman who was still learning to stand on marble floors.

At the altar, the Archbishop cleared his throat and began the ceremony, reading from the Book of Common Prayer, as was custom. The vows were traditional, spoken clearly before God and court:

“Will you, Harry, take this woman to be your wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I will.”

“Will you, Y/n, take this man to be your wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance—”

“I will,” she said, quietly but firmly, not letting her voice sound weak in front of the staring spectators.

There were no whispers of love, no passionate declarations. But when Harry slid the ornate ring, a band of twisted gold and sapphire, onto her finger, his thumb brushed hers with lingering affection. A touch that said more than their vows ever could.

When they were pronounced husband and wife, the organ swelled. Tradition usually dictated a polite kiss on the cheek before turning to face the congregation. But Harry, never one for subtlety, leaned in and kissed her full on the lips, dipping her ever so slightly, and Y/n grabbed onto his coat to steady herself. Gasps rose, half in horror, half in delight. He pulled back with a wink only she could see.

Then, side by side, they faced the court. Stone faces stared back. Y/n straightened her spine.

"Let them glare," he said under his breath as they smiled.

The cathedral bells rang again as the newly crowned Queen Y/n emerged from the grand oak doors on Harry’s arm. A scattering of cheers broke out in the crowd gathered beyond the palace gates, though they were thin and uncertain, peppered with scowls, taciturn nobles, and commoners caught between fascination and suspicion.

The royal carriage stood gleaming in the late afternoon light, a glossy black and gold coach pulled by six white horses adorned in crested harnesses. Its polished sides mirrored the anxious faces that lined the route, and the royal seal glinted on the carriage doors.

Y/n climbed in first, the veil like a cloud behind her. Harry followed, waving once to the crowd with an exaggerated flourish, as if daring them to boo. Fred closed the door after them with a look of quiet resignation, before hopping into the carriage behind with the footmen.

Inside, the carriage was warm and velvet-lined, the heavy scent of roses clinging to the seats. Y/n stared out the window as they began to move, flanked by guards on horseback.

“They hate me,” she whispered.

Harry leaned against the cushion and smiled as he pulled her hand into his. “You shouldn't worry about what a bunch of thick-headed sardines think of you. They'er blind.”

She looked up at him and smiled. "I woke up thinking that you'd come to your senses and call it off. That I'd be waiting, all dressed and ready, and you'd be locked in your chambers and have me removed."

He shook his head, soft green irises sliding over her frame and up to her face. “I’ve come to my senses, all right. That’s why you’re sitting here now.”

Y/n looked down at their joined hands—his thumb gently stroking over her knuckles—and for a moment, the heavy world outside the carriage fell away.

“I don’t know how to be a queen,” she admitted, voice barely audible over the rhythmic clatter of wheels on cobblestone.

Harry leaned closer, his voice lower, softer now. “Good.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, and he smiled at the sound, genuine and unguarded. Then he brought her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against her fingers. “You don’t have to be perfect, Y/n. You just have to be real.”

Outside, the crowd grew louder as the palace gates loomed ahead, but inside the carriage, it was warm and still. She shifted closer to him, their shoulders touching now, the lace of her sleeve brushing the brocade of his coat.

And though the kingdom buzzed with scandal, and the court plotted behind polished smiles, in that quiet stretch of space before the next curtain rose, King Harry and Queen Y/n simply breathed, side by side.

.

The Great Hall of Thornekeep Palace was transformed for the occasion—hundreds of beeswax candles glittered from chandeliers high above, and polished mirrors doubled the light across the walls. Tapestries were drawn back to reveal the grand stonework of the castle’s bones, lending an air of both splendor and severity. Long banquet tables were laid out in rows, gleaming with silverware, crystal goblets, and floral arrangements that spilled over with wildflowers and white roses.

Music floated through the room, an ensemble of violinists and harpists near the hearth played a series of traditional waltzes, though the tempo felt more funereal than festive. No one danced yet. The air was too tight.

At the head table, Y/n sat beside Harry beneath a carved wooden canopy bearing the royal crest. Her plate was filled, but her appetite lagged behind her nerves. The food was elaborate: roast venison with plum glaze, lemon-rosemary quail, bowls of minted peas and white asparagus, and trenchers of honeyed bread and soft cheeses. There was wine from the southern vineyards and towering sugar confections shaped like swans and crowns.

Phoebe stood nearby, ever watchful, whispering quiet instructions on what to do with each fork, when to dab her mouth, when to rise. Y/n nodded gratefully.

The murmurs never stopped.

“She curtsied too shallow.”

“She speaks like she’s from the gutter.”

“Can’t even hold a wineglass properly…”

Harry heard them. Y/n could see it in the tick of his jaw. At one point, a nobleman seated halfway down the table made a thinly veiled comment about the "peculiar scent of fishmongers at court." Harry stood, clinked his glass, and with all the weight of his crown and grin declared:

“I rather like the smell of a woman who knows how to survive.”

The room went silent. Then, reluctantly—awkwardly—a few polite claps began. Phoebe stifled a laugh. Fred looked like he’d aged ten years.

As the night wore on, the air grew looser. Jugglers and acrobats entered, performing near the rear hearth to entertain the children and lower nobility. A small group of traveling actors performed a dramatic retelling of King Augustus the Wise, a none-too-subtle dig at Harry’s late father, much to Harry’s delight.

Y/n watched it all in a dreamlike haze, the velvet of her seat warm beneath her and her crown tugging gently at her temples. She caught Harry looking at her between sips of wine. He reached across the table, not for her hand, but to slide a sugared fig onto her plate.

Y/n picked it up and bit into the fig. Sweet. Sharp. Decadent.

She looked at him with gratitude, holding his gaze a beat longer than proper, feeling something settle in her chest, something warm, steady, and terrifyingly real. Before she could say anything, Fred appeared beside the table with the stiff posture of a man who’d tried to interrupt twice already and failed.

“Your Majesty,” he said quietly, bowing slightly toward Harry. “Lord Chancellor Whitely requests a word regarding the foreign trade representatives. He says it won’t wait.”

Harry groaned under his breath, tilting his head back like a man being dragged to the gallows. “Of course it won’t.” He gave Y/n’s hand a final squeeze under the table. “This is important. I will return as quickly as possible.”

As Fred guided him away, a soft voice called Y/n’s name from just behind her. She turned to find Phoebe leaning in with that same practiced smile she wore whenever navigating nobility like thorns.

“Your mother’s asking for you. I told her you’d come as soon as you’d had a moment and now that the king has been called off…”

Y/n blinked, surprised, rising carefully, nodding her thanks as Phoebe adjusted the fall of her gown behind her. The palace loomed vast and glittering, but with Harry’s warmth still clinging to her skin. Y/n lifted her chin and walked toward where her mother and sisters were standing.

Her mother let out a dramatic sob and pulled Y/n's hands into her warm ones. "You are the Queen. I hear the whispers of everyone around me, but I know you and you are worthy. Even if he already has his mistress up in his room waiting, we all know who his wife is. Whom he has chosen as his queen."

"His mistress?" Y/n looked over her shoulder at Phoebe, who shook her head in confusion, eyes flitting between the mother and daughter.

"Yes. I heard some people talking about a woman named Pearl. She's waiting for him in his chambers right now. Did you not know?"

Y/n swallowed, the back of her throat hollow as she shook her head in disbelief. Her head swirled, making her dizzy, and her sight suddenly shaded in red. Had that been the real reason why he was called off so suddenly? Had he lied to her about what he thought of Pearl? But why?

"I did not know. Thank you, mother. I need to sit."

Y/n tried not to let the dismay that clenched at her heart show on her face. Phoebe was speaking, but Y/n couldn't put together the sentences or make sense of anything. If he'd just been honest the first time around, she wouldn't have so suddenly been caught off guard. She had expected him to take a mistress but when he told her he wouldn't be…

Sitting back in her place, she looked around at the lingering gazes and then at her plate in silence. The food she hadn't finished staring back up at her in a taunt. She couldn't believe that she'd been deceived by him. But she refused to let tears stain her cheeks. She was already the butt of the joke and now she knew it to be true. She'd been so stupid.

Even though the room was full of wealth and opulence, no one danced to the music, and very few applauded the children's entertainment on the other side of the Great Hall. The longer she sat in her fancy chair, in her beautiful dress, without Harry by her side, the more she became certain that he was with Pearl. Why would he be rushed away on the evening of his wedding if not to secretly see his new lover? Would he really allow a business meeting to take precedence? None of it made sense anymore.

Y/n drank down her glass of wine and motioned to have another filled. If she was going to be ignored by her new husband while he played with his mistress behind her back, she was going to try and get on with things, and a bit of drink couldn't hurt. Phoebe had tried to offer her comforting words but it didn't help.

"He's off with her. How long has he already been gone? It's been an hour? I know better than to trust him again."

"Please, madam… I think your mother was mistaken. The king only has eyes for you—"

"My mother knew her name. Someone was speaking about it right in front of her, and she learned a secret that was not meant to be exposed. I'm happy to be armed with the truth. At least I know now."

The chatter in the room softened as heads turned toward the hall's arched entry when Harry and Fred stepped back inside. Y/n looked away. It wasn't fair that he was so handsome after having come back from wherever he'd been. His bed with Pearl likely.

When he sat back down, he reached his hand under the table to place over her skirt but she scooted herself away as much as possible and turned sharply to look anywhere but at him.

"What's wrong, mouse?"

She lifted her glass to her lips and took a long pull of her drink before setting it back down with a loud clunk onto the table. She refused to look at his face. "Do not call me mouse ever again."

Harry glanced up at Phoebe, who was standing near Y/n's chair and then back at his bride's side profile, speaking louder that time. "What is wrong? Tell me what has happened?"

Those who sat closest to the king and queen watched on curiously.

"Did you have fun while you were away? Was it necessary to take an hour to do it?"

"The Lord Chancellor had very important news, and I needed to settle an issue. I did not intend for it to take as long as it did. I apologize. Is that why you're angry?"

She felt her heart thudding in her chest as anger rose up her spine. "Liar."

"Liar? Do you think I am lying right now? Why would I lie to you about something like this? I did not… Will you turn and look at me?"

Y/n turned away further stubbornly, into an uncomfortable position in her seat as she kept her gaze set away from him. Harry groaned and a few seconds later, Y/n felt her chair being pulled back and a hand grasping at the top of her arm, pulling her up to stand. She huffed as Harry brought her with him away from the table and toward the servant's door out of earshot of the guests.

"Look at me right now, Y/n. I will not tolerate your cryptic anger. Tell me what's wrong at once."

She clenched her jaw and slowly, ever so slowly, let her eyes land on his. "I know what you did. You don't need to lie to me and make a fool of me. At least have the respect to be honest with me!"

Harry wanted to laugh, but he was beginning to get angry himself. He hadn't the slightest idea of what she was on about. "Okay. Then tell me what you think I did."

Y/n tried to maintain a stern, defiant expression and not let her emotions rise to the surface but the longer she looked at his pretty face the harder it was. "Pearl."

He raised his brows and blinked. "What about Pearl? The Mables were all disinvited from the wedding. They are not here. What of Pearl?"

"She was waiting for you in your chambers, and you just went to her. Everyone already knows that's what you did. Your secret got out, and now I know."

He couldn't help it when he a laugh fell from his mouth, and Y/n scowled. "You think that I was with Pearl? Are you serious? Have you not learned yet that believing the whispers of the overly pampered people in this room are as good as fiction?"

She blinked at him, her lips turning downward as her conviction faltered. "My mother told me."

He shook his head. "I don't care who told you. You were lied to. I was with Fred, the Lord Chancellor, and two of his men…" Harry pointed behind Y/n. "Look. There they are now. Taking their seats."

She turned to see three men sitting down, smiles on their faces. And as she let her eyes wander the room, she noticed that many people were not paying much attention to her at that moment. A few were staring, but most were drinking their wine and talking to the people around them.

She looked back up at him. "Do you have a mistress? You might as well tell me now, Harry. At least be honest with me. It's not like I'm going to end the courtship or anything. Too late for that."

"I told you I wasn't taking a mistress, and I meant it."

Y/n searched his face, eyes flitting between his irises and the anger, and the sharp ache of betrayal slowly dissolved when she found nothing but honesty in his eyes. She realized that someone had purposely said those things about Pearl in front of her mother for this very outcome. She'd fallen for the lies.

"You need to trust me. No one else here can be trusted. No one cares about you like I do, so you can't listen to them. They are lying to put a wall between us but it won't work because you're smarter than that. Look who I married?" He ran his knuckles along her jaw. "You're all I want. Why would I ever go with Opal when I have you, here, looking like this…" he said as he looked down over her gown.

"Pearl."

"Who?" He grinned playfully.

She smiled, finally, and Harry let out a breath. "There's that smile. Beautiful."

Y/n looked down, feeling embarrassed by her behavior.

Harry ran his hand down her arm and pulled her closer. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

She breathed out a soft laugh. "And you're the devil."

"A handsome one?"

Nodding, she grinned wider, unable to stifle it any longer.

"Let's go back and take our seats before we politely make leave."

The great hall had grown quieter. The candlelight, though still plentiful, seemed to flicker more lazily now, wax dripping down to silver trays as though the evening itself were beginning to loosen its corset. The musicians had shifted to slower, gentler melodies, less formal, less performative. A lull had settled in.

Guests were beginning to drift away in pairs and small clusters, offering final bows and well-wishes to chamberlains and assistants rather than seeking out the king or queen directly. No one had announced the end, but the message was clear: the night was folding itself closed, and that was more than fine with Harry and Y/n.

Y/n's back ached faintly beneath the weight of her new crown as they took their seats again. Across the room, Phoebe stood watchfully near the far wall with Niall next to her, whispering, while the kitchen staff had begun clearing away the final courses with quiet precision.

Harry slid his hand against hers under the table, and quiet chatter surrounded them. She was ready to leave the Great Hall and be done with the theatrics of the day. Her emotions had been quite volatile all day, and the quiet of Harry's bedchambers was beginning to sound like a dream right then.

Fred appeared at Harry’s side and said something in his ear. Harry gave a faint nod, then turned to Y/n with that same roguish smile he’d worn at the altar, but softer, laced with something she couldn’t quite name.

He leaned toward her, close enough that only she could hear. “It's time for us to depart.”

She rose with him, and though no formal announcement followed, the shift was immediate. Some of the guests turned their eyes away in practiced discretion. A few nobles bowed as they passed. Some merely watched with disapproving eyes.

They exited through a smaller side corridor, footsteps muffled on hand-woven rugs. The hall behind them continued to hum, but it was like walking away from a fever dream, something ornate and strange, but already fading.

Once they were alone, past the eyes and expectations, Harry reached for her hand again as he led her up to his room. The corridors of the royal wing were hushed, dimly lit by flickering sconces.

Neither of them spoke. There had been enough of the show. Enough talking and forced smiles. As their footsteps echoed down the long hallway, Harry’s thumb traced idle circles against her knuckles, and Y/n held onto his hand like it was the first real thing she’d touched all day.

At the doors to his chambers, he paused only briefly before pushing them open. The room had been set up for the wedding night, warm with candlelight and perfumed faintly with cedar as the fireplace crackled. The moment the heavy doors clicked shut behind them, something inside the silence softened. The weight of the crown, the stifling eyes of the court, the perfect stillness she’d worn like armor… it all began to peel away.

Harry turned to her and reached for her waist to pull her close, his touch gentle and secure. Her hands slid over the lapels of his coat, anchoring herself in the solid warmth of him.

"My Queen," he spoke just above a whisper as he palmed at her cheek softly.

Y/n smiled shyly. "My King."

He leaned down, slowly, unhurried, and pressed his forehead to hers as they both closed their eyes. There was no rush to move away from the quiet moment; in fact, it had been necessary, vital. The sound of their breaths, the feel of closeness between them… Y/n trailed her fingers up his arm and tilted her face toward his lips, before pressing them to his in a kiss that was sweet and filled with quiet relief.

. .

Chapter 6 is where we'll finally be getting the smut. I'll be dedicating the entire next part to their wedding night 🤭 xoxo

. .

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[daylightmidnights]

the swan

y/n is the new prima for the season, but the real tragedy unfolded in the rumors surrounding the company's patron, harry.

wordcount: 12.4k+

—————

The sunlight streaming in behind Ms. Ariel glanced off of glossy strands of the slick chignon tied on the back of her head; natural backlight, as if she were still on stage, dancing under the spotlight. Even if directing and choreographing, spending more time reviewing than doing any dancing herself, had softened the tight lines of her muscles and relieved the callouses on her body, she still had all of the hallmarks of a dancer. Even her posture alone—straight spine, jutting chin, barred shoulders—gave away the prima position she held for years in the Turkish State Opera. 

The usual serene smile she held on her face now had a giddy purse to her lips. She was holding something back, (Y/N)'s nerves stacking as she realized as much. 

It wasn't in a ballerina to be restless with fidgety hands and shuffling feet, but she felt the urge rise. In her year with Ms. Ariel and the company, there was very, very few times dancers were brought into her office with a closed door. 

"Thank you for staying back a little bit today," Ms. Ariel started, bringing her folded hands to rest on top of the glossy cherry desk. "I know you have some work you need to get to at home, so I'll be quick." 

She paused, theatrics growing in the silence. 

"You are going to be our Odette in the spring production." 

(Y/N)'s breath fell short. 

Not even a month ago had the spring production been announced to be Swan Lake. Auditions had been so long and tedious—especially for the leads. Truthfully, she had only thrown her name in the ring just for the opportunity to try, there was no real expectation that she was going to beat out the more established dancers she was up against. 

But, here she was. Odette in the company's spring production of Swan Lake. 

"I—" she breathed, shifting in her seat as if her posture was anything but perfect, "I didn't think announcements were being made until tomorrow." 

Ms. Ariel shrugged. "Yes, the rest of the cast will be officially notified tomorrow along with the call sheet, but I wanted to talk with you myself beforehand." 

"Wow," she murmured to herself, "Thank you." 

"You're welcome," Ms. Ariel smiled, "I'm sure you understand the kind of work that goes into being Odette—and Odile, to that fact. It is a daunting task, but I want you to know that I have seen you working and excelling in the short time you've been with us. You've been a gift given to our company and I want to see what you can do with the role." 

A warmth bloomed behind her eyes. "Thank you. I will take care of her, I promise." 

"I know you will. Please, if you need guidance, don't hesitate to reach out. Everyone is a resource here." 

(Y/N) didn't know what to say. "Thank you," she muttered, though it felt far from enough for the kind words shared from her mentor. "Really—this is... a dream." 

Ms. Ariel nodded, her smile spreading into a true grin. She stood from behind her desk, reaching a manicured hand out. "Celebrate tonight; the hard work will begin next week." 

Grateful for the amount of grace drilled into her body, (Y/N) scrambled to match the motion. She took Ms. Ariel's hand in a light shake. "Of course. Thank you." 

A huff of laughter fell from Ms. Ariel. "You're welcome, (Y/N)." 

Hiking her bag up her shoulder, (Y/N) make quick strides towards the door of the office. In the hallway, Siobhan was where (Y/N) had left her waiting. She pocketed her phone, perking up once (Y/N) clicked the door shut behind her. 

Whatever Siobhan found on her friend's face was enough to have her jaw dropping, eyes down turning into concern. "What happened?" 

Realizing the sheen coating her eyes, (Y/N) fluttered her eyes in a blink to wipe away the moisture. She kept her voice low as she said, "I got the part." 

Siobhan's expression went from concerned to confused in a breath, brows furrowing as the news processed. 

"Wait. For the production?" 

(Y/N) nodded. 

"For Odette?"

(Y/N) nodded once more. 

It was with that silent response that Siobhan let out a giddy squeal. She brought her fists to her chest with her feet quietly marching against the floor, a beaming grin on her lips. 

"You're joking! Are you serious right now?!" 

"Shhh, be quiet," (Y/N) laughed, reaching for Siobhan's wrist to start leading her away from Ms. Ariel's door. Once she brought them far enough away from the door and the studio hosting the after school ballet lessons, (Y/N) allowed herself to let out a laugh—the sound almost delirious. 

"I got the part—Odette." 

She joined in on a quiet celebration with Siobhan then, right in the entryway of the studio. (Y/N) could only imagine what a sight they were, hair falling out of their buns from the previous lesson, leg warmers scrunched at their ankles, Siobhan's backpack bouncing against her back and (Y/N)'s tote bag dropped to her elbow. 

"I'm so happy for you," Siobhan shared, pulling her friend into a warming hug. "I'm so proud of you." 

"Thank you," (Y/N) whispered back, hugging her back just as tight before pulling away just enough to face her. "Really—I wouldn't have even come to this city without you, so thank you." 

Siobhan waved off her gratitude with a small smile and a shrug of her shoulders. "I'm just happy you're here, too." 

"Well," (Y/N) started, leading Siobhan out into the city with their flats padding gently against the pavement, "Ms. Ariel said we should celebrate tonight while we can. Everything starts next week." 

"Tonight?" 

A small smile bloomed on (Y/N)'s features. "Are you busy or something?" 

She knew good and well the plan for the evening was for the both of them to pick up takeaway on the way home before rotting away in bed. 

"I can clear my plans," Siobhan laughed.

(Y/N) felt herself just short of skipping along the concrete. She hadn't realized just how much something like this role could mean to her. 

She had been a professional ballerina for five years now, settling here only a year or so prior, though she had never been a principal before. She was content doing those side roles and learning ensemble dances, as long as she was on stage. There were so many more established and experienced dancers in the industry, but here she was. The spring's prima. Odette and Odile. 

Maybe it was the fact that the sun no longer set at four in the afternoon, or the pending plans with her friend, but (Y/N) had never felt lighter. 

She was a swan, now. The swan. 

—————

(Y/N)'s skin felt flushed as she wiggled on her bar seat. It was hard to stay still at the moment, so different from the dancer's poise that was drilled into her. The atmosphere of the upscale, too-expensive bar was perfect—the exact kind of place she pictured herself grabbing a lavender scented drink when she first moved to the city. The girls—other dancers from the company she'd grown close enough to—had joined her and Siobhan for the night, leaving the table filled with bubbly chatter and restless feet. 

"Do you know what ending Ms. Ariel wants to go with?" Sasha, one of the others, asked. The red of her second Negroni was beginning to stain the center of her lips to match the flush on her pale cheeks. 

(Y/N) shrugged, the straw of her own drink tucked between her lips. "We only really talked about my part—I don't think we talked for more than, like, ten minutes. I do hope it's one of the good endings, though, like the original one or something." 

"Yeah, I think I would cry if we had to watch you die or something," Siobhan said, an exaggerated frown on her lips as (Y/N) laughed.

"I don't know if I could make that jump off the cliff, anyway." 

"I'm sure we'll find out soon with everything starting next week," Lydia, the fourth of their little girls' night group, suggested. She paused to take a long drink of her margarita before training her gaze to flick between Siobhan and Sasha. "Do you think Harry’s going to be a part of the production?" 

A furrow pinched (Y/N)'s brow. That name brought up a twinge of familiarity, though the context eluded her. 

Siobhan's eyes widened, spitting her straw out from between her lips. "Oh my god, probably! It's the spring show that he's always all over, right?" 

Sasha and Lydia both nodded conspiratorially while (Y/N) looked on bemused. 

Siobhan turned her attention to (Y/N). "Did she say anything about him during your meeting?" 

(Y/N) shook her head. "We didn't talk about anyone, though." 

Sasha made a face, looking to both Lydia and Siobhan with raised brows. "Do you think he finally let it go?" 

"Maybe," Lydia shrugged, pursing her lips around her small straw. "Doubt it, though."

 Leaning over the table, (Y/N) flicked her confused gaze across each of the ballerinas at the table. "What are you guys talking about?" 

Siobhan looked at her with her brows knitted. "Did you never meet him?" 

"I don't think so?" 

"I guess you started in the middle of the spring season, so you probably never actually met him," Siobhan mused, taking one more sip of her drink until her straw bubbled against the ice on the bottom. Her skin was especially flushed, eyes a bit glassy when she turned to face (Y/N) with a story on her mind. "He's a... patron, I guess. For the company. He donates year round but is usually really hands off. Until the spring production." 

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded. Hearing some details, she remembered hearing chatters about a patron of the company. In those overheard conversations, there was never anything specific she could glean, only small chitters and jokes she didn't understand. "Why only the spring shows?" 

There was a short silence between the three, eyes flicking to one another as if waiting to see who would be the one to share the next lines of the story. (Y/N) only waited, straw tucked between her lips though she only bit at the tube instead of taking down any more of her drink. 

"Um," Lydia started, tipping her head as if rolling her next words around her brain, "I mean, no one really knows for sure, but there's... rumors. Most of the company who was around when everything was happening have left, so no one's really completely sure anymore." 

"Okay," (Y/N) said, drawing out the word with furrowed brows. They were starting to scare her, honestly. "Rumors about what?" 

"Okay," Siobhan piped up suddenly, taking in a deep breath, "I joined right after she left, so I never actually knew her, but people talked a lot. From what I know, he—Harry—used to be engaged to one of the dancers at the company after they met during one of the shows. Like, he was always a minor patron, but when they started dating, he was just always around and everything. But, something happened, and they broke up, like, months before they were supposed to get married. No one really knows why for sure, but I remember hearing from some of the girls back then, that it was pretty bad." 

"Things got intense, apparently," Lydia interjected, eyes wide as they met (Y/N)’s, "Like, really intense." 

(Y/N) blinked. "Like... Did someone get hurt?" she pressed, dancing around the implication of her question. 

Siobhan shrugged, her mouth making an uncertain line. "I don't know, honestly. From what I remember hearing, she left him. Some of the girls said that he was, like, crazy or something—like, there was something really big that happened. I don't think she even dances anymore, from what I've heard. And she was really talented if you ever look her up." 

"Oh, wow," (Y/N) murmured, biting at her bottom lip, "But no one knows what the big thing was that made them break up?" 

"Not as far as I know," Siobhan shook her head, blonde hair spilling over her shoulder, "I remember one of the girls just saying that she had been super erratic before they officially broke up. She did not want to be around him, like she made a scene every time he came to pick her up from rehearsal and things. Like she was worried, or scared, or something, I guess. And, then she just left. One day she told everyone they had broken up and then, like, a week after, she was gone. No one even knew where she went until almost a month later. And, I don't know if this is real or just something people started saying when everything came out with the break up, but there were people who said he was really scary during the whole thing—to be careful around him, really." 

(Y/N) didn't know what to say as the story seemingly came to a close. This was far from the kind of insight she thought she would gain tonight. 

"So... he only does the spring show now?" 

"As far as I've been here, yeah. I think because he donates so much this time of year, he ends up being more involved." 

"Um," (Y/N) started, shifting in her spot with her eyes dropping to the salted rim of her friend's glass. "Does he... Does he have a say in casting?" 

"Oh no!" It was Sasha that spoke up this time, saying her first words since listening like a captivated audience to the same story. "He's not involved like that—Ms. Ariel makes all of those choices. He just gets a little more say in what show is put on, I know that for sure. Otherwise, I think he just does more with the business side of everything—it's like he's a producer almost." 

"Oh, okay," (Y/N) murmured, nodding her head as she took a small sip from her drink, "Do you guys think I need to be... worried?" 

Siobhan let out a loud laugh. "God, no! It's all just rumors. You probably won't even see him that much, honestly." 

(Y/N) got a quiet "Oh" out before the topic was drifting away with Sasha's help, something about her girlfriend's family being brought up instead. (Y/N) listened on as closely as she could, though she was far from being involved. Much of her mind was still stuck on these so-called "rumors" about this season's producer. 

While the idea that the implications of the rumors could be true was something that worried her, she had to trust that Ms. Ariel wouldn't have someone involved with the show that could be a threat to the dancers. 

Even though a very skeptical part of her found it hard to believe that rumors so intense, funneled through a group as close knit as one of ballerina's, didn't hold at least a grain of truth. 

—————

(Y/N) huffed as her tote slipped down her shoulder again. Even the ribbed texture of her knitted cardigan couldn't keep it from slipping down to her elbow. Hiking it up once more, she pushed the front door to the studio open, a gust of warm air blowing the early morning chill off of her form. 

Her wrap skirt fluttered around her hips as she closed the door behind her, ensuring she heard the click of the door shutting before she started deeper into the studio. Production rehearsals didn't officially commence for another few days, but she wanted to stop by one more time before then to get her own time in before everything would be committed to being a swan princess. The next months of her life were going to be consumed by the same handful of dances, the same moves, the same techniques—she needed a chance to do something as herself before then, doubting any other opportunities would arise between now and the rest of the production.

Trailing down the halls, she got a peek into each of the different rooms through the large windows spanning the corridor. Some parents were waiting before the windows, watching as the children's lessons were conducted. Their own spring production—a rendition of Margot Robbie’s Barbie—was set to take the stage in less than two weeks, leaving the costume room in varying shades of pink with glitter and stars all over the place. The amount of times (Y/N) had seen these dances through the windows, heard these songs through the walls, she figured she could join the stage at any time without incident. 

Meandering down to the very last open room, (Y/N) signed herself in. The room was much smaller than the others for the lessons, with only a small window available for viewing. The floor was a warm hardwood, reflected back in the mirror lining the wall opposite the door. A golden barre bisected the mirror, gleaming in the light. Her footsteps echoed in the quiet room as she crossed towards the sound system tucked in the corner. 

She took her time setting up all of her things, glancing up at the mirror. The reflection used to scare her when she was a child. It used to be so nerve wracking seeing each of her movements, especially when she couldn't be sure if she was doing it right until she saw the rest of her class at that same moment. (She was a child with anxiety as she later learned in her adult life—big surprise). Though it took time, she learned to appreciate having that mirror on her when she danced. 

There was something exciting about seeing the lines made by her body. The kind of lines she had only seen in films or on stages. It was those movements and shapes that had inspired her to become a ballerina instead of just dreaming of dancing. The mirror let her see herself as the ballerina in those dreams. 

Just as she began shedding her cardigan and sitting down to get her pointe shoes on, she realized there was something missing. She had her phone connected to the sound system, an instrumental song queued up, and her bag with extra hair ties, a couple of snacks for later, and her water bottle—

That's what she was missing. No water bottle. 

Throwing her head back with a heavy sigh, (Y/N) rolled her eyes at herself. Of course she left it in her car. 

At least she hadn't been able to lace up her pointes yet. Pulling on her regular shoes, (Y/N) resigned herself to trek all the way back to her car one more time. She could take it as a warm up, maybe, instead of a time waster. 

She left her cardigan on the floor as she started back through the studio. The same parents and instructors she had just passed were just where she left them, some barely even glancing up as she brushed shoulders while scooting past. 

As soon as she retrieved her water bottle from the cup holder of her car, she immediately doubled back. Without her cardigan, everything was much colder outside than she remembered. At least she still had her leg warmers and skirt on. 

Speeding up to a jogging pace, (Y/N) just began pulling open the door when the weight of the pull drastically changed. Someone on the other side was pushing, she gathered, just a hair too late. The strength she had put into opening the heavy door was now overpowered, throwing her off balance as she stumbled back. A gasp left her mouth as her arms fluttered out beside her, eyes flicking behind her shoulder. 

In the same moment, a strong hand sharply took her arm. The grip steadied her back on her feet before her skirt and thighs could be marred by a fall on the pavement. Once flat on her feet—and feeling much less graceful than any ballerina should—(Y/N) looked up at the owner of the saving hand. 

A man she didn't recognize as a fellow dancer, a parent she had passed in the hallway, or a production member for the upcoming show stood before her. A warm brown suit was tailored to his form, tie knotted tight around his neck in a matching hue. The warmth traveled up to the dappled chocolate shades on his hair, everything pushed out of his face though the curling texture could still be seen framing his temples. All of the brown framing him left the green of his eyes to pop against his creamy skin, varying shades flecking his irises. A handful of freckles were spread across the bridge of his nose, faint even under the lowering golden sun. Shadows were cast across his face, emphasizing the straight lines of his features.

Regaining her breath, she felt her skin warm as his hand slipped off from her arm. "Sorry, I didn't—I wasn't paying attention. Thanks for... stopping me." 

A slight smile touched the man's raspberry lips. Faint dimples thumbed into his cheeks for a fleeting moment. (Y/N) swore, if even for a second, his eyes glazed over the planes of her face. 

"No worries," he assured, voice accented and warm as he took steps to hedge around her, "Jus' be careful." 

"Right," (Y/N) breathed out with a laugh. 

She took lingering steps back towards the building. Only for one second did she allow herself to look over her shoulder, following his retreating form towards a sparkling car in the lot.

His shoulders...

Blinking herself back to real life, (Y/N) reminded herself there was a whole rehearsal room waiting for her. 

—————

(Y/N) curled up in her seat, extensively grateful to have been able to stop home before coming to the evening's meeting. If she had been forced to sit through this in her jeans, she worried she would have lost her mind. 

"I know we do these later so everyone has a chance to make it after work and all, but I really don't want to be here past nine," Siobhan muttered at her side, voice joining the quiet chitter that was filling the theater. 

(Y/N) hummed in agreement. As nice as it was to see the theater again—especially now that she was able to picture herself twirling in the spotlight right in the center—she would much rather have attended through video. At least this gave her an excuse to pick up dinner on her way home instead of cooking anything. 

Ms. Ariel is heard before she is seen, the click of her shoes echoing across the stage. In a line, she was followed by her assisting choreographers, the orchestra conductor, alongside the musical and production directors. She didn't hesitate as she took center stage over the directors, hands clasped at her middle with a beaming smile on her lips. 

"Thank you all for coming tonight—I know it's late so we'll make this quick for everyone," Ms. Ariel started, sweeping her gaze across the rows of filled seats. "We'll all be working very closely together these next months, so I want to make sure we are all on the same page going forward." 

The theater fell silent save for Ms. Ariel at center stage as she listed off her cohorts for the production, the timeline coming after. The show's opening weekend would come at the end of April, celebrating the peak of spring. Rehearsals, both individual for the principals and ensembles, would be starting on Monday; the schedule should already be in everyone's inbox. 

(Y/N) listened intently, feeling the pressure of being this season's lead. She didn't want to miss a single word. This spring was going to be her moment—her chance at hopefully making a real name for herself in this city. Opportunities like this didn't come to many dancers, especially not after she moved companies mid-way through her career. If she were to be lucky enough, she wouldn't even need to hold a day job, ballerina becoming her sole title. 

The anticipation built a fire in her chest, the kind that urged her to get started right now. She didn't need to sleep, she needed to get into a rehearsal space and practice her thirty-two fouettés. She wanted to try on her tutus and practice slicking her hair back. Tchaikovsky was about to be her top artist for the next few months. 

"I would also like to introduce this season's patron. We don't usually do this, but our spring patron has a special role. I realize a few of you have already met him, but for everyone who has not,"—she looked to stage right just as heavy steps began to descend upon the stage—"this is Harry Styles. He will be very present through this season, and has already helped a lot, so if you have any questions, you can always ask him as well." 

(Y/N) blinked as she took in the man now standing at Ms. Ariel's side. Clad in a navy blue suit, matching tie wrapped around his neck, was the man that had kept her from stumbling back onto her rear just the other day. The man with the green eyes and the warm brown hair, the one with the sprinkled freckles on his nose. His shoulders were just as broad as she remembered. 

His eyes swept over the rows of dancers; (Y/N) swore he snagged on her for an extra second. A small smile touched her lips. "Hello," he quietly muttered at Ms. Ariel's side, his voice graveled from disuse. 

He was quiet then as Ms. Ariel continued speaking, clarifying his role and the role of the others on stage. He had his hand clasped behind him, entirely reserved as if he didn't realize he was as tall and broad as he was. 

This was not at all the kind of man she pictured when the girls had talked about Scary Harry. he was so reserved, so put together. He almost seemed shy with the way he kept twisting and untwisting his fingers at his back, the view only given when he swiveled enough for her to see his back. 

She had pictured leering eyes, gnarled hands that had grabbed and pushed and reached over the heads of others. While she couldn't say that this man wasn't intimidating, it just wasn't in the way she had thought. He was almost too pretty to look at, she thought; long lashes, flushed cheeks, freckled nose. The lines of his face had softened in her memory, leaving her to be struck again by the straight set of his nose and cut of his jaw. 

While looks could be deceiving, she hoped she wasn't wrong about the soft set of his eyes.

"Was there anything anyone wanted to add before we adjourned for the night?" Ms. Ariel asked, taking a step back as she looked at her colleagues. A pause of silence sounded among the stage. 

"Um," Harry finally piped up, cheeks gaining a flush (Y/N) couldn't be sure was there just moments before, "I wanted to say thank you to Ms. Ariel and the rest of the directing team for allowing me to be a part of another production. I realize I haven't had a chance to meet many of you,"—he looked at the dancers now, eyes dancing to each face—"but I look forward to working with each of you. I can't wait to see how this show comes together." 

He ended with a thin smile on his face, lips pressed together with a nod of his head. Ms. Ariel led the team in a round of applause before calling for the end of the meeting. As the dancers around (Y/N) stood to collect their things, she lingered for just a moment. Eyes on the stage, she saw as Harry watched the flood of dancers, almost looking just as relieved as everyone else set free from this meeting. Even from here, she could see that color that had painted his cheeks draining back to the peaches and cream of his regular complexion. 

"Are you coming or did your legs fall asleep?" Siobhan asked beside her, stretching with her arms above her head. 

"Oh yeah," (Y/N) sighed, falling back to herself as she took her eyes from Harry. "Sorry, I think I'm more tired than I thought." 

"Same," Siobhan laughed, "I'm already exhausted from the rehearsal schedule and it hasn't even started." 

"Exactly," (Y/N) agreed with a small smile, collecting her things before starting to follow the rest of the company out of the theater. 

Even when she heard the low rumble of Harry's voice meld with the rest of the executive team, she made a point to keep her eyes forward. Siobhan didn't need to notice this sparking curiosity just yet. 

—————

(Y/N) idly twirled as the Swan Theme played through her rehearsal space, mesh skirt flaring out around her hips. She could imagine the scene playing out like a film in her head: the first moment she is introduced as Odette, as she hides from Prince Siegfried aiming a crossbow in her direction. Though they were far out from donning costumes, she couldn't help but to imagine herself in that traditional pristine white, feathered tutu with a gleaming bodice.

Ms. Ariel entered the studio, fanning her hands out. "Sorry, sorry—Rima wanted help with the ensemble blocking. Did you see the video I left up on the iPad?" 

(Y/N) smiled, "It’s alright. I did watch it, yeah. Is that the version we're going with?" 

"A little," Ms. Ariel shrugged, lips pursed, "I wanted to do a prologue like that, but I wanted to see if you had any thoughts on doing the epilogue instead." 

The solid toes of her pointe shoes tapped across the floor as she blocked herself out through the swelling music. "Is there a way we can do both?" (Y/N) asked, a bit sheepish at her request. More stage time meant more money, more production, more time. 

Ms. Ariel paused, head tilted as she scrolled through on the tablet. "A prerecorded epilogue? We could project it into the curtain right before." 

"That might be fun," (Y/N) offered, unable to help herself as she twirled along to the music. The crescendos and dips had her pirouetting and sweeping through the room. The sound of her pointe shoes tapping against the hardwood was especially satisfying alongside Tchaikovsky. "We could make the transformation to the swan look extra special if we can edit it right." 

The choreographer brightened at the thought. "And for Rothbart." 

(Y/N) smiled at the light in Ms. Ariel's tone. She doubted there was any more convincing needed. 

The sound of Ms. Ariel's mind working practically joined the soundtrack, all of the gears and cogs spinning like a sewing machine as the production began to thread together. While (Y/N) was sure this first rehearsal between them was supposed to help her get into the character of Odette, and the counterpart of Odile, she wasn't going to interrupt Ms. Ariel after getting her say in for the progression of the story. 

Instead, (Y/N) twirled and jumped, playing along with the music filtering through the space. From her periphery, she could see some of the ensemble dancers coasting past the peekaboo window into the studio. Some of the girls stopped, lingering in front of the window as they watched the impromptu moves (Y/N) performed. She smiled when she caught their gazes, offering a small wave as she twirled through the room. 

"(Y/N), come look at this," Ms. Ariel called over the orchestra, gesturing her over to the sound system. 

Giving one last beaming smile to her fellow dancers, (Y/N) whirled around to make her way across the room. She picked up her water bottle on the way.

With the way the media cart stood and Ms. Ariel had positioned herself, the mirror before them showed off everything at (Y/N)'s back. Including the large open window for spectators. 

Though she gave her attention to the examples Ms. Ariel was going over for the prologue, deciding just how extensive they wanted to get with the prerecording, it was hard to ignore the flutter of movement showcased in the mirror. She glanced up to find some of the girls—Sasha and Lydia included—flitting past during their own break from ensemble work. A small smile touched (Y/N)'s lips as she made eye contact with the group that will be making up her wedge of swans. 

That curl stilled when she spotted the quiet figure standing behind the shifting crowd, arms crossed with lips in a thin line. 

Harry Styles was there. Watching her rehearse for who knows how long. 

There was a definitive space between the window and where he stood against the other side of the hallway. The rest of the dancers made their way through the gap, minding his personal space specifically. (Y/N) wondered how many of them had also just heard the plethora of rumors about their spring patron. 

(Y/N) met the intensity of his gaze for no longer than a split second before she flicked away, her skin growing warm. Her brain glitched, throwing the last few words from Ms. Ariel right out of her head. 

She had heard him say that he was going to be more involved. Siobhan had even warned her that he typically was seen much more through the studio during the spring. And yet, (Y/N) hadn't been expecting to see him. Not on her first day as the swan. 

Especially not looking at her the way he was. Furrowed brows and green gaze intense enough to make her blood simmer under her skin. 

"I think we could do something with that, right?" 

(Y/N) blinked. "Yeah, definitely. It looks fun." 

She spared one more glance to the mirror only to find that corner no longer occupied. A familiar back was now retreating down the hall. 

—————

"That was good, (Y/N). You did good. How do you feel?" 

Out of breath, she nodded her head, "Good—Really good." Despite the sweat beading down the back of her neck and the sore muscles in her stomach, she held a beaming smile on her face.

This week had been all about strength training in between rehearsing the numbers, working up her core in preparation for the thirty-two fouettés for Odile. They were far from done in that department, but everyday (Y/N) grew more and more steady. After this weekend, she would begin rehearsing with Kingston as Prince Siegfried, and start working with the ensemble of swans. 

Ms. Ariel matched her smile, her own skin shining with a sheen of sweat from working alongside (Y/N). "You'll sleep hard tonight, that's for sure," she laughed, settling her hands on her arms, "Rest up this weekend, but keep up with your stretching. If you need anything just text me." 

"I will," (Y/N) heaved, catching her breath, "Thank you." 

With a squeeze of her arms, Ms. Ariel bid her a goodnight before leaving for her office for the remainder of the evening. (Y/N) took her time collecting her things, chugging down the final dredges of her water before reaching for her phone. It didn't take long before she was scrolling through a food delivery app, eager to pick out her dinner for the night. She deserved something greasy and salty after the workout this practice was. 

The spectator's window was empty tonight, the ensemble heard next door as they practiced their own numbers. (Y/N) was growing so used to the audience, that it felt weird to not have any watching eyes tracking her moves. 

Though there was still a specific pair of eyes that still threw her off balance whenever she caught sight of them. 

Harry hadn't bumped into her again or shared any more words past a good morning or good night depending on when they happened to pass in the hallway. Their interactions now lived mainly on opposite sides of the glass, (Y/N) dancing and breaking in her pointe shoes with Harry watching the moves like a television judge. 

Though it didn't appear he even stopped by her studio this evening. 

Exiting the space with her tote on her shoulder, (Y/N) double checked the pick up time for her dinner. Another twenty minutes of waiting before the three minute drive she'd make to the restaurant. 

Now it was her turn to be a spectator, she thought. Taking a seat on the love seat offered before the glass, she was going to watch the swans dance. 

The ensemble tonight consisted of Siobhan, Lydia, Sasha, and two other dancers. Their backs were to her as they faced the mirror. Through the pane, (Y/N) could hear the Dance of the Cygnets playing, the baseline becoming the thumps of the pointe shoes hitting the ground.

As hard as she knew she was working, she couldn't imagine being tasked with this number. The techniques were famously hard to get down. But here the girls were, more in sync than she would imagine a group of dancers who had only been practicing together for a week. 

From her view, she could see the small smile on her as she watched the move.

She could also see the shadow of another person edging into the space next to her. 

From the corner of her eye, she saw a familiar broad form, clad in a traditional black suit, watching the dancers with her. (Y/N) rolled her lips between her teeth. 

Was she supposed to say hi? It wasn't much of a secret that Harry wasn't particularly talkative when it came to interacting with the dancers. The only person he was regularly conversing with tended to be Ms. Ariel or the rest of the department heads. For the ballerinas, he reserved subdued smiles and quiet greetings. 

It felt... rude, though. To not say anything to him. They were all dancing on his dime this season, anyway. 

Besides, (Y/N) had to wonder if his reserved persona came from the fact that there was a rumor mill churning out stories in his name. She doubted anyone had come to him personally with any of these stories, but it was hard to believe that in the last few years of production that he hadn't heard something. 

Before she could think too hard about it, she tipped her head towards him, face angled upwards to where he was standing at the other end of the loveseat. His brows were set in that signature furrow, intense gaze just short of burning a hole through the glass. 

"What do you think?" she asked quietly, just audible over the orchestral music and thumping pointe shoes. 

From where she sat, she could see the way his hands, hidden under his folded arms, curled into fists, his lashes fluttering as he blinked. His throat bobbed as he turned to match her gaze, the pinch in his brows smoothing out. 

"Um," he started, flitting his gaze to the window for a lingering moment, "They're really good already. Everyone's doing really well. Very talented." 

A warm smile molded (Y/N)'s features. That was a high honor coming from him, someone who had to have seen countless ballets by this point in his life. 

"It's crazy how they can only get better from here," (Y/N) said, an airy laugh threaded through the words. 

"It is," he answered simply, a barely there twitch touching the corner of his mouth. 

A silence settled between them, the music inside the studio starting up again as the ladies reblocked themselves to start the number over. Glancing at the time, (Y/N) was two minutes past when she should have left to pick up her dinner.

Standing up from where she had made her home on the loveseat, she hiked her bag up her shoulder before turning to face Harry. 

"Thank you for everything you're doing for this production, by the way. I don't think I really understand what a patron is able to do, but I'm sure it's hard work," (Y/N) laughed at her attempt at a joke. Hopefully, he thought it was funny and not that she was some kind of silly ballerina with ribbons for brains. 

When he finally turned to look at her, that initial twitch of his lips she'd seen before hard turned into a slight curl. A ghost of a dimple touched his cheek. 

"Of course. It's worth it." 

(Y/N) matched his smile with her own beaming one. "I'll see you around, Harry. Have a nice night." 

The last she saw of him was the small nod he gave in her direction, with his hands hidden under his folded arms flexing into fists.

"You as well, (Y/N)." 

—————

(Y/N) rolled her neck as she turned the page on the lengthy manuscript in her hands. This author definitely loved a long, descriptive, adverb heavy sentences. 

As grateful as she was to be a real life ballerina—the prima for the season, even—as a little girl, (Y/N) didn't picture her life consisting of playing in tutus and pointe shoes in the evening with a day job. But, the money for her apartment has to come from somewhere until she could be a real principal dancer for more than a passing production. 

All she needed to do was get through this chapter, make her suggested edits, and then she'll let herself take a break. 

Harshly blinking, (Y/N) directed her attention solely on the typed pages in her hands. 

His palms flexed around nothing, tattoos dancing over the golden skin, leading her eye to the hem of his sleeve. Rebekah eyed him as he hesitated, tongue thick in the back of his throat. The Adam's apple adorning the front of his throat bobbed like the apple of eden, forbidden for anything more than her eyes. 

Archer was never this nervous, she realized. Never tongue tied, never hesitant. his entire life—career, bedroom persona, spot as the captain of his hatchet-throwing league—was built on him being certain of every move. 

This couldn't be good, she decided. Not when he looked at her with his glittering eyes, long lashes, the corners pinching just enough to show creases that weren't typically there. He was going to tell her something she wasn't ready to hear. Something she didn't want to hear from his rosy lips.

"Bek, I... I can't keep doing this," he choked out, his voice a rumbly mix of gravel and gemstones, "We have to stop." 

Rebekah blinked, tipping her head with pouty mouth agape. "What do you mean?" 

Those hands flexed once more, hardening into immoveable fists. 

"Because I love you," he stumbled out, "I love you, and I wasn't ever supposed to.I love you too much to keep doing this when I know you don't feel the same. Not when you—

(Y/N) blinked back to real life then, startled by the film playing out in conjunction with the written words in front of her. 

This man, the character Archer, had evolved into a version of Harry. The long lashes and pinched corners turned into golden flecks dancing through green irises and a furrowed brow. That golden skin went creamy with freckles on the bridge of his nose. The tattoo on his skin was now an inked cross between his pointer and thumb. (Y/N) recalled the timber of his voice and lilt of his accent when it came to the dialogue. 

That wasn't right. There was no reason to be thinking of Harry Styles—the patron of her ballet company—at the moment. Not when she was reading a manuscript about a couple engaged in a BDSM arrangement that went too far in the feelings department. 

(With the main male character also being a hatchet throwing captain? That was a detail (Y/N) couldn't remember hearing, but she hoped she marked that as needing a revision).

Her break was going to have to start now, she decided. Having a two minute conversation with him almost a week ago was not supposed to linger in her mind like this. 

(Y/N) folded the manuscript closed, determined to take that vision with it. 

—————

"You're alright locking up?" 

Ms. Ariel looked at (Y/N) with her handbag in the crook of her elbow, bottom lip caught between her teeth. Though she tried to be discreet about it, (Y/N) still caught the nervous glance she shot at the clock above the window. 8:34pm. 

"Yes, I'll be fine," (Y/N) insisted. For the third time. "I'll be right behind you, anyway. Don't worry." 

"Okay, okay," Ms. Ariel finally relented, shooting off a text as she edged out of the door. "If you need anything, just call and I'll turn around." 

(Y/N) nodded her head, knowing that no matter what she isn't going to call Ms. Ariel for anything. Not after she had already arranged a rehearsal time to work around (Y/N)'s editing deadline.

(She had a hard time getting back into the headspace to finish that manuscript. Every time she opened it up, Harry's face somehow made its way onto the male love interest's body. Very confusing).

Just as (Y/N) began collecting her things, silence filling the darkened building, a set of pounding footsteps clicked through the space once more. She jumped at the sound, her spine stiffening to go ramrod straight with her eyes on the door. 

Was there another late lesson going on? Another group rehearsing that she's missed? 

Ms. Ariel popped her head in once more, phone pressed to her ear. "I gave you a key, right? Or did I give it to Harry?" 

Her brow pinched to a furrow at her choreographer's question. "I have a key," she offered, hoping her unasked question received an answer anyway. 

She watched as Ms. Ariel deflated in relief. "Okay, great. I'll see you Monday—Keep stretching! If you want extra time, just call me!" 

This time, (Y/N) waited until she heard Ms. Ariel's footsteps retreat through the building, bookended by the resounding click of the front door closing. Then she felt clear to pack up and clean up the space. Trading out her shoes, she held onto her discarded pointes by the ribbons. The shoes dangled at her side as she cruised through the building, glancing through the window of each rehearsal space to ensure all lights were off with doors pulled shut. 

Making it to the front door, she pulled out the key passed on by Ms. Ariel. According to the directions given, the door needed to be locked up before she stepped outside; when (Y/N) asked why she couldn't lock everything from the outside as normal, Ms. Ariel just gave a flapped hand and a promise of "it's a long story!". 

Sticking the weathered key into the lock, she twisted her wrist only for the lock itself to halt the motion. Her brows knitted together, eyes on her hand as she attempted once more to break whatever blocked the twist.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there attempting to push through the block. She pulled out the key and reslotted it, attempted to brute force her way against the block, twisted the knob along with the key. At some point she even took a breath and checked her phone, pretending as if she didn't desperately need this key to do its job. She couldn't call Ms. Ariel, not when she was already almost late to her stepdaughter's graduation dinner. 

But, she also can't just leave the studio unlocked. 

Her palm grew slick with panic sweat. Okay, if she doesn't get it in the next three tries, she has no choice but to call Ms. Ariel. She will grovel and beg for forgiveness later, but the door needed to be locked now. 

"Is it sticking, again?" 

At the sound of another voice, (Y/N) almost jumped out of her skin. Whirling around, hand to her throat, she saw Harry standing just beside her. His clothing was much the same as usual, though he was missing the tie and the first buttons of his shirt were let loose. He looked to her with raised brows, apology on his lips. 

"Oh my god, you scared me." 

"Sorry," he breathed, a bit sheepish in the way he dropped his gaze to her hand, "I thought y'heard me. Sorry." 

With her heart rate settling, (Y/N) calmed enough to give a small smile at the sound of the apologies just flooding from Harry. How those rumors could hold up against everything that she saw in front of her, she couldn't understand. 

Her imagination did not compare to the real thing, that was for sure.

"It's okay," she offered, "I didn't know anyone else was here." 

Harry gave a half-hearted shrug. "Yeah. Ariel gave me some plans for set pieces to look over and approve before Monday, so 'm jus' finishing that up. I didn't know y'practiced this late?" 

"Sometimes," (Y/N) chirped, "It depends on my work schedule. But I don't think I'll ever leave before Ms. Ariel ever again—especially since I apparently broke the lock." 

Harry let out an airy laugh at her words. "'S tricky," he murmured, "It sticks all the time. I don't know why Ariel wants everything to be locked from the inside when it barely works." 

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded, taking the key out of the lock with suddenly tired limbs. Now, without panic fueling her, she felt particularly fatigued. "Okay." 

"Sorry I didn't catch y'earlier." 

"It's okay," she shook her head, "You're still working?" 

Harry nodded, matching her gaze tentatively. "I can lock up if y'want." 

"That would be really nice, I think," she said on a breathy peel of laughter, "Do you need the key?" 

"I've got one," he said, a slight curl to his lips. There was that ghost of a dimple denting his cheek, gone before she had a real chance to admire it. 

"Cool, thank you," she responded lamely, feeling a bit silly now that she realized just how much that panic had caused her to stress sweat. She didn't particularly feel like a pretty ballerina when this heady sheen of sweat and sticky underarms. "I'll see you next week?" 

"At some point, I'm sure," Harry smiled, this time showing two barely there dips in his cheeks. "Get home safe, (Y/N)." 

Edging out the door, a small smile bloomed over her lips. "You too, Harry." 

With that, (Y/N) was out the door before she had any more material to replace characters with in her manuscripts. 

Though, as she pulled away, she couldn't help the look into the rearview mirror. Right at the glass door of the studio, where she swore she could see Harry turning back into the building. 

He waited for her.

—————

(Y/N) twisted in the mirror, pristine white tutu fluffing around her hips. Feathers were carefully laid along much of the bodice and layered over the very top of the tutu. The thin straps of her top were pinned with down feathers, more being pinned across the back to give the look of feathered wings sprouting between her shoulder blades. On the top layer of the tutu the collection of feathers thinned until they were nothing but small puffs over the tulle. Throughout, there were crystals beaded on the costume, gilding the feathers and looking like dew drops as they rained down to set along the fluffy layers of her tutu. Everything was made costume to her measurements, acting like a second skin as she moved and stretched. On a hanger behind her was the black version of the same outfit, reserved for her numbers as Odile. 

"(Y/N), that is so pretty!" Siobhan's excited squeal broke over the noise in the studio. She, also clad in her swan's costume, bounced up to where (Y/N) was standing on an apple box while the head of the costume department did her own analysis of the outfit. "Do you love it?" 

"I do," (Y/N) smiled, shooting a look to the costumer through the mirror. "It's perfect." 

Lea, the costume head, reciprocated her smile in quiet thanks, though her critical eye continued looking over the tutu. With only a month until opening weekend, any last minute changes to these outfits were going to have to happen as quickly as possible. 

The other principals—Prince Siegfried and Rothbart—were being sized alongside her, though their own garments weren’t quite as elaborate as her own. Other dancers—swans—were fluttered through the space, followed by others in the costume department to mark alterations. There was a level of chaos filling the room, but there was something special seeing all of the flickering crystals. The rainbows of light danced over the walls, trails of glitter falling in the wake of the rotating swans, the specks now forever a part of the flooring. 

Even without everyone cast in their makeup, their hair pasted and gelled to perfection, there was still a magic to this cast. This was the Swan Lake.

She was Odette. 

"Ready to try on Odile?" 

(Y/N) blinked back to her own body, meeting Lea's eyes in the mirror. "Sure, yeah!" 

"I can grab it!" Siobhan bubbled, trundling away towards the rack holding the Swan Princess collection of costumes. 

Beginning to untie the back of her bodice with the help of Lea, (Y/N)'s eyes followed Siobhan's journey to the rack. The black crystals caught her eye, the light glancing off of the facets like starlight. She admired the points of light dotted along the walls.

Her breath caught when she looked through the window. 

Through the glass was Ms. Ariel, huddled with another. Her eyes skimmed across the whole space, while the others' were trained in one spot: right on (Y/N).

Harry gave her a lingering look. His gaze touched on the details of her costume, following the flow of the feathers and the dripping crystals. He wasn't aware he had been caught, that much was clear. 

Especially when his lingering eyes finally worked their way back up to her face. Even though the glass, (Y/N) could see the flush that painted his cheeks, his eyes quickly flitting away. 

A small smile curled (Y/N)'s lips, her own skin warming just as Siobhan returned with the black swan regalia. 

"What?" Siobhan prodded, huddling closer to her friend in conspiracy. "Did I miss something?" 

(Y/N) was quick to shake her head, "No—just watching the swans run around. I think Lea's team is going to lose their minds." 

At that, Siobhan and Lea both blurt out in laughter.

Through the mirror, (Y/N) could see Ms. Ariel and Harry departing from the viewing window. Her smile fell the smallest bit. 

—————

"Has anyone said where the dinner next week is booked?" 

A shiver ran down (Y/N)'s spine as she gulped down the shot that Kingston—her counterpart as Prince Siegfried—had already muscled through. She couldn't even process his question for another three seconds, eyes shut closed as she attempted to look tougher than she actually was when it came to shots. They were supposed to be grabbing drinks and snacks for the entire table of other dancers—post rehearsal bonding—before Kingston had egged her into taking a shot with him while they waited on the chips and guac.

"No," she finally coughed out. "I haven't heard anything. I don't think anyone's actually decided yet." 

"Well, we only have, like, less than a week before opening night, and I won't go on without a family dinner the night before." Kingston looked at her with a raised brow in defiance. 

"As if we'd put on the show without you," (Y/N) smiled, bumping her hip against her friend's. 

"I don't know," he drawled, tipping his head in her direction. Kingston looked at her through his lashes, his dreads falling over his shoulder as he leaned in conspiratorially towards her. "I think you'd replace me if you could." 

(Y/N) blanched at the accusation. That wasn't the kind of thing she thought he had in mind when he leaned into her like they were sharing an inside joke. 

"Why would you say that? I would never replace you!" 

Kingston let out a boisterous laugh. He threw his head back, unperturbed by (Y/N)'s blatant shock. 

"You didn't think I would notice?" he pressed, huddling close to her once more. "You know I always know what's going on around the company." 

When (Y/N) only looked at him with her furrowed brows, nothing leaving her lips, he let out another laugh. This one coming out airy and a bit more private. 

The volume of his voice dropped to match as he inclined his head in her direction. "How's Harry?" 

Her knee-jerk reaction came in the dropping of her jaw and a mumbled Um. This question shouldn't elicit any kind of reaction from her, that was something she knew. If he was asking her seriously, how Harry was, she wouldn't even have an answer. They've exchanged maybe twenty words, at most. 

Yet, there was still a warmth simmering under her skin. She felt like she'd been caught. 

"What do you mean?" she finally settled on. Hopefully, the least conspicuous of responses. 

Kingston was not at all fooled. "You think he came to watch Kaleb be fitted into the monster costume? Especially when there was the Swan right there? The same one that always looks all giggly every time he's around?" 

(Y/N) dropped her eyes to the bar top. How long could a bowl of guacamole take?  

"It's okay, you know," Kingston relented, bumping (Y/N)'s hip. "I'm just playing around. He's cute—I don't blame you." 

Maybe it was the shot working its magic in her system, maybe it was the fact that no one else had seemed to share this kind of fascination with him. But, (Y/N) nodded, rolling her lips between her teeth. 

"Really cute." 

"See, I knew it," Kingston declared, looking triumphant before casting his eyes down the bar. "You know, though, right?" 

She paused. "About the... rumors, or?" 

"Mhm," he hummed, "Or am I going to have to be the one to burst your bubble?" 

(Y/N) felt her bubble burst anyway then. She thought Kingston was on the same page as her. He hadn't been around the company much longer than she had, neither of them being present when the whole ordeal had gone down. He was supposed to be as naively open as she was. 

"No. I know." 

"Good," he said, looking at her with a serious set in his gaze, "The only reason I bring it up is because I want you to be careful. I know you can take care of yourself, but if any of what people have said is true, that's a situation none of us need to get into. If it does go further than the studio, just let someone know—just in case." 

"I—Wait—" (Y/N) floundered, unsure of what front to attack first. "It's—No, it's not like that. We've barely ever talked, there's nothing to go further with." 

Kingston lifted his hands as if in surrender, only missing the white flag. "I had to say it, just in case." 

(Y/N) shook her head. "It's not like that at all," she swallowed, "And... I don't think any of that stuff is true anyway. What people have said. Ms. Ariel wouldn't let him work with us if she thought he was... bad." 

He gave her a half shrug. "You never know, babe. Just be safe and aware, that's all." 

Before much more could be offered in her defense, the bartender returned with a tray of chips and guacamole, fresh from the tiny kitchen in the back. 

"I'm so sorry about that wait!" she chattered, "We're training back there. Thank you for being so patient!" 

Kingston offered assurances that there was nothing to be sorry for before collecting all of their drinks and snacks upon the newly gifted tray. (Y/N) kept her mouth shut, helping to carry all of the drinks and everything else they ordered.

"It's okay, (Y/N)," Kingston murmured, a kind smile on his face, "Let me know if you ever need anything, that's all I'm saying. Your secret is safe with me." 

(Y/N) gave a small smile in response. She understood where Kingston was coming from; if one of her friends told her they were interested in someone who had even a whiff of a possibility of being harmful to an ex in the past, she would be staking out the house at all times. Just because she didn't believe Harry fell into that category didn’t mean no one else could worry about her.

And it wasn't like she was interested in him anyway. Not when she'd barely spoken to him. 

—————

(Y/N), arms extended at her sides, thighs tight as she held her legs in straight pointed lines, soared above the stage. Kingston, dressed as Prince Siegfried, lifted her over the boards in time with the swelling music. She hoped the light caught her tears just right, letting them sparkle just like the crystals on her costume. 

Odette and Siegfried were in the afterlife, free from the wrath of Rothbart and the swan curse. The goal was to be as ethereally blissful as she could achieve, overjoyed with the eternity that stretched before her with the love of her life. The one who sacrificed himself to be with her, no matter that the sacrifice was his life. 

If she would be able to achieve these same tears, the same clutching fingers that clung to Kingston, the recentering of her gravity as she revolved around him—all while she performed as the prima she had been named, perfect in technique and timing—(Y/N) wasn't sure. Especially when a theater full of eyes would be trained right on her. 

She supposed that was what practice was for, anyway. Now was the time to find herself in these moments, in the halves of the swan, so she wouldn't have a problem giving the performance of a lifetime when it came to opening night. 

Besides, if her feet and legs hurt then as much as they did now, she doubted it would be very hard to summon tears to her eyes. 

(No one had warned her the fouettes were going to make her toes go numb, especially being performed over and over again every week. Any pedicures were going to have to wait until they wrapped, it appeared). 

The song came to an end, the finale upon her as Kingston lowered her to the ground, twirling her into him. Pressing his forehead to hers, they shared a moment in the dreamscape that would be projected over them during the show. Her eyes fluttered closed as they caught their breaths together, skin slick with sweat. 

As soon as the music flourished to a feathery end, (Y/N) pulled him in for a real hug. 

"We did it!" she bubbled, jumping up and down on the flat of her pointe shoes. Their first full run of the show was complete, costumes and all. 

"I think I'm going to fall over," Kingston laughed, holding her just as hard. Though it wasn't his first time as a principal, he still glowed like never before. Perfect evidence as to why he was cast as the Prince Charming of Odette's story. 

"Let's go sit before Ms. Ariel makes us go again," (Y/N) laughed, still greatly out of breath. 

Though she took Kingston's hand, ready to lead him to the edge of the stage to take a breather, where he could easily access his inhaler should he not regain his breath, they both stilled, awaiting their proper dismissal. Out in the aisle of the theater, standing a few rows from the front was Ms. Ariel and the director of the production.

And Harry. 

They had all watched the tail end of the run, staying silent. Looking out to the trio of faces, (Y/N) couldn't help but to snag on Harry's.

Gone was the pinched brow, the crossed arms, the intense eyes. The lines of his face were left to soften in the shadows of the theater. His eyes gleamed in the low light as he gazed up at her. If she didn't know any better, she would have liked to think of his gaze as admiring with the way he looked at her. 

Like she was something to revere, complete with overheated skin, a sheen of sweat, and trembling limbs. 

It was Ms. Ariel's voice that threw her back into the rest of the world. 

"That was beautiful, you two. Almost perfect," she smiled, this time taking on Harry's previously critical stance with crossed arms and squinted eyes. "There's a couple of blocking changes we need to make, and I want you two to rehearse as much as you can together for the next week, even if I'm not there. But, you have it. I believe it." 

That was the biggest relief (Y/N) could have been given. She could perfect her technique, she could learn the steps and refine her shapes, but if no one believed the story she was selling, it would all become a moot point.

"Thank you," she murmured, Kingston doing the same with his hand held in hers. 

"Take a break, okay? I'll call you when I'm ready to block." 

They didn't need to be told twice before both Kingston and (Y/N) were rushing from the stage, Kingston being dragged behind the swan. 

Before exiting into the backstage and disappearing from the front of the theater, (Y/N) stole a glance in the direction she knew she shouldn't. 

Nonetheless, she felt a heat bubble behind her cheeks when she met a pair of green, gleaming eyes. 

Kingston had to tear her away, leading them backstage. 

—————

Adjusting her leg warmers, (Y/N) curled into her theater seat, eyes fixed on the stage. 

Just days from now, she was going to be up there, these seats filled to the brim with spectators. Opening night was officially sold out as of yesterday morning. 

Tonight was the tech run of the show. This was (Y/N)'s first look at the set up of the show, complete with set pieces and the proper lighting. The orchestra had already had their own run earlier in the evening, though (Y/N) could still peek at the pit before the stage filled with seats and sheet music. For now, a track was faintly playing through the speakers of the theater to make up for the lack of band, letting the notes be the cue for the lighting and the different effects set forth from the tech booth. 

The director, Ms. Ariel, and majority of the production team was present for the run. (Y/N) was the only person sitting in one of the plush red theater seats, having come here right after leaving the studio. 

Tomorrow was the final rehearsal, set with the entire cast and ensemble , even the understudies and alternates. After that, a day of rest would be given, including a night out for a family dinner amongst the cast before they would be swinging for the fences, multiple shows every week for the next eight weeks. 

Tonight was her last moment of peace here in the theater, she thought. Before she would be slotted in as Odette every night, feeling the weight of the story and the pressure of the technique until each movement came as easy as breathing. 

The spotlight glided over the stage, following an invisible dancer. The production lead shouted corrections from the wings, ensuring everything would be perfectly in line with the stage directions Ms. Ariel gave at the beginning of the night. 

For a moment, just seeing the spotlight, something in (Y/N) shimmered, warming her chest. 

In days, it would be her shining under the light. The beads on her costume would cast rainbows over the audience. She was going to be clad in feathers, moving just like one over the stage.  She would be captivating the theater as she told a story she'd held so close to her heart since she was a girl. Seeing that spotlight, she was only reminded of the gravity of what she had signed up for.

(Y/N) was a ballerina. A prima for the first time in her life. She was Odette and Odile, two of the most famous characters in ballet history. 

This was her dream. 

Absorbed in the phantom show going on in front of her, (Y/N) didn't notice she was no longer alone until the static prick of the air shifting her took her attention. At the end of the aisle, she saw Harry. 

He stood with the grays of his suit blending into the shadows of the theater, his hands folded behind him. He looked taken aback when she spotted him, his mouth opened like a guppy, the barely there light pointing out the quiet flush on his cheeks. She couldn't help the small smile that molded her features at his expression.

"Harry?" she asked, voice just over the sound of Tchaikovsky

"I—Sorry," he said, dropping his gaze to land on one of the seats surrounding her, "Do y'mind if I sit with you?" 

"Of course not," she beamed, making room for him as she removed her jacket and tote bag off the seat next to her. 

Harry side steps his way into the aisle, taking the plush seat at her side. He carried a warmth with him as he sunk into the spot, wafting around her. She felt his presence like a static at her side, taking up weighty space. The stagnant scent of the theater now replaced with something warm and charred, flicks of something sweet threaded through. He definitely smelled much better than she did after dating through the entire morning. 

Moments passed as they both looked ahead, watching as the show came together. Projections danced around the stage, showing a wintery blue sky while snowflakes fell in puffs down to the boards. Somewhere off stage, a gentle breeze blew through to sweep the flakes askew, the effect meant to coincide with the swans that would decorate the stage in two days' time. 

"It's so pretty," (Y/N) murmured, "seeing everything come together like this." 

From the corner of her eye, she spotted a small smile touching Harry's lips. "'S amazing," he said, voice melodic and low like the baseline of the music. 

Tipping her head, she chanced a small look in his fraction. "Does it ever get old? Seeing this all the time?" 

A look passed over his features, fleeting and quick, as if he were surprised that she was acknowledging that there was ever a production before this. Like he couldn't believe she was broaching any form of the past. 

She could imagine he was much more used to others tiptoeing around him. Especially when it came to this place. 

Recovered, he shook his head, eyes still forward on the stage. "Never. Some shows aren't always my favorite," he smiled, "but 's never takes away from this." 

"Yeah?" she perked up, forgoing her sight of the stage to give her attention to him with her chin propped up on her folded knee, "What is your favorite?" 

Harry cocked his head, turning to look at her with pursed lips. "I've always liked The Rite of Spring and La Sylphide, or anything that fits the springtime." He paused, hesitating some as their eyes met. "This year's is really growing on me, though." 

A bright smile bloomed on (Y/N)'s face. Though she was more than sure that it was nothing else but the light shining from the stage, the faux snowflakes reflected in his eyes, but she swore there was a twinkle in his irises. Something almost glowing as he gazed at her. 

"Swan Lake is my favorite," she shared, unconsciously moving closer to him within the plush of her seat, "You've probably never seen it but there was this, like, animated kind of movie I watched when I was younger that was a version of Swan Lake and it's been my favorite ever since. It's become a lot more special to me now, though." 

(Y/N) blinked, her lashes fluttering as she realized just how close she now was to Harry. Through the interaction, she had slightly shuffled until her legs were flush to the armrest, Harry's body turned straight towards her with his eyes fixed on the planes of her face. 

Something pricking like static passed in the air between them.

From here, she was able to see the way his lashes tangled at the corners of his eyes. His freckles had warmed around the center of his face, the sun adding more color to the spots. The raspberry color of his lips were deepened in the shadows of the theater, berry rich. 

"You're... You're an incredible dancer. I hope you know that." His voice wavered, unsure as the words slipped out. 

 "Thank you," she smiled, partially aware of the scene change on stage with the music lifting and the light filling through the theater. Off stage, Ms. Ariel's voice could be heard with the muffled director's. None of it was enough to steal her attention away from Harry. "I don't really understand what a patron does yet, but it seems like you do a lot for everyone—Ms. Ariel especially. Thank you for being kind and... wanting to be a part of all of this." 

Harry dropped his head, breaking the intensity. "Um," he sounded, something low in the drawl of his voice, "of course. Thank you." 

Mouth open, ready to ask what happened, (Y/N) was cut off by the sound of Ms. Ariel's booming voice. 

"(Y/N), are you still here? Can you come up here for a second?" 

That prickling static was severed at the sound of her voice. She snapped away from Harry, feeling caught red-handed. Harry watched with attentive eyes. 

"Yeah, I'm here," she shouted back, giving him an apologetic smile as she rose from her spot, "Sorry. It was nice talking with you, Harry." 

"'S alright. Thank you, (Y/N)." 

He stayed there as she collected her things and went towards the stage. The warmth that had radiated from his presence was left behind, a flash of goosebumps erupting over her skin. 

The only bit of warmth that lingered fell on her back, right where she hoped he was watching her. 

—————

the swan is a central figure in the classic ballet, swan lake

ahhhhhhh thank you sm for reading! its been a long time since ive posted anything so im super excited to get something out there! so sorry for any mistakes ! I would love to hear everyone's thoughts or predictions so feel free to send them in!

[daylightmidnights]

This is way too cute i wanna cry 😭😭

Dadrry picture blurb time! It’s short but cute ❤️

Check out our Patreon for close to 300 exclusive writings!

Warnings- none!

“Your mumma will kill me if I overwater then dahlias, little bug. So we need to keep watch, okay?”

His son let out a gurgle of what he was going to assume was agreement. Smart kid.

“Thank you. She went to go get her hair done. Y’know, she really needed a day off. You’re the sweetest little plum, but you’re a lot of work.” Harry adjusted the sunhat on his head, shading his face. “So we’re going to do some things to take off her plate. What do you think about that?”

Wide green eyes peered up at him with a few blinks. Good enough.

“I told her I’d take over watering the garden for her. I think we’ll tidy up once we go inside, hm? You can go back in the rocker and watch me do it. The dishes need to be washed.” He mumbled, rocking back and forth on his feet as he used his free hand to water the plants. The hose water was cold but it was nice to get a light back spray when the heat was like this in the mornings.

“She’s done a good job back here. Think some of it’s probably the magic you give her, hm?” He looked back to his son as he let out a little gurgling sound, tiny hand fisting his tee shirt. “Precisely. You give the whimsy, and she absorbs it to give to the plants. You always say exactly what m’thinking.”

The garden was bustling with flowers that he’d watched her plant with their baby in his lap underneath the shaded tree. As much as he had offered to do it for her, he’d been met with sharp glances and sharper questions about him thinking she was ‘incapable’ so he’d simply let her at it. Thankfully she had a green thumb as oppose to his dingy one. Harry could handle the watering but pruning, planting and all of that… not so much. He’d proven that last year when he tried to help.

“Oh, look at these. Peas!” He cooed, directing the spray at the quickly growing pods. “Your favorite, hm? You prefer them mushy, though. M’a fan of that myself, though not the baby sized jars. Your mum tells me it’s ‘gross’ but she doesn’t know what she’s missing.” He tutted, making a little giggle escape his baby. Every time he got one out of him, regardless if he actually understood or not, felt like a Medal of Honor. “But she loves us anyways. Grows them for us, you see? That’s the type of person your mumma is. Giving and kind, even if she hates mushy peas. That’s why we’ve got t’love on her when she gets home. She’s getting a pretty haircut and you’ve got the leave it alone for a few days, hm? I know it’s tempting to tug, but let’s give her a break.”

[daylightmidnights]

sunday morning

Words: 1,565 Rating: PG-13 (language, nothing but fluff here. Fluffy lovey Harry) Type: One Shot (Harry Styles x Reader)

❀ Requests

Harry was running around frantically in the kitchen. It had to be near nine in the morning and she was still asleep, but he knew it wouldn’t be for long. She was an early bird, but he had turned off her alarm this morning. It was Sunday anyway, and she had been working so hard since her new promotion.

Being with Y/N was indescribable. She was the sun that came out on rainy days. The moon that shined bright at night. She was Harry’s world. Unfortunately, work had sort of taken over both their lives recently. 

Harry's new album was…well…he didn’t want to talk about it. This was his fourth album, he wanted it to be perfect. Maybe a bit too perfect. Harry didn’t like to put things out that he didn’t feel one hundred percent about. There was even a song that had around 30 mixes by now and he felt like the album was slipping more and more away each day.

She was the same with her work. As Harry said, Y/N just got a promotion but with a promotion comes new tasks and more responsibility, and although Harry and her both knew that would be the case. This just made it harder for them to spend time together. That's why this was so important to Harry. They finally had a few days they were able to spend together, thanks to a three day weekend for Y/N and a stern Harry taking those days off just to do this.

What was this? This was Harry trying to make pancakes, but not just any pancakes. Y/N has always wanted to try those really fluffy ones that look absolutely ridiculous and a bit fake but Harry was sure trying his damn hardest to bring her wish to life. Even if it meant getting batter on her favorite apron. “Shit!” Harry cursed as he tried to wash the batter off but it just kind of adhered. He groaned. Then, his eyes went wide as he turned around and there was smoke coming from the pan. “Not again!” He exclaimed. A sighed coming from him as he discarded his fifth batch of pancakes. Maybe it was the batter? Too much baking soda? Wait did it say baking or powder? 

God, he was fucked.

“Smells….good?” Y/N’s voice could be heard from the stairs and Harry turned around quickly. A smile on his face that did not mimic the chaos behind him. “You’re up!” He sort of shouted, as if that would be a distraction for her. She crossed her arms and tilted her head. Okay, she’s not impressed, Harry thought but then he watched as a smile etched across her face. “Want some help?” She asked and he grinned, “Get your cute little arse over here.” Harry murmured, and Y/N rolled her eyes at him.

“What would you do without me, H?” She stepped further into the kitchen, her smile turning unamused as she walked up to him, her hand grasping the apron where the batter was stuck. Her eyes flickered to his and Harry looked at her apologetically. “I’ll buy you a hundred more, promise.” He said hopefully.

Y/N let out a sigh, "Hundred and two.” She said, a sly smile coming onto her face. Harry learned down to kiss the smile away, a short brief kiss between them. “Deal.” Harry said with a soft chuckle and Y/N gave him a light smack on the chest. Harry rubbed it as if it even hurt, it didn’t.  “Okay, move over Casanova. What were you even making?” She asked as she looked around at the mess.

Batter was everywhere, flour and it looked like Harry even spilt the good vanilla. There were so many bowls out, stacking in the sink, stove still slightly smoking from being over used at this point. “Oh, babe.” She said softly and she turned to see Harry looking like he was a teenager again. “I know – You know those japanese pancakes you always have wanted to try? The fluffy ones? Yeah, well. Ta da?” 

“You know you can order those from down the street, right?” No, Harry didn’t know that but now he did. “Hey! I was trying to be sweet.” Harry wined slightly, he moved until he was behind her. His arms wrapping around her middle and his chin laying on her shoulder. “You are sweet.” She commented and he nodded. “Yeah, I am.” That earned him another smack to the arm.

His lips creeped up the side of her neck as she tried to salvage the utter monstrosity he had made. “I’m an idiot, I should’ve got you down here sooner.” Harry muttered into her skin as his arms squeezed her a bit tighter. 

Y/N giggled, drawing her shoulder and ear together, “That tickles!” She nearly squealed and that just encouraged Harry to wiggle his fingers across her sides, her arms coming down flat to try and stop them. “Harry!” Y/N yelled, trying to sound angry but her laughter broke through it all. 

“You love me.” Harry said as he ceased his torments, his head going back comfortably in the crook of her neck. “I do.” She says and he presses a small Harry. “I love it when you say those words.” Harry kissed the top of her head as he ruffled her hair. She pushed him away playfully and laughed. “Get away! I have to finish this mess you started.” She pointed back at him wildly, dramatically. 

He was in love. No, really. This was it for him. 

Harry once felt like he would never find love. Well, not true love anyway. Even when he thought he had poured his heart out, there was always something. A hiccup, a miscommunication, misleading information…Harry could write a novel. Not with her though, because she understood. 

Y/N understood that Harry’s music wasn’t only for himself. That it was just as important as what she did in her work. They shared a respect for each other and trusted each other. Harry doesn’t really know how he got so lucky, but he thanks the universe or whatever magic brought Y/N to him. To find someone you see your entire future with, well, it makes the world make a bit more sense. 

Harry tiptoed into the living room, finding a vinyl to listen to and settling with ‘Rumours’ by Fleetwood Mac. A favorite, naturally. Harry danced back into the kitchen, his voice carrying along with Stevie’s as he danced with his back to hers for a moment. 

Y/N laughed at Harry’s antics. He was such a weirdo. It seemed to make her adore him more and more each day. “Would you stop! I’m a professional, you know.” She scolded him playfully, holding up her whisk at him as she stuck her tongue out. 

That was another thing. She made him feel a balance of things. They could do this, goof off and banter with each other like they weren’t adults but then they could be serious, like making big decisions together. This being the last one, her moving in. 

It was a two month conversation considering there would obviously be times he would have to be on tour or in other countries and as much as he would love to take her everywhere with him, her career was important to her. That’s something he loved about her. 

He knew he could give her the world if she wanted, but Y/N was one of the most hard working people Harry knew, so it was safe to say he knew she wouldn’t give it up when they made things official. 

Now, he gets to wake up to her, go to sleep next to her. And although it doesn’t happen every night. It happens. That’s what mattered. He would take chaste kisses goodbye and falling asleep three minutes into a movie just to spend that extra time with her. 

“A man writes songs about dancing in kitchens, a lady refuses to give him what he wants.” Harry jokingly complained. A huff coming from him that made her laugh. “Drama Queen.” She said as she rolled her eyes. Harry pinched her side. She giggled. Did he mention he was in love with her? 

Just then, she put the whisk back in the bowl and started to untie her apron off Harry’s body. “Not getting batter on me.” She mumbled and Harry smiled as she laid the apron on the counter. 

She then opened her arms and Harry wrapped his arms around her waist as he lifted her in a spin. She laughed. Melodic and beautiful and Harry had claimed it as one of his favorite sounds in the entire word. He sat her back down as they slowly swayed to ‘Dreams’. Harry had a smile on his face that made his dimples shine and Y/N was looking at him as if he made the world himself. 

They stayed like that for a while, swaying and looking into each other's eyes. The quiet speaking loud as their eyes had a conversation on their own. It seemed they both knew what the outcome of this relationship would be. 

Forever. 

Harry confirmed, his eyes heavy with a love that penetrated her to the core as he whispered, “I can’t wait to spend every Sunday morning with you.”

[daylightmidnights]

Deaf!Fratboy!Harry Verse

Not Your Charity Case

Finally Fitting In

It's Yours

Blurbs

[daylightmidnights]

I'm so in love with them! Can't get enough of them. This is serious. I'm obsessed!

I’m obsessed with how obsessed sugar daddy Harry is with his bestie turned gf😩 how he can’t keep his hands to himself with her. I bet they’ve gotten noise complaints from her neighbors😏💕💕

Hiii babes!! I’m also obsessed with how completely obsessed he is with his now gf and they’ve probably gotten a few noise complaints indeed😂 I had to write a little something inspired by this!💖

Find all things Delicate here🌟

CW: language, tiny bit of use of the nickname Muffin (y’all hate this I’m sorry), mentions of sugar daddy stuff, dirty talk (we all know Harry says freak shit to his bestie/gf), semi public sex (balcony) and smut.

Word Count: 3.8K

A/N: I’m combining this and a request for Harry to go all in on the sugar daddy role now that his bestie is his gf! Hope y’all enjoy this madly in love freaky deaky duo! Also sorry it’s not properly edited so if you see mistakes I’m sorry!

Tag List: @masochistfork @dipmeinhoneyh @sunshinemoonsposts @sweetmoonlove0214 @maudie-duan @umadirectioner @littlemomentsofbeauty @sunflower-tia @tulips4harry @gmikaelson @fangirl509east @howling-wolf97 @outofthisworl-d @namoreno @blckburd @triski73 @prettygurl-2009 @hopefullimaginer123 @somewiseguy @emmie2308 @delanie881dlover13 @frankyrose7 @matildasatellite @run-for-the-hills @mema10 @indierockgirrl @mads3502 @robinsue87 @finelineryy @spinninc @angeldavis777 @swiftmendeshoran

Summary: Harry takes you on vacation and things get a little loud🌟

“You know this is the exact kind of thing I was expecting when I went looking for a sugar daddy.” Harry lets out a laugh as his hands rub your feet that are in his lap on the outdoor sitting area of the hotel the two of you have been staying at the past several days.

“Oh yeah? You were expecting someone to fly you out to Italy and put you in a fancy hotel for two weeks?” He asks as you take a sip of your wine that you hadn’t finished during lunch.

“I mean obviously I wasn’t going to be picky on the destination but yes.” You say with a playful smile on your face. “I was expecting lavish trips and lots of gifts.” Harry turns his head and looks at you with a raised brow as his hands travel up to your ankles giving them soft squeezes.

“I’m calling bullshit.” You let out a dramatic scoff as you place your wine glass down on the floor next to the couch the two of you are lounging on. “You huffed and puffed over me paying your rent yet you were expecting lavish trips and gifts?”

“That’s different because it’s you.” Harry rolls his eyes as you sit up so you can reach over and run a hand through his hair. “If it was a stranger then I wouldn’t care as much about them spending money on me but you know how I am about friends spending money on me it makes me feel-weird.” You explain making Harry just nod because he’s heard this before and he understands, of course he understands he’s been your bestfriend for years and can remember the first time he paid the bar tab while out with a group of friends and you about threw a hissy fit and demanded he let you give him cash for your portion.

“That’s all fine and dandy Muffin but I don’t think you and I are exactly friends right?” He argues as his hands slide up your legs, wrapping around your calves.

“Are you saying you don’t want to be my friend anymore?” Your tone is filled with what Harry knows is your fake sad voice, you give him your best pout that makes him rub his lips together to hide his smile. “That’s rude.” Your words have Harry letting out a fake little whine as he sits up and moves so he is hovering over you, situated between your legs that were just in his lap.

“I really am so rude aren’t I?” He teases as you lean back and rest your head against a throw pillow while he brings a hand up to grip the armrest. “For wanting to be your boyfriend who spoils you all the time.” His eyes are swirling with something you’ve gotten used to seeing mixed in with his usual emerald green color over the last few months, a dark lust filled hunger that has your pulse racing and the butterflies going off in your tummy.

“Yes so-so rude.” Your voice is strained and Harry lets out a chuckle as his eyes travel down your body, his hand resting on your hip feeling the soft fabric of your shorts. You let out a soft gasp when you feel his hand slip down between your thighs, his thumb delicately rubbing right over your clothed covered clit.

“So rude for wanting to spend all my time loving on you.” His eyes don’t leave yours as he runs his index finger up and down the front of your shorts, teasing you with his thumb that’s working slow circles over your sensitive bundle. He smiles down at you when he can feel a wet spot forming making your hips roll into his hand seeking more, always wanting more of whatever it is Harry’s willing to give you.

He leans back letting you get a decent view of his tanned and well toned upper body, your eyes hungrily take in every dark swirl of ink on his chest all the way down to the butterfly on his well defined abs until they land on the ones right above his hips. Harry watches you with an amused look on his face as you lick your lips before your eyes bounce back up to his face. His hands grip the waistband of your shorts and you instantly lift your hips letting Harry work them down your thighs until he can toss them behind him without caring where they land. You bend your legs at the knee, placing your feet flat on the couch cushions and spread them open a little more letting him get a better view of your soaked core, he lets out a low hum of approval as he hovers over you, hands on either side of your head gripping the armrest.

“I’m so rude for always giving you what you want huh?” His lips are right next to your ear, his voice is husky as he gently rolls his hips letting you feel how hard he is through the thin material of his green swim shorts. He gives your earlobe a little nip making you let out a soft moan that has his hips rolling against you, the fabric of his shorts rubbing against your clit making your hands reach out and grab onto his back as a surge of pleasure rushes through you.

“You’re being mean.” You whine, Harry lets out a breathy chuckle causing goosebumps to form on the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Oh now I’m mean?” He teases with pout that you can feel against your neck. “Letting your soaked little cunt get a feel of my hard cock is mean?” He asks as his lips travel down the side of your neck, one of his hands comes down and pushes your shirt up over your breasts before resting on your hip. “I thought you loved my cock baby?” He rolls his hips harder this time letting the tip of his clothed cock poke at your entrance leaving a wet patch on his shorts.

“I do-love how big it is and how full it makes me.” You say with a moan as your hands slide down his back as his lips kiss down your chest, nipping lightly at a mark he gave you a few days ago that’s beginning to fade right next to your right nipple.

“I know you do muffin- you love how full my big cock makes you feel when it’s deep inside your tight little cunt.” You close your eyes as he flicks your pebbled nipple with the tip of his tongue, his hand moves from your hip to the waistband of his shorts pulling them down just enough to free his already leaking cock. “Always takes me so well like it was made just for me.” He gives himself a slow stroke before he lines himself up with your entrance.

“Just for you Har-oh god.” He pushes into you without warning making you let out a loud cry of pleasure at the delicious feeling of Harry stretching you out with every inch of his thick shaft that he pushes inside of you with a harsh thrust of his hips.

“Am I still being mean baby?” Your nails dig into his back as his hips find a steady rhythm that has you letting out soft gasps and moans with every deep hard thrust. “Is it rude of me to fuck my fat cock into this warm wet pussy?” He asks before taking your nipple into his mouth, giving it a few swirls with his tongue before moving over to your other one.

“N-no no you’re-you’re amazing.” Your words are jumbled and mixed with breathy moans as you feel a pressure building deep in your tummy. His tongue works your nipple in his mouth as his hips quicken their pace, you let out a harsh cry of his name when his hand slides between the two of you so he can press tight circles against your clit with his thumb.

“God I love the sounds you make for me baby-how loud you get when I hit that spot right there.” You feel your toes want to curl and a moan falls out of your mouth as the tip of Harry’s cock nudges that special spongy spot deep inside of you. “Need to feel you wrapped around me everyday-oh fuck I need to have my cock buried in this pussy every single day for the rest of my life.” He punctuates each word with a deep thrust of his hips, he pulls back to just the tip and slowly pushes back into you making your back arch as your hips work to match his pace. He lets out a groan as he sits up, his hand on the back of the couch and his eyes glued on where the two of you are connected.

“Don’t stop-oh please don’t stop Harry.” You beg as he pulls out to the tip again, his eyes darkening when he sees his shaft glistening with your arousal. He watches in awe as your tight hole opens up for him and takes him all the way with one solid thrust that earns him a deep moan from your parted lips.

“Don’t worry muffin-I’m gonna fuck this tight cunt over and over again until you’re a crying mess for me.”

“Fuck fuck-oh yes yes just like that.” Your hands grab at your chest as Harry’s thrusts get harder, causing the metal legs of the couch to make a slight screeching sound as they skid across the tile concrete floor.

“Can feel you squeezing me baby.” His voice is rough as his reaches down and places his thumb back over your sensitive clit. “Let go for me-come all over this big cock you love so much.” His words have you tipping over the edge and the pressure snapping in your lower tummy as your release has your toes curling and a mixture of his name and a few curse words tumbling from your mouth.

“Oh shit-oh oh fuck.” Harry pumps his hard length into you as he grabs one of your legs and props it over his shoulder letting him get even deeper with each thrust. “Har-Harry oh god.” Your head is spinning as he fucks you through your orgasm.

“Fuck baby you’re so messy I love it-love feeling you clenching all around me-shit I wanna fill you up I’m so-fuck I’m so close baby.”

“Yes yes want it so bad-give it to me please.”

“I’ll give you anything you want baby.” You let out a cry of his name as his thumb adds pressure to your clit. “Ohh fuck.” Harry’s eyes snap shut as his hips give you a few more harsh thrusts before he’s spilling into you, coating your walls with his warm load.

“I love you.” You say breathlessly as Harry slowly works himself through his release. His eyes go soft as he looks down at you with your hair a mess and your eyes glassy and cheeks flushed.

“Yeah? Love me so much you’ll let me spend some money on you today?” Your snarky response gets caught in your throat as Harry pulls out and lowers your leg from his shoulder, his thumb increasing its pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves as he sinks his index and middle finger into your dripping pussy.

“H-Harry.” You whine his name, the squelching sound of his fingers pumping in and out of your drenched hole is music to Harry’s ears making him let out a deep moan as he leans over you.

“Answer the question baby-can I spend some money on you today? Spoil you just a bit?” You just nod your head as you feel him curve his fingers as the plunge deep inside you. “Can’t hear you muffin-use your words for me.” His lips are on the side of your neck, you feel yourself slipping off the edge into the deep end of a pool of blissful pleasure when he adds a third finger.

“Yes-yes buy me things-want it.” Harry smiles against your skin as he quickens the pace of his fingers, his thumb moving in tight circles until he feels your walls start to pulse around him.

“Doing so good baby-so pretty when you come for me.” His sweet words make you let out a moan of his name as his fingers fuck into you at a steady pace. “Love you so much sweetheart-just let go for me baby.” His lips find yours as you feel the tension in your lower tummy snap, your arousal mixed with his drips down Harry’s fingers and his wrist making a mess on the couch.

You wrap your arms around his neck as your hips work to meet his pace as you ride out the high of your release. Harry hums in delight as he pulls away from the kiss, a satisfied smile on his face as he looks at you. A blissful sigh leaves your lips as you drop your arm from around his neck and accidentally knock over your wine glass when you let your hand drop off the couch.

“Always making such a mess.” Harry teases making you let out a huff as you try to catch your breath while he slowly removes his fingers from being tucked up inside you, he laughs as he reaches down and picks up the empty glass. “Come on let’s take a shower then go see if that shop down the street still has that dress you liked the other day.” He gives you a look as he stands up, tucking himself back into his shorts and holds his hands up for you to take.

“Will you wash my hair for me?”

“Wash your hair? Are you that exhausted?”

“I’m not answering that because your ego doesn’t need to be anymore inflated.”

“True it’s pretty big enough already but really are you too tired to wash your own hair?”

“If I say yes does that mean you’ll do it?”

“Baby I’ll do it regardless I’m just wondering if I should carry you to the shower or not and let you have a little nap afterward before shopping.” You quirk a brow as you take his hands and let him help you up off the couch.

“Yes.” Harry lets out a laugh as you hold your arms up in the air waiting for him to attempt to pick you up. “You should carry me and yes to a nap.” You add and Harry just rolls his eyes as he quickly tosses you over his shoulder making you let out a squeal because you were expecting something a bit more romantic.

“Fuck you really did make a mess.” He says with a laugh as he looks down at the wet spot on the couch where your bottom was pressed into it. Before you can say anything he is turning around and heading into the room towards the walk in shower.

“Tell me baby who bought you this pretty little dress?” Harry’s deep voice has you letting out a moan as you turn your head so your cheek is pressed against the soft fabric of the sheets on the bed in your hotel room.

Your new dress pushed up over your hips and your ass in the air as he stands at the foot of the bed, his hands on your hips as he thrusts his hard cock into your tight cunt. Having not been able to control himself as soon as the two of you got back into the room from dinner he had you bent down on the bed and was pushing his painfully hard length into your warm wet hole before you could even fully get your shoes off.

“You-you did.” You answer with a moan as he gives you a harsh thrust that has you gripping the sheets.

“That’s right and why did I buy it for you?” His grip tightens on your hips and you know you’ll have little bruises there in the morning but you don’t mind, you like the little reminders of the times he can’t control himself because his need for you is too strong.

“Be-because you-ohhh god.” Your words get lost in a muffled cry as Harry’s thrusts get harder and faster, fucking you into the mattress with a determination to have you turn into a withering mess by the time he’s finished with you.

“Focus baby.” His lips are on your lower back as he moves a hand from your hip and slides it to your front so he can rub his middle finger against your puffy oversensitive clit. “Why’d I buy you the dress hmm? Why do I spend money on you sweetheart?” You let out a sharp cry as he begins to rub tight little circles over it sending shivers down your spine all the way to your toes.

“Because you-you lo-oh fuck-you love me.” You feel him place open mouth kisses to your lower back as you answer his question between soft moans.

“Exactly.” You feel your body start to get tingly as he pounds his big cock into you. “I love you so much-I buy you pretty things and take you out places- but then I get to watch you fall apart for me while I fuck this sweet little pussy of yours.” His words have you white knuckling the sheets as your walls begin to flutter around him. “But you love it don’t you baby? Love getting your pussy pounded by me and my big cock huh? Need it just as bad as I do.”

“Yes yes yes.” The words leave your mouth in a jumbled mess but Harry hears them loud and clear as you start to come undone.

“Love when I buy you pretty things and take you to fancy places? Love being my messy little muffin?”

“Love it-so so much.” Harry lets out a groan as your walls start to squeeze around him, he puts more pressure on your clit and that’s when you push your hips back to meet his thrusts and he feels your climax hit you. You let out a strained cry of his name as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you soaking his shaft in your arousal.

“There you go-that’s my good girl.” You let out a pitiful whine when he pulls out but he’s quick to help you roll over so you’re flat on your back with your head resting on your pillow. “Need to see that pretty face-fuck baby you’re so perfect.” His sweet words have you reaching your hands out for him, he gives you a smile as he hovers over you, his lips find yours in a heated kiss as he slides his hard shaft back into your warmth.

“Oh.” Your gasp has Harry grinning against your lips as he thrusts into you at a deliberately slow pace, trying to pull every ounce of pleasure from to that he can.

“Feels like heaven being tucked deep inside you like this.” His lips travel down your jaw as he keeps his slow pace, he lets out a deep moan when you wrap a leg around his hip pulling him closer. “Shit baby I’m so-fuck fuck I’m gonna come-where do you want it baby?”

“Wanna taste it.” Harry lifts his head and looks at you and when you nod and slide your leg from over his hip he quickly pulls out and leans back so he’s resting on his knees. He gives himself a few quick pumps as you sit up and bend over, your eyes meet his as your lips wrap around his tip, he lets out a loud moan of your name as you take him further into your mouth.

“Fuck yes baby-just oh god yes just like that.” He tilts his head up and closes his eyes as you gag around him when the tip of his long cock hits the back of your throat sending him over the edge. You feel him come in long spurts, swallowing it all down as he lets out a cry of your name as you bob your head and work him through his release. “That’s it baby-it’s all for you swallow it all down.” He brings a hand down and tangles it in your hair as you slowly pull off his spit slicked cock with a light pop. “Fuck I’m so obsessed with you.” He says with a breathy laugh that has you giggling as he gently tugs on your hair until your face is tilted up towards him.

“I love-” the sound of a piece of paper being slid under the door of your room has your words caught it your throat. Harry turns his head to face the door, his hand leaves your hair letting you sit back on the bed while he climbs off and normally you’d get a chuckle out of him walking around with nothing but his short sleeved dress shirt on but right now you’re more worried about if the person who slid the note under the door heard the two of you or not.

“Well this is a first.” His voice is laced with amusement as he reads over the note while walking back over to you on the bed. “It seems my love that someone was worried about your safety due to some unusual sounds coming from our room and-balcony today.” You feel your face get bright red as he tosses the note onto the nightstand before kneeing his way over to you on the bed.

“Oh my god.”

“So you’ll have to call the front desk and let them know you’re fine.”

“Me? I’m not-no fucking way am I calling them.” Harry lets out a laugh as he grabs your knees and spreads your legs over so he can situate himself between them.

“Fine we will just go have a drink at the bar downstairs and they’ll see just how perfectly fine you are.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you as he rests his chin on your lower tummy.

“Oh god this is so embarrassing.” You hide your face in your hands as Harry runs his hands up and down your sides. “And all your fault.” You tell him once you move your hands from your face so you can send him a glare.

“Yeah well I’m your boyfriend I’m supposed to make you scream my name that’s one of the perks of the gig.”

“You are so annoying.”

“And you apparently are so damn loud people think I’m murdering you.” You roll your eyes as he gives you a playful wink.

“Go get a cloth or whatever and clean me up so we can go let these lovely people know I’m alive and well.” Harry lets out a laugh as he moves so he’s hovering over you.

“Oh yeah I’d say you’re very well indeed- well fucked and fed all thanks to me and well dressed thanks to oh-yeah that’d also be me.” You give his chest a few swats but Harry catches the way your lips curve upward as you fight off a laugh. “I love you baby.”

“I love you too Harry.”

[daylightmidnights]

Cuties!!!

Tiny picture blurb! Fluffy n cute. They're on vacation <3

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warnings- none!

“Need to see the camera please.” Y/N chirped, leaning into Harry’s body. He was particularly clingy when he was tired and she knew he’d be grumpy, but he’d fish it out of his bag anyways.

"Look like shit, doll. Barely slept." He mumbled, dragging the camera out and placing it into her palm. His hair was a mess under his cap, clothing a tiny bit wrinkled, but she wanted to get ice cream. Jet lag be damned, he still hated seeing any sort of pout on her face.

"First of all, you never look like shit." She scolded him gently as she took the camera in hand. "Second of all, you can hide your face If you want. Can be all aesthetically pleasing, like the Pinterest pictures." Y/N wasn't too picky. "Just want something to capture the memories. It's important I take a cute photo to remember you getting out of bed at 8 in the evening, regardless of how tired you are, because you're the best boyfriend in the world who knows I want ice cream."

Harry found himself smiling as he hid his face in her neck, hand wrapping around her body and placing flat on her stomach. Dragging her into his body, he inhaled deeply and snuggled his way into her. Lips pressed against the curve where her neck met her shoulder as he listened for the telltale snap sound of the shutter.

"M'always going t'get you what you want, I'm afraid. You've gotten me properly whipped into shape. Made me a sucker for you." He whispered tiredly into her skin, the closed eyes and movement of the elevator almost lulling him back to sleep.

"Well, It's a good thing I'm just as gone for you too." The snap of the shutter alerted him to the photo being taken, but he made no move to get his face away from the warmth of her. Why she wanted an iced treat when it was cool out, he didn't know- but he'd spoken the truth. He'd do anything for his girl.

[daylightmidnights]

𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐜𝐭

Description: you thought you were alone — just a quiet morning, pancakes, and Harry’s song on the speaker. But he comes home early and catches you dancing in his shirt, singing like no one’s watching.

Turns out… he was. And now he can’t keep his hands off you.

Warnings: sensual content, implied smut, partial nudity, domestic intimacy, second person pov, reader caught mid-moment (lighthearted, consensual)

Word count: 1,088

author note: this one is based on this request. Thanks Anon for requesting it! 💕

Main Masterlist

Marked by Midnight’s Masterlist

***

The morning stretches slowly across the walls, golden and drowsy, warming the kitchen like a soft blanket you don’t want to crawl out from under. The world outside hums quietly — a bird chirping somewhere in a nearby tree, the gentle breeze slipping in through a cracked window — but inside, it’s just you, a bowl of half-mixed pancake batter, and the sound of his voice filling the room.

You hadn’t planned on dancing, hadn’t intended to sing. But there’s something about hearing him — Harry — crooning from the speaker in that velvet voice of his, lyrics you’ve heard a hundred times before suddenly curling around your spine like silk, tugging at your limbs until you’re swaying on bare feet, hips rolling gently to the beat.

You’re still in his t-shirt — the one that’s so soft from where it’s nearly translucent in the light — slipping off one shoulder, brushing your upper thighs with every move. Your hair is a mess, there’s flour on your cheek, and you’re pretty sure the spoon in your hand is more batter than handle at this point, but none of it matters. You’re singing along, badly but shamelessly, dancing like no one is watching, because as far as you know — no one is.

Which is exactly when you hear it.

A low, amused sound. A breath, a laugh — something behind you.

You freeze, spinning around, and your heart nearly stops at the sight of him leaning against the doorframe.

Harry.

Messy curls, travel hoodie still on, duffel bag half-dropped on the floor behind him, and that look in his eyes — the one that starts like wonder and ends in heat.

“How long have you been standing there?” you ask, trying to sound unbothered, as if your face isn’t currently on fire.

“Long enough,” he says, voice soft but thick, rich with something that makes your knees a little weak. “You always this sexy when you think no one’s watching?”

You scoff, mostly to cover the way your stomach flips. “You weren’t supposed to be home for another hour.”

“Well,” he says, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward you with slow, deliberate steps, “guess I came home just in time.”

Your breath stutters in your throat. He’s close now, close enough that you can smell his cologne — familiar, warm, a little spicy. His eyes drop to the hem of his shirt on your body, the bare skin of your thighs, the hint of your underwear just barely peeking out. When he looks back up at you, there’s mischief in his eyes, but something deeper, too — something reverent.

“I come home to you in my shirt, dancing to my song, singing like the world’s ending?” He lets out a low, almost breathless laugh. “You’re trying to kill me.”

You try to hide your smile but fail miserably. “I was making pancakes.”

“Is that what you call it?”

Before you can come up with a witty response, his hands find your waist, warm and sure, and he lifts you effortlessly onto the counter. The coolness of the surface barely registers — not with him standing between your legs, looking at you like that.

“Harry,” you murmur, but it’s already too late.

He kisses you — slow and deep and heady — and the moment stretches, melts, combusts. His hands slip beneath the fabric of your shirt, thumbs brushing your hips, fingertips tracing the line of your spine. His mouth moves with yours like he’s starved for it, like he’s been counting down the seconds until he could touch you again.

And when he pulls back, just slightly, breath ragged, he whispers, “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

You do. You see it in his eyes, feel it in the way his body presses against yours, in the way his voice drops when he speaks. But hearing it? Feeling it spill out of him like a confession? It undoes you.

“You’ve been walking around like this all morning?” he asks, voice rougher now, his hand sliding up your thigh, fingers skimming just under the edge of your underwear. “In my shirt, no pants, singing my lyrics like that?”

Your answer is breathless, a little shaky. “Didn’t know I had an audience.”

His eyes flash with something feral, and he leans in close, lips brushing your jaw. “Well, you’ve got one now. And I’m obsessed.”

What happens next is soft and frenzied all at once — clothes pushed aside, breathy moans exchanged for whispered names, his hands exploring with a kind of reverence that makes your heart ache even as your body burns. He’s everywhere, all at once — his mouth on your skin, his voice in your ear, his body a promise pressed against yours.

And when it’s over — when the heat fades into something quieter, slower, sweeter — he doesn’t pull away.

Instead, he rests his forehead against yours, breathing hard, arms still around your waist like he needs to keep you anchored, like if he lets go, the moment might slip away.

You run your fingers through the back of his hair, feeling the dampness there, the way his heart still races under your palm. Neither of you speaks for a long while. You don’t need to.

Eventually, you whisper, teasing, “So… about those pancakes?”

He groans softly and presses a kiss to your shoulder. “We absolutely ruined breakfast.”

You laugh, full and warm. “Again.”

He grins, brushing your hair back from your face, and kisses you with a softness that makes your chest ache. “Worth it.”

“You always say that.”

“Because it always is,” he murmurs. “You dancing around like that? Singing my song in nothing but this?” He tugs gently at the hem of his shirt still clinging to your body. “It’s not fair. You looked like a daydream.”

You roll your eyes, blushing despite yourself. “You say the sweetest things after sex.”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, slow and sure. “I think them all the time. I just finally have you close enough to hear them.”

You let your head fall to his shoulder, smiling against his neck.

Eventually, when your limbs remember how to move, you slide off the counter and turn back to the bowl of now slightly-stiff batter. Harry stays behind you, arms slipping around your waist, lips brushing your neck.

“Round two?” you ask, glancing at him over your shoulder.

“Only,” he murmurs, grinning into your skin, “if you promise to sing for me again.”

You press play and this time, you let him dance with you.

***

@cloudyluun @gem1712 @dipmeinhoneyh @idk1990 @harrrrystylesslut @sparxx27 @likea-silhouette @fangirl509east @starryhaze-crystal @mads3502 @run-for-the-hills @twinklaei @belgianblondee @pbandnutella @maudie-duan @cat-loves-music @harrysgirl2003 @harrystyleshotwife @secretands-blog @dutchtheatrelore @angeldavis777 @idkidcfuboh @maddiesalvatore1839 @triski73 @sarahinhersundaybest

[daylightmidnights]

you should do a blurb about how y/n is in her head during sex and she has to safeword out and there’s a little bit of angst with her and it just gets all fluffy at the end because he just wants to care for her ekakakzjakjskajsjsj

cw: explicit sex (m/f), explicit language, oral sex (f receiving), use of safe word, unwanted sex mention word count: 3979

breathe.

The actions had started slow—like it always did with Harry. The wonderous game of chess, moving your dominance, letting him give and take.

The two of you were curled together on the couch, bare legs brushing from time to time, your fingers idly tracing the veins in his forearm while his thumb circled your knee almost like his fingertips were trying to memorize you.

You were both a little buzzed from the wine that you had chosen to have for dinner, from the closeness, from the kind of long, winding conversation that peeled back old layers.

He was laughing at something you said, and then the air shifted almost suddenly. It was a pause, and then a look. It was almost like neither of you had to say anything to identify that there had been such a palpable connection that neither of you could understand.

It was electrifying to know that there was a person that could sense the rage that settled between your thighs, knowing that there had been a shift in energy.

And then, his lips were on yours; it was slow and certain at first, his fingers already sliding to your neck, his palm warm against your pulse as you felt it heighten just at the feeling of his breath along your lips.

He always kissed like he had all the time in the world, like nothing else existed but the way your mouth parted for him and the soft noise you made when he tilted your chin just right.

It was mesmerizing to you how he could hypnotize your senses to follow in his every move.

A short mewl escaped past your lips when he pulled you into his lap, grinding up against the thick line of him beneath his sweats. The friction made you dizzy. You weren’t even undressed yet, but the way his hands were roaming, hungry and familiar, had you clenching already. You remembered how he whispered, “Bedroom, baby. Let me have you properly.”

That was the thing with you and him – it was never proper.

It was usually dirty. Filthy, even.

There were moments when you both realized what you had done and wondered how your rage and need for one another had led you to that moment. The sweat, the words, the complete undoing of yourself and him. You loved looking at the small bruises left on your thighs from where his mouth bit or his fingers dug.

The foreplay had been a fever dream. He was so focused. His mouth had spent forever at your throat, your chest, between your legs—licking and sucking until your thighs were trembling, until your toes curled against the sheets. He kissed your body like it was the holy path; desperate for every inch, every tenderness.

When he licked between your folds, you gasped loud enough to echo off the walls in the small bedroom that he called his.

“Yeah, there,” he whispered against you, his voice gravel and velvet as the hotness of his breath bounced off of your skin. “So fucking sweet for me, aren’t you, my girl? You know I’d spend hours here, baby, just like this.”

His hands spread your legs wider, thumbs digging into your thighs as he buried his face deeper, his tongue practically diving into the sweetness of your core. The slow circles of his tongue were maddening—too good, too steady. You were soaked – practically writhing. He flicked his tongue against your clit, then flattened it, then sucked softly until you whimpered out in a way that drove his prey drive.

Harry spit directly on your clit, eyes dragging back up to you for a reaction more than anything.

“Pretty girls have the sweetest pussy,” his tongue flattened against your clit, humming softly to electrify the sensation. He took in a deep breath, the sight of his golden green eyes were heavy on your attention. “And you're the prettiest girl. in the world”

You felt heat building in you like it always did—molten, pressurized like it had been building up to a climax point. But tonight, there was something else– it was a flicker of tightness in your chest. The thought that you needed to come quickly, that you needed to give him what he wanted.

You tried to push it down. Let yourself get lost in the way he devoured you, because that usually worked to some degree. You just needed to think less, and act more.

But then he added fingers—two sliding inside, just how you liked, and the stretch hit different. You moaned, because it felt good, but your body tensed at the actions unmistakenly. He didn’t notice at first, too busy curling them just right to hit that spot that he knew would get you there, murmuring praise between strokes as his fingers grew slick.

And then he'd moved up your body again, licking his lips like he’d tasted something divine, exotic.

You trusted him – you always did, of course you did.

You were panting when he settled over you, his hands heavy on your hips, the head of his cock nudging between your folds as he watched it dragging slow and teasing through the slick he’d coaxed out of you. But instead of pressing in, he leaned down and said into your ear:

“Turn over,” he said, voice all honey and smoke that laced around every single nerve ending. “Want to fuck you into this mattress.”

Buring your face in the pillow, you had willed yourself to just feel—to let go, to ride it out—but the air in your lungs was growing thin as you tried to relax and remember the moment. You try to remember the warmth and comfort this man brought you; all of the memories of satisfaction. It felt so far away as you tried to push those negative thoughts away, only focusing on the now.

Once on your stomach, the feeling of his hands spreading your ass, cock hard and hot against your entrance was almost enough to have you forget. It was almost enough to have you spouting nonsense that wouldn’t make sense later once you thought about it. The tip of his cock played in the wetness of your core, his fingers pushing it past inside just a moment to tease. Your ass sat upwards as he used his hand to spread you open further.

There were many points when you dreamed of having him everywhere – filling you up in each hole to make you full. They were filthy thoughts, absolutely sinning.

“Color?” His voice was raspy and almost done with the day before he looked around to make sure that you were listening to him.

You exhaled, heart racing as you swallowed down your decency. “Green.”

His hand fisted in your hair—not to hurt, just to pull your head gently to the side. His teeth scraped over your shoulder, his voice lower now. “Need you to say it again.”

“Green,” you gasped at the feeling of his hand wrapped around your hair like a ponytail, pulling you backwards just enough to meet his face. “Fuck—please.”

Then, he pushed in deep without much more of a warning.

The first stretch of his cock always made your breath hitch, but tonight it felt… sharper. There wasn’t a lot of prep, but sometimes that gave you the highest pleasure. You weren’t ready – emotionally, especially. You were wet, but something about the angle, the pressure, the pace—he didn’t give you time to adjust before he started moving. You usually thrived off the feeling of a bit of tightness that elicited some pain, it egged you on.

You were both so comfortable with one another that this felt like he thought you could take it. You knew he wanted to overwhelm you the way you usually liked, just on the edge of too much.

Green meant go.

But your body wasn’t meeting him there, and you could feel the reaction your body had on the explicit roughness that Harry possessed as his hips met your spread ass, cock buried deep within you. Harry knew what it meant to be deep inside you; it was truly a feeling you couldn't describe to anyone; the angle he knew to hit made your eyes roll back in your head when you were both on your A-game.

Tonight, your legs shook, but not with pleasure. You pressed your cheek to the pillow, trying to breathe through it, to like it and to exhilarate you. To tell yourself it was just a lot because you were so turned on, not because something was wrong.

Mostly, you didn’t know why something could have been wrong. He had done nothing wrong.

But then his hand came down on your ass in a sharp slap. You flinched at that, visible to him when you didn’t moan or groan or make any reaction. The reaction that came through with a hint of a sob that made you flinch.

“Baby?” he paused, breathing hard. He completely stilled for a moment; you couldn’t see his face, but you could imagine that his sight had gone a bit blurry.

“Keep going – green.” You mustered out, almost slurring at the way that you tried to lie. He couldn’t see your reaction; you kept it that way.

He growled and grabbed both of your wrists, pinning them behind your back, holding you down against the linen sheets. His cock pushed deeper, grinding over that spot that usually made you sob with an ache so deep you would orgasm just from that —but tonight it made your stomach turn.

The sound of his hips pounding into your skin, each thrust louder and louder as he found a steady rhythm to wreck you.

You bit on your lip with a ferocity that may split it, and fought the urge to cry.

Then he said it—words you usually loved: “You’re mine tonight. You’re gonna take it, yeah? Gonna be good – fuck, your pussy feels so fucking good tonight, angel.”

And the tears came right out of the corner of your eyes, streaming down your nose as you breathed in and the weight of him felt overwhelming.

It was just like that. You weren’t even sure why.

Your chest cinched like a belt had been tightened around your ribs. You couldn't breathe, couldn’t focus, couldn’t answer him. And then you heard yourself say it—not a shout, not a sob, just a whisper that felt like breaking glass:

“Red.”

Everything stopped. The only thing that you could hear was the sound of breathing and you weren’t even sure if it was you or him.

The grip on your wrists disappeared. His cock slipped free from your body. The weight of him lifted instantly which made you take in a deep breath. And then you were flipped so gently onto your back, his face hovering above yours, wrecked with worry.

You had never gotten to a point where either of you clearly stated red. It meant a break in the fantasy, back to a reality where either of you felt unsafe, felt the need to stop for a moment.

“Fuck, fuck, baby, are you okay?” His hands hovered but didn’t touch you; he sat on one side of your leg as his eyes traveled around you to sense the pain that you were exhilarating physically and emotionally. “Breathe. Talk to me. I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

“I—I’m—” But your voice broke, almost like a levy. The tears came harder, hot and silent down your cheeks as you felt the breathing start to sob in a way that hadn’t felt natural before.

“Oh, angel.” His own face broke, panic blooming into devastation. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t - I thought—fuck, I thought you liked it. You said green. I should’ve checked again. I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head, trying to sit up, but your limbs felt like lead as you pushed against the bedframe and shook the mattress. Your fingers wiped at your eyes as you tried to stop the tears from flowing.

He moved first, reaching for the blanket to drape around your shoulders before carefully sitting beside you, still giving you space, his hand out but not touching unless you said yes.

“I got scared to stop,” you choked out. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t want to stop you—but it didn’t feel right. I was trying to stay in it, and then you grabbed my wrists and I just… I couldn’t anymore. I didn’t feel like me.”

Harry’s eyes softened at your words, fits of worry still laced within him, but he needed to keep his distance. He nodded slowly, then reached for your hand, fingers dancing along yours to try and invite himself back towards you. You let him – you felt worse that you had made him scared. His fingers were warm and trembling, lacing through yours.

“I’m proud of you for saying red,” he whispered, he nodded as he continued to stare. “That was the bravest thing you could’ve done. You didn’t ruin anything. Okay?”

The prompt of his words made you nod just slightly to continue, “You just showed me that you trust me. And that means everything.”

He leaned in then, his forehead against yours, your breath mingling in the quiet.

“I love you,” he said, the solidarity of the three words was a promise that both of you kept. But tonight, you felt it – really felt it, like you had never before. There were moments when you knew that he loved you, but in the pain, or around it, there had never been a moment so clear to you that his love was fluid and certain.

A sob broke in your throat, and he pulled you into his arms. And you let him.

You buried your face into his chest and let yourself be held, blanketed in the scent of his skin and the weight of his arms, the steady beat of his heart. He kissed the crown of your head and murmured, “You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

You stayed wrapped in his arms until your tears slowed. He didn’t rush you—just rocked you gently, rubbing circles into your back with one warm hand while the other cradled the back of your head like something fragile.

When you finally lifted your face, he cupped your cheek, thumb brushing away the dampness.

“Baby, can you tell me what happened?” You could tell that he had started to blame himself – did he push too far? Did he not understand what you needed? Was it just way too much? You hadn’t really known the answer yourself, but as you started to feel yourself calm down, you took a deep breath.

“I-I don’t know,” You shook your head, sniffling, “I-I think, I mean, I think I just… I just don’t know. It wasn’t you at all, I promise,” You turned your eyes up to him, licking your lips, “I swear. I-I don’t know, I just didn’t want you to be mad, but I just think I don’t feel like myself right now.”

It was almost magic, your words. He started to feel lighter, like he could breathe on his own knowing that he hadn’t hurt you, and that you wanted to stay close to him. The reality was, he hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary; usually, this would have been a night to remember. A night to let your inner demons live on the sheets, and base themselves in your memories.

But, now, you were wrapped in a tear-stained blanket, leaning against him without a happy ending in sight.

“Can I do something for you?” he asked softly. “Something to help?”

You nodded, throat tight. You weren’t sure what you wanted, or what he could provide you, so you didn’t tell him what you needed. Instead, you allowed him to search for what he knew of you. You heard his inhale, feeling his arms wrapped around you in a warmth that you couldn’t explain.

“I’ll run you a bath, hm?” his hand rubbed against your arm “Just sit here, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.”

He kissed your forehead before slipping off the bed. You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, knees drawn up to your chest, still trying to slow your breathing.

You heard him in the bathroom—water turning on, cabinet drawers opening, the soft metallic clink of the lighter he kept in the drawer for the candles that lit along the edge of the tub. When he returned a few minutes later, his eyes went straight to yours; his torso was long, shorts hanging on his hips in a way that felt like a sin that you couldn’t give him what he wanted.

“You want to come sit with me in there? I’ve got warm towels, your lavender salts, a candle lit,” He turned back to you after naming off his list, “I can make you some tea, if you’d like.”

You blinked at him.

“You’re spoiling me,” you whispered, voice hoarse.

Harry’s smile was tender, showing you that he cared on a level that you never imagined someone could. “You scared yourself. I just want to bring you back.”

He crossed the room, managing to make his way over to your side of the bed. You let him help you up, still swaddled in the blanket, and followed him into the bathroom, undressed with the exception of the blanket. The lights were low, just the glow of a flickering candle on the sink and along the edge of the tub. Steam curled up from the tub with the scent of lavender and eucalyptus filling the air.

“You can soak as long as you need. I’ll stay close, yeah?”

Your eyes ran along the large clawfoot tub that had been a selling point in the flat search that you both had gone on last summer; it was one of the reasons that you loved this place, along with the light that came in through the living room in the mornings.

“You’re not getting in with me?”

“Not unless you want me to.” He leaned against the counter, arms crossed loosely. “But right now I thought you might just want to be still, without touch. I can read to you, though, if that helps. Or we can just sit.”

You nodded again, fascinated that he could have been real. “Read to me.”

He acknowledged that with half of a smile before he gave you a nod. When he removed himself from the room, you let the blanket slip over your shoulders, down your back and legs. Your toe did a dance when you touched the water with your foot, testing it out for the heat. It was quite warm; you held onto the tiled wall before you stepped your way in.

A few minutes later, you were settled in the tub, limbs floating with steam rising around your shoulders. The blanket was gone, but the water replaced its warmth and the heat that surrounded your shoulders, taking away the tension. You leaned your head back, hair pinned up with a clip, the flicker of the candlelight playing on the tiled wall.

Harry had made his way back to the bathroom after picking up the book from your nightstand. He sat just outside the tub with your book in his lap, back against the cabinet, legs stretched out and facing you. He had changed into a hoodie and soft cotton shorts, the drawstring loose, the sleeves pulled over his hands as he thumbed through the pages.

He didn’t start at the beginning. He picked the place you’d left off—the chapter you’d dog-eared last week—and began to read in a voice so smooth and rhythmic that it felt like a lullaby.

Your breathing finally slowed. His voice washed over you, low and patient. There were no performance notes in it, no dramatics. He wasn’t trying to impress you. He was just being there. Just reading. Halfway through the chapter, he glanced up and saw your eyelids drooping as your breathing slowed.

“You falling asleep on me?” he asked gently, closing the book over his thumb.

You smiled faintly, blinking slow as you felt the way that your lips curled up at his question. “No… just relaxed.”

“Good.” He set the book down and moved toward you slowly.

He set the book down and moved toward you slowly, then, moving to the edge of the tub. His hands stayed visible, deliberate. You noticed that even now, even here, Harry was offering you the choice to be touched if you wanted that. The soft light bounced off the surface of the water as he knelt beside the tub and rested his arms on the edge. His eyes stayed up on you, not the delicate vision of your body.

“Can I touch you?” he asked; words were delicate and pressed together with intricacy.

You nodded, then remembered, voice first. “Yeah. Please.”

His fingertips grazed your damp forearm before settling there, thumb tracing idle circles. You could feel the warmth of him through the fog of steam, his presence grounding. He was so quiet, so steady, you could barely hear his breath. For a moment, neither of you even spoke.

Then, quietly, he said, “I’m really proud of you,” he rested his chin on his forearm, on the edge of the tub, “For saying something – earlier, I mean.”

You felt your throat tighten at the way that he spoke. You glanced away, heart aching with the vulnerability of it all; you knew that you had disappointed him – deep down, there was always disappointment, especially when breaking a fantasy. “I didn’t want to ruin it,” you said, the words small, soaked in shame.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Harry said immediately, his voice firm but gentle as his eyebrows furrowed when glancing at you. “You made it real. You made it honest. That means more to me than any fantasy ever could.”

Licking over your lips, you let your head lull towards him on the back of the tub. Hesitating, your lips parted before you took in a breath. “I just… I got in my head. I wanted to want it. But something shifted. And I didn’t know how to explain it without disappointing you.”

“You didn’t disappoint me.” He leaned in closer, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Not even a little. You trusted me enough to tell me what you needed. That’s all I ever want from you – that’s what good sex is to me.”

You closed your eyes; his words poured into the cracks you hadn’t even noticed forming.

“I just feel like – there’s always been someone who wants to push limits,” you whispered, feeling shame in the words but even more shame in the memories. “Even when I froze up. I didn’t always feel like I was allowed to stop it.”

Harry’s jaw flexed, his thumb stilling on your skin. He didn’t rush to respond, just letting the weight of your words sit there, honored in the space between you.

“I’m not them,” he said eventually, quiet and sure – certain. “You never owe me anything. Not your body, not your performance. Definitely not your comfort. If I’m with you – like, really with you, then your safety isn’t negotiable. It’s the whole point.”

You let out a shaky breath, pulling your bottom lip in your mouth. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone say that to me.”

“Well.” He reached for a towel, unfolded it, and held it out to you so that you could stand up and step into it. “Then let’s rewrite the script.”

You let him help you out of the tub, arms winding around his neck as he wrapped the towel around you. He didn’t kiss you; he didn’t press. He just held you, rocking slightly, fingers brushing through your damp hair.

And in that moment, you realized: this, too, was intimacy. Not the hunger. Not the heat of the moment that made you want to forget everything around you. This was the space you needed to feel that intimacy. This was an invitation to stay exactly where you were, and know that he wouldn’t move until you were ready. Until you said so.

[daylightmidnights]

FIC RECS MASTERLIST

This is a list of my fic recs. Note, this is NOT all the fics I have ever read (I've been reading since 2015), but rather all the fics I've read on tumblr since I returned in 2023 and started this blog. Unfortunately, some are missing because the writers deleted their writing or their blog. I did take a semi-hiatus at the beginning of 2025, so I've been spending a little time catching up reading series I haven't finished, but once I've done that, I'll be adding more stories here as I read them.

Series

The Con Artist by @gurugirl. Completed series, 7 chapters.

Daddy Issues by @fkinavocado. Completed series, 25 chapters, plus tons of extras and bonus excerpts.

Lupus Noctis by @avocadoguru (joint work between @fkinavocado and @gurugirl). Incomplete series, 12 chapters.

Laceleaf by @be-with-me-so-happily. Incomplete series, 8 chapters with extras.

iFall For Harry by @freedomfireflies. Completed series, 10 chapters, plus a bonus.

Curvy Secret by @swiftmendeshoran. Completed three book series (part 1 - 25 chapters, part 2 - 15 chapters, part 3 - 39 chapters), plus extras.

Cherry Bomb by @heartateasee. Ongoing series, 26 chapters (will be 30 chapters).

Spinnin' Out Waiting For Ya by @swiftmendeshoran. Completed series, 17 chapters.

Wolf Harry by @adorebeaa. A series of 6 parts and 2 blurbs.

Young God by @harrystylesgotmefuckedup. Ongoing series, 9 chapters.

One Shots

Intimacy by @goldengalore

Rumours by @freedomfireflies (two connected one shots)

Jack Shit by @freedomfireflies (three connected one shots)

Recordstore Romance by @fkinavocado (four connected one shots)

Hole in One by @ihearthes

A Wish Come True by @fkinavocado (three connected one shots)

Finally Free by @be-with-me-so-happily

Wet, Drip, Dry by @be-with-me-so-happily

Crush by @gurugirl (part of the Best Friend's Dad series, but can be read as a standalone)

Bite Me by @freedomfireflies

Short Straw by @adorebeaa

The Handyman by @gurugirl (plus a check-in)

Sunkissed by @heartateasee

Driving by @adorebeaa

Lucky's by @heartateasee

Sex Tutor by @gurugirl (two parts)

Punished by @freedomfireflies

Safe by @heartateasee (four parts)

Flower by @finelinefae (two parts)

Leather & Lace by @jarofstyles

Daddy's Pretty Girl by @gurugirl

Meet-Cute by @justlemmeadoreyou

Ruin Me by @lukesaprince

Make Her Regret It by @watchmegetobsessed

The Playboy by @freedomfireflies

Pretty Like Yours by @fkinavocado (two parts)

Ride the Tiger by @1800titz (two parts, with more on Patreon)

Little Flower by @gurugirl

Blindfolded by @heartateasee

Secrets by @heartateasee

Make It Until the Morning by @harrystylesgotmefuckedup

Assistance Needed by @gurugirl

It's a Problem by @adorebeaa (might possibly have a part 2??)

The Babysitter by @gurugirl (two parts)

Truth or Dare by @gurugirl

The Mushroomer by @gurugirl

If I've made any errors here, or if you'd rather me not include your work in my list, please let me know.

Also, based on what I've read, if you think I would enjoy something in particular, feel free to recommend it to me!

Happy reading, and of course, please check out my own writing if you haven't :).

MASTERLIST

[daylightmidnights]

Links to all my Harry Styles Fanfic Recs

Just to make it easier!! 

This is now officially too long lol

My inbox and asks are always open for those who want to ask for fanfic recs or even just to talk.  

Please look through ALL 3 of my rec masterlists before you request a rec list! Thank you xxoo

LIST 2 and LIST 3 - For More!

PSA and IMPORTANT

MY faves

6th Member of 1D recs

Age Gap Recs

Angst Recs + Angst with happy endings + Reader/Harry dies

au recs (Alpha, Dealer, Mob/Mafia, Boxer, CEO, Pornstar, Vampire, Werewolf and other au’s)

Bad Boy recs

Bi Reader and Bi Harry recs

Breeding Kink recs

Brothers Best Friend/ Best Friends Brother recs

Cam Girl/Boy + Strip Club/Stripper Y/n recs

(Harry) Cheats with Yn/reader

Chef/Cook Harry + Detective/police/cop recs

Chronic Illness + Reader has ADHD recs

Dad + Husband Harry recs and Single dad/mom recs

Frat (boy) Harry!

Friends to Lovers

[daylightmidnights]

okay so idk how to articulate it but the trope is crime boss/mafia harry x nurse y/n and the emotions would be guilt, passion and angst. Y/n somehow got mixed up in Harry’s world and now he feels bad for getting her involved unintentionally

YES! Give it to me right now (I say as I am the one who has to write it) I loved writing this actually. Perhaps future full length! We will see

Check out our Patreon!

Warnings- injury, violence, all the organized crime stuff, angsty, ‘I’ll kill anyone who touches you’, mention of murder, blood, guns, etc

Harry had never felt more sick over seeing an injury in his life.

He’d seen brain matter splattered against walls from bullets he’d shot, fingers he’d cut off of people himself- an ear once-, he’d stabbed someone and twisted the knife, or gone for the throat with the spray of blood. None of them had enraged him more than the one he was looking at.

“And which one of you dumb fucks let her out of your sight?” He asked, level but angry. Cold. Dangerous. Killing calm, for the people who knew him. Seeing the girl he’d recruited to help with injuries sitting in the back of one of his warehouses, pressure applied to her arm with gauze, he could barely look at her without feeling that beginning of a spiral. He should have known better than to bring her anywhere close to this, but he was greedy. Selfish. He hadn’t been able to get her off his mind.

Bringing her into the fold was meant to be all benefit. He’d have a nurse on call, and he’d be able to be close to her. It would make sense. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

“Is no one going to answer me?” Tilting his head, he looked around to try and read the room. See who looked the guiltiest.

“Harry-“ Y/N attempted, her sweet voice cutting through the evil running rampant through his brain. He didn’t deserve her in the slightest, he shouldn’t have any access to her at all, but he still couldn’t let her go.

“It’s okay.” He looked at her. “They’ll tell me. Because they know what will happen if they don’t.” It was a little unsettling, feeling bloodthirsty in this way. “I know who was supposed to be back here. My question is, how did anyone get far enough into this warehouse to get at her? How would they even know where her office was?”

Harry knew he hadn’t been subtle about his affections for the nurse, but he hadn’t expected a rat. Hadn’t ever fathomed that one of his own would leave a window for this. “Still no talkers?” He shook his head, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “Fine.” It was a shame that he’d need to get rid of all of the team he’d left here. It would be a bitch to replace them. But no one speaking up meant there was loyalty to the rat, and he wasn’t going to deal with it. “Mitchell, Adam, Greg- escort the team that was here to the back. We’ll talk more later.”

He couldn’t let her see him like that. He had half a mind to put bullets between each one of their eyes in this current moment, but he had to settle for later. His concern was the girl sitting on the worn in couch in the back. Weakness showing be damned.

Trying to level himself out, he made his way towards her as he heard the team arguing with his main group to try and get out of it but he blocked it out for her. A single tear slipped down her cheek and he had temptation flaring in his stomach to go and do as he had impulsively chosen to do, but instead he leveled his temper to care for her.

“Hi, darling.” He mumbled, a sad strained smile gracing his lips. “Let’s clean you up, hm?” It was ironic and he knew that, being the one to guide her to the sink to rinse her own injury, but he wasn’t going to make her tend to her own wound. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

It was an understatement. He’d promised she would be safe, out of the crossfire- she should have been- but this was unforeseen circumstances. It did his control issues little good.

“I’m sorry.” Y/N mumbled, wincing a tiny bit as he patted the tender injury dry. It wouldn’t need stitches, he didn’t think- but he would think it would do her well to glue it. That’s what she had said about his injury when it had looked about the same. His stomach twisted at the look of it, but even more so that it had happened under his watch.

“You don’t have a singular fucking thing to apologize for.” He grunted, shaking his head at her. “You didn’t harm yourself. You were supposed to be protected. That’s my fault. I didn’t have as good of a handle on this group and that is an oversight that will be taken care of swiftly.”

“You’re going to kill them?” Her question was calm, though her face looked slightly green at the idea of it. She was too good for this world and Harry was too selfish to let her out of it. In fact, he wanted to pull her deeper in it. So deep that she was firmly wrapped up in him and unable to wriggle away so she wouldn’t get hurt again.

But he doubted she would take well to being akin to Rapunzel in her golden tower. His tower would be opulent, sure, but suffocating. Harry was known for being possessive over the things he held dear, and she had quickly become one.

He could lie to her and ease her mind, but that would do her no good. Harry lied to the feds, he lied to his enemies, he lied so well that people wouldn’t be able to tell even if they were highly trained- but he didn’t want to lie to her. “Yes.” The reply was simple as he caught her eyes. “And I won’t regret it, because they betrayed me- and you. They let you get hurt because they knew it would upset me.”

“But why?” She asked, voice small and confused. It stung a little bit, the little shards of skin left of his heart that hadn’t hardened bringing doused in alcohol. It made sense considering she didn’t know how much she took up of his mind, but still.

“Because I’ve grown quite fond of you, Y/N.” A wry smile hurt his lips as he squeezed ever so tenderly over her wound to apply pressure. “So they allowed you to get hurt.”

[daylightmidnights]

Summary: And god, this was the craziest part for him, the part he couldn’t wrap his mind around—you—how you had him so easily. How if you had been any other girl, he would have just fucked around, given you nothing but an act, someone clever, detached, someone that would have played this safe. He never pictured giving you this version of him, the one kneeling behind you, already half hard from nothing but the sound of your breath, knowing full well you loved the way he used his tongue.

A/N: Based on this request<- Thanks Anon for this awesome request!! I hope it's everything you want and more. 💓

Word Count: 10k

Warning: If you've seen the music video or heard the song...you know the vibe. Just a cute little lead up to pure smutty filth. Fluff/Smut

It was the way his cross pendant dangled from his neck, your red lips reflected back as he pressed you into the backseat, your sweaty bodies melding together in the heat of the night. The way you knew in your bones that he was far from holy, but you would have fallen to your knees for him any chance that you were given, his body like a work of art, an altar, his car your sanctuary.

Maybe there was innocence before his hands found your body, but the innocence had drifted, stretched beyond your grasp the second he laid you bare, young lust a driving force for all your sins, each moment you chose to steal away with him. 

Now, close your eyes.

Do you see it? The ink etched into his tan skin. Your very own road map, like an anchor, like a guiding light. His body the lighthouse, your body his harbor—a dreamscape vision you could always evoke, his hand gripping the steering wheel, the other on your thigh as your heart raced, watching the sun dip low on the horizon, knowing he was yours the moment the sun went down. 

It was always the nights that you longed for.

When the heat of summer filled the night breeze thick and heavy in your lungs, like all the times He had you gasping, your whole body teetering on the cusp of reality, the pleasure sending you to a wordless realm, you could never explain in the light of day as the windows fogged over, blurring the outside world around you—a building high snatching what little oxygen was left in the car, but god, it was worth it. 

The heat only adding to the sensation as the weight of his body hovered above yours and you knew once your bodies collided, flesh to flesh, there would be nothing else, just the sweet taste of his name filling your mouth like the crisp burn of carbonation on a hot day, drinking him in until there was nothing left. 

 Because it was just a sip at first, you savoring the taste of him on your tongue until you needed more, a gulp down your throat, and then it was gulp after gulp.

Yet a gulp could never be enough to quench the thirst you had for him. 

Harry.

His name, your sweetest thought, your endless mantra booming from the depth of your lungs, a fierce prayer uttered at the end of a breath as you gasped in air, desperate for more. Little did you know Harry would become the song you played on repeat all summer until you knew it by memory, his presence forever ingrained in your mind, a fucking anthem you would never forget. 

H: I’m on my way. Could you wear those cute jeans I like? The ones with the rips.

Y/N: The ones you said my ass looks good in? 

H: You know which ones I like. 

H: Also, we’re going swimming, bring what you need. 

Y/N: I have to be home early.

H: Damn, how early? 

Y/N: 10.

H: Yeah, that’s not happening. It’s like the last days of summer. We’re breaking the rules. We’ve been good all summer. 

Y/N: Harry…

H: Come on, love, tell me you don’t want it. 

Y/N: Want what? To get in trouble?

H: 10 is early. You know what I want to do. 

Y/N: Yeah?

H: You know I want it.

Y/N: Tell me how bad you want it? 

H: I’ll show you later. 

Y/N: Promise?

H: Save that dirty talk for tonight. Now, get ready, I’ll be there soon, gorgeous. 

The moment you stepped out of your front door Harry knew he was a goner, you standing there, ass turned to him in those fucking jeans that hugged the plains of your curves in all the right places, and Harry sat there like a begger looking for scraps, eyes feasting as you fumbled with the keys in your hand, your arms full of stuff, as you turned the key in the door. 

When the keys dropped from your hands, Harry took this as his cue. Surveying your body as you bent to grab them. He got out of the car then, his mind already sifting through every dirty thought, filtering through every position that’s ever had you face down, ass up, making him weak for you already, weak for what he knew was to come—always needy for you, a hopeless fool knowing he would be peeling those fucking jeans down your strong thighs later. 

As soon as you turned around, Harry was already hooking a hand around you, gripping a handful of your hair, and when he gave it a light tug, drawing your head back, your eyes met his. He smirked down at you then, and let out a breathy laugh, unable to wait any longer to press his lips to yours. 

This had become one of his favorite things to do: to take you by surprise. It was something about the way your eyes went round, your mouth slightly open—a deer in the headlights look in your eyes, like the first time he pushed inside you. The look of wonder as he filled you, your mouth rounding into an “o” as a pained moan left your parted lips. 

He thought you would make him stop like every girl that came before you, but as he buried himself completely he felt you tense around him, and your eyes drifted shut, your nails digging into his flesh, almost painful, and out of instinct he stilled himself above you, unsure of your silence, or the stillness of your body, and what it meant.

Harry watched as you drew in a slow breath, your chest rising and falling with the effort. The pain he knew you felt was evident in the pull of your brow as your eyes flitted open, pupils blown, and he swore he felt his world stop when the most beautiful smile he had ever seen slowly spread across your face, something mischievous playing at your features.

When you exhaled he felt your body relax under him, his dick pushing deeper, and you gasped out a laugh, sucking in a harsh breath, and when you said, “Why did you stop?” meaning every word. 

You had him. 

Like a thief in the night, you stole him in that moment, but really, you had him the moment you stepped foot into his car. When the smell of your vanilla perfume filled every one of his senses, your presence ushering in summer, and he knew, he just knew. 

This is what you liked most about him, the way he couldn’t keep his hands off your body, his lips always finding yours the second he was close enough to engulf you, but you couldn’t blame him, because fuck, there had never been anyone else that had you this way, every touch welcomed, every touch wanted, needy in the way that it was never enough. 

“You haven’t worn that lipstick in a while…” Harry says, eyeing your lips, that sexy smirk that found you at your door, still out to play, and his mouth completed the smile as you smoothed your lips together. 

“I forgot how much you liked it,” you lie, dragging a thumb over the corner of your mouth, wondering what it looked like after his mouth just had his way with yours. When you had to nudge him off you, so you didn’t get carried away, knowing that someone was sure to see you. 

“It’s so red…” he tells you, his eyes on the road, “like cherries in the spring…” and his words are smooth, as smooth as the hand reaching over to run a slow path up your thigh. 

“Red like your cheeks that one time I…well there were a lot of times actually…” he begins, his hand continuing to roam, inching further up your thigh, the warmth nearly grazing the inseam of your denim jeans, and you clap your hand over his, stopping him in his tracks, stopping yourself as the impulse to spread your legs swarmed your mind, but you knew it would feel so good. 

“Behave…” You joke, squeezing his hand, “Don’t start something you can’t finish…”

Harry lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head, as he pulls into the gas station, “You know I can’t control myself, baby,” he rasps, leaning in to kiss your cheek, and he shifts the car into park, “I’m addicted…” Your eyes roam his face as he hooks a finger under your chin, and you stare, watching his green eyes take you in. 

“You have a little smudge…” he starts, his voice low, running his thumb along the swell of your bottom lip, his gentle touch drawing it open, and he bites down on his lower lip, “Fuuuuuuck—” he breathes.

“Those lips…so fucking beautiful. So fucking good for me.” he finishes, dragging his thumb down the center of your lip, his eyes trained on the movement, and the hunger in his eyes sends a pulse between your thighs, your head already swimming with wild thoughts, like hoping he would push that thumb into your mouth, force it back, until your lips were closing around it. You knew exactly what he would do, the exact reaction you would pull from him. 

And this thought still surprises you, even today, even now after the countless moments the two of you have shared over the past couple of months. You hadn’t experienced anything like Harry before; whatever this was between you, this electric undercurrent running through you both anytime he was near.

You understood it, the lack of control, because you barely had any yourself. It was like this magnetic draw he held over you, the feeling blanketing the world around you whenever he was near, narrowing your focus to only him, but you didn’t care about anything else, because what did you need to care about, when you knew you could let it all go the second you slid into his passenger seat. 

He was right, though, the lack of control neither one of you had. He seemed to pull something out of you, something that lived within, a side of you that very few had ever seen. At least not to this extent, it was always a rare sighting, this fierce longing that forced itself from you both the moment you knew it could be more, that this connection was buzzing with a want, that hummed at the tip of your fingers the first time he touched you. 

You didn’t understand it at first, what was happening, what his energy was provoking in you. The first time you wore this lipstick was the first time you noticed his interest, how he couldn’t keep his eyes off your lips. 

It was one of those nights before you guys ever hung out alone, but you could feel it inching toward it; you just weren’t sure how you would ever make it happen, but you knew you wanted to. All night, Harry had been sneaking glances your way, you catching his eye from across the room, that sly smirk peeking at the corner of his mouth.

You felt it in the pit of your stomach, the nervous flutter threatening to show its face, and all it took was the accidental brush of his fingers over your hand as you both reached into the cooler full of random drinks—Harry reaching for the last diet Pepsi—and your whole body heated at the thought of a single touch. 

Of course, he did the kind thing and gave you the drink—eventually—and as you reached for it, he drew it toward him, and you stood there confused, yet captivated, watching as his strong hand gripped the can with an air of confidence that had every nerve in your body standing on edge. 

You had no words for it, and when he popped the tab on your drink, you felt the click burst through your chest with excitement, the crisp sound breaking the silence building between you, yet somehow it drew you closer, your cheeks burning, and you stared back at him wondering how he just made a gesture so fucking simple, feel like a moment of intimacy, you weren’t sure you should even be witnessing. 

Then he passed it toward you, your eyes surveying the can as if it could explain what had just happened, explain what you were feeling, because you were definitely feeling something, and out of nowhere, you were pushing the can back toward him, your hand resting on his forearm.

“You can have a sip if you want…it only feels fair since it’s the last one…” and you knew you were smiling as his breathy laugh made your ears perk up, but you couldn’t help a single thing that was happening. 

Because something was in fact happening. 

“Are you sure?” he laughs again, “I’ve heard I can be a bit greedy…” he admits, his eyes dropping to your lips.

“Just don’t drink all of it,” you tell him, “Only a sip…” Then you were pushing your hand into his arm, nudging the can his way. 

“I can’t promise anything…” and there was something thrilling in his words, nerve-wracking as he brought the can to his heart-shaped lips, pressing the rim flush, making your mouth water, as Harry watched you swallow down hard. 

There it was, the look you would never be able to escape again. It was the way his eyes never left yours that made your mouth go dry, and the second his head drifted back ever so slightly, his eyes fluttered shut, the can tilting enough to spill into his mouth, and then his lips parted, the liquid beginning to waterfall at a pace you knew you needed to stop, but you almost couldn’t bring yourself to stop him as he guzzled down your drink. 

And that was when you realized that your hand was still on his arm, and you gripped hard, tugging it back toward you as Pepsi dripped down the can, Harry taking a wide step back. His eyes flicked to his arm, to your firm grip, bringing a smile to his mouth, and when he passed the can your way, you locked eyes with him. 

As soon as you brought the can to your mouth his smile widened, a cunning smile you would eventually learn meant trouble, but in that moment, you felt your first greed for him, the feeling tingling up your spine as you let your lips meld to the wet rim, and as the cold chill of the soda filled your mouth, you watched as Harry slowly dragged his tongue across his bottom lip, and you were screwed

A single look dragging you under, and you knew you would drown in it. 

The first time Harry kissed you, you were wearing that lipstick, your red painted lips the only thing he could see, the same night he had watched them close around the rim of a can he had just had his mouth on. 

The truth was he had felt you creeping through his bloodstream for weeks, and now that your friend group was back from college, ready to start the summer with a bang. He knew he could no longer lie to himself and say he hadn’t thought about you from time to time. Wondered what your life was like, wondered what life would have been like if you guys had ended up at the same college like you all planned.

And that plan worked for everyone but you. 

You were always that girl in his mind, the one who got away. Before he ever took a chance with you, he could always feel whatever attraction that was obvious between you ebbing at the surface, but at the time, you were his best friend’s girlfriend—always out of reach, always off limits. 

So when your ex came with a date to your guys’ little friend get together, Harry knew this was his chance, and when Monica was too drunk to drive you home, he offered you a ride. To his surprise, there was no reluctance; you slid into the passenger seat, sealing the unspoken fate of your summer. 

When Braden brought his new girlfriend to the party, you knew it had to be serious. It’s not like you hadn’t heard the stories, that was what your best friend Monica was best at, the gossip, your vessel for all the things you had been missing out on since you decided last minute to go to a different school. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go; you just knew that everything with Braden would have turned toxic, and at the time, you weren’t over him, over the thought of you two. When he broke things off, saying “you both needed time to be your own person,” you hated him, and later, you would hate him even more when you realized he might have been right, like maybe, deep down, you needed the push more than you knew.

So when you saw Braden with his new girlfriend, your polar opposite, it ignited a sense of freedom, solidifying the ground you both stood on, and you didn’t give the thought of him another chance, because if you were really honest, you had moved on way before you had seen his familiar face, even if there was that little voice inside you wondering what if? 

But maybe that was natural.

That night, Harry offered you a ride home, and the moment you climbed into the passenger seat and he closed the door behind you, something about it was like taking a breath of fresh air, a new vision floating to the front of your mind.

There had always been something about him. Of course, you knew him; you were as close to him as you could be to your boyfriend’s best friend, but there was always some invisible boundary. A line you never dared cross. Every conversation had always been surface level, eyes never lingering too long, always Braden and Harry in the same sentence. 

Even in those times, your eyes found his from across the room; he was a familiar face. And maybe there were those rare moments when you both clicked, and shared a random conversation in a group setting, or one of you told a joke that had you both laughing, you couldn’t lie to yourself, and not wonder, even if it was for the briefest moment, that you both might actually have more in common than you thought. 

In those moments when it happened, it was always a tiny thrill, a subtle moment of excitement bursting through you mind when your eyes met his, because he was hot, sexier than your boyfriend at the time, fuck, like no other guy you knew, and there was something about him that was different from the rest, and everyone knew it. Everyone said it, all the stories you heard, the girls, god, you just knew.

And maybe there was always a little piece of you that wanted to explore it.

So when he pulled up to your house that night. You both slowly let your easy conversation fall silent as you gazed out the window, your front door marking the end of your evening, but you weren’t ready for the night to be over. “Are you excited to be back for the summer?” Harry asked, clearing his throat. 

Your eyes moved from the window to his face, falling to his mouth, his neck, and lingered, and you watched him swallow as his Adam apple bobbed with the effort, “Maybe at first, I mean I am…I don’t know I’m kind of bored.” you answered, letting a slow smile rise as your words landed. Harry shifted in his seat, licking his lips, as his back fell against the driver door. 

“Do you think there is anything that could change that?” He prodded, and it’s like the universe itself was trying to set the mood as the song lapsed into something smooth, a familiar song, setting the backdrop for the tension rising. 

His eyes were on your mouth again, eagerly watching, awaiting your response. “I don’t know…I’m sorry. Is this maybe strange? I don’t know, like the two of us alone?” You questioned, mirroring his position in his seat, and you narrowed your eyes at him, a playful gesture, and then your back hit the door, firing off the automatic locks, and the frantic noise ricocheted throughout the car as Harry let out a laugh, his gaze sweeping over your face as your heart picked up at the sudden jolt of panic shooting through you. 

You couldn’t hide your surprise in that moment, knew the look was written all over your face. Quickly, you tried to play it off, pretending like it didn’t faze you, and you lowered your brows, easing your body from its rigid state as you began to slowly slouch against the door again, this time more aware of your placement. 

“Guess we’re not going anywhere now, are we?” He says, more as a joke, but you were definitely not going anywhere, “Do you feel ‘strange?’” Harry starts, bringing his hands up to make air quotations, and you roll your eyes, biting down on your lower lip, trying to fight the smile that wouldn’t leave your face.

“No, really, are you uncomfortable?” He asks, poking your knee with his long finger, “Does it feel weird…just us hanging out?” 

“Honestly? I thought it would…” You tell him, “and maybe it should?? Feel weird? But it doesn’t.” You answered meaning every word, and when you saw the sly smile spread across Harry’s face, you sucked in a breath, your chest tight, that same thrill from earlier that night, stealing your focus. 

“Good—“ he breathes.

“What about you?” You toss back the question, “Technically, we haven’t crossed any lines. You’re just driving me home, right?”

Harry laughs, looking down at his hands, those cute dimples dipping as a strand of hair falls in his face, and when he looks up, he runs a hand through his hair, eyes dropping to your fucking mouth again, and god, it was so fucking obvious, but you wanted to hear the words leave his mouth, wanted to be able to repeat them later when you left this car, and he’s staring back at you with that smug smile that’s starting to ruin your life and when he says: 

“Yet—I think the answer you’re looking for is yet…and I’m not normally one to push my agenda on anyone, but I know you can feel this…” he tells you flitting a finger back and forth, “and maybe I’m a shitty friend, but Braden has clearly moved on. I know you saw it tonight…I guess I just…have thought about you…have thought about this before—”

“Before?” You stop him as curiosity floods your whole body, a rush of excitement flooding to the tips of your fingers as you straighten your spine.

“Yeah…is that shitty of me?” He asks, and his British drawl has you fucking beside yourself, swooning like every girl at the party tonight, like idiots tripping over themselves to get in a single word, yet here you were, the one alone with him, the one he’s confessing truths you’ll hold for dear life later—for those rainy days, when you think of all the words he will have whispered across your naked skin. All the nights you will have rode that dick, you’ve been peeping all night. Those tight yellow swim trunks not hiding a damn thing—like right now as you peered over at the bulge resting between his legs, the yellow mesh material packed and he wasn’t even hard—and fuck, he just said exactly what you wanted to hear. 

“Is it shitty of me for thinking the same thing?” You forced, swallowing down the saliva that was trying to collect in your mouth. It’s like his presence is bringing out this animalistic hunger, that’s beating at your chest, and you sense it in the air, smell the scent of your body heating up, sweat pulling between your breast, your pussy pulsing in your shorts. 

“Would you want to hang out again… like just the two of us?” He offered, pulling at his shorts as he adjusted in his seat, and you sat there as still as you could, nearly holding your breath. 

How could a question as simple as hanging out hold so much promise? A simple question, yet you felt it like a spark, a surge of electricity buzzing over your skin, a tingle up your neck. They weren’t just simple words. They were an invitation, a fucking polite ask to explore whatever this was building between you, because it was there, this energy pulling at you both like a dare. 

His easy question pushing you both to the edge of temptation, yet you wanted it, and you knew it, and so did he, or he wouldn’t be asking, “Yeah, I’m game for whatever.” Was all you could push past your dry throat, and you looked him dead in the eye, a smile rising on both your lips, and that’s when you knew there was no turning back. That this would be the start of something that might change you forever. 

Harry was beside himself when your answer was yes. He hadn’t really thought it through, his question had just spilled out of his mind in a desperate attempt to not end this feeling that was pulling at his chest—this tug like a magnet to you as his heart picked up, the sound drowning out the hum of the engine, every beat like a fucking countdown to what might happen next. 

He had always pushed this energy he felt with you away, dulled it in his mind. Made every excuse to keep his distance, but tonight he felt the tension rising in the air, a veil slipping over you both as the outside world fell away, and it was you, only you. 

He knew how he wanted to end this night, felt it like a low simmer across his lip every time his eyes fell to that perfect mouth, so fucking red, so fucking inviting. He had to kiss you. He had to find a way for his lips to meet yours, or he might not make it to the next hangout, because it was already too far away, even if you said tomorrow, he knew he wouldn’t make it. 

Because all it took was one glance from you, one lingering look to steal his thoughts, to steal what little composure he had left of himself because your presence alone was working him to the fucking bone, unlike any girl before you. He couldn’t even compare because there was already this hopeless level of want that had been forbidden all this time. 

And here it was—you—finally within reach, so he knew he had to take his chance, “I like that lipstick on you…” is all he could come up with. He didn’t want to come out and just say it, knew he didn’t want to rush you, but he had to try at least. 

He couldn’t help but stare at your lips, watching you smooth them together at the mention. When his gaze finally flicked to you, your silence weighed heavy in the air, thick with the weight of anticipation, all the possibilities pulling at a single gaze once your eyes met his. 

Christ, you were stealing his breath, the innocence in the way your hands balled in your lap, fist squeezed tight like maybe you were just as nervous. Harry’s heart was racing, excitement constricting his chest. That’s when you spoke:

“What do you like about it?” You barely asked above the noise in the car. 

“Everything…” he muttered, his nerves threatening to take the words he already had filling his mouth, “The way it hasn’t budged all night. It’s perfect.”

“Honestly, don’t let it fool you. I’ve had to keep up with it all night…it’s one of those annoying lipsticks that smears easily—” And you laugh, cutting yourself off, “Not that you care about the details…” You finish.

“Smears, huh?” Harry follows up, eyeing your tongue as it darts out to wet your lips. 

Each second was like a time bomb waiting to go off, and he knew he just needed to take the leap, but then you surprised him. “I can show you…” You nearly whisper, your words almost shaky, but Harry felt it too, the most nervous he had ever been, but there was a safety in your presence, in your past history, an almost friendship just waiting to be explored.

“Here…” You tell him, and when you reach forward and grab his wrist, you pause, locking eyes with him, “Is this cool? Sorry, I didn’t even ask.”

“Yeah—” Harry chokes, barely able to get a single word out as you inch closer and suddenly you are so close, and when he scoots his body forward on the seat, the narrowing space between you closes, now loaded with a shifting energy that had the hair on the back of his neck rising. 

This is it, he thinks, when he says, “I’m good with anything. I trust you…” His gaze drops to your hand, firmly encircling his, and he feels the slight tremor of his own hand, already trying to fight against it, determined, as your grip tightened with a quiet intensity, and then he saw it, the slight shake you were trying to mask, and he let it go.

Silently, without a word, he watched as you brought the sensitive flesh of his wrist to your plush mouth. Jesus, the press of your mouth against his skin was so delicate, so slow, it almost felt like a secret. Harry could feel your breath, the warmth of it blooming out and up the length of his arm, making his stomach lurch. And as your lips pushed into him he wondered if you could feel his pulse, wondered if you noticed the jump beneath your lush mouth, so fucking soft, and red. 

All the while, Harry just sat there, stunned, holding his breath the entire time, his eyes never leaving your face. And when you lingered there—he swears you did—longer than necessary, He found himself having to fight the thoughts that were making his dick stir in his shorts, because this, he never pictured this, and now he could feel his polite composure slipping as a hunger rose like a ravenous animal. 

When you pulled back, you didn’t let go of his hand, Instead, he watched you gaze down at the perfect imprint, a half-moon curve of lipstick, and it was as if you had branded him, made him yours in a way that was more permanent than any ink he had ever gotten, because he would never forget this. This moment would live forever in his mind, and fuck, he wanted to say something so bad, but god, he had never been at a loss for words, not like this. Not when it felt like every word mattered. 

The longer he stared the more he wondered if you were as shocked as he felt, because you hadn’t looked up at him, you just kept staring at the work of art stained on his skin, your fingers still curled around his forearm, jaw slack, and dammit, when your wet tongue smoothed across your bottom lip, he pulled away from your grasp, and grabbed your face, your cheek cradled in the palm of his hand.

That’s when your eyes finally meet his, that look of surprise still lingering, the one he’ll obsess over all summer came to life in your eyes, wide and questioning, and when Harry’s thumb caressed your cheek he felt you relax into his touch, a gentle ease, easing between you both, a moment as delicate as your lips to his wrist.

Your eyes were searching his face then, eyes darting probably mapping him out, and when they land on his lips, he knew what he wanted to do, but there was that hunger again, twitching at the tips of his fingers, and all he wanted to do was smear that perfect lipstick across your beautiful face.

So when his gaze moved to the swell of your lower lip, he felt your breath halt, and he pressed a firm print into the center of your lip and dragged a slow strip of red past your mouth and onto the smooth skin of your cheek, and holy fuck, it was electric, that doe-eyed look in your eyes, that never left his as he destroyed the tiny perfection that you just gave like a gift. 

Yet it was fucking primal, a need that had to be satiated, and when you let out a strangled moan, he didn’t fight the thoughts this time, because he wanted you to know what you did to him, he needed you to see the desire growing hard for you in his shorts, for you and only you.

Because that’s what he wanted, and that’s what he would get.

He wanted you like the oxygen leaving his lungs, like the heart pounding in his chest, and when you pressed his hand into your cheek, there was no second-guessing himself, because you wanted it, he knew it, he could see it in your eyes, feel it in your touch. That’s when you sprang forward, crashing your mouth to his with a force so wild it knocked the air from his body. 

There was only greed in this moment, only need, only a want so desperate that there wasn’t a single second of apprehension, only compliance, and as his mouth moved against yours, he felt the rhythm fall into the perfect give and take, something so natural he didn’t even have to think, and when he coaxed you into his lap, shifting the seat back to make room for you, you pulled away, giving him a silent nod, and that’s all it took to seal the deal, setting the tone for the summer, because now there really was no going back.

And you both knew it. 

Harry wasn’t your first, yet every experience with him felt like venturing into uncharted territories—a thrilling escape, where the familiar turned into a breathtaking marvel, your world now bursting with color before your eyes, as if Harry was shining a light on all your shadows, all the things you thought you should hide. Illuminating your view with every touch, every kiss until it was all that you saw, all that you wanted. 

It really did start as innocent, only making out, granted each time was hot and heavy, never a dull moment when you two were alone, but it was something you guys wanted to keep to yourself, something that was just for the two of you, and it stayed that way for a while as you both explored one another. 

It wasn’t until the first time you had sex that things seemed to shift. You had felt it coming, knew you wanted it, but it still took you by surprise. You didn’t think it would happen like that, it just did, Harry laying you down in his back seat, your body already sticking to the leather. 

Everything that was leading up to that moment was pure desperation, but not this, not that night. It had changed everything, it was the night you knew you wanted more, that you knew you could fall in love with this guy that was hovering above you waiting for you to say the words, to grant him passage to a world you both knew was changing, even if you didn’t say it out loud.

And god, he was so fucking delicate and patient, a kindness he had given so many times before, because it’s not like you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into, like you didn’t know what was waiting for you. How many times had you felt the press of his dick through his jeans before you felt it in your hands. Felt the solid ridge of his cock begging for you to touch him, because that’s how it started. 

It was your curiosity that was the driving force for everything leading up to this point. Because you knew it would be different from your hand wrapped around his dick, or your mouth stretched around his girth—a choke here and a gag there, it wasn’t the same. Those were just the baby steps, and even though you both felt that needy hunger trying to take over, you tried not to let the fear steal your courage.

 Later after everything, you would tell him how it felt, how painful it was, but in that moment you wanted it, you wanted him, so you didn’t make him stop, and fuck, when he pushed inside you, you felt that primitive urge rise, that anamilistic nature he seemed to feed take over. 

And it was already begging for more.

Braden had been the only guy you slept with before Harry, and you couldn’t even remember the last time. So when Harry pushed into you that night, you felt your whole body freeze as you gawked up at Harry. It wasn’t out of fear, or nerves, but because the shock of him splitting you open was so intense, so foreign to anything you had ever known, that for a moment all you could do was clamp your thighs around him and hold on for dear life as every fantasy you had of this moment turned into a searing ache so blinding you had to force your eyes shut, to collect yourself.

Yet the pain continued, and as Harry stilled himself inside you, you thought you would scream, your nails digging so deep into his skin, you could feel the flesh gathering underneath the nail—a fucking brutal fullness you thought, as a dream and reality collided, an ache so fierce you could feel in your teeth. 

For a second, you thought you would cry as your body sang with the pain of him sinking deeper, filling you more the moment you tried to relax, and you lay there as your body tried to rebel, yet you wanted it, you wanted more, the cruel stretch, your walls trembling and raw around him.

Holy fuck, it was like a light switching on, as a smile spread across your face, all the endless possibilities flooding your mind, and you needed it. Wanted him to destroy you in every way, wanted to give yourself in ways you had never given yourself before, and when you opened your eyes and saw him staring down at you, you knew he would let you, that he would give you the space, the freedom you had longed for, because he had already given the power you had craved long before this, his body and endless plain to explore that he let you have anytime you wanted it.

And when you asked, “Why did you stop?” with a breathy laugh, it would become the sweetest contradiction and as he began to move, you both drifted to a place you would never be able to find words for as you spread yourself wider, and he filled you with a pain that was almost too much, yet there was pleasure, a tenderness so deep that your bones rattled in the aftershock, when he made you come, your whole body coming undone in his arms as you lost control.

You had never come like that before, not even alone, and you knew that nothing would ever quite match the way you trembled in his arms, gasping into his shoulder as tears pricked behind your eyes, joy and pain so intertwine you couldn’t tell the difference between the two, in that moment you knew there would always be a mark, not just on your neck or the insides of your thighs, but somewhere deeper, somewhere primal, somewhere only he could reach.

And these were your thoughts as you gazed into his green eyes, his hands pulling you snug to him on his lap as your friends moved around you, carrying on as if this had always been—you and Harry— and as you watched his eyes sweep to the sunset, you felt the slow crawl of anticipation mount your spine. 

You loved the sunset, knowing that with it brought the whisper of the night already calling to you both as you let your pool towel drop, and you stood, beckoning Harry to follow you into the pool.

Harry discovered early on that whatever you guys were doing would be an equal give and take. Except on the nights you begged him to wreck you, to fucking destroy everything. He never knew if it was the past or the present you that you wanted to banish. He could only guess, because every time he followed through and you were crying out his name, or the rare nights, when you were sobbing into his neck afterward, something would change, a tiny spark turning to a blazing fire in your eyes. 

It changed him, whatever it was; you had changed him. He had never been more sure of himself than when your bodies collided. When he knew he would be able to give you what you wanted—and that was him.

And he wanted you, so it worked. 

It was fucking majestic.

Like right now in this very moment, all his thoughts from earlier, coming full-circle. When his only thought was to have you face down ass up, and here you were, face planted into the back seat, your ass in his face. Just for him, just the way he liked it, and he spread you wider, both palms on your ass cheeks, pausing long enough to appreciate the view, the almost bruised purple of his handprints on your hips from last night, the way you shamelessly arched for more.

“Harry,” you whispered, and he could feel your body trembling already, jerking toward him with a need, in the stillness of his movements.

And god, this was the craziest part for him, the part he couldn’t wrap his mind around—you—how you had him so easily. How if you had been any other girl, he would have just fucked around, given you nothing but an act, someone clever, detached, someone that would have played this safe. He never pictured giving you this version of him, the one kneeling behind you, already half hard from nothing but the sound of your breath, knowing full well you loved the way he used his tongue.

There it was in all it’s fucking glory, your pussy—fuck, yes, that pussy was already dripping, needy—opened to him easily, swollen with need and glistening, and he buried his face in it, tongue lapping through your folds and circling your clit, savoring each sound you gave him. 

Harry knew how to work you, starting with a gentle suck, then hard, as the pressure built in your moans, making his head spin with pride only you could give. He loved this, loved how unguarded you became under his mouth, how giving, how much you wanted him. He found your slick entrance with his thumb, sliding through it, then pushing up, curling until you gasped his name and pushed back into him, your nails scraping across the leather seat in tandem.

He could do this for hours. He would, if you asked him. He told himself that was what made you different from every girl who came before—that you truly wanted him, how you fucking melted for him, became molten and alive in his hands, eyes rolling back as if the pleasure he gave you was religion.

Every night spent like this was like a mission, and he ate you until you were shaking, thighs beginning to buckle, and when he parted your ass, tongue trailing up, you moaned out the word “Baby..”, the sound going straight to his cock, and he groaned into your ass as he began to lick a stripe along your rim, then pressed in, slow and dirty, his pointer finger slipping into your wet cunt while his tongue fucked your tight little asshole. 

It was fucking filthy, he couldn’t deny it, but you were a vision, hips jerking, shoving your ass back until his face was buried in it as your hand worked your clit, and you took everything he gave you, begging for more. “Harry—holy fuck—don’t stop, please don’t—” and he wouldn’t, not until you came. Not until you were falling to pieces in his mouth.

He loved you for this, for letting him do anything, for trusting he would never hurt you. He wondered—more and more now—if this was maybe love. 

If this was what he had been trying to avoid, pressing the thought of you into shadow, refusing to say the word aloud. It was easier to show you. To drown you in pleasure, to never let you doubt what you meant when you were in his arms. He knew he could make you come, and that’s what he did, and when the sound filled the car, high and sharp, fucking guttural, he growled into your skin, nipping tight on your ass as you pulsed and jerked in his grip.

And as you repeated his name over and over, he wondered if he could say it. If having you like this would be enough, if it had to be. Summer was ending soon. You would go back to your college, he to his, and maybe you both would pretend this was just a fling, a pause between lives, but every time he was inside you—like right now, you pushing him back against the seat, hard, knocking the air from his lungs, and climbed onto his dick, letting him slide into your body, deep, and it was everything, your pussy was so fucking slick and perfect, and here was that desperation roaring up in you both—he wanted to tell you all of it.

He wanted you to know. Even if you never said it back.

At first, you thought it was the orgasms, your mind wrecked with the aftermath, your mind giddy and stupid in the afterglow of his presence settling over you. It was magic, pure fucking magic. 

And that’s what you had chalked this summer up to, but then something shifted, your mind becoming maybe obsessive, but that wasn’t it, maybe you obsessed over the feeling, but take all the pleasure away and it was him—Harry holding you, his arms becoming a sense of safety, that feeling of home.

You didn’t understand how you could already miss someone when they’re hands were on your body, they’re dick pushed inside you so deep you could feel him in your belly, a feeling that you felt you could no longer live without, but did you truly have to? 

“Can I just feel you for a second? I just want to feel you…inside me,” you whisper, sitting flush to his thighs as he sinks deeper inside you. 

“Yeah…” Harry groans, his breath hitching in his chest as you wrap your arms around his neck. “We can take it as slow as you want, Love.” He tells you, pressing his warm mouth to the skin of your neck, and you lifted your gaze to him, a soft smile playing at your lips.

It was this, the fervor in the lilt of his voice washing over you. It was there from the start, how you knew you’d be safe. There was always an openness, an exploratory nature, that he let unfold between you. 

It was the smear of your red lipstick across your cheek, that awakened it all—the low hum of panic that set in, but you felt that thrill, that tiny morsel of shame that rose with the act, but the second his mouth pressed to your lips for the first time you felt the twitch of something wicked, a guttural longing to destroy yourself, a messy disire to satiate that shame.

To take back its power over you, flip the feeling upside down, to flex and bend that feeling, until it was yours, until you got everything you wanted—until you were used and spent, and fucking turned out until you no longer recognized yourself in the mirror. 

It was a hunger, a need and as your mouth pressed to his, gentle and slow, Harry moved with you, following your lead, you felt the flutter in the pit of your stomach, the pulse of his dick, the reaction you knew you could pull from him.

It made you wild, and here it was that feeling creeping down your spine, making your pussy clench around his dick, and you both felt it, a collective gasp filling the car, your sweaty bodies a slick, slide as your boobs pressed to his chest, and your hips began their slowed rock. 

Harry forced his mouth to yours, and his lips parted as the sensation set in. That’s when you shoved your tongue into his mouth, and his tongue met yours, making you let out a soft moan as you reveled in the taste of yourself on his mouth, which still lingered on his tongue like a gift. 

You pull back then, bringing your arms with you, and you press the palms of your hands to the tops of his knees as he scooted forward in the seat, his hands at your waist to keep you steady. You both knew this was only the lead up, your eyes locking as you situated yourself on his hard dick.

And you shifted your weight into your palms, rolling your hips up with the movement, watching as Harry’s eyes rolled back, his head falling to the headrest, and his hands lazily fell to the curve of your hips. 

“Fuck—that’s already so good,” he breathes, pushing the words to the ceiling, and you smiled that knowing smile, because god, it’s already so fucking good, his dick the perfect stretch inside you. 

You do it again, this time a little slower to tease, listening as Harry sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, how easy, how fucking amazing it was to make a pitiful pained mess of him, his grip needy, digging into your skin. 

When you do it again, hips rolling faster, his head falls forward, face diving into your tits, greedily lapping his tongue over skin as they begin to bounce, and your rythmn picked up to match his mouth. 

Your grip on his knees tightened as his tongue landed on your nipple, then he sucked it in with a loud pop, that made you laugh as pleasure ran through you, “Do it again,” you tell him, meeting his eye.

“You like that?” he asked, voice rough with desire, you could see it in his eyes, a wild glint roaming.

“I want you to bite it,” You told him with a breathy laugh, “Mmmm…just like that…” you cooed, your hand flying to the nape of his neck, desperate to keep his mouth at your breast as he began to suck and lap at your nipple. 

And you ground your hips down with the sensation, Harry already dragging your hips forward, his hands now fully devouring your flesh, kneading your ass and thighs as he slouched lower, feet braced on the floorboard of the car, like his whole body was a throne made for you and your pleasure. 

You could feel the pulse of him inside you, and it sent you reeling, it was fucking insanity, your cunt like velvet, fucked raw as you lifted your hips, grinding a slow circle around the head of his cock. You knew it was vicious, but you did it just to hear him whimper, a tender high-pitched sound shooting straight through you, and you rolled your hips again, slower this time, more teasing, taunting, forcing your pussy to clench just to watch his breathing stutter, his eyes squeezing shut, tongue catching at the corner of his mouth.

When did it happen? When had you gotten this bold? Because it was addicting, this sense of control, the grip you had on him, how you could fuck him stupid just by moving your hips a certain way, yet Harry was eating it up, every second, his broad tatted chest gleaming with sweat, eyes glazed over, adoring, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“You gonna come for me?” he said, voice rash with want.

And you nod, want stealing your words as you ground down hard, feeling every ridge, every inch of breath snatching friction as your body stretched tight around his dick, that familiar ache giving way to a slick, heated pleasure, a build so fast you nearly gasped at how close you already were, but you needed it, and so did he, and fucking hell, his hands were urging you on, a rhythm set by his hips bucking up to meet yours, so deep and so hard you had to throw your head back, the whole car echoing with the messy slap of skin.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, crying out as you clamped down on him, and suddenly you were desperate—like if you didn’t come now you would die, like if he didn’t hold you tighter you might fucking float away as you clawed at his shoulders, and you mashed your tits to his face, smothering him as you bounced on him, faster, harder, as the salacious squelch of your messy pussy, echoed around you both, and it was like the thumping of the car seat was making you ferocious—your desperation driving him deeper.

“Oh fucking god, Harry—please—I swear—”

He couldn’t answer, only groaned and bit at your breasts, leaving marks, tongue lashing over your nipple as you rode him, a finger sinking hard into your ass as the other spread you open. 

Harry forced his hips up then, trying to meet every needy drop of your body, and his finger plunged deeper into your ass, fucking plugging you, the double sensation taking you higher as your clit throbbed, catching on every upstroke. Shit, It was consuming you, every drag against him almost too much, and you could feel it, the tension tightening, the wave threatening to crush you.

“Say it,” you begged, not sure what you needed, you just needed something—his words, his mouth, anything to keep you from unraveling too quick. 

“Say what, baby, fuck—Tell me what you want.”

“Say I’m yours,” you gasped, nails raking down his arms, “Say I’m your fucking baby, Harry—Tell me I’m—”

And your words brought out something in him, almost feral as groan spilled out, so fucking loud you almost came on the spot, his hands clutching you so tight, you knew there would be handprints later. 

“You are, yeah?” he whispered, smashing his mouth to your ear, breathing it like a sin. “You’re my fucking baby—my girl—always—”

Fuck it was everything you needed, you coming undone, splintering around him, whole body locking, your orgasm ripping through you like a fever, heating like a fire, a thousand tiny explosions that made the world go white behind your eyes—a deafening loss of control  as your muscles clenched so tight around him that you didn’t even realize you were sobbing until he made a desperate, broken sound, shuddering as he trembled underneath you, cock bursting deep inside as jets of heat filled you up.

It was too much, and you collapsed forward, chest to chest, fists bunched in his hair as you rode out every last wave. But he didn’t stop, not even as you crumbled into his lap, he only held you, both of you swealtering in the heat of the night, shaking, and soaked in one another’s filth. Harry’s lips found your temple, your jaw, your ear as you blinked back to life, and your hands began to caress his scalp as your grip let up.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, chests heaving for air, the weight of it settling in your bones: not just the sex, but the feeling.

You pulled back then, hand moving to his cheek, thumb trailing his bruised, bitten lip. “Oh my god,” you breathed, half-laughing, tears welling in your eyes. “Harry—”

Harry met your eyes gently, everything on his face laid bare. “Yeah?” he whispered, thumb brushing over your collarbone, a delicate gesture like he never wanted to let you go.

You felt your throat seize, fear threatening to take over, and you almost chickened out, almost bit back everything coming forward, but you couldn’t fight the words, not anymore. “I think—I think I’m in love with you,” you confessed, voice tender with wonder.

And for the spance of a single heartbeat, there was silence, and as your eyes swept over Harry’s face, his answering smile was the truest thing you had ever seen, and when he pulled your face to his. You felt it, the way his lips moved against yours, an achingly tender pace that made you want to cry, and then he said it against your mouth, a ragged rush of I love you, baby, I promise, and you knew he meant it.

You both stayed like that for a cooling minute, tangled together, until your legs started shaking and you laughed, peeling yourself off his lap, his cum running down your thighs as you righted yourself on the seat. Then, Harry reached for your face, sweeping stray hair back, kissing your swollen lips again, like a soft, reverent caress, so intimate you felt your throat burn with it.

“I meant it,” he said, quieter now, nervous, heart in his throat. “I’m so fucking in love with you, it’s not even funny.”

Heat rose then, a fresh warmth blooming in your chest, but it wasn’t lust, it was something better, something wholesome, devastating, but it was all yours, and you smiled, wiping the sweat from his forehead, and you leaned in to kiss the tip of his nose. “Yeah,” you hummed. “Me too.”

He laughed, and the sound of his rasp was nearly dizzying. “My girl,” he said again, like he was trying it on for size, like he couldn’t believe his luck, like finally he could speak his truth.

You looked down at yourself, at the mess you guys made, at him and the red lipstick smeared on his jaw, his neck, his chest, at your own reflection in the window when Harry turned the overhead light on, as a blur of color and sweat, and fucking bite marks filled your vision, and holy fuck, you had never felt more yourself, never felt more awake, like summer had been invented just for this, just for your bodies and the filthy fucking—and now, for love.

Because what could be better than this?

And as you both collected yourselves, you knew the world was waiting, but in here, there was only the two of you, the soft music looping, the familiar smell of sex and summer heat, the taste of him still lingering in your mouth, and you knew you would never forget this, not a single thing.

Harry pulled you back in, both of you sticky and half-dressed, his hand trailing lazy circles on your bare thigh. “At least we still have tomorrow?” he teased, his voice sleepy as a satisfied grin took way.

“Tomorrow,” you repeated, beaming up at him, “and the day after, and every fucking day after that, if you want.”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Darling, there’s no one else I’d rather see. Promise.”

And damn, if you didn’t believe him.

Because this was your summer, and you knew exactly whose baby you were.

Taglist: @sassamanda77 @harryyloverrr @panini @unfuckwitablenarry @triski73 @haleyannaw @dipmeinhoneyh @lizsogolden @spinninc @iloveharrystyles04 @mema10 @avas-daniel @starshollowgazette @practistyles

Other Stuff<-

[daylightmidnights]

PART 2 (A.A.) — Control Freaks

Summary: Diving into the filthy mess. Literally just pure FILTH.

Warnings: explicit sexual content, oral (f & m receiving), 69 position, dom!Harry with light sub undertones, praise & teasing, public-ish sex (curtains open), unprotected sex (don’t do this irl pls), age gap (reader is mid-20s, Harry is early 30s), power play, mutual obsession, emotional tension, one-night stand vibes that evolve, slight possessiveness & rough edges, minor alcohol references

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

You…. Gave in.

The door to the black SUV slams shut behind you before you can say a word. Harry’s hand is still loosely wrapped around your wrist, but now it’s just the two of you in the quiet hum of leather seats, the party music muffled into the distance.

You shoot him a faux-scandalized glare. “So this is what getting kidnapped by a pop-star feels like?”

He leans back in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, the other rubbing his jaw with the slowest, smug grin. “You seemed like you wanted rescuing,” he murmurs. “Thought I’d offer a ride. Somewhere quieter.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Quieter, or dirtier?”

His laugh is low, scratchy. “Depends on you, bunny.”

The ride to his house is slow—he makes sure of it. Every red light feels intentional. You sit with your legs crossed, acting like a good girl, but he can feel your gaze tracing the tattoo peeking from under his sleeve, the way you slightly shift every time he rests his hand near the gearshift.

“I can feel you staring,” he says, eyes still on the road.

You blink innocently. “Just wondering how many girls you’ve kidnapped this week.”

He chuckles, glancing at you sideways. “None with that fake innocence as badly as you.”

You smile sweetly, “Good. I like to stand out.”

When you arrive, his hand grazes your lower back as he leads you inside… a mansion, of course, dimly lit, clean, and way too quiet. He offers you water. You decline.

“You can stay, y’know,” he says, voice suddenly softer. “You don’t have to go.”

You hum, letting your back turn to him. “Oh? Generous of you offering me just to stay the night after kidnapping me from a party.”

And then, as if it’s the most casual thing in the world, you hook your fingers under the zipper of your bodysuit and slowly, deliberately drag it down. The soft sound of the zipper feels loud in the silence. His breath catches before you even make it halfway.

You pause, glancing over your shoulder.

“Are you staring, Styles?”

There’s a beat of silence. Then the sound of his footsteps—fast, firm. His hands grip your hips and spin you around before your bodysuit’s fully undone, but he doesn’t push it back up.

Instead, he leans in, eyes blazing. “You think you’re clever?”

You smirk. “I know I am.”

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

His mouth crashes into yours before you can say another word. Hot, desperate, bruising. He walks you backward, tongue claiming yours with no hesitation, until your back hits the edge of the kitchen island. He pulls away just enough to speak, voice low and wrecked.

“Keep teasing me like that, and I’ll ruin you right here.”

Your hands tug at his costume, hinting him to take it off. “Isn’t that the point?”

He growls under his breath, easily stripping himself from his costume. Leaving him only in his shorts, then he lifts you easily–setting you on the cold countertop. His hands roam fast, possessive, and greedy–but he slows down when he gets between your thighs. His fingers drag up your lace-covered core like he has all the time in the world, even though his eyes look ready to snap.

“You play innocent, but your body’s screaming for it.”

You tilt your head. “Then give it to me.”

And he does.

He pulls your panties aside and sinks two fingers inside you—slow, deep, just to hear how you gasp. His thumb circles your clit in rhythm, while his other hand wraps gently around your throat, his grip firm but never cruel. You feel him twitching hard against your thigh, straining in his pants, but he doesn’t rush.

“You like letting me take control,” he says in a growl. “But you want to see how far you can push me first, don’t you?”

You meet his eyes and catch it—a flicker of something softer. Controlled, yes, but waiting. Waiting for you to take just a little more.

“You like when I take the lead,” you whisper, wrapping your legs around his waist, “but I bet if I told you to get on your knees right now, you’d do it and beg me to pull your hair.”

His eyes darken.

For a moment, he doesn’t speak. But his jaw tightens. His fingers curl deeper inside you. And his voice drops to a whisper.

“…You’d be surprised.”

His stare lingers on you for a moment too long—like he’s trying to decide whether to throw you over his shoulder or drop to his knees and worship. But instead, he grabs your chin gently between his fingers, tilting your face to his.

“You don’t want to start a game you can’t finish,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours but never fully giving in.

You smile, breathless but composed. “Who said I ever quit?”

And that’s it. That’s the moment he breaks.

He hauls you off the countertop and drags you into the living room like he’s on a mission—his grip tight around your wrist, guiding you to the plush velvet couch with his steps controlled. The curtains are open. The city lights pour in through the giant windows, neon streaks dancing across the walls. You know damn well anyone in the buildings across could see you both. That’s what makes your pulse race harder.

The bodysuit hangs halfway off you, undone and inviting, and Harry doesn’t give you a moment to adjust. His lips trail down your jaw, then your neck, then lower.

You glance over his shoulder at the view and smirk. “You’re not even going to close the blinds?”

He doesn’t even look up. “Why would I?” he murmurs against your chest, voice thick with desire. “Let them watch.”

His mouth wraps around your nipple, tongue swirling before he sucks, slow and deliberate. His fingers slip between your thighs again, making you arch into him with a gasp you barely manage to muffle. Your hips roll against his palm like they’re aching for more, and they are.

“Still acting like you didn’t come here just for this,” he whispers.

“And you’re still pretending you don’t want to be told what to do,” you murmur back, threading your fingers through his hair and giving it a little pull.

He stills for a second (barely) then growls low in his throat and hooks your thighs over his shoulders.

“Careful, Y/N,” he says, the nickname now soaked in lust. “Say one more thing like that and I’ll have you screaming with the windows wide open.”

You giggle, breathless, but it cuts off when his tongue drags up your center—slow, teasing, thorough. He eats you like he has something to prove: that he’s still in control, even if your moans are the ones echoing off the windows. His tongue flicks and circles, then flattens, then plunges until your back arches and your hands claw at the couch cushions.

You look down, and for a split second… there it is.

The way his eyes flutter closed when your hand grips his curls tighter. The way he groans into you when you press your heel into his shoulder.

He’s still in charge. But part of him likes being taken there: led, dragged, used.

You file that away for later.

“Harry,” you pant, your voice cracking, your legs trembling, “You’re gonna make me—”

He doesn’t stop. In fact, he speeds up. And when you finally fall apart on his tongue, he groans like he’s the one unraveling.

He stands, mouth glistening, eyes dark and blown wide. You barely get a chance to recover before he pulls you up and spins you around, pressing your chest to the back of the couch. The city lights blaze in front of you, a full view of the world while your knees dig into velvet and your hands brace the edge.

You feel him behind you, thick and ready, rubbing against your folds. He pauses, breath hot against your ear.

“You gonna fake innocence now, sweetheart?” he murmurs.

You throw a look over your shoulder. “What do you think?”

With a low, strained curse, Harry guides the tip in slow, deliberate. It pulls a soft whimper from your throat, your body betraying you as your hips roll back, eager and greedy, swallowing him whole in one obscene, perfect motion.

He stills, breath catching as he watches. “Fuck,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “That was the filthiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

The stretch steals the breath from your lungs, your eyes fluttering shut, jaw slack as your body struggles to adjust around him but he doesn’t give you time.

He pulls back just enough to slam forward again, setting a brutal pace from the start—each thrust sharp, punishing, deliberate. The couch creaks under the force of it, a helpless witness to the way he’s completely unraveling you.

Your palms slap the cushion.

Your body jolts with every thrust.

And the windows stay wide open.

He wraps your hair around his fist and pulls just enough to arch your back. “You feel so fuckin’ good. You gonna take it all for me?”

“Y-Yes,” you manage, barely. “Harder.”

He groans, deeper this time. “Fuck—gonna give you everything, baby. But you’ve gotta beg nicely.”

You turn your head, voice raw, flushed, grinning through it:

“Please, Harry. I need you to break me. Use me. However you want.”

That does it.

He fucks you like punishment, yet he’s the one panting your name like a prayer.

Your body’s trembling against the back of the couch, every breath coming out in shaky gasps as he slams into you over and over again. The slap of skin, the sharp whine of the velvet cushions underneath you, the obscene sound of your arousal filling the room—it’s all too much and still somehow not enough.

Harry’s grip on your hips definitely will be leaving marks now. His breath is ragged, jaw clenched as he fucks you harder, deeper, chasing the edge with everything he’s got.

“Fuck, bunny…” he growls through gritted teeth. “You’re taking me so well—so fuckin’ tight—so filthy, letting me do this where anyone could see.”

You whimper his name, collapsing forward as his hand finds your clit again—rough, fast, relentless. Your second orgasm crashes into you like a wave breaking through glass. Your whole body clenches around him, and you hear him snarl behind you.

“Jesus—fucking—Christ—”

His thrusts stutter. You feel him pulse deep inside you, spilling himself with a strangled groan that sounds like he’s unraveling right at the seams. His body folds over yours for a moment, forehead pressed to the back of your shoulder, his breath hot and uneven.

Neither of you move for a second. Then he pulls out slowly, with a soft hiss between his teeth. You feel the warmth of him dripping down your inner thigh.

And then he drops to his knees.

You blink, turning slightly to look back– but he’s already spreading your legs, gentle now, parting you like something sacred.

“Let me clean you up,” he mutters, voice low and hoarse, eyes not even meeting yours at first. He’s focused like he’s desperate to make it right.

You watch, breath still caught in your throat, as his tongue slides up your thigh, slow and purposeful. Then higher—tasting himself and you, licking up every trace he left inside you like he’s starving for it. His hands hold your hips steady while he works, making soft, filthy sounds against your overstimulated skin.

You should feel powerful. And you do.

But the way he moans into it—the way his tongue lingers, reverent and possessive—makes you realize something else:

He likes being on his knees for you. Or honestly, most likely just for anyone.

Not just because he has to.

Because he wants to.

His tongue is still working between your thighs, savoring the mess he made—lapping it up like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted to taste.

You stare down at him, chest heaving, flushed and unsteady, and something about the sight of him—on his knees, hands gripping your thighs like he’s anchoring himself, pupils wide and wild, sparks a heat low in your belly that doesn’t go away with release.

It grows.

“You look pretty good down there,” you murmur, voice rough and sticky with desire. You run a hand through his curls, gently, like a reward. He lets out a soft, breathless laugh against you, but he doesn’t stop. His tongue stays locked on your soaked center, devoted and unrelenting, like your approval only fuels him.

You tug lightly. “But I’m not done with you.”

Harry leans back on his heels, blinking up at you, dazed. “Oh?”

You nod once toward the wide couch, and your voice drops to a tone you didn’t know you were capable of:

“Lie down, Styles.”

He obeys immediately. Eager, curious, and cocky but there’s a flicker of something else in his expression now. Something pliant.

He stretches out along the velvet, chest rising and falling fast, lips wet, eyes never leaving yours. He even props one arm behind his head like he’s trying to act casual, but the way he shifts beneath you betrays him—already hard again, already needy.

You straddle him slowly, your thighs on either side of his waist at first. He thinks you’re going to ride him. You lean in like you are. His mouth parts.

But then…. You lift up, scoot forward, and settle yourself directly over his face.

Harry’s breath catches, sharp and surprised but then he groans, deep and low, hands flying to your hips. You feel the grip, tight, almost possessive, but he doesn’t guide— he waits.

And you smile. “You gonna let me use your face, sweetheart?”

The whimper that leaves his throat could be classified as dangerous. His eyes flutter shut as his tongue flicks out, barely grazing your folds. You grind down in response—slow and slick and deliberate.

And he fucking moans.

You take your time. Ride his face like you’re savoring every second, every stutter of his breath, every twist of his tongue. His nose nudges your clit, and you rock forward with a gasp. His hands tighten, but he’s still letting you lead.

“Mmm—look at you,” you pant, glancing down. “Getting off on this already?”

He nods—fucking nods—his mouth still working, relentless.

His tongue moves like he’s mapping every inch of you—messy, greedy, obsessed. You ride it with your head thrown back, hands in your hair, moaning shamelessly into the open room. You don’t care about the view anymore.

“Fuck—Harry!” You gasp, grinding harder now, the pressure just right, the rhythm frantic. “I’m—gonna—oh—”

He sucks your clit at just the right second and that’s it. Your vision whites out. Your thighs tremble around his face, and you lose yourself—loud, raw, aching.

You twitch and roll your hips through the aftershocks, still straddling his mouth, his tongue giving soft, slow licks like he’s milking every last wave out of you. Like he’s addicted.

When you finally lift off him, your legs nearly give out.

Harry’s wrecked beneath you—lips swollen, chin wet, eyes heavy and so fucking gone.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers hoarsely, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand but not breaking eye contact. “You’re gonna be the end of me.”

You crawl down his body, press a soft kiss to his jaw, then his lips. He kisses your mouth slowly, messy, claiming—and you kiss him back like you want to ruin him. His hands roam your body with a mix of reverence and urgency, cupping your ass, pulling you flush against his already-hard-again length. He’s insatiable. And so are you.

You slide down his body with intention, every movement deliberate. Settling on your side, this time your face– especially your lips hover near the thick, pulsing length aching for attention just as he shifts beneath you, hooking your thigh and guiding you back toward his mouth, tongue finding your heat like he’s starved for it.

You both exhale– shaky, desperate.

Your head rests just beneath his hips. His tongue parts your folds with a slow, deliberate stroke, and your breath catches as heat floods through you. Your hand wraps around his shaft, teasing the head with the flat of your tongue, savoring the twitch he gives in response.

He groans into you, the sound muffled but dark, and the vibration sends a jolt through your spine.

This isn’t gentle—it’s ravenous. You both take and give in tandem, your bodies locked in a rhythm of gasps, moans, and messy devotion. His grip tightens on your thigh, trying to keep control. But from the way he’s trembling under your mouth, he’s already losing it.

Your cheek rests just below his waist. His cock grazes your lips, heavy and warm, while his mouth finds your heat again—tongue sliding between your folds with practiced ease.

Your thighs already tremble, anticipation tightening every nerve as he moans softly against you, lost in the taste of you. The heat is immediate. All consuming.

He licks you right at the core—flat, slow drags of his tongue that make your toes curl. You moan against the head of his cock, and he shudders, hips twitching forward involuntarily.

“You’re unreal,” he mutters into your cunt. “Taste like heaven. Sound like sin.”

You take him into your mouth—slowly at first, savoring the weight and heat of him on your tongue—and he groans, bucking forward slightly before catching himself.

It’s a game of control now.

He sucks your clit and you moan around his cock. You swirl your tongue around the tip, and he practically whimpers against you. He’s relentless. You’re merciless. It’s mutual destruction.

His fingers dig into your thigh as his tongue works deeper, wetter, more desperate, and your hips buck uncontrollably.

You pull him deeper into your throat in retaliation—and that’s what finally does it. You feel him twitch in your mouth. He pulls off your cunt with a sharp gasp, panting into your skin.

“Fuck—don’t stop—fuck, bunny—”

You hum around him, moaning just to make it worse, and he loses it—spilling into your throat with a strangled cry, one hand gripping your hip while the other fists the couch cushion.

You swallow all of it.

Moments later, he comes down from it still panting, but his tongue never leaves you.

You arch back into him, crying out when his fingers replace his mouth just long enough to draw out your final orgasm of the night. You shake through it, legs kicking, breath broken and high.

He kisses your thigh softly, one last time. You both collapse—sweaty, panting, wrecked.

There’s a long silence between you. You feel his arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you into his chest.

Stillness.

“I wasn’t supposed to like that that much,” he finally whispers, voice raspy against your neck.

You turn your head to look at him.

“Did you?”

He nods once, serious. “I did.”

You could laugh, but you don’t. You just let the silence fall again, warm and strange. You don’t know what this is yet. Or what it’ll mean when morning comes.

But tonight, it means everything.

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

📝 Author’s Note:

I’m dyinggggggggggg. Feeling feral at 10am. I kinda didn’t read it after revising each paragraph so IM SORRY IF ITS KINDA SHIT. Next chapters will be a little more angsty I feel like to calm us all down 😭🙂‍↕️👁️

@thenovarose

[daylightmidnights]

Sarah I’m drooling over how sweet vamprry is!! What if reader is having a dream 😏 about him and he comes over and helps take care of her?🤤🤤❤️

Hiii babes!! I love this omg🫠 I hope you like it and I’m so happy you like how sweet he is!!🥹💖

Find part 1 here✨

CW: Dirty talk, smut (unprotected sex, light fingering), Harry’s a vampire (just in case you didn’t know lol).

Word Count: 2.7K

Summary: Harry hears you saying his name while dreaming ✨

Harry is walking down the street, just a few houses away from yours when his ears pick up the faint sound of your voice, not sensing any panic or uneasiness in your tone he doesn’t think anything of it and just assumes you’re talking to yourself while reading or mumbling your thoughts while watching one of your horrible reality shows. He’s running a hand through his hair when he hears it again, he still can’t quite make out what you’re saying but this time he can sense there’s a hint of urgency to your voice and that’s when he smells it, your usual sweet scent mixed with something else that has his shaft twitching in his trousers.

Sooner than what would seem possible to anyone that wasn’t Harry, his feet are hitting the bottom step of your front porch and your house key is in his hand ready to unlock your door. When he steps inside he notices all the lights are off minus the one lamp in the living room you keep on just for him, because of the time he nearly broke your coffee table when he ran into it during a late night visit.

“Harry.” He stops in his tracks as your quiet mumble hits his ears telling him exactly where you’re at in the house.

He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it over the back of your couch and toes off his shoes before he makes his way to the hallway your bedroom is on. His fingers make quick work of unbuttoning his black dress shirt letting it hang open as he walks towards your bedroom door that’s cracked open. Harry smiles when he slips quietly into the room sitting in the chair that faces your bed where you’re laying on your back in just a t shirt, he takes in how rumpled your sheets are and the way you’ve managed to kick your covers to the opposite of your bed letting him get a full view of your sleeping body. He knows sometimes you struggle to get comfortable and can be a bit wiggly in your sleep but this is something different, he just can’t piece it together yet.

“Oh-oh Harry.” Harry’s brow quirk as you stir a bit while his name falls from your lips in a whispered moan and that’s when it clicks for him, you’re dreaming about him. He stands up and slips off his dress shirt, tossing it onto the chair and just as he goes to unbutton his pants you begin to stir again. “Please-want you.” Your soft voice comes out like a hushed whine, Harry watches intently as one of your hands grip the sheets while your hips jerk just the slightest.

Harry can’t help the smirk that creeps onto his face as he watches you dream about him, the sound of your soft whines and breathy moans going straight to his already hardening cock. His eyes never leave your body, hungrily traveling up from your thighs to your soft hips up to your breast and by the time they land on your plump lips his pants are in a pile on the floor near the foot of your bed and he’s carefully crawling over you. He hovers over your body and smiles when you let out the softest little whimper almost as if your body can sense him and are upset he hasn’t touched you yet.

He leans down and ever so gently places his lips on the side of your jaw, leaving featherlight kisses as they travel down to your neck. The moan you let out has Harry’s length twitching, his lips are right next to your ear as he slots his knee between your thighs.

“Hi my love.” He whispers before kissing down the side of your neck, he feels your hand grab his arm giving him a squeeze as if check to feel if he’s really in bed with you or if you’re still dreaming.

“Harry?” Your voice is thick as you open your eyes, with a smile Harry pulls back so he can look at you. “You’re here?”

“Yes my love. I’m here.” He answers before pressing his lips to yours in a hungry kiss, your arms are wrapping around his neck as his tongue slips into your mouth. You let out a moan that Harry just swallows as he deepens the kiss while his hand slides down your side and pushes your t shirt up just enough for him to notice you’re not wearing anything underneath it. “This all for me?” He asks when he pulls away, leaving you trying to catch your breath as his hand slips between your thighs.

“Y-yes.” You pant, feeling Harry’s index finger teasing your already soaked folds. His emerald green eyes turn dark as he nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, licking and sucking at the spot below your ear while he teasingly circles the tip of his finger around your wet center.

“Could hear you saying my name-moaning for me while you were asleep.” He mumbles between kisses down to your chest, you spread your legs silently inviting him to settle himself between them. “Could smell your sweet little cunt all the way down the street baby-is that why you were calling out for me hmmm? Feeling needy?” His voice is teasing as your hands travel down his back, trying to pull him closer but he’s much stronger than you so he doesn’t budge.

“Tried to-to take care of myself.” You say with a moan when you feel his finger push into you. Harry smiles against the soft fabric of your shirt as your body trembles underneath him when he starts to slowly pump his finger in and out of you.

“How did that go my love? Did those pretty fingers of yours make you feel good?” You shake your head as his eyes land on yours, a small pout forms on your lips when he slides his finger out of your warm wetness.

“No I-I needed more needed you.” You tell him with a frustrated sigh, Harry lets out a dark chuckle as you dramatically wrap your legs around him and try to pull him closer to you, he lets out a soft hum against your skin and indulges you and lets you pull him closer to your body.

“My sweet girl needs me huh?” His voice is soft and feels like being wrapped up in velvet as he rolls his hips downwards so you can feel his hard length beneath his boxers as it rubs against your puffy clit that’s still sensitive from your own thumb being pressed against it earlier.

“Please Harry.” You beg as your hands travel to the waistband of his boxers and when his lips find their way to your jaw you quickly begin pushing them down until they’re low enough he can kick them off to the floor.

“So wet already baby.” He moans as the tip of his cock runs up and down your folds before pressing at your entrance.

“Oh fuck-oh god.” Harry nips at the side of your neck as he pushes his thick cock into you, the feeling of him pushing into you making your eyes close and your hands claw into his shoulders at the familiar stretch as you adjust to his size.

“That’s it sweetheart just relax.” His hand reaches down and grabs one of your legs and bends it at the knee letting him push himself deeper into your wet cunt. “I know it’s a lot-doing so good my love.” He praises as he bottoms out with one last slow push, you let out a deep moan as your eyes snap open and your heart feels like it’s going to burst right out of your chest, loving the feeling of being so overwhelmingly full of him.

“Harry I need-”

“I know baby.” He cuts you off and begins moving his hips in a slow delicate pace. “This what you were dreaming about? My cock being buried deep inside you like this?”

“Oh god.” You feel your walls clench around him as his thrusts quicken making the tip of his cock hit that spongey spot deep inside you that has your toes curling and a soft cry of his name tumbling out of your mouth.

“Love the sounds you make when I’m fucking you like this.” You feel his hand grab your other leg and hike it over his hip as his thrusts get harder, more determined. “Been thinking of this all night baby-having you scream my name while I fuck my big cock into your tight little pussy until you’re a perfect little mess for me.”

“Don’t stop Harry-please please don’t stop.” Your words are muffled by the sound of your bed creaking with each powerful thrust of Harry’s hips, each one sending you closer and closer to the edge as you feel the pressure begin to build in your lower belly.

“Tell me my sweet girl is this better than your dream?” You feel his breath on your neck, you instinctively turn your head letting him have more access. He takes a long inhale through his nose and lets out a groan at how sweet you smell, you let out a squeak as he gives you a harsh thrust making your headboard bump against the wall.

“So-oh god so much better.” You pant between harsh thrusts, your hands grabbing at the smooth muscles of his back trying to ground yourself to him as he pounds into you. “Harry I’m so-”

“I know baby I can feel you squeezing me.” Your eyes flutter closed as his hand slides between your bodies, this thumb pressing tight circles on your clit. “Oh that’s what you needed wasn’t it sweetheart?” His voice is rough but still has a softness to it as your hips jerk trying to meet his determined thrusts.

“Yes yes just like that-oh god oh god.” Harry licks at your neck before gently sinking his teeth into your soft flesh just as he feels you clench and pulse around him, your release hitting you hard. You feel his lips sucking at your neck as you get hit with wave after wave of blissful pleasure.

“So fucking perfect.” He murmurs against your skin as he licks over the small bite mark on your neck as he pumps his thick cock in and out of your soaking wet pussy, fucking you through your orgasm. “Where do you want it baby? I’m-fuck I’m close.”

“Want you to fill me up.” You say with a moan as he increases the pressure his thumb has on your clit. Harry lets out a deep throaty moan as his thrusts become quicker, his bruising grip on your thigh keeping your leg perfectly situated over his hip so he can reach deeper with each thrust until your crying out his name and he smiles against your neck when he feels your walls flutter around his thick shaft.

“Give me one more my love and I’ll fill your sweet little cunt up-make you sleep with me dripping down your legs so you’ll think of me when you wake up in the morning.” His words send you spiraling over the edge as his thumb presses down onto your sensitive bundle of nerves making you squirm underneath him.

“H-Harry I can’t-it’s too much.” You whine making Harry pull away so he can stare into your eyes as his thrusts become slower and more controlled.

“You can baby I can feel how close you are-just let go for me sweet girl and I’ll give you what you want.” His eyes burn into yours before his lips catch yours in a passionate kiss. His tongue licks your bottom lip before sliding against yours, you feel him pull out to just the tip before slowly sliding back in but only half way and pulling out again just to slam back into you, teasing you as he feels your walls begin to clench around him. “Just like that baby-yes that’s it oh you feel so good coming on my cock baby.” He says with a moan when he pulls away leaving your lips red and kiss swollen.

“Oh-oh yes.” Your eyes close and your back arches as Harry gives you a few hard thrusts before his warm load is pumping deep inside of you, coating your walls in his release as he lets out a deep moan of your name.

“Take it all my love- it’s all for you.” He moans as his thrusts slow down as you pulse and squeeze around him, milking him of every last drop. “Fuck baby I want to be inside you all night.” He feels your chest vibrate as you let out a breathy laugh.

“And you call me greedy.” You tease as he moves his thumb from your clit, he gives you a smile as he brushes some hair out of your face.

“You are greedy.” He tells you before placing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m inherently a selfish creature so it shouldn’t shock you that I don’t want to leave the place that brings me so much pleasure.” You open your mouth to say something but Harry gives you a roll of his hips, his cock already twitching inside of you. “Could just stay inside this sweet little cunt all night-rock you to sleep with the slow thrusts of my cock fucking this tight wet pussy. Doesn’t that sound good baby?”

“Yes but-”

“I know my love.” He leans down and kisses your temple as he slowly pulls out. “You have a busy day tomorrow. Maybe another time then?” He shoots you a playful wink as he rolls over so he’s on his back next to you.

“I’m free this weekend.” You say with a smile making Harry grin as he pulls you into his chest.

“I love you.” He mumbles against the top of your head as his arms wrap around you like a protective cage that you always feel safe in.

“I love you too Harry.” He smiles as you place a kiss to his bare chest. “Could you really hear and smell me from down the street?” Harry lets out a laugh as he pulls you even closer, you rest your head on his chest and drape an arm over him.

“Yes but that’s because I’m always listening for you but the smell-well that’s what brought me to you in the first place isn’t it? I’d be able to pick up your scent from across the city my love.”

“Oh god you can smell when I’m-I’m in the mood?”

“Yes.” He answers casually making you try to hide your embarrassment but Harry just soothingly runs his strong hands up and down your arms.

“No need to worry about things like that okay? Just know I’ll always be able to find you but especially if you’re feeling a little-needy.”

“I guess that’s good to know.” You say with a small yawn making Harry chuckle at how soft and cuddly you get when sleepy, your hands clinging to him as if you’re worried he’d try to leave the spot he’s currently in.

“Go to sleep baby.” He whispers in your ear in that velvety soft voice that has your eyes closing and a soft hum leaving your lips.

“Goodnight.” You mumble as he gently reaches over for your comforter so he can drape it over the two of you. He smiles when he feels your breathing turn more regular and you let the full weight of your body rest against him, all signs that you’ve fallen asleep.

“Goodnight my sweet girl.” He places a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m so glad I finally found you my love. Have sweet dreams of me.” His voice is soft and barely above a whisper. He leans his head back against your soft pillow as his hands continue to rub up and down your arms, content to stay like this until he has to slip away a few hours before you wake up and the sun rises but with a sweet note and a promise of seeing you that evening left on your coffee maker where he knows you’ll see it and a fresh rose resting on your kitchen island.

[daylightmidnights]

I can do whatever my vampy boyfriend tells me to do....no questions asked

Can you do that for me?: A Vampire!Harry Blurb✨

CW: Mentions of blood (your man is a vamp), minor language, smut (fingering and oral f receiving)

Word Count: 1.8K

A/N: This is just a fun little blurb inspired by this post, I’ve never written anything for vampire Harry so this was very fun and a little silly, hope y’all enjoy✨

Summary: Your vampire boyfriend just wants you to drink some water✨

“That’s not what I said.” Harry’s voice is his usual velvety softy, no hints of annoyance or teasing as he leans against the doorway of your outdoor balcony. The corners of his mouth twitch, forcing him to fight off a smile as you let out an exaggerated huff from your spot on the chair you’re lounging in with a book in your lap.

“That’s exactly what you said.” You argue as you reach over and place your book on the table next to your chair. “You said you don’t like how I taste anymore and that’s rude.” This has Harry crossing his arms over his chest as he readies himself for the small rant he knows is coming based on the way you stand up, throwing the soft blanket you had over your legs back onto the chair.

“You said I taste gross and honestly I’m not sure how I’m supposed to take that because if I’m so disgusting then why don’t you just go drink someone else for a while you actual asshole.” Your voice is full of emotion as you stand there with a hand on your hip while the other is gesturing behind you, the moonlight glistening off the roofs of your neighboring houses.

“Baby.” Harry says with a smile that has you wanting to smack him as he pushes off the doorframe and takes a step towards you. “All I said was I can tell you haven’t been drinking enough water.” You cross your arms over your chest as he reaches out and places a hand on the side of your face.

“And you can tell that because?”

“Because you just taste a little off.” He explains as his thumb rubs across your cheekbone, his eyes traveling from the slight pout your mouth is making up to your eyes.

“Well if I taste off why don’t you just go-”

“Don’t.” His eyes intensely stare into yours as his hand moves down to the side of your neck. “Don’t say it again please.” The emotion in his voice has your hands falling down to your sides, not wanting to hurt him with your words you just close your mouth making him let out a small sigh. “I don’t want anyone else but you-I can’t have anyone else but you my love.” He increases the pressure his hand has on the side of your neck ever so slightly as he leans in so his lips brush against your cheek. “I just want you to be healthy and take care of yourself that’s all.” He says softly before pressing his lips to your forehead, he smiles when he pulls away because he feels your pulse quicken as you subtly lean towards him as if he’s a magnet drawing you closer to him.

“Water is so-blah tasting I don’t like it.” You mumble feeling silly as your hands reach up and land on his chest over the crisp white dress shirt having come from a meeting of some sort before coming to see you.

“I understand that sweetheart but it’s good for you and well-you’re a bit cranky when you’re dehydrated and you know it pains me when you’re anything but happy.” His other hand rests on your hip, his thumb slipping under the hem of your t shirt rubbing your smooth skin right above the waistband of your shorts.

“So you’re in pain right now?” You question while Harry moves his lips down to your temple.

“If I say yes will you drink some water for me?”

“If I drink some water will you tell me why you can’t drink from anyone else besides me?” Harry cracks a smile at your attempt to negotiate with him as he pulls back some so he can get a good look at your face.

“Yes.” He answers making you smile, your arms wrap around his neck pulling him closer so you can place a kiss to his lips.

“Okay I’ll drink a glass of water then.” He lets out a chuckle when you pull away, he releases his hold on your neck and hip but before he turns around to grab you a glass of water he leans in and captures your lips in a kiss that has you practically falling back into the chair you were just sitting in, his hands steady you as he pulls away with a smirk.

“I’ll be right back.” You just let out a hum in response as you try to catch your breath. Before you can even blink more than a few times Harry is crouched down in front of you placing a glass of water with a bendy straw on the table next to your chair, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows letting the ink on his arms to be visible.

“I’ll start when you start love.” His eyes dart to the glass as his hands rest on the tops of your thighs. You look over and grab the glass, bringing the straw to your lips and only making a face of slight disgust as you begin to take a few sips. “You want to know why I can’t have anyone but you?” The deepness and smoothness of his voice sends a small shiver down your spine as his eyes intently watch you to make sure you’re still taking sips of the water.

“Yes please.” You answer only momentarily letting the straw fall from between your lips. Harry smiles as he leans down and presses his lips to the top of your knee.

“Because nothing and no one compares to you.” He begins to explain as his hands slowly slide higher up your thighs, eyes never leaving your face. “You’re the reason I exist-the light and love of my eternal life and I can’t have anyone but you because there’s no point. There’s only one you and you’re all I crave.” You swallow a large gulp of water as Harry’s hands reach the bottom of your shorts, his breath is warm against the inside of your thigh as he lightly presses his lips against your soft skin.

Harry watches you take a few more slow sips as his hands gently grip the waistband of your shorts, he quirks a brow and when you just nod he smiles as you lift your hips a bit to help him slide your shorts and panties down your legs. You watch them get tossed to the side as he works your thighs open a bit more so he can settle himself between them, he chuckles when you let out a startled squeak when he slides you closer to the edge of the seat making sure you’re still sitting up so you can comfortably drink your water.

“Keep drinking your water. Can you do that for me?” You just nod making him smile against your skin as his lips travels up the inside of your thigh. “Because if you stop I stop.” He warns as his eyes travel down from your face to your neck, all the way down your chest until they land on your glistening core.

He feels a low growl bubble deep in his chest as he takes a deep inhale through his nose, loving the way you smell when he has you a flustered mess. He doesn’t give you any warning before his warm tongue is licking a stripe up your wet center, the tip of it flicking your clit making your grip on the water glass tighten. Harry looks up at you as he dives his tongue into your soaked core, your face contorts into one of pure pleasure as you drop a hand from holding the cup to grip the armrest of your chair as he swirls his tongue inside your wetness.

“So sweet baby.” He moans as he slides his hand up and dips his index and middle finger into your tight cunt. You almost drop the glass when his tongue flicks your clit while his fingers pump into you at a quick and determined pace. “Keep going.” His voice is thick and demanding as he looks down at the glass and sees it’s almost empty. You practically slam the glass down on the table once it’s empty, your hand now free to tangle into Harry’s curls making him groan when he feels you give it a tug.

“Oh-oh yes.” Your back arches as Harry’s fingers quicken their pace, his lips traveling to your hip and gently giving you a small nip making a moan fall from your mouth.

“That’s better.” He mumbles against your skin, his tongue swiping up the small droplets of blood he got from the tiny bite on your hip, just needing a little taste of you.

“Harry.” Your voice is strained as your hips grind down to meet the pace of his fingers, he increases the pressure on your clit as he curves his fingers as he pumps them inside of you making.

“I’m here my love you just have to let go for me.” He whispers as his lips travel down to your inner thigh, he feels your walls clenching around his fingers making him groan at the feeling. “That’s it baby-doing so good.” He encourages gently as his fingers thrust into you deeper making you lean your head back and grab both armrests as you feel the pressure building in your lower tummy.

“Oh don’t stop-oh god please don’t stop.” You cry out making Harry smile as he continues to fuck his fingers into your tight pussy.

When he feels your walls clench and pulse around his thick digits he is quick to pull them out so he can lap up your release with his tongue. You chant his name and a few incoherent words as your climax hits you like a tidal wave, Harry moans as his tongue slips into your soaked center licking you through it. He takes extra care to not let a single drop of your release to go to waste.

“You did so good baby.” He praises as his hands rest on the tops of your knees, giving them gentle strokes with his thumbs. “I swear you’re the closest to heaven I’m ever going to get.” You let out a breathy laugh as he stands up, his hands gripping the back of your chair as his eyes stare into yours and in that moment you see nothing but love making your cheeks get warm at how intensely you can feel the emotion radiating off of him.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Says my lovely girlfriend who threw a hissy fit over me suggesting she drink more water?” You roll your eyes as Harry leans down and places his lips to the side of your neck.

“What do I get if I drink another glass?” Harry laughs, his breath warm against your skin as his lips travel up to your jaw until finally landing on your lips for a sweet kiss.

“Anything you want.”

[daylightmidnights]

I LOVE THEM. NEED THEM TO KISSSSS

$5 | Windows Facing

The Sigma boys host a kissing booth

Windows Facing Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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The crisp autumn air carries the sound of music and laughter across campus as Y/N and her roommate Maya make their way back to their dorm after their afternoon classes. Fallen leaves crunch beneath their boots, and Y/N clutches her psychology textbook to her chest, discussing their upcoming midterms.

"I still don't understand why Professor Jenkins expects us to memorize all forty defense mechanisms," Y/N sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I mean, rationalization and intellectualization are practically the same thing."

Maya, with her dark red hair and perpetually amused expression, nudges Y/N with her elbow. "That's such a rationalization."

"See? You're proving my point," Y/N laughs, adjusting her scarf against the October chill.

As they round the corner onto Greek Row, they're met with an unusual sight: a line of girls, at least twenty deep, snaking from the front porch of Sigma house onto the sidewalk. Above the doorway hangs a large, crudely painted banner that reads "SIGMA KISSING BOOTH - $5 - ALL PROCEEDS TO CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL."

“You’ve got to be kidding me" Y/N mutters, slowing her pace to observe the spectacle.

Maya's face lights up with recognition. "Oh! Louis mentioned they were doing a fundraiser today. Didn't realize it would be so...popular."

"Of course it's popular," Y/N says, rolling her eyes. "They're literally selling the opportunity to kiss frat boys. It's like a petri dish of bad decisions and mononucleosis."

Despite her disdain, she can't help but notice the booth set up on the porch. It's decorated with red and pink streamers, and behind it sits Niall, collecting money with an enthusiasm that suggests he's enjoying this charitable endeavor immensely. Beside the booth is a whiteboard listing the "kissers" on rotation:

HARRY 1-2 PM

ZAYN 2-3 PM

LOUIS 3-4 PM

LIAM 4-5 PM

NIALL 5-6 PM

A note at the bottom reads: "Limited time only! Get 'em while they're hot!"

"We should stop by," Maya suggests with a mischievous grin, checking her watch. "It's almost 3 – Louis is about to start his shift."

"Absolutely not," Y/N says firmly, trying to steer her roommate away from the commotion. "You've already been 'kissing' Louis for free for weeks. Why would you pay for it now?"

Maya shrugs. "It's for charity. Plus, I'm curious how he kisses other girls compared to me."

"That's...a concerning level of curiosity," Y/N remarks, but Maya is already dragging her toward the line.

"Come on! It'll be fun. You could kiss Harry," Maya teases, knowing full well about the antagonistic relationship that had developed between Y/N and Harry 

"I would rather kiss a toilet seat," Y/N retorts, but allows herself to be pulled along, if only to humor her roommate. "Besides, according to that board, Harry's shift is over."

"Pity," Maya says with exaggerated disappointment. "I've heard he's the best kisser in the house."

"From who?" Y/N asks before she can stop herself.

"Everyone," Maya gestures widely to the line of girls. "I bet his line was the longest"

As they approach, they can see the current proceedings. Zayn is seated on a stool, looking impossibly handsome and slightly bored as he gives a quick peck to a giggling sophomore. Behind him, leaning against the porch railing and drinking from a water bottle, is Harry, evidently finished with his shift.

He spots Y/N immediately, his eyes lighting up with that familiar mischievous glint that always precedes him saying something that will irritate her. He pushes off from the railing and makes his way over, running a hand through his already tousled curls.

"Well, well, well," he drawls, his British accent more pronounced as it always seems to be when he's trying to be charming. "If it isn't psychology girl. Come to make a charitable donation?"

Y/N gives him a saccharine smile. "Just escorting Maya. I prefer my charitable acts to not involve potential communicable diseases."

Harry clutches his chest in mock offense. "I'll have you know my lips are pristine. Certified disease-free."

"By whom? The CDC or just your own inflated ego?" she counters.

Harry grins, dimples appearing in full force. "Want to find out for yourself? I could make an exception and extend my shift."

"Hard pass," Y/N says, though she feels an annoying flutter in her stomach at his suggestion. "Besides, I don't have five dollars to waste."

"For you, I'd make it free," he says, leaning closer. "Consider it a scholarship for the academically gifted but romantically challenged."

Before Y/N can formulate a suitably cutting response, Louis emerges from the house, checking his watch.

"Time's up, Zayn!" he calls, then spots Maya in line and breaks into a wide smile. "Well, hello there, Red. Come to support the cause?"

Maya waves, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Just doing my part for the children."

Louis winks at her before turning to Harry. "How'd you do, mate? Beat my record from last year?"

Harry shrugs, his eyes still on Y/N. "Sixty-seven kisses. Not bad for an hour."

"Sixty-seven people willingly put their lips on yours?" Y/N asks, genuinely astonished. "Were they blindfolded first?"

Harry laughs, a rich sound that Y/N reluctantly admits (to herself only) is rather nice. "You know, most girls on campus would consider it a privilege."

"I'm not most girls," she retorts.

"No," he agrees, his tone shifting to something more sincere, "you're definitely not."

The unexpected compliment throws her off balance momentarily.

Louis claps Harry on the shoulder. "My turn to shine. Though I notice you've still got some energy left for verbal sparring with our favorite psychology major."

"Just trying to convince her to contribute to the cause," Harry says innocently.

Louis looks between them with amusement. "Right. The cause."

As Louis takes his position at the booth and Zayn heads inside, the line shuffles forward. Maya moves with it, leaving Y/N standing awkwardly with Harry.

"I should go," she says, gesturing vaguely toward their dorm. "Papers to write, defense mechanisms to memorize."

"Or," Harry suggests, falling into step beside her as she turns to leave, "you could stick around. I'm done with my kissing duties, but I was going to help Niall count the money later."

"Tempting as it is to watch you struggle with basic math, I'll pass," Y/N says dryly.

Harry chuckles. "You know, one day you're going to run out of clever ways to insult me."

"I doubt that very much," she responds, though there's less bite in her tone than usual.

They've reached the sidewalk now, away from the crowd. Harry stops, causing Y/N to pause as well.

"Seriously though," he says, his playful demeanor slipping just slightly, "it is for a good cause. The children's hospital helped my cousin when she was little. It means a lot."

The sincerity in his voice catches Y/N off guard. It's a glimpse of the Harry that exists beneath the confident, flirtatious exterior, the one she occasionally spots in class when he thinks no one is watching, diligently taking notes and asking thoughtful questions.

"That's...actually really nice," she admits. "The fundraiser, I mean. Not the method."

Harry's smile returns, softer this time. "The method works, though. We raised over two thousand dollars last year."

Y/N glances back at the line, which has only grown longer. "I can see why."

A comfortable silence falls between them, perhaps the first they've ever shared that wasn't charged with their usual antagonism.

"I should really go," Y/N says finally, shifting her textbook in her arms. "Good luck with the rest of the fundraiser."

Harry nods, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a five-dollar bill. "Here."

Y/N looks at it, confused. "What's this for?"

"Consider it a donation in your name," he explains. "Since you refused to participate directly."

She hesitates, then takes the bill. "I'll drop it in the collection box on my way out."

"Or," Harry says, that mischievous glint returning to his eyes, "you could just take the kiss you paid for."

Y/N arches an eyebrow. "Technically, you paid."

"Semantics," he shrugs, taking a small step closer. "The money's going to the same place either way."

For a brief, crazy moment, Y/N actually considers it. There's something in Harry's expression, a mix of challenge and genuine interest, that makes her wonder what it would be like. Sixty-seven girls today alone couldn't be completely wrong, could they?

But then she thinks of the line of girls, the public setting, and her own stubborn pride.

"I think I'll just make the donation," she says, stepping back slightly.

If Harry is disappointed, he hides it well, nodding with a small smile. "Your loss, psychology girl."

Y/N turns to walk away, but pauses after a few steps. "Harry?"

He looks up, eyebrows raised expectantly.

She sighs before turning back to him, “you can kiss my cheek” she grumbles

Harry's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his usual cocky demeanor momentarily replaced by genuine shock. He recovers quickly, a slow smile spreading across his face, not the practiced, charming grin he flashes at everyone, but something more genuine that reaches his eyes and makes his dimples appear.

"Well, well," he says softly, taking a step toward her. "Psychology girl full of surprises."

Y/N immediately regrets her impulsive offer, but her pride won't let her take it back. She straightens her shoulders, trying to appear nonchalant despite the warmth creeping up her neck.

"It's for charity," she says primly. "And since you technically paid, I suppose it's only fair you get something for your donation. And I dont think youd want Louis or Niall kissing you"

"How generous of you," Harry murmurs, closing the distance between them.

He moves with a deliberate slowness that makes Y/N's heart beat faster. Standing this close, she can smell his cologne, something expensive and woodsy that she's secretly noticed before in class but would never admit to liking. His eyes, green with flecks of gold in the autumn sunlight, hold hers with unexpected intensity.

"Last chance to back out," he says quietly, giving her an opportunity to retreat that she hadn't expected from him.

Y/N swallows but holds her ground, turning her cheek slightly toward him in silent permission. She's acutely aware of the line of girls still visible on the porch, some of whom have noticed this interaction and are watching with undisguised interest.

Harry leans in, one hand coming up to gently brush her hair back from her face. The unexpected tenderness of the gesture sends an involuntary shiver down her spine. His fingers are warm against her skin, and she finds herself holding her breath as he moves closer.

His lips press against her cheek, soft and warm. It's not the quick peck she was expecting, but something more lingering, respectful of the boundaries she set, yet somehow managing to feel more intimate than a simple courtesy kiss. His stubble grazes her skin lightly, and she catches another hint of his cologne, mixed with something that's just distinctly him.

The kiss lasts only seconds, but when Harry pulls back, Y/N feels oddly disoriented, as if something fundamental has shifted between them.

"Thank you for your contribution," Harry says, his voice lower than usual, a hint of something unreadable in his expression.

Y/N clears her throat, desperately trying to regain her composure. "I expect a tax receipt," she manages, though her attempt at their usual banter falls slightly flat.

Harry laughs softly, still standing closer than their normal conversational distance. "I'll see what I can do."

From the porch, Louis calls out, breaking the moment: "Oi, Harry! Need you back here, we've got a line situation!"

Harry glances over his shoulder and waves acknowledgment, then turns back to Y/N. "Duty calls."

"Can't keep your admirers waiting," she says, finding her footing again.

Harry studies her for a moment longer, as if trying to solve a puzzle. "You know," he says thoughtfully, "for someone who claims to find me insufferable, you blush very prettily when I'm near."

Before Y/N can formulate a suitably cutting response, Harry takes a step backward, his usual confident smirk returning.

"See you in class tomorrow, psychology girl," he says with a wink, then turns and jogs back toward the house, where the line has indeed become somewhat chaotic.

Y/N stands rooted to the spot, her hand unconsciously touching the place on her cheek where his lips had been. She's annoyed to find that her heart is still beating faster than normal, and even more annoyed that Harry was right, her cheeks are warm with a blush she can't seem to control.

"Ridiculous," she mutters to herself, clutching her textbook tighter and turning resolutely toward her dorm.

As she walks away, she realizes she's still holding the five-dollar bill. After a moment's hesitation, she changes direction and heads back to the porch, where she wordlessly drops the money into the collection box before Harry can notice her return.

Maya, now at the front of the line and witnessing this entire interaction, gives her a knowing look that Y/N pointedly ignores. She'll have enough explaining to do when her roommate returns to their dorm later, no need to give her more ammunition by acknowledging what just happened.

As Y/N finally makes her way back to her building, she can't help glancing over her shoulder one last time. Through the crowd, she catches Harry's eye, he's been watching her leave. Instead of his usual teasing expression, there's something different in his gaze, something that makes her stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with annoyance.

She turns away quickly, but not before seeing the small, genuine smile that crosses his face, one that suggests their dynamic might be shifting in ways neither of them had anticipated when the day began.

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