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softestgentlest · 4 years

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Trope: friends to lovers (kinda roommates too???)

Prompt: "you'd make such a shitty spy."

••• ••• •••

Nora huddled in the middle of the couch, a blanket wrapped around her like a cloak, peeking through her fingers at the climax of The Shining, when her front door swung open, loudly banging against the coat rack.

Emitting a high pitched scream, she jumped to stand on the couch, throwing her blanket and the remote at the shadowy figure in the entryway.

"Oi!" It shouts back over the film and the sound of rain pelting the windows, "bit extreme, don't you think, Eleonora?"

She stills, eyes widening, mouth falling open, and then breaks into a run, launching herself into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist, hands smoothing over his shoulders, his neck, his soft curls.

"Harry," she squeals, his name muffled as she nuzzles into his neck, inhaling him, re-familiarizing herself with his scent, "Harry, Harry, Harry..." she sighs, over and over, like a prayer, "I missed you so much, Harry."

He laughs, dropping his bags and wrapping his arms tightly around her, holding her close. "Weird way of showing it..." he chuckles, allowing his eyes to slip shut as he feels her lips move at the base of his neck, curving into a smile at his words.

Suddenly hyper aware of her skin pressed so intimately against his own, his grip on her waist tightens and his jaw clicks.

"You just scared me," she whispers, oblivious to his heightened sensitivity, "if you had any manners at all, you would've knocked" she teases, fingers threading through his curls, combing through the knots.

"Well, at least now I know that you'd be able to defend this place if there ever were a real intruder." He jests, suppressing a moan as her fingers snag a knot and pull a bit too roughly at his scalp. 'fuck' he thinks, tugging at her hips, prompting her to come down.

She does, squirming out of his hold and lowering herself to the ground, sliding down his body all too slowly - soft curves rubbing against his hard, defined ridges.

She bounces happily, practically trembling with joy, blind to the hungry glint in his eyes, and the slight bulge now straining against his trousers.

She's wearing his old T-shirt - practically drowning in it - and a little pair of orange panties that he's desperately trying to keep his eyes off of. Her toes are painted orange to match, digging into the fluffy carpet as she rocks excitedly on her heels.

She rolls forwards onto the balls of her feet, mesmerized by how natural it felt to have him close, shocked by how habitual it felt to run her fingers across his skin. "I wasn't expecting you for a few more days." She murmurs, watching him with wide, adoring eyes.

'She's always looked at me like that' Harry reminds himself, reeling in his expectations. Regardless, her gentle gaze prompted him to stand a little taller, pulling his jacket off, watching her expression as he flexed slightly, tanned biceps straining, the defined muscles of his torso twisting, tightening under his fitted tee shirt.

Her gaze, he notes, falters slightly, flitting across his tanned, inked arms, lingering on his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. Her cheeks flush, and he watches, with an arrogant grin tugging at his lips, as she visibly shudders.

"Alright love?" He goads, taking a step closer to her whilst reaching behind his back to close the door.

Nora, feeling overwhelmed, took a sharp breath, "f-fine." She squeaked, blinking dazedly up at him. "I just..." she pauses, a ragged breath escaping her throat, "I just really m-missed you, I think."

Harry grins a smug grin and runs a hand through his curls, tousling them just the way she likes. "Missed you too, Ellie."

A moment later, she moves towards the kitchenette, mumbling something about tea.

"You know I won't drink it, right?" Harry purrs, shadowing her.

She shrugs him off, telling him to put his things upstairs and to rejoin her in the living room to watch the end of the film.

He does as he's told, and Nora presses her chilled hands to her cheeks when he's out of sight, refusing to accept or acknowledge the strange tension between them.

When he came back downstairs in sweats and a massively oversized sweater, she was already waiting on the couch, "I'm watching, uh...The Shining." She said, gesturing lamely at the TV.

Almost as soon as she clicked play, he was cuddling up to her, tugging her closer, playing with her hair, as if she was far more interesting than the movie.

His fingers felt so good, hovering at the nape or her neck, pressing gently to her scalp, ghosting the shell of her ear...

•••

For just a moment, she closed her eyes, but when she opened then again; the clock read 7:00 AM and she was in her own bed, snuggly and warm under her blankets.

She knew at once that Harry had moved her to the bedroom. It had been weeks since she'd slept here last. She preferred the couch, it still smelled like his cologne.

Outside, she could hear the sound of her little push lawnmower rumbling, and the smell of freshly cut grass brought a trembly little smile to her face.

In a rush, she stretched, pushed the blankets past her toes and toddled over to the big window. Fumbling with the latch, she peered through the glass, eyes darting all around the yard.

Nothing.

Giving the latch one last tug, it snapped open along with the large picture window. A gust of sweet smelling air rustled her hair, tickling the bare skin of her thighs where Harry's T-shirt ended.

Pressing her palms against the frame, she leaned out slightly, nibbling at her pink lips, cheeks flushing a bit in anticipatory delight.

And then he came into view, pushing her shitty little lawnmower with ease.

He wore a pair of yellow shorts, slung low on his hips, and wonderfully snug against his thick, tanned thighs. At the waist, the dark ink of his butterfly tattoos peaked out, contrasting with the soft yellow of his apparel. His shirt lay rumpled on the ground a few yard away, and Nora's eyes flashed over to the garment, before returning to drink in the length of his lean, golden torso.

Without even realizing she was doing so, Nora sinks to her knees, hiding beneath the sill of the window.

Her breath caught as Harry tilted his head to the side, rolling the taut muscles in his throat, his hand coming up to press against the back of his neck, soothing the tension there with a few slow, deep kneads.

She was all too aware of the illicit heat curling in her tummy, and the way her spine shivered as she pressed her thighs together to keep from ruining her panties. Her lips parted on a gasp as, not so far below her, the lawnmower caught on a tree root.

Harry's powerful frame curved, flexed, his strong shoulders and biceps tensing as he jolted the machine over the obstacle, ramming it into his desired position.

Nora slapped a hand over her mouth when she heard her own breathy little whimper. Every move he made had her pressing closer, arching her back, crushed up against the wall.

'He could do anything to her right now,' she realized, 'and she would let him.'

In utter desperation, her fingers wandered down, down, down...timid and curious, as she replayed the thought in her mind: 'I'd let him...anything he wanted...I'd let him.'

Her eyelids fluttered as a hazy, liquid heat pooled at her center. Her knees quaked, spreading wider, supporting her weight.

Longing tore through her. She yearned for the taste of him - for the sweet, cherry red of his mouth pressing into her own. She ached to feel his hands on her hips, manhandling her like he'd done with the lawnmower.

She stifled a moan, imagining his mouth moving hotly against her skin, that slow accented voice purring words of encouragement: "good girl..." he would tell her, "...so pretty kneeling for me."

Her fingers moved in swift, unsteady circles, desperately seeking more...higher...faster. "H-Harry" she gasped, grinding down onto her hand, eyelids fluttering, "Harry..."

She was so close. So caught up in the chase, that she failed to notice that the lawnmower had stopped.

But in brief moment of clarity, she did notice him, leaning up against the now closed shed with his arms folded, watching her.

She yelped and tumbled backwards, heart thumping wildly, the floor seeming to swim beneath her trembling frame.

"You'd make such a shitty spy!" She heard him yell, chuckling, sounding all too casual for the current situation.

'Did he...didn't he see?' She sat up slightly, peeking over the windowsill to watch him moving towards the house, pulling his shirt back over his head. 'He must not have...'

But he had. He had seen her, gasping, blushing the prettiest shade of pink, eyelids fluttering, shoulders trembling, her teeth denting her lower lip.

He'd seen, and yet Harry wasn't quite sure of how to proceed, which left him feeling even more perplexed, because this was a rarity for him. He was always sure of himself. But this... this was Nora. This was a girl who's thoughts, feelings, dreams and fears were as much a part of him as his own. He knew her better than anyone else, and vice versa.

But...he'd missed this.

Of course, he’d known she was lonely. He felt her loneliness - recognized it with ease, because it was a feeling that he was all too familiar with. But he never thought for a second that her loneliness would lead her to...to think of him like...that.

All day, she avoided him, and all day, he spiraled deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole of ‘what if’s.’

He thought back to those strange moments where he’d caught her looking at him as if it was her first time really seeing him. He re-evaluated the reasons for her blushes, and her lingering stares.

By the time he was stood in kitchen, cooking a simple dinner, he realized that he needed to hear her say it. He needed her to say something. She’d admit to it before he called her out.

And Harry could be - above all other things - very persuasive.

•••

And then dinner was served, and they sat opposite one another at her dining table, tense and curious.

He sat, unable to stop thinking about how fucking pretty she looked, all pink and trembly, with her eyes round and glassy, blinking up at him like a baby fucking deer.

She nibbled at her lip each time he caught her looking, eyes darting back down to her plate, cheeks reddening.

"Um..." she cleared her throat, swallowing a bite with some effort, "th-thanks for the lawn this morning. Y'know you didn't...didn't have to..."

"Mmm..." he hummed lowly, mirroring her and swallowing a bit of his pancake, the muscles in his jaw and throat flexing, capturing her attention, "trying to get back in shape anyway." He explains, shrugging wide, muscled, perfectly shaped shoulders, "takes some muscle to move that damn thing."

"Mhm." She licked her lips. Must've been effortless then, she thought bitterly, thinking back to the way his torso had rippled, glistening in the sun, his powerful hands forcing the machine to submit to his will.

"Should let me buy you a new one."

Nora tensed, breath catching in her throat. What would normally be voiced as a teasing, lighthearted offer, sounded undeniably like a command.

Glancing up, she took a stuttering breath, eyes zeroing in on his single cocked brow. He's provoking me, she realized, heat creeping up her neck. "No...I-I don't think I need-"

He cut her off, his accent thickening, head tilting to one side as he set his fork down, "Nora..." He tuts, leaning forwards, holding her stare, "I'm just not sure you could handle it..."

At this, she tensed, leaning forwards as well, not at all liking the double meaning behind his little remark, "I've been handling things quite well on my own, thanks." She shot back, setting her mouth in a stubborn little pout.

"Oh," he murmured, picking up his glass and swirling the liquid around in it thoughtfully, infuriatingly, before meeting her stare, "I'll bet you have, Eleonora." His mouth twitched, dimples cutting into his cheeks at the double entendré.

She turned red as a tomato, pinning her gaze to the table, a hot shiver creeping up her spine as she recounted the solitary handling she'd given herself just hours ago.

"M' always happy to help out..." he whispered then, low and slow, voice dripping with sweet suggestion. His rings clicked impatiently against his glass when she didn’t immediately meet his stare, and then she lazily lifted her head, fucked out of her mind.

He leaned forward. She leaned forward. "Ok..." she whispered airily, eyes threatening to roll back into her head as she inhaled his pine and vanilla scent.

"Ok what, Nora, baby?" He prompted, pupils dilating as he watched her gazing back at him drunkenly, so soft and docile for him. Atta girl.

"O-ok you...um, y-you can..." her mind blanked, back arching of its own accord, her toes curling in her socks. ‘Oh, god,’ she thought, ‘you can do whatever you want.’

"Cmon, baby...say it for me."

"You can..." again, she couldn’t quite finish the thought.

Then, Harry slammed a hand down onto the the table, shaking the various dishes on its wood surface, his rings clacking threateningly.

The movement has its intended effect.

Nora whimpered, clenching internally, tummy aching. She swallowed, wanting so badly to please him.

“You can...”

•••

TBC...? I don’t know, don’t really like this, and might rewrite, but whatever 🤷🏼‍♀️ tried to write something.

#caitlin’s fic party #Harry styles #friends to lovers #to be continued?

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