#harry styles blurb
watchmegetobsessed · 2 days
A/N: just a bit of cuteness i thought of, enjoy!
SUMMARY: Early morning snuggles in bed.
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You’re not typically an early bird, staying up late usually results in snoozed alarms and sleepy snuggles until you really have to leave the comfort of your bed. Today however, you’re up early and it’s probably because Harry is finally home and you feel like you shouldn’t miss any moment you get to spend with him before he needs to get back on the road.
Your boyfriend is sprawled out on his back, one arm above his head, the other one tucked under the pillow your head is resting on. The sheets has ridden down his torso, revealing the deliciousness of his naked chest that’s rising and falling in a slow, peaceful rhythm as you watch him while lying on your side, taking in his beauty.
During the time you spend apart from him you always try your best not to dwell on how much you miss him, but whenever he is back home you realize just how badly you ache for his closeness when he’s away and how you never want him to leave again.
For a while you just look at him, admiring his side profile, his many tattoos, the gentle stubble on his face and the cheeky chest hair you’ve grown to love so much. But soon enough just watching is not enough, you can’t help but move closer, his butterfly tattoo pulling you closer like a magnet until your lips meet with it, peppering it with gentle, tiny kisses. Your hand wander up and down his side, then over his chest and to the base of his neck, fingers dancing along then chain of his necklace playfully.
You notice the moment he wakes up, you feel the change in him and you smile to yourself when he takes a deep breath and then you just keep kissing all over the butterfly. His left hand comes up to the back of your head, tangling through your hair.
“Good morning, Handsome,” you murmur against his soft skin, brushing your nose against his sternum.
“Mm, good morning,” he smiles, his eyes still closed as you push yourself up and your lips finally meet his in a sloppy, lazy morning kiss. “You’re up oddly early.”
He is usually the one to wake up first, sometimes he even goes for a quick run before you even pop an eye open. He doesn’t mind starting his day before yours, he often makes breakfast for the two of you and then maybe have a shower together. Mornings like that are your favorite.
“I know. Guess I was missing you in my sleep,” you hum, smiling against his lips before you lay your head on his chest and he wraps his arms around you.
“Is that so? Does it happen often?” he asks as he plays with a strand of your hair.
“All the time.”
“And what do you do then?”
You smile cheekily and rest your chin on his chest so you can look up at him.
“Do you want me to tell you or… show you?”
He looks down at you with hooded eyes as a smirk stretches across his face, his hand sneaking underneath your top, coming in contact with your naked skin.
“The latter. Definitely the latter.”
Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!
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avatar-anna · 2 days
Better Man
just a little angst about better man (taylor's version)!
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Sometimes in the middle of the night I can feel you again, but I just miss you and I just wish you were a better man.
You knew letting him past the front door was a bad idea, but you didn't always have the strongest resolve, especially when it came to your ex.
Harry was laying on the other side of your bed, his back turned to you as he slept soundly on familiar sheets. You should've been asleep, but it didn't come. So you stayed awake, staring at Harry's back as it rose and fell. You admired his broad shoulders, the constellation of freckles all over, the birthmark. It was a familiar canvas, but it wasn't yours anymore. Him being here didn't change that.
"I can feel you staring," Harry mumbled, words pushed together like he was still half asleep.
"Sorry," you said before turning over.
There were only a few beats of silence before you heard sheets rustling as Harry shifted and draped an arm across you. The scent of his cologne was dizzying as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.
"Out with it then," he said, sounding a little more awake.
"I don't know what you mean."
"I know you, Y/n. You sleep like the dead unless something is on your mind."
He was right, of course, but that was part of the problem. He knew you too well.
"I just…miss you, that's all."
And God did you miss him. Harry was…well, you thought he was everything. For years, the two of you were inseparable, so incredibly in sync with each other. Harry brought out the best in you, made you comfortable in your own skin. He made you feel seen and taken care of and loved.
Until he didn't.
Breaking up with Harry was the hardest thing you'd ever done. It was messy, he didn't see it coming—which was another problem of its own—there were periods where you would somehow end up sleeping in each other's homes for days at a time afterwards, and the periods when those days ended felt soul crushing. Losing him felt like losing a part of yourself. Harry loved you, that was never a question. He just…he wasn't what you needed anymore.
"I miss you too. Constantly," he said. "But you don't have to, you know. Miss me. I've always been right here."
You kissed his arm. "I know, but we broke up for a reason, Harry."
He sighed, because he never could grasp why things ended, he couldn't figure out why you would ever want to leave him. As much as you loved each other, you were on different pages, wanted different things, became different people—or rather, he changed and you stayed the same. Harry was at a point in his career where the whole world was at his fingertips, and he wanted it too, wanted to reach and reach and reach. You didn't blame him for that, he was good at what he did, out of this world. But he'd made promises before, when he was just yours. When the world called, he changed his mind, and he wanted you to change yours with him.
Part of you knew that perhaps he'd made those promises out of fear of losing you, that he wasn't the type to believe in a simple kind of love. It always had to be more with Harry. And perhaps he wasn't aware, but you knew it was because he was afraid of love, of letting people see the worst parts of him along with the best. You knew that and fell in love with him anyway. He would be the one to break your heart but you let him do it happily.
"I love you. Can't that be enough?"
You did your best to hide a sniffle. "I wish it was, but something has always held you back from me," you said, your thumb running along his arm. "I won't settle for anything less than what I deserve."
"Then why keep letting me in?"
"Because you're a hard man to say no to, Harry Styles," you laughed, but it was more sad than humorous. Even as you talked about being apart, all you wanted to do was pull him even closer. In a lot of ways, Harry still felt like home. You were safe right there in bed wrapped up in him. "And despite my best efforts, I'm still in love with you."
Harry sighed and pulled you closer to his chest. "I want you. I can't even think about anyone else. It makes no sense for us to be broken up when we both want the same thing."
"But we don't," you said. "You want me on the sidelines cheering you on with no ambitions of my own."
"That's not—"
"You want me to watch while others throw themselves at you and pretend like it's fine because it's all for show. You want me to be another trophy in your collection, Harry, and I—I'm so much more than that."
You twisted around to face him, only to find that there were tears lining his eyes. You hated seeing him cry. It always twisted your gut into a tight knot.
"Is that really what you think of me?" he asked, sounding hurt, betrayed.
"You told me you loved me, that you wanted me in your life, but I was never a part of it," you said.
Harry had promised that nothing would ever change, that he only wanted to take on the world if he had you by his side. And you believed him at first, but somehow you'd fallen to the wayside. He left you to fend for yourself at parties with people you didn't know, took on more opportunities and projects that kept him and you apart for longer periods of time, going out almost every night and sleeping through the day, leaving you such little time alone with him. Sometimes it felt like the only way to see him was in an interview or music video.
And the moments when you had him all to yourself were perfect. He was completely and totally yours. He doted on you, took you on dates, made you breakfast in bed. He made you feel like the luckiest girl in the world, and in those moments, you knew he loved you, that he would never be tempted by anyone else. Harry really was yours, you could feel it with every cell of your body.
But those moments were fleeting. He was gone for longer periods of time, and you didn't know how to make him understand that you needed him to stay longer than the few days off he got while touring. For a long time, those stolen moments were enough, until they weren't anymore. Harry stayed away longer, and you felt him slipping. The hand you had wasn't a winning one, so you folded before he could break your heart. Well, more than breaking up with him did.
This wasn't a life together, it was just his, and you were along for the ride.
"I wanted to build a life for us. I wanted to make myself into someone you would be proud of," he said.
Your smile was sad as you threaded a hand through his hair. "I've never not been proud of you. You've always been enough, H, I don't know why you've never seen it."
To say Harry was complicated was an understatement. Even when you met he had his fair share of demons. But everyone did, and you loved him as he was. As he began to gain notoriety, he began reinventing himself, to be someone that was loved by everyone. You knew who he was was enough, but you couldn't get through to him, he needed validation from the world. Once you realized how deep that insecurity was rooted, you knew you couldn't fix him, he needed to do it himself. And you deserved someone who wasn't so obsessed with seeking approval from others that they overlooked the people that loved them most.
"All I ever wanted was to give you the world," he whispered, his gaze trained on where your hand was still on his cheek.
"All I ever needed was you," you replied, moving your hand to rest it over his heart. "I'd like to believe that the man I met so many years ago is in there somewhere, but I can't count on waiting to see him again. I—I'm not going to put myself in a position to make you choose when I know what your choice would be."
You didn't really believe that fame was something that would ever change Harry, but it did. Or it preyed on his deepest insecurities, and he let it happen. You loved him, and it hurt to see him so broken, especially when he didn't even seem to realize it, but you couldn't hold his hand while he untangled his messes anymore.
"I love you," he said again. "I have never stopped loving you."
"I have seen every facet of who you are, and I've never loved you less, flaws and all," you said, and it was true. Despite everything, Harry was a hard person not to love, and there were moments where he made you feel like you were more important to him than anything else in his life. The secret smiles and stolen kisses and songs that were made just for you. He was the kind of person that burned so brightly, but that also meant he cast just as big a shadow, and those shadows could be all-consuming. "You're a good man, Harry. I just…I think I just deserve better than you."
Harry didn't argue with you about it. He didn't try to contradict you or give you a list of reasons why you should be together. He just hung his head and held you close, a shuddering breath escaping his lips. You let yourself rest your cheek against his chest, his skin warm and familiar. It felt so right to be there, you couldn't fathom anyone else feeling as good as Harry did. Maybe no one ever would.
Wrapped up like this, your eyes grew heavy, and it became harder and harder to stay awake. Harry hadn't fallen asleep yet, you could tell just by the erratic beat of his heart against your cheek. Moving your head just to the side, you kissed him right there, right where his heart laid beneath his chest. Your heart squeezed, as if it knew this was the last time you would be letting Harry through your front door.
Turning your head to the side once more, you let yourself fall asleep on his chest, a couple tears slipping past your tired eyes.
Still awake, Harry ran a hand through your hair, letting the silky soft strands fall through his fingers. "I can be better," he whispered. Not to you, but to himself. "I'll be better. I promise."
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darlingdesire · 2 days
Can u do one where y/n loves kissing harry every second she gets. And loves to just suck on his lips and he thinks its so adorable??
Of course!! Thank you so much for this lovely little request. And just a little reminder, you can send in a request through my ask box on my profile 🫶
A fluffy little blurb about how much Y/N loves kissing Harry.
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Y/N loves kissing Harry. She loves the way his lips feel against hers, the way his stubble tickles her chin, the way he tastes of mint. She loves everything about kissing him. Harry thinks it's the most adorable thing ever. He can't help but smile every time she leans in for a kiss.
Y/N loves kissing Harry when he least expects it. Like when he's lost in thought, typing away at his computer or reading a book. She'll sneak up behind him and plant a soft kiss on the back of his neck. Harry will jump a little, startled at first, but then he'll turn around and pull her into a warm embrace, kissing her back with equal fervor.
Y/N loves kissing Harry in public. She loves the way people stare, slightly taken aback by their unabashed displays of affection. She doesn't care though, she's happy to show the world how much she loves her husband. Harry loves it too, he's proud to be her husband and he loves seeing her happy.
Y/N loves kissing Harry when he's sad. She knows that a kiss can't solve all their problems, but it's a start. She'll cup his face in her hands and press her lips to his forehead, his cheeks, his lips, until he starts to feel a little better. Harry loves how much she cares for him, and how much her kisses can make him forget about everything else.
Y/N loves kissing Harry when they're alone at home. She'll pull him into a tight embrace and kiss him passionately, running her fingers through his hair. Harry loves how much she desires him, and how much he desires her. They'll spend hours lost in each other's kisses, wrapped up in each other's love.
Y/N loves kissing Harry before he leaves for work in the morning. She knows he has a long day ahead of him, and she wants to start it off on a good note. She'll wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him goodbye, making sure he knows how much she loves him. Harry loves how much she supports him, and how much he can rely on her.
Y/N loves kissing Harry every second she gets. She loves how he makes her feel, how he fills her heart with joy and love. Harry loves kissing Y/N just as much, and he knows he'll never get tired of it. They'll spend the rest of their lives kissing each other, and they wouldn't have it any other way.
Y/N couldn't help but smile as she looked at her Harry. She felt a rush of warmth and love in her heart and leaned in to give him a gentle kiss on the lips. Harry smiled back at her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him.
Harry loved how adorable Y/N was when she kissed him. He loved the way she leaned in, the way her eyes sparkled with happiness, and the way she always made him feel so special. He cherished every kiss they shared, knowing that it was a sign of their deep love and connection.
As they continued to kiss, they lost themselves in the moment, forgetting about the world around them. They were lost in their own little bubble of love, and nothing else mattered. It was just the two of them, sharing a moment of pure love and affection.
Finally, they pulled away, their eyes locked in a loving gaze. They knew that they had something special, something that couldn't be explained or understood. It was just the love they shared, the bond that had grown stronger over the years.
"I love you," Y/N whispered, her voice filled with emotion.
"I love you more," Harry replied, his eyes shining with love and adoration.
And with that, they shared another kiss, sealing their love and commitment to each other. It was a moment that they would cherish forever, a moment that would remind them of the love they shared every time they kissed.
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freedomfireflies · 1 day
hey! if you're up for it...could we get an update on mr. and mrs. hey soul sister? i miss them and i wanna know what they're up to 😭
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“Harry…put it down.”
“Harry…put the goddamn remote down.”
Your blood boils as you huff a stray piece of hair from your eye. “Harry…I’m giving you two seconds to either put the remote down or turn the video off before I take action.”
Unphased but exceedingly amused, Harry’s brow raises as he regards you from his hiding spot in the kitchen. “Yeah? And what are you gonna do, hm?”
Already equipped for a fight, you reach into your back pocket to slip your last resort free.
Harry’s eyes widen once he realizes what you’re holding, and you watch him visibly swallow. “Lovie…don’t.”
But you’ve already got a finger underneath the flap of the envelope, ready to pop it free and investigate the contents inside. “Put the remote down…and I won’t.”
He hesitates, focus flicking between the weapon in your hand and the horrific video he’s got pulled up on the television. “I…but I…”
“Okay…I’m opening it,” you warn, sliding your nail even further along the sticky glue. 
“Wait!” He’s breathing heavier now, face flushing as he weighs his options. “Okay, wait—wait. Let’s just…let’s compromise, yeah? Just…just watch the beginning with me, and then I’ll turn it off—”
“Eh. Wrong answer,” you interject, shaking the envelope fervently. “Last chance, buddy. Drop it or I look inside.”
A glare begins to settle onto his expression as he presses his palms into the kitchen island to brace himself. “Lovie…don’t do this.”
“And why not?”
His lips purse. “Because…if you do…no more midnight ice cream runs.”
You gasp. “You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
You debate this. You like to imagine you know your husband pretty well, but these past few weeks have slowly introduced a new man into your life.
One you aren’t quite sure you can trust yet.
“Drop the remote and we’ll be fine,” you argue instead.
With narrowed eyes, he lifts the clicker into the air, aims it at the TV…and hits, “Play.”
The video begins again, the wretched sounds sending a chill down your spine as you gasp. 
He called your bluff.
The fucking asshat.
Furious, you bring your bargaining chip closer, and wrench the lip back to peer inside the small sleeve.
“Lovie…” Harry attempts to warn, now slipping around the counter to approach you cautiously. 
But it’s too late. You’ve already seen it.
Your skin flushes as you reach inside to retrieve the small photo, pulling it out so you can get a better look.
Warily, Harry regards you from across the room, slowing to a stop as he attempts to gauge your reaction.
You don’t speak for at least a minute, the silence filling with the dreadful sounds still blaring from the speakers.
Your heart is pounding inside your chest. A hundred and one thoughts swimming around in your head as you attempt to pull yourself back to the present. To understand this impossible to understand new reality.
“Well?” Harry’s timid voice slips through the cracks of your trance, forcing your head up.
You blink. “It’s…”
He takes another step, and you can see the curiosity paint itself across his face. “What?”
You swallow. “It’s a girl.”
He practically glitches, stilling right where he stands as he looks at you.
You wonder if he heard you. “Har…?”
He sucks in a sharp breath. “It’s…it’s a…it’s a girl?”
“Yeah,” you whisper, lip between your teeth as you turn the photo around for him to see. “Yeah, it’s a girl.”
The moment his eyes land on his future daughter, you watch his entire world change.
He strides the rest of the way to you, plucking the photo out of your hand to give it a quick once over before he looks at you.
“Holy shit,” he murmurs, and you laugh as future tears begin to crawl up the back of your throat.
“Yeah,” you agree. “Holy shi—”
But he’s already putting his mouth on yours and pulling you into your arms before you can even finish your sentence. Your feet leave the floor as he spins you around, and you can’t help but laugh as he plants sweet, excited kisses all across your face.
Once he finally concedes to setting you back down, you put a hand over your heart. “I can’t believe we’re having a baby.”
“Oh, I can,” he retorts. “Knew it the moment I met you in the bar that night. I knew you’d be my future baby-mama.”
You can’t help but snort as you shove at his chest. “Ha. Very funny.”
“Speaking of which…this baby is gonna have the absolute best introduction to music,” he continues, reaching out to brush some hair behind your ear. “She’ll have my perfect pitch, and your tone-deaf taste—”
“All right,” you huff, shoving at him again as he laughs. “I will raise this baby by myself if I have to.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
He responds to your challenging glare with a kiss. Sweeter this time around. Purposeful. He’s not always good with words, but you can feel everything that he wants to say in this kiss.
You know.
It’s you two against the world.
Well…you three, now.
“I love you,” he says after a moment, forehead pressed to yours as if desperate to be close to you forever.
“I love you, Mr. Hey Soul Sister,” you tease, feeling rather proud of the way he grins. “Now…can you please turn that god-awful video off?”
He glances over his shoulder toward the woman giving birth on your television. “But why? It’s informational—”
“It’s graphic,” you argue for the hundredth time, brushing past him to find the remote. “Yeah, yeah, miracle of life and all that, but we are never having sex again, I’m just telling you that right now. Never, ever, ever, ever, eve—”
Your spiel is cut short by a pair of large arms wrapping around your waist to lift you back up into the air and drag you out of the kitchen right before you can reach the clicker. 
“Har…Harry!” you gasp as he carries you to the bedroom. “What are you doing?”
“We can start the no-more-sex rule tomorrow,” he says simply before you’re being—gently—dropped onto the bed. “Until then, celebration is in order.”
You laugh as he begins pressing kisses down your chest. “Harry—”
“I believe it’s Daddy…to you,” he smirks, and despite yourself, you feel a hitch in your breath.
Nerves aside, you tangle your fingers in his hair to bring him closer. You wouldn’t want to be doing this with anybody else, and you’re so grateful he burned those divorce papers all those years ago.
And even more grateful he married you that fateful night.
Who would have thought you two would find yourselves here? 
“Okay, Daddy,” you purr, pleased with the look on his face. “Let’s celebrate.”
And that’s all he needs to hear.
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I wanted to write this in a way that lets you decide if they're pregnant, have a surrogate, or if they're adopting, and hopefully you feel free to imagine whatever form of pregnancy you want to! Each is beautiful, special, and so unique, especially to these two💞
~ More Harry Blurbs
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planethallie · 2 days
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Partied a Lil’ Too Hard
"Alright big guy," Niall wheezed as an unstable Harry began drooping from his drunken grip, "lean on me, that's it, buddy."
They were both drunk; Harry more on the plastered side. Tonight was Niall’s birthday celebration and he'd been drinking like it was his 21st birthday party and not Niall's. The said birthday boy was holding up Harry's entire body weight on his right side as they stumbled down his friend's lamppost-lighten street.
"Here we are, H." The blonde pushed Harry into his front garden when they arrived at his and Lucille's house and had him lean against the frame of the front door. Before knocking, Niall fished his phone out from his pocket; it was about to hit two A.M on the dot and he winced. The likelihood of Lucille being awake at this hour was far from high.
Despite his doubt, Niall rapped two of his knuckles on the oak and stepped back while pursing his lips. He scanned the house for any lights or sign of life inside and breathed a sigh of relief when the hallway light beamed through the glass on the front door. Rustling of keys was heard on the other side.
Niall's drunk eyes wandered over to Harry who's body was slumped and looked like it was about to kneel over. His chest hitched with a drunk hiccup.
"Mate, brush your teeth when you get in; for Lucille's sake if not yours." Niall grimaced at the putrid stench of booze practically radiating off his friend.
"Shu'thefuckup. ." Was what Harry slurred back and swallowed warily afterwards with a hand placed on his chest.
Lucille eventually opened the door, revealing herself wrapped up in her short, silk dressing gown. Her hair was falling out of its plait and she was squinting with tiredness and confusion under the warm hallway light.
"Hey, Luce." Niall started. He eyed Harry's fiancé carefully as he helped Harry stand straighter. "Sorry for waking you; he's absolutely hammered."
"I can. .see that. . ." She stepped back and allowed Niall to nudge Harry inside. "Did he forget it was your birthday party and not his?"
"Ello, m'lovie." Harry slurred. Lucille could only attempt a smile but it turned into more of a grimace as she stared down her fiancé; he was shirtless, sweaty and his jeans were low and showing his boxers.
"Niall, where's his shirt?" She was passed Harry's t-shirt which was clearly congealed with a portion of last night's dinner and drinks down its front. She sighed and draped it over the stair banister. "Well, thanks for bringing him back. Guess I'm on babysitting duty for tonight." Lucille folded her arms.
"Well he's your fiancé!" Niall sarcastically saluted as he backed out of the house. Lucille shoved his chest and pushed her front door shut, leaving her and Harry alone.
Now that Niall had left, she unwrapped her dressing gown and draped it across the banister on top of Harry's soiled shirt. She was left in a see-through white tank top that was bunched up around her waist from sleep and a pair of plain black panties. She was braless which meant her nipples were poking at the thin material.
Harry cheekily cupped one of her boobs and smirked.
"Y'look so pretty, Baby. . ." Harry pulled her into his chest and kissed her hair. He'd always been a real cuddly person when he'd get drunk.
Lucille rubbed his bare back with a dry laugh but quickly froze and grimaced when he suppressed a burp into her hair. Her eyes widened and she pulled back, staring up at Harry, who only looked back at her innocently.
"Gross, H!" She chuckled and pulled away, "it's bed time for you.
"M'not tired, Luce!" He whined, "jus' wanna kiss you all over, Baby. . . my pretty girl."
Lucille gently took his hands from her chest, "No chance, Mister. Sleep. Now."
Harry eventually trudged up the wooden hill and stripped his jeans off and climbed into bed. He'd actually fallen twice while trying to actually clamber onto the mattress but finally got settled with Lucille's help. She too climbed in and tried tucking him under the duvet,
"No, 's too hot." He pouted and rolled over onto his side, his back facing Lucille.
"Too hot for cuddles?"
Harry's ears seemed to perk up and he rolled back over and spooned his fiancé. She giggled softly and stroked his cheek.
"Did y'have fun tonight?" Lucille whispered softly, breathing in his cologne and alcohol-mixed scent. The answer she received was a soft snore. Her face was gobsmacked and she rolled over with a joking scoff, squirming into Harry's big spoon and drifted off to sleep.
When Harry woke up later on the same morning, he was met with a face full of sunshine coming through the window. He groaned and squinted while shakily covering his eyes with his hands.
Lucille was already awake and sat up against the headboard on her laptop when her hungover fiancé aroused from his post-drunk slumber. She set the computer aside and stroked Harry's hair back.
"Hey. . . how're you feeling?" Her voice cooed quietly. The reply she got was another grumble and her fingers pinched her reading glasses to rest them on the top of her bed head.
"The sun? Wha'the fuck?"
"Sorry, I opened the curtains; thought it would be good for you to have some vitamin-D." She shrugged slightly, "I can close them if you like?"
"Yes, please." Harry mumbled. Lucille padded over to the window and drew the curtains shut before climbing back into bed. "Sleep well? It's nearly one in the afternoon!"
Harry slouched himself against the headboard and rubbed the sleep from his eye as he recollected his thoughts. "Not bad; threw-up at some point though.."
Lucille frowned and worry crossed her features. She shifted slightly so that she could fully face Harry; she couldn't help the flow of concerned questions that rambled out her mouth.
"You did? Where? Are you still feeling sick?"
"In the bucket." Harry simply replied with a yawn tailing. Lucille's frown only deepened; what bucket?
"What bucket, Harry?" She began subtly glancing around their bedroom for a puddle of stomach contents soaked into their carpet.
"The bucket you left out for me, Lucille." Harry shortly snapped, his hand flopping to from his face to his side in frustration. He looked up at his fiancé and was slightly frightened at the complete confusion written on her face. "Lucille. The bucket at the end of the bed!"
"Babe, I didn't—" Lucille paused and crawled a little to peer over the edge of the bed.
She had been correct; Lucille hadn't left a bucket out for Harry that night which meant that the said 'bucket' was actually their round laundry basket with a pile of freshly-folded and clean clothes inside. "Fuck, Harry!"
Lucille rounded the bed and picked up her basket as Harry swung his legs of the edge of the bed and sat up. She had a look of disgust and horror on her face as she shoved her clean clothes under Harry's chin. His eyes widened.
"Shi-i-i-it. . ." He drew out and scratched his forehead shamefully, "God, I'm so sorry." Crusty, half-dried vomit soaked into the t-shirt on top of the folded pile and Harry had to swallow a gag from erupting while he stared at his mess.
"Luce, I'm really sorry but can you please—" He swallowed cautiously and pushed the plastic washing basket away, "—get it away; it's making me feel weird."
Lucille sighed and dropped the basket to the floor and sat on the edge of the bed next time him, running her hand through his hair. He leaned into her touch and shut his eyes momentarily. "Fancy some breakfast then?” She offered softly but she knew the answer she was going to get.
"I'm good."
"I was thinking pancakes? . ."
"No—seriously I'm good."
"With thick maple syrup drizzled on top. ." Harry gagged (ever so slightly) at the description of Lucille's ideal breakfast, earning a laugh from her.
"Alright, alright; I'll stop." She glanced at Harry's features. His face was an uncomfortable grey colour and his hair was suddenly plastered with sweat to his forehead, making it look like he had some kind of bowl haircut. "Hey. . .You 'kay?"
Her hand slowly began rubbing up and down his bare back while Harry slowly swallowed with a weary shake of his head.
He felt her lean across him and opened his eyes, only to be greeted by a glass of foggy water. She told him to take a sip. Before he could decline, Harry realised how dry and stale his mouth and throat felt and took the glass in both hands.
The water slid down his throat; it felt good and refreshing so he took another two sips before placing the glass back down on his bedside table.
"Ergh—god. . ." Harry grimaced, his green eyes blinked slowly as he stared at a spot of the carpet intensely. The water wasn't feeling good in his stomach as it did going down his throat.
"What's wrong?" Lucille questioned, tickling the back of his neck softly.
"The water. ." His throat bobbed and Lucille watched the grey fade into green in his complexion. "it's hit my stomach like a rock."
Lucille hesitated before opening her mouth to suggest laying back down. That was then Harry quickly stood up and slowed his walking pace when he began heading for the bedroom door.
"Where're you going?!"
An incoherent reply drew quiet when Harry walked down the landing and swiftly shut the bathroom close behind him. Lucille stayed seated, twiddling her engagement ring while listening for Harry to come back from the bathroom.
The agonising retch from down the hall had her standing up and bounding into the bathroom. Harry was knelt in front of the toilet with his head hanging just above the bowl; his mouth was hanging open and his shoulders rolled back as he heaved up his second bout.
Lucille swore under her breath and bent down to smooth back Harry's sweat-soaked hair from his face. With her own hair in her eyes, she scanned the bathroom counter for Harry's mini claw clip and briskly pinned back his fringe. She knelt down behind him and rubbed the nape of his neck while Harry panted over the toilet. He moaned and shifted closer to his safe-haven, holding his head in one of his propped-up arms on the toilet seat.
"Shhh, you're okay. ." Lucille cooed to her fiancé. Harry barely felt her kiss and rest her forehead on his bare, sweaty back before he rocked forward with another dire retch.
"Lucille." Harry called for her between bouts of projectile vomiting and her heart broke; she'd never heard Harry sound so vulnerable before. She watched in pity as he reached down and began rubbing his bare stomach while profusely spitting into his mess in the water.
"I know, Baby; just get it all up and you'll feel so much better. . ."
"'S all jus' alcohol—no food." Harry breathily burped at the swirling sight of his sick in the toilet. Lucille reached up and flushed away last night's mistakes before pulling Harry into her lap and tucking his head into her chest.
"Do you feel any better?" She whispered, stroking his hairline. He gulped and nodded, his warm breath fanning her collarbone. Lucille smiled to herself and rubbed slow, firm circles alone his back.
The two sat for a few minutes in comfortable silence, Lucille rocking them both side to side ever so slightly.
Harry pulled away from her touch and sat up after a while and Lucille was on high alert, thinking he was going to be sick again. Her panic settled when he cracked his cheeky smile and tucked her hair behind her ear,
"Lucille, I think I'm ready to stomach those pancakes of yours."
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harrysonlylover · 1 day
Mechanic H Sneaky
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Harry has been inside his garage for the past 35 minutes, at first you were worried and he had asked of you to not follow him, so you respected his boundaries.
Your worry slowly fled away when you smelled it, the scent of tomato sauce and the unmistakable scent of meat, you assumed that your mind was playing tricks on you and it was your hunger that made you imagine things.
But as more time passed you knew that you were not a lunatic and that Harry really is cooking. So you were right then, maybe he was making food because he got hungry and refused to take yours. In moments like these you could see that Harry is just a tender boy at heart, in your opinion everyone is.
We get mistreated a lot that we lose sense of who we are, but the real and soft version of us, the one touched by angels and untouched by demons remains hidden and comes out discreetly but in the most beautiful ways one could imagine. It was kind of your favorite hobby, to see when it shows up , but to get to observe it, you have to know one’s weakness at first then watch them do the exact opposite.
With Harry it’s taking you more time to observe, tender things need more patience.
You got excited at the idea of Harry eating with you, you got used to eating alone, as the only person close to a friend you have is Kitty and maybe Harry but you don’t want to put your hopes up.
You were wrapping up the sandwich again so that it stays edible, before Harry walked out with two plates in his hand, he was still shirtless and the heat from the oven reflected on his sweaty body, he had a chef’s bonnet to avoid getting his hair in the food and the sight of him strolling lazily with his jeans low on his waist and holding food that he made was a sight that will be engraved in your mind for a long time.
He balanced the two plates in one hand effortlessly, and grabbed a chair nearby fixing it next to yours as he set the food in front of you which you figured out is a Tagliatelle alla Bolognese.
“Fancy some pasta?”
102 notes · View notes
wonderlandhs94 · 3 days
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(Oh and the picture that the little girl made was so freaking sweet. 🥹🥹🥹)
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Scott Street.
Summary: You’ve risen to new found stardom, but an old flame from the past insists on winning you back. A continuation of You’ve Become My Ceiling.
A/N: Genuinely sorry for the infrequent posting! I’ll get around soon. Formatting was also getting on my nerves.
Taglist: @reveriehs @belovedcherry
Reader Pronouns: Any
Length: Long? 5,667 Words.
TW: Angst, Cheating
Song(s) To Listen To:
Your hands gripped the slick phone, eyebrows furrowed and heart feeling frozen and still. The phone was attempting to tell you that you’d missed a call, but your eyes were out of focus as you gathered your thoughts.
It was Harry.
Part of you wished it to be a dream, but the other part was curious, yet cautious. Your life had been a little bland the past few years, though you’d never admit it, you missed the adventures and midnight memories.You missed your best friend. That’s who you were still grieving, not the cheating liar who broke your heart over six times.
It had been a week and you’d failed to notice the call, only now discovering it while cleaning out your phone. There was a voicemail, but your hands were far too shaky to play it. You gave yourself a moment to calm down and played it slowly.
A small chuckle came from the recording, “Heh. Um, hey, (Y/N). I know I’m the last person you want to hear from, but…You know I’m proud of you. And also…I’m sorry. So, so sorry.”
His voice broke a little, “I know how much pain I caused now. I was stupid and young and it’s not an excuse, but I’m just really sorry. I wish I could do it all back again. I still can’t find the answer to why I did the things I did to you, either. You were the one thing that had loved me since before I was famous. I was an idiot to have let that go.”
There was sniffing on the other end, “You’re such a good person. And I…I really hollowed you out. I never even gave you a true apology. I miss my best friend. I became someone I didn’t know or want - someone I’d be repulsed by now. Someone I’d never want around you. I’m sorry.”
Harry cleared his throat, “But I’m proud of you, is all. You left and did greater things for yourself.”
It was silent for a moment again, “I never knew you could sing so beautifully. I’d like to hear it in person, if I could. You took a big part of me when you left, (Y/N). I still…I still feel the same way. Always have. But, um…Get back to me when you can- I mean, if you want. Alright. Bye.”
Taking a deep breath, you waited until the longing finally brushed itself off of you and was replaced by neutrality. The old memories resurfaced. Finding Harry in bed with another. On a date with someone you’d seen with him before.
You put your phone down and walked away, trying to collect yourself.
As for Harry, four and a half years changed him just as they did then. When you left, the guilt destroyed a piece of his heart, and he made his best attempt to be what he couldn’t be for you. He hadn’t dated since then, hadn’t felt he was worthy enough, really. He’d dedicated the entirety of Harry Styles - his debut album - to you, though he was sure you had no idea. Even now, his journal was filled to the brim with songs about you, most prevalent, some variation of a song he’s called, “Falling.” It was a heavy song, but the lyrics stuck with him.
They told the story of his departure from you, cheating and all, though the public wasn’t aware that it even happened.
His apartment smelt of lavender and poppies, even as he made his breakfast and did their daily duties. His album had released about a year ago, maybe a little less, and he hit stardom like he had never expected it. Taking a break from touring for even a week was well worth it. He loved his fans, sure, but it was draining to be a musician. Nonetheless, he was grateful.
Harry didn’t even expect you to make a call back. He just wanted to say sorry, truly, from the bottom of his heart, because he was different then. Fame changes you. And he should have never let that happen to him.
He knew he didn’t deserve your forgiveness.
So it was a surprise to him when a message appeared on his phone two months after the initial voicemail.
Y/N: Hey, Haz.
Jack was a tall man who was more legs than anything. He was stern, always looked at you with a taut expression, and would put you in your place, but oh, how he was completely soft for you. You’d met through his grandparents, who he took care of in his nice, spacious house. He and his grandparents were your neighbors, but you’d met his grandparents at a park years prior, engaging in small chat very often.
They’d loved Harry, though you were both sure they had positively no idea who he was aside from your boyfriend. Lily, the woman, would never hesitate to pinch his cheeks and comment on how amazing the two of you looked. You’d both expressed hope in wanting to be like them, growing old together, but here you were without your other half.
After your breakup, you’d rented a cozy apartment right next to Jack and his family’s house (though it was unbeknownst to you), and found that the park was relatively close to it. But as you walked on the trail, you came to find that everything seemed to have lost its shine. No longer did the water glisten so bright, or did the roses avoid withering like they simply couldn’t die, but everything was so undeniably…normal. Harry had shaken your life, only to disappear later, leaving you back in something that should have been comfortable, but was instead foreign. Normalcy was foreign.
“Oh, my dear!” The familiar voice, loaded with a beautiful French accent, slipped its way into your ears, and you tore your eyes away from the pond, behind you and finding the couple, holding something up to you, “You’ve dropped this.”
Lily brought the small item to you, showing you that in her gloved hands lay a necklace, a mother of pearl inside the locket. Harry had gifted it to you for your one year anniversary.
You furrowed your brows at the memory before she noticed it.
“Where is the handsome boy?” She tried to get her point across, even with the language barrier, “The one with the curly head? Tall? Le Britannique ?”
You felt the winter air nip at you more than it already had in your light jacket, “No, no, he is not here.”
She tilted her head in confusion, her husband watching over her, knowing even less English than she did. Harry had always been the translator for you, so speaking without him made it frustratingly harder.
“He has been gone for quite some time.”
You looked down, and in this, they seemed to both understand you. Paulie, her husband, took his coat off, placing it over your shoulders. The weight seemed comforting now.
“Aw, mon chou, come have a cup of tea with us,” Lily held your shoulders, slipping the necklace into your hands.
Despite your protest, you found yourself in their lovely home, surprised to see that they were a direct neighbor, “Jack, nous avons amené un chien errant !”
Lily smiled back at you before turning back and looking down at someone in the next room. You entered it, never really breaking away from her vibrant blue eyes, before you saw what she was looking at. Or rather, who. He was young, maybe just a bit older than you, and had eyes more alluring than hers. He had a slim figure and face, with a longer nose that matched, and tousled, short brown hair. His slender fingers were placed on the piano keys as he sat. He was breathtakingly handsome, really, and despite you not finding any sort of attraction in him, seeing as you just met, there was no doubt about his conventional attractiveness.
“Bonjour ?” He’d asked, his right eye squinting as if he were trying to scan every detail about you.
His expression softened into a smile shortly after, his eyes half-lidded when he got no response, “Hi. I see you’ve met my grandparents. Eager, aren’t they?”
You smiled back, chuckling, “You could say that.”
And it all started there. You’d started to take piano and French lessons from Jack, who after hearing about your still unnamed ex, wanted to help the best he could. You’d taken up piano for your career, and French, well, simply to prove to yourself that you really didn’t need Harry. Not for French, and not for life.
You and Jack had been good friends for a year now, knowing each other for about three before you’d really connected, so it felt right to turn to him and spill your gossip all over his fancy blue canopy bed during a hangout.
“Wait…” He started, surprised and clutching his elbows, arms crossed, “Your ex is Harry Styles?!”
You stuffed your face into a pillow, “That’s what you take away, Jack?! Everyone knows that!”
“Well, I didn’t! You know I can’t handle all the social media stuff, I avoid it like the plague!” Defensively and rather playfully, he rested a hand on his chest. He was wearing a brown and green sweater vest with brown dress pants and a white shirt, a nice green bowtie to tie his look together for his last day shadowing a French professor.
“The point is,” You giggled at the older man who seemed more like a best friend to you now, “I’m really not sure what to do here. He sounds so sincere, and maybe I fell out of love with the person he became a long time ago, but if he’s the same person I grew up with…Well…”
“No way. You can’t go back,” He paced, a hand on his chin, a habit of his you’d always loved.
You whined, “But can’t I? If I just want to rekindle the friendship we had before-“
“What are you going to do when you find him in bed with someone else again?”
Your heart stopped. He was right, of course.
“I’ll be respectful,” You responded sternly, “He isn’t mine.”
He rolled his eyes and shook his head, “Well, I can’t change your mind. I know you. Just be careful. It could be good for you, who knows? I just…don’t want you to get hurt again, (Y/N).”
Smiling with excitement, you thanked him countless times for listening to you and your rambles. You left shortly thereafter, and his smile fell as soon as the door shut behind you.
It was then you texted Harry, just a simple text, though it took you hours to finally hit the send button. He responded not a minute later, and you jumped at the sound.
HAZ: (Y/N), hi.
The name you never bothered to change in your contacts.
The two of you texted on and off casually, before deciding that maybe it would be better to catch up in a coffee shop. You were nervous, admittedly, but nonetheless stunned when you were escorted to your private booth at the Beachwood Café.
All you wore was a jumper and jeans, nothing too fancy, but you couldn’t help trying to style your hair in a way he would like.
He had been the first to arrive, you’d seen him in the window, twiddling his thumbs anxiously. God, did he look good as ever. His hair had grown out a bit more than the last time you saw him, and he’d dressed in clothes more personal to him, a shirt with small puppies printed on it under a knitted cardigan, baggy jeans and rings. He was definitely richer than the last you saw him, but the thing was, he was still your Haz, that much was noticeable.
The waiter led you to your table and you gently sat your bag down on the floor, sitting across from him. He’d been waiting for you, not even ordering yet.
“You look amazing,” He spoke, seemingly subconsciously.
“You’re not so bad yourself, H.”
And it was true. He looked cleaner, happier. Like he was taking care of himself. Everything was going well, and to be honest, it made you beyond happy. It was as if you were friends again, and nothing bad ever happened. Eventually, the topic reached Gemma somehow.
“So, I heard Gemma finally graduated,” You continued, “That’s wonderful! I always knew she could do it. She’s rather smart.”
“She’s great! She’s married now, you know. He’s wonderful, just feels a bit…weird. That she has someone now and I don’t.”
“Recent breakup?” You’d asked, a genuine question.
“No,” He chuckled, “Not at all. I worked on myself. Haven’t dated since you.”
A small gust of wind came through the window beside you, and you blamed the shivers on that. There was a gentle pause, but you shook your head and continued, “Oh, I see.”
There was obviously still a spark there, you’d noticed. Your heart still beat wildly to the tune of his.
“But, erm,” You continued, and he cleared his throat, “That makes me feel old.”
He scoffed playfully, his arms crossed, “What does that make me, then?”
You giggled. The two of you weren’t so far off, really. Just a couple of months, but he always managed to mention it.
“An old man,” You joked, and even the humor was still there.
His chuckle sent butterflies throughout your stomach.
“So, how’s the band?” You tilted your head.
You hadn’t really noticed that breaking things off with him would essentially alienate them, too.
“Well, Mitch and Sarah are getting married,” You did a bit of a double take.
“Wow, I mean, I knew it was going to happen, I just had no idea.
“A lot changes in our lives,” He spoke smoothly as the waiter came.
“Hey guys, my name is Carson, I’ll be your server this morning! What can I get for you?” He was younger, bright-eyed.
“I’ll just have an Americano and the strawberry crepes,” Harry didn’t even have to look at his menu, and yet you were scrambling to know what you wanted before he got to you.
“Alright,” The waiter wrote it down before turning back to you, “And for the spouse?”
Your face flushed red, “Oh, no, I’m not!”
Harry only chuckled and watched in amusement as the waiter became embarrassed, too.
“Jeez, I’m so sorry, then what can I get for you?” He rubbed the back of his neck and you giggled once more.
“Hazelnut hot latte and almond croissant, please, Carson.”
He nodded and left soon after.
“I listened to your songs, by the way,” Harry began slowly, “How’s that?”
“Well, one thing they don’t prepare you for as a strictly-solo show is how heavy the equipment is, like the drums? Jeez, don’t get me started.”
He laughed, shaking his head, “You’ve always took on way more than you could carry.”
“Yeah, well, suppose that’s me,” A smile found its way to your face, “But being alone is good. I needed that.”
He nodded again, “Yeah, I think I did, too.”
There was the beginning of a pause, but you still refused to let it linger, “I live on Scott Street now.”
“Oh, by the rose park?” He perked up, “I love that place.”
“I know,” You said bashfully, “Harry, our first date was there.”
“Wasn’t sure you’d remember,” He smiled back.
“But how could I forget?”
It had been magical, with swans skimming the water, almost as in love as you and Harry were. Had been. Are.
“Oh, but remember that old French couple we ran into? I know it’s quite random, but I ran into them again while I was having a bad day. They noticed we weren’t together anymore, and next thing I knew, I was at their house drinking a cup of tea. They’re quite nice. Their grandson, he lives with them, showed me a bit of piano.”
He remembered it well, you had said that you wanted the two of you to last even longer than they, and you had even hoped they’d be your spitting metaphorical image in decades.
“Anyway, I’m learning French now, I guess. And I found out we’re neighbors, isn’t that weird?” Carson set everything down on your table as you talked.
“Anything else for now?”
“No, thank you,” Harry didn’t even look up at him, listening intently. He didn’t even notice when Carson had left.
“So, now I take piano lessons on Fridays, and French lessons on Tuesday and Thursday. But his grandparents have been acting a bit odd - think they want me to stick around for more than just lessons,” You chuckled and sipped your latte.
You could’ve sworn Harry’s eye twitched, but you dismissed it, “That’s…great. I’m glad. You always wanted to learn French.”
“Right? You should come with sometime, you’d like him,” You hadn’t even noticed you were now arranging a second hangout. But he did. He always noticed.
“I’d love to,” It was oddly fast.
“Well, he’s invited me to a dinner party for his work - he’s a French professor. But he’s only been out of college a couple of months. Got his PhD. He’s nice, I think you’d like him!”
You looked down, fiddling with your thumbs, “But if you’re busy that’s totally fine! I just don’t wanna stick out like a sore thumb, is all. And it was always more fun when we stuck out together.”
He blushed, and in that moment, he would have done anything in the world you’d ask of him.
“Consider my plans all clear that day, alright?” He held your hands, “It's about time we did something as friends again.”
You nodded with a smile, “Okay, you’re right.”
You two split ways shortly after, Harry having insisted on paying the bill. He was happy to be talking to you, sure, but there was still a sinking feeling he felt when you were mentioned.
You had piano lessons that night, and you wore the same outfit, feeling exhausted just from the interaction. Jack had greeted you happily.
“Mon cherie! (Y/N), come in!” He stepped aside, “Nana and Papa are out, so it’s just us today.”
“Would you like something to drink?” Jack reached for the cupboard, “Nana just got this new wine, and I think it’s quite lovely.”
“Sure!” You agreed, sitting at their small dining table, “Oh, Jack, I hope you don’t mind! I invited a friend of mine to come to the meeting with me. Both of us have always been interested in French, so I figured it would be perfect!”
Jack, in all truthfulness, assumed it would be a woman, and thus, agreed.
“Not a problem, cherie,” He handed you a glass, full with dark red liquid, and he drank from his cup slowly.
You watched him aimlessly, his Adam’s Apple defined, bobbing up and down. Like he hadn’t had anything to drink all day. Jack was like that, he’d forget to eat, sleep, drink. He was always so busy with work. You admired him for it.
“You know, you should remember to drink more often. Have you eaten at all today?” Tilting your head, he shook his and set his cup down.
“How could you tell?”
You chuckled and stood up, holding one of his cheeks in your hands, examining his lips, “You drink way too desperately.”
He was a little stunned, to say the least, and gripped the counter, his stomach in knots.
“But,” You wiped his upper lip with your thumb, ridding the excess wine off before moving to the stove, “I’ll make you something. I owe you after all these free lessons, anyways.”
He slumped, disappointed, but continued onward, “I could never ask that of you, but…that sounds very nice.”
“Then consider it done, Cherie.” You mimicked him, getting to work.
Afterward, your lessons continued as normal, and you were actually getting pretty far along.
“So, (Y/N),” Jack finally looked up from his paperwork, having left you with some French worksheets, “Nana and Papa wanted me to invite you to The French Riviera with us. Figured it would be a good learning experience. I agree, what do you think?”
You thought hard before answering the question on the worksheet and looking back up at him, shrugging, “Sure! That sounds lovely. When?”
“Well, they plan to order the tickets this weekend. We were just waiting on your oh-so-busy schedule,” He smiled, his dimples showing rather lovely.
“Oh, I can do it anytime! The glory of being a musician with no tour dates. Your meeting is in a month, yes?” You finished your worksheet and turned to him.
He nodded, causing a single strand of hair to fall in his eyes, “Oui, mais la réunion sera courte .”
You exhaled a chuckle at his quiz, “Okay, then how about next weekend?”
“You’re getting good, Chérie,” It gave you a proud smile.
“Then it’s settled. Send me the details,” You checked your clock, “Jeez, it’s already 8PM. I was supposed to write another song for the debut album.”
“Well, feel free to use me as a muse,” He smiled again, and it was a joke, but something struck you quite suddenly.
He had been there for you for years, and the thought of thanking him never even crossed your damned mind, distracted by your old lover. As you entered your house, you walked straight to your desk, completely in a trance as you thought about him. He was amazing, someone everyone should have in their lives, so how come you’d never noticed?
With eyes that make you melt,
He lends his coat for shelter,
Plus he’s there for you when he shouldn’t be,
Waits for you, then sees you through.
You smiled softly, hearing a guitar strum in your head, and suddenly your heart felt warmer than it originally had. The night really hits you, and next thing you know, you’ve got a demo at 2.56 AM.
You smiled wide now, your heart running rampant over a daydreamy thought you had of your neighbor. It’s not like you actually feel this way about him, but imagining yourself in something so plausible seems lighthearted and warm. Reaching for your phone, you bite your lip, wanting another opinion on the song, but not knowing if your relationship with Harry has evolved enough yet. It’s soon, but he still feels like your closest friend. You decide to go through with it anyway and text him.
ME: Haz! Want to hear something new I’ve just come up with over the course of seven straight hours?
It was actually very, very surprising when he responded a few minutes later.
HAZ: Yeah! FaceTime?
You smiled wide, feeling your heart skip a beat before agreeing. His phone call came in shortly after, and you were met with a very groggy Harry, his hair messy and in his face.
“Harry,” You looked at him suspiciously, “Why are you even up this late?”
He grew rather embarrassed, you could tell by the way he hid his face from the camera subtly, “Never bothered to change the ringtone you set.”
You could have died of embarrassment right then and there. The old ringtone you chose for your beloved boyfriend at the time, mind you, a very, very famous celebrity, was, in fact, a loud rooster. How much more embarrassing could you get? Laughing instead, you smiled wide. Things were going back to your normal, after all.
“Anyways, you let me know if this is good, okay? And be brutally honest.” Harry raised a brow in suspicion but quickly settled down as you began to play the guitar, strumming it gently.
“Daydreamer,” You began, and he felt his body go cold, in shock and in amazement. Hearing it semi-live, and completely personal was extremely different than the borderline music stalking of your singles he’d done recently.
“Sittin’ on the sea, soaking up the sun,” You changed the hit a higher note at, “He is a real lover, of making up the past and feelin’ up his girl like he’s never felt her figure before.”
You strummed gently for a few seconds, tying the calmness of the song together, “A jaw dropper, looks good when he walks, is the subject of their talk. He would be hard to chase, but to catch and he could change the world with his hands behind his back, oh.”
You strummed on some more, too nervous to look Harry in the eyes, despite him on the screen, and with a higher voice, began to sing more, “You can find him sittin’ on your doorstep, waiting for a surprise. And he will feel like he’s been there for hours, and you can tell that he’ll be there for life.”
This verse had been completely different, with you dragging on words and indulging in the beautiful memory, “Daydreamer, with eyes that make you melt, he lends his cost for shelter, Plus he’s there for you when he shouldn’t be, waits for you, then sees you through.”
Harry felt completely inferior in your presence, your voice sounding like he’d never heard it before. Instead of low and emotional, it was high and nostalgic, and for a moment, the thought that the song was about him struck him. Higher, you continued, “There’s no way I could describe him. What I’ve said is just what I’m hoping for, but I will find him, sittin’ on my doorstep waiting for a surprise. And he will feel like he’s been there for hours, and I can tell that he’ll be there for life.”
You slowed the guitar down, “And I can tell that he’ll be there for life.”
There was a moment of silence as you set the guitar off the bed, your face completely red after realizing the complete feeling of the song.
“(Y/N)…” Harry began, obviously now waking up completely, “That was amazing.”
“You mean it? It’s not too cheesy?”
He shook his head fast, “No. I don’t even know who it’s about, but you’ve got me falling in love with him, too.”
You smiled softly, happy to hear that he enjoyed it, “You sure? I don’t want it to sound creepy if I tell someone it’s for him. I just wanted to write something about someone who’s helped me so much.”
Continuing on, you fiddled with your sleeve, “Jack’s just so great.”
His heart dropped, and he furrowed his brows in jealousy, his stomach in knots as the idea of a love song for someone else hit him.
“He’ll love it,” He responded, not really thinking much as he did so, spaced out.
“Oh, just so you know, I’m going to France soon! Jack’s grandparents invited me, and I think it would be good to learn.”
Harry nodded, biting his lip as he snapped back into it, “You’re right. Be safe, okay?”
“Oh, don’t worry about me! I’ll be completely safe. It’s you I’m worried about, Haz. You’re quite the klutz.”
He chuckled, and from there, the conversation continued. It was like nothing had changed from your old years, and the night was talked away by two silly teenagers in love. When you woke up, a smile found itself on your face as you quickly noticed Harry’s sleeping face displayed on the camera. You’d fallen asleep before him, but he’d stayed.
His eyes were closed, revealing his long eyelashes. Were they always that curled? His lips parted for a moment and he heaved a great sigh, mumbling something before brushing hair out of his face. He was ethereal.
The trip came sooner than you’d noticed, and you didn’t want Daydreamer to be the last single released. It was so out of place from the rest of the album, but if you didn’t use it, then you wouldn’t have another single. There was one song you’d half-written, but it felt too personal, and besides, you’d already released a song about Harry. It felt like overkill. But it also just felt right, as a final goodbye to the situation.
Jack looked down at you as you sat with your guitar, “So, you want me to preview the song, yeah? Then we can go to France?”
He was teasing you, wanting to seem agitated, but you’d never heard him so much as raise his voice or seen him even furrow his eyebrows with a mean stare.
“Yes,” You chuckled, “I just don’t know if this song is too much. I had breakfast with Harry the other day and it came to my mind a week or so later.”
“Go on, then,” He sat down across from you, “I’m sure I’ll love it either way.”
But in his heart, he hated the fact that he was listening to a song you wrote about another man.
“Okay,” You took a deep breath, strumming.
“Walkin’ Scott Street feelin’ like a stranger, with an open heart, open container. I got a stack of mail and a tall can. It’s a shower beer, it’s a payment plan,” You recalled the first few weeks of moving out and how harsh it was. All you wanted was to be happy with him, but instead there were constant reminders that he was no longer there. Stacked up bills and inquiries about single-household payments, and the liquor which he hardly ever let you drink in fear you’d succumb to its temptation.
“There’s helicopters over my head every night when I go to bed. Spending money and I earned it, when I’m lonely, that’s when I’ll burn it,” You had complete control over yourself, sure, but at what cost? As you strummed, you felt tears pricking your eyes.
“Do you feel ashamed,” Singing clearly, it surprised Jack, who was already stunned silent, “When you hear my name?”
“I asked you, ‘How is your sister? I heard she got her degree.’” You detailed a conversation.
“And I said, ‘That makes me feel old.’
You said, ‘What does that make me?’
You asked me, ‘How is playing drums?
I said, ‘It's too much shit to carry. And what about the band?’
You said, ‘They’re all getting married.’”
You continued on, “Do you feel ashamed when you hear my name?”
You began strumming a tune for a long time, tapping your foot to the sound of the beat. Maybe you went a little overboard, but it didn’t matter. You could tell Jack was glued to you.
“Anyway, don’t be a stranger,” More strumming, “Anyway, don’t be a stranger.”
And on a quieter note, you continued to the final line, “Don’t be a stranger.”
“Jesus Christ, you know you’re talented, don’t you?” Was all your friend managed the day as you set the hollow instrument down, completely taken away.
“Aw, you’re just saying that.”
“I mean it!” He didn’t hesitate as you rubbed the back of your neck.
“Thank you, Jack,” You smiled softly, “And you should be pleased to know that I’ve written something dedicated to you, too.”
His heart was almost definitely leaping, “You did? Can I hear it?”
“Mmm, maybe in France,” You teased.
You found France to be quite lovely, filled with beautifully blue clear water, and lovely locals that had a tendency to mistake you and Jack as a couple. Despite the mishaps, you’d gone to see various things. The art galleries, cafés, bars and lounges, they were all magical, and today you’d be seeing the ocean for the first time ever.
Harry was not so amused by the photos you’d sent him. He was glad you were having fun, yes, but he hated that it wasn’t with him. He was the one who promised you he’d take you to see the ocean, and he was the one who was supposed to take you to see it for the first time. Not some idiot with a PhD who didn’t know half of the things he knew about you. He was angry, not at you or Jack, but with himself. It hurt so much to see you with another, and you weren’t even his. How must you have felt during your relationship with him?
And now, he was drinking whiskey in his bedroom, strumming notes mindlessly. His phone rang once, but he didn’t really notice it, the volume being off. That was until he felt he was finished with his guitar and set it to the side of his bed, finding that he’d dropped his phone. The screen showed brightly that he had missed a call from you, and soon later, after he’d turned his sound on, the rooster notification sounded throughout the room. He chuckled and turned it down, already slightly tipsy before he began to play the voicemail on speaker.
It was you, practicing your French.
“Coucou! Tu dors ? Oh, j'suis désolée…(Hey! Are you asleep? Oh, I’m sorry…)” You sounded lovely in French, like the language was made for you.
“Bah (Well…),” You began but decided to take it back, “Non... Nan, c'est pas important… (No, it’s not important.)”
“Ouais, on a été à la plage, et maintenant on— (Yes, we went to the beach and now we—)” You were telling him about your day, just as you had been for the past few days as you kept in touch. He was smiling as he heard you, but then he picked up on a voice in the back, assuming it was your friend.
He heard something about the dinner, but then the words hit him. Mon cherie. My dear. My darling. My love. Had something already happened?
“Parfait ! (Perfect!)” You answered Jack, “Allez ! (Let’s go!)”
The voicemail ended abruptly, leaving him cold, staring at the wall in his bedroom, utterly dumbfounded. His strongest coping mechanism was always songwriting, and maybe that was a habit you’d picked up, but he sighed and pulled his laptop onto his lap.
Mon cherie. Cherry.
He’d use your voicemail in it, he was sure, and he chewed on his necklace as he looked down upon the lyrics later.
Don’t you call him baby.
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As It Was HSLOT Perth 💗💗💗
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moonchildstyles · 3 months
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being mr. azoff's assistant was y/n's dream job, it was just a bummer that his most beloved client seemed to hate her.
wordcount: 13.5k+
"Did you want anything, Harry? (Y/N)'s about to make a coffee run." 
Although she'd never admit it, (Y/N) held her breath as she fiddled her fingers behind her back, awaiting any response. She already had a good idea of what he would say when he bothered to give an answer, but she still had a tiny hope he'd prove her wrong. 
"No, 'm alright." 
He didn't even raise his head from where it was buried in his phone. Mr. Azoff gave (Y/N) that same polite smile he always did whenever Mr. Styles rejected her services, like he wasn't sure why Mr. Styles wasn't more accepting but it wasn't his place to ask or change the habit. Mr. Azoff treated her right and that was what she tried to focus on, not that the fact his best friend and someone she could consider to be a creative idol, couldn't seem to even give her a moment of his time. 
"Okay, I'll be back in a minute, Mr. Azoff," (Y/N) chirped pleasantly, well versed in how to brush off being brushed off. 
(Y/N) was grateful for the fact her boss's preferred shop was only a few blocks away from his office, giving her the chance to clear her head with fresh (or as fresh as it could be here in L.A.) air instead of stuffing herself into her car. 
Mr. Styles was always like this. Why it still bothered her when he brushed her off or ignored any of her offers of help, she wasn't sure, but it did. That world famous kindness that circulated within the industry as well as what was flung around Twitter had been what she was expecting when she finally made it through the vetting process to be hired as Jeff Azoff's assistant, knowing full well who one of his biggest clients was. She had been realistic, knowing that Harry Styles wasn't going to be her best friend, fawning over her at all times, or suddenly fall in love—this wasn't like those stories she remembers reading when she was young—but she had figured he would give her more than a passing glance the first time she met him. 
Since that first day where he offered a single sentence introduction, she'd been waiting in vain for anything more to happen. More often than not, his conversation would stop when she entered the room or go quiet enough to let her know she wasn't to be included. He gave her plain smiles, not even the hint of a dimple, when he bothered to acknowledge her presence, usually when he would skirt around her to leave the room she'd just entered. She never got a chance to experience firsthand the humor everyone praised, the kindness he all but trademarked as a middle name, or the gentle vulnerability he gave to those who needed it. He could barely even meet her eyes, his gaze moving to his phone or where he plucked at his sleeves or painted nails. 
To be fair, she was still fairly new at the job, only about six months in to her position, so there was a good chance he still needed some warming up after being so used to Mr. Azoff's last assistant that had been employed for years before relocating and leaving the position. Mr. Styles was also known to be shy, something a few others had disclosed to her when they noticed she didn't have much to add whenever he was brought up. Maybe he needed a little more time, and that was something she was more than willing to give, along with the space it seemed he needed.
At least until his European tour started. Then, he would have to at least get used to her presence, seeing as they were to be sanctioned to matching flights, hotels, and backstage areas for the better part of the next three months. She wouldn't be able to give him much space then. Hopefully he wouldn't hate her more after those ninety days together. 
As much as the walk to the cafe and the extra Matcha latte she treated herself with, cleared her head and had her back on her feet after being blown back by the nonchalance paid to her entire existence by someone she felt singled out by, the effect could only last for so long when she entered the office. 
Before pushing the door open, she could hear the voices inside happily chattering away. Mr. Styles' cackling laugh that she was sure had his eyes creasing closed with his head thrown back was the most prevalent noise, something she usually only caught the tail end. As she expected, the second she gave a gentle rapping of her knuckles against the door just before pushing it open, all sound stopped, even Mr. Azoff's chattering trailing off once he realized Mr. Styles was done interacting for the moment. 
"Here you go," she chirped, passing along the coffee to her boss with an unbothered smile that was much stronger than she felt, "Is there anything else I can do for you?" 
"No, no," he shook his head, "Not until this afternoon. Go and enjoy your lunch, (Y/N)." 
She gave a quiet nod of her head, chancing a single look in Mr. Styles' direction. He had his gaze fixed on his hands. A flush clung to his skin, surely a lingering effect of the laughter she had interrupted. 
"Okay, let me know if that changes," she offered with a short smile before turning on her heel.
Just as she left the room, closing the door behind her, she heard Mr. Azoff heave a muffled sigh on the other side. 
"Jeff, please. She jus'—" 
(Y/N) left before she could hear much more. She didn't need to know what Mr. Styles thought about her. 
Despite the buzz filling the terminal, (Y/N) almost couldn't believe the way not a single person had noted Mr. Styles' presence. Not even a single muttering or whisper of his name could be heard in the busy place. 
He sat in peace, a grey hoodie with the strings tied covered his torso, hood up over a pink beanie that concealed his curls. He sat with his legs spread wide, taking up space with his black sweats folded over his legs. Scrolling through his phone, he was in his own world with his chin propped up in his hand, cheek smushed against his ring-bare fingers. He only looked up when boarding was called. 
(Y/N) followed quietly behind the trio of Mr. Styles, her boss, and Mr. Lambert, the tour's stylist. She could hear the tittering and quiet conversation in front of her while other members of production and the team trailed behind her. Without Mr. Azoff's wife joining them just yet for this tour, she didn't have many close friends within this group for the time being. 
It was all a blur, finding her seat on the plane and placing her carryon above. She was the first in her row, huddling close to the window seat. She knew Mr. Azoff was going to join her as soon as he finished doing whatever it was he and the Harry's were doing, so at least she wasn't going to be completely alone. 
Biding her time until take off while the rest of the plane filled up, (Y/N) distracted herself with answering emails on Mr. Azoff's behalf. She verified hotel arrangements, replied to all the correspondence that went along with Mrs. Azoff joining them later in the week, and anything else that needed her attention before takeoff. 
Huddled into her corner of the row, the early call time for the flight began to catch up with her. The emails in front of her couldn't hold her attention against the tiny pillow she had managed to sneak into the backpack she shoved under her seat, the plush sandwiched between her cheek and the sidewall of the plane. The sound of shuffling feet as the rest of the flight filled up was like white noise to her cloud-puffed brain. 
(Y/N) couldn't help herself before she was fluttering her eyes closed. Surely, Mr. Azoff would wake her before takeoff if she really passed out. 
She wasn't sure how long she sat, resting her eyes with her limbs floating in the in-between realm before much of the shuffling ceased and the heft of someone settling in beside her sounded in the empty space. She didn't bother blinking her eyes open, even when she heard chattering beside her. Mr. Azoff was one of the voices, followed by someone who sounded a little too close to her for his comfort. 
"Jeffery..." Mr. Styles sighed. 
"Stop acting like a child, H," her boss scolded, voice stern though he was quiet, "She's asleep, I'm not going to make you talk to her." 
(Y/N) was grateful for the way she had her cheeks mushed between her shoulder and her fluffed pillow. Maybe if she covered them, her seat mates wouldn't be able to feel the embarrassed heat gathering under her skin. 
Mr. Styles was sitting right next to her, she realized when she heard the heavy intake of a breath leave his lungs. She wasn't sure how she'd do it, but it looked like she was going to have to pretend to be asleep all the way to the hotel. Maybe, she could convince everyone she was a very well-organized and direction-following sleepwalker if she was careful. 
That thought didn't last long, (Y/N) having to break her facade at the sound of Mr. Azoff's voice calling to her.
"(Y/N)," he started, speaking around Mr. Styles. He repeated her name a couple of more times, prompting her to mime opening her eyes as if she'd been dead asleep only moments prior before he continued, "We're about to take off." 
"Oh," she smiled, the curve tight, "Thank you." 
If not for the fact she was sure she would die if they knew she had overheard the way Mr. Styles couldn't stand to even sit next to her, she would have hesitated more before she crossed her gaze to the man beside her. His eyes were already on her when she looked at him, expression tight as he seemingly forced a smile in her direction. His back was stiff against the seat, hands twisted in his lap with flaking nail polish. His gaze didn't linger on her for very long before he looked away, just in time for the safety spiel from the steward team.  
Following suit, she followed through the motions of checking her seatbelt, absently locating the exits, and curling into her seat by the time they were cleared for takeoff. She didn't like this part, but it was enough to huddle herself against the back of her seat and brace herself with her hands clenched into the armrest to her right side. 
She sat with her eyes closed, nails digging into the leather of the armrest as she felt the motion beneath her feet, the runway disappearing underneath them until the turbulence of takeoff shook the body of the plane. (Y/N) breathed her way through it, hunkering down into the slouchy fit of her hoodie. 
It wasn't until the turbulence evened out, steady windfall starting in the dark of the early morning, that she felt eyes on her. Without really thinking, she blinked her eyes open only to find Mr. Styles looking to her with something softer painted over his features. 
He didn't immediately flit away when her eyes met his, allowing himself to touch over her features with the warmth of his gaze. His tanned skin still held a buttery warmth even under the draining overhead lights of the cabin, stubble covering the bottom half of his face she'd never seen him grow out until recently. His eye contact was famous around the world, unrelenting though welcoming as it gave her a chance to see the flecks and streaks through the moss of his irises. (Y/N) floundered under his attention, unsure of what to do with something she doesn't think she's ever had before. 
"Um—Did—Or, do you want m-my pillow?" she asked, blindly reaching for the little plush fit between her body and the sidewall. 
At the sound of her voice, Mr. Styles seemed to realize what exactly he was doing and who he was glazing over with his eyes. He shook his head then, curls peeking out from underneath his beanie. 
"No, thank you," he mumbled, reaching into his hoodie pocket to pull out a pair of headphones. 
That was all his attention that she was granted until his headphones were plugged into his ears and she was alone again in her row. 
"And finally, on drums, Sarah Jones!" 
(Y/N) was blown away as the area erupted into cheers she was sure could rival the screams that sounded when Mr. Styles first appeared on stage. She watched on from the mouth of the backstage area, her boss at her side with a drink in hand, as Mr. Styles reveled in the screaming and yelling, a bright dimpled smile on his face. If not for the fact she was technically there in a professional sense and this was only the second show she'd had the privilege of watching, she would have joined in and screamed and cheered for the band that was being introduced. (After getting a chance to meet every moving part of his touring band as well as watching them perform, she very much so understood the enthusiasm offered to these characters).
It was when Mr. Styles joined in on the fanfare, pumping his fist and making a noise that sounded like he was barking along with the crowd that she couldn't hold back her laughter. The layered fringe hanging from his jacket glittered in the light, matching the sheen of sweat that covered his shirtless body. He threw his head back with a bright laugh she almost wished he had the microphone held to his mouth for, just so she could hear what his joy sounded like. 
Even just this moment alone was something she was sure she was always going to remember, no matter how many times she was going to witness this over and over. Never had she been to a concert that held the same energy as these arenas—and eventually stadiums—she'd visited. She couldn't blame a single person in this room for everything they did to get to this place, every moment of planning, saving, celebrating, and crying. She understood. 
Mr. Styles was meant to perform. Even with his brief breaks he spent on movie sets, it was clear why he came back to this space with these people that followed him like honeybees and gave so much love and kindness to him. 
She watched as he finished his introductions of the band, launching into another song that had the whole arena moving and dancing. Even without the help of the spotlight and the cameras following his every move, she was sure she wouldn't be able to keep her eyes from him; he commanded the space, with every intention of taking that attention and thriving under it. 
Despite the relationship—or lack there of—off stage, (Y/N) couldn't wait to see this almost every night for however many months she had the privilege of standing stage side.
"Call me if you need anything!" 
Mr. Azoff shook off (Y/N)'s offer as she started off in the direction of the green room being used as the catering space for the day. A busy morning had ensued, leaving (Y/N) running around trying to find any trace of an adequate wifi connection in the middle of the venue just so she could answer emails and show up to video meetings she was attending on Mr. Azoff's behalf. It wouldn't have been so bad if not for the time differences given the fact she was on a completely different continent than any business she was working with. The stress of it all had her beat before the morning had even touched into the double digits for the day, still with another handful of hours worth of work to get through. 
Finally—finally—she had typed away at every email, fielded every phone call, and spaced out the following day's agenda given the lack of a performance crowding Mr. Azoff's schedule. Now, she could sit down and eat before shuttling back to the hotel for a nap—as long as she wasn't needed for anything else, of course.
The catering space wasn't as busy as she sure it had been an hour prior, only a few others lingering about. One of the few happened to be Mr. Styles. 
A clip was holding his curls back, a plain t-shirt with a pair of basketball shorts covering his legs revealed he had just finished with a workout before he would shower off and get to his soundcheck. He had his phone in hand as he forked food into his mouth, that intense look on his face that she always seemed to catch on him. His brows were knitted heavily in the middle, shrouding the bright green of his eyes in the shadow of his brow with his jaw tight as he chewed down whatever he had picked over from the table. 
(Y/N) flitted her eyes to the rest of the crew littering the space before she was caught by Mr. Styles who seemed to always somehow know when someone had spotted him, even with nothing more than a phone camera. The little whiteboard catering hung above the food table was filled out with the day's menu. The prettily curved words brought a bright smile to (Y/N)'s face when she spotted the forth item down the list. 
The catering team's arancini was easily one of (Y/N)'s favorite things she's ever eaten, on this tour or otherwise. She didn't care that it wasn't more than some risotto rice left over from the night before's dinner, repurposed as to minimize waste and turned into a crunchy, cheesy ball with the perfect acidic marinara served alongside it. If she could, she would live off those little pieces by themselves. Hopefully, there were at least a few left for her to devour, even if they were a little cold at this point. 
Readying her plate with a small serving of Caesar salad and the lemon baked salmon (Mr. Styles' favorite and top request from what she'd heard), (Y/N) worked down the line until she reached the covered basin that held the arancini she easily dreamt of at least five times since the first bite. Lifting the lid, the fresh scent of bright tomatoes and fragrant oregano filled her senses, the bite of the smell hitting her harder with her empty stomach. 
Nothing hit quite as hard on her expectant tummy than the fact she realized only a second too late that there wasn't a single rice ball left in the warmer. A thin layer of remaining sauce was laid along the bottom, but nothing was dropped beside the mushed tomatoes. 
Maybe she was being a little dramatic, but (Y/N) felt her shoulders drop at the sight of the empty container. To be fair, she was almost two hours late to serving time, so she couldn't be that surprised that there wasn't any left to spare. Surely, she wasn't the only one obsessed with the parmesan coating on the outside of the sticky rice. She couldn't blame anyone for jumping on the opportunity to take as many as they could while they were there. 
(Y/N) replaced the lid, taking her half filled plate to one of the small tables set up in the room. The day began to catch up with her as she sat down. Her morning had been hectic enough to suck the energy out of her bones, now combined with the disappointment of how high she put herself at the mention of her favorite food before finding it all gone. She slumped into her chair, taking out her phone and finally looking at something that wasn't work-related for the first time that day. 
Every bite she scooped into her mouth was monotonous as she slipped a pair of earbuds in before screening the missed messages she'd had to ignore for the morning. Music was filtering through her headphones, the perfect distraction to her brain that felt entirely too empty now that she wasn't running at top speed like she had been the second she'd woke up. If not for the texture of each bite she took, she wouldn't know exactly what she was eating with the way she couldn't use even muster the minuscule amount of energy it would take to glance at her fork.  
With her eyes glued to her phone as a video now played out on screen, (Y/N) didn't have enough room in her head to keep track of the rest of the room. As much as she prides herself on being a good assistant, especially being so new to this position, she doesn't think she would notice if Mr. Azoff walked in and screamed out her name while banging pots and pans. 
That was exactly the reason she didn't notice Mr. Styles approaching her table either. 
It wasn't until she noticed a plate being slid onto the table beside her, a hand complete with a tattooed cross and green glittery nails keeping a hold of the lip until she managed to pull an earbud out. Looking up, Mr. Styles still had that tight look on his face, his free hand fidgeting at his side like he was itching to get out of there. 
"Yes?" she chirped, assuming he was finally taking her up on her offers to help him as well when she assisted Mr. Azoff. 
Watching as Mr. Styles dropped his gaze from hers, (Y/N) had to keep from tipping her head at him. That wasn't like him at all, unable to keep eye contact. From what she knew, that was something he insisted on. She hoped he was okay. 
"Um—'M full, but I thought I'd ask if y'wanted any before I threw these away," he said, his voice floating under his breath. 
It was then that (Y/N) finally noted what was on his plate, finding a duo of the arancini balls she had been mourning only moments earlier. The same fragrant, acidic sauce laid underneath it along with shreds of parmesan cheese sprinkled atop, the same way she would have plated it. She had to keep herself from drooling at the sight. 
"A-Are you sure?" 
A beat passed, the green of Mr. Styles' gaze finally meeting hers again. "I thought these were your favorite." 
(Y/N) had to stop herself from letting a pinch touch at her brows. "I mean, yeah, they are, b—" 
"Then, 'm sure." 
The deep vibrato of his voice was more soothing than any note of music she played could ever hope to be, the same voice she'd had the privilege of listening to every night while on the road on the loudspeakers. Despite the giving nature of his tone, underlying softness floating alongside, she knew there wasn't much room to argue. Besides, (Y/N) didn't think she had the strength to say no to his offer with that plate in front of her. 
"Thank you, Mr. Styles," she smiled, reaching for the plate as he retracted his grip. 
A chaste smile curved his lips, the tip of his nose seemingly blushing red before he gave her a quiet nod of his head. He didn't say anything else before he walked away, leaving her to constitute her two plates of food into one with that warmth in her stomach that could have energized her enough to work another hectic morning. Her only complaint was that she wished he would have sat down with her. She'd even give up his offer of the arancini if that meant he'd sit down beside her and finish his meal. 
She didn't see him again until he was leaving the greenroom with a granola bar in hand, one bite already taken out. She had thought he said he was full. 
It was with that thought that, shortly after, (Y/N) realized she had never told Mr. Styles what her favorite food was. 
"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear (Y/N), happy birthday to you!" 
(Y/N)'s skin felt warm with all eyes on her, a sheet cake in front of her with frosting flowers and twinkling candles stuck through. She didn't know what to do with everyone's eyes on her, twisting in her spot with a shy smile on her lips as the song came to a close. Fluttering her eyes to a close, she blew out the candles while everyone cheered. A wish absently flittered through her head, hoping for happiness to come to everyone in this room with her as they deserved so much after surprising her with a birthday celebration in the middle of an international tour. 
"Thank you all, so much," (Y/N) muttered once the room grew quiet, her fingers knotted into a sheepish pile as she swept her gaze across the gathered crowd, "I didn't even realize anyone knew it was my birthday, this really means a lot. Thank you." 
All of her new friends, crew and production members for the tour that she had grown close with over the last few weeks, all gave her mixed mutterings of more birthday wishes, that of course they remembered, and they were all more than happy to be a part of this with her. After the show tonight, they all promised to take her out to one of the clubs in town to help her celebrate before they would be off for the next city the following day. Cutting the cake came next, the grouping of crew began to break off as conversations rose in volume in the green room, leaving (Y/N) to soak in the atmosphere as the creamy icing spread over her tongue at first bite. 
She truthfully had no idea anyone had been aware of her birthday, let alone have the time to put something like this together. Sure, it wasn't a huge celebration, but the fact a cake had been secured, complete with personalized frosting spelling out her name while on the road, was enough to have her heart hurting from how full it was. Even Mr. Styles had made it, huddling himself in one of the small corners with his arms folded across his chest as he sang along to the birthday song. She was pretty sure he had even been a few minutes late to a fitting for the next slew of tour outfits just so he could be apart of something like this for her. 
"Happy birthday, (Y/N)," Mr. Azoff said, coming up behind her with his wife only a few paces behind, both with a plate of cake in hands. 
(Y/N)'s features softened immediately as she took him in. "Thank you so much, Mr. Azoff," she started, still disregarding every invitation for her to call him by his first name, "You didn't need to put anything like this together at all. Really, thank you so much." 
He would be the only one that might recall her birthday, she figured, coming from her hire paperwork. Besides, they spent enough time together she may have accidentally let it slip out while talking. Mr. Azoff would definitely be the kind of boss that would do something like this for her. 
Instead of the humble way he swept away her gratitude she had been expecting, her boss let out a bubbling peal of laughter. Mrs. Azoff matched (Y/N)'s confused expression, knitted brows and all as they looked at him. 
"I didn't put this together," he clarified, shaking his head before spearing another bite of cake, "I've been so busy I can't even remember what year it is, let alone the day." 
"Oh," (Y/N) sounded, face dropping. "Do you know who it was then? I just want to thank them properly." 
A shared look happened between the Azoffs, the missus' blonde brows raising in her husband's direction as if she was wondering the same thing. Mr. Azoff gave her a pointed look, flicking his gaze to (Y/N) for only a moment before he raised a brow. Realization seemed to spring across Mrs. Azoff's face, the kind (Y/N) was hoping she could share in. 
"Tell her," Mrs. Azoff mumbled, quiet enough (Y/N) knew she wasn't necessarily meant to hear the command. She watched as Mr. Azoff floundered, his lips pressing into a thin line with wide eyes as if he were pleading with her without words. "Jeffery, I think it would be nice for her to know. He's not going to mind." 
Her reasoning seemed to loosen him up some, only enough to have his gaze returning to (Y/N)'s with a small pivot. "Sorry," he told her, excusing the last few moments with a chaste smile on his lips, "Um—It was Harry. He was the one who remembered and put this all together." 
(Y/N) had to keep her jaw from dropping at the new information. Her fork was limp in her hand. "Really?" 
"Mhm," Mrs. Azoff chirped, "He was the one who came to us, telling us he had everything all planned out, we just needed to be here to surprise you. He did a good job, didn't he?" 
The picture of Mr. Styles standing so nonchalant in the corner of the room, singing quietly to the birthday song while she stood in front of the warm glow of the sparkling candles took on a new tint. This had been all of his idea, even the light pink and warm green frosting spelling out her name with petite flowers on the sheet cake had been his idea. The cake itself was even her favorite flavor, something she was doubting was a coincidence. 
"Really?" she asked, the question feeling dumb on her tongue but she couldn't help but ask. 
"It's all he's been talking about his last couple of days off. He wanted to make sure everyone knew and would be able to come celebrate with you." 
Mrs. Azoff's warm smile along with her boss's quiet curl to his lips was all the confirmation (Y/N) needed to know they were being completely serious. They were acting as if they were sharing a secret with her despite the room full of people that were in on it before she was. 
"Th-That's really nice of him," she settled on, unsure if there were any real words that could convey just how much the idea of Mr. Styles planning this little surprise made her heart ache. "I'm going to have to tell him thank you when he has a minute." 
"I think he'd really like that," Mr. Azoff told her, voice quiet as if he were sharing a tiny secret. 
With the way Mrs. Azoff looked at hm after he spoke, (Y/N) wondered if there really was another secret she wasn't privy to.
Screaming cheers filled the SUV the second the door flung open, Mr. Styles piling inside with a towel hung over his shoulder and a bright smile gracing his features. His energy was vibrating off of him in waves, intoxicating the small space of the car as they pulled out of the venue as the curtains closed behind them. (Y/N) never really got to see him this closely after a show, tonight being an occasion that Mr. Azoff and she were to head back to the hotel with him right away in prep for the late night meetings needed before any of them were to be dismissed to bed (Mr. Styles' next album was coming up closer and closer, and labels needed answers if he wanted the vinyl pressings to be done in time). 
Tonight, (Y/N) was packed into the backseat of the SUV with Mr. Styles, feeling that bright energy he harnessed on stage settling in like another person sitting between them. He used the towel offered to him by security to wipe off his glistening face, sweat soaking the fabric though he didn't stop smiling. 
"Jeff, Jeff," Mr. Styles started, pulling on the neckline of his blueberry embellished top, drawing the fabric away from his skin, "Did you see that back there?" 
She watched as her boss let out a small laugh, turning around where he sat in the front passenger seat to face his client. "See what, H?" 
The smile that broke out on Mr. Styles' face somehow grew bigger. His breathing was still coming in pants, something (Y/N) wasn't sure was coming from his excitement or the lingering exertion from his stage time. "That girl, she was dressed like a clam and her head was the pearl! I think she had a sign too, but I couldn't see it because every time I looked, she was dancing and I couldn't stop laughing." 
"Oh, that's why you could barely finish singing Sushi?" Mr. Azoff pressed, matching Mr. Styles excitement with his own bubbling smile. A small glance was flicked in (Y/N)'s direction, as if she were telling her to get a load of this guy. 
"It was so funny, Jeffery," Mr. Styles insisted, the purple leather of his pants squeaking against the seats with the way he couldn't manage to sit still, "It was like there was a bobblehead out there, but with these little legs." Just when Mr. Azoff went to answer, Mr. Styles completely changed with his jaw dropping before he turned to (Y/N) with another layer of excitement brewing in the car. "Wait, (Y/N)! Did you see that girl dressed like a fairy? She was standing with the angel and the sushi roll!" 
(Y/N) tried to school her features, keep the surprise off her face at the fact Mr. Styles was acknowledging her—and with a smile too! Attempting to focus on the question at hand, she racked her brain for whoever it was that he was referencing. "Maybe. Were they standing in pit?" she asked, settling into the leather of her seat with Mr. Azoff watching on with a less than neutral expression giving away his own shock. 
"Yes, yes," Mr. Styles chattered off, "Towards the exit catwalk! She had on big sparkly wings, and everything!" 
"Oh, yeah," (Y/N) perked up, giving him a matching grin, "That was the same costume—" 
"—you wore for Halloween!" Mr. Styles cut her off to finish her own sentence, bouncing in his seat in time with the rhythm of the pavement underneath the wheels of the car. "That's why I noticed her! Y'had the same wings, and the dress, and everything, right?" 
This time (Y/N) wasn't as smooth to recover at his words. She had been the only one to dress as such for the holiday, and she hadn't thought Mr. Styles had seen her at all in his own rush to be dressed in his own costume and prepping the extra song he was to cover for the occasion. It could have only been twice where she thought he might have seen her, especially as more than a blur that had to run past while doing whatever errands Mr. Azoff needed. 
"Y-Yeah," she bubbled off, pretending she didn't stutter in hopes that no one else would notice, "that was my Halloween costume. I didn't realize you noticed." 
The curls that flopped over Mr. Styles' forehead added to the boyish sparkle in his eyes as he looked at her, dimples denting his cheeks. "Your's was m'favorite costume." 
It was only a second later that Mr. Styles was distracted once more in his adrenaline-fueled post-concert excitement, drawing Mr. Azoff into another bubbling conversation about a moment that happened on stage. (Y/N) was left to settle into her spot, seatbelt tight around her chest as her heart struggled to beat out of its cage. 
If he wasn't careful, (Y/N) was going to start thinking he didn't hate her. 
(Y/N) sidestepped out of the doorway, allowing Mr. Styles to brush past her in his rush to exit the room she'd just entered. He didn't bother to even make eye contact with her or shoot her an awkward smile she'd become accustomed to. All she caught of him was his strained expression as she bounced into the room, feeling much more awake this morning after the bubbling excitement she felt while riding back to the hotel with Mr. Styles being so happy to talk with her. 
That excitement drained as soon as she saw the way he all but flinched at her presence now that the after show adrenaline had worn off. Mr. Azoff seemed just as surprised at the blatant switch as he watched Mr. Styles run off. 
"Uh—Good morning, Mr. Azoff," (Y/N) attempted to chirp out.
She could see the way he floundered for words, his eyes flicking between her and Mr. Styles' retreating figure she was forcing herself to keep from glancing at. "(Y/N), I—" 
"It's okay, it's okay," she waved him off, doing her best to convince herself with her own excuse, "He's probably still tired from last night, it's okay." 
The look on Mr. Azoff's face told her he knew something she didn't. (Y/N) figured it was a secret she didn't want to know. 
This had to be the first time (Y/N) had ever seen Mr. Azoff so stressed, especially after setting out on this tour with his favorite client. His hair was a mess with the usual day's worth of stubble on his face now growing into almost a full beard with the way the last few days have come stumbling around him. Near constantly did he have a phone pressed to his ear, preferring to take all of these phone calls as opposed to allowing (Y/N) to take care of them like he had so far in this route. 
"We don't know if he's going to be able to make it on this Friday," she heard Mr. Azoff sigh into the receiver, dragging a heavy hand through his hair. Mrs. Azoff looked just as glum as she listened into the conversation from the small couch that was set up in the living space of their hotel room. "I know—we're trying. He's barely been able to get out of bed since he got off stage last night, we haven't started on the road at all." 
(Y/N) felt concern spike in her chest at the mention of Mr. Styles' state. She knew he wasn't doing so well after last night, especially with how hard he had to start straining himself towards the end of the show just to hit notes she knew would otherwise be easy for him. What she hadn't known was the fact he didn't have the strength to even get out of bed. She'd hate for him to have caught the same flu that one of the crew members had suffered through just a couple of weeks earlier. 
"We don't want to cancel or reschedule anything, yet, no," Mr. Azoff rushed out, sinking into the couch cushion beside his equally as exhausted wife, "We have a few days still, so we'll see if he feels any better by Thursday. If not, I'll call you with options." 
It was only moments later that Mr. Azoff hung up the call, looking just as exhausted as he started the call. Seeing as how it was Tuesday, and Mr. Styles had only a few days left to be feeling better in time to even travel for his next show, she could understand his stress. 
Before (Y/N) could even offer her services, Mr. Azoff said her name with a lingering exhaustion. "Could you call one of those liquid IV offices, please? And get his doctor on a call; if he needs antibiotics, I want them picked up by the end of the day." 
Very few times did Mr. Azoff feel like a boss, always talking to her in gentler tones with requests rather than demands. Not that he was flexing any superiority and unforgiving directions even now, but she knew this was something he needed done thirty minutes ago, but was still willing to accept it being done now. 
That was all she needed to hear before she had her phone pressed to her ear. Even if Mr. Styles didn't care for her as much as she may have thought a week ago, she wanted him better just as much as Mr. Azoff did, and not just because of the touring schedule. 
How (Y/N) happened to be the only one within the central crew to have been vaccinated for the flu this season, she didn't know, but she didn't mind the added responsibility tied with the booster. Armed with a takeaway container of hot soup, a liter bottle of water, and another round of medication for Mr. Styles, Mr. Azoff sent her off to his hotel room. 
Mr. Styles had all but been quarantined since he started exhibiting those early flu symptoms, a medical team having been the ones tending to him the previous couple of days as he apparently worsened into running a fever and getting sick to his stomach. It was into the late hours of the evening that Mr. Azoff finally shooed them off (at his client's request, supposedly. Mr. Styles felt bad to have so many people fussing over him, he had said), and thanked them for everything they did for his client. They were left with the tools and a regiment on the best and fastest way to get Mr. Styles healthy again. She remembered watching Mr. Azoff read over the extensive list left in his care, a humorless laugh leaving his lips and he muttered something about the miracle of this week being one of the longer breaks he had scheduled between shows. 
As the crew couldn't afford anyone else getting as sick as Mr. Styles was, (Y/N) was chosen to be the first one to tend to him given the fact she would be the least likely to catch whatever virus he had—and even if she did, they could afford to have her on bed rest for a few days. Mr. Azoff had passed along the printed schedule of his medication times and what foods and fluids would be best to get his system back on track in the remaining forty-eight hours left until a decision would have to be made on whether or not the next show was in jeopardy, and she was on her way. 
An apology was ready on her tongue for the second she breached the sanctuary of his hotel room, knowing that she was most likely one of the last people he wanted to see at a time like this. That was the hardest part, she figured. She wasn't afraid of falling ill or seeing him sick, it was knowing just how unwelcome she was going to be in his space, especially since he wouldn't be able to flitter away from her like she knew he was used to. But, that fear was going to have to be shoved into a box in the back of her mind. Mr. Styles wasn't feeling well and needed someone to help him, and that was what she was going to focus on. 
After a quiet rap of her knuckles against his hotel room door went expectedly unanswered, (Y/N) pulled for the keycard Mr. Azoff had slipped into the bag of essentials he'd passed off to her. As soon as the handle clicked with a green light blinking, she twisted the knob carefully. A quiet creak whined from the hinges as she entered the dark room. 
Mr. Styles' messy bed was empty, the only light coming from the dimly set bedside lamp revealing the creases and folds in the bedding she was sure housekeeping hadn't had a chance to come by and change since he'd been holed up in the space. His luggage was left neatly beside the closet, only a pair of brightly colored socks laid atop the case letting her know it had been touched in the last few days. If not for the fact she knew there was no where else for him to have gone without someone on his team being notified, (Y/N) would have assumed his hotel room to be deserted by the way the air felt stale as she stepped in. 
"Mr. Styles? It's (Y/N). I know you probably don't wan—" 
Before she could finish her apology for stepping into his space, a gagging noise from the bathroom gave away his position. That was when she noticed the sliver of light leaking from underneath the closed door. 
Rolling her lips between her teeth with concern knitting her brows together, (Y/N) abandoned her doctor assembled and boss ordered care package on the bedside table. It was with shaking hands that she gently knocked on the bathroom door. 
A groan answered a beat later. "Jeff, I promise 'm going to be alright in a couple of days," Mr. Styles grumbled out, voice deep and sour, "Don't cancel anything, please." 
Releasing the hold her teeth had on her bottom lip, (Y/N) sucked in a deep breath. "Actually, it's (Y/N)." 
"W-What are y'doing here?" was his stuttered response, raw voice leveling out in volume. 
Not quite as biting as she may have expected in a moment like this, but (Y/N) had figured he would ask something of this type. "I'm the only one that's had my flu shot, so Mr. Azoff wanted me to come check on you. Is it alright if I come in?" 
"Please, don't." That was the clipped response she had been anticipating, but (Y/N) thought his tone dipped into something more embarrassed than angry. 
"Mr. Styles, I have water and food, and the medication you'r—" 
Before she could get much further with her explanation, she was cut off by the sound of a guttural noise on the other side of the door. Mr. Styles gagged alone in the bathroom, his panting breaths being cut off only to be replaced with the sound of him getting sick. 
As much as (Y/N) wanted to respect his privacy and foster a kinder relationship between the pair of them, there was no way she was going to be able to sit idly by knowing that she could help him when he so clearly needed some support. That was all it took for her to barge into the bathroom, rushing over the tiles to where Mr. Styles was hunched over the toilet. 
Focusing herself on him and not what was currently leaving his system, (Y/N) stroked her hand down his back while the other worked on drawing his hair out of his face. A stray clip was fit against the top of his head, a sloppy attempt she was sure he had executed with shaking hands. 
"(Y/N), no," he stuttered over her name until she felt a shudder rack his spine, his head being sent back to the toilet bowl as another round of sickness left his body. 
She didn't say anything back, knowing not only would it fall on deaf ears, but this wasn't the time to start pleading with him to let her stay. That wasn't up for debate as far as she was concerned; whether he liked it or not, she wasn't going to leave him to be sick all by himself in a hotel room in a country he didn't call home. Nothing sounded more dreadful than that. 
Instead, she only shushed him and lead a soothing hand down his spine with her other hand fixing his hair from his face. The strands had lost their curl after a few days without wash, matching the stale texture of his clothes that she was sure he hadn't changed out of in just as long. Having heard about how heavily he prioritized his self-care, especially when touring, she knew he really must feel terrible if he couldn't bring himself to do any of those basic things. 
Nonetheless, she stayed a constant, steady presence beside him on the bathroom floor. She tucked baby curls behind his ears, the strands too short to reach clip on the top of his head, and she shushed him with a gentle hand on his back as he emptied his system before being reduced down to dry heaves and gags resulting in nothing more than stolen breath and teary eyes. 
"It's okay, Mr. Styles, just breathe," she reminded him as he reached to flush the toilet, his breathing coming in rapid pants through his raw throat. 
"Don't call me that," he panted, sitting back on his heels though he still didn't care to turn to face her, "I don't like it when y'call me that." 
"Okay, okay," she soothed, the same word having fallen from her lips at least a hundred times at this point, "What do you want me to call you? What do you like better?"
"Jus' H, please. Want y'to talk to me like y'know me." 
Her heart just about broke at how pathetic he sounded in that moment, his request just short of a whine given his burned throat. "Okay, I can do that," she agreed with a gentle pat to his back. "I'm going to be right back, alright? I brought you some water for you to sip on." 
Before (Y/N) could even get to her feet, Mr. S—Harry—H twisted in his spot and raced to wrap his fingers around her wrists. He kept her from going any further with his manacle-like grip, bloodshot eyes glossy in the low light of the bathroom. "Wait, please. I-I don't want to be alone if I get sick again." 
As much as she knew it was against her better judgment to leave the liter of water out in the bedroom, there was no way she could argue against him when he looked at her like that. And, for the first time ever, he was pleading with her to stay with him, not fighting for a way out of her presence. How could she say no to that?
"Okay, I'll stay a few minutes longer, but I need to have you drinking something soon," she reasoned, settling back down onto the tile floor. She crossed her legs underneath her, opting for something more comfortable than the cuffs of her knees digging into the hard floor as she was prepared to sit there for as long as Harry needed her (or until she could convince him of the importance of water right now). 
Harry all but deflated with relief at her words, slumping into her arms in a way that had (Y/N) doubting he knew he was doing. Another sign of just how bad he was feeling then—he'd never seek comfort in her like this otherwise. Nonetheless, (Y/N) wrapped her arms around him without question, cushioning her back against the wall of the bathroom behind her while Harry's clumsy limbs found purchase around her. He shuffled up beside her with legs folded underneath him, his bottom on his heels. He was close enough to the toilet incase of an emergency, but his knees still knocked into hers with his arms around her waist, face tucking into the curve of her throat. 
"Thank you," he murmured into her neck once he burrowed himself against her skin, his forehead clammy. 
"Of course," she told him, her arms around his middle with her palms spanning the planes of his back. "Has it been like this all day?" 
"Mhm," he practically whined, his nose scrunching against her skin, "I hate it. I hate being sick. I jus' want to be better already." 
(Y/N) held him tighter the second she felt wetness slide over her skin, moreso than the sheen of sweat that covered his forehead. He was crying. That gloss that had lacquered his gaze had overflown, now leaking over her skin and pooling in the line of her collarbones. "I know, H, I know," she crooned to him, forcing herself to stay composed despite how much her heart ached for him then, "I brought stuff for you that's supposed to help you feel better. Do you want to try taking some medicine or drinking some water?" 
"I don't think I can keep it down," he told her, voice watery as he spoke, "'M sorry." 
"No, don't be sorry, okay?" she gently scolded him, shaking her head as she brought her hand up to card through the length of the curls on the back of his head. 
"I jus' want to be better, (Y/N)," he repeated earnestly, a sniffle following right after to match the wiggle of his nose she felt against her skin. She wanted to be endeared at the small touch but that was quickly outweighed by the concern she felt the second another wave of tears washed over her skin, Harry's breathing shifting until she feared he would start sobbing. 
"And you will be," she promised, hugging him tighter with her fingers lacing through his hair, "You need to give yourself a little more time, okay? Sleep a little more, and once you're up to it, we'll have you eating and drinking again and you'll be feeling so much better. I promise." 
Harry tensed in her arms before could finish his thought. A scramble of limbs ensued then, leaving (Y/N) feeling the absence of his warmth while he hunched over the toilet and threw up the nonexistent contents of his stomach. (Y/N) was behind him in a rush, rubbing his back and cooing to him as he began to dry heave, only bile leaving his system now. 
It was (Y/N) this time that flushed the toilet down for him after a few minutes of nothing else triggering his gag reflex, proceeding to gather him back into her arms once he was settled enough to unlock his joints and allow his muscles to go malleable again. 
"It's alright, H—" 
"See?" he cut her off, voice particularly raw after his latest showing, "'M not getting better, (Y/N). I jus' want to be better and-and play a show and I do-don't want to let anyone down." 
"You're not letting anyone down," she cemented, relaxing into the stiff sidewall of the tub as he tucked himself into her warmth one more time with his face in her neck.
"I've heard Jeff talking about cancelling or rescheduling shows," he mumbled, a sniffle following after, "I don't want to do that. S-So many people travel jus' to see me, and 's be-been so long an—" 
Harry was cut off by his own crying, the stress of the situation along with the just how awful he felt in that moment catching up to him now that someone was there to listen. His grip on her tightened with his arms around her waist and his face buried in her neck, his chest stuttering with his uneven breaths and squeezes of his sobbing lungs. 
All she could do then was hold him against her, as if her hug could keep him from shaking so hard with his heady breaths. Her neck was slick with his tears, the tip of his nose wiggling with every sniffle he sucked in in hopes of regulating his breathing.
"Its okay, H, really," she cooed to him, drawing one of her hands up to the back of his head with her fingertips twirling through the curls, "You need to stop crying, okay? You're only making yourself more sick by crying, you know. Just breathe, alright? It's going to be okay, I promise." 
Though it took him a moment, she could feel the way he tried to heed her advice. He fought off the stutter of his sobs, his breathing coming out in shaky pulls with the exhales being long and drawn out over her skin. Her palms soothed down his spine, the length of her nails dragging over his shirt in what she hoped was calming runs. 
"Feel a little better now?" she asked once he curated a rhythm of deep breaths and sinking exhales. Though she could feel just the smallest remnants of his tears having seeped against her neck, she didn't feel that dampness growing as opposed to the way it was only a few moments earlier. 
"Y-yeah," he mumbled, nodding his head against her neck, "Sorry."
"Don't be sorry, okay?" she told him, parroting her earlier words, "There's nothing to be sorry for. No one likes being sick, and I know you're under a lot of pressure since we're also on the road. It's okay." 
A nasally little thank you sounded against her neck along with the brush of his lips being felt against her throat. A small smile touched at the corners of her lips as she felt him relax into her, exhaustion weighing him down now that he wasn't clinging to the edge of the toilet. (Y/N) tentatively laid her cheek on the top of his head, lending him more of her warmth in hopes of holding off another wave of his fever. 
Just when she figured he'd fallen asleep, his breathing even with puffs of air fanning over her skin, he pulled his face from her neck. Harry's cheeks were flushed as he looked to her, ruddy and glistening with a sheen of sweat. His eyes were puffy and red, the scleras bloodshot from his crying session. Even his lips were swollen, the same hue as his red-tipped nose. 
"Can I have some water?" he asked her pathetically, voice nasally given his clogged sinuses, "And a blanket. 'M really cold." 
(Y/N) nodded her head right away, feeling her eyes rounding out as she took him in with pity in her gaze. "I'll be right back, okay?" she told him, brushing stray curls behind his ears. 
Harry gave her another sad look, mimicking the nod of her head. "Thank you," he told her before tucking his swollen bottom lip between his teeth. 
She made quick work of collecting the liter of water she'd put off to the side along with the knitted blanket that was bundled over the hotel bed. She knew that was something he'd brought from home, an item she'd seem him cart around to every venue and every hotel room to help him feel more at home despite the miles between. Hopefully it would be just what he needed in that moment. 
Stepping into the bathroom, Harry was just where she had left him. He was bundled beside the bathtub, his legs now bent in front of him to make himself into a small ball with his arms around his shins. His glossy eyes seemed to widen at the sight of his blanket, completely glancing over the water in her opposing hand in favor of reaching for his token from home. 
"Thank you so much," he repeated, grabby hands taking the knitted blanket as soon as she offered it to him.
Despite his aching limbs, the blanket was wrapped around Harry's shoulders in quick succession, the fabric being pulled up to his face with a finger wrapped in the material from underneath absently rubbing against his cheek. He soothed himself enough to have his eyes flutter to a close as (Y/N) settled in beside him, taking her spot against the bathtub wall with her legs criss-crossed underneath her bottom. 
"Still want some water?" she asked in a crooned tone, hoping to keep from disturbing him too much from the sweetened state he was falling into.
"Yes, please," he murmured, eyes still closed. 
Twisting off the cap of his water, (Y/N) offered it to him with a nudge against his shoulder. Harry begrudgingly untangled his hand from the knit of his blanket, taking the bottle with his eyes opened to only a slit. 
"Only take sips, H," she told him as he raised the bottle to his lips, "Any more and it might make you sick again." 
"But 'm so thirsty," he whined, brows pinching together in the middle. 
"I know, but if you drink too fast it'll make you sick again," she reasoned with him, scooting in closer to him with her arm pressing against his own, "Just sip it for now and if you can keep it all down tonight, you can drink all the water you want." 
Heaving a sigh, he gave a nod of his head as he heeded her advice and took small sips from his bottle. (Y/N) kept an eye on him as he drank, watching for any turn of the tide that would garner her helping him back to the toilet bowl. By the time he finally seemed satiated, handing her the bottle in search of the cap to be fixed back on top, he sunk down and lent his cheek against her shoulder. His eyes were shuttered closed once more, his hand working its way back under the knit of his blanket to press the material against his cheek again. 
"Tired?" (Y/N) murmured, maneuvering to wrap her arm around his shoulders and cuddle him close. 
"Yeah," he said, voice cracking some under the pressure of his raw throat. 
"Here," she said, shuffling in her spot to move just far enough away from him to get a whine filtering through his throat. Uncrossing her legs, she unfurled them in front of her with her ankles folding over one another, "Lay down, H, its okay. You can put your head in my lap." 
He seemed calmed at the prospect of her only moving so he could more comfortably. With his legs curled against his tummy into a ball, Harry laid his head in her lap, her plush thighs acting as his pillow. "Thank you," he sighed, nasally voice quietly bouncing off the tiles. 
"When you wake up we'll take some medicine, okay?" she told him, placing her hands in his hair as she unclipped the sprout she'd made with the strands to card through his curls. 
All she earned in response was a quiet okay, leaving him to fall asleep only moments later. 
Sinking against the sidewall of the bathtub, (Y/N) let her own eyes close. Cuddling with Mr. Styles was definitely not how she saw this morning going. She was going to have to text Mr. Azoff to let him know not to expect her for the rest of the day. 
Humming to acknowledge the call of her name, (Y/N) continued to clean up the little medication station she made up on his bedside table now that each of the pills were in his system. She was going to have to call up for another large water bottle for him now that there was less than a fourth of the liter left. And, probably another serving of hot soup since that had been forgotten hours earlier, going cold. 
"'M sorry," Harry said behind her, the warmth of his glossy gaze being pinned on her back. 
"You don't need to be sorry, remember?" she said to him, constituting all of his orange and white bottles back into the small pack the medical team had prepared as she gave him a small glance over her shoulder. "No one is upset with you; it's not your fault you're sick, we all know that." 
"No," he croaked, shaking his head against the fluffed pillow, "That's not what 'm talking about." 
"Oh?" she asked, settling into the nest of bedding she'd made her own since they carted him back to bed after his nap. He hadn't been sick for hours at this point, the main concern shifting to fend off the fever that was sapping his energy and drawing a fog over his brain. 
As soon as he saw her close once more, Harry made a move to lay his head in her lap again. It was instinctive at this point to have her hands carding through his hair, pulling the strands from his flushed skin. This time though, Harry looked up at her with his slightly hooded gaze, a touch unfocused despite the fact he'd been awake for the better part of the last hour. 
"'M sorry 'm so mean to you," he breathed, a sheen collecting over his eyes as he took her in, "You're taking care of me, and I don't deserve it." 
(Y/N) felt like a deer in headlights with his tired gaze on her. This was definitely not how she ever saw this conversation going—if this conversation ever happened, anyway. She floundered for words as she shook her head, distracting him with a particularly drawn out run of her fingers through his curls. 
"Don't say that, okay? What you don't deserve, is staying alone in a hotel room while you're sick," she murmured, "But, you don't need to worry about that right now, okay? You don't need to apologize for anything." 
To be fair, she never really considered his behavior mean. He avoided her, sure, but he was never blatantly rude to her. 
"No, no," he shook his head in her lap, "'M so mean to you 's not fair. I-I barely even talk to you, and you're still taking care of me. 'M sorry, (Y/N)." 
"Harry, really, I don't think you're mean, ok—" 
"I jus' don't know how to talk to you, (Y/N)," he continued as if he hadn't heard a single word she said, "'S so hard to talk to you, and-and m'brain hurts when I try to think about it." 
Canting her head as she gazed down at him, she dropped one of her hands from his hair only to skate over the planes of his face. She traced over the height of his cheekbone, and brushed the length of his lashes before she grazed the bridge of his nose. "It's okay, Harry," she soothed him, watching as his eyes fell closed, "It's okay to be shy. I know Mr. Azoff's last assistant was really close to you, it's fine if we're not there yet. We'll get there someday, right?"
"No," he whined, drawing out the syllable as he peeked his eyes open, "'S not like that—not like with Mallory, (Y/N). I like y'so much that m'brain doesn't work around you. It wasn't like that at all with Mallory—I didn't have a crush on her." 
(Y/N) was thankful for the cover of his illness to keep him from fully noticing her reaction to his confession. While it was sweet the way he described his feelings—a crush, he'd said—that had to have been at the very bottom of the list of reasons she would have thought up as to why he behaved the way he did around her. What was she supposed to say to something like that? How was she supposed to take it given the fact that this could be nothing more than one of his delirious ramblings given the state of his fever? 
"I can't believe 'm telling you like this," he muttered, eyes fluttered closed in a tight pinch as he turned in her lap. He faced the soft of her tummy, his arms wrapping around her middle as he nosed at the fabric of her top. "I smell like vomit and I haven't washed m'hair for four days, 'm sorry." 
A quiet sigh left her lips as she carded her fingers through his hair, the unwashed curls slipping between her fingers. "It's okay, Harry. Don't worry about any of that right now, okay? We can talk about that later, but you need to focus on getting better right?" 
"Right," he peeped, voice slowing and dredging deeper into sleep, "And you'll stay with me?"
Her answer was automatic, "Of course. I'll be here to take care of you, I promise." 
It was only moments later he was asleep again, face tucked against her tummy while (Y/N) was wide awake. 
(YN) woke with a stiff neck to the sound of the shower running, still wrapped up in Harry's bedding though now she had his knitted blanket draped over her form. The side of the bed she had slipped him into once she was too tired to stay awake was now cold, only the impression of his body on the sheets giving away his presence. 
Blinking her dry eyes, she tried to get her bearings after the long night she'd had tending to her boss's favorite client, along with every rambling confession he woke up in the middle of the night to share. 
He apparently thought her hair was very pretty, wanted to share clothes with her, and thought she had a cute laugh. Though, those were only the confessions she could decipher in his sleepy, nasally voice. 
She was still clothed in the outfit she'd donned the morning before, her phone waiting with a handful of texts from Mr. Azoff asking about Mr. Styles' state and if there was anything the pair of them needed now that (Y/N) had taken on the role of nursing him back to health for the time being. She pushed those messages off to the side at the moment, instead trying to untwirl her brain now that she had a moment alone without Mr. Styles' health at the front of her mind. 
He liked her, he'd said—he had a crush on her even. That was why he didn't have it in himself to hold a conversation with her, too shy to speak to her without making an ass of himself. The thought made her heart flutter, a fact she couldn't deny especially after she realized the smile on her face when she recalled his exact words. 
Despite the fact his kindness didn't always extend to her in the obvious ways, thinking back, she realized the signs were there. He remembered her birthday and put together an impromptu party that he couldn't even properly attend. He remembered her Halloween costume even though he was running around all day, preparing for one of the biggest shows of the year. He paid attention to her; he listened for her favorite foods, favorite colors, favorite books. While he was too shy to talk to her about those things directly, he still went out of his way to find them out and keep them to himself. 
It was easier for her since she knew she got this job to send her own feelings packing, out of her head and her heart before she could find herself in trouble with an infatuation with her boss's favorite client and best friend. That fact grew even more important as soon as Harry started behaving the way he did around her, but now that she had that glimmering confession, the tender explanation, it was hard to keep those feelings from marching right back in. All those months that she had to school herself into knocking away the melancholy at the fact that one of her inspirations didn't seem to like her now were turned in a new light, trying to see those same moments from Harry's point of view. 
How many times had she thought she felt his eyes on her, only to turn and find him looking the other direction? Had she really been only a second too late to catch his gaze? Every time she had chattered away with a member of the crew or Mr. Azoff himself, with Harry scrolling through his phone distractedly had he really been listening in and collecting information he was too scared to ask for? Or even the times he had dropped his gaze when she met his, the blushing hue to his skin now could be out of sheepish affection and not the need to get away from her as soon as possible. 
She hadn't been invisible to him, or even a negative presence in his day-to-day, she was piecing together. He thought of her the same way she thought of him. What a heart-stopping thought. 
(Y/N) jumped in her spot, the bedsheets rustling around her denim-clad legs at the sound of Harry's rumbling voice. Dropping back into the moment, she saw him standing just outside the bathroom door, luggage at his feet as he packed away the clothing he would need sent off to be washed before they were on their way to the next destination. A quiet smile was on his lips, a shy shifting to his gaze that kept him from meeting hers. His socked feet dug into the plush carpet on the floor, legs folded over in a pair of heavy black sweats along with a crewneck from his brand that hadn't been released to the public just yet. His hair was damp and dark, finally washed after the few days she was sure it had been bothering him.
"Morning," she chirped back, finding her voice, "How are you feeling?"
"Better," he mused, running a hand through his damp hair, "Finally getting to actually sleep last night helped a lot, I think. I took the medicine y'left on the table, and took a shower and I'm really feeling a lot better."
"Good, that makes me happy. Now, you can sleep all day and actually eat something instead of laying on the bathroom floor." (Y/N) felt proud of herself when she caught sight of the dimples denting his cheeks as he huffed out a quiet laugh.
A beat of silence passed between them as Harry finally dropped the guise of rifling through his bag to face her. Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his sweats, he toed at the ground as he looked at her through the fan of his lashes. 
"Um, thanks for taking care of me and everything yesterday, (Y/N)," he drawled, a pinch touching between his brows, "I really, really appreciate it. 'M sure it wasn't easy. My mum says I always get whiny when 'm sick, so..." 
"You weren't that bad," she told him with a gentle smile, crossing her legs underneath herself from where she sat on the bed, "I used to babysit when I was in college, and you are definitely not as bad as some of the kids I used to help."
"Great," he laughed with a playful roll of his eyes, "'m not as bad as a child. I'll have to tell my mum, that'll show her." 
After the short peals of laughter died down, silence filled in for their voices. Was she supposed to say something? Did he want her to say something? Or was what was said last night meant to stay right there—in the evening hours, in the brain fog that came along with his fever?
"Listen," he said, swallowing hard as he finally met her gaze head on, "'M really sorry about yesterday. I know I said a lot of things, and 'm really sorry if I made y'uncomfortable or anything. I-I don't know why I said any of that, honestly." 
Fighting the urge to drop her own gaze as she'd seen him do so many times before, (Y/N) kept herself focused on him, following the small droplets of water that clung to his forehead from his damp curls. "You didn't make me uncomfortable," she said, "But—um—di-did you mean it? What you said? About being shy and everything because of... me?"
Another harsh swallow had his throat bobbing, the green of his eyes disappearing for just a moment as he blinked towards the ceiling before returning. "I mean, yeah. I did mean it. I never wanted to tell y'like that, though, that's for sure. I know y'were being nice, but I definitely did smell like vomit and you're a saint for sitting there and letting me talk like a crazy person all night. I don't even know how you found time to sleep with me constantly bothering you."
"You weren't bothering me," she said, a smile cracking her features now that she realized there was no catch to his confession. There was no reason to quash the happiness filling her chest. "I thought it was really sweet what you were saying to me. It was nice to hear all of that stuff, especially since I was pretty sure you didn't like me just two days ago."
He clenched his eyes shut at her finishing words. "I really am sorry about that, I hope you know," he said with a heady sigh, "I wish I had a better explanation, but really, you jus' make me nervous." 
"It's okay," she waved off, shuffling towards the edge of the bed closest to him without much thought, "You make me nervous, too—I get it." 
"I do?" he asked, a boyish smile touching at his features while his eyes seemingly sparkled in the low light. 
"I mean, yeah," she revealed, a duh tone to her words, "Why do you think it's always so hard for me to talk to you?" 
Harry took slow steps towards the edge of the bed, his socked feet dragging through the plush carpet. "But you're always so—," he trailed off, flicking his hands out in front of him with a flourish, "Everywhere, I guess. Talking to everyone and laughing. I don't think I've ever seen y'nervous." 
"Well, I don't like everyone else the way I like you, so I don't get nervous like that. It's harder to talk to you when all I want is to say the right thing." 
Before she even realized it, Harry was stood right in front of where she was sat on the edge of the bed. He towered over her with warmth radiating from his chest, the heat much more pleasant than the fever he was running the night before, especially when he looked at her so sweetly with his big eyes. It was in slow movements that he brought his hands out and settled them on her wrists, only to trail down to lace his fingers between hers. When she didn't pull away or make any sound of protest, she felt him squeeze her hands. 
"I like hearing y'talk. Y'have a pretty voice," he murmured, his voice just a touch deeper than normal given the last week of his life. 
"I like your voice too," she beamed up at him, "Why do you think I'm always out there during the shows?" 
"Because, Jeff makes you?" he teased, shyly dropping her gaze to where their hands were bundled between them. 
(Y/N) shook her head, adjusting her position on the bed to sit with her bottom on her heels and her legs folded underneath her. "I like listening to you sing and talk to everyone. You're amazing on stage. It's my favorite part of being on the road with everyone—getting to see you every night like that." 
He keened under her praise, canting his head as he squeezed her hands. Dimples dented his cheeks as he looked to her. "Thank you," he murmured, the blunt ends of his front teeth sinking into his bottom lip once he got his gratitude out. 
Looking at him like this, feeling the strength of his hands and the heat of his skin all the while he looked at her so tenderly had (Y/N)'s heart racing. How was this real?" 
Dropping her eyes to his lips, the raspberry color just a bit drained from his illness though he wasn't any less appealing. She spoke without thought as her stayed stuck on his mouth, "Can I kiss you?" 
She watched as a smile grew on his lips at her words. "I—uh—'M sick, remember?" he protested less than half-heartedly. 
"I got my flu shot, remember?" 
That was all the convincing it took to have Harry dropping her hands from his, only to then cradle the soft of her cheeks in his hands. His lips slotted against hers in a tender press, allowing her to taste the clean mint of his toothpaste and whatever scented chapstick he'd swiped over his pout. She didn't even have time to think about the fact she was still wearing her clothes from the day before with unbrushed hair and unwashed skin, not with the way he was holding her and pressing into her mouth for more. It was as unhurried of a kiss as it was wanting, making up for the lost time that had been wasted over the past few months. 
The contact remained innocent, only sweet presses of their lips growing more and more delicate until Harry pulled away just to press a smattering of kisses against her pout. His actions drew a laugh from her chest, her hands reaching for his shirt as he kissed her smiling mouth. 
"We don't have to leave for the venue until tonight, right?" he asked, slightly breathless though he matched her smile tenfold. (Y/N) nodded her head still in his delicate grip, the pad of his thumb sweeping under her eye. "We should probably leave for a little and let housekeeping clean up a little, but 'm still really tired," his gaze flickered over hers, his smile growing that much more at whatever he found in there, "Could we go back to your room? We don't have to do anything"—that had his cheeks blushing—", but I don't want to sleep alone again after this."
That was all (Y/N) needed before she was dragging him down the hall to her hotel room, following right after him into her unused, plush bed. It was instinct at this point the way he cuddled up to her, face in her neck with his nose pressed to her pulse. All she felt was a press of his lips to the curve of her throat before he was asleep again, leaving (Y/N) the time to send Mr. Azoff a message. 
Harry was fine, she told him, but he'd probably need another day of rest and looking after. A job she was more than willing to continue to take on. She'd tell him the full story later, she decided, especially after he saw the room service charges for double meals to her room.
I got a request for something like this a super long time ago so thank you to whoever requested for being so patient! thank you so much for reading and sorry for any mistakes! if anyone has any ideas or requests of your own pls pls send them in !
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angelisverba · 2 months
in which y/n smokes weed (sometimes) and she thinks her dealer is super cute, and harry always gives her a little extra because she’s sweet
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word count: 8.2k
pairing: plug!h and y/n
warning: if you are uncomfortable with the use of drugs, please do not continue reading!! i DO NOT want to see any messages in my inbox that talk of ‘glamourizing’ this drug. if you don’t like it-> don’t read it. mentions of bullying, peer pressure, 
author’s notes: the second and final part to this fic will be posted next week, feb. 02 at 8am pst.
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Harry hated parties. 
Admittedly, they were a third of his source of income, but unless it wasn’t a gathering exclusively composed of his close circle, he didn’t want anything to do with it. They were too loud and sticky, messy and smelly. Red solo-cups littered at every available corner, half filled with Coca-cola, vodka, and the occasional sad, cigarette butt. Scantily clad girls and ‘discreet’ boys that didn’t know how to read body language that clearly screamed ‘I’M NOT INTERESTED!’. It just all got his nerves because half the time he knew they were only using him to get reduced prices on the marijuana he spent ample time on growing. 
He tried, as a general rule, to limit his reluctant, brooding attendance to parties he knew would only consist of Mitch, Sarah, Adam, and the handful of other friends that just wanted to have a good time and a nice snuggle on a cramped couch that rumbled with intoxicated laughter. He liked being in a crowd he knew, it was much more intimate, less pressure-filled. He didn’t have to maintain that ‘polite’ air that was socially required in an atmosphere of people he didn’t know. No niceties or complimentary. When it was just him and his friends, all of that ‘quiet’ and ‘please, thank you’ shit wasn’t necessary. He could jump straight to his affectionate, giggly, sprawling-all-over-everyone’s-lap self, and no one would question it because they know it’s what he preferred.
But, at a big house party like the one where he was at, where everyone knew him as The One Guy Who Sells The Good Shit, Harry had to pretend to be polite and quiet and small, and adopt an overall stiff persona that made him prickly and cold. This wasn’t him. He didn’t like this, and wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for his very convincing friend Mitch, who noticed that business was slow and assured him that he was bound to 1) ‘sell a shit-ton’ and 2) gather a handful of new clients once they realized that what he had to dispense was pretty good quality for a subjectively cheap price. 
Mitch had been right, of course. 
The small black backpack of goodies that Harry had brought to this inconspicuous function had been empty in less than two hours, and he’d repeated his number enough times that it started to feel forgein on his tongue. Once or twice, a few girls had flashed him what could be called ‘bedroom eyes’, but he wasn’t in the mood to get his rocks off. When he came with a purpose to sell, any need, want, or hope for sex flew out of the window because then he ran the risk of girls thinking their ‘connection’ entitled them to some sort of discount on weed, and he didn’t particularly fancy ruining his post-coitous bliss with the awkward exchange of rejection that followed their questions. 
Plus, it made him feel used. 
A good three hours have passed, and he’s about to tell Mitch he’s ready to leave when his line of sight is snagged on the diamond image- no, a beautifully deceiving mirage, because there’s no way this girl is real. Not when she looks like a ditzy sprite, a walking mermaid, a glimmering fairy, a heart-wrenching siren, and any other bewitching, ethereal creatures that stole men’s souls upon the first breath they took in their presence. She looked like one of his psychedelic hallucinations that whispered sweet things to him and played with the ends of his hair when he’s in the lull of shrooms, brought to life. Grounded, real, and three-dimensional, not just in the airy, green-leafed recesses of his muddled mind. 
This pretty little enchantment that caught his eye had floated into the room on two clumsy, shoddy-sneaker covered feet that extended from bambi-like legs with knees that were almost comically knocking against one another. She walked slanted, her shoulder pressed against her friend’s, whom Harry might have been able to recognize as Sarah if he spared his gaze, but that was impossible. So, he thought to himself, this is how magnets work? Even if he wanted to, he knew he wouldn’t be able to dislocate his line of sight from the socket it had carved itself into. Her cheeks, rounded with laughter and smiles, were dusted with the telling, glimmering sheen created by alcohol, and her eyes were bright, shiny, and starry from the handful of lamps that lit the living room. The slope of her waist, semi-shrouded deliciously from the billowy fabric of her powder blue summer dress (he couldn’t fucking believe she was wearing a dress when it was windy outside. Did she not care for her health?) and it made him think of the marvelous illusions created from marble. He was fond of going to museums and staring- for hours, at times- at statues of women draped in silk that were replicated with such precision, it was almost as if the wind was right there, rippling against the tantalizing figure of the unidentified female, so much so that an man was inspired to share his tortured vision. In solid form, nonetheless. 
It made him wonder what the artist could see in real life. What they envisioned the model to be like underneath the heavenly fibers that twisted and turned restlessly with running air, preventing a clear grasp on the body underneath. Spurred to the point of such desolation, left with a hunger to resurrect what their mind’s eye consumed in physical format to live on forever and torment anyone else who looked. 
He understood then. Understood that hunger and want for more. 
She spun prettily like one of those ceramic ballerinas in a golden music box owned by children of important people, and that damn dress was both too loose and too free, moving around her with a protective fluidity from hungry, lovelorn wolves like him.  He can’t hear her clearly because he’s too far away, but the snippets of her laugh that his ears manage to funnel down to his eardrums sound like a fairy’s tinkle. 
She is a dream. Head thrown back before she replies with such enthusiasm and a strange half-lucidity that it has him leaning in to try and hear the drunken words that escape her soundless lips. He’s stuck in a moment of frozen time with her and only her. There’s a pinch behind his sternum when her head moves in his direction, and a strong titanic-worthy sink when she stops before even reaching his gaze. The words of some pop song from the early 2000’s skim cheesily through the background of his brain like a lonesome draft. Where have you been all my life?
Tunnel vision, he believes it might be called. 
Next to him, Mitch bumps his shoulder, shattering his dangerously sharp focus with mumbled words that Harry doesn’t quite register with complete comprehension because they sound warped, as if they were spoken through a thick layer of glass or from underwater. 
“What?” He blinks, his eyes stuck on her but his head rotated enough to the side that his friend knows he’s listening. He’s afraid that if he stops looking, or even blinks, she'll evaporate into thin air and he’ll spend the rest of his life wondering if she really was a mythical being conjured from his second-hand high. 
Mitch clears his throat and hides a knowing twitch of his mouth beneath the rim of his drink, “I said her name is y/n.”
Harry, distracted and oblivious, is unaware that Mitch caught on to the focus of his attention, asks, “Who?” 
This time, he can’t help but huff a chuckle, “This girl, H. Her name is y/n. She just started working with Sarah. Sarah says she keeps to herself, but there’s been a bit of… bullying, so she invited her out for a good time.” 
“Bullying?” A faucet of anger opens in his major arteries and replaces his blood with a river of internalized rage. Bullying? Bullying her? His head whips around with enough speed to crack the vertebrae in his neck, and his thick brows furrowed with a fierce expression that would scare anyone that looked at him then (Mitch being exempt because he knew there would be no harm coming from that look). “What do y’mean bullying?” He spits the word out like it tastes foul. 
Mitch takes another sip from the red solo cup, taking time to compose his face before continuing casually, “yeah. Y/n’s new, sweet, and quiet. Sarah says the others at work think that she’s their personal coffee runner or something. She tries to help her when she can, but she's not always around ‘cause of meetings or whatever.”
Harry sucks on his teeth and shakes his head, twisting again to observe y/n with mooney eyes, bitterness still simmering within him at the treatment she receives at her workplace. Especially when the smile he was so fortunate to witness made him taste caramel and honey and peach nectar and all of the sweet treats that traversed through his esophagus when the munchies hit. It warmed him to finally have a lovely name to attach to a lovely name. 
Y/n. It settled nicely in his inner monologue, and he wanted to speak it. Test it on his tongue to see if it molded his lips as nicely as he imagined it would. It fit her, he thought. Y/n. Weirdly, Harry itched to throw it casually in a conversation with her. An exclamation. A wheezed whisper in the middle of a breathless laugh. In a greeting. In a goodbye. To grab her attention. To console. It was ridiculous! He didn’t even know her but he wanted, badly, for this party to transform into one of the more comfortable ones he had with his friends. For her to sit next to him on the couch his arm around the space behind her as she leaned into him unconsciously as the conversation continued. To grab her bicep in a nervous giggle when he stumbled after one too many. To share a bowl of chips with her (lime was his favorite, but he would eat barbecue flavored ones- his least favorite- if they were hers). 
“Whose-”a burp, “motorcycle is blocking the driveway?!” 
A clearly drunk male slurred from the front of the house, an arm raised as he swayed in a half-assed attempt to grab everyone’s attention, the drink in his hand sloshing onto the carpet and Harry winced, half from being startled and half from the suddenly stiffness that came with several pairs of eyes landing his way. 
“Sorry, mate. That would be me.” He raised a finger in the air and bent at the waist to deposit his unfinished drink on a low black coffee table by his knees. He shrugged, rolling his lips into his mouth and turning to Mitch with his shoulders lifting with the beginnings of a hug, “‘was just gonna leave, anyway.”
“Early night, H?” Mitch mumbled, pressing a quick kiss on his cheek while embracing his friend, the ghost of a laugh lingering in his nasal passage. Harry’s cheeks turned a light pink and his nostrils flared in his attempt to hide his smile. 
“Yup.” Harry returned the kiss, his nose digging onto the scruff of Mitch’s cheek, tickling him. Stepping back from their show of affection, he patted his palms against his thigh to make sure he had his phone and keys, and tugged the strap of the small backpack on his shoulder to verify it’s presence. 
Mitch resumed his leaning position against the door frame, hand in his pocket, “alright. Text me when you get home.” 
“‘Course.” Sparing one last glance in the charming sprite’s direction as he said his final goodbye, he was devastated to find that she had, in fact, disappeared, just as he’d feared. 
He almost stayed to find her and watch over y/n like some sort of guardian angel, but he didn’t have the guts to go up to her. He hadn’t even finished one drink, so liquid courage wasn’t there to help him, not when he had to ride his motorcycle home. He almost asked Mitch to keep an eye on her for him, but it wasn’t necessary. Sarah was with her, and therefore he’s already watching her. 
And from the comforting, yet teasing, twinkle in his friend’s eyes told Harry everything he needed to know. He knew that he was well on his way to cracking his head open over his heels. 
Their friendship had always been one of little words. 
Harry’s been delivering weed for a while now.  
What started as a side hustle to obtain much needed income when times were tough developed into an interesting near full-time job with amazing results and benefits (he got to smoke weed for free now, since he grew it himself, but there was always that whole ‘don’t get high off your own supply’ rule, so he did limit himself). He had thought that he would have trouble attaining customers, but word spread like wildfire amongst his close circle of friends, which all happened to be free spirited individuals that harnessed the powers of nature, and then their friends, trusted friends, and so on and so forth. 
It got to a point where he needed a separate phone for dealing alone because the ‘rush hour’ would meddle with his personal texts, leading to frequent ‘wrong person’ texts, and he traded his crappy car for a decent motorcycle so he could get to drop-off locations quicker. The added ‘badass’ effect also stroked his ego, so it was a wonderful bonus. 
But the annoyance of being interrupted in the middle of something like, let’s say… an episode of Hannibal with a warm bowl of buttered popcorn in his lap always came in the same frustrating amounts. 
Like now. 
The Netflix screen pauses on Mads Mikkelsen’s face, spouting some bullshit about a tea cup, when his phone dings with a new notification. The sound is a specifically selected ‘ding!’ that is different from his personal phone so it’s easier to differentiate the purpose of the incoming message, and a rumbling groan vibrates from the back of his throat. Throwing his head back against his beat up, brown leather couch, Harry slams his hand around him until his ringed fingers click against the sleek device, and it automatically lights up as he brings it up to his face. 
Unknown Number: Hi! Mitch gave me this number and said I’d be able to buy some pre-rolls?
Fucking Mitch. He often passes the number off to his buddies at the record store he works at. The dude started typing again, and the grey bubble with three dots wiggles at the bottom corner of the new text chat. Harry waited. 
Unknown Number: If it’s too late for you, I understand. 
It was, in fact, too late for him. But, money was money. He technically wasn’t doing anything important, so he would go and deliver to this-
Unknown Number: My name is y/n, by the way :D 
Not a dude. 
Not a dude. 
The popcorn went flying off his chest and spilled all over the floor as he jumped up from his seat. Fuck. Y/n? Y/n with a smiley face. The girl from the party?  His heart came to a stuttering stop, screeching like tired on asphalt breaking at a high speed as he came to the realization. The girl has haunted him like a stubborn will ‘o wisp for the past week was texting him. Albeit, it is for a service, but it was still something. The marijuana aspect of his situation didn’t bother him. He sold and consumed, it would be hypocritical of him if it did. Besides, she was an adult. She could do what she liked. 
His jaw is on the floor, his eyes popping out of his head and he can’t believe what’s happening to him at that moment. He’d kiss Mitch on the mouth next time he saw him. It’s not until he sees the grey bubbles appear and disappear quickly again that he remembers the normal, usual response to this kind of situation is to type back. With trembling fingers, he pressed on keys, tapped on the backspace button, and repeated those motions several times because he had no idea what he was supposed to say- no, what was right to say to her. He had a standard response when it came to people who wanted to buy from him, but sending her prewritten message in his notes app that consisted of a short, perfunctory greeting followed by a menu-structured list of what he had available that day and their prices. There was no way in hell he’d send that to her. 
Harry: Hello! It’s not too late for me to deliver. What can I help you with?
Unknown Number: Mitch mentioned that you offered a 2 for $35 deal? 
Unknown Number: Is that still available? 
Harry did offer a two-joint for thirty five bucks deal. Pre-rolled joints in cherry rolling paper about as long as his middle finger to the halfway point of his palm, semi-thickly packed with a hybrid blend of the two Mary-Jane plants (Sativa and Indica, none of that Maui Wowie, Blue Dream, or other strains; he liked to keep it simple) he had in a specially insulated box in the garage attached to the house he rented. It was his most popular sell; decent amount, excellent high, excellent trip. But… two? Was she smoking with someone else? Or was she saving one for a later time? He didn’t think she was the type to smoke two at once, but then again he didn’t know her, so her reasons were unclear to him. 
However, if he arrived at her location and she was with someone (a male, specifically) his night would be ruined, because then that would mean that any marginal chance that he had with her was out of the question. And he couldn’t ask her right away because they hadn’t even properly met yet, and that would be weird and rude. That didn’t help his overthinking tendencies, and in a matter of seconds, Harry was sitting at the edge of his couch, popcorn crunching underneath his butt as a frown settled on his handsome features. Jaw set, lips puckered in contemplation with a pinch between his drawn eyebrows that casted shadows over his emerald eyes. He looked menacing, and his smattering collection of tattoos didn’t help either. 
Or his motorcycle. 
Or the intimidating stigma that came with his title of ‘plug’. 
Stubborn as he was, this look of ‘don’t fucking talk to me’ would stay with him for the rest of the night, all because he couldn’t restrain himself from coming to incorrect conclusions. He didn’t know if y/n had a boyfriend, if she was with a friend, or if she would even be interest in him, but the sour thoughts that she did have a boyfriend and wouldn’t be interested in a ‘lowlife’ drug dealer loomed over him like a murky, stormy, thundering clouds. 
He sent his response and changed her contact name. 
Harry: I do! 
Harry: Did you want to see the rest of the menu or are you set?
He knew he was being short with her. His messages were missing their customary smiley faces, the extra exclamation marks, the occasional x’s and o’s. He didn’t even type with capitalized letters, but in order to refrain from diving even further into this hole of hope, he decided that the change in his style of grammar would help him become emotionally distant. He just couldn’t bring himself to add them while he was in a stubborn, self-induced slump. While he looked angry, glittery butterflies beat their cellophane wings inside his ribcage and shook magical glitter onto his intestines, making them warm and queasy. 
Y/n: I think that’ll be all for tonight
The causal mention of ‘for tonight’ gives him hope. That implied there would be other nights, and even though he’s currently grumpy because relationships are fucking complicated, he wanted to see her again and again. 
Harry: Send your address, please. 
She sends her location. 
Harry: I’ll be there in 15 minutes. 
Since he’s already half dressed in black jeans and a white Fruit of the Loom t-shirt from his earlier afternoon deliveries, he only has to part the crystal bead curtain in the doorframe of his living room to grab the leather jacket hanging from a bright yellow coat rack besides his door, and the backpack that he left in a slump besides his shoes (already packed with goods). He doesn’t think twice about the popcorn that’s scattered all over his floor and couch or that the Netflix “are you still there?” screen blinks black when he picks up his keys from the hook next to his door. 
The garage opened when he pressed the button inside the kitchen hall, and he stepped out through the side door leading to the space where he kept his motorcycle. The owners before him had left a shit-load of junk that had taken up most of the space, and with their permission, he sold and threw most of it away. For the most part, it was empty. A bench, some boxes, and the white-refrigerator like rectangular box underneath the worktable along with his ride were the only things in there. 
Grumbling and pouting like a petulant child, Harry clipped on his black helmet, flipped the visor down with two slender fingers, and dropped the backpack into the compartment attached to the backseat. A button on his keys closed the garage door behind him as he kicked aside the stand and swerved with a screech onto the road, the night air wrapping around bare throat as he cut through at a higher velocity than was surely legal on a residential street, but he didn’t see it as a crime when the heart was involved. He could picture himself explaining to the officer that pulled hi over in a hypothetical situation, that he was on his way to deliver drugs to the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and the officer nodding solemnly at his noble cause. 
Totally realistic. 
Cars honked when he cut them off abruptly, and he gathered stares from the handful of people that were still wandering along the streets, spilling out at random intervals from bars. He had to cut through bits of the city to get to where she lived, and the three red lights that stalled his perusal were lucky that they were government property or else he would have damaged them in a severe fit of impatient rage. He tapped the tips of his shit-colored vans against the road and clenched his ringed fingers around the handlebars, engine roaring with pending release. He should have grabbed leather gloves, he thinks, if not to impress her, then at least to keep his fingers warm because it was an especially chilly night. 
Harry’s pulling up to a brick building in exactly fifteen minutes. There’s fire escape ladders trickling down the side, and cement stairs leading up to a brown oak door with a thin window pane slightly left ajar while a burning yellow light seeps in a long bar across the steps like a satin ribbon. Several windows are bright with light from the inside, and the spare streetlamps that cast a spotlight on the sidewalk make the street unsettling, like someone is hiding in the shadows extending from tree trunks. Harry doesn’t like it one bit, and he hopes y/n isn’t walking these streets by herself at night.
He’s simultaneously taking his helmet off and reaching for his phone in his back pocket when he hears her small peep coming from the door. 
And then, she’s all he can see, hear, think. She’s just as absorbing and hypnotizing as the first time he saw her, even though she’s standing in what is clearly pajamas. A long, sage knitted sweater that ends at the tips of her fingers and just above her knees, making her look like a leafy blob. Black sweatpants that are just as loose and baggy shadow the faint silhouette of her legs. Y/n is fiddling with her fingers, picking whatever color nail polish paints her nails (Harry can’t see because he’s too far away) and it makes him want to soothe her hands with his own. She’s tugging her bottom lip between her teeth and she probably doesn’t even realize that her eyebrows are furrowed and the bunch on her brow-bone casts comic-like shadows across her pretty little face. 
Stupidly, because he can’t think of anything else to say other than ‘hello’ but he thinks that’s lame, he clears his throat and says, “how’d you know I was here?”
“Your… uhm- your motorcycle,” she points with a finger to the machinery beneath his bum. He’s leaning against it, not wanting to intimidate her by crowding her space in a dark-ish place but he doesn’t realize it actually makes him look very intimidating and ‘bad-boy’ looking. Especially with the leather jacket, “was kinda loud.”
“Mmm,” he hums his acknowledgement, because at that last corner he had purposefully revved the engine more than necessary. To impress her or to sate his devilish tendencies, was unclear. The space between his collarbones feels like it’s inflating and deflating with every rapid pulse of his heartbeat, and for the first time in a while, he doesn’t know where his ‘game’ is. He feels lame, at a loss for how to act around an angel when he was nowhere near her level. Hell, did this count as corruption of her innocence? He was selling her drugs for fuck’s sake. 
At this realization, a heavy, sticky, nasty weight slathers itself all over his back and it can only be described as guilt. Should he be selling her weed? Should he even be morally conscious at this point? He sells weed to teenagers when he’s sure they aren’t narcs, but this wasn’t some zit-faced twerp. 
This was y/n.
A few seconds of silence pass and she’s just staring at him, her lips rolling like there are words she's holding in and Harry staring at her with a closed-off expression, thick chocolate eyebrows furrowed deep in concentration because he’s memorizing every curve of her face to look back on when she wasn’t with him anymore. It’s after her first intake of breath with her mouth open that he snaps out of it and twists hurriedly to yank out the pink baggie with shiny red cherries printed on them. His current special, though he saved the decorated packaging for his closer group of friends because he knew it made them happy and he loved seeing that smile on their faces, but he wasn’t going to tell her that (and secretly he hopes it might put a dent on his irrational guilt).   
“Here are y’cherry joints,” he holds it out, pinched between two fingers and his lips are a hard line as his heart beats out of his chest because- oh, god} she’s stepping closer and she smells really good and- 
“‘Kay, uhm…” She takes the bag from him and mentally, Harry curses because she chooses to cup the underside of the bag and that wipes all chances of their fingers accidentally touching. She won’t meet his eyes, she’s shifty on her feet, and he doesn’t know how to tell her not to be nervous without sounding like a creep, “I’ve n-never done this before, and Mitch didn’t say if you took cash or Venmo so I brought my phone and wallet because I wasn’t sure which one you preferred.” 
His heart goes through the life cycle of a dandelion. It blooms, yellow with happiness and new life breathed into his seedling soul by the sound of her voice, and transforms into the wispy tufts that fly away, ditzy and twirling from her sweet breath. All the while she holds him in her hand, smiling. 
But all of these feelings are hidden away under his mask of self-preservation, writhing and squirming like worms. He gives away nothing, his eyes looking a little dead even though the in-between space where his head meets with the nape of his neck is damp with nervous sweat and he remains stiff and lazily posed against his motorcycle because he’s sure if he didn’t have that support his knees would knock together and sound like the cue ball hitting a winning shot in an empty pool hall.
Carding his hand through his unruly curls, he realizes that he should’ve styles his hair before leaving the house or foregone the helmet entirely, not caring about dying because first official impressions should be killer, and the extra harsh cut in his British drawl when he rasps, “cash is fine,” has to do with his own annoyance.  
Y/n is flustered, evidence of that clearly sprawled all over her cheeks and base of her throat which he can see even in the darkness. She lifts the front end of her sweater with a paw-hand and Harry’s insides explode. Her phone and folded dollar bills are squeezed between the band of her bottoms and bare skin of her stomach. For just a second, the beautiful second in which she plucks the money from her body, he catches sight of a white, lacy bra-band that looks glorious while backdropped by the plane of her abdomen. He discovers the meaning of life and death, and wishes for a bit of both because this is torture. 
The back of his mouth is drier than the sahara desert. Two tender fingers give him Holy ten and five dollar bills, and her angelic voice sings, “thank you,” when he takes it from her like a beggar. 
Harry is an asshole because he can’t even respond with words only a hum of ‘mhm’ before swinging his leg over his ride and muttering a half-hearted, choked, ‘see you’ before roaring away. 
He tries to invalidate his rapidly growing crush. Truly. He wants to brush it off his shoulder like dust because it’s annoying and distracting to constantly think about her, but nothing works. 
In retrospect, he was even psychologically rude about it, trying- and failing- to find negative qualities about her or flaws in her appearance, but his fawning heart wouldn’t allow such disrespect to the receiver of it’s pesky little affections. The worst he could come up with was that her eyes looked as if some snot-nosed, uncoordinated, messy little kid had shaken an entire bottle of glitter onto a piece of copy paper and called it a day. And that her voice was soothing enough to coax that same child into comfortable, cow-jumping-over-moons dreams. 
He wishes he were that hypothetical child rocked to sleep by her lulling voice because by the way things were going, he’s having a pretty hard time getting a wink of sleep because every time his phone vibrates he snaps straight up like his spine is locked and obsessively searched his phone for her name. And he’s tried putting his phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ but it only makes it worse because what if he texts her and he doesn’t see it because he’s sleeping? 
All of the customers that came after her, during his period of constant surveillance over his ‘trap phone’ received the best delivery times and the snarkiest attitude he’s ever had to offer. The morning sun isn’t as bright as it used to be and the moon is dimmer than usual because nothing can compare to her. He misses her terribly and it’s stupid because he doesn’t even know her and she probably thinks he’s a jerk because he acts like such a dick. 
Mitch thinks it's funny that he’s so twisted about a girl. ‘A’ girl because even though he was high when he spilled his secret to his friend, he doesn’t think he could stand a potential breach of his privacy in the case that Sarah found out. 
“I haven’t heard from her in a while,” Harry said.
“Do something about it,” Mitch said. 
And well, what the fuck was he supposed to do? It’s not like he can reach out to her to ask her if she wants to buy more weed. That would seem greedy and insensitive on his part; a money hungry dealer. He’s already in a limbo of moral dilemmas that shouldn’t exist in the first place and he doesn’t want to complicate it by any form of shady communication. 
His dilemma, however, was solved by whatever divine being that dared to bear witness to his nonsensical pleas to the ether. It seemed as though she favored the night and dark for her ‘picking up’, because the delightful ding! came at the thirty minute mark of his tossing and turning. 
With the sheets rumpled around his waist and his templed damp with faint beads of perspiration, Harry straightened in the same way he has for the past month, only the tedious exhaustion of it not being her was begging to gnaw at him. Was this what it felt like to be paranoid? Snapping alert at every single indication of a phone because you think it’s the IRS- or the girl who infects your mind, in his case- calling to demand a service? 
Preparing for disappointment again, Harry picked up the phone and squinted as his pupils adjusted to the sudden change in light. 
Y/n: Hello, Harry! This is y/n. You delivered to me last month? Are you available for delivery at the moment?
There is a muted thud as his phone slips out of his shocked hands and lands on the rumpled duvet. A thundering set of drums replaces his beating heart and his jaw remains slack because it has lost the ability to close. The perspiration on his hairline transfers to the cave of his hands. For weeks he’s been in a constant state of glum, waiting for her next text, and now that he has it the only thing going through his mind is oh my god, oh my god.
Still, through his haze he manages to reply with, 
Harry: Hi! 
Harry: Yes, I remember, and yes, I’m available
What he really wanted to say, and what he should have sent was, how could anyone forget you? You haunt me day and night. But that was a little obsessive, and probably would have scared her off before they even got anywhere. 
Harry: Would you like to see what I have available? 
Y/n: Please :D !
The pre-written list of items he has available changed this week. He’s added some chocolate edibles, brownies, and gummy bears that he picked up for a cheaper, wholesale price at the dispensary he frequents, and it makes him wonder if she’ll dare to buy them. He had one a few days ago at Mitch’s place with Sarah and has a smashing time. He couldn’t stop petting their cat, Texas, because the feel of her brown fur between his fingers was heavenly. 
Grey bubbles appear and disappear several times along with his intake of oxygen before a long text appears, listing everything she wants from his makeshift ‘menu’ and… it’s a lot. The last time he received an order like this it was for a frat party that one of Mitch’s coworker’s friend’s brother referred him to, and it took him an entire week of rolling and baking to get his inventory back up. His kitchen smelled like weed-butter for a solid month. 
Harry: Give me a moment to make sure I can sell you everything. Pretty large order…
The chipped black paint on his nails became a dark blur as his fingers typed, deleted, and typed uncertain words over and over again before finally settling on a sentence that was… neutral and didn’t send the wrong meaning. Usually, with his customers he was a mixture of blunt and friendly, but y/n wasn’t just a customer, and it made everything ten times harder. 
Y/n: I’ll take whatever you have, please! Take your time, I don’t mean to stress you out 
If she said please one more time, Harry was sure that he would become a liquid, coagulated version of himself among the mess of his blankets. 
Jerking his ankles free of the fabric snake that snared him to a useless bed, he clambered off, knuckling at his tired eyes and shivering as the cool, still air of his room wrapped itself around the warmth of his body. Reaching into his closet for the first things he finds, a dark green hoodie and grey sweatpants, Harry yawns and dramatically stretched with his arms way above his head, hoping that the movement would push out the feeling of loneliness that was beginning to take purchase between his ribs, right underneath his heart. 
Another late night, another delivery. He wished there was someone in his bed to call him back. Please don’t go, they’d say, the bed is cold without you in it. A warm hand trailing like a ghost against his thigh as he walked away, and a sleepy smile or groan of displeasure as his goodbye. He might not stay in the bed, but he would be happy- no, elated, to know that he would be coming back to someone. 
The grow light of his makeshift greenhouse tinted his skin purple as he rummaged through all of his pre-rolled and pre-packaged items, his phone at his side as he checked off everything she has asked for. 
9 of the Cherry Deals
6 of the citrus-infused pre-rolls
4 lavender-infused 
10 brownies 
And 2 8ths
In total, it came out to 28 joints. 
Which is… well, a lot for just one person, or two, or three (unless you’re Snoop Dog or something). Packing everything up into four separate paper bags, and then a larger white bag so that she isn't filling with all of the smaller ones, he types out another cold text.  
Harry: Okay I have everything. 
Harry: Send the address, please. 
She sends the address, and Harry follows the same routine as the last time, nearly eating shit as he flew out into his garage. Excitement bubbles in his guts at the same increment and volume of his motorcycle’s initial purr. Flipping open the back compartment he usually stores things in, he realizes that there is no way it’s all going to fit inside, so he turns on his heels to grab a backpack from inside and then he realizes that he’s not wearing any shoes. The smooth, grey floor is cold against the arches of his bare feet, and his brows furrow at his own insolence. Had he been so wrapped up in… everything that he didn’t put on shoes?
Rolling his eyes at his own actions- and feeling a little embarrassed that he’d let it happen- Harry returned to his home and snatched up the first pair of fashionable compatible shoes within his reach (green converse  the same shade of his sweater) and the backpack to place the white bag in ( a little redundant, but he didn’t think holding it while he rode would be a good idea). Rushing back to the garage, he hoped that he wouldn’t come up empty with words like he had the time before. 
The last thing he wanted to do was scare her away. 
  He was right about it being a party. 
At least three minutes before he was flipping down his kickstand, the thundering bass of some rap song (he thinks he can hear ASAP Rocky, but he’s not too sure) shakes the streets and the trees. It’s a house party in a building that was too big to fit into the word ‘house’, but yet too small to fit in ‘mansion’. Toilet paper and trash litters the front yard while couples make out and loners smoke cigarettes, or maybe joints, out on the generous porch. Sports cars and beat up rides pack the driveway and most of the street in front of the house, so it makes it really difficult to station his motorcycle in an area where he has a clear view of who’s coming in and out of the house, and therefore, really hard to spot y/n. 
That is until-
“Hi, Harry!” 
She’s sitting down on the curb with her arms around her legs and her chin on top of her legs, looking… scared. Her eyes were blown open like a newborn doe, and the sprawl of her limbs as she unravels from her sitting position to a wobbly stand mimics the shaky, knocking knees of a filly that is learning how to walk for the first time. Her voice is even headier than it was the last time he heard it, like windchimes in the spring chill.
 Harry’s eyes roam over her with no attempt to conceal his blatant appreciation for the fuzzy sweater falling down to her mid-thigh. They seem to have become a pattern with her. This time, it’s a baby blue crew neck and a pair of jeans, and y/n’s has tried to tie her hair up into a bun at the back of her hair but spiky pieces stick out the back and tendrils swap her ears, making her look like a soft, smudge-y dream. 
“Hello,” he says softly, not needing to clear his throat this time. He steps forward a bit, so he can hear her better (or at least that’s what he tells himself), “s’good to see you again.” Harry’s words are louder and more amicable than the last time he greeted her, and his lips part in a crooked friendly smile which she returned with the same tentativeness. There’s something off about her this time around. She’s pulling at her sleeves and shifting her feet, glancing over her shoulder as soon as she’s standing straight and her eyes won’t stand still on Harry’s figure for more than a few, burning seconds. 
“It’s good to see you, too! I hope I’m not waking you up every time I text, though,” an exhaled laugh left her lips, and she dropped her gaze down to her shoes. Y/n rocked on her feet, once and then twice. “I think I’ve… I’ve made a habit of texting you late at night.”
And he blushes, “I- uhm… I was having a hard time sleeping, so you didn’t wake me. It’s fine.” 
If only she knew that he was having a hard time sleeping because his subconscious was a bothered brat over not seeing her again. Pleading words of requests to ask her never to stop texting him were dancing on the tip of his tongue, banging against his barricaded lips and begging to come out. However, he didn’t think such daring words were fitting with their barely budding relationship. They were pitiful and needy, like a puppy, and frankly, Harry didn’t want to present that image. 
“Oh,” she stilled her movements, checked over her shoulder again and then looked him in the eyes and said, “are you okay?” 
“M’fine, yeah. Just got a lot of you on my mind at the moment,” he says. It makes y/n furrow her brows and tilt her head at him like a little cat, only then that he realize what he has said, “Things! Got a lot of things on my mind. Sorry,” he clears his throat, looks away while hanging his helmet on the handle of his ride. “Haven’t been sleepin’ much.” 
“Aw, I’m sorry. That sucks,” y/n pouts. Pouts at him. And he just blinks. Doesn’t smile or laugh.
“S’alrigh’. Y’got quite a large order this time. Havin’ a party?” As soon as the words left his mouth he wanted to slap his palm against his forehead. He probably sounded stupid, given there was clearly a raging party going on in the house behind her. Of course she was having a party, what he should’ve said what ‘what are y’celebrating?’ or ‘are you here alone?’. Like the ‘do you have a date?’ kind of alone.
“You got it right? Thank you. And… something like that, I guess. I’m a bit nervous, honestly, because I’ve never…” She shrugs, looking away from him and back to the house. 
“Never been to a party like this?” He’s confused. Surely he can’t mean that she’s never smoked before? Right? Because if that were the case, then what did she do with the weed he gave her last time? And what was she doing at a party were they were on this much drugs. 
“No! No, no, I’ve never… smoked before.” She’s adamant in shaking her head. Her hands too, splayed wide like jazz hands.
“Y’never smoked before? What about last time?” Harry hates how it sounds as though he’s accusing her, but he can’t seem to control the way his words are coming out of his mouth, not around her, and it’s making him look like a dick. What he wants to do is smile and tease her, to find some way to ask her if she would like to share a joint with him without sounding too sleazy. 
Shaking her head, “those were for my roommate and his boyfriend.”
“Oh.” Harry’s heart pitter-patters in his chest, his mouth in a straight line, and although there’s an abundance of emotions elbowing against the other in his chest, he shows none of them.
“Yeah,” awkwardly, she shifts her weight from heel to heel, arms crossed before reaching into her pocket and bringing out a folded wad of cash. “$540, right?” 
“That’s right, but…” C’mon man, he scolds himself, pull it fucking together. This is a concerning situation. Surely she can’t be buying this much this time and not plan on participating. “Are you gonna be a’right?”
Worrying her lips between her teeth, she lets out a deep breath before answering. Smiling and nodding as she answers as if she wants to convince herself, “I think so. How hard can it be?”
“Pretty hard if it’s y’first time, sweetheart,” Harry forces himself to smile a little, but instead it looks as though he’s grimacing.  “Will y’friends walk y’through it?”
Y/n looks back at the house again, and shuffles her feet. She’s got a sad little look in her eye, droopy and shy. Great. He was making her uncomfortable. “They’re n-not really my friends,” she says, “but I guess so.” 
What? “What?” The word is sharp in his mouth. What the fuck was she doing, then? Hanging with people that she didn’t look all that enthused to be with, buying their weed, standing out here all alone? 
“They’re not-”
A male comes out of the house, red solo cup in hand, and he’s not wearing a fucking shirt. He’s waving a hand in the air, trying to flag y/n down Harry assumes, and he’s offended for her. Harry’s brows furrow and his hands curl into fists behind his back. Why isn’t he wearing a shirt? What the fuck is he drinking and why is he being so disrespectful interrupting their conversation this way? All for some weed? 
Now on the last step, the guy shouts, “Y/n, what’s taking so long?” 
The poor girl jumps, startled, and her eyes go wide. “Sorry, I’ll be in soon!” Y/n shoves the money at him, frazzled, and takes the paper bag from his hands.  “Here's $560, Harry. The rest is a tip. You can count it if you’d like!” 
“It’s alright, here you-” she’s already bounding away from him, but he doesn’t want her to go, and somehow, he finds the will to call her back. He just wanted her to look at him once more, because she wasn’t even inside yet, but he missed her gaze.  “Y/n!”
She stops, and he gets exactly what he wants. Her attention. “Yes?” 
Harry swings a leg over his motorcycle and gets ready to leave before he does anything stupid like… like trying to hold her hand or something. Who knows, he lost his ability to act his age around her. “Have a water bottle at your side,” he’s mumbling almost, “and don’t take too much in on your first try. Exhale and don’t freak out when y’start coughing. Or embarrassed. It’ll be okay. And… and do y’best to relax.”
“Thank you, Harry.” 
And y/n smiles at him. 
It’s small, and it’s meek the way a feral kitten approaches a human with food. Scared, and rightfully so, because Harry wants to scoop her up and take her home. 
“Of course. Have a safe night.”
She nods and walks away with another piece of his heart in her hands. 
2K notes · View notes
watchmegetobsessed · 4 months
A/N: the pic screamed to be turned into somethig dirty, so here we are
SUMMARY: There's just something incredibly delicious about seeing Harry sunbathing.
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That’s what comes to your mind when you see your boyfriend spread out on the sunbed like a starfish.
Like a sexy, slightly sweaty starfish with thighs that make your mouth water and a sight of his naked chest that’s screaming to be touched.
You chug down the rest of your cocktail that you’ve been sipping by the bar and excuse yourself from the conversation before making your way over to Harry. He looks peaceful, his skin is glistening in the sun and you very much like the tan he’s gotten lately. You eye how he rolled his shorts up so the sun can reach more of his thighs, the tiger tattoo is out in the public. You don’t want to look like a creep, but you want to snap a picture of him like this so badly. You fight the urge and just climb to the bed, pressing an open mouthed kiss to his sternum to let him know you’re here.
“Mm, I really hope it’s you, Y/N,” he mumbles, keeping his eyes closed, but his hand that lies closer to you moves up and finds your thigh as you sit on your heels next to him.
“And what if it’s not?” you huff, pretending to be hurt he would let another woman touch him like that. A smirk spreads across his face before he finally peeks at you.
“I know what your tongue feels like on me, knew it was you.”
You smack his thigh and then leave your hand there, giving it a squeeze, feeling up his muscles under your palm. Harry closes his eyes again and you shamelessly eye him up. The line of his sternum running between his pecks, the gentle outline of his ribs, the fern tattoos that run right above his swimming trunks… You’re feeling yourself getting wet and he is not even doing anything, just lying in the sun, getting tanned.
Your hand wanders higher and higher on his thigh until your fingers brush underneath the fabric, moving dangerously close to what’s hiding underneath.
“What are you doing?” he asks in a husky tone.
“Nothing?” you reply, but keep brushing your touch over him, gently scratching him with your nails. A low growl bubbles from him as his muscles twitch under your palm. His hand cups your leg again and he squeezes you, but doesn’t say or do anything.
You want him. So badly that you’re afraid if you stand up your bikini bottom might be drenched from your arousal. But he doesn’t seem to get what you’re trying to imply, he is still lounging without a care, so you decide to make it clear what you want from him.
Leaning forward you get on top of him and kiss his lips softly before moving your mouth to his ear.
“If I don’t have your cock down my throat in the next five minutes, I’m gonna have to find someone else to fulfill my needs.”
His eyes pop open, you knew this would get him going, it’s your joker card to play with his jealousy and this time is no exception either.
“I’m sweaty,” he warns you, but it just riles you up even more.
“Perfect, delicious.” “Room, now,” he orders and gets up so fast you can’t hold back a chuckle.
He grabs his towel and phone in one hand, the other closing around your wrist as he pulls you after him, not even dropping a word to his friends and colleagues lounging around as well. It’s just the two of you in the elevator and as soon as the door slides closed you jump at each other, mouths clashing, hands grabbing at each other and you palm him almost too aggressively, feeling him growing harder with each passing second. Arriving at your floor you basically sprint out and down the hallway to your room, you’re kissing his jaw, licking his neck as he tries to open the door with the keycard, but he can barely find the reader with your hand gripping his cock.
“Fuck,” he groans when the door finally clicks open and you practically fall into the room.
“I need your cock,” you whimper and the two of you don’t even make it to the bed before you drop to your knees on the carpeted floor and tug down his trunks eagerly, setting his cock free finally.
“Fuck, Y/N,” he breathes out when you grab the base and lick him up, wrapping your lips around the head as his hand moves to the back of your head and he gives you a little push as you take him into your mouth finally.
There are occasions when you like to take your time, taste him, play with him, but this is not what you want now. You need rawness, you need him fast and hard and you want him to fuck your mouth like he means it.
You don’t have to speak for him to know what goes on in your head, just one look up at him is enough for him to get the message.
“Such a needy little thing. Want me to fuck your pretty mouth?”
You nod and bob your head, pressing your tongue against him in your mouth.
“Gonna make you gag on my cock, princess,” he breathes out before he takes your head in both his hands to keep you secured in his hold and he starts thrusting with his hips, his cock moving in and out of your mouth rapidly.
He keeps hitting the back of your throat, saliva is running down your chin and tears are dwelling in your eyes but you want him to keep going and use you.
“Touch yourself,” he grunts, always thinking about you as well.
With one hand you grab onto his ass, fingers sinking into the flexing muscles while the other one moves between your legs, dipping under the fabric of your bikini. Wetness coats your fingers as you swipe them between your lips, smearing your arousal over your clit before you start working on it.
Your jaw is sore and you keep gagging as he goes deeper in your mouth with each thrust, but it’s what keeps you going. You see his chest rising and falling rapidly, his skin is glistening from the sweat that’s now not only because of the sun, but you as well. He looks so delicious, you want this sight tattooed into your mind forever.
“Shit, I’m gonna come, baby,” he warns and you know it’s a question too. He wants to know where you want him to come, so you push your nails into his ass, letting him know you want his cum dripping down your throat.
Your hand is vigorously moving on your clit, bringing yourself closer and closer to your own orgasm, but you can’t catch up with Harry. A few more thrusts later he comes hard and loud, your name falling off his tongue over and over again as his movements fall out of rhythm. You keep your eyes locked on his face, drinking up the sight of his orgasm, the way he is gasping for air, his eyes roll to the back of his head and his chest waves from the excitement.
He pushes your head away from him, his cock slipping out of your mouth with a sloppy sound and you swallow every drop of cum, showing him your empty mouth when it’s gone. He wastes no time to pull you up from the floor and kiss you hard on the lips before he turns you around, locking your body against his with one arm while his other hand moves to replace yours in your bikini bottom.
“Harry!” you cry out when his fingers start rubbing on your clit, applying just the perfect amount of pressure. He knows your body almost better than you do, because he builds your orgasm up so fast, it’s ridiculous how he does it without even pushing a finger inside you. Harry knows penetration is not everything, that the right moves at the right spot could do more than just shoving two fingers up your pussy.
Your head drops back to his shoulder as you arch against him, his free hand coming up to grope your breast, making it spill out of your bikini top. You’re throbbing, aching for release and Harry doesn’t disappoint.
You come hard, screaming his name, shaking in his hold, you push against him with so much force he stumbles back and flops down to the edge of the bed, pulling you with him, holding you tight in his embrace as you sit on his lap. You gasp for air, coming off your high while he keeps kissing your shoulder, neck and the side of your head.
“That was…” you hum, but don’t find the right words.
“Love it when you get horny randomly,” he chuckles. You crane your neck to look back at him with a sloppy grin.
“Can’t help it, you looked so delicious.”
He just grins and kisses you, this time it’s slow and lazy and when you feel him growing hard again underneath you, there’s no wasted time as you push him back on the bed and climb over him.
Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!
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avatar-anna · 3 hours
I swear I could read prof y/n content all day longgg!
Could we get an angst moment? Love a bit of drama hahahaha 🤪😂
prof and h angstttt plsssss
enjoy! xx
The Professor Series
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Harry knew Y/n. He knew her favorite authors and composers; he knew her favorite constellations, how she liked to sleep curled up into a ball when she had stomach cramps, and how she took her tea; he knew she wore mismatched socks, that her Southern accent returned when she was tired or tipsy, and that she had a little freckle on her hip; he knew she worked really hard but wanted to try to take herself less seriously sometimes; he knew the things that made her laugh and what she got excited about; he knew what places to kiss to make her blush and that she appreciated when he listened to her lectures before she gave them, even if he didn't quite understand.
It was safe to say Harry knew his love, inside and out.
But the person he was faced with now he almost didn't recognize.
It wasn't uncommon for Y/n to be asked to consult on particularly difficult cases that local police departments were struggling with. Y/n often looked over the case files and any other bits of information as it came in, gave her profile, and that was that. Each case lasted about a week, maybe more, but they always had successful outcomes.
Harry had been away on tour while Y/n was teaching in Cambridge. They missed each other obviously, but Harry started to worry when he didn't hear from her for almost two weeks. A few days wasn't out of the ordinary, mostly because Y/n forgot to respond to texts or answer a phone call, but she usually got back to him within a day or two; if she was working on a particularly difficult case, maybe more.
But this was a whole two weeks. They’d never gone that long without talking to each other. There had been no fights or disagreements that would warrant a silent treatment from Y/n, so it couldn’t have been on purpose. But Harry couldn’t come up with a reason that was good enough for Y/n to not speak to him.
So, despite the pushback from his management team, Harry rescheduled a couple shows so he could fly home and see what was going on. They didn't want him to leave, but Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
Harry arrived at Y/n’s townhouse late at night. The door was unlocked, which was almost as unusual as the mess he found in the front room when he came inside.
He'd never seen Y/n's home in such disarray before. Books were scattered everywhere, takeaway cartons and half finished mugs of tea and coffee littered every surface in her kitchen and living room, and all the curtains were drawn closed, casting the whole space in a stuffy gloom. Harry almost couldn't believe his eyes. Y/n scolded him when he didn't use a coaster, and now there was week-old food sitting on her coffee table.
Y/n was nowhere to be found, though, which meant she was in her bedroom. Harry worried about what he would find on the other side, but whatever was going on with her, she needed him.
She was sitting at her desk, her back to him as she bent over it and read something. She didn't even flinch or turn around when the door opened, like she hadn’t even heard Harry come in.
“Y/n, darling,” he said.
She turned, tired and unfocused eyes landing on Harry without much emotion. “Oh. You’re here. Did you call?”
Harry had never seen her so out of it before. He suddenly realized that Y/n wouldn’t have known what day it was let alone the last time they’d spoken. He felt completely out of his depth, but he tried his best to tread lightly.
“No. No, I wanted to surprise you. How—How are you?”
“Busy,” Y/n said immediately. “I have this really difficult case, so I can’t talk right now.”
He guessed as much, but even difficult cases Y/n had worked on in the past never reduced her to this. Her hair was a tangled mess at the nape of her neck, she only had one sock on, and he was pretty sure she hadn’t changed her clothes in days. Harry was suddenly glad he listened to his instincts and came here.
“I know it's important, love, but so is taking care of yourself,” he said. “Why don’t you take a break and clear your head? We can eat and watch a documentary or something.”
Harry rested his hand on her arm, but he quickly realized that was the wrong move. Y/n wrenched her arm away from him, her eyes lit with irritation.
“Take a break? I can’t take a break! There is no time for breaks,” she yelled. Harry was immediately stunned. Y/n had never raised her voice at him, or anyone else for that matter. “Young women, someone's wife or daughter or sister is dying, and they will continue to die if I can't figure this out, don't you understand that?”
“I know, that, Y/n. Of course I understand, but you’ll have a clearer head if you—”
“Don't baby me! I didn't ask you to be here, so just leave me alone. I need to work, I need to figure this out, I need...”
She ignored him after that, and Harry could tell that he'd been dismissed. He also knew there was no use reasoning with Y/n when she was this upset, so he left her to her own devices and left her alone like she'd asked.
Going back into the living room, Harry began to clean. He picked up and straightened stray books, folded blankets, threw out old food. He found comfort in doing something rather than just twiddling his thumbs while he thought of some way to reach Y/n like this.
Because the truth was as well as he knew her, he'd never seen her like this before, and he didn't know how to be there for her, or how to bring her out of this darkness she seemed to be in. He knew how much these cases meant to her, how much she valued helping people, but this was different. It seemed almost personal.
By the time Harry had swept the floors and washed all the dishes and fed the Emperor and Faye Winter, who had been lounging on their cat tree—they at least seemed unaffected by Y/n’s unusual behavior—Y/n still had yet to come out of her room. Harry knew then that she wouldn't be coming out at all, and that he should probably get comfortable on the couch.
All night he worried about her. Every couple hours or so, Harry would hear Y/n pacing her room or cursing quietly or throwing what sounded like sheets of paper around after crumpling them up. She was frustrated, that much was clear, but all Harry could do was lay on the couch and listen. In the morning, Harry decided to keep giving Y/n space and went about his day like he normally would when he stayed at the townhouse. He sat and read some emails while the cats cuddled him on either side, he went into town to restock Y/n’s fridge, and he kept cleaning up.
And nothing. Y/n didn’t make an appearance the whole day. Not to eat or acknowledge that he was there or say hello to the Emperor and Faye Winter. Harry could hear her shuffling around in her bedroom like she'd done all night, but she never came out. By the time the sun was going down, he started to worry more than he already had been.
The problem was he didn't know what to do. Harry had never dealt with anything like this before. He thought he had a grasp on reaching Y/n and understanding what she needed and how, but she shut him out so fast and lashed out so intensely. This obviously wasn't a typical case, something must've happened to make her react this way, but Y/n wasn't going to tell him anytime soon.
And there was no one who could give Harry insight either. For all intents and purposes, he was Y/n's family. She didn't have relatives she spoke to regularly, not many close friends, no one who might have ever seen her act like this way before. And her mother certainly wasn't an option; Harry didn't want to give her the satisfaction of having to call her at all, and he didn't think she would know anything about this anyway.
All night Harry stayed up brainstorming. He wracked his brain for someone who might know Y/n and how to help. And when he did, he went to work on tracking them down. Harry had decided on contacting one of her old professors after recalling Y/n speaking fondly of one a couple times. It took time figuring out where he was and how to get a hold of him, but he eventually did. Harry called every ten minutes and left message after message with some secretary until he eventually got through.
“This is Dr. Moore.”
He sounded old, but Harry didn’t take the time to wonder what this person looked like. “Hello. My name is Harry, and I believe you know a close friend of mine. Y/n L/n.”
“Ah yes,” Dr. Moore said. “I haven’t heard from Y/n since she only had one PhD. How is she?”
“N—Not great,” Harry said. He proceeded to word-vomit the whole situation, his stress and anxiety about his love's well-being pouring out of him over the phone. “I—I've never seen her like this before and I'm not really sure what to do. She won't talk to me or leave her room. I was just hoping you might know something or had seen her...behave like this before.”
The professor didn't say anything for a while, hopefully gathering his thoughts. “She's rather well-adjusted for someone who has seen and experienced so much,” he finally said. “But you have to understand that she's...different from the rest of us. She has a gift that no one else has or can really make sense of.”
“She’s more than her intelligence, Doctor—”
“I don’t mean it like that, Harry,” Dr. Moore said softly. “She's a genius, she's brilliant, but that doesn't come without its faults. Many brilliant minds suffer from a little madness, Y/n is no different.”
It was like Harry could hear what Dr. Moore was saying, but he didn't want to believe him. “Y/n isn't crazy.”
“I didn’t say she was. But she has a tendency to be obsessive, loses track of time, hyperfocuses on a singular subject. Surely you've noticed that.”
“Yeah, but...It’s never been this bad, I mean, this is extreme.”
Harry didn't like the professor's insinuations, or how helpless he was making him feel. Harry knew Y/n, he knew her. She wasn't mad, she wasn't sick, she just needed a little help.
“I realized quite early on that Y/n never took failure...lightly. For someone like her, being wrong is a tough pill to swallow. Perhaps start there?”
“Right, thanks,” Harry muttered. This phone call was a bust. All it gave him was more stress.
He was about to hang up the phone when Dr. Moore spoke again. “Harry, Y/n is exceptional, and that doesn't come without its own bevy of...adversities. But Y/n is strong, and she has a good head on her shoulders, even after everything she's been through. I imagine just showing that you're there for her will be enough. Don't crowd her, but be close enough to catch her when she falls, as you've already done. Her family was never patient enough to love her the way she needed, I hope you can be that for her.”
Harry hung up after that, not having anything to say to the professor. A glance at his phone told him it was three in the morning, but he got up from the couch and chanced going into Y/n's room anyway.
She was pacing and muttering to herself incoherently, but Harry didn't let that bother him. Y/n noticed him but said nothing, and neither did he. He just got into bed, picked up a book off her nightstand, and began to read.
Y/n was quiet for a moment, and Harry could feel her gaze on him, but he kept quiet, and she eventually went back to pacing. It wasn't easy, but Harry did his best to just ignore her, have his presence known without talking to her directly like Dr. Moore suggested. He hoped that Y/n would come to him in her own time.
His eyes burned, begging him to finally go to sleep, the words on the book in front of him blurred. He was exhausted, but he was determined not to lie down. Not until Y/n was in bed next to him.
“You know, sometimes I find it helpful if I talk about things out loud.”
An invitation to open up, a small one after about an hour of silence. He didn't really expect Y/n to take the bait, but she did, kind of.
“What do you mean?”
Setting his book down, he said, “Well, all your thoughts are swirling around in your head. It might be helpful to just say them out loud, like bouncing a ball against a wall.”
She began to explain in loose terms what she was working on and what her thoughts were about the case. And once she started, it all came pouring out of her. “I—I failed. I gave a profile, they arrested someone, but it was the wrong person. I’m—I’m never wrong.”
“It’s not your job to make the arrests,” Harry said gently.
“People are relying on me! Women are continuing to die at the hands of some monster because I can’t—because I couldn’t—”
Y/n shook her head and went back to her desk, shuffling pages around. Harry sighed. He knew what the problem was, but now he knew for certain that Y/n wasn't going to rest until she fixed her mistake. He didn’t bother trying to convince her that this wasn’t her fault, that would be useless right now. But he had to do something.
Getting up from the bed, Harry trudged over to the desk. He rested his hands on either side of her and rested his cheek on top of her head. “Are you so sure that you were wrong and the police weren’t?” he asked.
“They would’ve found the right person if I was right. I must’ve missed something,” she said, shaking her head.
“More than one person can fit a profile, can’t they?”
Y/n exhaled harshly through her nose. “That’s what I tried to tell local police, but they wouldn’t listen. I’m—I’m missing something.”
Harry kissed the top of her head and began to knead the tension out of her shoulders. “Did you think you were right before?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Give me a percentage.”
“Ninety four.”
Whistling, he said, “I’d take those odds.”
“These are people’s lives, Harry, not a craps table. Lives are being lost because—”
“Because terrible people exist,” Harry interrupted. “You didn’t kill those people, Y/n.”
She wiped at her eye harshly. “I can’t help but feel responsible,” she sniffled.
“I know,” he said. “But I believe in you. I believe you can figure this out. But not by running yourself ragged. You can’t work like this.”
“I can’t sleep,” she said, voice trembling. “I won’t. Not until—”
“Okay,” Harry said.
Harry made himself comfortable on the floor beside Y/n’s desk. He was exhausted, his back hurt from his night on the couch, but he couldn’t go to sleep. Not until she did.
“What are you doing?” Y/n asked him, brows furrowed curiously.
He tilted his head back and gave her a sleepy smile. “You stay up, I stay up.”
Y/n looked like she wanted to say more, but her focus was quickly pulled back to the papers on her desk.
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Harry didn’t remember falling sleep, but one minute he was watching Y/n work at her desk and providing noncommittal hums as she bounced ideas off him, and the next he was blinking his eyes open, his body stretched out on the floor. There was a pillow under his head and a blanket strewn across his body, an extra pillow beside him. Y/n was sitting in front of him with her legs crossed, a mug in her hands as she watched Harry sleep.
“Wha—What happened—”
“You fell asleep around 5:15,” she said, taking a sip while Harry sat up. His back popped and strained, clearly not a fan of another sleep on something that wasn’t a bed. “I would’ve carried you to the bed, but you’re a bit heavy for me.”
As his head cleared, Harry noticed that Y/n’s hair was wet and her eyes were clearer. She was in a fresh set of clothes and her desk seemed relatively put together.
“Did you figure it out?” he asked, his voice still scratchy with sleep.
Y/n nodded. “A little while after you fell asleep. I got an email about an hour ago. They arrested the right person.”
“That’s good,” Harry said, squeezing her knee. “That’s good, right?”
“Yeah, I just, um, I just got a different email. From an old professor.”
“Oh.” Well, that didn’t take long. “What did he say?”
“That he had the most interesting conversation with a close friend of mine,” Y/n said. Setting her mug down, she tugged her knees to her chest. “I know what you’re thinking.”
Harry could barely focus on anything but his stiff neck, but he tried to shake his head. “I’m almost positive you don’t.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” she said. “I—I don’t need to be fixed.”
“That—That’s not what I’m thinking,” Harry said frowning. “I don’t think that at all, Y/n.”
“Then why did you call him?”
Harry rubbed at his face tiredly. “I wanted to help you. I didn’t know how, so I asked for some help of my own.”
“I don’t need to be handled like some child.”
“Two weeks, Y/n,” Harry said, voice sharpening the slightest bit. Because for a moment, Y/n had frightened him. Not because he thought she was crazy or mentally unwell, but because he didn’t know how to reach her, and he always knew how to get through to her. “I didn’t hear from you for two weeks, and I come back here and the house is a mess, you’re not eating, you’re driving yourself—”
“Don’t say it!” she blurted. “Don’t say that I’m crazy, Harry. I’m not. I just...get a little sidetracked. I’m not—I’m not crazy.”
Harry could see it in Y/n’s face, then. The fear. She didn’t want him believing what she already believed about herself to some degree. He wondered how many times someone had told her that she was, or implied it. Harry had a feeling no one had ever taught her how to fail, or accept failure. Y/n was exceptional, but she wasn’t perfect, no one was, but she’d been brought up believing her knowledge had no bounds. She was taught how to fly, but no one taught her how to fall, and when she did, they blamed her for not figuring it out herself.
“I don’t think you’re crazy, because you’re not,” he said. “But I do worry when I you don’t come out of your room for a few days. I’m allowed to worry.”
Y/n had been looking down at her lap, but when she finally looked at him, there were tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Harry let the corner of his mouth curve into a smile. “For making me sleep on the couch yesterday? Water under the bridge.”
Y/n’s responding grin was small, but it was there, and Harry found himself wanting to make it bigger.
Joining him on the floor, they both laid back down. Y/n rested her head on Harry’s chest while he wrapped his arms around her. For a few minutes, they didn’t say anything, but before he fell back asleep, he found himself saying, “You know, I know I’m not as smart as you or anything, but I do know a thing or two about work ethic. I can help you find a balance.”
Y/n gave no indication that she agreed or disagreed. For a moment, Harry thought she’d already fallen asleep when he felt her nod. “I’d like that. But I think...I think I need to take some time off. Maybe just focus on teaching for now.”
“Yeah. I want to,” Y/n yawned. “I want to scale back. Just teach, travel, maybe get a Master’s degree.”
Harry laughed. Only Y/n would think going back to school for another degree would be considered “scaling back.” But he couldn’t be prouder that she was taking the right steps to treat herself better.
“I think that’s a good idea,” he said. He kissed the top of her head as he waited for her to respond, but she didn’t. Y/n kept quiet, her breaths keeping time with his until he realized she was asleep. Breathing a sigh through his nose, Harry stared up at the ceiling and hoped she had a dreamless sleep.
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darlingdesire · 3 days
In which, actions speak louder than words.
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Harry and Y/N had been married for about 1 year now, but they have known each other for 6. They had been through thick and thin together, and their love had only grown stronger with each passing day. As they cuddled up on the couch, wrapped in each other's arms, Y/N couldn't help but feel grateful for the life they had built together.
She snuggled closer to her husband, feeling the warmth of his body against hers. But as she settled into his embrace, she realized that her hands were cold. She tried to hide them, tucking them under her arms, but Harry noticed anyway.
Without a word, he took her hands into his big, warm ones, rubbing them gently to warm them up.
Y/N felt her heart swell with love for her husband. It was such a small gesture, but it spoke volumes about his love for her. As they sat there, enjoying each other's company, Y/N couldn't help but reflect on their life together. They had been through so much - job losses, health scares, and even the loss of loved ones - but they had always been there for each other, supporting each other through thick and thin.
As Harry continued to rub her hands, Y/N felt a warmth spread through her body. It wasn't just the physical warmth of his touch, but the warmth of his love that enveloped her. She looked up at him, meeting his gaze, and saw the love and tenderness in his eyes.
In that moment, Y/N realized that she was still head over heels in love with her husband, more so now than ever before. She leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his lips, grateful for his love and affection.
Harry pulled her closer, deepening the kiss as they wrapped themselves in each other's love. They had been through so much together, but in that moment, they knew that they had everything they needed - each other's love and affection.
As they pulled away from the kiss, Y/N smiled up at her husband, knowing that their love would only continue to grow stronger with time. They were meant to be together, and nothing could ever change that.
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tbslharry222 · 16 days
Dinner and snuggles at the studio
Word count: 1.7k
What it is: in which YN and her daughter bring Harry dinner at the studio, and he asks them to stay; fluff; dad!Harry
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First attempt at writing dad!Harry, let me know if it's any good, please!!!! i love feed backs
“C’mon baby, don’t yeh wanna see daddy?” YN cooed as she gently unbuckled her daughter from the car seat.
It was around 8 when Harry had texted her, asking — begging — her to bring him something to eat, as he was stuck on a song and couldn’t afford to interrupt the creative process (at least, that’s what he wrote in the text).
YN had consented, because she could only imagine how much effort it took to write a song, and if she could be of any help to her husband, she would do whatever it takes. Even if that meant waking their 2 years old soundly asleep in her room. It wasn’t like she could’ve left her alone, and YN thought it would be nice eating together, even if in the studio.
So, after not so little fussing from her daughter, she managed to buckle her in the backseat, where she’d almost instantly fallen asleep again.
After picking up Harry’s favorite takeout, YN made her way to the studio, driving through the empty streets of London.
Perching her daughter up against her hip, she picked up the takeout bags from the passenger seat and locked the car with the keys. The toddler whined against her shoulder, probably disturbed by the locking beep sound of the fancy car Harry had gifted her a couple of years back.
“Shh, ‘s okay” she soothed her.
YN rang the doorbell and waited for the door to be unlocked, and once the buzzing sound of the door resonated in the quiet air, she pushed it open and walked in. The studio was empty since it was a Sunday night, and YN walked through the hallways light on her feet.
Once she reached what she knew was Harry’s part of the studio, she knocked on the door and then peaked her head in.
Harry raised his head quickly from his position on the couch, his eyebrows raised and a gleam to his eyes as soon as she walked in.
“Hi baby!” He smiled brightly, but YN was quick to shush him, “she’s sleeping” she explained, caressing her daughter’s back gently.
Harry nodded understandingly and got up from the couch, taking the bags from her fingers and placing them on the little table behind him.
“Thank you, my love. Proper angel yeh are” he said, leaning in to peck her lips lightly.
“‘S okay” she smiled, tilting her head to kiss him again.
Harry parted from her lips quickly as soon as he heard a whine coming from his daughter, still propped up against YN’s hip.
“She’s a bit grumpy” YN explained, “she was already sleeping when you texted”.
Harry’s lips closed in a pout, and he tilted his head to the side to look better at his daughter’s face.
“Give her t’me” he said, picking the little girl from her mum’s arms, “there yeh go. How are ya? My little angel” he propped her against his chest and cradled her head with his big hand, caressing her hair with light fingertips.
“Mmh, nooo daddy” she whined, snuggling closer to her daddy’s chest, “tired”.
“Oh, yeh tired?” He cooed, and when the little girl nodded against his hoodie, he leaned down to press a kiss to her hair line “daddy’s here now.”
YN looked at them with soft eyes, her chest feeling warm at their exchange.
Harry sat back down on the couch, his little girl asleep again on his chest, snuggled against the fabric of his hoodie.
YN picked out Harry’s salad from the bag and opened it for him, picking up a plastic fork and handing it to him. She took out her sandwich from the bag and unwrapped it, plopping down on the couch next to him.
Silence fell between them, the only sound being heard was their daughter’s soft breaths and Harry crunching on the salad leaves.
Once they were both finished eating their dinner, YN leaned her head against his shoulder and looked up to him.
“How’s the song coming?” She asked, stroking his hair back from his forehead. Harry closed his eyes tiredly, finally feeling the tension relieving as YN massaged his scalp soothingly.
“Mmh” he hummed, “fine. Slowly comin’ together”
“That’s nice” she smiled, placing a soft kiss against the skin of his jaw.
“Sorry I haven’t been home much… how’s she been? Is she good to yeh?” He asked, speaking in a low voice as to not disturb his daughter.
“‘S okay”, she reassured him, “and she’s fine… a bit grumpy when tired, just like her daddy” she teased, biting jokingly at his cheek.
“Heyyyyy,” he whined, pouting his lips, “‘m not grumpy”
“You are” she giggled, leaning in to press her lips against his, kissing his pout away, “but I love you anyway”
“Love you so much” he whispered against her lips, tilting his head forward to deepen the kiss.
YN shifted her body to be more comfortable, her leg bending at the knee against the back seat of the couch so she could sit facing him.
She placed a hand against his jaw and caressed the scratchy skin of his cheek with her thumb. He licked her bottom lip with his tongue, and YN gasped, allowing his tongue to brush past her lips and dip into her mouth.
Before he could deepen the kiss any more, they both felt their daughter shift on his lap, two little pudgy hands coming up to knuckle at her tired eyes.
YN parted quickly from Harry’s lips, smiling down at her daughter, “hi, bug”
“No kisses” the toddler pouted, pushing her mum’s face away, “‘s my daddy”
YN looked to her bewildered, and then shifted her eyes to Harry, that was giggling with his head tilted backwards.
“Yes, m’angel, ‘m yehr daddy” he giggled, cradling his daughter’s face with his hands and placing big, loud kisses against her chubby cheeks.
YN pinched the skin of his bicep between her index finger and thumb, and Harry whined loudly, “heyyy, what’d you do that fo’?!”
“It’s not funny, Harry! This is your fault. You spoil her too much”
It wasn’t the first time their daughter had showed her possessive side, but it had never come to the point where she’d push YN away from her dad! It was true, it was Harry’s fault, he spoiled her so much, and not only with material stuff, but also with attention.
“Sshh, she’s just a baby” he laughed, tickling the little girl’s tummy with his fingers. The baby giggled and fell against her dad’s chest, squirming in his hold. YN playfully rolled her eyes, crossing her arms against her chest and turning her back to them.
“Look what yeh did, bug! Made your mummy sad” he pouted at his daughter, that looked up at him with her big green eyes, not fully aware of the situation.
“Sad?” The little girl repeated, her voice laced with worry.
Harry exaggerated his pout and nodded at her, “yeah”
“Daddy fix it! Fix it!” She shouted, tugging on the neck of his shirt to grab his attention.
YN listened to their conversation, trying hard not to laugh. She felt Harry’s palm sneak through her shirt and he started tickling her side, then passing to her belly. She chocked out a scream, laughing hardly as Harry kept tickling her.
“Stop, stop, Harry, please, please!” She begged, crunching down on herself hoping to escape his ticklish fingers.
“Are you finished bein’ sad?” He asked.
“Yes! Yes! I’m happy, I’m happy, please… please”
She breathed out a relieved sigh once he stopped, and he leaned in to kiss her neck lovingly.
She turned around and smiled at their daughter reassuringly, “mummy was just joking, baby”
The little girl nodded and plopped back down on Harry’s lap, snuggling against his chest.
“Yeh tired again?” He chuckled lightly, brushing the hair from her face.
“Maybe we should go, leave you to work?” YN asked her husband.
“Stay a while… we can leave together in an hour, two at most” he pleaded, holding his hands up together in a praying motion.
“Harry… I’m tired, she’s tired” YN protested.
“Yeh can sleep here! I’ll wake ya when ‘s time t’go. Couch’s very, very, very soft, I’m sure you remember…?” he winked, alluding to that one time Harry had called YN in the middle of the night, so hard it hurt, and begged her to come and help him with his problem.
She scoffed, swatting scoldingly at his arm, “what about your car?”
“I’ll get someone to take it home with me tomorrow, c’mon…” he pleaded once again, “you know I love havin’ you here — both of you. And I don’t want you to drive late at night” he raised one hand to caress the skin of her jaw with his index finger, and YN leaned in his touch, closing her eyes and debating on her decision.
She was tired, and she wanted to sleep, but she also knew she wouldn’t get any sleep until Harry came home; and the thought of driving this late in the night when she was this tired, and with her daughter actually frightened her, so she nodded her head and “okay” she said, tilting her head to kiss the palm of his hand.
“Thank you” he smiled, relieved, “lay here on the couch, I’ll sit on the floor” he got up from the couch, his daughter cradled in his arms, and waited for YN to lay down.
Once she laid down, he placed their daughter next to her, against the back of the couch so she could snuggle against her mum’s body, and YN started stroking her hair soothingly as she shifted to move on her side, giving her back to Harry.
Harry picked up his guitar, put his headphones back on his head, and started strumming it, finding the right melody for his song.
YN fell asleep instantly, soothed by his gentle humming resonating in the quiet room.
Every once in a while, when Harry felt lost in his creativity process, he would turn his head to look at his girls, snuggled on the couch behind him, and he would feel his heart beat hard against his chest, the inspiration quickly coming back to him, and he would crunch down and write on his journal words upon words of how much he adored them.
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harrysfolklore · 19 days
harry leaving bubba for tour
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who missed some boy dad!harry? i hope you like this !
gif credits to @londonharry <3
Harry loved performing and being on the road, it was his favorite part of his job.
However, ever since his son was born going on tour came with something that he absolutely hated: being away from his bubba.
That’s why this time around he opted for residencies on some cities instead of traveling across the US to play shows, that way his wife and baby could be close to him without having to move around and the stuff that came with it. However, residencies were now over and it was time for him to travel to Australia to play the long awaited shows there, and his sadness to leave his loves was evident.
Don’t get him wrong, he was ecstatic to go back to Australia and perform for those crowds he dearly missed, but he just didn’t want to ever leave his baby.
“It’s going to be fine love, It’s just going to be a month and we will FaceTime ever day.” you tried to cheer him up as you stood in your front porch, waiting for his manager to pick him up to head to the airport.
“But I’m going to miss him so much, he’s still little he might forget about me, and I’m going to miss you too.” he dramatically said, nuzzling his head on your shoulder making you wrap your arms around his broad frame.
“He’s almost two, H. He’s not going to forget about you, we’ll be fine baby.” you caressed his hair for a bit, then he moved to pick your son up and place multiple kisses on his face.
“I’m going to miss you like crazy, bubba. Daddy loves you so much, don’t forget about him, okay?” you rolled your eyes with affection as you listened to him, melting at how much he adored your son.
“Love daddy” your little boy said what had become his favorite sentence in the world and you could tell that Harry had little tears threatening to come out, he was his favorite person in the world.
“Love you with my entire heart too, baby.” and he attacked his face with kisses again, making him giggle and squeal.
“You know I’m just a phone call away, right? You just got the say the word and I’ll drop everything and come home.” he turned to look at you, your boy still on his arms and playing with his pearl necklace.
“I know, darling. But we’re going to be okay, you need to focus on delivering your best performance, your fans over there have been waiting for you.” you let him wrap his free arm around your waist and bring you in for a side hug, kissing the crown of your head softly.
“I’m so excited,” he said with a fond look on his face, and your heart melt for him once again, “When this one is a bit older, both of you are coming with me, I can’t wait for that.”
You were interrupted by the sound of his manager’s car approaching your house, and it was time to say goodbye for good.
“I love you so much, okay? Always listen to mummy, eat your veggies and don’t forget to be…?” Harry waited for his baby to give him the reply he had been teaching him
“Kind!” the little boy finished the sentence for him and you both couldn’t help but smile, proud of how you were raising your son.
“Exactly baby, kind. I love you” he kissed your boy one final time and passed him to you, knowing that if he held him for longer he was going to drop everything and never leave your house.
“And I love you, so much.” he grabbed your face and kissed your lips, making butterflies appear on your tummy like the very first time you kissed.
“I love you too, now go make us proud.” with one final peck to your lips and to your son’s forehead, he made his way to his manager car.
He hated leaving both of you, but he would do anything to make you proud.
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