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meetmymouth · 1 year

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the intimacy of little things: v

au ⌕ florist!harry x photographer!ofc

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She walks inside the Another Man building, and this time, she remembers to wipe her feet on the small, worn-out door mat by the entrance. Olive looks up, and calls for her, making her stop in her tracks just as she’s about to get in the lift.

“Good morning, Olive,” she smiles, taking a mint from the small bowl on her desk.

She grunts, then looks her up and down. “You look very professional,” she takes in her black jumpsuit and heeled boots. “Are you getting a promotion?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Talulah winks. “I’m not. I have a meeting with MJ and Paula. I thought I’d dress up for a change.”

“Hm,” Olive nods, though Talulah sees the tiny smile creeping in. “Okay– well, go, you’re holding me up.”

“Oh– yeah,” she nods, pinching her cheek before taking a step towards the lifts. “See you later, Liv!”

It was Thursday, which meant she had two shoots after her morning meeting with MJ and Paula. She smiles at a few colleagues before making a beeline into the small kitchen, hand already in her white canvas bag, trying to locate her coffee cup.

“Is this your last day of work?”

She looks up at Zayn’s voice, and it earns him an eye-roll.

“Why?” She puts the kettle on, placing her bags on the small table in front of her.

Zayn is leaning against the counters, and he looks good as usual, dressed in white trousers and a red jumper with polka dots.

“You’re dressed awfully nice.”

“Are you trying to say I don’t dress nice usually?” She asks, grabbing a spoon from the rack.

Zayn shrugs. “Not this nice. Is that a Gucci belt?” He leans forward to investigate. “Is it real? Please don’t tell me otherwise.”

“It’s real,” she swats his hands off of her, and takes the boiled water, pouring it into her cup. “I have a meeting with MJ and Paula.”

“About?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Well, maybe it is your last day, if Paula is here,” he shrugs, taking his cigarettes out of his pocket. “Shall we?”

“Yes. Let’s go.”

She drops her bags off in her small office, and follows Zayn outside, both of them taking their spot by the railings, and she extends the lighter, helping him light his cigarette. They mostly smoke in silence, the only noise surrounding them coming from the London traffic; horns and tires screeching, and Zayn sighs, turning to Talulah.

“Are you happy, Talulah?” He says, taking another drag from his cigarette.

Deep conversations weren’t out of the ordinary for Zayn and Talulah. Despite people thinking of Zayn as a quiet person, he loved talking when the timing was right. He said what needed to be said.

She looks up at him, a surprised twinkle in her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Are you happy– with Harry, with everything going on in your life?”

“I don’t know,” she purses her lips. She hadn’t thought about it in a while– what being happy meant. She says as much. “I haven’t thought about it, to be honest.”

“Mhm,” Zayn nods, taking another drag from his cigarette. He puts it out on the side of the wall, and discards it in one of the plastic cups they brought out and used as a make-shift ashtray.

“I guess so– I guess I’ve been happier recently,” she nods. “Harry helps. Therapy helps, too.”

Zayn only nods, and looks down at his shoes. “Good.”

“Are you? Happy?” She redirects the question, earning a chuckle from him.

“I think so. I’ve no reason to be unhappy.”

“Not at all?”

“Not at all.”

She is called into MJ’s office when she’s just walking inside with Zayn, and she promises to keep him updated on the meeting as she begins walking towards his office at the top floor. Her boots click on the marble floors, and she takes a deep breath before knocking on the stained glass door.

She hears MJ’s deep voice inviting her in, and she opens the door, finding Paula already sitting on one of the chairs around the meeting table MJ has in his office. She greets them both with a smile on her face, and walks further into the office, closing the door behind her.

“Take a seat,” MJ nods, clearly the one designated to talk more today as opposed to Paula who watches them both with a barely-there smile.

Paula takes a deep breath, clearly wanting to get to the point.

Talulah turns to her.

“How do you feel about an intern joining you for a couple of weeks, Talulah?” Paula asks, hands on the table.

“An intern?”

“Yes. Remember how and where you started?”

“I do, yes, of course,” she nods, turning to MJ.

MJ nods along, and waits for Paula.

“We are hiring for our new building in New York. MJ suggested someone shadow you for a few weeks before he makes the move to settle in New York. We already have someone coming, just wanted to see how you felt about someone shadowing you here,” Paula says, crossing her arms.

“Are you– sure? I mean, I’ve never had anyone shadowing me before.”

“MJ trusts you,” Paula nods. “And so do I, to be completely honest. We’re very happy with you, and he figured you would want this opportunity.”

“I mean, yeah, of course– yeah.”

“Yes?” Paula asks, turning to MJ for a second. “Are you saying yes, then?”

“Yes,” Talulah confirms, a small smile appearing.

MJ claps his hands, and reaches across the table to squeeze Talulah’s cold ones.

“Great!” He says, turning to Paula. “I’ll inform Noah, and get him a visitor’s ID, and whatnot.”

“Okay, great,” Paula nods, getting on her feet.

Talulah does the same.

“Thank you, Talulah,” Paula says, cracking a tiny smile. It’s so small Talulah barely recognises it before Paula turns around, and leaves MJ’s office.

“Any questions?” MJ asks, phone in hand.

“I mean– yeah. Who is he? How long is he shadowing me for? I’m nervous– is that normal?”

“Yeah, it’s normal. Don’t be nervous, you’re great at what you do, otherwise Paula wouldn’t agree on it, you know her,” MJ smiles.

“I do, yeah. So,” she says. “When do I get to meet him? What’s he like?”

“Tomorrow. And, he’s great– got great connections. He was working freelance before, but got great recommendations.”

She nods, and they chat for another couple of minutes before she leaves his office, and makes his way to her own floor. Lauren is already in her seat, working on something on her computer, and she walks over to her desk.

“Hey,” she greets her, and she turns around, smiling at her.

“Hey, you.”

“I just got back from MJ’s office–”

“–Are you fired?”

“No.”

“Then?”

“I’m having someone shadow me for a couple of weeks before they hire him for the New York office,” she murmurs, looking around for Zayn.

He’s just leaving the kitchen, and when he notices them both, he walks over to them.

Lauren claps her hands, despite the look she’s receiving from Talulah, and Zayn nods at her.

“Is she fired?” He says, sitting on the corner of her desk.

Talulah sighs. “Why is everyone asking the same thing?”

“We’re just fucking with you,” Lauren laughs, turning to Zayn. “She’s gonna have an intern shadow her for a couple of weeks before they move to New York.”

“Oh,” Zayn turns to Talulah. “Well done, T. That’s good news. Paula was there, wasn’t she?”

“Yep,” she nods. “She even cracked a smile. Once or twice.”

“Congratulations, T. That means they’re very happy with your performance,” Zayn says, placing a hand on Talulah’s shoulder. He squeezes, and Talulah smiles at him.

One of today’s shoots included working with Nick Robinson, and she couldn’t help but feel giddy over it. She gets ready, and brainstorms about the shoot with Zayn and his crew, and he tells her which lighting would be the best for some of the outfits he would have on. She makes a cup of coffee, and walks into the lift with Zayn and Metta. The studio is already alive, a blue backdrop already on as per Talulah’s request. ‘Mother of Pearl’ by Roxy Music is playing, the song coming through Zayn’s speakers, and she tries to get everything ready before Nick Robinson shows up with his entourage.

“You good?” Zayn asks, holding a pastel green scarf.

She nods, and turns towards the lifts when she hears commotion.

It’s Nick Robinson, dressed in wide leg trousers and a navy crochet vest. His hair is styled to perfection, and a few strands fall over to his face, creating a ‘nonchalant’ look.

“Hello,” he smiles, walking over to them.

He first greets Zayn, reaching a hand as they shake each other’s hand, and then he turns to Talulah.

“Hey,” he says, reaching and shaking her hand. “You’re Talulah.”

“I am,” she smiles, perhaps a little too big, and lets go of his soft hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

Nick turns to his PA, and Zayn guides him over to where a stool is stood in the middle of the room, in front of the backdrop. He sits down, and gives them a cheesy smile.

“I’ll just do a couple of test shots,” she says, grabbing her camera off the tripod. “And then, we’ll start.”

“Cool,” Nick grins. “How do you want me?”

“Doesn’t matter, just look at me and smile a little?”

He hums, and does what he’s told. It’s an easy shoot, Nick delivers what he’s supposed to, and Talulah can’t help but ask about his films, I’m a fan, if you couldn’t tell.

“Thank you for everything,” Nick says, shaking her hand after they wrapped up.

“Thank you, you were great.”

Lunch break comes too soon, and Talulah eats her wrap in silence as her greasy fingers work the keyboard of her laptop. She answers some emails, forwards some here and there, and sends herself a couple to remind her of her tasks for the upcoming weeks. Before closing her laptop, she gets another email from HR, MJ and Paula cc’d, about Noah’s arrival on Wednesday.

“T?”

She looks up at Zayn’s voice.

He’s standing by the door, his glasses in hand.

“Yes?”

“Jules is asking if you’d like to come around for dinner,” he says, looking down at his phone. He sounds gruff, like he’d been smoking for the last couple of hours.

She laughs. “Tonight?”

“I guess.”

“I mean– do you want me to come?”

He looks up, eyebrows raised in question. He looks bored. “What?”

“I’m joking.”

“Oh.”

“Jesus– you’re so awkward sometimes,” she closes her laptop, and starts tidying up her things– stuffing everything in her tote. “I’ll come.”

“Bring Harry, too.”

“What?” Chargers. Glasses. Favourite pens. More chargers– all stuffed in the yellow tote.

Zayn groans, taking a step back. “Bring Harry. Tonight.”

A grin appears on her face.

Zayn liked Harry.

Zayn rarely showed interest in people– especially the ones who just entered their lives.

“Okay…” she grins wider, turning off the small lamp on her desk. “I’ll ask him.”

Zayn nods. He watches her cross the desk and walk over to him with her bags as they begin walking side by side to the lift.

“Jules said it’d be nice,” Zayn says once in the lift, long fingers pressing the ground floor in a practised manner.

Talulah looks up, confused. “What?”

“Jules.”

“What?”

“She said Harry should come over as well. With you.”

“Okay, Zayn.”

Talulah looks down at the grey jeans she’s got on, and reaches for another pair on her bed. When she taps on her phone screen, it immediately goes off, showing Harry’s contact name. She answers with a smile, and in a few minutes, she’s locking her door and walking towards Harry’s Mini with quick steps as she tries to protect her makeup from the rain.

She gets in the warm car with a sigh, the sound of Harry’s wiper blades filling her ears as Harry greets her with a smile, watching as she places her bag on the backseat along with the wine bottle that’s secured in a pink tote.

“Hey,” he murmurs, lips already on her cheek as he presses a small kiss there. She smiles, taking in his smell and the moustache that’s been growing on his beautiful face.

She kisses his lips, then his chin. “Hey, you,” she notices the ‘Kiss’ t-shirt and his pink beanie. “Looking cosy with the beanie,” she murmurs, making him chuckle– his hand still on the back of her neck.

He thumbs at the soft skin there. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. Though, a t-shirt? It’s freezing.”

“I’ve got a cardigan on as well– and a coat,” he shrugs.

He kisses her one last time before letting go, and puts the car in drive.

“I missed you,” he looks at her, only for a moment before his eyes are back on the road.

There’s not much traffic, surprisingly, Talulah notes, so they drive in peace for the most part.

“I missed you, too,” Talulah agrees, reaching and messing with his beanie. He lets out a huff, one hand leaving the steering-wheel to fix the hat.

A moment of silence before he talks.

“You did?” He asks while Talulah is trying to connect her phone to the radio.

She doesn’t look up from her phone, her finger scrolling through her playlists to choose a song from. “I did, what?”

“You missed me?” Harry asks, clearing his throat.

He sounds on edge, almost, so she looks up from her phone screen, finding his eyes on the road.

“What do you mean?”

He takes a bit to answer.

“You’ve been a bit– I don’t know, I guess I wanted to hear your voice more these past couple of days.”

She holds off on starting her chosen song for a bit, out of respect.

“What do you mean?”

“I wanted to call more, text more…”

She chuckles. “We’ve been texting!”

“I know!” He lets out a laugh, but it sounds forced– almost embarrassed.

“So? Harry, are you okay?”

“I am. I’ve just– I don’t know, I’m being silly. I missed you, that’s all.”

“And I’ve missed you,” she laughs, right hand reaching and thumbing at the spot on his cheek where she knows his dimple would be.

He smiles, and she feels the dimple under her touch.

“Okay,” he says, voice quiet, but the dimple doesn’t disappear.

She likes it.

She prefers it that way.

They drive in silence for another minute before she turns to him again, finger hovering on the screen of her phone.

“Pick a number between one and twenty-one,” she says.

Harry lets out a chuckle. “Six,” Harry says, and she counts quickly, finger scrolling through songs.

She stops, and they both let out a laugh when Fleetwood Mac comes on.

“How predictable,” Harry says, eyes glinting despite the darkness of the car’s interior.

She hums.

How predictable, indeed.

‘Maybe now he could prove to her/ That he could be good for her/ And they should be together’

They arrive at Zayn and Jules’, and park the car in front of Zayn’s Range Rover. They joke about the size of Harry’s car compared to Zayn’s, and how his Mini fits into the space with ease before Talulah gathers her bags, and she watches Harry lock the car before turning to her with a wine bottle of his own in his hand.

He reaches for her free hand, and she smiles at the warmth of his palm against her own. They laugh about the wine they both had brought, same brand, and Talulah asks about Bo again. She knocks on the blue door, and watches for a moment as Harry takes in his surroundings.

Jules opens the door, wearing a bright-yellow jumper that is in contrast with the gloomy weather outside. Her smile is so big, Talulah can see the joy in her brown eyes as she ushers them inside, saving them from droplets of rain outside.

When they're inside the warm flat, Zayn appears out of nowhere, dressed in a pair of loose-fit jeans and a purple hoodie, and hugs them both. Jules accepts their gifts with a beaming smile– you didn't have to, and they take their seats at the table. Both Harry and Talulah compliment Jules–and Zayn–on the food, Zayn cracking a big smile when Jules looks down with a small smile as soon as Harry asks whether Zayn is a good cook or not.

“I’m so happy you guys could make it,” Jules says, cutting into her food.

Harry looks at Talulah for a moment, his smile widening, and turns to Jules. “Thanks for the invitation. You’re a good cook, everything’s delicious.”

“Thanks, Harry,” Jules smiles. “So,” her gaze wavers between Talulah and Harry. “How did you two meet?”

“Oh,” Harry turns to Talulah, like he’s waiting for her to give him the floor, or better yet, answer it herself.

Talulah doesn’t, though. She looks down, though a smile appears on her face as the silence fills the room, six pairs of eyes watching her.

Harry coughs into his fist. “We met at a Christmas dinner,” he answers, though it feels as though he’s wanting to say something else.

He doesn’t, though.

Instead, Talulah looks up, and places her hand on his chin, thumbing at the soft, warm skin there before turning to the curious pairs of eyes.

“Arielle hosted a Christmas dinner, we were both there,” she says, placing her elbows on the table. “I was mean to him.”

“You weren’t,” Harry laughs.

They all do.

“I was.”

“Nah,” Harry shakes his head, and turns to Jules with a smile on his face. “I saw her and wanted to introduce myself. She looked beautiful,” he says, and Talulah doesn’t have to look at him to know his cheeks are warm, and slightly flushed.

She still does, though.

She looks at his dimple, then into his eyes. Harry smiles.

“See,” Talulah turns to Jules. “He thought I was beautiful, and I was a total bitch to him.”

She turns her attention to Zayn, noticing how quiet he’d been all night. He’s got a sombre look on his face– a look she can’t quite work out. She raises her eyebrows at him, a silent conversation happening between the pair, and Talulah turns to Jules again, ignoring Zayn.

Harry interrupts her thoughts.

“Got us here in the end, didn’t it?” He says, biting his bottom lip.

They keep eating, and talking about nothing and everything all at once. At one point, Harry and Zayn start arguing over football, and Zayn groans one too many times when Harry brings up the league table.

Talulah falls quiet.

She thinks back to the first night they’d met– the first time Talulah had seen Harry.

She wonders if she’d dreamt the whole thing, their first interaction.

In truth, she wasn’t the one being mean– Harry had started it.

How could he not remember her? Still, to this day, how could Harry not remember the first time he’d seen Talulah? Had she changed that much in one night? Was it her makeup– her hair? Or, was it her clothes?

It was silly.

It was weird.

She didn’t know why it mattered so much, Harry being rude to her at the shop. It was insignificant. It was pointless to dwell on such a thing when he had redeemed himself already.

Harry was kind.

He was beautiful– in every sense of the word. His heart was big, and so warm, and Talulah wanted to hold it in her hands, despite the coldness of her palms– despite the imaginary callouses decorating her palms. She thought his big heart wasn’t fit for her dirty hands. It was as if her palms were too muddy, too bleak and unworthy for his big heart.

She looks up at his touch on the back of her neck.

“You with us?” Harry asks, grinning.

“Did you tell Harry about your new intern?” Zayn interrupts their moment, and she feels cold all of a sudden, despite Harry’s warm hand on her neck.

She feels his curious gaze on her, and she shakes her head. “I forgot to.”

“You have an intern?” Harry asks.

“Apparently…”

The night carries on, Harry insists on helping Jules with tidying up and putting everything in the dishwasher so she lets Harry and Zayn load the dishwasher while she puts the kettle on, Talulah watching quietly from a distance. She watches Harry joke with Zayn, Zayn’s usually quiet attitude disappearing under Harry’s jolly personality. Although it’s only been a couple of months of knowing Harry, Talulah can tell he’s quieter than usual. He zones out quite often when Zayn doesn’t talk, and he almost breaks a plate and drops cutlery more than once.

They sit and talk in Zayn and Jules’ spacious living room, and Talulah presses her body closer to Harry’s warmth when a new song comes on through the speakers. She can’t quite recall ever hearing the tune, or the melody, so she listens intently. Harry turns his attention to her, her head on his shoulder– hair touching the warm skin of his neck. He smiles down at her, though his eyes tell a different story.

She doesn’t question it there.

She lets him lay his head on hers, and she smiles, a small one, and hums when Jules gushes about the new greengrocers near Hamilton Road.

They leave Zayn and Jules’ flat around eleven, and Harry doesn’t reach for her hand when they’re walking towards his car like he did when they first arrived.

She hugs her aching body, trying to shelter the last bits of warmth inside her body and winter coat while Harry walks ahead, long limbs trying to beat the freezing weather.

“Are you angry at me?”

“What?”

She looks up from her seatbelt, and looks into his eyes, finding him already watching her tired fingers work the seatbelt.

Harry waits for her answer.

It doesn’t come for a while, until Harry’s turning the ignition and they’re on the road again.

Her hand reaches for the cable that connects their phone to the radio, though his cold hand stops her mid-reach.

She turns to him.

He’s focused on the road.

“Don’t,” he says, voice low, almost a murmur.

He does sound angry.

She feels her heart start beating even faster now, brain trying to come up with all the reasons he might feel so hostile and worked up.

She thinks it might be because she didn’t like the wine they brought, or perhaps it was when she rolled her eyes at his joke about one of her outfits she wore last week.

Could’ve been the time when he pressed a kiss to her chin, and she bit her lip while trying to distance herself from his touch because she felt Jules looking at them.

She comes empty-handed.

“Talulah?” Harry questions the overbearing silence in the tiny car.

She turns to him, catching a glimpse of his distant gaze before his eyes find their focus on the road.

“What?”

“I don’t want you to play a song to fill the awkwardness,” Harry grumbles.

If she were brave, she would’ve gasped at the heavy implications of his words.

“So it’s awkward now?” A bitter laugh leaves her mouth. She shakes her head. “What– who made it awkward– why? How is it my fault that you made it awkward, Harry? I mean–” she takes a deep breath, palms sweating.

“I didn’t say you made it awkward.”

“You implied it.”

Harry lets out a groan. “I didn’t. I’m just saying–”

She grows frustrated. She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Just fucking spit it out. You’re giving me the cold shoulder– you have been giving me the cold shoulder all night. I have no idea why you’re so– so angry about!”

“All night?” His voice is gruff, but still loud.

“Just tell me for God’s sake, Harry.”

“Do you even like me, Talulah?”

Talulah stiffens, levelling Harry with a hard, stone-cold gaze. “What?”

A bitter laugh escapes his mouth. “Do you? Do you like me as much as I like you?”

Talulah feels small.

She feels guilty, yet so angry.

How dare he?

How dare he question her feelings towards him when she should be the one doing so.

She should be the one questioning his feelings, his stance on this relationship, considering their first interaction.

Maybe, she found herself thinking from time to time, maybe Harry was just pretending.

Maybe he’s been pretending the whole time; pretending to have forgotten how awful he was to her when they first met, and the fact that he acted like he didn’t remember anything at Ariel’s party. Maybe Harry was a player. Maybe he was just an awful person– a scam.

So, yes, Talulah feels small. She feels six-years-old again, being questioned about her feelings, about how real they are. ‘Are you sure you’re hungry?’, ‘Did you really think it would work?’, ‘You’re only six, Lullah, don’t get involved in our business’, ‘You’re overreacting, you’re acting silly’.

“Are you even listening?” Harry asks, incredulously.

Talulah gulps, the lump in her throat expanding. “I am.”

“And you’re choosing not to answer,” he makes a sharp left, and she looks out the window, feeling alarmed for a moment before she chastises herself for feeling so, knowing Harry wouldn’t do anything to harm her.

“I just think it’s a stupid question.”

Harry stops at a red light, and the window rolls down, only a little bit. The breeze seeps inside the car, filling the small vehicle with the smell of smoke and exhaust. Talulah feels sick to her stomach, sick at the silence filling not only Harry’s car, but also Talulah’s heart.

Harry doesn't waver, he sends her a small smile. It’s filled with so much: so much love, but also sadness. It’s dull, but also so bright. She shakes like a leaf inside, though doesn’t show it on the outside.

“It’s not stupid,” Harry argues back. “Do you? Do you like me? Because I–” He puts the car in drive. “–I feel like I like you more than you like me–”

“–So you’ve said.”

“You don’t talk to me, Talulah!” Harry hits the steering wheel, though it’s only a gentle tap in her eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She grows frustrated, anger showing in her wavering, shaky tone of voice. “I do talk to you. You know more about me than most people. You know about my mum, about– Harry, what happened?”

“Talulah, this past week you’ve been distant. I always feel like I’m bothering you when I text or call,” Harry tries to reason.

Talulah feels angry.

“Now, you’re being unreasonable.”

“How?”

“I’m not distant! We talk– we text. We’re fine. What’s this about– what’s the real reason?”

She doesn’t realise they made it to her flat until the car stops, and Harry puts the car in park. She knows someone will see his car in their parking space and walk downstairs to tell them off for it.

She doesn’t care.

She doesn’t think Harry does, either.

Harry exhales, and unbuckles his seatbelt, then clears his throat.

“You have an intern now?”

Talulah looks at him with raised eyebrows, a wicked smile painting her features.

“You’re fucking with me– is that why you’re angry?”

“No– yes. Not because you have someone shadowing you. Because it feels like you tell me nothing lately.”

“That’s such a stupid reason to be mad at me, though.”

“Zayn knows more about you. Even Jules does. I didn’t know you cut your finger until I asked why you were going out to buy plasters for,” Harry starts listing things, as if he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life. She’s bewildered, to say the least. Harry goes on. “I didn’t know your throat hurt until I asked about your voice– or– or when I wanted to see you and you told me you’d been assigned a new photoshoot for– for fucking Phoebe Bridgers. I mean– that’s fucking huge, isn’t it?”

“I’m lost.”

“I want to know you.”

“You know me.”

Harry carries on, shaking his head in disapproval. He doesn’t look convinced, nor pleased. “I just feel like– I feel like you’re holding back.”

“I’m not.”

“Well, okay.”

She tries to get closer to his face.

He turns his head.

“Harry.”

“Yes?”

“What are you saying?”

“I want to know why you’re holding back– what’s changed? It was different when we first met, when we first started seeing each other,” Harry looks down, his jeans seemingly more interesting now.

“Harry, that’s not true– nothing’s changed. I’ve just been busy,” she tries to reason, but to no avail; Harry’s stance is clear.

He looks distant– which is ironic, seeing how he argues the opposite.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Harry,” Talulah laughs– a pathetic sound, she thinks, her laugh is.

It’s alien inside the quiet car, the sound of the wind and rain filling her insides.

Harry smiles, like he’s trying to let her down easy. “I’ll call you tomorrow, because I think we’re both not making any sense now. I don’t think I explained myself clearly, and I’m just being really unreasonable and silly right now.”

Talulah lets out a breath. “You’re not being silly. I just– I’m confused.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel confused– I myself am confused. I think I’m just…”

“You’re just, what?”

“I like you, T.”

She bites her bottom lip. “I like you, too. You know that, right? I do– I really fucking like you, Harry.”

“I know, I know you do.”

“So?”

“I will call you tomorrow, I promise.”

She clears her throat, and unbuckles her belt. Grabbing her back, she doesn’t even look back as she closes the door behind her.

She opens her door, and she spends a few minutes getting rid of the layers of clothes she’s got on. When she dares looking out her window, she sees his car still parked where she left him a few minutes ago. The lampposts cast a shadow into his car, an orange hue, and she sees the light of his phone illuminating the dark interior of his car. She smiles, waiting for his text.

Harry locks her phone– she knows, because it’s dark in the car again.

Her phone doesn’t make a sound.

Harry drives off.

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93 notes · View notes

gumballavocadoharry · 16 days

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Updated list of troupes:

Bionic Harry Adoptive father Harry Single dad nurse Harry Writer Harry Pirate Harry Circus Harry Restaurant owner Harry Librarian Harry Candy store owner Harry Teacher Harry Ice cream parlour Harry Inventor Harry Florist Harry Small house Harry Dentist Harry

Masterlist!!!!

Ask!!!!!!

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cupid-styles · 7 months

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cupid-styles fic recs!!!

I read a lot of harry fic.....like a lot.......so here are some of my favorites on wattpad and tumblr!! enjoy ! :)

wattpad

breaking the ice by sarbearfive: long form fic, hockey player fmc x hockey player harry

boston by witchysunflower: long form fic, SMUTTY (like check content warnings before you read bc the kinks explored aren't for everyone), cheating teacher fmc x cheating hockey player harry, angsty with a happy-ish ending

boys don't cry, posted by cuddlingzjm: was originally posted on tumblr but this user uploaded it to wattpad when the author (oxygenstyles) deleted. long form fic, lots of back and forth and angst with a happy ending, university au

love, sex, dreams by tempress_: short story, stripper fmc x rich harry, smutty!!

pierced by tpwkmila: long form fic, SMUTTY!!!, piercer/gang harry x innocent fmc. for some reason I can't hyperlink, so here's the link: https://www.wattpad.com/story/255321426-𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐃-𝐇-𝐒.

devil's due by petit_cerise: long form fic, broke my heart a million times and put it back together just as many times. gang harry x artist fmc, super angsty with a kind of happy ending. (there's a sequel currently being written with really slow updates)

earned it by alisonfelix: long form fic; if you haven't read her work yet........ you need to. escort/sex worker fmc, make sure to look at content warnings before reading!! contains A LOT of cheating, smut, and angst, but such an original plot (and a happy ending!).

informed consent by alisonfelix: short fic; university au, innocent/shy fmc x experienced harry who is kind of mean at the start. (read her extras for informed consent here!)

one night stand by alisonfelix: short fic; I told you, everything she writes is INCREDIBLE. pregnant fmc x (sort of) mean harry, some angst and a lot of back and forth, smut, but a happy ending :)

daydreams by temptress_: one-shots with some of THE best smut I've ever read. I know they have an account on here and posts some of their writing to tumblr, but I believe they have more on wattpad!!

ecstasy, misery by kenneedyxx: long form fic, work in progress. I don't usually recommend WIPs but WHEN I TELL YOU THIS BOOK IS AMAZING..... SUPER smutty, set in the 90s, so much fun. updates are slow tho!

tumblr

thinkin' bout you (pt 1) and pink + white (pt 2) by @angelisverba (florist!h, super cute, lots of pining)

love on tour: the groupie by @meetmymouth (smut!!!! groupie!yn x famous!harry, a series of blurbs and I love them)

love's an ache in the jaw by @harryforvogue (TA!h x TA!fmc, I would die for them)

this relationship of ours by @harryforvogue (dom!h x sub!fmc, second chance romance type of deal — again, I would die for them)

serendipity by @adorebeaa (such a cute plot, smut and some fluff!)

wake up call by @harryistheonlyoneforme (smut, nhl!harry x wife reader... what can I say, I love hockey au harry)

the devil is a gentleman by @1800titz (smut, if you're not reading this you're probably living under a rock, SUCH a good plot)

professor harry by @novelistrry (smut and fluff, professor!h x student!yn, short form fic)

literally anything on @freedomfireflies masterlist

tangointhenight by @teaspoon-full-of-sugar (on going short fic, erotic audio recorder (??)! harry, smut!)

anything on @haaarry masterlist

obviously anything on @moonchildstyles masterlist

pleasing by @stylesloveclub (chef!harry x waitress!yn, smut and fluff)

sunshine by @stylesloveclub (grumpy!harry x shy virgin!yn, a classic trope for the girlies, lil bit of smut and fluff)

anything on @jarofstyles masterlist, but some of my favorites include: -reaper (gang/biker!h x innocent-ish!yn) -sk8er boi (high school au, skater!harry x popular!yn) -level up (nerd!harry x popular!yn, high school au)

anything on @jawllines masterlist, but some of my favorites include: -mechanic!harry -boxer!harry -witch!harry x witch!yn -bookstore owner!yn x tattoo shop owner!harry -dom!harry x sub!yn -pornstars!harry and yn

mutually beneficial by @cherryjuiceblues (ceo!harry, dom x sub dynamics, smut obv)

I'll probably add more to this as time goes on but that's all I can think of atm and I need to go make dinner!!!! enjoy!! :D thanks to all of the incredible writers in the harry fic community for sharing your talents <3

#fic rec #harry styles fic recs #harry styles fic rec #harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut

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alonetimelover · 1 year

Text

Action! - champagne problems - 2020

Pairings: Harry Styles x Director!Reader (she/her)

Summary: YN thinks Harry wants to save their relationship after the big fight they had two weeks ago. Harry thinks that too. But their definitions of saving are diametrically different.

Warnings: angst! mention of unloving family

Word count: ~3,0k

A/N: After a few messages I decided to let you know how exactly the break up between YN and Harry happened. It can be read as a second part to tolerate it. And of course it's based on champagne problems by Taylor Swift and has some other songs lyrics in it. Enjoy!

series masterlist let's talk about action!universe

my love 👨‍🎤

i'll be home today

i have a surprise for you, can you please get ready for 6? H

Two messages.

First ones after two weeks of silence. Two weeks of contemplating over what had happened and what would happen. Two weeks of going to sleep on the cold bed and waking up to even colder one. Two weeks of being alone with her thoughts, feelings, regrets, promises and sadness. Fourteen days.

Day after the other, she sank deeper and deeper into her lake of self-destructive thoughts. She wallowed in them. And as much as she’d loved water since being a little baby, she was drowning. And there was no saving.

At exactly 6 pm the doorbell rang. In her white heels tapping on the floor and beige skirt flowing with her, YN anxiously walked to the door opening it.

There he was, cream trousers, white tee with Hawaiian shirt on top of it, flowers - florists bouquet of pink roses - in his right hand. Harry sported a look of pure ‘I don’t know what I am doing’ hidden behind his ‘I’m so happy to see you’ persona. But YN knew him well enough to look past that, and he - at least she hoped so - knew her perfectly as well, feeling her uneasiness. And they both decided to ignore it. What more could go wrong?

“Hi.”

No one would believe they were the people that spent a full 22 hours talking without taking a break. No one. No one even would have think they were once unstoppable, inseparable. No one would believe there once was love, yearning, appreciation or desire. Those people couldn’t be the one standing there.

“I see you’re ready?”

“Yeah, I - I’m just gonna grab my bag and we can go.”

No kiss hello. No ‘how are you?’. No ‘you look great’. They couldn’t even speak normally with each other. Two weeks just snapped them - or rather only YN - out of her blissful belief that everything was good. Now, everything was in its true colours.

“We can go,” she said after coming back with a little white bag in hand.

“Ladies first.” Harry gestured towards the door.

The drive to the restaurant was spent in silence. No conversation or radio going on in the background. Not even a sound of the car - his electric one being so quiet. It wasn’t a comfortable silence they’d been used to, that they’d enjoyed having once in a while. This one brought discomfort. To Harry, because of the plan that he had created just this morning. And to YN, because it - them - felt even more done for than after that fight which had caused Harry to leave her alone in their once shared house.

The restaurant was an… let’s say odd choice.

It was a replica of the one that they’d gone to on their first date. Dom Pérignon was already waiting for them on the table with a ‘enjoy your third anniversary’ card right next to it. Two months too late, thought YN but didn't let her thoughts outside.

“Are you up for some Italian food?” Harry questioned in a small voice, after they had settled down.

“Yeah, I’ve been craving some lately.” She smiled for a moment.

And she said that same sentence to him a few times already. Three months ago, when they were going to order some take out. But it didn’t work out - Harry got a phone call and spent the rest of the night in his study. A month ago, when they were supposed to meet up with Florence - but Harry cancelled at the last minute, having said something came up in the studio. Girls decided to just drink a big amount of cheap wine. Two and a half weeks ago, right before leaving for their scheduled date that they’d never gone to. Harry needed to ‘check something at Jeff’s’ and left, going the opposite way to the one leading to his manager’s house.

Everything started making sense in her mind.

“Gnocchi sorrento for a lady and -” the waiter placed YN’s dish in front of her, giving her a grin, “ - and the minestrone for you, kind sir.”

The pair, after their first date, decided to only drink this expensive champagne on exceptional occasions.

They both thanked Theo - the waiter - politely and started eating. In silence.

Dom Pérignon didn’t go well with their food, neither did it go well with their moods.

First date - when they both discovered it (Harry that day had asked the waiter when YN had gone to the bathroom “if I was an absolute champagne gourmet and wanted to drink something that goes well with shellfish, what would I choose?” “If the price isn’t a problem, then Dom Pérignon is one of our finest bottles, sir.”).

YN’s graduation - they laid together on her small couch, champagne with a cheese platter on the coffee table.

“I can’t believe I’m out of school,” YN sighed, taking a bite of a gorgonzola and then sipping champagne. “Also, can’t believe you bought it.” She lifted the flute.

“You’re smart, of course you were going to graduate. With honours as well.” He kissed the side of her head. “And we agreed to drink it on really important occasions.”

“This is important to you?”

She wasn’t making fun of him. She was surprised that something so small as a university graduation would be important to someone like Harry. A person that maybe didn’t have a higher education but was indeed clever and doing quite good for himself - a global idol for a lot of people of all ages.

She wasn’t used to being important to people, at least for the first few years of her life when she was still living with her biological parents. After being adopted by the people she loved to call ‘mama and papa’ she started to learn the importance of appreciation.

“Of course it is, love. Hey, look at me, please?” He delicately placed a hand on her cheek, turning her head towards him. “You’re important to me and whatever you do, whatever you achieve, whatever you seek and dream about - I’m here for you. I’m proud of you. Okay?”

Her lips turned upside down and her eyes glistened. She nodded her head rapidly, “okay, okay,” her voice small, trying to comprehend it all.

“I love you, YNN.”

“I love you, Harry.”

Then their first anniversary that they spent with Anne and Gemma - bottles of Dom Pérignon were laying on the outside table on Anne’s patio. It was a last minute call to go to Holmes Chapel. Anne wanted Harry to spend more time home, not knowing what that day meant to her son and his girlfriend. He tried to refuse his mother’s invitation but YN encouraged him to go. She loved Anne and Gemma.

Their second anniversary was spent in Italy, right after Harry’s last tour date and YN’s Little Women shooting ended. Flutes of Dom Pérignon accompanied them in bed after an eventful night and day and another night and another day. They were finally together after months of separation.

The Fine Line release party connected with Taylor’s 30th birthday was one crazy night full of people and alcohol. And only one bottle of Dom Pérignon that YN and Harry shared during a whole party, celebrating Harry's success.

YN’s Oscar win was the last time they spent an occasion with Dom Pérignon. 1959 bottle of their favourite champagne was enjoyed during the last night when she felt they were truly happy within their relationship.

And now she sipped it slowly, forgetting how much she once loved it.

“How did you like the food?”

“It was amazing. Thank you, Theo,” YN said to a waiter, smiling kindly.

“Pleasure is mine. Can I recommend some desserts for you both?”

“Ye -”

“Thank you, Trevor. I’d like a tab,” Harry interrupted YN, pushing the plate towards the middle of the table. The dinner got cold with the chatter getting old.

“Of course, sir.” Theo faked a smile and moved to the bar with one finished and one barely touched plates.

“His name was Theo.”

“Sorry?”

“His name was Theo, Harry. Not Trevor.” YN said rather firmly, in a low voice not to draw any more attention towards their table that it already had.

“Mhmm, yeah, sorry.”

“I’m not the one you should be sorry to. He was so polite and you couldn’t even remember his name. It was rude.”

“Okay!” he snapped, doing exactly the opposite of what YN wanted to do - men and women around them stopped talking and looked directly at YN and him. “‘M sorry,” he directed it more towards other people, rather than YN.

Before YN had a chance to say something or scold him, Theo came back with a receipt, “here you go, sir. Do you want to pay by cash or card?”

“Card.”

“And please split the bill evenly for two. Thank you, Theo,” YN said, not even looking at Harry, hoping he knew not to try and argue with her.

“Of course. Here you go.”

All hope for a change, volatilising.

They paid the bill (50/50), and YN thanked Theo once more for his amazing client service, tipping him a substantial amount. Harry, still upset, just said ‘Good Night, mate’.

Without waiting for him to catch up with her, YN moved towards his car, ready to go home.

“I want to take you to one more place before going home, okay?” Harry expressed after walking up to her, a hopeful smile on his beautiful face.

“I’m not really in a mood to go anywhere else, Harry. I want to go to sleep.”

Even though she had nothing to be tired from, she had no energy left in her body. The lack of conversation she craved, and affection she needed made her feel so empty.

“Please? One more place?”

She breathed out loudly, “okay” she agreed, not being able to refuse his compelling voice.

“Okay. It’s not so far away so we can walk there. Yeah?” He asked, giving her a hand to hold.

She didn't remember when was the last time they held hands, intertwined fingers, bringing warmth. It had been so long since that loving touch, YN was ready to tear up right then.

With their hands still being tightly connected, Harry guided YN up the street towards a more secluded area. There were more trees and bushes that immediately provided better air. The pavements were clearer and roads empty. They were alone. Unfortunately.

“It’s right here,” Harry said, pointing at the big building, reminiscent of an old venue. “Can you please close your eyes?”

“Are you going to kill me or have me kidnapped?”

“No. No. Absolutely not. It’s - it’s just a surprise and I want you to see it from the best place. Can you trust me?”

No. “Yes, of course,” she answered, silencing her thoughts.

After leading her through two pairs of stairs - one going up and then down -, a few corridors and finally going through uneven ground outside, they stopped walking.

Harry’s hands were sweaty, his breath was shaking. The petite box in his trousers pocket weighed much more than the last time he held it, when his mother passed it to him. Half-baked ideas were Harry’s thing and they most likely turned out more than fine. But this one, he felt, was going to collapse with a big thud. What made him turn to this concept first? Why didn’t he tell the truth as to what he was going to do, to his mother? She knew him the best - was on the same podium spot as YN and Gemma, and she would know how to help him. How to save them.

“Okay, we’re here, babe. But don’t open your eyes yet.”

Harry dropped her hand, moving towards the speakers. The acoustic version of You’ll Be In my Heart started silently playing. It was YN’s favourite Disney song, from her favourite movie - Tarzan.

And it didn’t bring her joy now. It caused even more anxiety. All things coming up like dominoes, ready to be shattered.

“Can I ask you to dance with me, my lady?”

She opened her eyes, immediately wishing she hadn’t done that. The lights were hanging from the willow branches, lilies were scattered around them and near the speaker was a bouquet of her least favourite flowers - tulips. She now knew what was coming and she was terrified.

"My arms will hold you keep you safe and warm

This bond between us can’t be broken

I will be here don’t you cry"

But YN cried, heavy tears coming down her cheeks. And Harry held her tight, swaying them slightly from right to left.

“Shhh, I love this song, Harry. Shhh, stop talking, please!” she scolded her boyfriend, pointing at the TV.

“Okay, okay, Jesus. I’m quiet.” He laughed, finally settling down next to her, throwing his arm behind her shoulders, cuddling her. “Is it your favourite?” he whispered.

“Yes. I think it’s one of the most beautiful songs from Disney,” she responded in the same whisper, eyes still glued to the screen.

YN had one of the biggest smiles Harry had ever seen on her face. Her eyes were beaming with happiness and warmth. He couldn’t have helped but smile as well - her bliss was his. Whenever she was happy, he was too. Whenever she cried, he did too. What was hers was his and vice versa.

“Do you think it’s a good first dance song?” he asked.

“Maybe.” She thought for a moment and added, “but something more piano-like would be better. This one’s good for proposals. Near a tree with hundreds of lights.”

“You think so?” His mind was already plotting a plan.

“I know so.”

When the song hit the last chorus YN dropped his hand while dancing, giving him an oblivious sign to drop on one knee.

“Harry, please,” she pleaded, tears still going down her face.

“Let me speak.”

“No, please. Get up, Harry. Stop it,” she was repeating it all over again, praying it all was going to be a nightmare. She was going to wake up next to him like the last five months hadn’t happened.

He ignored her, “YN, you’ve been in my life for more than three years. You’ve changed it for the batter. Your presence, your appreciation and your involvement in everything you and I did was - was exceptional. The warmth you bring to every room and life you’re in helps people. Words you say and don’t say have power. You make me happy. As well as my family, mum and Gemma love you like a daughter and sister. Your work, which you put so much effort into, brings you so much joy it rebounds on me. You’re the one that I want. You’re the one that I want to spend the rest of my life with,” he paused for a moment, kneeling on two knees.

He was silently begging her to say yes.

“YN -”

“Do you still love me?”

Her voice was shaky because of all the crying. He didn’t look at her once today. From the moment he picked her up, through the dinner they had at the restaurant and till the moment she stopped his proposals, he didn’t spare her a glance. It was going to be a nightmare. Everything that she was afraid of from the moment she’d read those two messages, happened and she loathed it.

He looked at her.

And stayed silent.

You had a speech, you’re speechless, YN thought.

She learned that day how loud the silence could be. How definitive and thundering it could feel. Terminating.

“Do you?” she choked out.

There was no sound of the voice. Love slipped beyond his reaches.

Now, it hurt even more than two weeks ago. Not hearing him saying I love you. Man that promised her a moon, made her happy through so many years. Man that she trusted not to ever hurt her, not to ever betray her. He did everything upside down. After so many months together, moments joined and hours longed for - it was done.

“YN, please.”

“Let me go, Harry.”

“Please.”

“No. There - there’s nothing to ask. Nothing to do. It’s over, Harry. You know it.”

“Give me a reason,” he cried.

“I can’t give you a reason, sometimes you just don’t know the answer ‘til someone’s on their knees and asks you,” she whispered, her hand stopped mid-movement. She wanted to caress his head. She wanted to hug him, kiss him for the last time. “You couldn’t keep it in, could you?” She laughed through her silent cries.

Harry looked at her hand, still longing in the air, near his head. He wanted her to touch him. He wanted to hug her, kiss her and never let go. He wanted her, now more than ever before.

If my wishes came true, it would have been you, YN wondered, not being able to stop the waterfall of thoughts.

“I - I’ll be out of the house in an hour or so. I’ll leave the keys near the flower pot,” she said after a moment of only their crying.

“No, please. YN, baby, please -”

After looking at Olivia's favourite flowers sitting in a bouquet next to the speaker for the last time, YN turned around and started walking away. Harry’s shouts and pleads became smaller and smaller, until she was out of the property where it stopped.

She halted.

It was over.

They were over.

But maybe it was her champagne problems, her thoughts, her doings and her love that caused it all. Caused him to stop loving her, keeping her as a familiarity among the unknown.

Now, it finally touched her. There was no more suspense, no more uncertainty or insecurity. She knew for sure. He didn’t love her anymore.

And she still did, more than anything.

It was cold outside. The wind ruffled her hair and made her shiver. She started walking, wanting to be closer and closer to the place she just this morning had called home.

Maybe it was all her fault. She left him out there standing, crestfallen on the landing. His heart was glass, she dropped it. She pressed him and challenged him, unknowingly causing him to fall out of love. Perhaps it was all her.

“You’ll find the real thing instead. She’ll patch up your tapestry that I shredded,” she said into the void. “She’ll hold your hand while dancing, never leave you standing. And after all, you won’t remember all my champagne problems.”

#action!universe #director!reader #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles #harry styles one shot

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fandomfreak404 · 2 years

Text

Strangers, not for long (pt 2)

Summary: Harry is back after 3 months on tour where his thoughts were consumed on the mysterious girl he met on that seemingly mundane autumn day.

a/n: HEY! I’m back! I just wanted to say I’m honestly so grateful for the love on pt 1. It mightn’t seem like a lot but I genuinely didn’t think one person would read it so thank you!

t/w: trash writing, unedited, frustration i guess?

side note: heres pt 1

song: i imagine bloom later by jesse playing <3

word count: over 500 words

harry styles x reader

3rd person POV

It’s been three months. For three months, he found no trace of her. No social media. This made her more intriguing, to Harry’s detriment. For three months, he thought about their encounter. For three months, he carried around Love Is a Mixtape despite finishing it long before. For three months, he missed her, despite not knowing her.

He was now back in England, not far from where they met. But it was no use, he had visited that book shop countless of times and to no avail. He had wandered those aisles more times than he cared to admit, peeping through the gaps in the books hoping to catch a glimpse of her.

Now, he was here on a busy street in London, picking up a couple of things before visiting Anne, his mother. He decided it would be nice to pick her up some flowers so stepped into an unfamiliar, welcoming florists. The bell above the door tinkles. Déjà vu. The art on the wall is vibrant. Déjà vu. Her golden locks haunt him Déjà vu. But wait, this isn’t just any golden locks. These are her golden locks. Surer that ever, it’s the woman haunting his every waking moment, standing there, in an apron, bunching and nipping flowers. Surer than ever, she was the one.

Before he can back out, before he can stop himself, he says ‘I though you were going to recommend me that second book?’ She turns around and without waiting for a reply they walk toward each other and pull each other into the most passionate kiss either of them has ever experienced or ever will experience.

Y/n’s POV

It’s been three months. For three months I have found no trace of him. For three months my thoughts have been consumed by that curly mop. For three months I have stared at my copy of Love Is a Mixtape not being able to bring myself to read it again. I miss him, which i hate to admit because I’ve tried to convince myself I don’t. I barely know him.

Which frustrates me. Some celebrity that I barely know, who could probably turn out to be a player or a douchebag, I’m hung up on. Who is so present in my mind that I can’t even reread one of my favourite books. God. I’m pathetic. As I go through my spiral, I realise I’ve been taking it out on the flowers, nipping them furiously. I just begin to repair the damage when the bell goes off. However, I don’t turn around as most customers take a minute to browse.

I hear the customer walk in but they stop abruptly. Before I get the chance to turn around I hear a familiar voice say, ‘I thought you were going to recommend me that second book?’ That soothing voice. That voice that has occupied my dreams for three months. That voice I would know anywhere.

I snap my head around. The mop of curls I’d know anywhere. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m running towards him, dropping the flowers in the process, to capture him in the best kiss I’ve ever given or received. This is it. This is the feeling that I’ve been searching for my whole life.

#harry styles x oc #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #boyfriend!harry #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles au #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles x you #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles reader insert #harry styles drabble #harry styles fic

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angelisverba · 3 years

Text

pink + white

in which harry owns a flower shop and things are going really well with the girl who buys flowers from him because he finally gathered the guts to ask for her number and his best friend won’t stop teasing him about it.

read part one here

word count: 10.5K+

pairing: florist!h and y/n

warnings: more pining and more love-sickness and maybe some h-word stuff. some cursing, and some light drinking :D enjoy!!! (also, why lie: this isn’t edited. sorry).

* * * * * *

For the first time in months, maybe even years, Harry is preparing for a date.

The word itself sounded so foreign in his mind’s tongue, and his physical one as well because he would occasionally stop what he was doing and mouth the word to himself.

Date.

In the middle of humming to himself while stirring the homemade pasta sauce, he realizes that his peppy demeanor is reminiscent of Snow White. All that is missing are the twittering birds and other scurrying creatures bathing in his contagious bliss, helping him hang sliced fettucini on the pasta racks, trying the straps of his apron behind his waist, and harmonizing with his steady, rumble-y, chocolate-y renditions of Otis Redding and The Temptations as they come out of the speaker sitting on his counter.

He’s happy. He’s so fucking happy that he wonders if he’s sleeping and is bound to wake up to grey skies and rain and ice, cold feet. His cheeks are sure to ache by the end of the day because he just cannot stop smiling; it’s the only way to release the bursting joy cramped inside his chest at the thought of meeting with the girl who had been gloriously plaguing his dreams for the past two months.

A few nights ago, they’d decided on dinner (she’d even said ‘it’s a date!’ and he had bit his lip with a smile while ogling his phone) being that same weekend at Harry’s house. Saturday at six. Y/n was bringing desert, and her sweet self. He was antsy, just as a child on Christmas morning, his train of thought nonsensical and in short spurts, bumping into round cul-de-sacs and dead-end streets that were vandalized with y/n’s face.

When he wasn’t working, he was scouring the internet for recipes that looked good and had good reviews. Saturday morning he woke early, went to the market and bought the freshest looking vegetables, chicken, and a bag of flour. He even called his buddy who worked at a five-star Italian restaurant and asked if he had any tips on how to make the meal tastier. The floral bordered notepad had two pages worth of notes, his eager scrawl spelling out an entire new recipe for buttered pesto fettucini, a dozen garlic knots, and marinara sauce to dip the bread balls in. Confident enough in his own cooking skills, he’s not worried about a disaster resulting from the step-taking and recipe-following. He knows the food will be good, he just hopes they’re her liking. What if she doesn’t like Italian?

But, that would be impossible because… who doesn’t like Italian… right?

Flour dotted his nose and cheeks, contrasting starkly with the light and sparse caramel freckles on his cheeks. The red marks of tomato lingered on the frilly trim of his apron, blending with the tiny strawberries that belted across his angular hips. Harry wasn’t exactly the cleanest cook, but he figured that sacrifices always had to be made, and he would negotiate cleanliness if it meant wondrous faces of approval from the second the prongs of food-filled forks touched tongues. He liked praise. Verbally communicated. Through notes and texts. But his favorite kind was physical. He loved knowing that the subtle changed in poster- the straightening of backs, the widening of eyes- were caused by him (and the uncontrolled moans and writhes that came from his partners in did more for him that the actual sex). Insignificant stains would not stop him from beholding the unconscious demonstrations of indulgence and delight in y/n’s body language.

At a quarter to five, when all of the lids were placed on pots and pans, buns staying warm in the oven, and his kitchen smells like what he would imagine Italy to smell like, Harry clapped his hands together, untied the neat bow at the small of his back and walked into the shower to freshen up for his special guest. One hour was pushing his ‘get ready’ abilities, but as long as he got out of the shower in thirty minutes, which was a little more than usual, he would make time. The outfit he wanted to wear was pre-selected and ironed the night before, resting on a hanger on the back of his closet door.

Shucking off his clothes and tossing them into the woven basket at the corner of his bedroom, Harry clicks open Owen’s enclosure and allows his tiny green friend to climb into his fingers. The poor thing had been inside for a large chunk of the day, and would most likely go back inside soon after the mist cleared from the bathroom mirrors. That morning, after a refreshing session of yoga with his owner, Owen was gently placed back into his home with an orange slice and three crickets (one of whom Harry thinks he saw just before picking up Owen for company during his shower). It wasn’t unusual for him to spend so much time locked up, and Harry was sure to open the enclosure to an agitated chameleon after y/n left, his spoiled antics procuring an attitude for the change in his schedule.

When the water is running in his shower and slow clouds of vapor start to rise from behind the steam-blurred sliding door, Harry sets Owen onto the thick bundle of eucalyptus that hangs around the shower head, careful to make sure he’s out of the stream’s way and settled upon the reader, coiled leaves. He showers in silence in hopes to be out quicker, and uses an expensive coconut and cinnamon scented shampoo meant to enhance your curls!’ that he only brings out on special occasions when he wants to boost the amount of cappuccino springs bouncing off his head. Bubbles trail the path of his mint-green loofa, under his armpits and across his chest, up and down his abdomen and over the taught muscles of his thighs.

“Hope y’not peeking at my bits, perv,” he chuckles, picking up Owen and twisting the water knob with slippery fingers, soapy moisture from the shea additive lingering between his knuckles, “got the best seat in the house for that.”

The numbers on his phone- which is frosted over with a blurry sheen of white that turn into water droplets when he swipes at it with his thumb- read 5:26pm, and even though he’s out four minutes earlier than he expected, a sense of hurry settles over him. Speeding to complete the final steps of his routine (a bit of moisturizer that smells sickeningly sweet to keep his hair soft and a dash of hydrating cream on his face because it always got really dry after a shower), Harry’s cursing under his breath in fear of being late to open the door to y/n when she arrived. He’s thinking he should’ve gotten up earlier and skipped yoga to start cooking or something when he steps in front of the mirror.

Tonight he dons a long-sleeve shirt that matched the hue of coffee with a little too much milk, the two top buttons left undone to display his signature string of pearls perched delicately on his collarbones. Midnight blue pants dotted with small, embroidered silver stars stretch around his thighs and flare softly at his ankles to conceal the heel of his ‘fuck me’ ankle boots that were the same color of his shirt, the heels a chocolate brown tone with rhinestones dotting the bottom edge, spelling out the words. A bit vulgar, considering this was a date with cotton candy, bubblegum, and all things sweet personified herself, but it exposed (if you could even call it that, she’d have to concentrate on the heel of his shoes to see it) the racier side of him only some got to see. Dirty, naughty, smutty.

Fuzzy pink handcuffs in his nightstand are more than enough evidence to prove that there’s more to him that it seems, but only really, really special people got to see that side of him. People who made him comfortable and confident because sometimes he needs a little push- a little reassurance.

People who made him want to act in such a way. Men and women who openly embraced the fluctuation of his diverse character, soft and cool one second, and dominating the next. He was versatile and double-sided, like the sexiest presidential portrait on the back of a coin.

But, he’s getting ahead of himself. Y/n is to be with him in no less than- fuck. Ten minutes. A quick look at the time increased his speed by at least 3 x’s, and resulted with a bruise sure to form on the side of his shin as he banged his leg at the end of his bed while walking out of his room. Long, lean, bambi-like legs made it hard to maneuver a space with efficiency when you were- in Harry’s case- a 6’2 frenzied man bustling around a semi-crowded bedroom.

y/n <3: hiiiii harry!

y/n <3: could you send me your address? i’m in my car rn and i just realized i have no idea where i’m going

God help him. He doesn’t think the letter ‘i’ has ever sent him to a state of near-squealing before, and that’s only because Sarah once sent him a screenshot of a tweet explaining the various ways different vowels and the amounts they came in conveyed how the girl felt about the receiver. And… well, if that was anything to go by- and that’s not saying y/n goes by the same grammatical standards as everyone else, it was just nice to think about- the five i’s and her use of the word ‘hi’ instead of ‘hey’ and even ‘hello’ implied that she was very into him. Lucky, considering he felt the same way.

But then again, just because it was something that he’d read online doesn’t mean that it’s true or that it applied to her. The excessive use of smile-inspiring letters could be her preferred use of texting, and she could talk to everyone this way, not just to him.

That though alone slowed his rubber-burning heart by two beats, and so did the realization that he hadn’t told her where he lives. Slimy feelings of insecurity oiled his spine while his brain looped a montage of his guests' faces as they approached the back (sometimes front) entrance of his home. Half-hidden pinches of amusement, doubt, and sometimes even disgust. He would be lying if he said he could handle any of those concealed expressions because it’s his life, but he thinks that what hurt the most are their offensive remarks. As a result of these precarious situations, he’s learned to conceal much of himself from those he doesn’t trust, but it was hard to do that with y/n.

His ears rang with the echoes of previous lovers.

“You live in a store?”

“Is this your home? A flower shop?”

“So, what, are you like some kind of homeless person living in a store?”

Harry wasn’t ready for the possibility that any of… feedback could possibly come from his sweet daydream come to life, but he supposed it was way too late to back out now.

Harry: I live above the flower shop, so just let me know when you’re here :) !

Devastating grey bubbles jumped on her corner of the screen, and before he even had time to register his panic, Harry had her response.

y/n: omg ok! I’ll be there in a few minutes then!!!

Then.

He panics.

It’s not that he didn’t time himself correctly. No, he meticulously planned out every detail of this day from the moment they agreed on dinner so that every single detail would be perfect and remarkable. But, what he hadn’t counted on was her estimated time or arrival. Minutes? Minutes? How many fucking minutes?

A rebel curl escaped from the neat up-do Harry had combed his unruly hair into, nearly remiscenest of the chocolate swoop of a Hershey’s Kiss, and he would have thought so too if he’s taken the time to look into the mirror one last time, but he couldn’t afford to blow his seconds like that. The heels of his shoes clicked and clacked furiously as he raced across into his bedroom, flashing ‘fuck me’s’ over and over again. Slender, ring-clad fingers glittered as they curled around a plastic bag sitting on his bedside table, and crinkled as he turned it over so all of it’s contents spilled on his bed. The red bag was from a local craft store down the street, and Therese, owner of Thistles & Things, had applied an employee discount before he even had the chance to modestly complain. Seven packets of pastel pink flower-shaped tea lights tumbled onto his duvet, and Harry mercilessly tore each one open with excessive force and bared teeth. Three, six, nine, and eventually twenty-one of the small candles landed in an incongruous pile that he scooped up immediately.

He was halfway out of his room before he remembered that he needed to grab a record, too, and he skittered backwards like a cartoon chased-animal. A hiss steamed from his lips as he slammed the same shin into the same place on his bed. He’d bruise for sure, and as much as he wanted to bend down and sooth the tender skin with a press of his palm, there was no time.

“Fuck me,” he echoed the statement on his shoes, half-limping into the living room and clamping a hand over the eye-shaped knob to yank the door shut behind him.

Over the last few days, Harry had memorized the placing of every candle that he had bought, and it didn’t take him long to settle them all into their places. The dining table didn’t require any because he had already positioned two golden candelabras at either end of the rectangular oak surface, candle sticks birthing tender pale wisps of light that cascaded over the covered ceramic pots of food. Two plates were already made opposite each other, across the short end of the table, giving Harry the hope of a game of footsie.

His living room, however, did need lighting. He placed two on every small table, and four lined up in a row across his coffee table, albeit slightly crooked because he feared he was running out of time and his hands weren’t all that steady. The sudden realization that he needed a lighter for it all to work had him rushing back into his kitchen and rapidly pulling open drawers to find the forsaken stick. When he does, he’s sipping back to every flower, delivering fire to their center with fingers that trembled too much to make an easy, smooth process.

“C’mon,” Harry muttered, shaking his wrist lightly in hopes that the small wicks catch fire sooner.

With knees that knock together nervously, he straightens at the last candle. His heart is pounding wildly in his chest, and a crazy picture of someone plugging an aux cord over his heart with speakers that blare louder than a vibrating gong flashes quickly through his mind’s eye. He feels like a silly, love struck boy, and as much as it scares him, it also feels good. Because it meant that he was opening himself up for someone, rejection be damned.

Just as he was settling the needle into the first groove of the record- a classical compilation of soothing pianos and violins- his phone brightened with an incoming message.

y/n: i’m outside!

Harry: I’m on my way down

A chorus of ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’s’ spewed from his soft mouth, and his shadow was followed by rapid clicks of his boots against the hardwood floor. When he reached the door to the stairs, he turned to inspect his setting one last time and took a deep breath, his cheeks puffing out through the exhale.

The soft hue of gold glazed the color palette of his ‘princess-home’, as a boy had once labeled it, with strokes of languid romance, softening the atmosphere with the same sweetness as that of a marshmallow. He’s turned the rest of the lights off, leaving the candles as their primary source of light. Though the flame itself was not colored, hues of pink tinged the light that dipped into the wax, making it look like orbs of light the color of Venus’ navel burned serenely around his home, adding to the tender setting Harry tried so hard to create. Vases that so beautifully littered his living room were filled with sprigs of mint, lavender, dahlias (a deep affection),and white roses (new beginnings) favorably polluted the air with the distinct scent of flora and rich herbal life. The heady smells blended with the creamy tones of the Italian food on his table, creating the orgasmic sensory experience that Harry toiled to articulate.

It wasn’t the time to question his thought-out vision, but the wretched coils of hesitation prompted him to question if his efforts would overwhelm her and possibly scare her off. Harry had never gone this far for anyone before, at least not really. He always pictured pretty things for people he liked, wanted to lather them in treasures and receive their smiles and words of praises with a blush that painted his face from satisfaction rather than bashfulness, but he’d never brought these visions to fruition… until y/n.

Well, he thought, it’s too late to back out now.

Spinning on his heel with purpose and wavering confidence, Harry closed his eyes, steadied himself with an unstable intake of oxygen, and tried very hard not to fall face forward down the stairs in his rush to get to her. His grip on the rail was slippery from the moisture of his palms, and the thunderous impact of his feet against the ground reflected the discordant pumping of his impatient heart. There was no booming music anywhere nearby, but the ghost of rumbling bass echoed at the base of his throat, vibrating against the pearls nestled against his collarbone… or maybe that was also his heart.

A tugging thought makes him want to hesitate before opening the door, but by some miracle he doesn’t. He’s shoving the second to last barrier between them open with his shoulder, trying to control his breathing with strategies his old therapist had taught him long ago, and striding through a dark flower shop while the flaring fabric of his pants whispering with every step towards… her.

The singular light hanging above his front door had been purposefully left on past their shut down time because Harry didn’t want her standing- not even for a few seconds- in the dark while she waited for him to welcome her in, and it shone down on her like a spotlight on center stage, highlighting her role as the sweetest love interest. His love interest. Because surely, there was nothing sweeter than her, and there was nothing but feeling in the shape of hearts- both anatomically correct and incorrect. And that made them both Prince and Princess, bound for a happily ever after, did it not? Two coy, blushing youths meeting with gifts and food and whispered words of bashful compliments and a heap of unspoken secrets hidden in their chests. The classic Disney set up.

Harry’s steps faltered.

Did she have to be so… so adorable? He thought for a moment that there was a ringing in his ears, but then realized that it was just a pathetic whine coming from the back of his throat at the sight of the angel waiting for him. Y/n truly looked like a tuft of cloud dropped from the sky of the clearest day, clad in a ditzy white summer dress that sprouted from her waist like the bell cap of foxgloves, cutting off elegantly at just below her knees where the smallest sliver of her skin winked at him before disappearing into a pair of go-go boots. A white headband held back the stubborn fringe that still somewhere managed to escape, and….they were wearing matching pearls (this detail ignited an inexplicable flame in the depths of Harry’s loins, and his fingers unconsciously came to rest on top of his own necklace). No ounce of color adorned her person save for the baby blue ceramic container she held in her hands.

Both of them appeared to be each other’s opposites. Harry in his dark color scheme, y/n in her shade of white. Yin and yang. Strangely, his mind conjured an image that he had seen during one of his late nights scrolling through Pinterest: an art piece depicting Hades, a dark, looming shadow, and Persephone, a small white fairy-looking thing. Their colors, Harry knew, only served to highlight the compatibility of their love, the brightness Persephone brought into the God of the Dead’s life after eons of being alone in his realm of souls. Part of him felt warmth at the romance and poetic nature of the similarities between their relationships, and the other side of him- the ‘fuck me’ side- turned to a much more provocative view of things.

How delicate could y/n feel in his arms? How… How vulnerable could he make her feel during an act that required physical transparency? He wondered briefly if he would be able to make a small bump at the bottom of her navel with the head of his cock, and instantly felt guilty that his thoughts were so salacious when the night had only just begun.

Her lips spread into a shy smile the moment he entered the circle of light streaming from the light at the top of the door, and his own expression of pure happiness was a natural- instinctual reaction to hers. A sheepish twist of lips blossomed into a blushing grin, and the gleam of romantic recognition danced around the edges of his irises like the sparkle of light against the condensation of a Coca-Cola bottle. He was hyper-aware of the way she watched him as he turned the already-there key and broke the last barrier between them.

“Hi,” he squeaked, the greeting breaking against the roof of his mouth. He cleared his throat, and tried again. “Hi. Let me take that for you.” Reaching for the container in her hands and shaking his head when she begins to mumble an argument, he nudges the door back further with the heel of his foot and gives her space to enter, feeling dizzy when the smell of her sweeps over him as she passes through.

“Hey, you,” are her first official words of the night to him. Y/n folds her hands in front of herself and looks around the store as if she’s looking at it for the first time (and Harry guesses that, at night, it is a completely different place).“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you lived on top of your store, Harry!”

Dread drops down his spine like a tsunami. There it was. The single sentence that usually signaled the night would be underlined with bitter awkwardness. However, the form of delivery was different. Y/n didn’t sound as put off as others usually do, but he couldn’t be too sure. She wasn’t facing him, instead slightly crouched and inspecting a stem up close in the darkness. It was hard to read her, or anyone at all really, when he couldn’t see their faces. His tongue dried, and while blinking back the embarrassing threat of tears, he swallowed and asked, “Y-you don’t think it’s a bit… weird or anythin’?”

“Of course not, silly,” she gasps, spinning on her heels before popping up straight. She sounded confused at the question, the furrow in her brows telling him that she hadn’t expected that, and the relief that floods through him is palpable. The tension that crept up his shoulders dissolves like steam in the air when she makes eye contact with him, a warmth similar to the inner heat that spreads throughout his sternum when he drinks hot chocolate or coffee settles at the base of his spine and he’s tingly. “My favorite book as a little girl was about a toy teddy bear who stayed the night at a mall because his owner forgot him, and he spent the entire time looking for one of the missing buttons on his overalls. This is kinda like that… I think.”

“Y’talking about Corduroy?” Harry asked. His brain was going a mile a minute, barely able to keep up with the way this conversation was moving, the new direction it was taking, and the imagery of the lost bear from a storybook his mother still has in the attic somewhere, loved and covered in his fingerprints (both young and recent). It didn’t usually go like this. His dates never talked about stuffed bears. His date never talked about something he knew or was familiar with. His dates never continued the conversation with such a non-caring attitude, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do, what was right, and what he should or should not say to make sure nothing got spoiled. Giddy and deadly anxious, he breaks eye contact, eyes downcast, and starts making his way back up the stairs.

“Yes!” Y/n replied, the tap of her shoes making Harry’s ears prick in awareness, “did you read his story, too?”

“He was…” He hesitated. Up until now, this sweet angel of a girl had been nothing but kind to him. Her words were not double-edged or traitorous to his feelings, her tone held no stale sarcasm, only genuine interest. Harry could be honest with her, he knew that. Nothing about her pointed to future embarrassment, but that hesitation was second nature to him. Like breathing. Only instead of releasing and taking, he’d constantly been holding back, and this was new. It was good. He cleared his throat, playing off the pause in his sentence, “he was actually my favorite as well.”

The confession left him on the edge of anticipation, horrified that he would start sweating because he was so set on pleasing her. On making sure that none of what made him him, acted like a fold of carpet, causing her to trip up and leave in a foul mood. He instantly questioned if his comment was ‘weird’. Queer, maybe, but not wierd to him. Y/n, though… she wasn’t him. What if she did think- no. No, Harry couldn’t go there. She was sweeter than every jar of organic honey he’s ever tasted, her shine prettier than the opaque glaze of the amber syrup, and even if she did think something was off about him, Harry knew that she wouldn’t admit it openly.

Y/n was not like the rest. She had already proved that by not turning up her nose in a visible sign of distaste at his living accommodation. In fact, she had seemed… intrigued. Curious. Maybe even fascinated.

They’re halfway up the stairs, so he can’t look over his shoulder and risk dropping the pan in his hands while tripping down the stairs to read the emotions on her face while she responds. Both of their legs sync in stride, slicing like a pair of twin scissors as they move up to his open door. A soft chorus of swishing fabrics accompany their slightly bated breaths, hers more than his.

“Are you just saying that or are you being serious?” Y/n said, the curve of a question mark contorting her breathy words with the cleanest swoop. Sincere.

“M’being serious!” Now at the entrance of home, Harry can partially twist his upper body so that his eyes can feast on the delicacy of her glorious image. If his eyes were physical entities, and what he was seeing was a frozen, tangible thing, he imagines they would be starving beasts eating for the first time in months, clawed fingers scooping morsel after pink morsel into their irises. Gorging. Consuming. Devouring the heavenly art they so had the privilege of touching, biting.

Not even the praised masterpiece of the Sistine Chapel could compare to what he was looking at. In the dim lighting of his decorated apartment, y/n’s virginal clothing was bathed in a dusting shade of blush from the pink candles that were placed throughout the place. Color snuggled against the contour of her body, multiplying her tender appeal to surpass the effect of a newborn lamb on wobbly knees. Or the inner veins of a pink rose. So incredibly soft. Her fingers toyed with each other, wiggling amongst themselves as her chin slowly dipped and lifted, her eyes slowly taking in the scene Harry worked so hard to set. They were slightly wider than normal, her mouth parted as her tongue ran along her bottom lip, moistening the skin before they closed and the tendons of her throat contracted around her swallow.

Her silence was shattering his insides, in a way that Harry could not determine. Would this be the tipping point? Would this be what makes her run away? Did she not like his home? He was filled with questions that piled on top of each other too quickly for processing. The side of his trousers were damp with the sweat that he wiped from the center of his palms, and also to keep from running his hands through his hair and turning it into an unruly, poofy mess like a cartoon electrocuted cat.

Setting the baby blue container next to the kitchen sink, Harry asked, “you don’t like it?” His words were merely a sound. Meek and feeble. Frail like a defenseless baby. The tremble of a kicked puppy’s shoulders. The heavy vulnerability in his tone makes y/n whip her head in his direction, the same air of confusion coating her features like a thick buttercream frosting, and her first words were a swipe of grabby fingers revealing bread underneath.

“What?” Her chin digs into her neck in recoil. “No, Harry… no, I love it. You did all this?” She lifts a hand and sweeps it around her in a half circle, the end of her skirt curling upwards and Harry thinks fire ants are biting the apples of his cheeks when his gaze drops down as she moves. Instantly, he feels like a creep for checking her out, and even worse, for allowing his blood to flow in a nether direction. “For me?”

He stutters a response, blushing and grinning like a school kid and mentally kicking himself over it. But he’s so relieved and a little shocked that he allows the tension that’s built up throughout the day to leave his body and decides to just… enjoy himself without overthinking every action. Scratching the back of his neck with one hand and stuffing the other into his pocket, he leans one shoulder against the wall and stares at a candle by her hip.“O-of course, I thought you, um, deserved it.”

It’s her turn to flush now. They look silly, practically toeing at the ground like cherubs in a vintage Valentine’s card, but just as adorable. Plumes of the finest birds feathers couldn’t match the downy lilt of her voice as she spoke to him. It felt like a caress against his skin. “No one has ever done anything like this for me before.”

I’ll do this a million times over for you and more if y’let me’, Harry thinks. In that moment, every inkling of a future, desire, dream, want, every fantasy solidifies itself and he knows that he wants more with her. He wants it all with her, all because she was nice to him (might as well call him a puppy; a few pets and coos and he’s loyal forever).

Instead he pushes himself off the wall and backtracks the few steps to the sink, fingering the aluminum covering the casserole she had brought, and answered with more fluidity and confidence that he had ever possessed around a conquest, “It was my pleasure, y/n. What’s in here?”

Several squares of flaky, buttery looking pastry sit on the inside. A nutty, sweet smell wafts it’s way up to his nose, slinking down the ridged of his throat and dropping down to his stomach, where the aroma pokes a sleeping dragon called Hunger. Harry comes to the realization that he hasn't had anything to eat since breakfast that morning, and even that was just a serving of oatmeal and half a banana. Too busy preparing and thinking, worrying.

“Baklava,” y/n said, her voice sounding far-away and distant. Harry looks towards her, his heartstrings tugging now that she was further away- now that she didn’t have his full attention- because she was looking around his apartment, her back to him. “Got the recipe from a greek restaurant I ate at every morning when I spent a semester abroad. It’s not as good as the gran’s who taught me, but it’s still pretty g-,” her sentence broke off in a breathy gasp that fueled a rocketship in Harry’s belly, the flames feathering further, below, because it was reminiscent of a surprised pleasure that came after the first thrus- “Is that Matisse?”

There’s a scene in the movie Twilight that illustrates the moment Bella’s heart stops- the crystallization of every blood cell and vein, the freeze of every artery and the hollow within- and Harry imagines that is exactly what is happening inside his body when y/n correctly inquires the name of the artist he loves so much.

“It is.” Nodding, Harry brings two slender fingers to rub underneath his nose, his closed fist a feeble attempt to hide the smile fighting it’s watch across his mouth. Tens of thousands of hummingbirds tickled the inside of his rib cage every time she spoke, and he had to shift his weight because the bottoms of his feet were sizzling with the emotion that raked his body. He watched her as her head moved slightly up and down, observing the blue silhouette of a curving woman that was framed on his wall. “Y’know Matisse?”

“Mhm, he’s one of my favorites,” her hair bounced in affirmation, then she turned to him, “I love your home, Harry. It’s very pretty.”

Roses bloomed on his cheeks.“Thank you, love,” twin flowers appeared on the roundness of her face, too, and Harry was satisfied knowing that the nickname he let slip affected her as much as it did him while saying it.“Y’wanna come see what I made for us?”

“Yes, please!”

They both took the small steps to the set up kitchen area where an array of pots, food, and arranged plates waited elegantly and poised. The gold accents and shine of ceramic shouldered an enchanting allure underneath the incubating glow of the candelabras perched at the ends of the table. Harry waited for y/n to reach a stand besides him before reaching for the closest lid with a steady hand. Surprisingly steady, given that she was so close to him their arms pressed against each other, creating a bubbly static of electricity between them. Her warmth scorched through layers of clothing and branded his skin, her smell- a unique blend of vanilla, mint, and a flower Harry couldn’t place because his mind was too frazzled- invaded his nostrils with the same flurry of an aggravated hornet. His mind was only y/n, y/n, y/n, while his mouth spewed ornate descriptions of the meal before them.

The smell of roasted garlic, butter, tomatoes, grated parmesan cheese, and freshly baked bread surrounded them in the form of a large Italian cloud. Clinking dishware twined with the smooth drawl of Harry’s accent that dipped and stuttered whenever he glanced at her and found her already looking at him from the side, the bridge of her nose covered in the lace-like shadow of her eyelashes. His thoughts scattered, and once or twice she had to fill in the final word of his sentence.

“...and here is homemade garlic and rosemary…”

“Bread?” She suggested.

“Y-yes. Bread. Or, knots. Whichever works.” Setting his hand back down on the back of the chair in front of him, Harry inclined his head towards the food, gesturing his question, “s’what do you think? Ready to eat?”

Y/n nods, smiling up at him with stars in her eyes (really just the reflection of the flames on the table, but Harry attributes them to her inner sun shining through). “Pretty please,” she said.

“Sit. I’ll serve you.” Pulling out the chair in front of him and motioning for her to sit, Harry tries his best to not look down as she flattens her hands underneath her bum while sitting, emphasizing the curve of her hips. He pretends not to notice, like he isn’t fighting a sweat, like his collar isn’t tightening by the second, and like the statement written on his shoes isn’t repeating over and over in his head. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck. Me. “If I’m serving too much, let me know, okay?”

Y/n shoots him an excited smile and nods quickly, like an eager puppy, and fuck if Harry’s cock isn’t jumping in his pants. He feels so inappropriate. He fears that the word ‘HORNY’ is written in a glittery hot pink across his forehead, and that his semi-hard-on was transparent through his starry pants. Shame makes him even hotter, the angel on his shoulder shunning him for mentally defiling someone so innocent, and yet somehow that only spurred the ache in his groin further. Praying that it was dark enough for shadows and the midnight blue of his pants to conceal his hormonal reaction, Harry began serving her from the closet casserole: basil pesto angel hair pasta.

She doesn’t interrupt his portioning until he reaches for the second garlic knot and a timid squeak leaves her worried lips, “can I just have one, please?” Her hand is outstretched, reaching out towards the plate and her eyes slightly wide and her eyebrows raised. He thought that she looked so cute underneath the dim light, ethereal, and his semi grew closer to full-on hard. Literally.

“‘Course, love.” The edges of his eyes go soft and downturned like half-crescent moons, and he nods to assure her that her request was well received. “Did y’want any more or is this okay?”

“That’s okay. I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat it all as it is, and I feel bad because it smells and looks really good.” She glances down apologetically at her food.

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you plenty of leftovers to take home,” he waves her worries away, and serves himself, bringing out the wine he had for them to share.

They eat in comfortable banter that switches from chat, jokes, and silence everyone in a while, but hidden glances (that aren’t so hidden because they often catch one another) are heavy throughout the meal. So is the ‘accidental’ knocking and nudging of their feet underneath the table.

Everytime y/n hums about how good the food is, Harry has to pull at his collar, cross and uncross his legs to alleviate his dick, and lower his gaze to his own food to hide the flush that’s heavy on his cheeks.

When they wrap up their meal, they playfully fight over washing the dishes, and then finally settle on sharing the washing and drying duty (Harry washing of course, because he couldn’t let her take the brunt of it) and ‘accidentally’ bump hips while they stand at the sink. While putting the plates away, Harry boldly stands behind her ‘to place a plate in the cabinet above her head’ and places a hand on her waist to let her know that he was there. But he doesn’t move away right after setting the plate down, and maybe it was the wine he drank because before either of them know it, y/n is tilting her head to the side so that Harry can run his nose down the length of her throat, inhaling her scent as he does so.

Reaching her shoulder, he presses a kiss there, straightens, and then walks back to his kitchen area to refill both of their wine glasses so they can sit on the couch and converse a while longer.

They talk about things that Harry can’t concentrate on because he’s staring at her too hard, and he notes that her crossed legs are angled to his, both of their body languages pointing to each other. He remembers reading once that it was an indication of interest, something that our bodies did without notice because it was a procreation survival instinct or some shit. He doesn’t know and he can’t care enough to remember because all he can think about is how pretty she looks in his home. His mind is muddy with cartoon red heart bubbles that blow out of his ears and pop as soon as they’re free, only to be replaced by another.

And then he can’t take it anymore. He has to tell her.

“Love, you’re so beautiful it hurts,” he states bluntly, peering up at her with a steady gaze.

“It’s the wine talking,” she says, brushing off his compliment.

“No,” Harry shakes his head solemnly. “It’s me talking. Tispy me. This is what sober me thinks all the time, but I don’t have the balls to tell you because I’m afraid you’ll run away from me.”

She was in the middle of taking a sip of wine, and Harry’s statement made her giggle.

Some of it slips out of her mouth and down her chin.

Time stops.

Time stops the moment that dainty dollop of white wine slips past her lips and down her chin, glistening like a precious diamond as it marks a wet track down her throat, settling at the delicate hollow of her throat that still vibrates from her bashful laugh.

Everything around Harry freezes, even her movements, and before he knows it, he’s moving. The low concerto playing on his vinyl record sounds like it’s underwater, drowned by his adrenaline. Somewhere, something in his mind is telling him that this is wrong, that he should get her explicit permission before acting so boldly, but a louder, PSA-level thought is telling him that she wouldn’t push him away. There was more than enough to prove that she felt the same way that he did (the way she froze and her breath hitched when they were putting their dirty dishes into the sink, her eyes fluttering when his nose dipped to smell the curve of her neck).

Wrapping his long, slender fingers around her wrist to keep the wine steady and away from his line of fire, was okay. Leaning in with the same speed of a cornered cobra- thought this was no prey and predator scenario, because had that ‘time freeze’ effect not muddled his tizzied senses, Harry would have seen that y/n tipped her head back in the slightest centimeter, almost expectant and welcoming of his salacious touch- was okay. The fact that his salivating tongue dropped out of his mouth instinctually to trace the path left by the rebellious wine in reverse, was okay.

What was even better than that, was the revolutionary flavor that exploded like fireworks across his tongue- the perfect mixture of her, her skin, and the bittersweet bubbly wine- buzzing him all the way down to his toes. The crotch section of his pants becomes uncomfortably tight, and Harry can feel the head of his dick leaking precum onto the lower section of his abdomen, where the waist of his pants sits just below his belly button. His lips flutter around the vein where her pulse thrums, and continues all the way up to her chin, nibbling on the tender, baby-soft underside. A whimper leaves her when he pinches her skin with his teeth particularly hard, and he moans in response, licking over his assault apologetically, soothing her.

Leaning back, he takes her in, and fights the urge to rut into the air.

Her breathing is erratic, her chest heaving as she sucks in loud gulps of breaths, head thrown back. If Harry hadn’t grabbed hold of her hand, that wine would be all over his vintage couch. She’s flushed, her neck from his abrasions, and her face from- well, he hopes it’s because of him, too. A faint shine decorated the curves of her face, highlighted from the candles on the coffee table, and her lips are shiny and red from her own lips and tongue, a brilliant color of rushing blood coating them as air leaves in soft tufts. Her eyes are closed, but her eyelids and lashes flick and flutter from erratic movement.

The music slowly comes back into the focus of his eyes, and Harry’s teeth sink painfully into his bottom lip, muffling a noise that’s a mix between a whine and a moan. His ankles cross and uncross nervously, and he begins to detach her fingers from the stem of the wine glass, a task that proves to be more difficult than it should have because y/n’s knuckles are whiter than bone as they clench tightly underneath his hand. Her eyes snap open when he strokes the bumps of her fingers, coaxing her to let go. Gulping, she flexes her fingers, and Harry takes the glass, setting it on the table before taking that same hand and turning it over in his, taking it up to this mouth and gently kissing every finger tip, all while holding eye contact with her.

“Please,” he whispers hoarsely after her pinky. Her hands, he notices, and trembling, and the endearing notion of her own nerves, makes him press her spread out hand against his chest. “Let me kiss you, darling.” It was a plea and a question all the same. His desperation and adoration were written all over his drawn eyebrows and dilated pupils. Cock stiff and straining against the seam of his pants, he fights off another pitiful whimper as y/n pulls in a ragged breath.

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice shaky like the crunch of broken glass under a boot. Her hand, small within Harry’s, continues to tremble as she continues to speak, her head nodding along with her feeling while her red lips shape around her words.“Yes, I want- want you to kiss me.”

Swiftly, yet lightly, like the flap of a butterfly’s wings, the pads of Harry’s fingertips map a trail down to her wrist, where he presses a wet kiss against the vulnerable underside, and continues to the crook of her elbow, goosebumps prickling below his wake like paint and a paintbrush. “Thank you,” he groans, his breath harshly fanning against her skin as he continues up to her bicep, his lips hovering over her skin now that her sleeve creates an offensive barrier. “Thank you, love. Y’such a treasure.”

The tip of Harry’s nose replaces his lips in a smooth transition, and dips into her collarbone where the movements stall, running back and forth the little hollow in a way that makes her suck in a breath, her hand coming up to sink into his bicep because she’s begun to sink into the couch and away from the affections of Harry, which is something that neither of them can have, so he remedies the situation.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, he hauls her up and her thighs part without instruction so that she is straddling him, her bum resting on the thick of his thighs. White cloth flares against her thighs, obscenely creeping up high near the juncture of her thighs before swooping back down, and the sight sends a throb down Harry’s cock. He’s sweating now, every inch of his body hot, but he wants to look at her. Drink her. He wanted to worship her, kiss and lick at every crevice of her body and cum from that alone.

Y/n stared at him, her eyes wide, dazed, and glossy like a doe’s. Lashes fluttering innocently, eyebrows meeting on her forehead almost petulantly. “You’re not kissing me,” she whines.

Fuck, he thinks. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The words on his shoes burn into his heels, and a smirk teases his lip at her impatience. Old ways, domineering ways, begin to take hold of every thought, action, and word. A side of him that doesn’t really come out unless it’s during sex prowls behind a cage that’s in the process of being opened. Since he first saw her, and even before that, Harry hasn’t had any company in his bed. It didn’t feel right. Nearly three months, and the fire within him was raging, eager for arson. Maybe this was the reason for his teenage-like reactions. Everything about her had his prick swelling. It was ridiculous.

The arm remains around her waist (he wants to drag her closer to him, but it didn’t seem appropriate, yet) and he brushes her hair behind her ear, his finger coming down her jaw to caress the underside of her bottom lip. Y/n is preening at his touch, leaning into his hand as her eyes flutter closed and her breath comes out a little heavier. “Be patient with me, love.” He says, voice husky, “I’ve wanted you for so long, and now that I have you I want t’make it last. Don’t y’want it to be good?”

She nods, her eyes closed and her face tilted up at him expectantly. This won’t do for Harry. He required her full attention, her complete contribution. It was more comfortable for him when there was communication, and he understood that his actions and words could sometimes be a little overwhelming, so he didn’t mind providing an extra command or reminder to be present when it was needed. He takes her chin in his hand and taps his finger against her jaw to make her open her eyes, “Can y’use your words for me, darling? I asked you a question, did I not?”

Her throat nudges Harry’s knuckles as it contracts around a very thick swallow, eyes fluttering open like she’s waking up from a pleasurable dream, “y-you did.”

A pleased look smooths over Harry’s face, the arm around her waist tightening slightly. “Then answer me: don’t you want to feel good? Don’t you want me to make you feel good?”

“I do.Yes, I do Harry. I wanna feel good… please,” y/n whimpers, pouting and twining her hands around his neck so that the tips of her fingers could play with the ends of his hair. That dazed look in her eye was getting heavier at the same rate that Harry’s dick was growing even thicker in his pants because he was enjoying the desperation in her tone. He loved that she trusted him enough to melt in his arms the way she was doing, shuffling forward to try on his lap in a way that showed she was positively itching to be kissed, and noises of his own arousal were fighting, clawing their way up his throat.

The raspy-ness of his voice has increased by tenfold, adding a devilish gravel to his voice that coaxed a soft mew from her. “Good. That’s much better,” he mutters, praising her. His eyes travel all around her form and snag on her chest, where pebbled points clearly outline her nipples through the fabric of her dress. Harry chews on the inside of his cheek, using every ounce of self-restraint to keep from bucking his hips into the air while she’s patiently waiting, innocently yearning for something that- from him- wasn’t going to be innocent at all.

Tenderly, Harry strokes the pads of her fingers in a line from her cheekbone, to her lips, to her other cheekbone, and back down to her lips, pulling the bottom one down and licking his pink mouth as he watches it spring back out. He meets her eyes while tucking his hand behind her neck, his fingers digging into her hips with more of a bracing force than necessary because he was too tense. Too wound up, and she was droopy like a drizzle of caramel, waiting and falling wherever he led her. Harry needed her calmness because he was afraid all hell would break loose once he tasted her. Thighs flexing beneath her, his abdomen clenched with both heat and nerves, and his heart was beating light-years per millisecond.

The couch creaked once as Harry shifted his weight forwards, and y/n’s eyes fluttered closed to the beat of the quiet and serene piano keys in the background, her breath puffing out once more before it lodged in her throat, her chest stilling, and he can’t held the endeared smile that inches itself onto his face. “Breathe, baby,” he mumbles, getting close enough that he was inhaling her air, the smell of sweet wine and her shrouding his hyperactive senses, “And you tell me if you want to stop, okay?”

She responds with a soft, weak, “okay,” and a bob of her head, his previous order on her mind. “Please kiss me, Harry.” Y/n’s eyes are still closed, but her impatience is clear to him when her eyebrows furrow like she’s about to cry and her eyelids crinkle with the pressure she’s putting on them. A rare, mean side of him wants to chuckle, revel in how lax she is for him, but he knows that too much for her right now, and that he shouldn’t tease her anymore.

“Okay, love. Only because you asked so nicely.”

He’s a little more rough than he needs to be, shutting his eyes while holding her in place by the back of her neck and firmly but slowly sliding their lips together- hers between his-, groaning at the same time that she preens and allows his mouth to move hers, parting her lips and suckling on her top one at a pace that makes her jump right on top of his groin, eager for more and eager to be closer to him. The feeling of their lips meeting feels like running his fingers against silk and lace, or underneath warm bath water that has been sprinkled with velvety lavender salts.

A cry escaped her when Harry parts from her, panting like he’s just ran a marathon with matching beads of sweat gathering at his temples, distraught from the loss of connection, and her eyes snap open, tears welling quickly, but they only escape when he flicks his wet tongue vertically from her bottom lip to a dainty cupid’s bow, all while keeping eye contact. This makes her yank on the soft chestnut strands of Harry’s hair that were twirled around her fingers, not hard enough for it to even be remotely painful, but the force tilts his head back a little and a drawn out moan ribbons from him.

Y/n shifts in his lap, arching forward so that the tips of her breasts rub against his chest and while he continues to lick into her mouth, Harry feels that his chest is on fire. Muffled sounds of pleasure interrupt the slicking noises of their lips moving against each other and it’s so obscene that he pulls her tighter against his chest, positioning his feet wider against the ground so he can push his hips off the couch and right into her-

“Fuck me!” Harry groans the words that have been on his mind all night, the same ones etched on his shoes, and rests his forehead against hers, breathing heavily and trying to collect himself. His lower abdomen, just where the head of his cock sits, feels uncomfortably moist, and throbs from the pressure of her pussy that had been sure not even seconds before. It was too much. Too much for him to go through it without embarrassing himself, and just when he’s about to say something, shaking his head defeatedly with a regretful, dull shine in the dark green of his eyes, y/n mewls, restless, and grinds back down onto the thick length begging for release.

Hissing, Harry’s head falls against the back of the couch and his hands come to grip her hips, stilling her movements. His chest rises and falls rapidly while incoherent thoughts on why he has to stop what’s happening crumble in his mind. “Love,” he pants, “don’t wriggle y’hips like that, s’driving me insane.”

“But I need…” Her words leave her in something less than a whisper and more than a breath, her skin around her neck dotted with perspiration. Attempting to move her hips down again, she’s met with a harsh squeeze from Harry, and both of them know that there will likely be bruises the size and color of graped blooming there in the near future. Her thighs begin to quiver, and she takes her hands out of Harry’s hair to plant them on his shoulders as leverage because the position he has her in is tiring her muscles.

“What is it, y/n? What d’you need?” The classical music continues, the violins playing a quiet, violent song to match the tone of Harry’s voice, the build-up right before the drop. He knows what she needs, because he needs the same thing, and it’s driving him insane. His balls are tight against the base of his cock, a visible outline of himself protruding against his pants that not even the dark color can hide in the dim, terracotta lighting anymore. With his head still leaning against the back of the couch, his eyelids droop as he speaks to her. “Want to come? Is that it?”

The urgency of her nod makes the headband that was clinging loosely on her head to fall back against the wooden floor with an obtuse clack. Her eyes are wide, glossy. Harry’s spit paints her mouth like a red lip gloss, and his are painted by her saliva, a sparkling champagne.

Cooing at her, he lets go of her hips and wraps her up in his arms again, pulling her close and nuzzling into her neck as she pushes down on him with no direction, “Oh, angel. All y’had to do was ask.” The warmth of her pussy surpasses the layers between them and shoots straight down to his dick. She lifts herself again, and arches befores sitting again. Having gathered the amount of leverage she wanted, y/n drags her hips forwards, up the thickness of him, and stops just at the swollen head before jerking a bit, a needy moan evaporating on her tongue. Harry clenches his jaw, trying to hold off his orgasm so that he can watch her get herself off while all of their clothes were still on. “S’right baby, use me. Rub y’tight little pussy all over my clothes. Y’gonna come on me? Y’gonna leave your taste on me?”

Her jaw falls slack at his words. “Yes. God, Harry, yes,” the movement of her hips stutters, delivering a particularly heavy grind over the wet tip so that it presses against the heated skin of his stomach and Harry’s eyes roll to the back of his head, his grip on her hips steady so that he can buck up into her warmth. The crotch of his pants is so wet, and not just from his own precum, but the moisture that has seeped through whatever underwear she’s wearing. And suddenly, suddenly he needs more. Suddenly, he has to see her pussy rubbing down on him.

“Are you wet f’me, darling?” Hands settling on her lower, exposed thighs in preparation to slide the dress upwards (or away if she doesn’t want to), Harry leans in closer and drags the tip of his nose from her jaw to her ear, where he nibbles on the lobe, suckling it to soothe and particularly hard bite, and whispers into her ear, “can I see?”

“Yeah,” y/n squeaks and looks down at Harry’s large hands and they slowly slide upwards, but never stops moving. Not even as her white thong comes into view, the delicate, pale fabric transparent from her wetness and sticking to her like a second skin. The gift of Harry’s prick slides right between her folds, parting them even through the underwear. A small, pearl-like roundness indicated the location of her clit, and he understands why her hips jolt everytime they go over the head of his dick.

Because she’s rubbing her clit against him.

White spots litter his vision, and by some miracle he doesn’t bust right then and there. Instead he cries out, almost shouting the next time her hips buck against him, but he doesn’t take his off where they meet. The room has become unbearably hot, filled by their sweat, panting and moaning, and jerky, desperate movements. “I’m gonna come, baby, fuck. Let me,” he’s thrusting up, wanting to go in, but knows that it’s not the right time, and so he slips his hand underneath the bunched dress so that he can hold her by the waist and take them both over the edge. Up until that point he had been enjoying watching her use him, take what he needs from him, but now he needs to do it himself because he won’t allow her to orgasm after him. “Let me finish fucking you through y’clothes.”

They move so fast their movements are blurry under the lighting, rutting up and down into each other with a new sense of urgency. Y/n moans every time he nudges her clit, and when he begins to feel a faint pulse coming from her heated center, he grinds against her harder, pulling her down against him in addition to the force of her own movements. He does this once,twice, and then she’s crying, tears actually falling down the side of her face as she jerks in his hold, swiping up and down his crotch in quick, messy moves.

Her nails cut the skin of his bicep, even through his long sleeve, and the small bit of pain throws him over the edge, his own body convulsing as his balls draw up and that ache that has made his dick stiff exploded into a prickling, liquid heat that shot through him and stained the inside of his pants. Rutting into her a few more times, mindful of her oversensitive whimpers, Harry drags her to his chest and kisses her languidly. It’s messy his tongue tripping on the outer corners of her mouth while her’s is skittish, but it’s okay because they’re both sated and it feels good to be in each other’s arms where they’ve dreamed of being for longer than normal without doing anything about it.

They’re both quiet, catching their breath as the needle trips over and over again at the end of the record, demanding to be turned off. Y/n is nuzzling into Harry’s throat, and a flicker of guilt flashes against his heart, faint apprehension because he knows that they both wanted it, they both spoke consensual words out loud, but he feels he had a little too hard on her. Too rough with his words. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Was supposed to be a gentleman, but you’re so angel-like and soft, I couldn't stop myself.” He drops his head to the side and kisses her temple, “had to taint you a little bit.”

Y/n giggles, a response that he wasn’t expecting, fisting his sweater vest in her hand. “Are you always like this?”

He feels that he knows what she’s going to say, but he asks anyway, but to hear her say it.“Like what?”

“Dunno… um…” her voice decreases in increments, “bossy?”

Harry smirks. “Did you not like me telling y’what to do?”

“I did like it,” she whispers, hiding her face into his neck so that her breath hits his collarbones. Goosebumps are born where her warm air lands, and he chuckles, rubbing her back in slow, comforting circles.

“That’s all that matters to me. I’m happy I didn’t push you too much.”

They grow silent again, content. She kisses his neck occasionally, the same spot over and over again until his shoulder hitches up and a breathy laugh leaves him. He leaves one hand on her back and the other trails up and down the hand clenching his shirt, enjoying the way she shivers when he caresses the crease of her elbow.

Eventually, she sits up straight. “Suppose I should start walking back home,” she mutters, blushing.

“Walk? Love, you walked here?” He’s shocked, and his grip tightens around her possessively when she mentions leaving. After things went so well? Maybe he was growing attached too fast, but it was hard not to when y/n was so sweet to him, with him.

She responds like the answer is obvious. “Yeah. I live just down the street remember?”

Harry shakes his head. “Y’can’t go out there by yourself right now, s’dark and y’have to pass alleyways to get home. I can drive you-”

“No!” Y/n is quick to interrupt him, shaking her head in denial. “I don’t want you to get up and fuss.”

“Then we’ll stay right here.”

“Okay.” That was easier than I thought, he thinks. He’s not letting her leave tonight, and if he could have it his way, he would like her to spend the night tomorrow as well.

“And please don’t push me away like that, saying ‘it’s time to go home’. I don’t mind y’being here. I want you to be here more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time, okay?” He pauses so that he can get her understanding (he gets it, in the form of a nod). It pinched his heart knowing that she would be so quick to leave, and he wonders if maybe she had that reaction because she was used to leaving after a hookup (not that this classified as that) and the thought made him sad because he knew firsthand how shitty that was. He didn’t want her to feel that way ever again. “Good. How ‘bout we get out of these clothes and go to sleep, hmm? S’that sound good to you?”

“Yeah,” she says, smiling up at him with stars in her eyes, “yeah, that sounds good.”

And Harry is so full. He’s so full of love and happiness, more than he has been in a long time, and it’s all because of the pretty flower girl in his arms.

******

ngl i had to take several pauses while writing him.... lol....riding.....

anyway, part 3 (the final part) is loading! thank you for being so patient with me and reading! don’t forget to reblog (bc i love reading the tags) and leave any comments you have in my inbox! i love you!!

<3 abigail may

#harry styles #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurbs #harry styles angst #florist!h #y/n x harry styles #reader x harry styles #harry styles smut imagine #harry styles fluff oneshot #harry styles angst blurb #harry styles soft imagine

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chrisevansonly · 10 months

Text

Missing Violet (harry’s angel au)

pairing: harry styles x female reader (angel)

summary: harry knew being away from you and violet would be hard, but he didn’t know it would be this hard…

warnings: slight angst?? nothing major <3

a/n: slowly but surely getting back on the writing juice, thought i’d get this cute little idea out before working on some more stuff that’s soon to come💜

It was just past 8:30 in the morning when your phone buzzed quietly beside you, Violet was sound asleep on your chest as you sat propped up in the living room. Your favourite show playing softly on the tv, the outside world was already bustling, people travelling to work, but inside all was quiet, almost as if you weren’t London.

You reached over slowly, careful not to wake your little girl, quickly swiping to answer Harry’s facetime call, an hourly ritual almost as he was away finishing his tour. You smiled seeing his face pop up, the Portugal sun doing wonders for the tan he was getting

“good morning H”

He smiled

“morning darling, how’d you sleep last night?”

“not too bad honestly, gem is here with us so she helped with the little one last night, how about you?”

Harry found a shady spot to sit, returning his attention to you two

“not too bad I suppose, m’really missing home though, i hate being away from you two”

You knew being away from Harry this early after having Violet would be hard on him, and you could see it now when he took his sunglasses off, the bags under his eyes prominent: he just looked so tired

“im sorry my love, only a little longer and then you’ll be back to us…”

Bringing the camera down so Violet was now in the frame, he could see her tiny hands grasping onto your cashmere sweater, her eyes closed, her back moving up and down ever so softly as she slept away

“how come you’re always sleeping with daddy calls hmm?”

You laughed a little

“she just had a very big breakfast so I guess she’s in a food coma”

“what a life”

Harry laughed, taking a few live photos of her before she stirred slightly, a little squeak like noise escaping her

“oh did daddy wake you up? he was taking some cute photos of you”

You placed your phone down propped up with pillows so you could readjust her, a smile on your face noticing the green in her eyes

“did you get any good ones baby?”

A few moments passed with no answer, when you turned back to see the screen Harry had a sad look on his face, tears lining his eyes, that alone broke your heart

“harry what’s wrong? hey please don’t cry…”

He shook his head as you picked the phone up bringing it closer to you and violet

“i should be there a-and i’m not…i feel like i’m failing you both-”

Cutting him off before he could continue you shook your head

“harry, no, we aren’t doing that. don’t you ever think you’re failing us, you’re the best father to violet and the best husband to me, you are in no way failing us.”

Taking a breath you paused

“you’re working your hardest and putting on shows for so many people who love you, we knew it was a possibility bee would come sooner than the tour ended and that’s okay! i know being away from us is hard, and i wish i could be there with you, but don’t you ever think you’re failing me, because you’re not”

After a few minutes he nodded

“I mean fucking hell harry you sent me a continental breakfast from another country with my favourite cherry almond latte…i’d say you’re far from failing”

Harry finally let out a laugh, bringing a smile to your face

“I love you so much you know that? you take such good care of us even from miles away, I know Vi loves you just as much”

“I love you girls too, so much..i’ll be home soon”

Smiling you brought the phone down so Harry could spend some more time with Violet, talking to her softly, telling her stories all while she blinked, not really knowing what was going on, but Harry liked to think she was paying attention. Little did he know you’d been missing him just as terribly, and you couldn’t help but smile knowing you’d be flying to Italy for the final show of love on tour.

The last show was going to be special, but surprising H to be there as a family, would make it that much more incredible.

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muffindaddystyles · 3 years

Note

18, 19, and 40 please?🥺 maybe some smut if possible💕

19. “Take a breath honey, yes princess just like that.”

18. “Squeeze my hand if you could hear me baby.”

40. “I love you, pet. So much of it, come back, please??”

A/N: Girliessss, theysss and themsss. Sorry for being inactive :(( Missed you all so much!! Here's a blurb from mafia!h x soft subby.

Y/N had never been this bratty. She had her occasional time-outs where Harry refused to touch her for days till she broke through her ice and begged him with a drool-y sweet mouth and honeyed puppy eyes.

She knows the drill and loves the adrenaline that seeps to her toes when Harry glowers at her across the room with bolting dark intensity -- his hook of thumb in a demand to have her in his lap is enough to excite her, the punishments makes her insides shrill and makes her fall in love with her daddy more and the best part of all of it's that she wants to cherish again and again’s how adorably caring he’s once fucking her raw.

At the moment though. She isn’t being a brat on purpose. They came for a dinner (with one of the Harry's business people) and it’s all business talk, rich dicks everywhere, hush hush voices that Y/N despises and the piqued ogle of the wife on her that makes her squirmy in her seat.

She zones out into her own lil bubble for a second, imagining herself back in their cosy home comfy in Harry’s humungous overly worn hoodie, snuggling him and smooching him, pecking all those softish spots where he has runs his fingers through the night and she wants to have a delicious pizza all to herself because the food here’s the amount of worm and leaf of spinach on a worm.

She didn’t even realise that she was slipping into her subby state until she was getting all fussy about her surrounds and plucked her lipstick out smudging the crimson tip against a tissue and slides it atop Harry’s thigh from under the table,

Daddy, home?

His flicker of gaze alters from the little needy note towards his girl who’s being choosy in eating her veggies and rolling them around in boredom.

Her head perks up cutesly at the feeling of his attention on her and he suckles his wine layered lip upon the sight of her doe-blown out pupils and glossy eyes indicating him like a train's horn that she’s submerging into her submissiveness at dangerous rate when she goes all squeamish and pink cheeks at the mere touch of his knuckles against her elbow.

“Daddy, please.” She whispers into his ear impatiently squeezing his knee. About to write another note to him to stay persistent but her lipstick breaks and she flinches when it rolls under the lady’s shoe leaving a bright stain on floor.

“Behave.” Was all he muttered gruffly before throwing a nonchalant dismissive glance her way and that was the last straw for her.

It’s been hours!! All she wanted was to get home and cuddle! Is that too much too ask!?

That’s why she acted like a grump and didn’t even bid them goodbyes, waited at the lobby for him eagerly and couldn’t help but to sway with her hands clasped back and grin at the greedy thought that once he steps outside she will leap on him like an affection starved kitten.

Her wish remains a wish nevertheless when Harry passes by her with a stoic face and snaps his fingers at her, the single gesture’s enough to bead tension on her forehead.

“In the car. Right now.” He glares her sternly plucking his black leather glove to reveal his jewelled pretty hand as he reaches for the handle of the backseat door.

Y/N has decided that today she’s gonna hold her grounds and be as naughty as she possibly could to get her kisses of the day.

Sheepishly she slips inside and gives him a toothy smile whilst trying to scramble up towards to reach within the sweet distance for his lips.

The trinkets of her shiny dress makes a noise as Harry splays his calloused palm up her silken thigh, glides it all the way up her hip and keeps his grip on her to stop her from moving.

“What?” She pouts knocking her nose against his's in attempt to plant her lips atop his’s, all grabby hands for him, “You’re not havin’ any of me kisses.” He tuts, eyes dark and murky.

“But why!!?” She whines trying to cup his cheeks and just squish them awful good but he gives her a pointed look and doubles back, away from her.

“You know why, little one.” At that she gives him a nasty narrow squint of her peepers and mutters grouchily, “I hate you.”

“What did ye' just say?” He pushes her closer with one tug that elicits tiny gasp from her, his lip thin in annoyance, “I said I hate you!” She huffs crossing her arms and it makes her breast appear more plump.

In all reality, she’s too stubborn to tell him that she’s feeling terribly needy.

“Say tha’ again, I dare you.” Harry demands with tinge of surprise in his growl and she hisses in frustration adjusting the loose heavy shoulder of her dress, “I said, I hate you and this dress, ‘s so itchy. just w’na go home —-,” Her blabbing fades into a squeaky gasp upon the sharp sting of Harry’s hand against her bottom.

“What happened Sugar? Did cat caught ye’ tongue?” He grits wrapping his warm hand around her throat wanting to choke the battiness out of her, but rather it turns her into a melty puddle of a softie.

“Over my lap.” He says firmly.

“No.”

He doesn’t give her time and positions her himself horizontally on his thighs, elbows pressed into seat and raises her bum with the support of his knee, pinching her cheek teasingly to warn her.

He tries not to coo as she looks ethereal in the glittery dress that's now bunched in Harry’s fist atop her spine to expose her itty bittys and she mewls prettily when Harry spanks her asscheek watching it jiggle then does it again and again, on her last count she’s dripping down her thighs stickily.

“What a filthy little brat,” He groans adam apple bobbing from the vigour of heat spreading in his body as he inspects her wet holes with middle finger making her squirmy and whiny from his feathery touches, “Proper soaked just from gettin' spanked.” He traces the lace delicates of her panties and presses his thumb against her bundle of nerves to feel the throb from his touch.

He pulls her back up and squishes her cheeks to pucker her rosy lips, pecks it heartily, “Knows why you’re gettin’ punished baby?” His tone gentler now. Realising that she shouldn’t slip too deep before they reach home.

She snuggles into the crook of his neck and hums, guiding his hand to her sore bum to make him rub the burn he left on her ass.

“Uhmm. ‘cos didn’t behave nice, acted bad ...” Her voice slurry from desire and yearn. If it wouldn’t be for his grasp on her waist she’d have gotten off on his meaty thigh long gone, “And?” He arches his brow sceptically drawing soothing circles on her flesh.

“And that I said, I hate daddy ‘n the dress he gifted me ....” His heart thumps a bit from the statement but the rational part in him assures him that she was just bumbled about him being too distant from her.

“And what do bad girls get?”

“Punished.” She mumbles into his throat and he nods, kisses her hair and cups the nape of her neck to give it a tender squeeze.

How much she acts like a spoiled brat sometimes; he still always makes sure she’s in her comfort zone and knows why she’s getting treated that way.

“I love you, baby sweets. But .... it doesn’t mean you’d not get your punishment.” She was about to protest and throw a tantrum but the car comes to an halt right infront of the large dark doors of mansion.

Tranquil air fills with her giggly shrieks when Harry gets outside and throws her over his shoulder with an ease, his grin wicked as she squeals out “No's" grabbing onto one of the door-frames in the hallway but it’s all vain since he’s way stronger than her little grip.

Once in their room, he’s flipping her into heaps of pillows and catches her calf when she tries to crawl away in hurry.

Her eyes widen and she looks down with a pout upon hearing the rip of her dress, “Liked it.” She mummers sadly.

“Thought it was too itchy,” Harry shrugs pushing her up towards the bedhead and ducks down to speck soft kisses against her collarbones, mouth foaming at the sight of her tits spilling out of her lingerie.

“No! Was just —.. fuck ...” She keens out a moan bucking her core to grind against his thigh when he nooks his knuckle between her sloppy pussy lips and twists her panties pushing them up scruffily into her mound feeling the flutter of her clitoris, the sheer fabric of it giving the right amount of friction to get her to an orgasm.

Her wet gasps and moans fogs into Harry’s mouth as he kisses her with unyielding roughness, hot bubbles popping in her belly ready to spread the nice feeling inside her, holding her down when he knows what he’s gonna do next will turn her into batshit crazy.

He pulls back. Both. His hand and his mouth away from her.

She blinks, with a lazy smile first then the realization dawns upon her and she’s grappling for his sides but he takes her wrists and pins them down.

“Daddy no!” She growls a whine and he just sits on his heels and admires the mess he created out of her, flustered and sheened in sweat, all soft and pudging to litter her skin with marks and bites, his cock warming up in his pants, “Please daddy I want you.” The whites of her eyes enviable and glassy from the frustrated tears that are collecting at her waterline.

Though, Harry stays adamant because those innocent coy eyes are her best weapon and ties her wrists to the bedpost without saying a word to her.

“You brought this on y'self, baby.” He tugs the bound to make sure it’s not too tight and moves back to get rid of his pants, his prick bloated and throbbing from ridges, slaps against his lower belly it’s head coated with precum.

“Now you’re g'na watch me jerk myself off and cover ye' pretty tummy with my cum, might lick it off from you.” She shivers at his words. Toes curling as she silently pleads with a parted mouth and barely open eyelids.

His nostrils flares, howling groan slipping through his lips as he spits in his palm and wraps it around his fat girth slicking his fist up and all the way down to give some relief to his balls.

He dips down and sucks onto her lower lip, “Knows your safe word right?” He asks shoulders jolting when he slops the bulbous crown of his prick against her clit in slow circles.

“Yes, yellow.” She breathes out delicately hoping he slips into her soon but Harry has other plans as he squeezes himself more, swiping the dollops of white thickness from the crown of his prick and brings his thumb to stuff her mouth shut with that.

“What a greedy kitten.” He tuts in mock when she eagerly swirls her tongue around his thumb creating soft sucking noises, she gags around his digit, eyeballs rolling to her skull when Harry slides her damp panties away and strokes his cock against her drippy hole.

“Hmm. Feels good.” He husks pushing into her, but not stuffing her full and that makes her whimper. She glides her feet around his spine to push him into her and her squishy sloppy walls tries to swallow him whole.

Everything just feels too hot and overwhelming. Him fondling his shaft from where he isn’t soaked into her warmth and her tiny whines and whimpers as he teases and edges her.

“Daddy ‘m sorry!” She squeaks out breathlessly clamping down onto him, “I bet you’re.” He moans out, that one sweaty curl dangling and tickling her forehead.

“That’s the most prettiest sound I’ve heard.” At his praise she just turns into a puddle and wiggles for more.

“You’re g'na make me cum.” He kisses his teeth and she digs her feet into his back not knowing if she’s allowed to come too and not having a voice to ask for his permission.

She gulps. Eyelids fluttering. Her cheeks blushy and peachy, listening to his deep moans that whirls within the pit of his chest as he fills her pussy with warm ribbons of cum that sticks to her already soppy walls and then pulls out to empty himself on her tummy as he promised.

Moments later the room echoes with her treacly yearning whimpers and blubbers of Harry’s name as he licks her juices off and the his own cum that oozes out of her whenever he pushes his middle finger inside her cunt.

“No!” That’s why they’ve discussed it before hand, her safe word. Harry knows his baby girl and that she gives up too early, gets too overwhelmed before she could actually enjoy the good part all of it although she has a potential to be more bearing than that.

They’ve lost the count of her orgasms.

The overestimation thingy.

Harry thinks it could be the best punishment for her.

She cramps her thighs around his wrist to make him stop but he spreads them wider apart, “You could gimme another one princess, knows y’could.” He curls his fingers to caress that spongey button inside her that makes her writhe like a leaf and it definitely did.

“Shit.” Eventually she gives into him basking in the pleasure of it -- sinking down on his fingers and grinds her clit against his knuckles, her cum from her previous orgasms glistening on his skin.

“Fuck already squirting.” She didn’t realize that, too floaty in her subspace and the ecstasy until she feels his fingers rubbing inside her again.

“Daddy no, no, no ... too sensitive!” She cries out cramming her legs around his waist and pushes his chest away with her knees but Harry keeps pummelling them deeper, scissoring them and adding two more, her thighs shakes terribly a burn spreads in her limbs as the sensational craving envelopes her once again.

“Yes, yes, yes. Don’t stop, please!” She shouts out whimperishly making Harry smile and he smooches a kiss to her forehead, pressing his chest flushed to hers and cradles her jaw to make her look at him, “Cum fo’ me. You’re me good fuckin' girl – g'na come right?” She bobs her head quickly fresh tears gliding down her cheeks and Harry wipes them away immediately.

She’s flying high like a kite. Wanting him all. His hands. His touch. His cock. His cum anything she could get out of him.

His love. His attention. His constant assurances and praises, affection, tenderness and his kisses and loads ‘n loads of tiny kisses She’s always needy for that.

“’M your good girl!” She sobs out in high pitch grappling onto restraints and Harry feels this dire urge to protect his little one at all costs, “Yes you’re.” He coos brushing her hair away from her eyes and let her hide her face into his neck as she turns stiff like an arrow and creampies around his fingers, lips smushed against his cheek.

“Take a breath, honey. Yes princess just like that.” He massages her shoulder and pecks it to calm her down upon feeling her heartbeat go wild after she comes.

She shakes in his arms whilst Harry showers her in kisses lining himself against her entrance and sheathes into her in a slick, their moans melting as he buries himself deep till her belly and cum spurts out from her cunt with his each hard thrust and it drips down her bum and onto already splotched sheets.

White dots wafts past her eyelids, arms shaking and lip wobbling as she feels it hit like a train. Getting pooled into utter bliss of many orgasms, feeling a rupturing dose of euphoria cocooning her.

She feels like she’s on paradise and somebody’s calling her through the white noise but she’s unable to respond all she could do’s blabber nonsense while trying to stop squirming.

Then she gets familiar to that gentle voice, the cosiness of that hand holding onto her free ones now and the softness of those lips against her forehead.

“Squeeze my hand if you could hear me baby.” He gets anxious a little bit when she stays droopy and unresponsive like a sunflower at nights.

A huge grin adorns his after climax blissed out features when she obeys him and gives a lil squish to his palm, “There y’go baby sugar. Y'alright honey?” He kisses the tip of her nose when she just blinks up at him weepily.

“Daddy.” Her voice scratchy and awfully feeble from all of the screaming and moaning.

“No daddy. ‘S just Harry, I love you pet. So much of it come back to me, please?” He almost pleads corking his mind to think what would bring her back from her fragile state since she has never slipped past from him this deep ever.

She whines at the hollowness she feels in her tummy when he pulls out catefully from her with a squelching noise and hisses even when the sheets rustles against her folds, “So sensitive.” Harry murmurs trailing honeyed kisses into the softest flesh of her thighs.

“Yes daddy, but want you!” Harry’s brows shoots up into shock and he slips his forearm under her to hug her tight, “’M right her bubba.” She cuddles into him and yawns fumbling with his sides listening to his pacific breathing.

“Guess we gotta give this little one a sleepy bath.” He mutters into her hair, nails scratching soothingly up her neck and twirling her downsy baby curls.

“I love you.” She rasps out rubbing the sleepiness in her eyes with the back of her hand, “I love you too -- would you like if I lit up some candles in the bathroom? Y’favourite ones?” He thinks it might help her get out of her subby state.

“No. Just you.” She pouts battling the sleepiness away and clings to him when he walks them to bathroom and sits them into the cold tub, he wrapped her around him in a way she doesn’t come in contact with the coldness of it as they wait for it fill with bubbling water (Y/N was too sensitive and clingy that he knew if he’d away parted away she’d have cried endlessly.)

No words were exchanged as she almost slept on his chest and drooled all over him.

“Cutie.” Harry giggles softly pecking her parted snoring lips and cleans himself and her gently.

Gets his most worn out clothes, the one that could tell another person in a beat that she belongs to him from the smell alone.

She slings her thigh around his waist and smashes her face under his chin, canoodling into him with a little tired purr.

He was petting her head and running his hand over her back that when she mumbled into her sleep, rubbing her cheek up and down his chest, Harry stopped and ducked down to kiss her forehead feeling love bursting through his insides.

“I love you, Harry.” Was what she mumbled. He's just too much in love with his soft little button.

#mafia harry x florist reader #HARRY STYLES SMUTTTT #harry styles dirty one shotsssss #DOM HARRY SOFT SUBBY READER #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles #cute harry #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles fanfiction #fluff #harry angst #hsh #dom harry

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missmielyhoran · 1 year

Text

Lone

in which Y/N's new roommate is a bit weird...

(Werewolf!Harry × florist!reader)

Masterlist

House inspo

Series-

• Housemate- in which Y/N finds a cheap place to live [🌸]

• Valentine- After a wonderful date night, you thank your boyfriend...

You can send me requests or talk to me here♡

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles angst #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x y/n #werewolf!harry #roommates #lone wolf #florist reader #florist yn #werewolf harry #werewolf harry styles #roomate!harry #harry x reader

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meetmymouth · 2 years

Text

the intimacy of little things: iv

au ⌕ florist!harry x photographer!ofc

notes for this chapter: smoking and alcohol consumption

WC: 4k+ | PINTEREST BOARD | PLAYLIST

Bad dreams catch up to Harry on a Thursday night, waking him up at exactly five o’clock to his curtains dancing in the air due to the open window. It’s dark out, and the breeze is abusing every inch of his body; his legs, his toes especially, so Harry finds himself hugging his duvet even more, trying to catch the last bits of warmth that have been taken away by various nightmares. He looks around his bedroom, as if the place is alien, and he smiles as soon as his eyes detect a dark shadow by the door. It’s Bo, lying near a pair of his trainers– a pair he’s left there because he was too tired after work, and he’s snoring softly, his snores accompanying the whistling sounds of the passing cars outside.

He tosses and turns, trying to find a comfortable position, though the sleep won’t come. He keeps thinking about the dreams, the way he was being chased by something– someone, and once again finding himself at the house he grew up in, naked, and bruised. If he were to press his thumb on his thighs now, he knows he would feel the pain as fresh as ever. He doesn’t, though. Instead, he gets up, washes his face, and tries to get ready for the day as Bo watches.

He wears the same jeans he wore yesterday, then finds a jumper, already thinking about going back to bed once he gets home tonight. It’s cold, the flat, despite the heater being on, so he sips his tea in the kitchen exactly where most of the sunshine hits. He listens to the pigeons hum outside, with Bo munching on his kibbles by his feet as the sound accompanies the humming sounds. As he watches the baby blue sky outside, his phone goes off, and it brings a smile to his face, the smile widening as soon as he unlocks the phone and checks the text. He knew before looking at the sender who it was from. He knew from the text tone, so it’s no surprise the smile gets bigger and bigger while he reads the ‘good morning’ text accompanied by a selfie, and a photo of Talulah’s new favourite slippers.

He leaves the house with a smile on his face, and remembers to text his sister right before putting the car in drive. She responds right away. He sends back an emoji. It’s easy– life, right now, is easy.

He walks inside the shop five minutes later than his usual time, though no one bats an eye as they each give him a smile and a series of ‘good morning’s follow close behind while he keeps walking to the back. There had been an influx of orders, some from parents who would be attending graduation ceremonies and some by hopeless romantics, though Harry still finds something for him in each order, smiling at some of which included a message– a note for the recipient. He lifts up his head when he hears heavy boots walking towards him, says hello back to Jo, and they roll up their sleeves and crack on with Jo starting with a beautiful but modest sunflower bouquet while Harry gets his hands on a bouquet of roses, each collected from the fridge at the very back of the room. The antique radio on the counter sings as they work. It’s Beach House. Harry can’t help but sing along: ‘You should see– there's a place I want to take you’.

He trims the roses best to his ability, hands reaching for more cocculus to add in between, and he just places them sparingly amongst the red, dazzling roses. He brings them up to his nose, to smell, and a smile appears on his face at the sight– they’re soft, and some harsh– prickly under his nose, but they look breathtaking, almost as if the bouquet is a photograph. The radio plays another tune, indie he reckons, and Harry keeps adding and removing things, finally deciding on a few gypsophila– baby’s breath, to make the bouquet look a bit softer, sweeter. While the tune in the background sings about the sweetness of a lover’s lips, Harry finishes the bouquet, ties the end, and places it on the counter with a satisfied grin, thoughts of a girl with stars in her eyes on his mind.

He turns to the sound coming from his left, and nods at something Jo has said, though his mind is elsewhere.

“Where’s Bo,” she repeats– Harry is sure of that. “Bring him around, will ya?”

He smiles at the mention of the Lab. “He’s out and about, on an adventure I believe.”

“You think you’re so funny.”

“Yeah.”

“So,” she nods, then starts placing her tools inside the pockets in front of her apron. “What’s their name?”

“Pardon?” Harry raises an eyebrow. He copies her, placing the scissors inside the little pocket.

Jo smiles. “Your head is on the clouds. Someone’s got you whipped, I can tell. We all can, really.”

“Have you been gossiping behind my back?”

“Yeah– we always do.”

“Piss off.”

“So?” She looks at him with a grin. “Name?”

Harry gives up. He has to. His face– his lips turn upwards before he can even say her name.

“Talulah,” he says. “Her name’s Talulah.”

It’s quiet until it isn’t at Wild at Heart. Getting two birthday arrangements and one baby shower, Harry thanks whoever or whatever’s up above for blessing him with work. For the most part, though, Harry spends the work day at the back, processing orders with Cam. They unpack some new flowers–delphiniums–which takes them about an hour, and have the ends of the stems sliced off. Cam brings three empty buckets and they place each flower into the buckets with such delicacy and care, and Harry smiles when she takes her phone out and captures a few shots of the flowers.

The back-house work doesn’t end there for Harry. He knows he’s got plenty of help at the shop, though he still loves doing everything on his own, especially cleaning. With the help of Finn this time, they do a deep clean at the walk-in– their giant refrigerator where the flowers are kept. It’s freezing in there, so they try their best to work with their coats on as they wipe each shelf, scrubbing dirt off of some and Harry remembers why he loves being so hands-on at his job. He realises how much he learns about his colleagues every time they’re stuck in the walk-in for hours, or at the back processing and unpacking orders. He learns about their girlfriends or boyfriends, their life at home, their favourite food or favourite restaurants. He loves it, learning more about the people he works with, and he reckons these are the things that make him excited about waking up, and coming into work in the mornings.

Harry picks Talulah up from her flat, and they drive to the restaurant with Talulah’s phone connected to the radio. Something happy plays in the background, at least it sounds happy to Harry. ‘I won't smoke if you don't no more/ 'Cause I know you hate the taste of it/ I don't wanna picture our firstborn/ If you've stopped discussing names with me’. Talulah sings along, and Harry thinks it’s the most beautiful sound in the world, despite her vocals being weak–her words–. She insists that he chooses the next song, so he takes her phone in his hands when they stop at a red light, and smiles when he notices The Kook’s ‘Naive’ on there. He chooses that one.

“How are we feeling,” Harry asks, referring to who’s waiting for them inside when he puts the car in park.

At first, she doesn’t speak, only looks outside her window, and it makes Harry feel uneasy all of a sudden. Uneasy, like she just realised what’s happening and what they’re about to do, and Harry fears she will make him turn the car around and take her back– anywhere that is not here. That doesn’t happen though, and she turns to him with a smile, hand already in the air as she strokes his cheek with her thumb. Harry leans into the touch with eyes shut, and basks in the warm feeling of her skin against his.

“I’m nervous,” she starts. “But not in a bad way, if that makes sense?”

Harry nods, turning his face a little so he can press a butterfly kiss on her palm. “She’s nice, I promise.”

“I trust you.”

“Good,” he smiles, nodding. They unbuckle their belts, and open their doors at the same time. “Let’s go.”

When they get out of the car and Talulah holds onto the hand Harry extends, he takes his time to look at her outfit.

Despite the muddy weather outside, she’s dressed in all white– white wide leg jeans and a turtleneck paired with a plaid coat that looks extremely cute and cosy on her. She holds her bag in her other hand just so she can hold Harry’s hand which he finds precious, and they finally walk inside Flat Iron. He knows from Talulah that their mutual friend Ariel is the head chef here, and that she’s also Daniel’s sister. Despite that, he isn’t that bothered, as long as they have a great time tonight.

They’re greeted with smiling faces and nods when Harry gives Gemma’s name, and they pass table after table, finally reaching the table his sister is sitting at. She looks up, dressed in a red blouse with a pussy bow, and their eyes meet, then her gaze is turned to Talulah. She looks her up and down– only briefly, then at last, smiles.

“Hello, you two,” Harry welcomes her hug, pressing his cheek in the crook of her neck.

They pull apart, Harry feeling Talulah’s anxious gaze on them, and Gemma gives her a dimpled smile.

Harry speaks first.

“Gemma,” he smiles at Talulah, his smile widening when she notices her fixing her jeans. “This is Talulah, my girlfriend.”

It feels good, to be able to say that out loud, it feels wonderful.

“Hi,” she says, extending her hand, voice silky and honey-like, but still shy. “Nice to meet you.”

Gemma chuckles, and ignores the hand as she goes in for a hug. They hug briefly, Gemma returning the greetings, and they finally sit down.

“I don’t get to see Harry this much. Not twice a month, at least,” Gemma quips, earning an eye-roll from him.

“Gemma.”

“I’m just taking the piss, Harry, relax.”

“Well,” he quips back. “Don’t.”

When he turns to Talulah, he finds her smiling at them both, so he does too, placing his hand on her thigh as they start talking about Talulah’s job. She sounds confident, though Harry knows by now that that’s not how she feels deep down. He knows from the way her hands seem to shake from time to time when she goes to take a sip from her water, and the posh accent that comes into play whenever she feels nervous. Despite all that, Harry watches with a smile on his face as she talks about her job, and when he looks at his sister, their eyes meet.

She tells him everything he wants to know with just one look in her eye.

“Did you think about the house, Harry?” Gemma says after a moment, placing her spoon down.

At the mention of the house, Harry grows frustrated. He feels Talulah’s muscles tighten, his hand still on her thigh, so he turns to her, giving her a look as if to tell her ‘I told you so’.

He clears his throat, and takes another sip from his water. “I did. And… I’m not buying the house.”

“Harry…”

“I’m not, Gemma. I think it’s time we let it go. Let it all go,” he nods. He feels Talulah’s hand on his as she gives it a squeeze. “I don’t want to talk about this any further. Especially not tonight, please.”

“Okay,” she agrees, and it’s astonishing how easy-going she’s being about it.

Harry nods, feeling grateful, and turns to Talulah.

He motions at his souffle. “Try mine.”

“Y’sure?”

“Yeah,” he grabs his spoon and digs it into the puffy looking dessert, then brings it closer to her lips.

She opens, and lets him feed her, though neither of them notice Gemma watching them intently, eyes darting between Harry and Talulah, bottom lip trapped between her teeth in thought. It’s just the little things, the sister finds herself thinking, such small things that come together and create such intimacy.

The intimacy of little things is what’s captivating about love.

Harry turns to his sister when she clears her throat, and watches as she downs the last bits of her wine. She reaches for her fork, and puts some more tiramisu in her mouth. When she’s done chewing, she nods like she has something to say.

“How did you two meet?” Gemma asks.

“At the shop– Harry’s shop,” Talulah says, making Harry raise his eyebrows.

He shakes his head, squeezing her thigh fondly. “We met at Ariel’s Christmas dinner.”

She looks up at him. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Harry chuckles, then turns to Gemma. “We’ve a mutual friend.”

Gemma nods, giving them a tiny smile. “That’s sweet.”

“How is James?” Harry asks, taking a sip from his water.

Talulah watches the interaction intently.

“He’s good. He’s on annual leave. Bored at home,” she laughs. “How’s Bo?”

“He’s fine. Still lazy. Still looking to adopt a cat?” Harry asks, hand finding Talulah’s under the table as he intertwines their fingers. He turns to Talulah. “She’s obsessed with cats and other people’s pets in general.”

Talulah laughs. “Cats are my favourite–”

“–Excuse me?”

She turns to Harry, and reaches for him. She squeezes his chin playfully. “Bo aside.”

“Right.”

“You two are disgustingly cute– and yes,” she nods. “I’m still looking to adopt a cat. We’re just waiting until we move to a bigger house.”

He knows where she’s taking this, so he changes the topic, asking more about her job and new position. They joke, laugh, and get tipsy on wine, and Harry couldn’t be happier. He doesn’t drink much, since he’s driving, but watches Talulah get more giggly on wine with a smile on his face. He feels like he’s on cloud nine, having Talulah and Gemma in the same room, talking and joking about anything and everything.

He’s lucky, he knows as much.

When they’re saying goodbye in the carpark, Gemma hugs Talulah first, pleasantries and ‘so nice to meet yous’ flying in the air, and Harry notices how she hugs her a beat longer, and whispers something in her ear. With furrowed eyebrows, he watches them pull apart, and the smile on his face is back when Talulah’s hand finds his right after they pull apart and say ‘good night’. Hand in hand, they walk to Harry’s car, and he doesn’t let go before bringing her hand up to his lips and pressing a chaste kiss at the back of her hand, then on her palm. When they’re in the car and Harry turns the key, the radio comes alive, the song still playing softly as he puts the car in drive.

“So,” Harry sighs when they arrive at Talulah’s flat. “Thoughts?”

“About what? Your sister?”

“Yeah… about tonight… anything, really.”

She smiles. Unbuckling her belt, she reaches for him, placing her hand on his cheek. “She was lovely, like I said. And I had a wonderful time, Harry.”

He leans into the touch, eyes closing only for a moment before he opens them, and takes the sight of her in. She’s smiling as her thumb strokes his cheekbone, and Harry smiles, too, reaching just like her to stroke her bottom lip with his thumb.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “So, so beautiful,” he adds, smiling when she looks down.

She brings him closer to her by the neck, closer until their lips finally meet in a heated kiss. It’s warm, both their mouths, and so wet, though neither of them seem to mind the sloppy, lazy kiss. Harry bites her bottom lip, earning a soft moan as she tries to keep up with his kisses. She tries, so hard, and bites his bottom lip playfully, in spite of him, and they both chuckle into the kiss, mouths open and warm breaths hitting each other’s lips. He keeps pressing tiny kisses down her chin, to the side of her neck before he licks across a particular area on her neck, then grazes his teeth over the now-wet flesh ever-so-gently, clearly hoping to leave a faded mark.

“Come upstairs,” she whispers, making him smile.

All he can do after that is nod, and Talulah watches as he locks the car and catches up to her before they go up the stairs. Her hand works the key, and they enter into the flat’s warm embrace, the smell of fresh laundry and the food she’d probably cooked from earlier hitting every sense and fibre in his body. It’s a home, it’s warm, and it’s her space. So, being able to witness all this, being in her home, her space, means the world to Harry. He feels safe.

She goes straight to the kitchen, turning the kettle on like it’s a practised act. And it is, he knows it is.

“Tea?”

“Sure.”

“Go sit down, I’ll bring it to you,” she gets their mugs ready, then takes the milk out of the fridge. “I’m gonna put some honey in mine, would you also like some in yours? I’m craving something sweet.”

Harry purses his lips in thought, then nods. “Sure, babe.”

She smiles, pulling the jar of honey closer, and she gets a spoon out of the drawer. There’s a beat of silence, sans the kettle, so Harry watches her fiddle with her phone until the speakers come alive. It’s Paul McCartney’s ‘Arrow Through Me’, which makes him smile and hum along to it as she works in the kitchen, filling both their mugs with hot water. She pours the milk with such concentrace on her face, then opens the jar for honey. He watches as she puts a small amount in both of their mugs, then brings the spoon to her mouth and licks it– licks it good, and throws it in the sink.

“I’m glad your sister understands you regarding the house,” she says, sitting beside him as their mugs sit on a pair of coasters. “Right?”

Harry hums, reaching for his mug. “I hope so. I hope she didn’t just say that because you were there.”

“Would she do that?” Talulah’s brows furrow.

“She would, yeah. She’s done it before. Not this time, I hope.”

“Hope so, too.”

“Thanks again, for coming– it made me really happy.”

She smiles, an ‘aw’ leaving her mouth as she carefully grabs his cheek and brings him into a sweet, innocent kiss. She pecks twice, then reaches for her own mug.

“Thank you for asking me. I had a lovely time, Har.”

He smiles. “Forgot to tell you,” he says, making her look up. “Jeanette phoned this morning.”

“Oh.”

Harry bites his bottom lip, like he regrets sharing that piece of information with her. “I’m– sorry, I ruined it, didn’t I?”

“Harry,” she sighs, placing one hand on his knee. “You didn’t. She’s your client. If anything– I feel terrible still, for making you leave in such a hurry. You had a job to do–”

“–I don’t care, T. She just– she phoned and thanked me. She was, well, she tried asking about you but I was quick to shut it down. We hung up after that.”

“Yeah, well,” she shrugs, taking another sip from her tea. “She phoned me as well. Oh– I have an appointment with that therapist. This Friday.”

“You do?” Harry smiles, hand finding hers on his knees. He squeezes. “That’s lovely– amazing.”

“Yeah. I’m nervous.”

“About?”

“Where to start… and that sort of thing but– don’t really want to talk about that at the moment. Tonight’s been lovely.”

He yawns into her palms. “What do you want to talk about, then?”

They both know what’s about to come. So, when she surges forward and captures his mouth with hers, neither of them are surprised.

Days go by, weeks catch up to one another, and on another Friday, Talulah finds herself in yet another therapy session. This would be her fifth session, having them every week, after work, and she could feel the change creeping in, the comfort of having another person whom she can talk to without worrying about saying the wrong thing and being judged. Of course, having friends like Zayn, and also Harry helped– she knew she could talk to them anytime she wanted, but having a therapist, she found, was liberating, having a stranger listen to you.

“Talulah,” Amanda walks over to her while she sits on the navy sofa. She looks up, and Amanda smiles. “Shall we go in?”

Without hesitation, she follows her into her small office, and takes her seat on the petrol green sofa, hands already on her lap as she starts playing with her fingers.

“How are you?” Amanda smiles, clicking her pen.

“I’m good, thanks. How are you?”

“Good, thank you… so, what have you been up to since last week?”

When she leaves the building, her phone goes off, and it shows Lauren’s contact on the screen. She asks if she’s up for a couple of drinks in Soho, so Talulah agrees, thinking she doesn’t have anything better to do on a Friday but go home and get in bed.

They meet at a pub with Lauren already two Margarita’s in, and she orders herself a beer, suddenly feeling like she can stomach the bitter drink.

Lauren takes a sip of her drink, and purses her full lips. “How was therapy?”

“It was good. I think we’re getting somewhere even though it’s been… challenging– talking about certain stuff. I like her.”

“That’s great, love,” she smiles, reaching a hand to squeeze hers. “I’m so happy to hear that. How is Harry?”

“Harry… he’s good!” She smiles at the mention of his name, missing him more than ever now that they haven’t seen each other since last week. “We both have been busy. I miss him.”

“Oh, babes, you’re way too cute. When do I get to meet him?”

“Oh. Uh, actually, I could text him and see if he would like to join?” She bites her bottom lip, suddenly nervous.

Lauren smiles, and nods her head enthusiastically. “Please!”

A text to Harry confirms that he’ll be there in half an hour.

Harry arrives, dressed in wide leg jeans and the jumper Talulah has gotten him. She can’t help but look him up and down, smile, and when their eyes meet from across the room, he smiles, too, his steps quickening to get her faster. She opens her arms as soon as he’s near enough, and they embrace each other for a little while, her head in the crook of his neck and his on her shoulder as he presses a kiss there, over her clothes, then another on her cheek before she does the same.

“Hey,” she says, looking up at him.

“Hey, yourself.”

“Thanks for coming, this is Lauren,” she turns to Lauren, finding him watching them with a grin on her face– though, she feels like it’s all the margaritas’ fault, the way she’s smiling.

Harry goes in for a hug, and introduces himself. “I’m Harry,” he smiles at her.

“Nice to meet you– heard so much about you,” Lauren looks at Talulah, the grin getting bigger by the second as she rolls her eyes at her.

They sit down, Harry orders a beer for himself.

Zayn and Jules arrive, and Harry looks so happy that Zayn could make it, presumably because he’s always so intimidating and ‘cool’ around people. They get along well, sit down and have a chat about work together, and Talulah enjoys seeing them interact– not just with Zayn but her other friends, too. She notices how intently he listens to every store her friends come up with, how he’s eager to learn more about them. They talk about a footie game after work sometime next week, Zayn immediately coming up with names who will be a good pick for their team– Harry and Zayn’s. So you guys are playing on the same team? Of course we are, Jules, have you seen his legs– he needs me.

They walk outside the pub hand in hand, Harry placing a kiss on her temple as everyone walks to their cars, but not before sharing hugs and ’see you soons’: ‘let’s do this again!’.

“Where’s your car?” Talulah asks, the two of them still in front of the pub, swaying side to side with Harry’s arms wrapped around her.

He tightens his hold on her, and kisses the top of her head, making her look up at him from his chest. She smiles at him, he copies, and they press their lips together, meeting in a tender, lighthearted kiss.

“There,” Harry motions at his car with his head, and she follows it. “I’ll drop you off,” he murmurs, kissing her nose one last time before they start walking in the direction of his Mini.

When she reaches for the aux cable, Harry chuckles, and places his hand on her thigh, just like he always did whenever they travelled together.

‘Watery eyes/ That howling wind, she's waving hi/ Her other hand's in mine/ Oh-oh, silhouette/ She's growing tall and fine/ She's got my back/ She'll follow me down every street/ No matter what my crime’.

to be continued...

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #florist!harry #florist au #harry #harry styles concept #harry styles angst #harry styles fic rec #harry styles smut #harry styles x ofc #harry styles fic

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all-my-love-for-harry · 4 years

Text

Delicate. — Masterpost.

After taking part in one of the most tremendous scandals of all time in the music industry, Y/N returned to her hometown to disappear from the public eye for a while, hoping to drown in her own sorrows and humiliation.

Never in a million years she would've thought she'd find someone who would manage to turn her world upside down and make her happy in ways she's never experienced before.

Part 1.

Part 2.

Part 3.

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0oolookitsme · 3 years

Text

Hello Ms. Baker

Genre- Blurb

Pairing- PrinceHair!Harry x reader

Word Count- 647

Warnings- Curse words.

A/n- I wanted this to be a one-shot but decided to go with a blurb instead so I might make a part 2 for this in future. Enjoy! <3

“Hello?” Y/n said, for the third time and this person seems to be either fucking with her or has some issue with their phone. “Look I’ve other works to do okay. If you don’t have to say anything, I am hanging up.” Getting frustrated she put the phone on speaker and started working around the shop, picking up ribbons, cleaning the fallen petals, cleaned the cherry wooden floor to make it look presentable. She does this all in the first thirty minutes when she opens the shop every morning.

Miss Y/n obviously forgot about the phone so when she hears someone cough, she’s fucking startled, using her iron scale as a weapon she might need.

“Who’s there?” she narrows her eyes. “I-It’s me on the phone idiot” he laughs in a weak voice which only leads to a round of cough. Widening her eyes and mouth forming in a ‘O’ in realization, she puts the scale on counter and goes to talk to him.

“Hey!” she said, smiling because she knows he isn’t here. “Hmm” he hummed clearly waiting for her to ask, “how are you?”, oops she interrupted my writing (bitch). “Not good, what about you?” he said, knowing she knows that he has cold. “I’m good, yeah. How did you catch cold?” she asked, rolling her eyes because she did exactly what he wanted her to do.

“I don’t know” he said preparing for the pregnant pause he just told her to create and she indeed did create it to prepare herself for the lecture she’s giving him time for.

“Serious-“ he cuts her off midsentence and hastily says “I know but can you please handle my shop too? Just for today!”

Making a ‘Bitch you serious’ face she’s quick to say a “No? You can just keep it close, you haven’t taken a break in a while either.” “Yeah but there are many orders today! The cakes are prepared and are stored in the fridge! Please! The breads are also in the showcase area!” he begs her, ready to get on his knees. “Fine, but I will call you if there’s any problem, okay!” she tells and asks him. “Yes of course! Oh my god, thank you so much!” cheering he says. “You’re welcome, get well soon!” she smiles mumbling a ‘don’t want to manage your shop for days, right?” which was meant for him to hear and she was confirmed he did because of the breathy laugh heard from the other side before she hung up.

Shuffling around her store to find a spare key to his shop she keeps it on the counter as when she’s done setting up her store she will go to his.

He wasn’t lying when he said there were many orders today. The fridge was stuffed with cake and pastry boxes in the morning and now most of them are gone.

Literally everyone asked her about him to which she said “I’m covering up for him today. I think he will be here tomorrow though!” to which they smiled, some even muttered encouragements for her, and left. The customers of her own shop asked her too and she answered them the same to which some of them replied with “Awh, that’s sweet of you!” and “Get home soon today, you must be tired love” and that just made her heart burst with the feeling of home.

As soon as it hit eight, she went to close her shop and returned to close his.

Turning around to make her way home and talk to him on the way, she was alarmed when she heard a raspy “Hello Ms. Baker” in her ear, the warm breath warming up her whole face and sending zips of electricity down her spine. The cough followed behind kind of ruined the moment but made her laugh any way.

“Hello Mr. Cold Catcher”.

⊱ ────── {END} ────── ⊰

#harry styles #harry styles concept #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurbs #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #baker!harry #florist!reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles ff #harry edward styles #fanfiction #writeblr #reader insert #thanks for reading #byeeeee #My: Writings

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woopboopboop · 4 years

Text

behind the petals

A/N: a little florist harry for quarantine content. i’m still figuring out the style and format for my posts, especially writings (is that even a thing?) so, they might look different from time to time until i’ve settled on the one that i think is appropriate(?). anyway, i hope everyone’s safe and sound. happy reading, loves!

TW: a little bit of strong language, mention of death.

[flowers, bottled feelings and a secret with florist!harry]

Always the same day every week. The same time too. And always leaving the shop with a small bouquet of Asters in her hand. However, today is not the case.

“Ouch!” Harry yelps, jerking his finger away from the roses placed alongside baby’s breath on the big wooden table situated in the middle of the shop. Sure, paper cuts hurt like hell but leaf cuts is when Satan comes to rub the salt on it. In the midst of his muttered profanities, his phone dings. Fishing the phone from the back pocket of his crème flared trousers, he sees that there is a notification on picking up fresh roses at 3.

“Hey Niall,” he calls out but no response. So, he calls out the name again, louder this time.

“Niall!”

A blond pops his head out from the arch way which leads to the back room. “Yeah?” There’s a slight frown on his face since he is in a middle of arranging flowers for a customer order when Harry called him.

“Do you mind picking up the roses at 3?”

“Yeah, sure,” he shrugs. Before disappearing to the back room, he glances at a bouquet of red flowers besides the register. “Y/N’s not here yet?” His question is met with Harry shaking his head.

“Maybe she’s caught up with something,” he says then continues doing his job at the back room. Harry shifts his gaze to the Asters and back to his phone. It is a half past two and he realises that she is still not picking up her bouquet like she usually does on a Friday. No messages from her either and he can’t help but feel a bit worried about the whole thing. Sure, she is late sometimes but never this late.

She is one of the earliest people that he befriended after two years leaving Eroda. Leaving a place where he was born and raised is hard, sure, but, on this mainland, he is livelier, living without any uncertain pressures and presumptions hanging down his back unlike when he is in Eroda. Even though Eroda is not a gloomy cloud hanging over his head as it was before, it still can’t beat the feelings that he gets from the things in life that he only begins to notice and experience when he is here.

The first time she entered his flower shop, she had commented on the juxtaposition of his shop design. A white neon sign against a vintage shopfront. He thought that it is rather a specific compliment and a bit unusual given the compliments that he normally gets when people walk through the door of his flower shop is on his outfit.

In return, he shared a fun fact on the Asters that she purchased. He simply blurted out, “You know, in folklore, people believe that if you burn the leaves, supposedly, it’ll produce a perfume that can chase away evil spirits.” He held out one leaf between his thumb and forefinger to show her.

She was quite for a bit. Contemplating if it’s the truth or that was just straight up lies but she was amused that he managed to pull that out of thin air. “Oh? Didn’t know that,” she said while he nodded his head. “You believe it?”

“I believe in a lot of things,” he said while bunching up the flowers on the working table and tying it with a string. “You?”

She scrunched her nose and tilted her hand left and right to symbolise that she is not really sure of the whole thing. He giggled at her response. When the flowers were tied securely, he handed her the bouquet before making his way to the counter. As she gave out the sum of the bouquet, she asked out of interest, “You’re superstitious then?”

His lips moved to one side, thinking for quite a bit before relaxing. “You can say that. From where I come from, people are very much superstitious,” he considered. He gave her a pursed smile while both hands were on the hips after handing her the balance.

For him, it was an unexpected conversation but still a good one nonetheless. Weekly purchase of Asters then turns into frequent visits to his flower shop and coffee dates. Well, not really a date date even though he would love for that to happen. He can’t lie that there’s somewhat unfamiliar feelings blossoming in him every time they spend their time together but he quickly shoves it down.

He has never felt anything close to romantic affection (if that is what the feelings are) when he was in Eroda. Everyone is too busy shunning him to offer him any kind acts, let alone the feeling of being loved. And right now, he is not totally sure if it is love that he is feeling and he is afraid that if he reads the feelings wrong, everything is going to crumble down between them. That is the last thing that he wants to happen.

He then snaps from his thoughts when the welcoming bell chimes. Quick footsteps patter on the tiled floor walking towards his work table.

“Hi, H! Sorry that I’m late,” she says while trying her best to contain the fact that she is a little bit out of breath. Harry waves his hand in the air as he finds it’s ridiculous for her to apologise about the situation.

“No worries, love. The Asters’ on the counter,” he says nodding to the where the Asters are.

“You’re late than usual. Something came up?” he decides to ask while fixing the bundle of flowers in front of him carefully as he doesn’t want to add in the leaf cut that he had just now.

“Was caught with works. I thought of leaving early but then I remembered that I’ve still got something to settle,” she answers while reaching for the Asters besides the register.

Harry is leaning against the table; body completely turns to her with arms crossed in front of his chest. “Shouldn’t overwork yourself, Y/N” His eyebrows are raised, concern evident in his voice.

She sighs dramatically, giving him a playful eye roll. “Alright, mum.”

Even though it seems like she is not taking it seriously, she actually treasures his concerns towards her very much. So much that she is afraid that if it is going to lead to something else. From the first moment that they met; he has always been a very kind person not only to her but to every person that he encounters. So, she doesn’t want to be looking too deep into how he treats her and misinterpret it which can result in destroying what they have.

“Hey Y/N!”

Niall’s voice suddenly booms out from the back room. Needless to say, she is startled by his voice and feels her heart that has just began to slow thumping against her chest once again. Her sudden reaction makes Harry bursts into fit of laughter.

“Hello Niall!” She glares at Harry before looking around the shop for Niall appearance. However, he is nowhere to be seen and she assumes that he is too busy to come out from the back room.

“A busy man, huh?”

“Very busy.” He says with a sarcastic tone.

“I heard that!” Niall’s voice joining their little exchange. Both of them are looking at each other, stifling their laughter.

It’s not long after the laughter that she realises what she supposed to do. Leaving the exact amount of money on the counter, she walks briskly towards the door with Asters in her hand.

“I better get going.”

Before fully stepping outside of the shop, and taking a turn like she usually does after her Asters purchase, he calls out to her. Despite knowing each other for years and bonding over a bouquet of Asters, he has yet to know the reason why she is buying the flower and what for, especially when she starts to buy the flowers on a fix routine starting last year. Her tracks come to a halt as she spins on her heel towards him.

“Yes?” Her eyebrows are raised and the word comes out quickly. Just like her halted track, his questions are also halted as he sees that she is in a rush. So, he decides that he will ask her another time.

“Stay safe,” he says.

“Okay, Eroda boy,” Y/N replies, sending a wink to him.

“What’s the flower for?” He asked one day. Eight months after getting her first bouquet of Asters on every Friday at his flower shop. Buying Aster is not unfamiliar exchange between her and Harry but it sure has become a clockwork starting the previous year.

And for some reasons she couldn’t find it in her to answer the question. Such a simple four words question but her mind couldn’t comprehend it just yet. The only thing that she could muster is a hum, eyes meeting his momentarily before looking around the shop.

“It’s always been Asters,” he shrugs, “Seems like you’re very fond of them. Was wondering why?”

The reason behind the red flowers purchase on every Friday is not really a heavy subject. Well, dead parents are a heavy subject but the reason behind buying Asters for them on every visit isn’t. At least that’s how she sees it. Her mother always told her how it is a kind and respectful thing to do when you visit the dead. So, she continues the act. Choosing red Asters specifically just because her mother likes the flower. At times, she throws in purple ones just for a good contrast.

On the other hand, Harry has the feeling that her constant purchase of Asters carries a certain meaning. Maybe you’ve heard people saying that nobody cares about the meanings behind a flower. But then again, people buy roses because they think it’s fitting when it comes to showing their affection towards their loved ones. Asters are no difference. Her usual bunch means undying devotion and wisdom and he wonders who is the person that she sees in that sort of light.

Maybe it’s his curiosity or maybe it’s his jealousy (he finds it absurd for him to feel that way given the relationship that they are in but he might have underestimated how quickly his feelings for her are blossoming) but somewhere between those two has led him to ask the same question that she left hanging in the air unanswered previous months. This time, he is determined.

“No, no, no. Think it’s better to have anemones with that. Don’t you think Harold?” Niall says while trying to balance a vase of orchid on his right arm, holding it with a tight grip.

She has been having a little trouble in her writing lately especially in trying to nail on the real essence of life. This time, she is stuck on flowers and who better to ask than the experts themselves?

Harry comes peering over her shoulder to see what she is working on. Attached to the corner of her notebook; a photo of peonies. The three of them are gathered around the marble table near the big window of the shopfront. Y/N is sitting down, elbow propped on the marble surface, chin resting on her palm. With fingers curling on the wooden chair where Y/N is seated, Harry leans his body forward a bit to the point where their faces is side by side. Only inches apart. He hums in contemplation, nose wriggling.

She doesn’t know that they are so close so when she turns to look at Harry, she let out a tiny gasp as her nose almost bump to his cheek. Surprised by her movement, he tilts his head slightly to the side to look at her only to meet her eyes. At that moment, he can see the sun rays reflecting in her eyes and from where she is sitting, she sees his skin seems to get golden when the sunlight hits him.

“Right, Harold?” Niall asks once again, causing both of them to break their eye contact. They don’t know how long they have been staring into each other faces but it seems like it is long enough to cause Niall to ask the same question twice.

Harry quickly retract from his position, clearing his throat. “Yeah… yeah. Usually we… um… we pair peonies with anemones.”

“Well, there you go!” Niall states, a satisfied smile on his lips. Still balancing the glass vase on his arm, he moves to the door, reaching for the weathered teal double door of the shop when he is close enough. “I gotta go now. Couldn’t risk any angry customer, can’t we?”

“Alright.” He shots Niall a thumbs up and Y/N waves him goodbye as Niall pulls the door.

“Didn’t you say that anemone is a sad flower or something?” The mood in the shop shifts as the seconds of awkward silence is replaced with her trying to remember the information while eyes looking intently at the different sizes of terra cottas at the front of the shop. At the corner of her eyes, Harry is walking to the back room only to reappear minutes later with two steaming hot mugs.

Even though the sun is out shining, it can be deceiving as the mainland is cold majority of the time. Thus, a mug of hot or warm drink always comes in handy. He comes round the table and places one of the mugs in front of her.

“Well, if you’re looking at it as a forsaken or forgotten love and affection flower, it definitely is,” he tells her.

“That’s really sad,” she says as a matter of fact and Harry nods in acknowledgement. Just one glance at the mug that he is holding, she knows that the drink is not going to be finished. She snorts while lowering her mug on the table after taking a sip.

“What?” He questions from above his mug. Green eyes looking directly at her.

“You’re going to end up wafting the tea instead,” she jokes, one corner of her lips tugged slightly. She meets his bright eyes for a fleeting moment before focusing on the scribbling in her book.

Looking at him sends her a strange mixture of feelings. On one hand, she can feel the buzzing in her heart seeing his curls dangling on his forehead and the orange one piece that makes him look so soft. But its combination with the uncertainty in her head is not a good one.

“Don’t want you to sit and drink tea alone. Like you usually do,” he winks before adding, “Plus, I know you enjoy my company.” He always has a cheeky remark when it comes to not finishing his tea. And that is his lines for today. She hates how accurate his remark is but she is not going to let him know that.

“Are you calling me a loner? Rude, Harold.” She feigns offence, narrowing her eyes while he tries to hide his widening grin by biting his bottom lips, bunny teeth making a full appearance.

He likes how easy and light the situation is. How everything just comes naturally in between them without any forcing done. Of course, at first they are a tad bit awkward around each other, but as they grow closer, everything is just so easy. One of the things that he cherishes the most away from home. Suddenly the question creeps into his mind and he decides to shot his shoot.

“D’you mind if I ask you a question?” He asks, elbows prop on his thighs, fingers intertwined with each other while he leans forward.

“Hmm?” The sound is one of absentminded, her attention more focused on whatever she is jotting down.

“I’ve asked this before but I’m going to ask you again.” His words are carefully arranged as to avoid any discomfort from rising. In front of him, she seems to stop writing and turn her focus to him. He takes that as a signal to continue.

“Where did you go with the Asters that you bought?”

“Down the streets,” she answers him. It’s not necessarily a lie on her behalf. It’s just probably not the answer that he thought he is going to get.

“Are you using my flowers to have a secret deal or should I be prepared when the police coming knocking on my door?” He gasps loudly which in return makes Y/N shakes her head, unamused about what he is saying but the smile that is making its way on her lips says otherwise.

“You’re such an idiot.”

“But you like me.” One of his eyebrows arches with cocky grin painted on his face.

But you like me. He really wishes he has more confidence to say the words without giving her the façade that he is being playful about it. But he doesn’t have the confidence and it’s another waste of chance for him.

Strands of hair fall on the side of her face. She focuses on tucking it behind her ear rather than focusing on the words that came out of his mouth just now. It’s another truth that she is not willing to confirm just yet.

But there is another truth that she is willing to tell him. As far as she knows, there is not really a secret between them. There is nothing that they don’t know about each other except for the reason behind the Asters purchase and she definitely feels bad about keeping that information seal for a long time. It doesn’t sit well with her especially when Harry is being very open about his life to her. So, she thinks that it’s only fair for him to get the answer to his long-suspended question.

“What if…” her trailing voice catches his attention. “What if you come with me next Friday?”

Her question catches him off guard. As much as he wanted to know the answer, he also doesn’t want to intrude any part of her life. So, he needs to make sure if she is really sure about her offer, “Are you sure?”

At the back of his mind, he is worried if he has overstepped a boundary and she is offering just because she feels obliged to do so. However, a sense of relief washes over him when he sees there’s no compulsion behind her eyes or irritation in her voice when she says “very” to him.

They sit in silence for a while. Y/N trails her gaze from the mug in front of her, seeing the faint swirls of the aromatic aroma of the tea, to the contemplation that Harry has on his face. “Sounds good?”

A smile slowly spread on his lips. “Good.”

This is the last thing that he is expecting when joining her on weekly visit.

Finally, I get to meet someone of importance to her he thinks. Is he sad? Yes because that someone might be her lover. Is he honoured? Also, yes because she trusts him enough to feel comfortable about him tagging along.

But like mentioned before, this is the last thing on the list of what could possibly happen. Maybe he should’ve listened to his gut when he decided to wear the pearl today out of all day.

“Gotta go now,” she says softly while glancing to the Asters placed in between two flat marble headstones at her feet. They have been there for a good 10 minutes he reckons. Y/N crouching on the ground, talking to the two headstones and Harry standing not far from her.

Seeing her having a small talk with two inanimate objects leaves a heavy feeling in his heart. It’s not because it is a pitiful scene. If anything, he did the same thing back in Eroda. The only difference is the thing that he is speaking to is a fish. His best guess is that when you lose something or someone, at one point you will tend to find comfort in something familiar. It isn’t the same but it is enough.

As minutes passed, he has a grasp on the feeling. He comes to senses that it stems from his realisation on how she has been carrying this whole thing by herself. Doing a silent calculation, he figures that it might have been a year. Might have. It could’ve been longer than that because she has been buying flowers from him for years. But a year is still a long time.

A year of purchasing Asters.

A year of her parents passing.

A year of her carrying this on her own.

They had not exchanged a word from the first step into the graveyard. So hearing her releasing a shaky breath is alarming from him. Maybe he should have said something instead of letting the silence and occasional sound of passing vehicles wedged between them. Maybe that would have been better. But his brain couldn’t come up with appropriate words to say. Not even when they are walking side by side, already further away from the headstones.

“I- I’m sorry,” he says, finally breaking the silence. He is mentally prepared if he were to meet her eyes but when he turns to look at her, she is looking forward. There is something in her facial expression and he tries to muster whatever lurks underneath it.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” she shrugs. Her hair is getting unruly from the wind that grows stronger so she pushes her hair back. When she senses that the air is tensed, she playfully nudges his side, throwing a soft smile.

He will himself to smile back but she knows that it is not as genuine. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes like always.

“You don’t have to feel bad about it.”

“But I – ”

“You don’t have to,” Y/N cuts him off, feeling a small, reserved grin spreading as an unexpected warmth grows in her chest. It is ridiculous that he feels the need to apologise for something that is out of his control. Out of her control. He has too big of heart for this world, insisting that everything in the world needs compassion. It’s very annoying how he sees the world through rose coloured glasses at times because it leads him to feel too much about everything even it gives him no good. But she has found her way to adore it. Absolutely adores it.

Their steps suddenly stop when he tugs on her wrist, preventing her from walking further. When she turns around, his hand still holding her wrist, she can see that there is sorrow in the way his lips pursed into a thin line, eyebrows stitching together and the green of his eyes is dull.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks. Another simple question that makes her brain scrambling for answer. It doesn’t help either now that there is a dull ache behind her eyes. She curses herself for all of the sudden overwhelming sensations. Without warning, it has crept up to her but she doesn’t feel it before as it is masked by the softness of Harry’s voice and for the fact that now he is holding her hand.

Feeling that her eyes are getting hot and cheeks are getting warm, she looks away and down where their hands are intertwined. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she cracks a little, “I guess everyone has their secret.”

With every word spoken, he closes the distance between them. He then tilts his head a bit, searching for her eyes. Through her lashes, the tears on her waterlines are waiting for their time to break free. The next line he uttered is in a tone so soft as if he is afraid that the wave of his voice is going to cause the first tear to cascade down her face.

“I suppose.” He pauses when she looks up to him, letting go of his hand. Internally, he is panicking and is very positive that he had just fucked things up further. First the inappropriate dressing and now wrong choice of words.

It put an ease to his heart as she suddenly pulls him into a hug, putting all of the negative thoughts just now into a stop and down the drain. But he is still very much careful with his words, not wanting to push her any further.

“Just know that you can always talk to me about anything, alright?” He says, pulling her close and feeling a wet patch on his white shirt. The first tear has broken free.

The warmth growing in her chest is now almost overwhelming as she stays in his embrace, soothing her mind in unfamiliar way. His chin resting on her head, his arms running up and down her back, her side of face pressed on the soft fabric of his shirt, arms draping around his waist. They are lost in the comfort of each other presence. They stay like that for few seconds before she breaks the embrace, wiping the tears with the back of hand.

“I know that,” she finally answered, giving him reassurance.

The final tension in the air is melting away as he quirks a smile at her and she smiles back. They regain their step, making their way on the paved sidewalk side by side. Closer this time.

“I like the pearls.” She points out at the string of pearls around his neck, head turning to him with a grin on her face.

He cracks a smile on his own, fingers twisting and turning the pearl necklace around his neck. There is a whole new confidence in his voice compared to the careful tone at the beginning of the conversation.

“You do? Thought s’bit inappropriate to wear since we’re… you know?”

She stifles the bubbling giggle in her chest. “You look lovely,” she compliments, playfully punching him in the arm.

The words fall out of her mouth so easily and this makes him blushes without any solid reason. It is remarkable how easy it is for her to make him feel wholesome. From the words she says to the gentle gestures.

Yet another thing in life that he won’t trade for anything.

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