#harry styles x original character

[sushirrrry]

wrangled

a harry styles one-shot. 14k words. cw: age-gap, sexual content, spitting, spanking, squirting, dirty talk, humiliation kink, coarse language, dom/sub kink

Forte Ranch.

Kettle Falls, Washington.

June Forte is the 24 year old daughter of Travis Forte– the owner of the largest bison ranch in eastern Washington. When she returned home from college, her wishes of becoming a teacher in the area land her with a few different jobs– one that also includes the family business.

It's not lost on her that when she starts noticing that a superbly handsome, older ranch-hand who introduces himself in a deep-posh accent as Harry Styles, that she seems to lose a bit of focus on the picture: make enough money to leave Kettle Falls for good.

But, the older man seems to keep running into her no matter how many times she tries to leave. Maybe, she recognizes, that it isn't a coincidence.

When Harry and June are one day left alone, the tensions are higher than ever. Once June gets a taste, her intuition starts to let her know that maybe seeing the dimples underneath the brim of the Stetson is easier to lean into rather than run from.

He's not letting her run away that easy.

"Goddamnit, Fury– let's go!"

She pulled at the lead; the rope pulled at her hands a bit when the horse continued to stand his ground, obviously more powerful than her.

A quick sigh, a puff of air to move some of the hair off of her face. June couldn't help but groan at the horse's stubbornness that kept him inside the confines of his stall.

She had a lesson in an hour now. Not that it would have been a huge deal— the family that she taught for were very laid back, but her need to follow a schedule made Fury's outburst quite annoying as it would take a bit of time to get him out now.

The horse-riding lessons that she had been giving were supplementing the cash flow through the summer. Next year, she would be starting a position as a teacher at one of the local schools in the area. June had gone to school in Seattle; it was the biggest culture shock for her when she arrived in the big city.

From growing up on the ranch to moving to the big city with just what she could fit in her dad's pick-up–she had loved every moment of it. She loved seeing the way that the traffic built up everywhere in the early mornings, the honking horns, the sleepy travelers in the coffee shops every morning.

It was a learning experience that she had been blessed with. But, in reality, her heart stayed in the eastern mountains; the smell of the fresh air every morning gave her such a high that she hadn't been expecting to miss with her whole heart.

Living on this ranch, in this small town, had been in her heart this whole time. She hadn't recognized how much of her she still had to learn.

When you're young, you want so bad to leave. Then, you see the rest of the world, and you find home so much more appealing. It feels secure, it feels like a place that you can come back to when you're finished exploring.

It's a place to relax. A place to replenish. A place to house your soul.

Now, she say her fighting with her horse who seemed to have the upper-hand.

"Fury, if you don't come on," She rubbed the horse's nose, giving him a look as he tilted up his head quickly. "You're being so stub—"

"Might wanna give him something to entice him."

The sound behind her makes June jump with a fright, a gasp escaping as she had been lost in her own world. There's a man standing on the opposite side of her now, unlocking the gate of the horse stall. She hadn't noticed him before, so she wondered how long he had been standing there watching her struggle with the ropes her hands. 

A chestnut mare stands, grunts softly in front of him as he looks back at her. June recognized the man, which didn't seem to happen often. The farm has lots of people coming through, many stay for weeks– months, maybe. The summer months are preparing for the winter; she knew that a lot more came around at this time of the year.

But she recognized him.

There wasn't a person who wouldn't.

The man's accent threw her for a moment– not realizing if she had heard him speak before. She mustn't have, or she'd know the low drawl of a foreign tongue.

But there's a few certain men that have been around for a bit. This man, in particular, she thought. He wears his hair longer, a bit down on his ears. He pushes it back into his Stetson, the chocolate curls have grown every time she sees him closer.

He has a soft scruff along his jawline that was really only visible up close; a white tank top that has seen better days when it was a pure white on the rack. June lets her eyes wander for a moment before she sees that he notices, a hint of pink painting her cheeks as she watches that he seems to go on about his day without another word.

Not to mention: if you stared at him in the heat of the eastern Washington sun, it was entirely too close to see the shade of green that his eyes shone. They practically became translucent at how luminous they became.

June was a bit taken; her hands adjust on the lead as she watched the man throw a bridle over the large mare's nose. He clicked his tongue to get her to follow, the mare following him out of the stall easily. June watched at how easy it was; she knew Fury was a bit hard-headed to begin with, so it couldn't have been that easy no matter what he had said to her.

As the man started walking away just a bit, Fury took a step forward which helped June aid him out of the stall. It threw her for a moment, her body moving forward to help lead the horse where he needed. He followed, though a bit slowly as he shook his head when she pulled in the lead towards the saddling. 

"See, told you," The man spoke once again, nodding his head a bit towards his mare, "Men are always enticed by pretty ladies."

He had taken the saddle off of the stand, throwing it over the mare's back. June's eyes stared at the way his muscles popped through the sleeveless shirt, pushing the heavy riding saddle up further on the horses back.

"Going for a ride?" The man spoke again, watching as June hooked Fury up to stand so that he was secured. June hadn't spoken yet, feeling her voice caught in her throat over the way that he had been a bit chatty with her.  Her eyes drifted over to him, knowing he had been talking to her again which elicited a response.

She bit her lip, pulling up on the loops of her jeans that hugged around the curve of her hips.

"No, I teach, actually." June commented, brushing down Fury's neck before pushing some of his mane out of his eyes.

The horse chewed a bit, making her smile as his lips tried to nip at her arm. "Have a lesson soon. He's the best with kids, gives them a hard time but it's good for them to learn how to be a bit more assertive. He listens when you're real strict with him, just not well."

"Really all the qualities of a man, huh?" The man smirked; they stood next to each other at the station before June looked over and he had started to move towards her. His hand outreached, his eyes truly on her now as they became closer with each step he took. "Harry Styles."

June swallowed back, her hand moving out towards his as they locked together in a moment. "June Forte. You're a worker here?"

Harry's eyes shift for a moment when he notices the deep blue of her eyes and the familiarity of her generational smile. His tongue flicks out to run over his bottom lip as he lets his eyes drag over her a moment. June squirms under his vision, her breath halted as he takes his hand away and their touch loosens.

"And this is your ranch, I presume." He speaks, his words standing in the air.

June shrugs her shoulders up as if his comment didn't mean much. "Not mine– well, my family's, so technically will be mine or my siblings someday. My dad's dream was to own it, and I guess now he does. Was my grandads, and my great-grandads. He built it, and it's just a family heirloom now. But yeah– we live up there."

Harry's breath baited for a moment, a small scoff of a chuckle leaving his lips as he moved back towards the mare. The mare stomped on the ground, his hand moving to comfort her outburst.

"Guess I don't need to be flirting with the ranch owner's daughter, then. May be a conflict of interest."

June raised a brow at his words, feeling a hotness come across her neck as she moved to throw the big brush through Fury's chestnut coat. She faced away from him now, her head turning to look over her shoulder at the way he continued to smirk at her.

For the first time in a while, June's sharp tongue felt dull. She didn't know what to say as she felt some hair fall into her face as she managed to push the heavy brush through the horse's coat.

"Never been a huge rule follower, though." He followed up, pulling the reins of the tacked horse; he walked backwards out of the barn with his eyes on June– the shape of her body only let his eyes fall down and around her curves.

A soft chuckle came from her lips as she heard the clicking of his tongue, guiding the mare out. "Easy, cowboy." She called back, in a surprising quip, "My ranch, my rules."

"So now you're the boss?" He quipped, "giving me mixed signals, June." Harry paused for a moment, giving her a moment to comeback.

"Let's just say I'm pretty close to the guy in charge." June tilted her head, "But I'd say that flirting with the boss's daughter isn't in your best interest if you want to stick around."

June watched the man quickly bite his lip as if he was stopping himself from another remark.

"We'll see about that one." He called back, his boots crunching on the gravel once again, his eyes staying on her even when leading the large horse out of the barn. "Might be the opposite effect if I'm lucky."

June bit her lip at the thought of him– wondering if he had seen her before. Her legs adjusted just at the thought of his low, raspy voice. She hasn't heard it before, but now all she could hear was his words in the back of her head.

"Hope you find a four-leaf clover out there, gonna need it." June said back, watching as he moved away, a wink flying back at her.

She huffed, looking at her horse before a shake of her head made her feel a bit dizzy.

Maybe it wasn't the head shake that made her feel that way.

***

The following morning, Fury continued to give June quite a time. He was a stubborn horse, but she knew that he trusted her and vice versa. June never felt that she had a problem with him, he had been her horse for over ten years now.

June grew up with horses, riding and watching them was in her blood. She loved riding and watching people become more comfortable as they rode more. It was a pleasure for her to teach young kids to be comfortable and confident while riding, especially when it taught discipline and hard work.

Nothing about riding horses was easy– she continued to learn that the hard way. It took trust, and lots of effort to make sure that the animal underneath you trusted every part of you. The hardest part was putting your life in their hands. But, it was always worth taking that chance.

He kicked a few times, the young girl that she had for the lesson this morning was mostly scared that she was going to fall off. June reassured her that she would hold his lead, but that she needed to be strong.

"When you're scared, he's going to be scared," June tried to reassure her, watching the young girl— her name was Natasha, she was around eleven. "You have to be in control of him, and he's going to respond to you. But we can end the lesson a bit early if you're feeling some nerves— that's okay, too."

Natasha gave June a look; she was unsure, and June could read all over it. However, Natasha pushed through some of her nerves, which led to June eventually letting go of the reins and letting the girl trot some laps around the outside arena space.

"You got it!" She yelled over, staying on the fence, her eyes lighting up at the girl's excitement over her accomplishments of getting the horse to where she wanted him. "Let's loop around one more time, and then bring it back to the center."

June pushed her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. The outside training grounds was a large area of the ranch, covered by trees and small patches of grass. She tucked some hair behind her ear that had fallen out of the messy bun she pulled at the base of her neck.

A small noise caught her attention as she started to make her way to the center of the arena to meet Fury and Natasha. June bit on her lip as she squinted in the early morning sun that was casting over the field down to the bison pasture. The gates had opened, watching the man from earlier in the saddle atop the chestnut mare.

His head turned to check that the smaller bison calves had made their way through to the other side of the fence.

"Shut 'em in!" He yelled, pulling at the reins of his horse before the other ranch-hand pulled at the metal gate on the other side.

The field sat opposite of the smaller training field that had been built for June's benefit; she absolutely loved teaching, loved the elements of getting young riders out on the back of a horse to feel the fresh breeze in their hair. It had been so therapeutic to her growing up when everything felt that it could have fallen apart at any moment— this was her world.

Growing up on the ranch had been a saving grace for her. It was the yin to the yang of the city that she had grown to love. She had never had the opportunity to fall in love with another place like she had with Seattle.

It didn't hurt that these were the kinds of views that she had, either.

June hadn't been paying attention as she heard her name being called; her head whipped around as she watched Fury stomp a few times and start to buck and push the young girl. June watched her expression as she held at the fence, watching the young girl struggle with the large stallion.

"Hold on, Natasha!" June yelled, sitting up on the large fence before she cupped her hands over her mouth, "Pull the reins real hard to the left!"

She could see the fear on the girls face as she tried to brace, tried to do what June had told her to. She wasn't strong enough to manage the horse as her foot slid from the saddle and her body flung to the side and off into the dirt of the ring.

June gasped outwardly with a few curses as she ran towards where the girl was flung off. Fury moved away now that she felt safe enough that she could grab her and move out of the ring. She felt horrible not being to stop it before it started, not reading the language of the horse before it was too late.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" June asked, the young girl sitting up on her elbows as she tried to brush herself off. "You're not hurt, are you? Nothing feels broken?"

She shook her head, the helmet bearing her fall as she seemed to just be a bit more traumatized than hurt. The adrenaline must've been moving through her as they stood up, June helping her as she looked around the ring to notice that the horse had made his way out of the ring through the gate she had opened, ready to lead them out.

"Shit!" June yelled out, her head moving around at an attempt to find the horse that had been trotting away. She tucked the hair behind her ear as she turned to look around.

"I'm so sorry," Natasha started, obviously in shock, "I-I didn't– I got scared."

June turned to the girl, shaking her head profusely. "No, no, sweetie. It's fine– as long as you're okay."

June took Natasha out of the ring, climbing up the fence and over to the grassy knoll. Her hands landed on her hips as she searched around for Fury who had gotten loose.

"Fuck," She whispered under her breath.

She didn't expect him to get so agitated. She hasn't had that happen before, which set her alert on high. Fury was the horse that she trained on, and without him, she couldn't hold onto her lesson schedule.

The next one was in twenty minutes, so she needed to figure out a plan on how to catch him.

The first part of the plan was to find the horse that had seemingly run away and out of the gate. Her attention moved back towards the young girl, who had taken off her helmet and seemed to have calmed down just a bit. She rubbed at her elbow that had a bit of a scratch.

"You head back to barn," She told Natasha, "If you see him, holler really loud for me. I'm going to go to the other fields, see if I can catch him."

The young girl agreed, making her way back down to the barns where her mother had been while she took the lesson. She would tell them what had happened, and to make sure they could catch him if he got around.

June started up towards the bison fields– the ranch handlers had been up there just a few moments prior to the incident, and she may have an idea of where the horse had run to. The property was large, almost three hundred acres of land. But, with the number of trees and wooded miles, it would be harder to catch him than it was with the open spaces.

The Forte ranch was surrounded by mountainous regions, which was good for the bison and the elk that were seemingly farmed in the area. June's family kept bison and yak, which was separate to the ranches out in the southwest. Their ranch was green and grassy, surrounded by lakes and streams with glaciers and chilly mornings.

The summer heat didn't always feel like summer, which was what made the mornings so delightful. It was June's favorite parts about the lifestyle of working outside, she felt like there was so much more to see and so much more to take in. It was her own sense of meditation.

"Hey," June called out to the two men sitting on the fences. "Did you see my horse run by? He threw my rider off and fled, and I didn't really see where he went."

The two men seemingly similar looked at one another before shaking their head, practically ignoring her as they continued to haul a few bales of hay into a truck that was backed up to the fence. "Sorry, hon, no."

June placed her hands in her back pockets before she stared at them for a moment. "Okay, well, he's black. Long white stripe down his nose, kinda pink on the end. His name is Fury, but he doesn't usually respond," She blinked a few times, starting to ramble as she thought for a moment, "Probably why he's being a pain in the ass."

She could tell that the men were seemingly uncaring for her request, so she sniffled out of awkwardness before her boots started to move her to the other end of the field.

A good thirty minutes flew by as she walked along the edges of the property, whistling softly for any sight of where the horse could've gone. The sudden sound of clicking made her head turn towards the wooded area; a strike of fear spooking her as she turned. It wasn't that she feared being on her own, but something about being vulnerable ate away at her.

Her heart instantly dropped as she saw two horses, one ridden and the other being held close by the familiar leather reins. The rider in question familiar as she felt her lips quirk up in a smirk at the look on the man's face. She released the breath she had been holding in.

"Think you're supposed to stay on the horse, not let him run away." The deep voice teased. He had been holding the reins of Fury while riding his own.

"He threw my rider," She told him, "I was trying to make sure that she was okay, and he ran off."

"She was quite young," He commented, obviously seeming a bit worried now. He slowed his horse down, the horse standing in front of June as she went to pet down the mare's nose. It crossed her mind that he had noticed her earlier, possibly been staring. "Was she okay?"

June shrugged, nodding. "No broken bones. Maybe a bit of broken spirit."

"You know what they say," He licked over his lip, "Gotta' get back in the saddle." It was then that a smile broke on his face, which halted her breath at the beauty of it.

She laughed at his dry humor, raising her brows. "They do say that, but I'm going to have to do a bit more training with him. He needs to be better for younger riders."

Harry threw the reins over his horse's head, June caught them in her own grip. She looked back up at him again with a small smile. "I appreciate your help– catching him and all that."

"Pretty good portion of my job," He told her, turning the horse a bit so he could face her better.

June had started to lead the horse back in the direction of where the ring and the barn were before Harry stopped her with his words.

"C'mon, hop on," He told her, shifting in his saddle, "We're almost a mile away. You don't want to have to walk."

June's eyes shifted a bit as she pulled at Fury's lead, walking backwards as she thinks about his request for a moment. It catches her off guard, but she shakes her head.

"I think I can walk," She assures him him with a chuckle. He sways a bit in the saddle as he starts after them, obviously going in the same direction.

"Didn't say you couldn't," He remarks back, June hears his tone and looks back instantly, watching his eyes lay on her. Her stomach dropped at the way his gaze felt; his words playing off the sharpness of his jaw, "Also wasn't looking for an answer, just action."

June eyed him for a moment, almost a stand off from her spot on the ground. She inhaled sharply before she bit the inside of her cheek. She didn't understand the feeling in her chest that had anchored its way down to a bit of heat. The authoritative speaking of his voice made her swallow.

"But what if I wanted to walk?"

June watches the twitch of his face when she denied him– when she didn't do as he asked. When she didn't succumb to his request; which, she was learning was more of a nice way to demand rather than request.

The man slipped off the saddle, moving away from the mare before he was now standing in front of June with her hair pulled from her face. The freckles on her nose were surrounded by a bit of sun-kiss, which the man took as a reward for being so close. His eyes trained in her for a moment before he noticed the hitch in her breath as they were toe to toe.

June subconsciously took a small step back before she felt the touch of his hand on her wrist. Her eyes stayed along the collar of the navy t-shirt that seemed a bit pulled at the collar. While a contrast to the white tank he wore yesterday, this accentuated the bronze of his skin from working out in the summer heat. The warmth of the summer sun has bronzed him, leaving the ink of his arms darker in contrast.

He took a package out of his back pocket, the cigarette between his fingers and dangling from his mouth now as his bright green eyes have a playful lift to them. She watches him teasingly as he lets it dangle from his tongue before placing one on her lip too, waiting for her lip to catch it.

She doesn't tell him that she only smokes when she can't sleep, or when she's stressed out by something her family has said. But she doesn't say anything, just sends him a smirk as they stand toe to toe. His fingers snap the lighter to his, hers next as he takes a draw.

"Anyone looking for you?" His voice was as smooth as leather as he kept his eyes directed to the way her cheeks sunk into breath in the smoke.

"Probably." She responds, drawing her lips between her teeth. She felt the stare down but folded as soon the dimple popped through the right of his cheek. "I have a lesson that should be starting."

He shrugged, "Your horse ran off, nothing you can do."

June went to speak, her head turning towards Fury before Harry looked down the gravel road towards the home– over a mile away like he had mentioned.

Her words got caught in her throat before she can respond, just putting the cigarette up to her lips before she licked her tongue over her bottom lip that had turned into a smile. June bites the inside of her cheek before she looks over Harry who's already moving away from her.

"What're you doing back here?" He asked her, his European accent ringing a bit different, "thought you moved to the city."

Her thoughts ran to the fact that he knew that much about her. She wondered if her dad had mentioned her before, or if he was just paying attention. Either way, her answer to him stayed true.

"I knew I wanted to work my way back here," June told him honestly, "I wanted to work back home. But I need to save some money."

Harry bit his lip as he held the reins of the horse, pulling his over just a bit to start back down the path. It was slow, but it was moving a bit. June knew she was late to her riding session, but she figured it would've been fine anyways– she wasn't going to let her students ride Fury at this point.

"You're young," Harry told her with a chuckle, as if he was trying to explain the world to her, "You've got to explore a bit before moving back home. How do you think I got here?"

June tucked some loose hair behind her ear, "How did you end up here, I mean? It's quite far."

"Five thousand miles, give or take." He tells her, walking alongside her now. They seem to be moving at a slower pace. Either way, Harry knew that he wanted to be next to her.

June took a last draw of her cigarette, throwing it on the gravel. "Way too far for me. I'd miss my family way too much."

Harry flicked the cigarette, the ashes falling a bit before he nodded a few times. "That's because you have a really great family," He looked ahead, chuckling a bit, which June caught before furrowing her brows. "I don't miss my family at all, truthfully. Not much to miss there. So, maybe I just don't get it."

June nodded a few times, understanding the implications and biting her lip at his words. There's silence in the air before she takes in a breath and pressed her lips together then, as if she's trying to find words to help alleviate a pressure that she added in. But, he speaks before she gets a chance to.

"I just think people maybe need to take a few more chances," He says, "Live a little more freely. What's the worst that can happen if you do what you want?"

"Well, most criminals live by that narrative," June tells him, which makes him laugh a little bit at her remarks before she looks at him with the blue eyes that he can't seem to fully grasp could be that color blue.

"Within reason." He adds, and he stops mid step before he watches as she turns to face him at his abrupt stop in the road.

June looks at him, a fluttering feeling in her stomach as his body moves, letting the leather reins go before he stops in front of her again. It's the proximity that sends her thoughts on a tailwind of what could happen next; the adrenaline pushes in her veins as she stares up at him. He's closer now than before, his head has dropped a bit so he can really look at her, but she's acknowledged that, pushing her chin up to make sure she can hear exactly what he's saying.

"Maybe it's the fact that I don't like playing by the rules, though." The smell of the tobacco was filling her nose as they stood so close. His eyes remained deferred from hers, watching the way that the lips and chin were pulling up, almost subconsciously.

"Seems a bit criminal, if you ask me." She teased, tilting her head a bit as she begged him to look at her. 

"I mean," He chuckled, letting his fingers move up to her chin as he took it between them to steady her, "It would be criminal to let you beg any longer. Bit pathetic to watch."

"Not begging." She pushed back, pulling her chin away from his grip, which tightened his jaw. She noticed the way that her defiance made him react, which sped her breathing up.

"Tell your body that, sweets," He bit, "I could say anything, and you'll react to it."

He licked over his lips, watching as she tried her best to stay calm, to keep her breath under control. Her lips were pursed, her stance was trying to stand off a bit, but he could see right through her—he saw that she was trying her best to stand on her own but knew that she would fold right then and there.

It was the game that Harry liked, he liked watching how she would react to him when he spoke to her. She was young, practically ten years younger or so, he could assume—she was so impressionable and the fight for dominance was almost sweet. Harry ached as he watched her try to stand him down and his eyes moved to her lips before they drew up to her eyes, watching the ocean waves of blue.

June pulled away, suddenly. She gave him a smirk before she clicked her tongue to have Fury follow her down the road.

"You think you've got me figured out," She called, looking back over her shoulder. "Not going to work with me, cowboy."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, watching her walk away. His eyes fell to the way that she walked, seeing the swing of her hips as a tactic to use against him. But, he did what he needed to do. He followed close behind, watching her every move—the silence in their walk back not lost on him.

"Something enticing?" June teased, noticing the way that his eyes had danced over her curves from behind. Harry's eyes lifted just a bit, settling in her eyes before he sent a wink her way.

The silence on the walk back to the barns felt good; it felt understood. It's why they both smiled to themselves, neither one seeing the other.

***

"You think I can really pull him?" June looked at Shelby, "He's older– I don't know, Shel."

"You aren't even seeing the way he looks at you," Shelby said to her friend, taking a swig of her beer. He's not taken his eyes off of her, and somehow June knows that deep inside of her, but she can't bring herself to look back at him. She's a bit timid like that; a sharp tongue when confronted, but a tail between her legs when she thinks of it.

The next night, June had gone out with her friend, Shelby, for a drink. It wasn't lost on her that the town was small. Most everyone knew each other, which made the Friday nights out on the town hard to avoid people you didn't want to see.

You really needed to want to be there, or you would be seen by someone you didn't want to see. June hadn't even thought of it when they went out, that she could possibly see him there. After their encounter yesterday morning, June had kept her distance. Not in a way that she felt was stand-offish, but in a way that felt like she was trying her best to let him come to her.

Dating and flirting weren't new to her, but the idea of playing this game scared her a bit. He wasn't new to this; they weren't trying to figure this out together like she had experienced in college. He was older than her, he had experience with this game.

It scared her a bit, because she didn't know how to handle herself in this type of situation. She wanted to come across as confident, but she knew that he had the opportunity to make her fold.

"You need to be drunker," Shelby stated, pushing her half-empty beer to her, watching as June wrapped her hands around the bottle. It was warm to the touch, not fresh in the slightest. "Let's go to the bar to get more."

June looked at her friend after downing the rest before she fully understood what that meant for her.

Shelby had gotten up, which made June follow her. The strawberry blonde realized without another second to spare that she had walked into the lion's den– eyes were on her as she approached the countertop bar.

One pair of eyes, specifically.

At first, she hadn't recognized him. Without the hat and the dirt-ridden t-shirt, she saw the way that the denim jacket hugged his back. The curls had a bit of bounce to them, and her mouth felt dry as she tried her best to divert her attention away.

But they were almost arm and arm and she had wondered if he would notice.

Of course he had. The scent of cherries and lime only made sense when his attention turned back towards a person who had brushed against him now. He had seen her across the room as soon as she came in with her short skirt and boots. He noticed the way that her waist dipped in with the form-fitting top and the slight curl to her hair.

He sat with his beer in his hand, a rowdy few friends were next to him as he kept his attention on her. June felt heat down her neck as she tried to ignore the staring but started to enjoy the feeling of being seen.

"Two whiskey sours," Shelby leaned across the bar to ask for before June looked at her with confusion, knowing that adding a bit of liquor in the mix would either make it better or worse—she didn't know. Her friend smirked at her, watching the bartender start to assemble their drinks.

June kept to herself for a moment before she heard a stealthy voice next to her. The jolt of her head towards him even surprised her as she licked over her lips at the way that he was looking at her.

"You following me, doll?"

June scoffed; her sharp tongue ready. "You don't think I have better things to do?" She quirked her eyebrow at him; feeling the closeness of them as she stood, and he sat on the barstool under the dim light of the grungy pub.

"No," He shook his head, taking a sip from his bottle before he turned to face her now. She was practically between his legs, his knees on either side of her as she stood closer to him than she thought. "I don't think you do."

He looked the same as he had yesterday morning; he was clean shaven on his cheeks, a bit of scruff on his lip and a twinkle in his eye that was undeniable among the green. A denim jacket covering his shoulders and tattooed arms that were on such display this morning. The hair sat longer on top of his head, just enough to add the definitive addition of chocolate curls.

June could barely look at him without her knees buckling at the bar top. But she took the drink from the bartender with confidence, trying to anchor herself.

"Well, you're wrong." June tells him, taking ahold of the cocktail before taking a sip and trying to play hard to get. A game she knew– a game she played far too often.

Harry watched the way she popped her hip, knowing she did it on purpose.

"I'm never wrong," He bit back, still playful. His eyes met June's, and she didn't dare look away. "So, try again."

June cleared her throat, standing against the bar as she let a breath out. What she hadn't anticipated was the way that his bent knee fell behind her own, pulling her closer between his legs at the busy bar.

June went to speak, a small gasp leaving her lips as she placed her hand on his shoulder as she lost a bit of balance. Her hair fell into his face as she felt herself push away. The smirk on his face only made her blush as she pushed off from him.

"Go on," He urged, "Try again."

She raised her eyebrows, noticing her hand still placed on his shoulder. "What if," She cleared her throat, "It's you who is following me?"

Harry took a sip of his beer, lazily, eyes staying on June as he shook his head softly.

" 'Course I am," He bit his lip, "Who wouldn't?"

His honesty came across, making her feel a bit speechless when she looked at him. She downed a good amount of the whiskey drink quickly, knowing that the quicker it went down, the quicker she'd feel it.

"Looks like what I said about criminal activity seems to be true," She let the straw of the drink rest on her tongue as she looked at him, "You're a bit no good."

"Never denied it," He downed a bit more of his drink before he raised his brow at her, "But you keep coming back, don't you?"

Her tongue rested on the straw, playing with it a little bit as she felt the flirtatious spirit running through her. The cat and the mouse were at their height, now.

"Just gathering all the facts on why I should stay away," She told him, pushing her hair back off of her shoulder. The small top only leaving little to the imagination; Harry tried to hold it together as he swallowed dryly.

"How's that working out for you?" He asked, his hand making its way to her hip as he pulled her a bit closer. June took a step, finding her balance as she stared at him for a moment. He knew the look on her face as he had seen that look a few times before.

A part of him felt the words deeper, which initiated him to reach for his wallet.

"Mind if you let me drive you home?" His voice was thick with a dry, hoarseness that only solidified her position backing into his lap.

June practically melted at his touch, his hand on her hip as she nodded a few times before turning towards him then.

"Don't think that should be a problem." She muttered over the music playing across the bar.

June's eyes found Shelby who was standing at the bar, just a few people over before she winked at them. She moved away, just so that Harry could stand on his feet as she watched the man throw a fifty down on the counter to cover the drinks.

"Drinking fifty dollars' worth and then driving me home?" Her attention turned towards the man as he gave her a lazy smile. "Feels a bit dangerous to get in the car with a drunk stranger."

"Feel like it's my job to pay for you too if I'm getting you to leave your friend to come spend time with me, hm?" Harry walked backwards a bit, reaching for her hand before they reached the door to the bar. "You looked like you were having a good time. But I got something to show you."

Her hand fit into his, her breathing escalating just a bit at the way that he maneuvered her grip, making his stronger instantly as he led them back to the Ford pickup he sport around town.

"I was having a good time," She tells him with a bit of a flirty essence, one that held a bit of attitude as far as he was concerned, "And now you're taking me from it. Wherever you're taking me must be pretty good."

Harry bit on his lip as he sniffles, scrunching his nose at her comment. Her comment only pressing his buttons.

"I'd apologize but I don't know if I'm sorry." He commented, cocking his head.

"You'll only have to apologize if I'm left disappointed–"

When they reached the blue pick-up, his hands instantly grabbed at her hips. They pushed her body into the iron to hold her captive against the side of the truck. It wasn't hard enough to hurt her, but hard enough to ground her. She hoped there'd be a small amount of pain as a reminder of the moment.

"You're not gonna question me, are you?" He asked her with the softest voice; the threat in his tone only heightened her senses as she flinched at the way he spoke.

The inside of her thighs fluttered at his growl of a voice. "N-No," June answered, "No, no, never."

His lips brushed against the side of her ear, pulling his body away from her just for a moment before he nodded and found the moment to understand her.

"Good girl," He praised, moving his hands upwards to her waist. The slim part of her torso melted into a perfect hourglass figure. Her hips were wide and held his sight, but his hands loved the feeling of the curve.

June's breath halted at the way that he held her– at first with a physical grip so tight, and then an invisible string of persistence.

The small pub rested just on the outskirts, in the mountains, but just far enough from the ranch. The radio played lightly; the windows were rolled down as the horizon line were just baring a bit of light.

Harry had driven the truck up to one of the horse barns that sat just close to June's guest house, where she had been staying. It was a bit further on the property, but she drove past it almost every day.

"What are we doing here?" She questioned him before he opened the door. He went to the other side to help her out, taking her hand as she jumped down. He had taken her waist in his hands to help her, the touch of him on her was enough to make her breathing hitch.

"Have something to show you, I told you." He said, taking her hand in his as he led her back up to the darkened barn. When they arrived at the open door, he flickered on a switch that gave the large space a bit of light.

When they both walked into the small barn, the only lights were overhead, the sound of the crickets chirping filled the silence. June followed Harry's lead before she noticed that they stopped at the stall at the end of the row, down closer to the tack room.

"Here we are," Harry nodded, leaning his arms on the side of the stall gate. When June turned towards the mother horse and baby that were laying on the ground before them. She felt her heart melt at the sight of the small, brown foal that had two white spots on the top of its forehead.

"Oh my god," She gasped, watching as Harry smiled at her surprise. "Aren't they the sweetest thing?"

"He was born this morning," Harry leaned against the gate, watching the two horses on the ground before he turned back to June. The mare simply in awe of the small baby, seemingly tired as she laid next to him. "Needs a name."

"The ranch has a history of naming them after the stars, you know," June tells him, walking over to the little foal. His legs tucked under him, two bright white spots perfectly in the middle of his forehead.

June leans down a bit, hesitant not to scare him. Her hand reaches out to pet the small foal before she runs over hand over the white spots.

"Well, mum is Forager of Stardust," He tells her, keeping against the gate with his arms crossed, "So, we'll keep it in the family."

June starts to giggle as she turns back to Harry, eyes wide, "Ziggy Stardust– hands down, has to be."

"Ziggy Stardust? Alright, then. Sounds like a perfect name to me." Harry questions with a laugh; his smile becoming a bit more than the typical lazy one he likes to sport. June noticed that the crinkles by his eyes were a bit more defined, her nods insinuating her answer.

June turned back to the little foal before watching as his dark brown eyes blinked a few times with the lashes so long and fluttered. Her heart was built from the small creatures around the farm, the life that had been put into this lifestyle.

It reminded her of the sweetness; the parts of her life that continued to only get better the older she got and the more she enjoyed the peacefulness of simplicity.

This was it– this was the simplicity she craved. The rebirth, the gentle touches that reminded her of what life really was all about. She loved watching the ranch run on its own, watching as it grew everyday with small details.

Harry had moved towards a bale of hay that sat in the corner, taking a seat on it as he leaned against the stable wall. He watched June nuzzling the foal before she turned her head towards him again. He gave her a tilted smirk, dimple pressing into his cheek as he watched the nurturing love that nestled out of her.

"Did you grow up on a farm?" She asked, looking back at him before standing up from her spot. She managed to make her way through the tall stable hay before taking a seat on the bale with him. The small spot was snug, but neither of them seemed to mind.

"I did," He nodded a few times, "But it was a lot different. Sheep and goat, mostly. England is also a bit flatter, so it was a lot easier to ride than it is here. But I just figured that this would be a bit of an adventure."

"Think you made a good choice?" June asked, crossing her arms as her legs settled straight out just like his.

Harry raised his brows before he felt that he couldn't stop himself from smiling all the sudden. He wanted to believe that the few beers had something to do with it, hours ago now, but he knew that it wasn't. His eyes were downcast as he started to nod a few times.

"The views here are incredible." He answered, looking up at her, "But the scenery around here is good, too."

June nodded a few times, sniffling.

Harry decided to return the question, looking back at her. "Do you think you made the right choice coming back home? Assuming you liked the city, I guess."

June shrugged her shoulders, knowing that being home was always difficult in some capacity. She loved her family, loved the ease of being able to go places and knowing exactly what to expect. Home seemed to be a place that was easily accessible to her, all the time. Her family would always bring her back—she always knew that she could lean on them without an issue or judgement of feeling pressured to leave.

"I think I made the right choice to come home and to do what feels easy right now," She nodded a few times, "I think coming home from college is scary because you're like," She shrugged, "You feel like you don't have a direction anymore. You're in school practically your whole life—it's all you know. And then to think that you could go somewhere else and live a new life after that. It's just a lot. They're letting me stay in the guesthouse until I can get my bearings."

Harry understood, to some degree. But he was the opposite—if it wasn't new, it wasn't exciting. He wanted to see new things and to not see the same view twice. It meant that you weren't settled, even though the idea of settling wasn't bad. It was just different.

"It's probably good to know that you have a space in the world somewhere," He agreed, settling a bit, "I understand that. I didn't go to college, but I get that you want to feel like you're... you. And you're not having to reintroduce yourself to a new place or new people."

"My family knows exactly who I am," She smiled, "And that's what I want right now."

That was the truth—June wanted to just stay here until she was able to get her own place, maybe down the road. She could have the best of both worlds—one day she'd be able to live on her own, but still be able to stay connected to the place that felt so close to her heart. Teaching riding lessons was her only income, but it helped pay her loans and aided in her weekend ventures with her friends, specifically Shelby.

There wasn't much more she could have wanted now. Happiness seemed to manifest itself in the little things.

But, of course, after the small incident with Fury yesterday morning, she didn't know that she would have been able to trust him. It felt that there was more she could do about it, but she knew that his outbursts had been due to her lack of maintaining his trust and boundaries. He was also just an asshole half the time, and it wasn't something that she could put up with if he continued.

June sighed a bit, thinking of it when she noticed that Harry had taken interest in her sudden displeasure.

"What's wrong?" He asked. She blinked a few times, watching as he seemed to understand that her sigh was of annoyance.

"Well, I'm not going to be able to give anymore lessons until I can get Fury figured out," She shook her head, watching the man as he listened to her quandary. "I have to get him straightened out or I'll have to get another horse ready just to train on, and work with Fury until then."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek as he let his eyes move to the side, seeing if he would get the reaction he was looking for.

"Bet you're a real good rider, huh?" He teased, poking his tongue into the side of his cheek as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Probably give good lessons, too."

June pulled her lips into her mouth to keep from the smirk that was approaching, but she rolled her eyes instead. "What a line."

"I'm just asking!" He lifted his hands in defense as he chuckled out a bit, "Was maybe looking into some lessons to help you out."

Their outstretched legs bumped into one another as she pulled at bent knee up to hug into her chest. "I charge a hefty fee."

Harry shrugged, running his hand through his hair. The unruly curls were a bit out of control as he sniffled gently at the way that the hay tickled his nose. "I'll pay up-front."

June shifted her jaw as she licked over her lips. It was a bit dangerous, this game that they were playing. But she had an idea in her brain that she was going to take his advice.

What was the worst that could happen?

She sat up, back straight. Her eyes were downcast as she looked over at him, then. He didn't know how to respond to her stare before he felt the way that she pushed her knee over his lap. Her hands steadily placing on his shoulder as he looked up at her with a smirk that said all of the words that she desperately needed to hear.

"Alright, then," She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip, "Let me give you a lesson or two, cowboy." Her hips sank into his pelvis, pushing gently with the added pressure as she took a seat like he had inquired for.

Harry sat up a bit straighter, watching as she straightened up, too. Her skirt flowed over her thighs as he let his hands place on the outside of her hip for helping her balance. A smirk coated her blushing cheeks as she tucked her hair behind her ear in a nervous habit.

"I'm already learning so much," He teased her, waiting for her to make another move. She thought she may have a grasp on how to approach him but became nervous as she started to take charge. It was evident to him as she settled into his lap, but he loved the initiative.

They faced one another and she bit her lip at the way that he talked to her. He paid attention to her, let his hands get to know her before he pressed further.

"Dare you to kiss me, though." He said to her, watching as she gave him a look of confusion. She chuckled at him, as she shook her head, but he just smirked, "No one can pass up a dare."

She did exactly as he had dared, pressing down so their lips met. It was like finding water in the desert as she immediately pushed forward, needing more as soon as she got a taste. Her hips rolled at the feeling of his hand making its way to the back of her neck, almost like he was guiding her closer. He was showing her what she needed without words.

The kiss allowed him to press his tongue into her mouth which elicit a whimper from her, his cock straining underneath the jeans that she had been pressing on. He followed, letting his own whimper strain out at the thought of her pressed against him. The skirt not allowing anything between them except the panties he imagined she'd have on.

Deepening the kiss, he pulled her hips forward just enough that he was allowing her hips to ride into him. The coolness of his belt made her shiver, her thighs immediately reacting to the touch.

"You wanna let me take the reins?" He offered, his voice deep and raw as he felt the closeness of them. Her back arched into him, his words giving her a break as she nodded fervently.

"Please?" She asked, practically pleading.

It didn't take any longer before he threw his arm around her, picking her up into his lap as he found the grounding of his feet. Swiftly, he held her up on his waist as she wrapped her legs around his middle, holding on as they pressed their way through the barn.

The small tack closet next to the stable was the closest they got before he threw open the door and led them in.

Harry threw her on the table, letting her sit as he continued to let his lips fall over her again and again. With her help, his hands pulled the denim off of his arms and back, pieces of clothing seem to fall off easily.

He gently allowed his hand to move to the inside of her thigh, pressing down a bit to gauge her reaction.

Her skin was hot, his eyes were down as he guided his hand to the place that she needed him most.

"Please, please," She continued to plead, his ears ringing from the way that she needed. It was so innocent and cute, almost like she hadn't any idea how badly he could wreck her.

"Turn around." He demanded, pulling away just enough to give her room to move. When she didn't, all he saw was a deer in headlights, watching him for a moment like she didn't know what he was asking of her. She swallowed, licking over her lips as she got to her feet.

Her slow movement initiated him to grab her by the hips to turn her around quickly. His hand pressed on her back, pushing her to her elbows on the deck of the tack room.

"When was the last time you were fucked?"

Her throat was tight just at the words that left his mouth; her breathing racing as she anticipated the quickness of this. She had been waiting for it; hoping he'd understand she had been quietly asking for this.

"Been a while," She answered breathlessly, her legs pushed apart as he stood behind her. The flow of the skirt barely covered over her ass before he pushed it up to reveal it all. "N-Not that long."

His eyes grew three sizes larger as he took in the detail of the black lace that lay over her milky skin.

Harry pulled himself down, letting his knees sink to the ground. His eyes were level with the lace as he quickly let his fingers rest on the waistband, pulling them off of her and down her thighs.

She gasped at the feeling, his eyes never leaving.

"Goddamn," He commented, his thumb pressing softly into her. She jerked forward at the initial contact, eyes shutting as she leaned into his touch. "Knew it," He chuckled, "Knew you'd get yourself wet for me."

His thumb moved out slowly, her reaction exactly what he wanted. She pulled back with him, wanting to be filled– he knew exactly where he needed to get her.

"Needy," He berate, his words having a bit of edge. Her eyes flickered open as she gasped at the feeling of his hand slapping the harness of her skin. His thumb removed as he spanked her again, lurching her forward. "So fucking greedy."

Her knees trembled at the feeling, left untouched as he stood behind her. The sound of his belt made her eyes shut as he undid the button on his jeans and smirked at the way she settled underneath him.

"Don't mind that we don't have a condom, right?" He asked, his hand moving to the reddened spot on her skin that she ached took feel again. He smirked, knowing the words he would say would only make her a bit restless. "Can wait if you really need me to."

Her head turned around, her lips a bit raw from where she had been nibbling on it.

"No," She shook her head, "No– no. I'm safe, we're okay." She pleaded, and his smirked lifted at her neediness.

His hands pulled on her hips to arch just a bit for him. June quickly felt the teasing way his tip pressed against her soaked cunt, her hands turned white knuckled as she gripped tightly onto the wood. It was just the feeling alone– she hadn't even seen him, but her anticipation was high.

"Just letting you know," He pressed the tip right into the softness between her, giving her a sensation of euphoria just from how turned on she had been. She let out a moan, her eyes shutting. "We play by my rules. When I say down, you go down. When I say suck, you suck. No backtalking. I'm giving you the best fuck of your life, so you listen to me to get what I know you want. Got it?"

He hadn't even given her a reason to moan, her words caught in her throat as she nodded with. A subtle whimper— the strawberry blonde hair flinging over her shoulder as he moved it away. His lips found their home on the back of her neck, sucking gently at the skin.

"You're going to be such a good girl, though, aren't you? You would never disobey me, huh?" He cooed; his lips continued to ravish at her hair line as she threw her head back in an ache to feel the pleasure he was offering.

June's hips moved back gently, but his hands gripped at her before she could push herself onto him. The slight action gave him a sense of power; his hand smacking onto the curve of her.

The cracking sound familiar to one of a whip— she gasped at the feeling, her eyes closing shut just at the pain that radiated in such a burning sensation.

"Fuck," She whispered, knowing that she was simply dripping at the need. She had never been in a position of such need— she had never needed someone to give her what she needed in such a way that it brought tears to her eyes just to think about it. "I-I'm sorry— I—"

"I'm not." He stated, his breath hot on her neck. A coolness laying underneath—the metal of the cross hitting at her shoulder when he grabbed her hips towards him. When he pushed in, it took a fluid motion before they both moaned out in pleasure. It was a shock of intensity that Harry had truly never felt before.

Sure, he'd been in this position before— but like this? He had been with beautiful women, seen beautiful things. But the enticing scent of wildflowers and sweet vanilla only flourished as his nose brushed the softness of her shoulder.

Harry tried to keep his composure— trying to follow the red behind his eyes, but suddenly feeling the urge to cum at any moment which made him a bit nervous at the quick build-up. It was exceptionally better than he had expected; he had been more turned-on than he had thought.

His forehead rested on her shoulder blade; the small strap of her tank-top the only small detail that was between his forehead and her skin. Harry bit his lip slightly as he wondered when he would be ready to pull out to continue fucking her into an oblivion that would send her to the stars.

But he felt incredibly, incredibly close to the edge just at the initial feeling of her. He grunted in a bit of frustration as he shook his head to try to clear all the thoughts that had gathered there. The curls of his hair fell into his eyes as he shook his head. His hands kneaded into the fleshy skin that curved over the small skirt that still rested on her thighs. He had just pushed it up enough to give himself access to what he really needed.

Focus, he thought to himself.

"You are so goddamn tight," He watched as her back arched a bit at his words. Her chin turned to the side, just enough where he could now see her side profile. Her eyes were shut, mouth parted in a small, dainty way. "No one's fucked you in a while, have they, darling? You lie to me?"

Harry pulled himself out just a bit, watching where they connected as he felt himself slip back in. The tightness surrounding him made his eyes clamp shut. She felt incredible to him on every level that he couldn't think of anything else that moment.

It was dizzying.

"N-No, not like you— not like this," June muttered. The way that her hands gripped over the table in the tack room was almost pain to her fingertips. "You're so deep, fuck."

The sound of her voice elicits a response of his hips bucking into her, the rasp and grunt of June's voice painted a beautiful picture in his memory.

"You like me deep like that?"  Harry licked over his lips, eyes moving down her body as he moved his leg to her thigh. "Pull this up on the table— go on," He urged, "it'll be good for you."

June felt the pat on her thigh, Harry's hands slid the remaining clothes down her legs to leave her completely free on the bottom. He pulled out for a moment to help her lift her leg, balancing herself as she felt suddenly empty without him filling her up.

Watching as she lifted her leg on the table, pushing herself up, Harry dropped to his knees as he took in what he saw. A certain hunger elicits his eyes as he grabbed onto the back of her thighs, spreading them apart. In an instant, she felt the spit on her already dripping cunt as his mouth attached to her almost like it was made for his lips to wrap around.

Her head drew back at the feeling of his mouth on her, the knot in her stomach was undoubtedly loosening as she felt the nudge of his tongue against her clit; the feeling of his nose gracing her. In the last twenty-four years, she had never been blessed with a partner that would have given her the opportunity to feel this way. She had never been with an older man before, either.

Maybe her innocence had been brushed away by the complete raging needs of his wandering hands.

Either way, she didn't know if she could get any better than this. The softness of his tongue with a stiff edge and control, the scruff of his upper lip taunting her as he spread her thighs further apart while his mouth took her from behind.

"Could ruin you in so many ways." Harry hummed, his tongue dripping from her arousal that coated it. "You want me to ruin you, doll?"

Her hair fell into her face as she nodded fervently, her hand pushing the locks away as she tried to catch a glimpse of him but leaned forward instead.

"Yes— I want you to ruin me, please." Her voice was a shy, timid tone but it held all of the power of her needs. He knew exactly what she needed, and he would gladly give her every bit of it.

Harry immediately felt the words go straight to his cock; the feeling of arousal only tempting him further and further. What was it about this girl that gave him such an issue? He hadn't always been so easy to please, but something about the way that she moved her hips, her small movements only made him want to be rougher.

A girl that didn't know what she wanted was always the best— it was the moment when she found exactly what she was looking for, but never knew how to express it that made him cum the hardest. Harry wanted to push every ounce of her until she was begging for it.

June lurched forward just a bit as he stood back up from his position, moving to enter her once again. The slickness of his spit mixed with her arousal created the perfect lubrication that guided his swiftly back into her.

Deeper this time— much deeper. He held onto her thighs, pushing his hips into her at a steadier rate as the soft hums of her whimpers started to go deeper and become significantly more adulterated versions of moans. He felt the way he slipped in and out of her like she had been made to pleasure him.

"Keep quiet," He urged, "You're going to get us into trouble if someone hears us."

"I want them to hear how good you're fucking me," She urged, a whimper coming out as he slowed his motions to tease her further. "Fucking me so good."

He leaned in a bit close to her ear, pulling back her neck as her body contorted to meet his needs. She was in his grasp, only moving in the way that he needed her to. His hand pulled at her throat; the coolness of his undone belt buckle was against her thigh as he pushed in completely to get as close to her as possible.

The moan that escaped her lips was cut short by the hand that cupped over her mouth, which only pushed her further.

"You're going to be quiet or I'm going to pull out, do you understand me?" His voice was deep, low, and cold as she shut her eyes to the sound of it. She felt the push of two of his fingers into her mouth, a surprise at first. "Brats get punished and I'm going to leave your little cunt wanting more if you don't listen."

June hadn't felt this way in years— there had never been a man to satisfy the needs that had been built up in this way. It really hadn't been that long since she hooked up with someone, but she had never felt this way in her entire life. She had never felt this full— this satisfied. It was extraordinarily rough— it was to the point where she hadn't ever known a pleasure like this before.

She couldn't have imagined this.

"You understand?"  He says finally; she hadn't recognized that he had truly been waiting for a response before continuing. She had concluded that his pleasure was aided with being in charge. June couldn't understand the way that she became extremely, unbelievably pleasant for him. A few more thrusts pushed her to the brink of extraordinary delight before she dipped her head at the throbbing feeling between her legs.

"I understand— I do, I do, fuck– fuck." She whimpered out, unaware of the way that his thrusts had pushed on her enough that her muscles involuntarily ached as her orgasm became all the sudden wet— a solid gasp releasing her lips as she felt him pull out just at the feeling.

Harry's eyes darkened to a color of coal before he watched her inevitably drip down her own legs, the sight only causing his own mind to fall to a place of filth and absolute insanity. The gushing liquid was only a sight that he never thought he'd see like that– especially from her.

The innocent act was truly just an act.

"Jesus Christ," He commented under his breath, a bit taken by the sight. He choked back for a moment before he looks at the way he left her cunt dripping with need over the dark brown boots that had pushed her legs open. "So, fucking messy, aren't you?"

He watched the way that June's breathing heaved for a moment before he let his hand run down her spine— almost like she had been a bit surprised, like she hadn't expected her body to do anything like that.

Harry paused for a moment, watching to make sure that she was okay. Even in the rough moments, he watched to see if she seemed alright— his head tilting a bit as he hadn't heard anything else from her. A small coax from his hand on the small of back made him pause for a moment.

"Hey," He spoke quietly, "You're okay, doll, hm?"

June felt extremely exhausted already, almost like her body had started to fail her with how her legs trembled in this position. Her head turned back to look at him, a small nod coming from her without any words as she tried to find herself back in the moment.

It was an odd feeling in his chest as he started to feel an ache that went from extremely vile— filthy as he fucked this girl against the tack closet desk, to a sense of vulnerability that he made have started to push her a bit further than she was ready for. She didn't know it until her body was giving her pleasure that she hadn't felt before.

In an attempt to aid in some relief, especially to the legs that shook a bit more than a small foal, he pulled June back to a standing position. Her confusion on her face was obvious before Harry grabbed her by the waist to place her on the end of the desk instead. The skirt that had been pulled around her thighs had been pulled down completely.

"Get you off your legs so I can finish you off without you falling out on me," He told her with a sly smile, "Anyone ever made you feel this good?"

He watched the girl— completely wrecked with a face of pure softness. Her eyes were dazed, her attention stayed on him as he she shook her head. He felt better that she was conscious, even if he had taken practically everything from her.

"I can tell," He tells her softly before he tucks the hair out of her face, "Sorry you've been so deprived," Harry comments, "Would've done it for you sooner, if I would have known. Good thing I know now, hm? Won't let this happen again, angel, promise.

The feeling of their lips presses together as June grabs at her thigh so that Harry can move into the position between her legs once again. His tongue tastes like tobacco, a hint of the gum that he had been chewing.

Harry pressed the tip of his cock back into her to finish what he had started. His muscles ached in his abdomen as he felt himself tense at the feeling through a few more thrusts as he faced her now.

"Feels so, so good," June's words had whimpered out of her, a bit surprising at how quiet she had been and started to become even more so. "I-I'm— it's— fuck. Please, please more."

Harry's hands had made their way to her hips, making sure she had been pulled completely to the front of the desk so that he could feel her deeper. His vision moved down to the place where they connected; a hint of heat on the back of his neck as he thought of the moment more intrinsically.

"C'mon," He coaxed, their noses brush as he lets his forehead rest against hers. His breathing hitched for a moment as he felt her hand move to grab at his bicep. "C'mon, give me one more. You can do it."

His hips snapped further into her; June breathed into his mouth with a hot gasp as she screwed her eyes shut at the feeling of his cock nudging at a place that elicit such a firework of intensity that she hadn't ever felt before. It didn't matter how many college nights, bar hookups, serious relationships— none of those had the control that Harry had over her.

This was a feeling that he had crafted to ensure that the other person felt extraordinarily vulnerable and taken. She recognized that she wasn't the first, and certainly wouldn't be the last. 

She was okay to just be his right now.

"Mm," She bit on her lip at the thought of what had caused her to be sent over the edge prior. She wanted to know what to ask for; she didn't know what she needed, but she was certainly going to try. "W-Want you to...to c-call me a slut," she said with a small voice, just heard between them. Her eyes had turned away from him with a sheepish-shy feeling. "Need it."

Harry paused for a moment before he let his hand move to underneath her chin, propping her up to look into his eyes. He needed her to say it to him— needed to see her embarrassed and shy, wanting him to treat her like a one-night rather than a forever.

"I only call it like it is," He tells her with a grin carved like a devil, "I just have to call you a slut so you drench my cock? Is that it?" He knew he had to push her further, get her to a place in her head where she felt sexy, where she felt loose to the point of unraveling. "Letting me fuck you in a little closet on your daddy's ranch— such a pretty little brat." 

"Fuck me," She whined, knowing that her words would travel if she were any louder. "I-I'm gonna–"

"Do it." He coaxed.

Just at the sound of his words, he could feel the way that she unwound herself— simply, he didn't recognize that his words really did have the effect. His lips part as he watched her body fully shake with a convulsion the wetness coated his front with a small spray of her. Drenching his clothes and their boots as they sat with gasping breaths, he stared at the way that her pussy reacted to him, wondering how his words affected her so easily.

She was wrecked.

"That's such a good fucking girl," Harry told her softly, pressing himself back in, nodding fervently as he reassured her. Her cry was let out of the feeling of sensitivity that came after her explosive orgasm.

His hand placed on the back of her neck, pulling her forward a bit as he snapped his hips harder into her so that he could reach a place of pure euphoria. He couldn't begin to replay the actions of her pretended innocence, wondering if he would ever get to see anything like it agan. "Not going to last—fuck."

In an instant, his muscles tensed with an aching feeling that pushed his hips deeper into hers. Harry's lips placed themselves on her neck, kissing at the spots with a gentle softness—he knew what he had been in for in this intense, heated hook-up, but his cock had found a ferocious love for finishing inside of her all of the sudden.

It was all encompassing.

"Shit– shit." He hadn't even thought of the repercussions of not having the condom but needing to be careless for a few moments of time. He fell into her grip, holding onto her softly as he felt their breathing becoming less heavy.

June's legs were wrapped around his hips like an anchor, her head sat heavy on his shoulder as he mustered up the courage to pull away. He didn't really want to pull out completely, knowing it felt too good to let his cock feel the tight confines of her walls.

He slowly pulled his hips back, letting the mess fall out with him.

"Oh, fuck." He muttered under his breath, watching the display of a horribly sexual sight. One that someone would pay money to see. "I've never felt anything like that."

The way that she breathed against the wall, up on the table. Her eyes were shut as she held herself up and wondered if her choices had been worth it. She blinked a few times, almost like her body was now shutting down after the intensity of their passionate love affair.

Harry waited for her to respond to him, to look at him. He watched as her chest raised and lowered, knowing she was still breathing, but seemed to be missing from behind her eyes.

"Hey," He pulled her back from against the wall, whispering to her sweetly as he felt himself breathing a bit fast, too. "C'mon, doll, we should go clean up. I think we can sneak out the back."

Her movements felt heavy as Harry tried his best to bring her back to her feet. When he felt that she was steady enough, he let go of her to place his jeans and belt back into place, watching her shakily redress herself. The quietness of the small tack closet didn't hinder them, as Harry placed a kiss along her cheek before he let his hands fall on the doorknob.

"I'll go first and then you can follow me," He tells her, watching her nod in agreement. "Front door or back door?" He asks, in reference to the small guest house that June had been staying in. Her breathing had finally fallen into place. The desperation of need still on her eyes, which only excited him to get her back alone.

"Back." She tells him, quietly. Using her words wasn't so bad, but her legs became a bit unsteady, so she held onto the table behind her.

Before he opens the door, Harry gives her a quick once over. His eyes land on her lips before he steps forward to leave a kiss along her pout, letting her sink into him once again. The taste of her instantly feeds him as he groans into the feeling.

It was about time he found the feeling everyone told him he should be looking for. It was a myth for so long, but just in the way that he lips melted into his was enough to make to him blush. Her hands in his hair at the back of his neck, the feeling of her nails along his jaw settled his need for the moment before he pulled back and gave her another peck.

"Don't be too long," He told her, "Don't want to have to wrangle you back to me." 

She smirked at his challenge as he opened the door to slip out. Her eyes shut at the way moved, closing the door behind him. A settled feeling in her chest only made her stumble back just a bit, letting herself rest on the table before she took in a solid breath.

Home had seemingly never felt so right.

[hsdiaries]

The Secret Spot

5.1k words

Golfrry, quick escalation, shy Harry into vocal Harry, oral m recieving, p in v, quickie situation.

I didn’t edit this at all, just written in a whim lol.

“Cassie! You’ve been assigned to a party today!” Martin called out as he walked through the locker room handing everyone their assignment slips. I brushed my hair up into a ponytail high on my head so I could slip my visor on.

“Is it a big one?” I said, pulling out my white apron and tying it around my waist, slipping in my small order pad and favorite green pen with the small golf ball topper. It was always a conversation started with the club members; and conversations always led to good tips.

“It's a small three person party, I heard it's a big name, haven’t confirmed who yet - you'll have to pick up your slip at the front desk. It's a bit hush hush.” He shrugged and I nodded, making sure my shoes were tied properly as my friend Kyle came up to me.

“Hush hush, huh? I hope for your sake he’s hot,” He smirked, pushing all his weight onto his left hip. Whoever thought it was a good idea to let Kyle interact with the older men at the golf club had no idea how many sugar daddies he would end up by his second week on the job.

“Kyle, sweetie, I don’t need them to be good looking to get good tips, I just need them to have heavy pockets,” I said standing up straight and slamming my locker shut. Pushing him out of the way gently with my shoulder I made my way out of the room heading out to the front desk.

“Be a good whore!” I heard him call out, making me shake my head and laugh. The lunch time crowd was beginning to flow in quickly; lunch time was the prime time to have a shift, people hardly ever wanted to let go of these shifts for that reason. Small waves were thrown my way from the usual crowd, I made sure to make note of my usuals, sending them extra greetings especially since I wouldn’t be assisting them today. As I approached the front desk, Cedric, the club manager spotted me, perking up instantly.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite little waitress,” he smiled, eyes back on the computer screen in front of him.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite little boss. I heard I have a part assigned today?” Leaning on the front desk, I reached over the counter, grabbing a mint packaged in the signature green of the Ocean Wells Country Club, earning me a soft smack on the hand. I pulled the mint to my chest, quickly opening it and popping it in my mouth, Cedric rolling his eyes.

“Yes actually, and I’m sure you will thank me for it. I had to pick wisely and my soul told me you would be the only one to not act like a crazed fan girl when I told you who you would be serving today,” I watched as the small slip printer started printing out our usual assignment slips, he quickly ripped it off the machine and slid it across the front desk to me.

Raising an eyebrow, I slowly picked up the slip and looked it over, my eyes widening at the sight of the names on the slip.

Niall Horan

Harry Styles

Mitch Rowland

I looked up at him, jaw slightly dropped, “You’re fucking joking right?”

“Nope, not a joke at all. As a matter of fact, they are walking in at this very second,” he smiled, pointing his chin in the direction of the front door. My body seemed to turn quicker than my head, but once it followed, my eyes were instantly drawn to Harry. He was wearing a navy sweater over a slightly brighter blue dress shirt, matching slacks and brown golf shoes. He has recently cut his hair, a frenzy in the media, but it had grown out to perfection, short on the sides, a swoop of curls wanting to remake their appearance on the front. His face was perfectly layered with growing facial hair, it made him look so mature and well cultured. He looked like money, and well, he was. It wasn’t until they were almost in front of me that I noticed the three of them had made their way to the front desk - and that I had been staring like a gawky girl in love.

I quickly cleared my throat and turned to face Cedric who chuckled a bit as I made myself busy organizing the business cards on the desk, chewing on the mint in my mouth. I felt their presence next to me soon after, Niall standing the closest to me, Harry doing most of the speaking for the party.

“Hello, we had reservations under Styles?” He said kindly, his voice so soft spoken and kind. I didn’t expect anything less if I was being honest.

“Yes, Mr. Styles, Mr. Horan and Mr. Rowland, we are all ready for you. You have been assigned to start on the left, two golf carts have been assigned, one for you and one for your caddies. Your personal waitress, Cassie here, will also have her own cart to bring drinks, cigars, food and any other desired items here at the club,” Cedric spoke, his hand gesturing over to me, causing all three men to turn their eyes to me. Each smiled, making eye contact, but only Harry’s lingered just a moment longer than the rest.

“Nice to meet you all, I’m here for whatever you may need, even making sure that the other isn't cheating,” I smirked, making them chuckle a bit.

“She's a club favorite, you’ll enjoy her ever present company,” Cedric said in a slightly condescending tone.

“I’m sure her services will be appreciated,” Niall said, clearly noticing Cedric's tone.

“Very well then, here are your keys, golf clubs should already be loaded, enjoy your time here at Ocean Wells Country Club.”

I nodded at Cedric, turning to the front door and holding my arm out to let the gentleman know they could carry on ahead of me before I began walking slightly behind them. I noticed Harry’s pace slow a bit more than the others as we made our way over, his attention turning to me for a moment, clearing his throat.

“Would you mind starting us off with some whiskeys, over ice please. We will need lunch reservations at around two, we should be finished with our game by then,” he said, unable to make eye contact fully.

“Might I suggest 2:15 to make room for any delays and travel time back to the cafe?” I said politely, his eyes shifting to meet mind more predominantly. They were a beautiful shade of green, tricking the eyes to think they were blue, crystal clear in certain lights - glimmers of aquamarine.

“You know the place better than I, 2:15 is fine,” he smiled small my head nodding, for some reason my cheeks found themself washed over with a flush of pink.

We exited out into the warm summer sun, a sigh instantly leaving me, eyes closed as my face moved to look up into the sun, taking in its heat. Summertime was my favorite time of the year, it’s when I thrived most, when I felt most alive. Bringing my face down, I opened my eyes to find Harry already looking at me, quickly looking away when he noticed my eye contact.

We all stepped into our individual golf carts, they drove off to their first hole as I drove to the cafe to pick up their first round of drinks. I placed the order, waiting until they were brought out, throwing in some complimentary pretzels and beer cheese to start them off right. I carefully loaded everything into the cart, driving my way over to where they were. By the time I had made my way over, they were on the second hole, Niall currently lining up his shot before swinging effortlessly, the ball landing right next to the hole but not quite making it in.

I watched as he handed Harry a twenty dollar bill, Mitch and Harry laughing at how upset Niall looked. I pulled up behind their carts, Harry’s attention quickly moving over to me. He walked over as Mitch chose his golf club for his turn, reaching for the tray of drinks as I moved out of the cart.

“Oh you don’t have to do that, I got it,” I smiled, both our grips steady in the tray.

“Truly, I got it,” he smiled, his hand brushing my hand away. I felt my breath get caught in my throat as I swallowed, turning back to grab the tray with the pretzels and cheese.

I faced him, smiling shyly, “I figured you all would do well with some post game fuel? No one has ever hated our pretzel and beer cheese. It’s a club favorite,” I smiled, his eyes took in the food as Niall and Mitch made their way over to us.

“What’s all this?” Niall smiled, Harry’s eyes staying on me as he spoke.

“Cassie brought us a club favorite apparently,” he finally broke his eye contact, handing a drink to each of the boys as I nodded.

“I could drink the beer cheese if it wasn’t frowned upon,” I shrugged as Mitch reached over, ripping off a piece and dipping it in the cheese. He took a bite, eyebrows raising, nodding as he pointed to the tray with the remaining piece in his hand.

“Holy shit, let the stuck up pricks stare at us cause I’ll down it with you in a second,” he exclaimed making the rest of us laugh.

Niall and Harry took a piece each, copying Mitch in every single aspect, quickly praising me for my choice in game starting fuel. For the next few moments they stood around me, eating and drinking to their satisfaction before agreeing to move onto the next hole before anyone else began the same course, though I of course knew that wouldn’t happen. They were elite guests, no one would be assigned to this side of the club until two hours in so they would take all the time they wanted.

I loaded the empty glasses and trays into the back of my golf cart, hearing Harry yell out as my eyes caught Niall and Mitch driving off without him, middle fingers in clear sight, “Fuckers!”

Covering my mouth, I bit back my chuckle, shaking my head, “Need a ride?” I called out, his body shifting to face me, an eye roll following.

“I swear they know how to act proper,” he shook his head, shy dimples imprinting on his cheeks.

“Proper isn’t exactly my style, so, eh,” I chuckled, getting in my cart and patting the seat next to me. He walked over, getting in, hands wiping down his thighs. I took in his actions, my eyes taking in his face with a soft smile, before facing forward and starting up the cart.

“So how long have you been doing this for?” He asked softly, facing forward.

“Umm? Three years? Trying to make enough money to pay for college. The goal is to finally start this coming spring, but we shall see,” I shrugged, glancing over at him. He turned to me for a moment before we both looked forward again.

“What are you wanting to study?” He continued the conversation, his voice a bit stronger than before, almost as if he was slowly getting more comfortable.

“Social work, work with youth in the foster system. I want to be able to help people in a way I wished someone helped me when I was in foster homes,” I swallowed, my grip tightening slightly on the wheel as I drove. I could see Niall and Mitch in the close distance.

“That sounds like a beautiful full circle moment?” He said, questioning if that’s what it really was to me.

“Uh…sort of? I guess. I mean, you’re not the first person to tell me that, but I’m not exactly sure if I see it in that light. Just because, I don’t know if it’ll give me the healing most people think it will,” I said as I parked behind the other carts. We both turned to face each other and he nodded slightly.

“Mm, that’s understood. Your trauma isn’t healed just because you helped others avoid the same,” he said softly, a smile pushing into my left cheek.

“Exactly,” I breathed out, his lips rolling into his mouth. I couldn’t help but linger there, linger on the plumpness, the perfect rosey pink, the perfect Cupid’s bow. I shifted in my seat, “Um, shall I get you all some iced tea? Or water? Second round?”

He cleared his throat, moving to exit the cart, “Um, water and another round please, thank you.”

I watched as he moved towards his friends without another word and I drove back to the cafe to pick up their next round.

HARRY'S POV

I walked towards Niall and Mitch, willing myself to not turn back towards Cassie. Since laying my eyes on her upon arrival, something struck my heart in a way I hadn’t been struck in a while. She radiated electricity, not warmth, not light, electricity. She seemed to shock my entire system by just standing there. It didn’t help that I was aware it wasn’t just my eyes lingering for too long - hers on my lips just now shocking my soul.

Running my fingers through my hair, I approached Niall and Mitch, Niall’s hand slapping Mitch’s chest, “Told you!”

“Told him what?” I said, raising an eyebrow, walking over to my caddy and picking out my next club.

“You’re already smitten, been smitten since we walked in,” Niall said, my eyes narrowing in his direction.

“What the fuck are you going on about? I’m just being polite, she’s treating us well,” I said, picking my club and walking over to prep my swing.

“Full of shit, you both are eye fucking each other any moment you get!” Niall said, my eyes rolling and Mitch just laughed.

“He kinda has a point,” he said, standing next to Niall, arms crossed in front of his body.

“You both are idiots,” I said, turning back to the ball, pulling back and taking my first swing. It was such a lousy swing, the back of my hand meeting my forehead. They were wrong, it was obvious they weren’t, but I didn’t want this to be just another damn hook up situation. She seemed like a good person who didn’t deserve that, even if she didn’t mind it.

“That swing shows me that we aren’t,” Mitch teased, and I shook my head.

“Look, she’s beautiful, there is no damn denying that, but I’m not letting it get to my head, alright? Let’s just play the damn game.” I pushed past them, switching clubs so we could just continue playing.

We finished up the hole and moved onto the next when Cassie finally joined us again. She brought over our drinks and water, making conversation with Niall. I tried to avoid her this time around, watching her from a distance. At least this way I could take her in, and not deal with the teasing from my mates.

She was so animated when she talked, often twirling her long brown hair as she spoke, the white uniform, trimmed with green making her tan skin pop against it. She smelled like an apricot, something I noticed on the drive to the previous hole with her. Sweet, fresh, something I would gladly bite into. I shook the thought from my head, bringing my hands behind my head, linking my fingers together. I closed my eyes, inhaling the summer dry air, it was my favorite season to bask in, just taking in the sun, letting it warm my skin.

“Seems like they left you again,” I heard Cassie’s voice next to me, my left eye opening to peek over at her.

“I feel like it’s going to be a thing for the rest of the game,” I let my arms drop down next to me, a small giggle coming from her.

“Well, it’s okay, you have the best golf cart in the entire club to save you,” she winked playfully.

“Thank goodness for that,” I smirked, as she shrugged, walking backwards to the cart before turning around completely. I followed like a lost puppy behind her, watching her full hips swing from side to side as she walked away from me. I licked my lips, biting down on my lower lip, walking around the cart as I reached it, getting in.

“So, are you enjoying your break from work?” She asked, her eyes shifting towards me, and I let mine meet hers instantly.

“Yeah actually, nice to not have to be moving constantly unless it is my choice to do so. I like that I can just settle for a bit,” I said, her eyes shifting down to my hand then back in front of her.

“I like settling. Just knowing somewhere is home. Moving around so much when I was younger, it made me crave stability, you know?” She said, and I nodded.

“It’s like, rooting your feet somewhere long enough to actually make it feel like it’s your home,” I responded, bringing a big smile to her face.

“Exactly, exactly that,” she giggled a bit.

We drove for a bit longer, trying to find the boys at the next hole but they were nowhere to be seen. She came to a complete stop, pulling out her phone, “Maybe I went the wrong way? But I doubt it, I know these pathways like the back of my hand.”

I rolled my eyes, tossing my head back knowing exactly what they were doing, “I’m sure it’s not you. I have a feeling those assholes are long gone right now.”

“Oh..,um, I can head back if you want? You don’t have your clubs so…” she suggested, her face glancing over her shoulder then back at me.

Staying quiet for a moment, I took in the situation, analyzing the possibilities and that one that stood out the clearest was - I didn’t want to leave her just yet. I brought my hand to my lower lip, pinching it softly as I turned to face her, “You know this place like that back of your hand right?”

“Basically.”

“You have a place you like to hide out, that no one knows about?” I said, her eyes narrowing a bit, before a slightly devilish smile appeared on her face.

“I do actually,” she said, putting the cart into drive without another word.

“Going to show me?” I said, and she nodded.

“An adventure on company time? Why not.” She giggled, making me laugh with her.

We drove for a good five minutes, the golf cart cutting through different courses, avoiding people’s games and paths. We reached what seemed to be a back corner, a giant tree settling into the corner. It’s long thick trunks and branches seemed to bend, creating perfect nooks to rest in the shadow away from the sun. She park just to the side of it, turning off the cart, holding her hands out.

“Voila!! My secret spot,” she smiled, getting off and walking over to the tree. I watched her climb on top of it, effortlessly finding her perfect spot, settling into the curve that seemed shaped perfectly for her.

“How many people actually know about this?” I said, walking over, trying to pick the perfect place for me to climb up and settle.

“Just my friend Kenny, but he wouldn’t know how to actually get here. Just knows it exist….so like please don’t kill me or anything cause then I’ll never be found.” She pointed at me, making me laugh as I found my spot directly in front of her, our legs extending out next to each other.

“I won’t, I promise, I wouldn't know how to get back without you,” I said, sitting up for a moment to slip on my sweater before settling back. Unbuttoning the sleeves on my dress shirt, I rolled them up to my elbows, finally relaxing.

“Did the tattoos have stories?” Cassie said.

“Some. Others were just crazy ideas, things I thought would fit the bare spaces. A couple friends have chosen,” I smiled over at her.

“So if I said to get a turtle near your palm tree you would do it?” She asked, my head tilting slightly knowing my palm tree wasn’t currently exposed.

“And how do you know about that?” I crossed my arms in front of my chest, both eyebrows raised at her. I watched her eyes widen, reds and pinks covering her sweet cheeks.

“Oh….I just…um, Niall he uh —…”

Bursting into laughter, I cut her off, shaking my head, “Cassie, I’m aware some people know more about me than I may know, I’m just twisting your arm.”

I kicked her legs softly with my foot, her eyes narrowing and returning the same gesture. For the next moments, we just sat in silence, taking in the small noises of the golf course, the bits of wind on the tree leaves. Every now and then we would ask one another questions about our personal life. I had no problem opening up to her and her with me, letting her tell me about the things that seemed to just magically pop into her mind.

As we sat, our bodies also seemed to scoot further down, feet and legs sharing soft touch against one another, knees rubbing gently against her thigh, her fingers also moving to dance around my calf. I let my own do the same, small chills forming on her bare legs. We stayed this way until she let me know we needed to head back soon, the time we were meant to be out on the course was almost over, and she would have to finish the rest of her shift.

I nodded in agreement as we both moved to begin our climb down. I made my way first, extending my arms out towards her to help her lower herself the rest of the way down, her perfect self landing perfectly in front of me. Her eyes locked on mine, tongue licking over her lips, breath heavy from our proximity.

“How much longer did you say we have?” I said softly, my hand moving to push her hair behind her ear.

“I didn’t specify,” she said, her voice shaky, my head nodding as I bravely closed the distance between us and kissed her. It’s what I wanted, and though her movements were hesitant at first, her eagerness in kissing me back let me know she wanted it too.

I wrapped my hand around the nape of her neck, gripping at it, pushing her closer to me, her mouth opening up and letting my tongue meet hers. I ran it across the roof of her mouth, pulling away as my teeth pulled her lower lip with them. She shuddered softly, a soft moan escaping her pretty pink lips.

“And to think I thought you were shy,” she whispered, hands trailing down to my hips, fingers tapping softly against them.

“Mmm, being shy doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want, and what excites me,” I quipped back, earning me a small raised brow.

“And what do you want?” She pushed up on her toes, kissing nose as her hands began pulling my dress shirt out of my pants.

I inhaled sharply through my nose, fire growing in my stomach, blood beginning to rush to my prick, “Fuck sake, you really wanna know?”

She nodded, undoing my belt buckle and pants, working the zipper down as her hand slipped into the band of my brief without question.

“You. You on top of me in that golf cart. Fucking me until you can’t anymore,” I groaned as her hand wrapped around my length, freeing me from the restriction of my clothes, pumping up and down my length.

“Mmm, get in the cart, Harry,” she said, releasing her hold on me, pushing me back. I watched as she began stripping free of her clothes, and I did the same as we walked over to the cart, sliding into the back seat. She climbed into the space next to me, bending her body over to take me in her hand, pumping up and down my shift before slipping me in her mouth. Her tongue rounded around my tip, teasing along my slit making my abs contort, my legs shooting up slightly, body tensing at the feeling.

She chuckled, the vibrations adding to an additional sensation around my cock, as she pushed her mouth further down me, bobbing up and down until she took me completely, nose meeting my happy trail. I felt her swallow me further down her throat, my hand instinctively wrapping around her ponytail, holding her there as my hips bucked forward.

She pushed against my hold, pop off me with a gasp of air, her spit covering my cock, her hand replacing where her mouth was as she wiped her mouth with the other. She moved closer to me, kissing me deeply, my hand curling around her jaw, not able to get enough of her, of her taste.

Of her sweet apricot scent.

My hand moved down to her hip, gripping at it and directing her over my body, her legs straddling my hips, her hands both moving to my shoulders. I pushed her wet center onto my shaft, guiding her hips up and down it, her slick and spit creating enough lubrication to guide her movements further.

“Oh fuck,” she gasped, her hips rocking back and forth on me, her thighs clenching as she did, “Mm, I need you.”

She moaned, her eyes moving to mine, pants falling from her lips as her movements grew incredibly sloppy, her face was so flushed, nails digging into my shoulders.

“Yeah? Where do you need me? Huh? Tell me where,” I pressed into her lips, her moans growing more frequent, lips pressing an open kiss into my chin as I felt her come on me, arousal coating my cock thickly.

Her body trembled, her teeth biting at my chin, my hand moving up to her face, gripping under her jawline tightly, “Hmm, you need more than that?”

She nodded, “Please.” She basically begged.

“Mm? What more do you want, huh? Tell me Cassie,” I groaned at the thought of her saying she needed me inside her, at what that would feel like.

“Fill me up, please. God, Harry, please,” she breathed, pushing body up, gripping at my cock, bringing it up to meet her wet cunt, rubbing the tip against it before slipping herself down on me. It was a slow moment of taking me inch by inch, each moment further down met by the tight squeeze of her walls. She finally took the last bit of me in, each of us groaning out in pure ecstasy, before she began to lift her hips again, bouncing up and down on me effortlessly. Her perfectly round tits were in front of me, bouncy with her, begging to be in my mouth, my hands wrapping around them and bringing them to my lips. My tongue flicked at her nipples, pulling at them between my teeth, her moans escalating just like her pace on my cock.

“Fuck you do that so good, that wet cunt is so good,” I groaned into her tits, biting at the plump fleshy skin, kneading it with my hands. I slipped on arm around her waist, pumping my hard cock up into her, matching her pace.

“Oh, yes, Harry, just like that. Fuck just like that….god,” she moaned, her hands pulling my face to hers, kissing me deeply, our tongue sloppily running against each others. I slipped my fingers between us, rubbing her clit as I continued to pump in and out of her, her movements hardly existent, her legs trembling, her head knocked back in pleasure.

I could feel her tight cunt fluttering around me, pulling me deeper into it, her arousal already soaking down my thighs and hers. I wanted to taste every bit of it, I wanted it to coat me completely, make me filthy in it.

“You wanna come for me, Cassie? Come all over my hard cock, sweet girl? Hmm? Cock so hard for you, wants to fill you up. Can I do that? Can I fill up that wet cunt? Watch you squeeze me out after? Yeah?” I whispered into her neck, kissing along it up to her ear.

“Oh yes, Harry, fu-fuck, yes, yes, fill me up, oh…Ha-Harry I’m going to…I’m..” she gasped, her walls clenching around me, her hips pushing forward, legs clenching around me tighter, “Oh fuck, yes.”

She breathed out in relief, a moan so damn sexy I could have came at the very sound of it. I kept bucking my hips up into her, letting her ride out her high on my hard cock, taking in the way her body and face reacted to the feeling, only turning me on more. Both my hands gripped at her hips, fucking into her harder and quicker until I came, my hips bucking up and holding place their, shooting warm ropes into her fluttering walls.

We both came down from out high, her face nuzzled into my neck, my hips final relaxing and lowering back down, bring her carefully with me.

“Cassie baby, do something for me?” I whispered, a tired nod coming from her. She carefully sat up, eyes locking with mine.

“Pull off me sweet girl, squeeze out my come for me, let me see it drip out of you? Yeah?” I breathed out and she nodded, lazily doing as I instructed. She pulled off of me, both of us groaning. My eyes locked into her sweet cunt, watching her squeeze my come out of her, “Fuck, yes.”

She smirked tiredly, reaching down and covering her fingers in it, bringing it to her lips, licking them clean slowly. I met the other side of them, helping her, until she pulled them away so we were sharing the mix of our arousals on our lips.

Pulling away, she sighed, pushing her forehead on mine, “Mmm, I’ve never christened my secret spot before. Must be my lucky day.”

I chuckled, pressing one more kiss onto her lips, “We can do it again tomorrow. I have time. Find other places in this club to christen.”

“Mm? Sounds like a challenge.”

“I never liked when things came easy anyways.”

[babyyhoneyyyyy]

MASTERLIST ᥫ᭡

𝓜𝓮𝓭𝓲𝓮𝓿𝓪𝓵

➵ royal guard x princess  ➵ word count: +8k ➵ smut: 🔞 I sexual content, blowjob, masturbation, jealousy game, praise kink, sir kink

𝕾𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖌𝖎𝖗𝖑

▸ famousrry x female mc famous/singer ▸ word count: +9k ▸ smut: 🔞 I sexual content, sex in public place, hanging, spanking, dirty talk, course language 

𝙋𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝘿𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙨

➥ policerry / softrry / suspense plot ➥ word count: +4k ➥ smut: 🔞 I sexual content, use of handcuffs, praise kink, sub/dom, masturbation, use of food (milk)

[sunflowervolvimp3]

from eden: I

A/N: alright SO!! if you were around in summer 2020, then you know I started planning and writing a witchrry au that got pushed to the back burner when drea and I began collabing on you're someone I just want around. that fic quickly took over our entire lives, and every other story got put on pause, including this one. flash forward to present day, where after finishing one degree, moving, finishing ANOTHER degree, and beginning a career in my profession, I finally have a bit of time to write again!! I'm so excited to FINALLY be able to share witchrry with you, as well as my first OC on here. I haven't officially written in...a long time, so I apologize if I'm a bit rusty. but any and all feedback is greatly appreciated!! letting content creators know that you're enjoying their content helps motivate us to create more 💌 I really hope you enjoy this story and these characters, because I have a lot planned for them!! someone asked me yesterday if this story was going to be fluff or if it was going to get twisty, and the answer is always, ALWAYS twisty, so I hope you stick around to see it 💌 also!! i would like to give a big thank you to drea for creating this beautiful banner and story dividers (graphic design is not my passion)!! go give her a follow @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy if you haven't already!!

masterlist : askbox : read on wattpad

word count: 15.7k

content/warnings: YOU get mommy issues!! and YOU get mommy issues!!! EVERYONE GETS MOMMY ISSUES!!!!, an overwhelming use of hand imagery, the normalization of talking to pets as if they can respond, Harry doesn't understand how to use figures of speech, drugs: just say no, time to meet the man of your dreams (literally), Rowan "well mark me down as scared AND horny!" Frances, and the beginning of a journey to see how many references to Practical Magic (1998) can be made in each chapter.

When Harry first stumbles through the door of the shop, the rain pounding on the roof is reaching biblical proportions, and Rowan is convinced that the universe is playing some sort of cosmic practical joke on her.

If the day, which had just entered it’s thirteenth hour, hadn’t already been bad enough—if she hadn’t already spilled coffee down her front, staining her favourite ivory shirt and forcing her to change; if she hadn’t already misplaced her favourite pen, the one with violet ink that glides so delightfully over the countless inventory forms she has to fill out; if she hadn’t already knocked over a flower arrangement that had taken two hours to construct and two seconds to destroy, shattering the sea-glass green vase that she had waited three weeks for in the mail; if none of that was enough—she had forgotten to flip the sign on the door to say that her floral shop was closed for lunch (which, because of her rush this morning, would be her first actual meal of the day), and now there is a soaking wet stranger standing in her doorway, who is shaking out his sopping hair with an urgent glance around the store, and his eyes settling on Rowan with unspoken need.

The moment she heard the bell of the door tinkle from his disturbance, Rowan had turned toward the entryway, a strained smile pasted to her face before she even made eye contact with the stranger. “I’m sorry, sir,” She says, her voice barely meeting sorry, and edging more on irritation with every passing moment. “But we’re actually closed for lunch. You can come back at two, if you’d like.”

The man—who is dripping all over her freshly cleaned hardwood floors, she notes wryly—looks up at her with a raised brow, as if he’s surprised to find that there’s someone inside the small shop. Perhaps he’s just flustered from being caught in the storm, Rowan thinks, because it’s clear that the rain has soaked straight through his thin army jacket and maroon knit sweater, and is coating his entire being in ice, right down to his bones. The rain had come on rather quickly; Rowan recalls hearing the sudden thundering outside just after she had shattered the beautiful vase. It makes sense that the man looks like he hadn’t been expecting it. In fact, he still looks rather unmoored as he runs his ring-covered hand through his sopping wet chestnut ringlets once more, his hunter eyes darting another round over the store before refocusing on Rowan.

“I’m very sorry to disturb,” Rowan is surprised to hear the silky British accent that slips from his raspberry mouth, the hue matching the ruddiness of his cheeks—a sure side-effect of the freezing weather in which he’d found himself caught. “But I’m in a bit of a hurry, and I was wondering if you had any yarrow flowers.”

Despite her mouth already open to inform the man that, once again, her shop is currently closed, his incredibly specific request makes Rowan pause. Yarrow flowers are hardly a popular arrangement choice for someone who’s annoyed their partner—which she assumes this man has, given the hurry that he says he’s in. Normally, when men show up in her shop with a desperate look on their faces and urgency in their voices, they’re searching for flowers such as roses, calla lilies, daisies—things known to bloom for love. Yarrow flowers, with their small clumps of pastel petals offset by long, wiry stems, hardly match that description. 

The curiosity peaking inside her chest, more than anything else, is what prompts Rowan to change the response that’s resting on the tip of her tongue. “I, um, may have some in the back,” She says slowly, as if feeling out the words as she utters them. “I use them as fillers, sometimes, in arrangements. I can…check for you, if you’d like.”

The man visibly breathes a sigh of relief, his face relaxing just the slightest bit as his shoulders slump beneath his soaked clothing. “That would be lovely, thank you. I’d really appreciate it.”

Rowan nods again, giving the man one last look of pensive confusion before stepping out from behind her (messy as usual) desk to make her way to the back of the store to the workshop. As her shoes echo against the wooden floor, she wonders if this is a smart idea; should she be leaving a strange man with even stranger requests unattended in her shop? Should she be turning her back on him while walking towards a private back room that contains multiple objects of the heavy and sharp variety? Objects that she’d hate to see catalogued by a forensics team when her body is eventually discovered with a pair of gardening shears protruding from her chest? 

Reaching the half-opened door of her workshop, Rowan pauses in the frame just long enough to glance back over her shoulder at the man. With her promise to check her inventory for his requested flowers, he’s allowed some of the tension to slip from his body, and is busying himself by extracting a leather journal from an inner pocket of his jacket to thumb through. No, Rowan decides as she studies his furrowed brow and focused gaze. The man, albeit a little strange, isn’t a potential 48 Hours suspect; he’s just a little frazzled by the unexpected events of the day, a feeling to which Rowan can relate. And perhaps, if she wasn’t as frazzled as she is, she would have noticed the peculiarity of the man’s entire person being soaked while the yellowed pages of his leather-bound journal remain completely dry. 

Or maybe she wouldn’t have. After all, she’d spent her entire life ignoring the irregularities around her. What’s one more anomaly to turn a blind eye to?

Rowan doesn’t bother to close the door behind her, knowing that she’ll only be spending a few minutes inside her slightly chaotic workshop. The long wooden table and decorating stations are just as she left them an hour ago—meaning they’re covered in tissue wrappings and loose, wilted petals, with clipped leaves and discarded stems littering the floor below her—and she bypasses the mess to pull open the heavy insulated door that leads to her freezer.

She shivers as she steps into the refrigerated room, pulling her cable-knit cardigan tighter around her shoulders as she begins to scan the alphabetized shelves. Rowan’s eyes quickly scan one label to the next until she finds the little label that says “yarrow” in her neat writing on the lower half of the second metal shelf, nestled neatly beside a pile of violets. There are only a few of the little white flowers left in her stock, enough for about two small bunches, so Rowan removes both from the shelf before stepping out of the freezer and shutting the door tightly behind her to preserve the other flowers that are stocked away.

Clutching the two miniature bouquets in her hands, Rowan nudges the door of her workshop open a bit more as she passes back under the frame, picking off a few browning petals from the blossoms. She wishes the blooms were fresher—it wouldn’t be easy for the man to make amends for whatever he had done if he showed up with wilted flowers. Still, Rowan thinks as she flicks the dried petals to the ground, it’s better than nothing, and hopes that the small bouquets will be enough to appease whoever the soaked stranger had managed to piss off. 

“I found a couple bunches, and I wasn’t sure how many you needed, so I brought both—” Rowan stops short as she enters the front of the shop again, expecting to find the man near the door where she had left him, but finds only a damp spot on the wood where he’d dripped after his entrance. “Hello?” Confusion settles into her voice as she tentatively steps forward again, her gaze sweeping the perimeter of her shop.

“Oh, thank you,” The voice emerges from around the corner and behind a shelf of succulents, making Rowan half jump in surprise, and a small and shocked gasp leaves her mouth as the curly haired man steps out from behind the greenery.

“Oh—!” She clutches the flowers to her chest, taking a deep breath and releasing a strained laugh at her own over the top reaction, the sound both an apology and a nervous tic that’s lingered from childhood. “You scared me.”

With his emerald eyes tinged with regret, the man offers a peacemaking smile that borders on a grimace as he peers at her from the aisle. “I’m sorry,” He says slowly, his voice accented with sincerity as he presses a tattooed hand to his soaked chest, as if needing to catch his own breath as well. While it’s the movement that originally catches Rowan’s eye, it’s the tattoo inked into his skin that keeps her attention—it’s a strange symbol, resembling nothing she’s ever seen before, and yet…something about the crossing of lines and gentle curves of ink seems familiar. 

Shaking herself out of her thoughts with a quick jerk of her head, Rowan offers a smile to the man in return for his apology. “It’s fine,” She eases her tone to match the tilt of her lips, holding out the previously requested flowers to him. “Will these be enough for you?”

The man’s strawberry lips rise to mirror Rowan’s smile as he gives a gentle nod, relief and gratitude dancing through his sea glass irises. “Yes, thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Rowan waves off the praise with a casual flick of her hand before beckoning him back towards the counter, doing her best to ignore the strange spark of pleasure in her belly upon hearing the stranger’s praise. “C’mon, I’ll just ring you up at the front.”

The man follows her to the front of the store, his polished shoes squeaking against the floor with every step and keeping his presence in her peripheral thoughts—as if Rowan could forget it. Reaching the counter, however, provides her with a familiar sense of comfort that she didn’t realize she’d been craving until the mahogany bench is between their two bodies. It’s strange, though, she thinks as she curls her fingers around the edge of the counter, drumming them once against the wood before beginning to ring in the flowers on her tablet that’s housed on the front counter. Despite the distance bringing her comfort, there’s a distinct sense of lack that comes with the separation; her eyes flicker to the stranger in front of her once again as she sets the bouquet of flowers onto the tissue paper lying in front of her. The brunette man is searching for his wallet in his rain drenched pockets, extracting a misted phone and the surprisingly dry journal from his jacket in his vain efforts. His eyes flicker to hers in apology, his smile growing back into a sheepish lilt as he clutches the objects within one hand while still searching with the other.

“I know I have it—somewhere—” He mutters, his drenched locks curling into his eyes as his head drops back down to examine his clothing. “Sorry, I’m usually—a little more organized than this, I swear—”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Rowan offers the usual method of banter she employs with customers, in which she just agrees and relates to anything they say to put them at ease. It’s a little fake, to be sure, but what isn’t fake about customer service? It’s not like she can roll her eyes each time someone makes the “it must be free!” joke when her debit machine takes a moment to boot up. “It’s been a strange day for everyone, I think. I spilled coffee all over myself, knocked over arrangements…and then to top it all off, the weather began to act up, when it had been so nice for the last few days.”

Cocking his head to the side, the stranger considers her small talk for a moment—which is more than most customers have ever considered her in her life. The curiosity of his gaze ignites that unfamiliar feeling again, once more making her contrastingly thankful and remorseful for the mahogany barrier between them. “Yes, it has been strange,” Despite the lightness of his tone, Rowan doesn’t miss the way his eyes shift a hue darker as he speaks. “Certainly seemed to come out of no—got it!”

The florist watches as he triumphantly extracts a brown wallet embossed with a marking she doesn’t recognize (a brand logo, perhaps? For a company more luxurious than she’s used to?), tucking the rest of his items back into his jacket with one swift motion. 

“Wonderful,” Rowan means every syllable of the word as she begins to key in the purchase on her tablet, her expert fingers tapping away as relief flows through her body, both from having a new center of attention, and knowing that she’ll be able to really take her lunch break soon. “I’ll ring those in for you—” 

 “That’s an interesting marking,” The man interrupts her focus with the offhand comment, and when her gaze snaps up to him once more, she finds him nodding to the door of the shop as his ringed fingers open his wallet. “Do you know what it means?”

Rowan tears her eyes from his flushed skin to where his own gaze rests, settling her sights on the top of the door frame, where a black hand painted symbol sits in stark contrast with the white of the walls. “Oh, it’s just something my mom used to draw all the time,” She explains with a shrug, dismissing the symbol as her eyes turn back from the familiar six petal flower wrapped in a circle to the questioning man in front of her. “She used to say it was for protection of homes, so when I opened the shop, I figured…well,” Rowan offers a sheepish smile in return for her superstitious explanation. “New York can be a dangerous place. It can’t hurt to have extra protection, right?”

Not for the first time, an undecipherable response flits through the man’s hunter eyes, but it disappears just as quickly as it appears, before Rowan can make anything of it. “Right,” He agrees quickly, his nod more serious than it had been a moment before. “You can never have too much protection.”

Although his words echo the very phrase Rowan just spoke, something about his cadence of voice gives the simple saying a double meaning. The florist ponders it for a moment, her eyes searching the stranger’s as much as she dares, but decides it’s best not to pry. It’s not her place, really. She doesn’t know this man, and she doubts he’d bother to recommend her shop to anyone he knows if she tries to interrogate him over his expressions.

Clearing her throat, Rowan decides it’s time to change the subject, and refocuses her attention to the task at hand. “So, um—” She glances back down at her tablet, forcing herself to remember her usual spiel with her customers. “I’ll just need your name for records—your first name, if you don’t mind. It just helps me with counting and keeping track of stock.”

“That’s no problem,” The tone of his voice flips back to something more casual with ease as he rakes a hand through his damp curls once more. “My name is Harry.”

“Harry…” Rowan quickly types the simple name into her inventory logs before setting her tablet down on the counter. With nimble and practiced fingers, she begins to wrap the yarrow flowers in tissue, but Harry interrupts her with a shake of his head.

“Actually,” He gives an apologetic smile—something he seems to do a lot, she’s noticed (not that she’s noticed much about him, she tells herself). “I don’t need any wrapping for them; I’ll be using them right away, and I’d hate to waste the tissue.”

“Oh,” Rowan’s movements pause at his request, and she removes the flowers from the wrapping carefully before handing the bouquet to Harry. “Are you sure? It’s still pouring, and the rain will ruin them…”

The stranger—Harry, she reminds herself—waves away her concern with an unbothered flick of his hand. “Yeah, it’s alright. I’m going to be pulling apart the blossoms anyway.”

“You’re—” Despite the majority of this interaction being the strangest she’s had in a long time, this is the first comment of the man that’s made Rowan pause completely. Were these flowers not a gift for someone, like she’d originally assumed? “What?”

“I needed yarrow blossoms for a little…project of mine,” The molasses-like speed at which Harry utters the words gives Rowan the impression that he’s choosing them very carefully, and the florist can’t help but wonder what explanation pertaining to flowers would ever need to be so carefully considered. “Normally I keep a stock of them, but I ran out last month and forgot to order more, and I was in the middle of my project by the time I realized…” As if realizing he’s beginning to ramble, Harry offers another shy tilt of his lips before laughing lightly at his own antics. “Well, anyways, I don’t need the wrapper. But I really appreciate the help; I know I kept you open past your usual hours.”

The strange—albeit rambling—explanation leaves Rowan speechless for a moment as she debates whether or not it’s worth questioning Harry more about his project—what kind of project would so urgently need yarrow flowers? What kind of project would be worth running out into this increasingly raging storm, soaking oneself clean to the bone just to retrieve the small bouquet currently clenched in Harry’s hand?

A project that’s none of your business, Rowan tells herself firmly. None of your business. “It’s—don’t worry about it,” She straightens her spine in resolution, mimicking his earlier action of waving off concern as he sets a twenty dollar bill down on the counter. “Oh—no, it was only twelve dollars, actually—”

“Keep the change. As a thank you.” Harry tucks his wallet back into his pocket, as if his soaked jacket could do much to protect the object from the rain. “Oh, by the way—” His jade irises brighten once more as he extracts his tattooed hand from his pocket, holding out an object to Rowan in offering. “I found this on the floor—meant to give it to you…”

Grasped between his long, lithe fingers (that she is not staring at. Not in the slightest.) is Rowan’s favourite pen—the one with violet ink that glides so delightfully over the countless information forms she has to fill out. Her mouth drops open as realization lights up her face, and she retrieves the pen from him with a new and genuine smile painted on her lips. “Oh, I’ve been looking for this! It’s my favourite.” Clicking it once as if to test if it’s working, Rowan regards the soaked man with newly warmed eyes. “Thank you, Harry.”

Harry’s expression molds to match her own the moment their eyes meet, and he tucks the flowers under his arm before sheathing his hands within his pockets. “No need to thank me, Rowan. I’ll be seeing you soon.” His shoes click against the ground as he retreats back to the front door, casting one last glance at the floral symbol painted over his head before pushing the barrier open. “Stay dry, alright?”

Rowan nods automatically, repeating the phrase back to him as she waves goodbye with her pen still grasped between her fingers. The moment the door closes behind him, her previous hunger returns with more insistence than before, turning her stomach and effectively erasing all aspects of the strange meeting with the reminder that she needs to walk upstairs to her apartment to find something to eat.

It’s not until she’s sitting at her kitchen table, her cat sprawled languidly across her lap as she takes a bite of her cobb salad, that she realizes she had never told Harry her name.

…

“Oh, Christ—Butternut!”

The ginger cat scatters from underneath Rowan’s feet as the girl manages to catch herself on the edge of the kitchen counter, using the fern green cabinets to support her weight as she regains her balance. With one hand still holding the cat’s plastic food dish, Rowan uses the other to push herself away from the counter with a roll of her eyes, and resumes walking to the corner of the small kitchen to set the food dish down in its regular spot as Butternut watches from beneath a kitchen chair

“There you go,” Rowan sighs in exasperation as Butternut scurries from his hiding spot to the dish she’s just set down, and begins to feast on his wet and dry mix while Rowan brushes her fingers over his soft auburn fur. “You have to learn how to be patient, you know that?” She murmurs with a quirk of her brow. “You’d think after ten years, you’d have figured that out.”

The cat meows in response at her between bites of his food, and Rowan smiles softly as she gives one last stroke to his plush fur before straightening herself up and grabbing her mug of tea from the kitchen counter. It takes her the usual three steps to reach the small living room of her apartment, and she sets her mug on its usual spot on the coffee table as she grabs her journal from the couch, where she’d left it that morning, just as she always does when she realizes she’s running late for work. She’d hoped that owning her own flower shop would have cured her of her perpetual lateness that had plagued her childhood, but it seems that her lack of punctuality is just one of the many traits she’d inherited from her mother, in addition to being one of her least favourite traits she’d inherited from her mother.

“What did you get up to while I was at work today, Butternut? Anything interesting?” Rowan asks, only half-rhetorically as she picks up her mug again once settled into the couch. “Any important business I should know about?”

Rowan receives the usual meow in reply, and she hums thoughtfully in the back of her throat as she takes a small sip of tea. The boiling liquid scalds her tongue just the way she’s grown accustomed to—another trait she picked up from her mother, who had had a habit of setting down her teacups and promptly forgetting their existence for the better part of an hour. Drinking the piping hot liquid immediately, Rowan had learned the hard way, saves her the disgruntlement that comes with discovering ice-cold tea three hours after she’s made it. 

Blowing over the steaming mug, Rowan watches as Butternut continues to munch on his food. “I thought as much,” She replies to the cat seriously, giving Butternut a stern look as he continues to eat his food and pay her little regard. “I told you to stay away from Mrs. Piper’s cat, didn’t I? We both know Zipper is a bit of a heart breaker, and I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

Butternut squeaks out another meow, this one sounding more indignant than the last, which Rowan greatly appreciates. It’s easier to talk to the cat without sounding crazy, she rationalizes (as she has hundreds of times before), when the cat’s responses vary in tone, as if he can actually understand her.

“You’re a glutton for punishment, you know that?” Rowan clicks her tongue as she opens her journal, reading over her messily scrawled entry from that morning that she had barely managed to finish. “I’m just trying to look out for your best interests, and—”

A tapping sound from outside the living room window interrupts Rowan’s one-sided conversation, and she twists her head towards the source of noise with curiosity sparking across her face. When the tapping occurs again, sharper and more insistent this time around, Rowan stands up urgently, nearly spilling her tea in her haste to set down the mug and walk the short distance to the window. Although she can’t see anything that could have caused the noise when she arrives in front of the pane, Rowan’s curiosity is still unsatisfyingly unsatiated, and she quickly flips the latch on the window in order to push it open, the half-rusted mechanics squeaking in protest as they always do before she leans out towards her fire escape. 

With half her body now hanging out of her living room window, Rowan swiftly scans over the familiar view of Greenwich Village. Having lived in the Village her entire life, Rowan has to admit that there’s a satisfying, pleasurable comfort in her stomach every time she looks at the skyline of the neighbourhood. It’s a feeling of home, she thinks, as well as belonging, and she knows that she could never find anywhere else quite like it. There was a reason that her mother chose this as the place to settle down after moving from London; she had always told Rowan that the city called to her, even from across the Atlantic Ocean, like a siren stringing her towards her deepest desires. And when Rowan has the honour of watching the orange autumn sun sink down in the sky, staining the tops of buildings in a burnt glaze, she feels the same call. And, in a perhaps more easily explainable way, the Village reminds her of her mother. She’d never be able to leave it, even if she wanted to.

A now familiar tapping pulls Rowan from her admiration of the city she’s called home for her entire life, and the young woman cranes her neck to the left just in time to settle her eyes on the source of the sound, her brows creasing together in bemusement as she does so.

The crow perched on the edge of her fire escape has to have the blackest and shiniest feathers that Rowan has ever seen. The onyx tone of its wings is accented by the golden light of the setting sun, which sparkles in the creature’s knowledgeable eyes. Knowledgeable, Rowan observes, because the crows eyes seem to meet her own, both with purpose and some sort of recognition. 

Rowan cocks her head to the side as she engages in the staring contest with the bird, her state of mind growing more and more confused and unsettled with every passing moment. Were crows known to be the kind of bird that stared back at you? She wondered, her mouth opening and closing as she pondered the question without speaking it aloud. And were they not skittish? Rowan had made enough ruckus as she opened her window that she would have thought the bird would have long flown away by now, and yet, its piercing black eyes continue to stare back at her own. It’s ridiculous, and she knows this, but Rowan can’t make herself look away. Who loses a staring contest to a crow? She scoffs internally, leaning a little further over the ledge of her window. She refuses to be the first to blink. Surely it’s not that hard to outlast a bird; after all, she’s the one with a brain bigger than a ping bong ball. She can outlast a bird in a staring contest. Not that any sane person would ever actually challenge a bird to a staring contest, of course, but Rowan is sure stranger things have happened. And, furthermore, she’s not the one who started this. If anything, the bird challenged her—winning the imagined contest is a matter of honour.

And then Butternut jumps out the window, effectively breaking her perfect concentration, and sets all hell loose.

If Rowan hadn’t been so distracted by the crow’s strange behaviour, she would have remembered the dangers that come with leaving her window wide open as she had. Part of the reason the old mechanisms had squeaked so much when she yanked the fixture open was that she—save the few times she’d burned something while cooking and had to air out her apartment from the smoke of her failed dinner endeavors—very rarely opened the window more than a crack. Just as Rowan has a long list of troubling habits, so does Butternut, and one of those habits includes jumping out of open windows and giving Rowan a heart attack. 

The young florist had discovered this habit the first day she met him when she was twelve years old and found him wandering the streets of New York. His burnt orange coat had been speckled with mud and dirt, grown long from what seemed to be months of a lack of attention, but that hadn’t stopped her from scooping the surprisingly pliant cat into her arms and carrying him home to her mother. She’d been prepared to beg and plead on behalf of the animal and her right to keep him, but as it turned out, that hadn’t been necessary; all it took was one look at the poor creature, and Winnifred began to fill the copper sink with hot water and soap to bathe him. Rowan had been delighted at her mother’s acceptance of the new pet—until said pet jumped from the counter and out their kitchen window, which had been open to release steam from the soup Winnifred had been making. To this day, Rowan remembers peering out the window with horror as Butternut scurried along the ledge outside of their sixth floor apartment, and how she’d had to coax him back to safety with strings of shredded cheese. As terrifying as it had been, however, Rowan had learned her lesson—if Butternut is in the room, windows have to be closed. There had been a few close calls over the years, but never anything as bad as that first day, when she thought she would lose her new friend before she’d even had the chance to truly befriend him.

Until now.

The moment Butternut’s paws meet the rusted metal of the fire escape, he bounds after the crow, leaping for the ledge of the fire escape before Rowan can even absorb what’s happening. The crow, however, doesn’t have the same processing delay that she does, and flies away before the cat can sink a claw into his shiny feathers. Unfortunately, Butternut has always been determined, and by the time Rowan has scurried out through the window and onto the fire escape, Butternut has already begun bounding down the rusted metal steps and onto the street below.

“Fuck—” Rowan curses loudly, nearly tripping over herself in her hurry to clamber back from the window ledge and into her apartment. Grabbing only her keys from the catch-all table by her door, Rowan throws open the door of her apartment and slams it behind her, not bothering to check if it’s locked before hurling herself towards the stairwell of her building. 

Brushing her chestnut hair out of her eyes as she rounds the corner of the stairwell, Rowan has to give credit where credit is due; for a cat that’s over a decade old, Butternut moves fast, and that knowledge only incites more intensity in the girl as she tears through the stairwell and onto the street. Rowan pants as she surveys the bustling crowds, scouring the bottom of every black and grey raincoat until she just barely catches the yellowish hue of Butternut’s tail disappearing around the corner.

“Butternut!” She yells loudly, receiving a scoff and a dirty look from an old lady whose ear she’d just accidentally yelled in. “Sorry, ma’am, I just—sorry!” Rowan offers one more quick apology before dashing down the street towards Butternut. “Come back!”

Although she does her best to avoid pedestrians around her in her pursuit of her pet, Rowan still manages to ram her shoulders into four different people as she runs through the crowded Greenwich Village street. She spits out speedy apologies whenever she does so, her hickory eyes flashing with what she hopes is sincerity and not annoyance, but she doesn’t stop to say anything more; already, Butternut is disappearing in a sea of New Yorker ankles, and she’s worried that if she doesn’t grab him soon, someone else will.

After five blocks of pursuit—how does an aging cat have better stamina than she does?—Butternut seems to disappear completely, his fluffy tail nowhere in sight amongst the throngs of people. Rowan slows her pace to a light jog, her legs aching and lungs burning in protest as she pants so loud that passersby keep giving her concerned stares. There’s a feeling of dread beginning to coil itself around Rowan’s intestines, and she’s not sure if it’s the fear of losing Butternut, or the oncoming asthma attack, but it nearly doubles Rowan over as she struggles to move breath in and out of her lungs.

“I need—to work—out more—” Rowan puffs to herself, folding one hand over her stomach as she continues to push her way through the crowded sidewalk at a reduced pace. “I—” Her eyes widen as she spies an amber tail among the crowds. “Butternut!”

Although her loud exclamation once again startles an old lady (seriously, just how many old ladies are wandering around the village right now?), Rowan doesn’t stop to apologize this time, and instead simply offers a flash of an apologetic grimace before jogging after the fluff of golden fur that she just caught ducking into the open door of a shop.

Still wheezing loudly when she reaches the storefront, Rowan manages to crane her neck up to catch sight of the sign above her. The white washed wood plank with dark green letters reads Verbena & Birch Apothecary, and Rowan only takes a moment to admire the craftsmanship that must have gone into carving the plant sprigs next to the logo before she remembers the reason she’s here, and yanks the wooden door open to run inside.

“Butternut?” She calls out, still breathless from her impromptu marathon down the streets of Greenwich Village. “C’mon, stinky—” Her eyes scan over the countless shelves lined with delicate-looking glass bottles, and a feeling of dread grows in her stomach as she tucks her wild locks behind her ears. All it would take is one pounce from Butternut to destroy everything on these shelves, something she wouldn’t put past the mischievous cat that just scampered down five city blocks. “You can’t be in here! Let’s go!”

Rowan pauses for a moment and listens closely for the sound of familiar paws against the wooden floor, or the usual indignant meowed response when she calls Butternut stinky, or any sign that the cat is wandering the breakable-filled store, but hears nothing save for her own laboured breathing. Bracing her hand against her heaving stomach again, Rowan lets out a groan, hanging her head and letting her hair fall into her face as she bends over, submitting to another cramp that’s working its way through her insides.

“Does he belong to you?”

The lilting British accent that rings through the quiet shop pricks Rowan’s ears with familiarity as she snaps herself back into more appropriate posture, her palm still massaging her belly over her shirt. “What—?” Rowan whips her head around, searching for the source of the voice behind the towering shelves surrounding her. A flicker of movement from the corner of her eye catches her attention, and Rowan turns slowly towards a tower of white candles organized in glass jars as the owner of the disembodied voice emerges from behind it.

The first thing Rowan notices—to her immense relief—is Butternut happily situated in the man’s arms, purring contentedly as he stretches out languidly, seemingly pleased by the stranger’s body heat. This odd response is the second thing Rowan notes, as Butternut has never had an affinity for those he doesn’t know, and usually prefers to claw at strangers rather than flop over within their grasps. The third thing that Rowan notices, however, might be the oddest thing of all; the stranger in front of her is, in fact, no stranger at all.

Or, at the very least, she’s met him before.  Although his clothing isn’t soaked to the bone from a surprise thunder storm, his curls a bit lighter in colour and bouncier than ever when dry, and his cheeks displaying a tint of rosiness to them in the heat of the shop, Rowan recognizes Harry the moment she’s able to get a good look at him, even before noting the forest green apron with his name embroidered in the corner over his white t-shirt and tan cardigan. It’s his eyes, she thinks, cocking her head to the side as she appraises the familiar young man in front of her. The way his jade irises appear to swirl and shift in the light filtering through the storefront windows is so unmistakable that it’s branded into Rowan’s head from just their one brief meeting. And if the way those eyes are crinkling in the corners as his expression twists into a grin, Rowan can tell that Harry recognizes her, as well.

“Yes,” The florist finally replies to him, breathing a sigh of relief as she steps towards him. “Yes, that’s my cat. I’m so sorry, he just escaped from my apartment and ran all the way here, and I couldn’t stop him before he got inside—”

“It’s alright,” Harry assures her with a small smile that tugs at the corner of his reddened lips as he scratches Butternut behind his ears. “Worse things have stepped into this shop, I can assure you. And given how cute this particular intruder is, I can’t bring myself to mind it.”

Rowan’s upturned lips, while tentative, slowly lift to match the grin on his face as the full relief of knowing that Butternut is safe washes over her. “Thank you, really,” She reaches out and scoops Butternut into her arms, pressing the cat into her chest protectively while ignoring the burning feeling of Harry’s fingertips brushing over her own. “He didn’t break anything?”

“Oh, no, everything’s fine,” Harry says easily, waving one nail polished hand without an air of concern or notice of the contact. “No harm, no foul, and all that.”

“That’s a relief,” Rowan bounces Butternut in her arms absentmindedly as she glances around the shop, appraising the fragile wares more thoroughly than she had when she first entered. “His second worst habit after jumping out of windows is breaking things, and a lot of things here seem breakable.”

Rowan isn’t exaggerating for effect. Now that the relief of finding Butternut has uncoiled her stomach and she can take a moment to really look around the shop, she’s amazed that she managed to collect him without paying a small fortune for items destroyed in his wake. Every wall of the store is lined with a wooden built-in shelf, each one filled with an assortment of products, with the types of products varying from each wall. It’s much more organized than she’d thought at her first glance, and she allows herself a moment to sweep over each product with errant curiosity.

The wall to her left has shelves labeled with what she assumes are different kinds of teas, sorted by their uses, such as “awake and alive,” “blood pressure support,” and “happy tummy,” as well as sorted by flavour and blend. Another shelf is lined with small dropper bottles labeled with various types of oils, and the shelf to the right of that one is lined with small brown bottles labeled as various tinctures. The opposite wall to her right hosts a wide variety of salves and balms, also sorted by uses such as “super healing,” “anti-anxiety,” and “mood boost.” Along the back wall are rows of bulk bins usually found in the grocery store, except these bins are filled with large amounts of ground dried herbs, all labeled neatly to match everything else in the store. Despite the great quantities, however, there are also jars filled with unground herbs still attached to their host plants sitting neatly above the bins. The last wall, however, has the greatest variety of anything else in the store, and stocks row upon row of various crystals, stones, and minerals, all hosting neat labels with their properties and meanings underneath the names. And if all that product wasn’t enough—enough to pique her interest as well as her anxiety at the thought of Butternut roaming free in here—there’s stand-alone shelves throughout the store, displaying more tinctures, oils, and products, as well as candles, incense, and things that Rowan can’t even put a name to.

If Harry’s tone when he interrupts her observations is any indication, then her curiosity about the products is written clear across her face. “See anything interesting?” He asks conversationally, tucking his ringed hands into the pockets of his apron.

“I’d think it’s all interesting,” Rowan murmurs in reply, keeping a firm grasp on Butternut as she steps closer to a shelf of incense, squinting her eyes to read the—quite messy—handwritten labels. “What is all this stuff?”

“Well, they’re a wide variety of things, but to put it simply…they’re natural and organic products. I make them all here, in the back of my shop,” Harry untucks one hand to motion his thumb over his shoulder as he watches Rowan lean down to smell the incense, Buttercup meowing indignantly in her arms as she tightens her grip once more. “Well, except for the incense and candles. I have a supplier in Brooklyn that provides those for me, as well as some of the herbs. But all the oils and balms…I make those in house.”

Rowan doesn’t miss the hint of pride that lingers in the back of Harry’s voice, nor can she blame him for it. If she’d concocted all of this, she’d have more than just a hint of pride. “You make these?” Rowan repeats back in amazement, walking slowly to another shelf, this one housing a variety of creams and balms. Each row has a neatly labeled tester pot, and she runs her finger over the cool glass of the jars as she reads the labels out loud. 

“‘Patience’… ‘prosperity’… ‘protection’…” Rowan tilts her head towards Harry and raises a brow as the alphabetized names fall from her tongue. “How does a cream offer protection? Protection from what? Dry skin?”

The corner of Harry’s lips twitch. “Well, yes. Among other things,” He strides over to stand next to her, picking up the tester jar labeled “protection,” and dips a jewelled finger into the surface of the light cream. “May I?” He requests, extending his other hand to her.

“Oh, uh…” Rowan shifts Butternut’s weight to her left arm, freeing up her right arm for Harry to take between his fingers. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

Harry’s left hand grips her wrist with a warm and gentle touch, the curves of his fingers molding into the shape of her body easily. Despite feeling it a few moments earlier, Rowan isn’t prepared for the strange feeling that hums up and down her arm when Harry’s skin meets her own. Her walnut irises capture his own hunter pair, and the question that flashes through them quickly tells her that she’s not the only one noticing the buzz.

Harry, however, seems to be better at keeping his expression unreadable, because as soon as the question appears in his own eyes, it disappears again, his gaze returning to her hand. His fingers begin to dance over her wrist as he carefully rubs the cool balm into her skin, and Rowan watches the practiced motion for a moment before her attention slips to the strange tattoo that occupies the back of his hand, the one that she’d noticed in her own shop a few days before. It almost seems to dance over his skin, flexing and flowing with the movement of his muscles as he works the cream into her own palm. 

If the smell of sage and sandalwood filling the air hadn’t distracted her, Rowan might have begun to center her attention on the lithe movements of Harry’s calloused fingers over her hand, and how warm and welcoming his touch felt along her body, which would have led to her thinking about his hands traveling up her arm, following the natural line of her body to her collar bones, and then—  

 “That smells so good,” She says quickly, struggling to keep her voice balanced and even as she allows the fragrance to fill her senses, rather than her thoughts, which seem to be getting away from her at the moment. “Is that sage?”

Admittedly, the smell is quite distracting all on its own, even without Harry’s tantalizing touch working the scented balm into her skin, but Rowan can’t help but think that the relaxed and tranquil feeling flowing through her body has less to do with aromatherapy and more to do with the way Harry’s fingertips are pressing between her knuckles. Despite her brief encounters with him, there’s a familiar feeling in the way they interact; when he touches her, it doesn’t feel uncomfortable or unfamiliar, like the touch of a stranger should feel. Instead, the sensation that hums over her skin and settles inside her chest reminds her of the warm burn of a hearth, as if her body were a home that has been waiting for him to arrive and light the fire for the night that will keep the dark and damp away.

“I’m glad you think so,” Harry’s low and lilting voice cuts through Rowan’s trance as he rubs the last of the cream into her skin. Although his fingers cease their gentle massage, he still keeps her wrist clasped within his hand, the pad of his thumb brushing over her knuckles absentmindedly. 

“I make the oils for these myself. This one has some sage, angelica, clove, and sandalwood. I mix it with organic cocoa butter, organic coconut oil, and beeswax from my supplier in Brooklyn, and melt it all together while—” Harry stops talking abruptly, his poetry-like tone cutting off with a nervous glance and a sheepish smile. “Actually, I shouldn’t be telling you all this. S’a trade secret, you know. If I tell you, then you might tell someone else, and soon I’ll be boarding up my windows because everyone is cooking up their own balms in their kitchens. Won’t have any need for me anymore.”

Rowan, who had been more focused on the hypnotic cadence of Harry’s voice to process exactly what he’d been saying, offers a half-hearted laugh as she shifts Buttercup within her arm. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” She does her best to reassure him, but it’s hard to sound convincing when Harry squeezes her hand within his own, because for some reason, Harry is still cradling her wrist, which only stokes the hearth within her chest. “I don’t really understand it, anyways. You said it…offers protection?” Rowan blinks at his simple nod of explanation. “Um…protection from what?” 

Harry loosely lifts his shoulders into a noncommittal shrug. “Anything, really. Whatever the wearer feels like they need protection from.”

“Okay, but…if I felt like I needed protection from…I don’t know, a robber…” Rowan spins an imaginary scenario as she speaks, shifting Butternut in her arm once more as the cat begins to fuss (she should extract her hand from Harry’s. It would make holding him a lot easier). “How would a cream protect me from that?”

“It’s not so much the cream as what it’s made from,” Picking up the jar again with his free hand (despite his eyes flickering to the increasingly annoyed cat within her grasp, he still hasn’t relented his own grasp on her), Harry twists the container so that the ingredient list faces Rowan, leaving him to speak from memory as he recites it. “Sage, angelica, clove, sandalwood…all of those things have protective properties. Their aromas bring comfort and tranquility to those who smell them. Using them in a cream allows their fragrance to go anywhere with the wearer, so it can bring continual comfort. Think about that symbol above your door, the one you said your mum used to draw. That was for protection, wasn’t it? It’s the same idea.”

“Oh…” Realization sparks in Rowan’s mind as she glances around the shop again, taking in every item with newly opened eyes. “Oh. Like in a metaphysical sense, right? Like how lavender is meant to bring luck?”

Harry’s brows arch up in surprise at the connection as he sets the jar back on the shelf. “Exactly like that, yes,” He says slowly, his emerald eyes watching Rowan’s renewed examination carefully as he finally relinquishes her wrist. “How did you know that?”

Rowan clutches Buttercup tighter to her chest, and while the movement is easier with both arms at her disposal, she can’t deny that she misses the sensations Harry’s touch provided her. “It’s another thing my mom told me when I was a kid. She always kept a little lavender plant in a window box.” Her eyes settle on the glass bottle filled with lavender sprigs on the shelf nearest to her, the sight jogging memories she hadn’t played in her mind in quite some time. “She used to make me lavender and chamomile tea when I was a kid, because I had trouble sleeping sometimes. It always knocked me right out,” The florist shrugs lightly. “You know, looking back, she probably mixed in some Nyquil too, but…”

Although Harry offers a small chuckle at her joke, the sound that falls from his mouth is strained, and when Rowan turns her attention back to the man again, his face has shifted into an expression she can’t read. His previously relaxed brow has furrowed and creased, and his cherry lips have transformed from an easygoing grin to a thin pursed line. The dimples that had adorned his rosy cheeks have all but disappeared, and without them, Harry looks ten years older, and ten times more intimidating.

Rowan clears her throat in an attempt to ease the newfound tension. “That—that was a joke,” She mumbles with a weak laugh, stroking the amber fur of Butternut’s back as he fusses once more. “She, uh, she didn’t do that.” Turning back to the shelf of teas, Rowan scans over the labels swiftly to find one like she’d described. “You sell one too, huh? A bedtime tea?”

Harry gives a terse nod of his head as his eyes follow the gesture of Rowan’s chin, his gaze seemingly glued to every one of her actions. “I do, yeah. Would you—?” Although he cuts off the question before he can even ask it, he only pauses to run his tongue over his darkened lips once before beginning again. “Would you like to try some? I can make a little sample tin for you. Or…” When his irises meet her own, Rowan finds they’ve shifted once more, moving further and further from the brightness she’d first seen upon their initial meeting. “If there’s nothing here you’d like to try…I live above the shop, in the flat upstairs,” He jerks his chin upwards, as if the motion is supposed to convince her he’s telling the truth. “I’ve been testing out some new blends that you might like, if you want to try them…?”

The sudden invitation to come up to his apartment isn’t exactly unwanted, but still leaves Rowan taken aback nevertheless. It’s not so much the invitation itself, Rowan reasons, her fingers massaging down Butternut’s back lightly, but the way it was delivered. Every interaction she’s had with Harry so far has felt organic, as natural and easy as breathing. This, however…this request feels anything but. “Oh. Uh—”

“You’re under no obligation, of course,” Harry clarifies, straightening the jars on the shelf while his cheeks stain a darker shade of crimson. “I just thought—you may like to see more of—of some things I’ve made, or—”

“No, I would!” Rowan’s heart hammers in her chest as Harry stumbles over his words, the apparent anxiety in his strained explanation endearing him in a way she hadn’t expected. “I would, and it sounds wonderful, but…” She raises Butternut in her arms in lieu of an explanation. She’s not exactly sure what’s bothering him, but from the way he’s been fussing throughout their entire conversation—especially when he’d behaved so well while in Harry’s arms—it’s clear that there’s somewhere he wants to run to. Or something he wants to run from. “I should be getting this guy home.”

A sheepish look paints itself onto Harry’s features, dragging down his eyes and creased brow, and before Rowan can say anything else, an apology tumbles from his downturned lips. “Right, of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—to make you uncomfortable—”

“I’m not uncomfortable!” Rowan assures him just as quickly, giving a firm shake of her head as reinforcement. “I—actually, I’m very comfortable with you, which is strange, given we just met—” Her own cheeks flush at the candid admission, growing to match Harry’s in hue. “But I just—I have to get Butternut home, but—”

“You don’t owe me an explanation, it’s fine—”

“But if you’re free tomorrow afternoon, I’d love to come over for tea.”

Harry’s hasty apologies cut off before they can echo out of his throat, the unspoken words practically visible as they hang on the tip of his tongue. “You would?”

“I would,” Rowan confirms, the corners of her lips tugging up at the endearingly dumbfounded expression that sweeps over Harry’s entire face. “Maybe 2 o’clock, if that works for you?”

Tugging on his chestnut curls as his grin begins to grow once more, Harry gives a sharp nod of agreement. “That would be wonderful, yeah. I’ll see you here at 2 o’clock.”

…

At 1:59PM the next day, Rowan stands beneath the cream and hunter sign reading Verbena and Birch Apothecary, and re-evaluates her life choices. 

She’d like to consider herself a smart girl. Her mother had raised her to be thoughtful, introspective, and aware of her surroundings, as well as the people in them. If she had a bad vibe from Harry, or believed him to be dangerous in any way, she would turn on her heel and march back down the streets of the Village until she reached her own apartment. Or, even more, she probably wouldn’t have left her apartment in the first place, and would have let 2 o’clock come and go without a second guess. But Harry hasn’t given her any reason to think that he could hurt her; if he’d wanted to hurt her, it would’ve been much easier to have dragged her upstairs the day before. No one had seen her quickly ducking into his shop, and she’d been so busy chasing Butternut that she hadn’t told anyone where she was going. Their meeting today, however, has been pre-planned, meaning that Harry could assume that she’s told someone where she’s gone, or at the very least, left a note in her apartment in case police search it after she goes missing. There’s no reason for her to be concerned.

Then again, Rowan remembers the stranger danger lessons given to her in elementary school by New York police officers, and is reminded once more that the decision she’s making is probably a stupid one.

It’s just… Rowan touches the stone pendant hanging around her neck. The shining tiger’s eye had belonged to her mother before she passed, and Rowan could remember her rubbing a worried thumb over the smooth surface any time something was troubling her. Rowan herself thumbs over the honey-streaked stone, her own brow furrowing. Just.

It’s just Harry. It’s just something about him, something coded within his emerald eyes that makes her question everything she’d been taught. Of course she shouldn’t be having tea with a strange man she’s spoken to for barely fifteen minutes over the course of two encounters. Of course she shouldn’t accept an invitation into his home as if she was a lamb volunteering for her own slaughter. But Harry doesn’t feel like a stranger. At least, he feels unlike any stranger she’s ever encountered before.

The minute hand of the watch on her wrist slips past the twelve, leaving Rowan with no more time to dwell on the matter. Taking a deep breath as she tucks her shoulder length waves behind her ears, she pulls open the front door of the shop and steps inside.

Harry is standing behind the counter, writing in the leatherbound journal she’d noticed on his person the day he stumbled into her own shop. Upon hearing the tinkle of the chime above the door, his head turns up, and his emerald gaze meets her own.

“Rowan, hi,” Harry smiles easily at her as he shuts the journal, looping the leather tie around the bindings with practiced ease. “Right on time.”

“For once in my life,” Rowan jokes in an attempt to hide her nerves. She slips her hands into the pockets of the worn trench coat she’d found at an estate sale the previous year, trying to curb her habit of twisting her rings around her fingers when she’s nervous. “Sorry, am I interrupting your work?”

Tucking the leather bound journal underneath the counter in one smooth motion, Harry shakes his head. “No, not at all. It’s been a fairly slow afternoon. Not much to interrupt.”

“Really? No stray cats have run into your shop today?”

The small laugh that falls from Harry’s lips is light and easy, and lodges itself somewhere deep within Rowan’s chest in a way she doesn’t quite understand. “No, but the day is still young.”

Harry steps out from behind the counter, and for the first time, Rowan notices that his outfit is devoid of the hunter apron he’d worn the day before. Instead, Harry is dressed in a chunky knit chestnut coloured sweater with green detailing around the cuffs and hem. His pants are olive toned, baggy in their fit, and pool just above his black vans. He looks comfy. Cozy, Rowan thinks. Like he could laze back on a couch in the evening, his hands a bit sooty from stoking the fire, but that doesn’t matter, because he’ll laugh and try to swipe a charcoal covered finger over her cheek, and leave fingerprints along her skin when he—

“So you said you live upstairs?” Rowan’s voice is breathless when she pulls herself from her daydream, and she fidgets with the tiger’s eye around her neck in an attempt to calm herself with the familiar motion.

“Uh, yeah, I do. I—sorry, is that…” Harry’s gaze drops from her eyes to her fingers, watching as she twists the pendant up and down the old chain. “Is that tiger’s eye?”

Rowan glances down at the pendant caught between her fingers. The honey-streaked stone is cut in the shape of an oval and set into a metal backing, worn smooth from two generations of Frances women habitually rubbing it. It’s pretty, to be sure, but it’s never drawn anyone’s attention so quickly. But then again, Rowan’s sure the stone is stocked on the shelves behind her; it’s no wonder Harry’s noticed it.

“It is, yeah. My mom gave it to me,” Rowan says, letting the pendant fall back against her navy turtleneck. Technically, her mother didn’t give it to her. In all actuality, Rowan had claimed it after her mother passed away five years ago. However, now didn’t seem the time to dump all her mommy issues onto a virtual stranger, no matter how familiar he felt. The death of your only parental figure is more of a second date conversation, she thinks.

Not that they’ve had a first date. This is tea. She’s just here to try tea that Harry’s made. This rendezvous probably falls more under the category of a sales pitch than a date, and Rowan’s not sure why that fact makes her stomach churn in discontent, but she’s determined to ignore it.

“It’s lovely,” Harry says, seemingly unaware of the debate that’s playing out in Rowan’s mind. “May I?”

He reaches his right hand towards her, and Rowan’s eyes once again focus on the strange symbol inked into his smooth skin. A shiver runs up her spine as the uncomfortably familiar feeling of deja vu settles over her. His words are identical to yesterday, when he offered her a sample of the protection balm he made. But underneath that memory, there’s something else, something that settles at the very edge of her mind’s eye, just out of reach of clarity. That same phrase— “May I?”— echoed in a lilting British accent, a flash of a ringed, tattooed hand tugging at blush coloured sheets, the dangle of her tiger’s eye pendant over a flushed chest that’s inked with tattoos she can’t quite place…

The hand in front of her pauses, and its owner’s eyes find her own. Harry flicks his eyebrows up as if to repeat his question, and Rowan realizes he’s waiting for her to give him permission to examine her necklace.

“Yeah, sorry—” She hastily reaches behind her neck to undo the clasp, brushing her bobbed hair out of her way. “Let me just—”

She cuts off her speech with a stuttered gasp as Harry’s nimble fingers find the pendant that hangs over her turtleneck, carefully securing the stone between his digits without touching her.

It’s not until this moment that Rowan realizes that Harry is standing close enough to her that she can see the flecks of gold in his emerald eyes, which are trained on the pendant in a focused manner. The tip of his nose is flushed the same shade as the strawberry of his mouth, and the hue also skirts along the apples of his cheeks, barely visible with the concentrated expression that’s painted on his face.

Rowan doesn’t know much about Harry, but she stocks this new knowledge—how he’s careful to ask for her permission to move towards her, but merges his personal space bubble with her own once that permission is given—in the back of her mind. It’s so familiar that it produces an ache deep within her chest that confounds her.

“It’s a beautiful necklace,” Harry keeps his eyes on the pendant as he twists it between his fingers. “You said it was your mother’s?”

Rowan forces herself to sound calm and collected when she answers. “I did, yeah. She used to call it her lucky charm.”

“Tiger’s eye provides protection,” Harry murmurs the words quietly as he lets go of the necklace. It falls lightly back onto Rowan’s chest. “It’s a lovely piece. She was very kind to give it to you.”

“She was, yes,” Rowan fidgets with the necklace, fixing its position around her neck. “She’s—she’s a very kind person.”

Rowan’s not exactly sure why she slips into the present tense to describe her mother. Sure, she’s already decided that the death of a parent is a second date topic, but she’s also already decided that this isn’t a date. From past experience, she knows it’s better to rip off the “my mother passed unexpectedly when I was twenty years old and it tore apart my life” bandaid sooner rather than later, but she also knows that most men tend to stray away from the topic of mothers when they invite women up to their apartments for tea.

Then again, Rowan thinks ruefully as she follows Harry behind the counter a moment later at his request, Harry hasn’t acted like most men she’s ever met before.

The small corridor that leads towards the back of the shop is dark, lacking the sunlight that illuminates the front of the store. Instead, the floor creaks under Rowan’s feet, accented by the click of the heeled boots she may or may not have worn to bring herself closer to Harry’s height.

Harry pauses before an open doorway, and Rowan can smell the room before she sees it— lavender and sage, lemon and cloves, cinnamon and rosehips, and a thousand other scent combinations that Rowan can’t name. She peers over Harry’s shoulder to see a cluttered workbench, not unlike her own, covered in little glass bottles, bunches of greenery, and the familiar petals of yarrow flowers that she’d sold to Harry previously. Along the back wall, under a small window, is a row of bottles with different oils inside, and to the left is a gas range with two separate pots set on top. One of the pots is still steaming, the vapor coiling lazily above its contents, despite the range being off (Rowan checks with a flick of her eyes).

“This is where I make most of my inventory,” Harry says with a motion of his hand. “I had to add the range myself when I bought the place, but the butcher’s block and the work spaces were already here. I got pretty lucky.”

“It’s gorgeous,” Rowan replies, and she pauses a moment, waiting for the invitation to step inside and explore. When the invitation doesn’t come, and Harry turns his attention to the door to the left of the corridor, just before the entrance to the back room, Rowan can’t deny that she’s disappointed. However, part of her understands; she hates when anyone steps into her backroom. The organized chaos is always just one stray hand away from descending into madness, and what she stores in her workroom isn’t nearly as breakable as what’s inside Harry’s.

Instead, Rowan turns her gaze to the door that Harry’s unlocking with a key from his pocket. The key itself is small and brass, with a tarnished, well-worn handle and a detailed head. The object resembles something Rowan would expect to see in a movie set in the early 1900s rather than on the keyring of someone around her age, but it fits perfectly into the lock on the inconspicuous door. As Harry slips the weathered key back into his pocket, Rowan notes that it’s the only key on the keyring. She can’t say she’s surprised that there’s no car key present— hardly anyone she knows in New York has a car, much less their license. She’s one of the few of her friends that does, and that’s only because her mother had insisted she learn when she was eighteen. However, she is surprised to see no key to the shop on the ring. Rowan has three separate locks on the door to her own store, and keeps all the keys jumbled together with her apartment set.

“Like I mentioned, I live just above the shop,” Harry interrupts her pondering as he nods up the steep set of dark stairs. “Follow me, and try to watch your step. These stairs tend to trip people the first time they climb them.”

“Right, okay,” Rowan does as Harry says, following his practiced steps at the pace he sets. She lasts about three stairs before stumbling, and grabs hold of the worn railing to catch herself before she falls forward.

Harry turns around as much as the small space lets him, and the look on his face is concerned, but not surprised. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just regretting my choice of shoes right now,” Rowan laughs airily, hoping the darkness of the stairwell hides the blush she’s sure is working its way over her cheeks. “You really weren’t kidding, huh?”

“No, I wasn’t,” A set of fingers brushes over her hand that clings to the railing, and there’s a moment of hesitation before Harry tugs her hand away from the railing and grasps it gently within his own. “Here, just go a little slower. I’ll help you.”

It’s clear that Harry’s dashed up and down these stairs hundreds of times, because he has no trouble navigating the steep flight with his body turned sideways to guide Rowan to the top. His hand stays locked around hers, comforting without being controlling, until he pulls her onto the cramped landing at the top of the stairs.

“There we go,” He grins at her, his dimples barely visible in the dim light as he releases her hand. “You made it.”

“I did,” Rowan hopes the embarrassment isn’t detectable in her voice. “Only almost died once.”

Harry laughs, low and melodic, as he fishes in his pocket for something, and pulls his ringed hand back out with the same key he used to unlock the door to the stairwell. He presses the key into the silver lock on the door, and Rowan is surprised to hear the click of the lock two seconds later.

With a quick twist of the squeaky doorknob, Harry pushes open the door and leads Rowan into his apartment.

Although she’s only known Harry for a short time, she can’t really say she’s surprised by anything she sees in front of her. Harry’s apartment is big by New York standards, with exposed brick walls and greenery draped along every shelf. There’s a large set of windows along the far wall that sends a spark of jealousy down Rowan’s spine, and a velvet emerald-coloured couch that turns the spark into a flame. The scent of incense floats through the air, evidenced by the multiple holders she sees scattered along the living room, and pressed against the left wall is a bookshelf that holds multiple aged books set in leather and embossed with gold.

Harry’s apartment is earthy, and centered, and quite possibly the most beautiful space Rowan has ever seen.

“This is gorgeous, Harry,” She says breathlessly, her hand rising of its own accord to touch the frame of a print hung in the hallway by the door. “How long have you lived here?”

“God, about…eight years now, maybe? To tell you the truth, I think I’ve lost count,” Harry toes off his vans, and Rowan follows suit, tugging off her own boots and thanking her past self for deciding to spend the extra time to find matching socks this morning. “Can I take your coat?”

“Sure, thank you,” Rowan begins to slip the trench coat over her shoulders, unsurprised when she feels a second set of hands help slide the fabric down her arms. She’s adjusting to Harry’s easy way with touch— revels in it, actually, which is new for her.

Harry hangs her coat on the stand just beside the door, and that same dimpled smile is on his face when he turns back around. “The kitchen is just through here, I’ll show— Jesus—”

Rowan nearly slams into Harry’s back as he comes to a quick stop in front of her, his arms braced against either wall in the small front hallway. Before she can stumble more from the sudden pause, his hand reaches behind him, finding her waist and steadying her.

“Harry?” Rowan’s skin feels as if it’s burning underneath her sweater, the sensation warmest at her core where Harry is touching her. “Is everything—?”

“Yes, sorry, it’s just—” Harry lets go of her with a sigh, stepping over what appears to be a large smoke coloured furry pillow in the middle of the hallway. “It’s just Clint.”

Rowan regards him with confusion, her chestnut eyes searching his own emerald for an explanation. “Clint? Who’s Clint?”

“That’s Clint,” He nods down to the furry pillow and nudges it with his sock covered foot. The pillow twitches, stretches when provoked, and Rowan suddenly realizes it’s not a pillow at all, but in fact—

“You have a rabbit named Clint?”

Harry’s already walking towards the kitchen, unconcerned about Clint’s nap spot that blocks the entryway of his apartment. “I do.”

A million questions flood through Rowan’s head, a million different things she could say about this new tidbit of Harry trivia. But instead of asking how owning a rabbit works in a New York City apartment, why said rabbit seems to have an infinity for inconvenient nap locations, or if tripping over him is an everyday occurrence (which, based on Harry’s exasperated sighs, she thinks it might be), the comment that leaves her mouth is, “Clint is kind of a weird name for a rabbit.”

Harry pauses his movements in the kitchen, one hand frozen on a mahogany cabinet while the other holds a jar of a dried tea blend. “You think so?”

Rowan flinches inwardly, still stuck frozen behind the rabbit in the hallway. “I— shit, sorry, that was rude. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay. It is weird, I know,” Harry laughs, and the sound immediately drains the tension that had seized Rowan’s entire body. “But he likes it, and refuses to change it, so…yeah. Clint the rabbit. You can just step over him, by the way,” Harry says as he notices Rowan has yet to leave the entryway. “He’s pretty used to it, because he’s also stubborn about where he takes his fifteen daily naps, the lazy bugger…”

Stepping carefully over the rabbit as instructed, a smile plays on Rowan’s lips as she makes her way to the kitchen. “Damn. Sounds like Clint really needs to start pulling his weight around here.”

Harry snorts as he picks up the copper kettle located on his stovetop and fills it with water. “Try telling him that,” He says, flicking the gas range onto high and setting the kettle on the burner. “Even Atticus contributes more to the household, and I hardly have to feed him.”

Rowan leans over the stonetop counter, her eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Who’s Atticus? Another pet?”

“No, not a pet. More like a…friend…” Harry’s voice is barely above a murmur as he looks between the jar of tea in his hand, and the multiple jars lined up in his open cupboard. “Sorry, just…trying to choose what blend to give you.”

Tapping her index finger against the knuckle of her other hand, Rowan watches as a crease of concentration forms between Harry’s stern brow. “I can try any blend,” She offers, hoping to help with the indecision that seems to be plaguing him. “I’m really not picky.”

“No, but I am. I don’t want to give you the wrong one.”

“The wrong…?” Rowan tilts her head to the side, her own forehead creasing identical to Harry’s. “How can a tea blend be—?”

“This one,” Harry says triumphantly, swapping the jar in his hand with another stored at the very back of the cabinet. “I’ve been tweaking this recipe lately. I think you’ll like it.”

Harry opens another cabinet full of dishware, and grabs a midnight blue teapot with white detailing along the sides. After he sets the teapot on the counter, he pulls out two teacups with the same white detailing over midnight paint. 

It’s fascinating to watch the practiced ease with which Harry brews the tea. He’s added a few scoops of the blend into the diffuser that’s set inside the teapot by the time the kettle starts to whistle, and once he’s taken the kettle off the heat and poured the boiling water into the teapot to steep, he immediately reaches for a glass container that’s set on the counter. From her vantage point, Rowan can tell that it’s filled with honey.

Harry doesn’t ask her if she takes cream or sugar in her tea, and Rowan doesn’t interject to say she prefers one scoop of sugar and a dash of milk. Instead, she lets Harry dictate exactly how she’ll test out his own blend, observes carefully how he fills each teacup almost to the brim, but leaves enough room to add a few drops of honey with the glass wand that he keeps inside the matching jar. It’s clear that all of this is a science to him, from the amount of golden liquid added, all the way down to how he carefully stirs each cup before setting the drink down in front of her with a shy smile.

“Keeping with yesterday’s theme…” He says quietly, turning the cup so the handle faces Rowan for an easy grip. “Tea for protection.”

Rowan slowly lifts the delicate china to her mouth, blowing over the boiling liquid before inhaling the steam. “I smell…cinnamon, I think? And a little bit of lemon?”

Harry’s smile grows until his dimples flash at her. He’s still leaning over the countertop, mimicking Rowan’s curved posture. When she inhales again, she can smell the light scent of Harry’s cologne mixing in with the vapours of the tea.

“Good catch,” Harry praises her easily, tapping his ringed fingers against the countertop. “The base of the tea is a black tea blend, but there’s cinnamon and lemon balm in it, along with a few other things. A little cardamom, clove, nutmeg, ginger…a couple other spices. But they all do a really good job of keeping away things that could hurt you.”

Rowan doesn’t bother to inquire about how lemon balm can keep away something that could hurt her again; she doubts she’d get an answer that she really understands. Instead, she just blows over the surface of the tea one more time before taking a small sip. The flavours Harry listed rush over her tongue at a just below scalding temperature, swirling in her mouth before running down her throat and leaving a pleasant warmth behind.

Harry watches intently, his body still leaning across the countertop towards her. “What do you think?”

Rowan takes another small gulp of tea, more mindful of the heat this time. “It’s really good, Harry. The honey in it, too…adds just the right amount of sweetness.”

Rowan hadn’t realized the amount of tension that had strung itself between Harry’s shoulders until she watches it roll out of him. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it,” He says, straightening up before grasping his own teacup to take a sip. 

“Were you nervous I wouldn’t?”

Harry’s answering shrug is just on the edge of sheepish. “Maybe a little. I’m always a bit nervous when someone tries one of my products for the first time. I want them to like it, you know?”

“I get the same way when I design custom arrangements for clients,” Rowan confesses, swirling the tea in her cup. “There’s this moment, right before I show them their arrangements, when I swear I can feel my heart in my throat. I used to get so nervous that I felt like I was going to pass out.”

“Really?” Harry raises an inquisitive brow. “How did you stop it?”

“I started using this trick my mom taught me. Right before I show the arrangement to a client, like right before, when I’m getting it from the fridge, I picture what I hope their reaction will be. Excitement, surprise, happiness, things like that. More often than not, clients usually react the way I imagine they will. It helps keep me calm.”

That crease appears between Harry’s brow again, but smooths out a moment after Rowan takes notice of it. “Your mother is a smart lady.”

“She…yeah,” Rowan clears her throat and takes another sip of tea, the temperature more comfortable now. “And she keeps coming up in conversation, which is probably pretty annoying. Sorry.”

It takes all of Rowan’s self control to stop herself from pressing her thumb between Harry’s brows as that damn crease comes back. “Why are you sorry? I like hearing about your past. It makes it easier to understand you in the present.”

The sincerity in his tone brings a flush to Rowan’s cheeks. “Is that something you’re having difficulty with? Understanding me?”

Harry hums in consideration as he brings his teacup to his lips. One of his rings, the one set with a red stone— a garnet?— flashes under the light. “It’s becoming progressively easier the more I’m around you. But there’s still so much that seems…clouded.”

Rowan can’t suppress the shiver that runs down her spine at his words, but tries to disguise it under a humorous tone. “Well, we only just met. I’d be a bit concerned if you knew everything about me.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to know everything about you; I said I wanted to understand. You don’t have to know every facet of someone’s life to understand who they are,” Harry argues in a tone that borders on defensive. 

“And is…understanding people something you’re good at?” Rowan asks after a moment, fighting to keep her own tone light.

“Usually. It’s easier to understand some people than others.��

“Where do I place on that scale?”  Rowan pitches her voice lower than she means it to be, as if she’s whispering something in the dead of night. As if she’s afraid to be heard. “In, like, terms of difficulty…if one was the least difficult person to understand, and ten was the most difficult. Where do I sit?”

“The difficulty of understanding you…” Harry trails off, and for the first time, Rowan realizes that understanding is a placeholder word for Harry. It’s a word that’s almost synonymous with what he means, but doesn’t carry the same intention. It’s a verbal facade, disguising what he’s really trying to say behind a half truth.

But the thing about half truths? They’re always half lies, as well.

“I don’t know,” Harry says after a weighty moment, his tongue swiping over his lips. “I can’t quite place you yet.”

This time, Rowan detects the half lie right away. But she doesn’t push it. In all honesty, she’s a little afraid of the answer. There’s something in the way Harry’s jade eyes regard her, the way he leans into her space, both mentally and physically…she’s almost convinced that if Harry were to tell a whole truth instead of a half, the answer may break her.

Which is dramatic, and unfathomable, and even as Rowan repeats that to herself over and over internally, she knows that only half of what she’s repeating is true. A half lie, born of her own mind.

“Well,” Rowan drops her eyes to the contents of her teacup as she lifts the drink to her lips. “Let me know when you do.”

If Harry’s aware of the charged nature of her words, he doesn’t say anything. The two of them finish their tea with casual small talk, rather than more evaluations of the other’s character. Rowan reveals that she’s a born and raised New Yorker, while Harry tells her about growing up in London (Rowan mentally pats herself on the back for restraining her instinct to tell Harry that’s where her mother grew up). Harry talks little about his family, mentioning an older sister who’s married, a mother who passed away when he was a boy, and a father who still lives in his childhood home. When Rowan asks when Harry last visited the country of his birth, his eyes drift a shade darker, and his tattooed hand drifts upwards to his chest, rubbing the area with the same subconscious movement that drives Rowan to fidget with her necklace. The tone of his voice when he says that he hasn’t been back since his move brings her to drop the subject altogether. 

The two of them learn that they both share the same love of the first snowfall of the season, and a sense of melancholy when it rains. Both Harry and Rowan experience deja vu frequently, as well as knock on wood to prevent themselves from indirectly jinxing things they say. They both record their dreams in a journal, both sleep better with the sounds of the city as a lullaby. And by the time Rowan stands up to leave, they’ve both agreed to see each other again.

 As per Harry’s request, Rowan types her number into Harry’s cell phone as he carries their used teacups to the sink. When she hands him back his phone (her number is saved under the name Flower Shop Girl, which Harry had confessed he thought of her as before he knew her name, and the admittance brings so much warmth to her chest that Rowan forgets again to ask how he knew her name during their first meeting), Harry has a small satchel in his hands, which he gives to her in exchange.

“This is another new blend I’m working on,” Harry’s fingers just barely brush over hers as he slips the satchel into her hands. “It has chamomile and lavender in it, so I recommend drinking it before bed.”

Rowan brings the satchel to her nose, inhaling deeply at the pleasant scent. “I can smell the lavender, and…cinnamon?”

A small smile plays on the corners of Harry’s lips as he walks her to the door (he takes Rowan’s hand to help her step over Clint, who’s still asleep in the entryway). “You’re good at that.”

“Thanks. I guess spending pretty much all my time around flowers is useful for…scent identification,” Rowan flinches internally as she slips her boots back onto her feet. Who the hell says shit like scent identification? She switches the topic back to the satchel in her hand, hoping she doesn’t sound as awkward as she feels. “Is it meant to help with sleep? The tea, I mean.”

“It can, yeah. It’s, uh…well, it’s meant to help with clairvoyance,” Harry slides Rowan’s trench coat off the coat rack and holds it open for her to slip on.

Goosebumps prick up along Rowan’s skin as she slides on her jacket. “Clairvoyance? What do you mean?”

“Just…someone’s perception of things,” Harry shrugs nonchalantly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “It helps clear the mind, keep it open, that sort of thing.”

Rowan looks down at the unassuming satchel still clutched in her hand. “There’s not, like, magic mushrooms in here, is there? Because I had a really bad experience once in university, and I’d rather not—”

Harry’s laugh is loud and rolling, echoing enough through the entryway that Clint’s ears prick up. “No, no psychedelics. Not in this blend, anyways. But I’d love to hear about your experience with shrooms, if you’d like to share.”

“Maybe some other time,” Rowan rolls her eyes as she tucks the satchel into her pocket. “We can swap embarrassing intoxication stories another day.”

“We could, yeah. Maybe over dinner?”

There’s a note of hopefulness in Harry’s voice that fans that flame inside her chest. “Yeah. Maybe over dinner.”

Harry’s shoulder brushes against hers as he reaches past her to open the door. “It’s a date.”

…

In her dreams, Rowan is in Central Park.

At least, she thinks it’s Central Park. It’s pitch black, with the only light to illuminate her path being the shine of the full moon above her head. Rowan knows the trail through the park like the back of her hand, having walked them most of her life. However, she’s never traversed through the park in the dead of night, let alone by herself, and there’s a sense of uneasiness resting over her.

She wants to turn around. She wants to find her way back to the busy streets, and hail a taxi that’s surely still cruising through the city that never sleeps. She wants to make her way out of the freezing cold of the night, and retreat back into the comfort of her tiny apartment. She wants to be anywhere but here.

And yet, her feet keep taking measured steps forward, further and further into the only forest in the middle of a suburban sprawl. When she was a child, she’d been fascinated with photos of the park from above, by the stark contrast of nature and industrialization. She’d often dreamt of being a bird, and flying over the city so she could make the comparison for herself.

Dream, Rowan thinks, and her steps pause. This is a dream. She doesn’t need a taxi; all she needs to do is close her eyes, and think about being back home, and then—

A hand wraps around her waist from behind, and before Rowan can scream out in surprise, another clasps itself over her mouth. Fear courses through her body, freezing her limbs more than the bitter winter air ever could, and she shudders as a pair of lips brush over her ear.

“It’s okay,” A voice says in her ear, and the low British lilt is familiar to her now, as easy to place as her own. “It’s alright, love. S’just me.”

Rowan relaxes in Harry’s arms, but only by a fraction. She tries to mumble against his hand, but he keeps it pressed tight over her mouth, careful not to obstruct her nose as well.

“You need to listen to me, okay?” Harry’s breath is hot on her neck. While Rowan typically finds sensations to be dampened during dreams, the feeling of his breath rolling over her skin is so pleasurable that her knees almost buckle. “Nod if you’re listening.”

Rowan nods, the urgency in Harry’s words being just enough to keep her from succumbing to the newfound desperation supplied by his proximity.

“Good, that’s good. I don’t have long, so you need to listen carefully.”

Humming against his hand, Rowan knows that Harry senses her meaning: get on with it. 

“When you get to this night— this night, this specific night— you need to pause when you reach the fork in the path, alright?” Harry’s thumb strokes over her cheek as he murmurs the instructions in her ear. “Look up to the sky. Do you see the moon?”

Rowan’s chocolate eyes tilt up to the sky as she hums her understanding. It would be so much easier to communicate if he would uncover her mouth. Why won’t he uncover her mouth? She could talk to him if he did, tell him she understands, tell him what the feeling of him pressed so tightly against her back is doing to her, tell him to bring his lips just a bit closer to her skin…

“It’s a full moon. Memorize what the cold feels like against your skin,” Harry’s voice reaches hypnotic levels as he commands her. “The smell of pine in the air. You need to remember this moment, okay? Remember this night, remember this dream, and remember to pause when you get to the fork in the path.”

“Harry…” Rowan tries to whisper his name from underneath his hand, but the plea comes out muffled, barely audible over the whistling of wind through the trees. 

The hand over her mouth tightens reflexively, rings pressing so hard into her skin that Rowan thinks it’ll leave an imprint of the metal band once she’s released. The thought sends a ripple through her body.

“You need to be quiet, love. It’s almost time, and it’ll hear you,” Harry squeezes her body tighter against his, almost like an apology. “I have to go in a moment, before it knows I’m here.”

The sound that falls from Rowan’s lips is involuntary, and strays so close to being considered a whine that she’s glad Harry’s grasp on her is muffling her words.

“I’m sorry,” There’s a new note in Harry’s voice, a tone of distress just barely straining his normally soothing speech. “I wish I could tell you more. I wish I could explain, but I can’t. Not yet. Just— just remember what I said. Pause when you reach the fork in the path. Promise me you’ll do that.”

Rather than try to speak incoherent words behind Harry’s hand, Rowan raises her own and brings it to her mouth. With her index finger, she draws two lines over the back of his hand, hoping he gets the message. 

Cross my heart.

The sigh that Harry heaves blows the hair around her neck in separate directions, and Rowan’s eyes flutter closed for a moment as the sensation rolls over her.

“Good girl,” Harry breathes the words into her ear, and the breath that Rowan pulls into her chest is shakier than ever. “I have to go. And you need to wake up.”

Rowan shakes her head as her hand settles on top of Harry’s, keeping his palm pressed over her mouth. It feels so good, so much better than she ever could have imagined. It’s been so long since someone’s touch has made her feel like this, like she’s falling into their heat without a second thought. She doesn’t want to leave this moment. 

“You need to wake up, Rowan,” Harry’s voice grows more persistent in her ear, more urgent. The wind picks up around them, whipping her hair around her face as she leans into him more. “Wake up!”

…

It’s still dark outside when Rowan jolts upright in her bed.

For a moment, she thinks she’s still in her dream. She reaches behind her for Harry, but instead of finding the warmth of his body, she encounters the smooth cotton of her pillow. There’s a movement to her left, and she whips her head around, almost expecting to see Harry there, his emerald eyes intent on her. Instead of emerald, she finds ochre, and sees that Buttercup is watching her, clearly awoken by her own abrupt start.

Finally accepting that she’s in her bedroom, Rowan flops back into her pillows, ignoring Buttercup’s meow of indignation at being jostled. She pulls the cat into her arms, and the familiarity of his fur against her skin calms her racing heart. 

It was a dream, she tells herself. It was an incredibly vivid dream, one that brought to life desires that she didn’t even know she had, but a dream nonetheless. With a sigh, Rowan glances at the mug of tea on her bedside table, still containing liquid that’s turned icy cold while she’s slumbered. She hadn’t even finished half of the brew before it knocked her out. Rowan wonders if it’s possible to ask Harry if the tea contains anything that could cause strangely vivid and…Christ, she can’t deny it— arousing— dreams without giving away the fact that he was the star of them.

Buttercup purrs against her chest, and Rowan sighs again, gently moving him back to his preferred spot next to her before curling onto her side. She can worry about her weirdly touch-centered dreams in the morning, she decides, when she’s more fully awake to process them. It’s been a long day, and Rowan is tired. She needs some rest, proper rest. She’s too exhausted to think right now.

And too exhausted to notice the imprint on her lip that resembles the band of a ring.

[lovegoodlane]

Chapter 6- Faking It

Warnings: Sexually explicit content (fake sex, dirty talk, oral sex [male receiving], slut shaming?)

Words: 1.9k

Violet reached for Shawn's hand, resting it on her hip.

"Act like you like me," she said to him.

"That won't be difficult," he said, a smirk gracing his features.

Niall had walked away, not wanting to be a part of the absolute shit show that he knew was about to go down.

"Are you okay with me using you like this?" Violet asked, looking up at Shawn with concern.

"I'm happy to get back at Harry, he needs to be put in his place sometimes," he replied.

Violet inhaled, trying to calm herself. What was Harry doing to her?

She stood on her toes, reaching up to kiss Shawn.

The kiss was nothing like what she had with Harry. It wasn't passionate or fiery. It was good, but it was boring.

Shawn's hands trailed down her hips toward her ass, giving it a squeeze.

Violet broke the kiss, keeping a smile on her face.

"Hands off, buddy," she warned through her fake smile. They might be trying to make Harry jealous, but this wasn't a free pass for Shawn to get handsy with her.

She gave Shawn one more kiss before leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"Let's take this somewhere else," she said in a sultry tone.

He smirked and reached for her hand, leading her out of the living room. He took her to the guest bedroom, which was toward the back of the house. He shut the door before pressing her up against it.

"Harry was watching, he'll probably be following behind us here in a few seconds," Shawn whispered, looking down at Violet. "Any ideas for how you want this to go?"

"Do you have a condom, handsome?" she asked, definitely loud enough for Harry to hear from outside the door.

"Of course I do," he replied, sounding smug.

"Well, I don't think we'll need it," she said, trying to sound as flirty as possible.

"That's hot," he replied, sounding genuine.

"Must I remind you that this is all fake?" Violet whispered in a scolding tone.

"You want it against this door, baby?" Shawn asked, purposely thumping his knee into the door.

"Please," she moaned back, knocking her head back to bump into the door.

"Your wish is my command," he replied, rustling around with his clothing as loudly as possible.

Violet breathed as loudly as she could, moaning every now and then to try to sound convincing.

"Feel good, babe?" Shawn asked, attempting to sound breathless.

"Yes," she said in a breathy voice. "More please."

Violet and Shawn made eye contact, and it took all of their restraint not to burst out in laughter. They knew they were being childish, but this situation was impossible to not laugh at.

"So tight, baby," Shawn said, his voice sounding strained.

Violet choked back a giggle, biting the back of her hand to stop herself. Now Shawn was just being ridiculous.

"Oh God, harder, baby," Violet moaned dramatically.

She felt like she was in high school again laughing about sex jokes.

"Mmmm, you did such a good job," Shawn complimented, giving one final thump against the door. "Do you think that did the trick?" he whispered.

"Yeah, I think so," she replied. "Thanks."

"I can't believe you talked me into this," he laughed, shaking his head.

Violet smiled at him before heading into the bathroom connected to the guest room, checking over her appearance before going back out to the party.

Shawn leaned against the door frame.

"I need to mess up my hair a little, don't you think?" Violet asked, peering at Shawn through the mirror.

"Here, let me help," he offered, reaching over and disheveling her hair.

She laughed as he wildly flopped her hair around. She might have just done something really petty, but at least her and Shawn were able to laugh about it.

"Ready to head back?" he asked, turning back toward the bedroom door.

"Sure," she said, reaching to hold his hand as they walked out of the bedroom.

As soon as they were back in the living room, Violet could feel Harry's icy glare on her. She smiled to herself. Mission accomplished.

Shawn turned to her.

"I'm going to go grab a drink," he said. "I'll be right back."

She nodded, then he turned to head for the kitchen. She looked across the room to where she had seen Harry only a few moments ago, but he was gone.

"We need t'talk," Harry said from behind her, gripping her arm.

Violet turned to him, giving him an innocent smile.

"Sure," she said, following behind him as he led her to the bathroom.

He closed the door behind them, letting out a frustrated sigh. Violet leaned against the sink, waiting for Harry to speak.

"You are unbelievable," he finally said, his voice sounding angry.

"What?" she asked, feigning innocence.

"You fucked Shawn in my house," he said, his voice raising in volume.

"So?" she said, still casually leaning back against the sink pretending to be unphased. "You said that you had other girls. Am I not allowed to have other guys?"

Harry balled his hands into fists.

"Y'don't understand," he said, looking down at the floor.

"What do I not understand, Harry?" she asked, her voice becoming sour.

"I would never fuck your friend," he replied, staring at her with unforgiving eyes.

"Yeah, because Miya is a lesbian," she said, chuckling.

"You get my point," he said, frustrated.

"No, I don't actually," she said, copping an attitude. "You never outlined the parameters of whatever we have going on here. You never said that anyone was off limits."

Harry shook his head and turned away from her.

"Such a fucking slut," he muttered to himself.

Violet's eyes narrowed in anger.

"What did you just call me?" she asked, pushing herself off of the sink to close the distance between them.

Harry turned back to her.

"I called you a slut," he said, sounding unashamed.

Violet pushed his shoulders, shoving him back against the door.

"Don't ever say that to me," she said, her face only centimeters from his.

Harry smirked before digging his fingers into her hips, pulling her to him. He kissed her hard, biting down on her bottom lip just hard enough to avoid drawing blood.

Violet kissed him back, grabbing onto his collar as she pulled him closer to her. His hands made their way down to her ass, cupping it as he pressed her further into him.

They kissed viciously, teeth and tongues tangling with each other. Violet reached for Harry's belt, pulling away for a second to get his permission.

"I'm going to suck your dick," she said matter-of-factly.

"Please do," Harry replied, a smug grin creeping onto his lips.

Violet kissed him again, undoing his belt in the process. She unzipped his pants and dropped to her knees.

She pulled his slacks down to his ankles, coming face to face with his gray boxer briefs. His already hard dick had created a tent in his boxers, and Violet silently commended herself for getting him there.

She ran her hands up his thighs before kissing his member over the fabric of his underwear. He choked out a groan, begging her for more.

Violet dipped one hand into the front of his boxers, reaching in to take ahold of his hard dick. She smirked up at him before pulling his boxers down, finally revealing himself to her.

He was big. Violet wasn't confident that she would be able to take all of him in her mouth, but she would definitely try.

She began to stroke him slowly, enjoying the way his face contorted with pleasure. She picked up her pace, now daring to dart out her tongue to tease his tip.

Harry bit down on his lip, trying to stifle another moan. Violet had barely even touched him and he was already wound up.

She took him into her mouth, suckling on his tip as she continued to pump him with her hand. His hand found its way to her hair, pulling her further onto his dick. Harry was growing impatient.

Violet held in a chuckle, relishing in the way that she was able to make him squirm.

She took in more of him, fitting almost all of him into her mouth before she gagged. This didn't stop her, and she sucked on him with full force, playing with his balls with her free hand.

"Fuck, darling, just like that," Harry said, his voice deep and lustful.

She continued at a brutal pace, her eyes beginning to water as she forced more of him down her throat. Violet looked up at him, hoping to capture his expression.

His eyes met hers, and he gave her a satisfied grin before groaning again.

"God Violet, so fucking gorgeous with my cock in your mouth," he said, his words breathy and strained.

Moisture pooled in Violet's panties at Harry's words. He was too good with those words.

She had finally fit the rest of him in her mouth, and his fingers dug into her scalp.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he warned her, attempting to pull himself out of her mouth.

She stopped him, pushing his hips further against the door as she sucked him. Her aggression sent him over the edge, and he came in her mouth. When he was finished, he looked down at her in awe. She had swallowed every last drop, and a satisfied smile found its way to her face.

Violet helped him get dressed before standing up, placing a light kiss right on the end of Harry's nose. He pulled her in, kissing her lips to show his appreciation.

"Was that good?" Violet mumbled into his lips.

"Good?" he replied. "Good doesn't even cover it."

He kissed her again, reveling in the softness of her lips.

"We should probably get back before anyone realizes that we're gone," she said, pulling away to reach for the door handle.

"S'okay, I want everyone to know that I was with a gorgeous girl like you," Harry said, gripping onto her hips to give her a final kiss on the neck.

They went back into the living room, and it seemed like every pair of eyes landed on Harry and Violet. Violet felt a blush beginning to form on her face, and she hustled into the kitchen to avoid the attention, leaving Harry behind.

She found Niall and Shawn in there, leaning against the counters as they conversed. They noticed her enter and waved her over.

"So?" Shawn asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"I think it worked," Violet replied, letting out a small giggle.

"This feels like the plot of a toxic romcom," Niall said, shaking his head in disappointment.

Violet laughed, reaching over to pour herself another drink.

"But I got what I wanted, didn't I?" she said before taking a sip from her cup.

"What exactly did you get?" Niall asked, tilting his head toward her to shoot her a questioning glance.

"I'll let Harry tell you," she said, poking him in the chest.

"Did you really fuck the Harry Styles?" Shawn asked sarcastically. "You're living the dream."

"We didn't go that far," Violet said before playfully punching him in the arm. "Get your mind out of the gutter."

They laughed for a moment before a comfortable silence rested over the room. Violet was glad to have Shawn and Niall. They made it much easier to deal with Harry's mood swings and fear of commitment.

"Hey V, do you think my moans were convincing?" Shawn asked playfully, breaking the silence. "Here Niall, let me demonstrate for you."

Shawn moaned dramatically, pulling Niall to him to moan in his ear.

Violet doubled over in laughter while Niall pushed Shawn away.

She was definitely thankful for her boys.

----

Next Chapter

[noelles-legacy]

Finally, it is complete!

Oh. My. God. This took way too long to complete, but finally Noelle’s character sheet is complete!… at least for now 😅 the first half I completed very fast and I had all of these amazing ideas and it turned out amazing, just how I imagined it… but then came the second half, and I had all these things I wanted to share about her character, but then I started loosing steam and hit a huge art block. It took two weeks more then I had initially intended because I had little motivation or inspiration to add on to it, but slowly and surely I finished it.

I understand that this is a bit different from my other “gameplay related” comics, but i thought it would be fun to share who my MC is, and to give a more clearer look on her personality and background for anyone who is curious or wants to perhaps draw Noelle with there Mc (which btw I would absolutely LOVE ❤️ if you ever want to, plz do, just tag me ❤️❤️)

There’s so much more about her character and background that I still want to share, however there’s a it too much to fit in a scrapbook page so perhaps in the future I will find the time to type it out and share it, or even slowly reveal it in some short stories I’m thinking about (perhaps start ao3 and what not, idk just a thought 😏) but for now this is what I shall reveal for now. Also plz ignore if some of her history doesn’t make complete sense, I’m still working on it…

[harrysfinelinevol1]

christmas with you

harry styles x female OC

summary: written in harry's pov. a small one-shot detailing a sweet family christmas with harry's wife and his child. he's gone overboard with presents for them both, but will a special surprise from her beat out any gift he had given?

word count: 6.7k

warnings: smut

Bliss.

That was the best word I could use to describe how I was feeling at this moment. Just utter bliss.

We sat in the back of a quaint old church, quietly listening to the melodic carolling, and I had never been happier. No amount of sold-out shows, albums produced or awards won could ever inspire this much happiness within me.

I looked to my left and took in the sight that was responsible for all my joy. My wife and my child.

My nearly two-year-old, Finn, had his chubby little hand wrapped around a strand of his mother's hair. She didn't mind, she was absentmindedly stroking his head as she cradled him against her chest and listened to the music. Finn was behaving immaculately throughout this, despite my wife, Cara, being convinced that he wouldn't be able to make it through the first 20 minutes. I was more optimistic, choosing to have more faith in my child's ability to sit through a carol service despite it being close to his bedtime.

My optimism had paid off however and the feeling of being sat with my small family on Christmas Eve listening to carols was something I wouldn't trade for the world.

I took my focus off my son for a bit and looked up at my wife. She looked ethereal in the low candlelight, her face glowing despite the stress that came along with Christmas Eve. Granted that stress was mostly caused by me not getting the right Christmas crackers from Waitrose, even though I'm not entirely sure how you can get the wrong Christmas crackers. Nevertheless, I had been in the dog house for most of the day and therefore was stuck on child duty. Luckily I had found a website where Finn and I could track Santa's movements across the globe and although I'm pretty sure Finn hasn't quite grasped the concept of Santa yet, he was still enthralled with the graphics that kept popping up whenever "Santa" reached a new place.

Back to my wife. Despite the ticking off and the nagging I had endured today, I had never been more in love with her. There were not enough words in the English language to describe how I felt about her. She had entered my life when I needed her the most and had stuck by my side through it all. Then she had gone and given me the greatest gift I'd ever received. She made me a father and for that, I was eternally grateful.

I sat there for a while, just admiring them. The way Finn nuzzled his head into his mother's chest as he grew more tired, and the soft kisses she pressed to his head as she shifted him into a more comfortable position. I watched on as he began to get a bit fussy, a clear sign he was ready to sleep, but my wife barely batted an eyelid. She soothingly rubbed his back and soon enough his eyes were drooping and with a huff, he slowly fell asleep. As gently as I could, I looped my arm around Cara's shoulders and pulled her into my side. A lazy smile grew on her face as she settled her head on my shoulder and continued to cradle our child. I peeked down at my sleeping son, the feeling of happiness growing so much in my chest that I thought I would explode.

"I love you both so much," I whispered quietly to my wife, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"We love you too," she murmured back, "Best dad ever."

My heart swelled more at those words if that was even possible. When I found out Cara was pregnant, I had spent months stressing that I wouldn't be able to be a good dad due to the nature of my work and spent many sleepless nights fearing that I wouldn't be present enough for the both of them. Once I had opened up to Cara about it, however, she came up with the solution in seconds.

For the first six months of Finn's life, I essentially fell off the face of the planet. I set up a recording studio in the basement of our London home so I could keep writing but also be right there for Cara and Finn. It meant Cara could have her support network around her as they lived nearby and I put my foot down hard whenever anyone suggested touring. I missed it, touring had been my favourite thing to do, but the minute Finn was born, he was my new favourite thing. The moment he was placed in my arms, I thought nothing would ever top that feeling ever again. Yet every day I seem to top that feeling again and again. Even on the hardest of days, they both will make a smile creep onto my face.

It was actually Cara who pushed me back into touring again. I was adamant about staying in London till Finn was at least 1, but Cara insisted. I had released an album that I worked on during her pregnancy and the first months of Finn's life and she knew I wanted to perform it. So at 7 months, we packed up our lives and they joined me on tour. It was stressful but entirely worth it. There was nothing like the elation I felt when I would run off stage and be met by my smiling baby and gorgeous wife.

I had toured for a year and a bit, finishing up about a month ago, more than long enough to appease my fans and myself. I was now working on my next album, as well as undertaking a few side projects but with the majority of my focus remaining on my family. Especially as Cara was going to start a new job in January. She was going to be working part-time as a lawyer for a charity she was incredibly passionate about. It thrilled me to see her be so excited about her new venture and I was willing to do whatever it took to help her realise her dreams. It meant that I was going to be taking over on the childcare front and honestly, I had no complaints.

Plus, I recorded some of my last album with Finn securely strapped to my chest in his baby carrier, and for some reason, Cara was very turned on by the sight of me being a dad while singing.

As I said, no complaints.

I felt a small nudge in my side, and I looked up to see the carol service had finished and the people around us were already up and collecting my belongings. I had properly zoned out thinking about my family. I blinked out of my stupor and looked over at my wife who was amusedly observing me.

"You back with us?" she jested as she slowly got up, trying not to disturb the sleeping baby in her arms and reach down to get her coat. I jumped into action, snagging up her coat from the pew and carefully lifting my son onto my chest so she could slip it on.

"Sorry, went somewhere else for a second there," I replied, cradling Finn's head against my shoulder so he stayed sleeping.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"Just thinking about us. Finn's first years," I said, slipping my free hand into hers as I kept a secure hold on my son. I watched as her face lit up, her eyes twinkling with love and adoration as she peered up at me.

"That right? You're too sweet," she cooed as we left the church, picking up the pace on the way to the car so Finn wouldn't be disturbed by the cold air.

"Only for you, my darling," I grinned back at her, slipping my hand out of hers so I could rummage around in my pockets for the car keys. Once they were found, I quickly unlocked the door and Cara helped me settle Finn into his car seat before we clambered into the front seats, blasting the heat to warm us up.

"Fuck, it was cold in that church," I exclaimed as I rubbed my hands in an attempt to warm them. Cara fixed me with a harsh glare, gesturing to my sleeping son in the back.

"Harry, what have I said about swearing in front of Finn?! I swear I just fall on deaf ears half the time," she chastised as she turned the key in the ignition, starting up the car. I sheepishly smiled back at her.

"Sorryyyyyy," I drew out, and she chuckled and shook her head.

"Those puppy dog eyes might have worked when you were 25 Styles, but they sure as hell don't anymore."

"Growing up sucks," I huffed, slumping down in my seat.

"And yet you still act like a child," my wife teased back.

My mouth widened in indignation, "What's got into you this evening?!"

"Won't be you," she swiftly replied, and my mouth fell open even wider.

"Angel! You're joking right?!" I asked desperately. She just shrugged non-committedly, and I crossed my arms like an angry toddler. I was one step away from stomping my foot.

I could see the glimmer of amusement growing on her face and a cheeky smile was playing at the corner of her lips. I couldn't help my own smile that threatened to emerge at her enjoyment and soon all was forgotten.

I switched on the radio to a gentle classical channel in the hopes it would keep Finn asleep throughout the drive but Cara looked in the rearview mirror at our son and sighed.

"I'm going to have to wake him up to feed him when we get back. I should have done it at the service, but I felt weird whipping a tit out in church," she explained.

I chuckled at her words before replying, "You feed him, and I'll get dinner ready. If you're lucky, I might throw a champagne cocktail into the mix."

"Oh god, yes please," she gasped, "I've been hoping you would say that all day."

"Is that why you've been so crabby with me?"

"I have not!" she cried indignantly, "I was just slightly annoyed about the crackers,"

"I think the word "slightly" underestimates it, darling."

We bickered most of the way home, even though both of us weren't angry at all. Cara just liked winding me up and I would never back off. We almost got Finn to the door without waking him but then I dropped the house keys, and in my attempt to pick them up, I bashed my head on the doorknob. Cursing ensued and soon, Finn's sleepy eyes were blinking at me in confusion. When he saw I wasn't smiling and clearly in a lot of pain, he let out a piercing wail, which had me hurrying to the door in order to unlock it before he disturbed the entire neighbourhood.

Cara was less than sympathetic, only giving me an annoyed glance as she carried our screaming baby up the stairs to try and get him settled. I flounced off the kitchen, huffing as clearly no one cared about my sore head.

I busied myself with dinner, smiling as I could hear Cara reading Finn a bedtime story through the baby monitor. The Gruffalo was his new obsession of the month and we had maybe read it to him at least 50 times now, but he was still enthralled every time I picked up the book. I'd like to note that my storytelling was a thousand times better than Cara's, as I would often act out the books I was reading, whereas Cara preferred a calmer approach. Granted, my actions would rile Finn up to the point of him not sleeping after, but where's the fun in just sitting still?

I got started on the champagne cocktails, in the hope that if I had one ready when Cara reemerged, we could forget about the whole keys incident. Luckily, it worked a charm, when she came into the kitchen, dressed in my shirt and some sweatpants, her eyes clocked the drink and therefore she looped her hands around my waist from behind and pressed a soft kiss to my shoulder.

"Did he go down ok?" I asked, peering over my shoulder as I continued to stir the sauce.

"Like a charm. Your son sleeps like a log," she commented, pulling away from me and reaching for her glass. "God these are fantastic H."

I grabbed my glass too, and clinked it against hers, sighing as I took a sip, the sweet yet bitter drink warming my head slightly.

"Dinners almost ready sweetheart, wanna eat it at the table or in front of the TV?"

She stared at me like I was stupid for even asking.

"TV obviously. Paddington's on." I laughed quietly, my wife's obsession with Paddington was second to none.

"Alright love, go sit down, I'll bring this through," I gently pecked her lips before she left, just to remind her that I loved her more than anything.

It was as I was plating the food, I felt a wet snout press against my leg and I almost screamed bloody murder. My border collie, Milo, had this infuriating habit of sneaking up on you out of nowhere and scaring the life out of you.

"Jesus Milo," I cursed as I tried to calm down my heart. Despite his jumpscare, his soft brown eyes melted my demeanour and I gave him a little pat on the head and snuck him a piece of chicken that I had set aside for him. Pleased with his treasure, he trotted off in search of my wife, who I knew he preferred anyway.

"Jammy bastard," I muttered before picking up the bowls of food and bringing them into the living room. Cara was already curled up on the couch watching the film, and I glared at Milo as he had stolen the spot beside my wife. He just blinked lazily back at me from where he had settled his head on Cara's knee.

"Thank you my love," she smiled softly at me as I passed her the bowl, and even though I couldn't sit next to her due to my oaf of a dog, the gratification was enough to see me through.

I couldn't keep my eyes off my wife the entire time, watching with pure adoration as she watched the movie. She cried when Pastuzo died, laughed herself silly when Mr Brown dressed up as a woman and gasped loudly when Paddington almost fell down into the fire.

Her gasp disturbed Milo, who had had enough of my wife now and therefore padded off to his bed in the corner of the room. As quick as lightning I got up and slid down next to her, pulling her legs over mine and looping my arm around her shoulders.

"That bloody dog. Always steals you from me," I grumbled.

"It was your idea to get the dog."

"Yeah but now he loves you more than me! How's that fair," I sighed in frustration but she soothed me by running one of her hands through my hair.

"You pick up his shit at 7am then, he might like you more," she suggested, and I shook my head.

"You do such a good job of it though," I said, closing my eyes in bliss at the feeling of Cara's hands in my hair.

The movie ended shortly after that, but we remained cuddling on the couch for a while, enjoying the peace that surrounded us as we knew it wouldn't last long. Tomorrow most of my family would be descending upon us as well as Cara's brother, so it was going to be actual chaos.

I groaned as she stopped her movements and swung her legs off me.

"Nooo come back, it felt so good," I whined, my eyes still shut.

"I can think of something that would make you feel better," she replied coyly and my eyes snapped open, hoping she was suggesting what I thought she was.

"Angel..." I groaned before she cut me off.

"And you can have it..." I leapt up at her words before she raised her hand to stop me, "...if you finish wrapping Finn's presents first."

I flopped back down on the couch in disappointment, knowing Finn had at least three more presents that needed to be wrapped.

"You're such a tease," I squinted up at her and she giggled at me before going to leave the room, swaying her hips as she did. My eyes were firmly glued to her arse.

"Better get wrapping Styles..."

Now, if there is a record for how fast someone could wrap three presents, I would have beaten it by miles. My hands were a flurry of movements, and it was probably a shocking job, but Finn was a year old and didn't really have a concept of good or bad wrapping.

I took the stairs two at a time, trying to be quiet as I passed Finn's room and flung the door open to the master bedroom.

My mouth dried up as I took in the sight in front of me. My wife was naked on the bed, her blonde hair splayed out on the pillow around her and her hand was firmly in between her legs. Her back arched off the bed as she brushed her fingers over her most sensitive spot and my mouth dropped open.

"What took you so long?" she purred, continuing her movements between her legs, "I'm almost there."

At her words, I was over to her in a flash, batting her hand away from her mound before hooking her legs over my shoulders and burying my face in her pussy.

"AH...fuck Harry," she cried out, her hands going down to tangle themselves in my hair as I devoured her, my tongue running up her slit and circling her clit, nipping it slightly.

I moved one of my hands off her thigh and slipped it round her leg, making her jolt as my fingers feathered her centre. I moved the other hand to her breast, squeezing it roughly as I pushed my finger inside her and continued to lap at her folds.

“Oh fuck… Harry… oh my…” she gasped as I continued thrusting my finger, pushing two in at this point and I could feel her getting closer and closer. So in true Styles form, I stopped.

"No, Harry, please don't stop," she cried, wiggling her hips in an attempt to relieve the ache I knew was radiating between her legs. I unhooked her legs from my shoulders, and moved up her, flinging off my top in the process.

"If you're coming tonight, you're coming around my cock," I murmured in her ear, knowing how much it would turn her on. Sure enough, she reached for the button on my trousers and began frantically trying to open them, as I pressed soft kisses along her jaw just to make her job harder.

Eventually, she got them off, and I reached down to yank my boxers off too so we were both naked, pressed up against each other. As I lined myself up with her, I took a moment to admire her beneath me. She looked incredible, her hair mussed up from moving around on the bed and a light sheen on her skin from our activities. I leaned down and pressed the softest of kisses to her lips, my necklace trailing against her chest.

I broke away and pressed my forehead to hers as I pushed into her, both of us moaning loudly in ecstasy as I filled her out, my tip brushing her most sensitive spot. Luckily Finn's room was quite a way down the corridor to protect his innocent ears.

I began slowly at first, willing to take my time with it as I wanted to savour it all, but my wife had other ideas.

"More," she whispered huskily in my ear and I had to comply.

"Fuck me, my girl wants more," I groaned as I reached down and grasped one of her thighs. She wanted more, she'd get more. I thrust harshly into her, her grip on my back tightening as I picked up the pace. With my other hand, I pulled her arms above her head, pinning her wrists down. It did the trick, and she began crying out my name as she came closer to her orgasm.

"Please," she barely managed to speak at this point and I smiled to myself, proud I could still fuck her hard enough to the point she was incoherent.

"Give it to me. That’s it, give it to me now," I demanded as I pounded into her, groaning as I felt her muscles clench around me. I slowed down slightly as her climax fired through her, her eyes shut tight as she let out an ungodly moan.

After she had settled, I continued to slowly rock into her, chasing my own end as she blinked up at me, staring at me like I'd hung the moon and stars.

"My angel, my love," I sighed as I ducked down to kiss her neck and her jaw. I let her wrists go and she lazily looped them around my shoulders, pulling me into her.

"Let go for me," she encouraged in my ear and my thrusts became more sloppy as the ball in my stomach tightened and tightened before I was tipping over the edge and releasing inside of her.

"Fuck!" I gasped out, burying my head in her shoulder, my hips shuddering against her as I rode out my orgasm.

I went to pull out of her but was met by a grumble of discontent, so I carefully settled down on top of her for a bit, just listening to her breathing. I almost fell asleep before Cara knudged me.

"Get off me now you lump," she ordered and I laughed loudly as I carefully pulled out of her, wincing at my sensitivity.

"And they say romance is dead," I joked as I climbed off the bed before picking up my wife and carrying her into our en-suite. I set her down in the shower before grabbing a cloth and carefully wiping our releases away, pressing gentle kisses to her thighs as I did so. Her hand never left my head as I worked, her fingers tangling in my locks. We then washed our bodies quickly, desperate to get back into bed.

It was just as we got ourselves settled into bed, with the lights off, that Cara piped up again.

"Did you put the stockings up?"

"Fuck!"

-

The next morning, I was feeling a bit selfish and it was Christmas Day after all. I woke early, having a one-year-old had me up by 6am most mornings even though Finn was starting to sleep later. Recognising the benefits of my situation, I decided to have a little fun.

I was spooning Cara, my arm firmly wrapped around her waist so I slowly moved my hand downwards until I found the lace band of her underwear. She moved lightly in her sleep, but her eyes remained shut so I continued my movements. I pushed my hand under her pants, my fingers quickly finding her centre which was becoming slicker with desire the more I played with her.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she lazily smiled up at me, moaning slightly at the feeling between her legs. This wasn't the first time I had woken her up like this and she loved it every time.

"Want you," she mumbled, eyes still heavy with sleep but flashing that please make love to me again look.

"Anything for you, my love," I murmured back as I pulled my hand away and pushed down her underwear and mine. I gently lifted her leg and slowly pushed into her from behind.

Cara and I have always had a vibrant sex life, and we hadn't held back from exploring each other's kinks but this kind of sex was my favourite. Slow and lazy in the early morning, when I could really appreciate her quiet gasps and moans emitting from her perfect lips. I revelled in the softness of her skin and the beauty of her natural features that still held remnants of sleep.

I bought us slowly to our climaxes, holding her close as she shuddered against me, the tightness of her muscles around me helping me find my end almost simultaneously.

After I had slipped out of her and cleaned her up, I realised by some miracle, Finn still wasn't up and I had a few more blissful moments to hold her before the chaos of the day ensued.

"Merry Christmas H," she whispered in my ear as we lay together, pressing a small kiss to the skin just below my ear.

"Merry Christmas Angel," I responded turning my head to rub my nose against hers. I was about to lean in for a kiss before a rustling sound came through the baby monitor.

"Mumma, Mumma," Finn's voice squeaked and I chuckled, before pushing myself upright, my wife doing the same.

"I've got him, you go sort out the dog," she ordered, automatically going into mum mode at the sound of her son's cries.

"Yes ma'am," I saluted her causing her to glance at me, already annoyed.

"Harry, we've got an awfully long day ahead of us, do not get on my nerves," she warned, fixing me with a harsh glare.

"Me!? I would never, darling," I sent her a cheeky grin, already knowing that somehow I would definitely get on her nerves today.

She huffed and flounced off to deal with our son, while I got dressed for the day and went to let Milo out to do his business. I got started on breakfast and some bucks fizz for Cara and me because I knew quite a quantity of alcohol was going to be needed to get us through today.

As I was frying the bacon, I could hear the soft pad of Cara's feet on the stairs as well as her talking away to Finn.

"Can you say Santa buddy? San-ta" she cooed at him.

"San...ta" Finn managed to get out and my heart swelled with pride at such a simple action.

"Well done Finny! Mummy is very proud of you! And because you've been so good, Santa might have bought you some presents!"

"Presents mumma?" I heard him squeak in response as they got closer to the kitchen.

"Yes, lots of presents my darling. But shall we go see Daddy first?"

"Dada, dada," he squealed and a large grin worked its way onto my face at my son's excitement over seeing me. His squeals of delight got louder as he saw me and I came over to the both of them to pick up Finn out of Cara's arms.

"Merry Christmas Bud!" I exclaimed, peppering kisses all over his face as peals of laughter poured out of him.

"Christmas Dada!" he responded, delighted at the attention I was giving him. Cara took over on the breakfast front, watching us with extreme fondness on her face.

At that moment Merry Xmas Everybody by Slade came on the radio and I started dancing around the kitchen with Finn on my hip, loudly singing along to the lyrics. Finn was in bits, laughing at my movements and slapping my face in appreciation with his little hands. I'd performed for millions of people across the world but Finn and Cara were the best audience by miles.

After the song had finished, Cara took Finn back out of my arms shaking her head at my behaviour, "You know Finn, your daddy is supposed to sing for a job! It's a miracle we have any money!"

"Cara!"

-

Our families soon arrived, Gemma's kids using me as a jungle gym from the minute they came piling through the door. I had my nephew wrapped around my leg, and my niece sitting on my shoulders. In return, Gemma was carrying around my comparatively calm son, who was not making her life difficult in any way.

We decided to do presents at ours, which was probably the worst idea I've ever had. It meant double the wrapping paper all over the floor and double the chaos. Kids were screaming, adults were trying to control the carnage and Cara and my mum quickly escape the room in search of another drink. Leaving me in charge.

Eventually, I got the other kids sorted and took my little family off into a corner to open Finn's presents away from all the chaos. I had him in my lap, my hands holding his little tummy as he opened up all his presents, laughing with glee each time a new toy appeared. As I said, every day Finn inspired a feeling of joy in me that surpassed any similar feeling I had experienced before.

"Santa is the bestest, isn't he daddy!" Finn exclaimed breaking me out of my thoughts.

Yeah, Santa is the best. Santa also owes Daddy close to £500 for all the toys that Santa has supposedly gifted.

Finn clambered out of my lap at this point and toddled over to my mum to show her all his new gifts, leaving Cara and me sitting on the ground facing each other.

"Where did all those extra presents come from eh? I thought we agreed on five?" Cara scolded seeing as Finn had just happily unwrapped eight presents.

"You know I can't help myself love, I want to spoil you both." She huffed at my reply but didn't argue anymore. I knew it made her immensely happy to see Finn so overjoyed with his gifts.

"Speaking of," I continued, reaching over to grab her pile of presents from the tree, "Your turn."

I gently placed the presents in her lap, loving the way a shy smile grew on her face at the sight of her gifts. She carefully unwrapped the first one, to try and preserve the wrapping paper. My son took after me, frantically ripping presents apart with no care for mess or recycling but Cara was insistent we try to reuse wrapping paper.

First, she opened up the book I'd bought her, one from a series she was reading and she had been on my case about the next one for weeks. Little did she know, I'd bought it months ago, knowing my wife too well. Even though she knew she was getting it, her eyes glinted with happiness and she gave me a small kiss in appreciation.

It usually took me and Cara a while to unwrap gifts, we were quite touchy people, so every gift was usually followed by some small physical act of affection.

She moved on to the next box out of the three, this one being quite large and she eyed me suspiciously as she began to unwrap it. She gasped when the box came into view, the iconic Burberry logo shining up at her.

"Oh my god Harry," she whispered in shock, and I twisted my rings in anticipation, hoping to god she liked it.

She tentatively lifted off the lid of the box and raised her hand to her mouth when she saw the Burberry coat lying in there. I knew she'd always wanted this coat, I had caught her staring at pictures of it one too many times on her laptop. I just hoped she didn't mind me buying it for her.

"Thought it would be nice for you to have a new coat," I nervously explained, "You know, for when you go back to work"

I was desperately trying to gauge her reaction as she sat there staring at the coat in her hands and I began to get a bit worried before she launched herself at me, arms flung around my shoulder. I immediately embraced her back, overjoyed at her happiness at my gift.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she squealed into my shoulder, pulling back to press a long kiss against my lips.

"That's ok sweetheart, knew you had been after it for a while," I chuckled as I lovingly cupped her cheek, noting the way her eyes were shining with happy tears.

"I love you so much," she whispered, and I almost felt like crying at her words. I could never understand how I had got so lucky with this literal angel that had fallen into my arms, she was everything I had hoped for in a partner and so much more.

"I love you to angel. Always," I responded, linking my pinky finger with hers and kissing our interlocked fingers, something we had always done ever since my One Direction days.

I shifted her off my lap and then handed her my final present, "Come on, one more, then I wanna open mine."

She chuckled at my childlike impatience and reached for the last gift, a small box.

"This better not have been expensive," she warned me as she was unwrapping it. As usual, her warnings went unheard, and she raised her hand to her mouth as she saw the signature blue of the Tiffany's box underneath the paper.

"Harry," she started, tears welling up in her eyes again, but I raised my hand to stop her, sensing a fight coming my way.

"Don't fight me on this baby, I wanted to get this for you. Stop worrying about the price." In all honesty, the coat had cost more anyway.

With shaking hands, she opened up the little bag and pulled out a gorgeous silver angel necklace. I had been in New York a couple weeks ago and saw it in the shop window and I just knew I had to buy it. I hadn't even planned on it but I knew it was perfect for her.

"Oh my god Harry, it's beautiful," I heard a voice gush behind me. I turned around and saw my mother staring at the necklace with a look of wonder on her face. She then turned her eyes to me, a look of pride overcoming her face and she leant down to press a kiss on my forehead.

I knew what she was trying to say to me through those actions and I gave her hand a squeeze in return. My mum had been instrumental in teaching both me and my sister how to treat our significant others, and despite my parent's rocky relationship, I'd like to think Gemma and I came out alright.

My attention turned back to my wife, who was admiring the pendant, tears rolling down her cheeks. She looked up at me then, her face full of elation before leaning forward and pressing a soft and gentle kiss to my lips before pulling away and resting her forehead against mine.

I reached down and pulled the necklace out of her hand before reaching around her and securing it behind her neck. Her hand came up to feel the necklace against her chest but her eyes never left mine. Sometimes I couldn't believe I'd been with this girl for over ten years and I was still this gone for her.

"My presents are gonna be shit in comparison," she chuckled but I shook my head at her joke.

"Anything that you gift me is something I'll always treasure," I assured her, squeezing her shoulder as she smiled bashfully back at me before reaching over to get her presents.

She had got me quite a few, and I rushed to get through them all. There was a new pair of headphones that I really needed, seeing as I broke the old ones, as well as several cool t-shirts she had found in vintage shops, recognising my love for t-shirts with wacky designs. Plus I think she wants me to stop wearing the 'safe sex' t-shirt around the house as it wasn't exactly family-friendly.

I eventually reached the last present, it was a small box with an envelope attached to it, and if I hadn't been so curious about its contents, I would have noticed how nervous Cara got.

"Uh, so this one is from both Finn and me," she explained, beckoning Finn over to us and I smiled as he crashed into his mother's arms causing my wife to grunt at the force of it.

"Finn mate, slow it down yeah," I chastised him as I began to open the card.

"Wait, wait, open the card last," Cara frantically stopped me, and I eyed her with suspicion.

"What are you up to darling?" I queried as I put the card back down and reached for the box. I opened it and found a stunning gold necklace inside, with three circular pendants hanging off it. At closer inspection, I found that two of them were engraved, with a C and an F.

"It's our initials. I know you wanted a necklace with someone to do with us on it and that's the best I could do," she explained humbly.

"The best you could do! Cara this is incredible, love, I have no words," I admitted, turning over the necklace in my hand, sniffing slightly as tears pricked my eyes. I had mentioned to Cara recently that I wanted something I could wear that represented her and Finn. I had already got tattoos for both of them but I wanted something I could hold onto to.

"It's beautiful love," I gushed before turning to Finn and tickling his little tummy to make him squeal, "Thank you for the necklace bubs."

"Welcome dada!" he patted back my knee in response, squirming out of his mother's hold so he could clamber into my lap.

I looked over the necklace again, my brows furrowed in confusion. "Why are there three pendants? Unless you wanted to engrave Milo's name in too!"

"Why don't you open the card," she said inconspicuously. I shot her a confused look before I opened the card.

Dear Daddy (Harry) it read.

HAPPY CHRISTMAS!

I love you so so much! I hope you enjoy your gifts. We especially hope you enjoy the necklace and that it comes to good use in the future. Especially because I have a question to ask you. As much as you and mummy are super fun, you're kind of old and slow, and you have boring jobs which means you can't play with me all the time. So this Christmas, I was wondering if you and mummy could give me a playmate. I don't mind when, but I would love a sibling!

Lots of Love

Finn (and Cara) xxx

My heart stopped in my chest as I read the words written on the card. I could tell Cara had written it because, no offence Finn, but my son definitely was not that articulate or neat yet.

"Are you serious?" I looked up at her in shock, my eyes glistening with hopeful tears, "You wanna make me a daddy again?"

"Only if you want to," she replied nervously, looking down at her lap as if she was scared to see my reaction. I gently cupped her chin and pulled her head up to face me so she could see the joy written all over her face.

"Cara Elizabeth Styles, I would love nothing more than to have another baby with you. In fact, I am begging you to let me put another child in you," I rushed out, gripping her hands tightly if that helped let on how desperate I was to see her pregnant with my child again.

"Ok then," she murmured quietly to me, a smile growing on her face, "Let's have another baby."

I choked on a sob before I yanked her towards me, bundling up both Finn and her in my arms and squeezing them tight, overwhelmed with exhilaration.

"That's why there's an extra pendant. For the baby," she explained and my heart swelled even more.

"Best Christmas present ever," I whispered, "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Bliss.

That was the best word I could use to describe how I was feeling at this moment. Just utter bliss.

-

Hey guys. Long time no see. Firstly, I feel like I apologise immensely for disappearing off the face of the planet and never explaining what happened. I found myself putting way too much pressure on myself to write all the time for you guys and it just wasn't attainable. The pressure got so bad that one day I just stopped writing and gave up. But I love writing and it does bring me joy, there are always so many ideas running through my head that I want to write, including this piece (I did start writing this before Christmas which explains the theme of the story). Going forward I will continue posting from time to time but don't expect it anywhere as near as frequently. I will write when I have time and I want to, but I have an extremely busy life that makes it hard to always fit things like this in. Furthermore, I am moving away from reader-insert fics and instead using original characters. Personally, I find that more enjoyable.

Thank you for the continued support even when I was MIA, I promise I read every message and comment left on my account and appreciated every one, even if I didn't reply.

Lots of love,

Sloane xx

[foolforharrry]

Nails And Croissants

Word Count: 2.5k words

Summary: Harry and Willow go to get their nails done

This is just a short little thing to get the feel of how I wanna write the characters in a book that I'm planning. I an really excited about this and I hope that when I get to posting the actual chapters, you guys are going to like them and love them too.

This blurb is obviously way down the line from where the story is going to start but I wanted to give you guys a small taste of them.

This is also not that carefully written and is probably messy af, but I hope you still enjoy reading it.

if you wanna read more of my work, I have it all linked on my masterlist.

Any feedback would be greatly appreciated and if you have any requests please feel free to give them to me and I will do my absolute best to do it.

Harry Styles Butterflies erupt in my stomach when I catch her eyes across the room.

The sunlight beaming in through the windows of the small nail salon makes the lighter strands of her brown hair look golden.

"What are you getting?", I ask her once she's sat down at the table right next to mine.

Her cheeks tint an adorable shade of pink when Willow's nail tech for today, Aspen, sets the bottles of nail polish Willow's chosen for today. "I swear it wasn't on purpose," she hurries out, her eyes flicking between the colours next to my own hands.

"Damn. And here I was getting excited thinking you wanted to match with me," I say with a playful roll of my eyes.

The laugh she lets slip is like music to my ears, and all I want to do is lay a kiss on her pretty, pink lips. But Mona coating my nails with a clear layer of base polish prevents me from doing so.

Instead, I settle on storing the image of Willow's face scrunched up with joy and laughter to memory. Her freckled, sun-kissed skin and the smile that doesn't just light up the room but my whole entire life.

"You're an idiot," Willow giggles, letting Aspen arrange her hands the way she needs them.

"I'm your idiot, though.", I remind her. To my delight, my words have another heartbreakingly beautiful break out on her face as she mouths 'I love you'.

Out of my peripheral vision, I can see Mona and Aspen exchange a look as I mouth 'I love you' back.

And God do I love her.

I never thought that I would ever be the kind of man who happily takes his girlfriend to get a manicure on my day off feeling like my heart is about to fucking burst from the love that's flooding it. The part of my heart I had tried so hard to keep under lock and key to protect it from being burnt again. But instead, Willow came along and took it in her soft hands. The calm of the sea in her eyes is all I needed to see before I let her.

"You ok, baby?" Willow asks, a crease of concern between her eyebrows.

Clearing my throat, I offer her a genuine smile, "Yeah, Blue. I'm ok." I can tell that she isn't entirely convinced, so I add; "Was just thinking about how lucky I am to have you."

The blush returns to her cheeks as Mona asks me to remove my hands from the UV-light machine. Which means that she's ready to give my nails some colour.

For the rest of the appointment, we make small talk with Aspen and Mona with the comfortable hum of the radio in the background. When a song by Taylor Swift I still haven't learnt the name of, Willow was out of her chair to turn up the volume with the permission of Aspen with a childish glee that she rarely lets show with anyone other than her closest people.

I swear I fell more in love with Willow when I watched her dance her way back to her chair.

Hand in hand, Willow and I walk out of the nail salon, freshly painted nails and bright smiles on our faces as we wave goodbye to Mona and Aspen. Our names are already on their calendar for next time.

I can't help myself from glancing down at our cojoined hands every couple of seconds, my heart fluttering at the way hers match mine.

Baby blue and pastel pink.

"H?" I don't even have to look at her face to know that Willow has her bottom lip tucked under her teeth and round eyes that'll have me giving into whatever comes out of her pouty lips.

"Blue?" I mimic her tone, tugging her closer to me so she doesn't bump into the man walking past us.

Willow lets go of my hand and before I can reach for it again, a pout on my lips, she snakes her arm around my back, my own going around her shoulders. "Are you hungry?"

I'm not. But knowing that she is and doesn't want to just ask directly, I don't say that. "What do you want, baby?"

It's like her shoulder deflates in relief the second the words leave my mouth and it has me turning my head and planting a kiss in her hair as I let her take her time settling on what she wants. Almost like she'd read my mind, she perks up, pointing across the street to what looks to be a small bakery.

"How about some croissants?", Willow suggests as I meet her eye.

"Croissants sound lovely," I agree, pouting my lips for a kiss.

Willow drops her gaze to my mouth at the action. Standing on her tiptoes, her hands gently cup my face as mine drop to her hips and peck. Her lips are soft as she presses them against mine in a way that has my heart doing somersaults in my chest. I can smell the coconut from her favourite lip gloss when she pulls away with a dopey smile, swiping away the product she left just below my bottom lip.

Blush heats my cheeks as I kiss the pad of her thumb, "Thank you, baby."

Thankfully the crosswalk is just down the street, the lights turning green for us after only a few seconds so we can make our way across the road safely and efficiently with my arm back around Willow's shoulders and her hand on my hip.

The bakery Willow picked out for us has a homey vibe to it. Flowers stationed on every single table with warm pinks and soft yellows everywhere you look. The smell of baked goods strong even from outside the shop. For a Thursday afternoon, it's rather busy.

Willow and I stood in silence as we waited for it to be our turn to order, content just watching the different people come in and out of the bakery every time the bell above the door rang.

The display of all the different options of baked goods is god damn mouth-watering and I make a mental note to bring Evelyn and Willow back sometime during the weekend. Knowing Evelyn, she would be over the moon over a cupcake that looks like a rainbow.

When it becomes our turn, I order us two croissants, thanking the lady behind the counter with a smile as she hands us the paper bag. And then we're on our way again.

"I was thinking that we should take Evie there," I speak as I take her hand in mine, resuming our walk back to the car with my eyes switching from the path in front of us to her face.

Meeting my eye, Willow nods with a hum, "When were you thinking?" "Maybe Sunday?"

Before she can ask, I add, "They're open."

"She's gonna have a hard time picking, poor thing," Willow laughs light-heartedly.

"Mhm," I hum in agreement, the smile that rarely ever seems to fade whenever I'm around her. If we're being completely honest, Willow and I both know that I would buy Evelyn every single one she wanted just to keep a smile on her face.

"I miss her," I say with a pout as we round the last building, my eyes landing on my car.

Willow rolls her bottom lip into her mouth before she opens it and says something I never in a million years thought I'd hear from her; "I don't know how you're gonna survive when she's off to college, babe."

Dropping her hand, I clutch the material of my t-shirt over my heart as if I was in pain. "Don't hurt an old man like that, Blue. I'm fragile."

"Oh shut up, H. You're not that old," Willow giggles with a hand on her stomach. Her nails match her pretty sundress and it has another swarm of butterflies flapping around in my tummy.

"It was still mean," I grumble with a pout, the thought of my little girl leaving one day isn't exactly one I enjoy.

Willow shakes her head at my attitude. "I'm sorry, love," she says with a pinch of my hip.

"You're lucky I love you," I say as I take her hand again, loving the warmth of her soft skin against mine. She grins at me, "The luckiest."

The soft curls of her hair dance in the light breeze blowing past us. Her golden skin glows so prettily in the sunshine she doesn't even look real. The light reflects in her baby blue eyes makes them twinkle as if the sun was hung in the sky at this very moment just for her.

I'm convinced that Willow is an angel sent down to this plane from the heavens above. Her calm, beauty and grace is simply too delicate to be meant for the harsh, painful world that we live in. But somehow, with all that she's been through, she still leaves a trail of light in her wake. She has lit up my life the way the sun lights up the sky after a dark night with only specks of light so far away you almost don't believe that they're real.

"No Blue. I'm the lucky one."

I'm sure she can hear the emotion that has started to clog up my throat, but she doesn't comment on it. Instead, she guides my hand to press a gentle kiss to my knuckle just as we reach the car.

I reach into my pocket for my keys, pressing the button to unlock the black range rover as I walk around to the passenger side with Willow in tow to open the door for her, quickly pecking her temple as she slips past me and gets settled in her seat with the bag of croissants in her lap.

By the time I'm sat in my own seat, she's opened the bag and is munching happily on her croissant. Eyes closed, head tilted back against the headrest and humming in the way she something is particularly delicious. She's got her hand underneath the pastry to catch any crumbs that may fall when she takes a bite out of it.

Just as I get out on the road, Willow's phone connects to the Bluetooth system in the car, the song switches to 'Right where you left me' by Taylor Swift.

It's almost comical how fast Willow's jaw drops along with her hand just as she was about to take another bite of her croissant. Her eyes go from the screen where the title is written in clear letters to my face. Accusing frown on her face as Taylor's voice and the gentle guitar fill the silence.

There isn't even a point in trying to contain my smile at the way it takes her around 5 seconds before she is turning up the volume and singing along to the song. Dramatic hand gestures and facial expressions that I catch out of my peripheral vision.

When she twists her upper body so she is fully facing me and sings; "I could feel the mascara run. You told me that you met someone," I can't help but take her hand and join her.

Who would have thought singing a heart-wrenching song about being left and unable to move on with the love of your life while driving down the streets of Los Angeles would have images of her in a white dress flash through my mind and a certainty settle in my stomach like I have only felt once before in my life?

When the song ends, Willow turns the volume back down, her face flushed from her intense performance and a shy smile curling on her lips.

If there wasn't a chance that doing so would potentially end in both of our deaths, I would've kissed her until we were both dizzy.

"You want your croissant?" Willow pulls the untouched one out of the bag, holding it out to me with her eyebrows raised in question.

Instead of saying anything, I open my mouth expectantly, waiting for her to get the hint. And when she does, she rolls her eyes playfully, still obliges and holds the pastry right in front of my face. She waits for me to take a bite out of the soft, crunchy slice of buttery heaven.

"Fuck me, that's good," I practically moan through a mouthful of croissant. This is possibly the best croissant I have ever had in my life.

Chewing it slowly, savouring the heavenly taste, I catch Willow with her phone out, pointed in my direction and a sly smile on her face. "What are doing, Blue?"

"You look really hot, is all," she shrugs, stuffing her phone underneath her thigh.

Willing the blush I feel heating up my face at the compliment go away, I point out the obvious; "That doesn't answer my question." Only Willow can have me blushing like a schoolboy and biting the inside of my cheek at a simple compliment.

"I got myself a new wallpaper for my phone," she tells me matter-of-factly as she squeezes my hand.

I rub the skin of her knuckle as the corners of my mouth tug up into a smirk, "If that's the case, then you can take as many pictures as you want."

When she stays quiet, taking bites of her croissant before letting me do the same, her left leg bouncing under beneath our cojoined hands, I can't help but laugh as the realisation dawns on me. "How many pictures do you actually have of me?"

She says something, but it's so quiet I can't make out the words. "I can't hear you, baby."

"I said that I've lost count," she repeats herself with a sheepish look on her face. "You don't exactly make it hard, baby."

"You ever gonna let me see these photos?" Knowing her, it's probably half pictures where I look decent and half pictures that could be turned into memes.

Willow takes a minute before she answers, seeming to mull over the answer in her head. "No."

"Then I'm not letting you see the wonderful collection I've gathered of you, Blue." It may be childish, but it does exactly what I wanted it to. Willow's grip on my hand tightens ever so lightly and I can feel her practically burning a hole into the side of my face with the intensity of her stare.

But she is stubborn, so she keeps her lips pressed tightly together. She keeps her view directed out the window at the cars, buildings and people we pass by.

"Am I sleeping in any of them?" she eventually breaks the silence. Her fingers drum along with the rhythm of 'Sweater Weather' against the back of my hand, something that I've noticed that she always does when she listens to music.

"A couple," I confess, holding in the urge to laugh at the way her cheeks turn crimson.

Clearing her throat, Willow tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. "If they ever see the light of day, you're losing your dick."

Slightly taken aback by how casually such crude words flew out of her mouth, I swallow hard with wide eyes, "I will remember that."

-

[bottlesofrouge]

on one condition.

harry styles x original character

part three.

word count: 9.5K

warnings: homophobia

29 JUNE 2018

whatever made lynn think an hour drive with harry would be fine could not have been more wrong. the two left his apartment complex approximately fourteen minutes ago and they've already argued over what song to play a total of three times and just how high the air conditioning should be set to.

lynn thought 72 degrees was a decent temperature, but harry wanted it set to 62. it wasn't her fault he decided to wear a sweater vest in the middle of june.

a text from jackie comes through on the screen of the car which lynn is used to. but this time, harry's phone was connected to the apple carplay, and he's quick to close out the notification.

"how's jackie?" she can't help but ask.

"she's good," harry's smiling at his phone. "even better in bed."

lynn grips the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turn white. "that's good."

honestly, lynn wasn't mad. there wasn't a single part of her that wanted harry for herself. he simply wasn't her type (nobody was her type). however, there was something a little unnerving about harry having an entire college campus full of girls to sleep with and still choosing her childhood best friend.

harry was meeting her family for the first time today and to say she was nervous would be an understatement. she could barely stomach dinner last night and opted to skip breakfast entirely this morning. he wasn't always the most polite person to be around, and lynn was terrified to see how he acted around children.

"we should probably kiss or something," harry pulls her from her thoughts.

"i'm sorry?"

"you know," he waves his hand in the air. "to make it more believable or whatever. we haven't been affectionate around my parents at all, and we've been seeing each other for nearly a month. do you think you can handle it?"

lynn scoffs, "can you?"

"i'm certain i'll be able to hold back the vomit," he says. "nothing too crazy, either. it has to look natural."

"don't be silly," she turns into the parking lot of the performance center. "most men would die for a chance to taste my cherry chapstick."

"alright, katy perry," he rolled his eyes. "try not to look so stiff."

"what's that su-" she's cut off by the sound of harry's door slamming.

when she meets him in front of the car, he takes her hand and leans in with that god-awful dead stare on his face. the kiss is quick, and feels like it looks natural. (at least she thinks so.) lynn hasn't kissed anyone in years. she doesn't want to overthink it, so she pushes it to the back of her mind as the two walk hand in hand to meet her family.

it was just peter, kathy, and amelia, but lynn felt like her heart was going to fall out of her ass as she watched him shake hands with each of them. god, they were going to find out. lynn would never date someone like harry.

"you must be amelia," harry says. "your sister talks about you an awful lot."

lynn watches as amelia smiles at his lie. she had told him her name eight minutes ago and that was literally all he knew about her. the group moves inside and lynn sits in between harry and amelia with her parents on the other side of her sister.

leaning her head against harry's shoulder, she whispers so only he can hear her. "what? no hot and steamy texts that need your constant attention?"

harry hums, "probably. left my phone in the car though. wanted all my attention to be on lane's dance recital."

"jane," lynn corrects. "her name is jane."

"same thing," he rests his hand on lynn's knee, squeezing just once. "now relax, blondie. we have an hour of 'jazztastical fun'," harry underlines the words on the program they were handed at the door with his finger as he speaks.

"that's a stupid word," lynn leans back in her chair, harry's hand still resting on her knee.

"looks like we can finally agree on something."

she wasn't sure what she was expecting 'jazztastical' meant, but surely, it wasn't supposed to be this boring. being in one of the youngest classes, jane was one of the first groups to perform, leaving another five groups to follow after.

lynn usually left the second jane's group was finished, meeting her in the parking lot with a bouquet of flowers and her favorite chocolate afterward. this time she brought harry, and she was going to make him sit through every last second. it was only fair. she's sat through two of his family dinners.

the second family dinner wasn't near as bad as the first. although, this one only consisted of marianne and gemma (and as soon as they left, jackie). marianne brought expensive wine that gemma said paired exceptionally well with the pastries lynn had gifted them.

harry had cooked for them, and it was actually good, just like their dinner conversation. the whole event was a lot more relaxing without john's presence and lynn couldn't help but wonder if that was a common occurrence in the styles' household.

when they meet jane backstage after the recital, she's disappointed to see lynn without her flowers and her usual chocolate bar. and of course, because she's five, she makes it well known to everyone in the tiny room.

"no hershey's?" she looks up at her sister through her thick eyelashes, and god, was lynn done for.

so, because she's lynn, she offers to take her for ice cream across the street. harry doesn't seem entirely against the idea, but he doesn't seem too thrilled either. maybe he had a date with jackie that he needed to get back for. the thought of that makes lynn want to offer to drop jane back at her parents' house and amelia at her friends' just to make him even later.

so she does.

harry and jane both get mint chip ice cream and surprisingly jane actually likes it this time. she couldn't tell if she was pretending because harry liked it, but the girl wasn't complaining so she wasn't too worried.

"are you lynn's first boyfriend, harry?" jane says around a spoonful of her green ice cream.

harry clears his throat and amelia nudges her little sister, "she had one when you were a baby, janey"

"your recital was so good, jane." she rushes to change the subject, and lynn feels her face growing hot because she didn't realize amelia remembered anything about her last serious boyfriend. they never talked about him. "i'm so proud of you."

"ive honestly never seen a better pirouette," harry says, and lynn watches as her sister's face lights up.

"i practiced really good because miss tina said i looked sloppy."

"it looked great, janey. i wish i was half as good as you when i was a dancer," he smiles so warmly at the girl, lynn thinks it might melt all of the ice cream sitting on the table.

"what?" jane throws her hands up in the air and screams so loudly that a little bit of ice cream flies from her mouth. "i didn't know boys dance."

"aiden?" amelia says. "he's in your class, jane. you see him every day."

"oh yeah," jane turns her attention back to her ice cream, and lynn notices she's just eating the chocolate pieces out.

when they drop jane off, she insists on showing harry her entire barbie collection which consists of a total of 68 dolls. whoever said you couldn't buy a child's love clearly has never met kathleen.

lynn leans against the doorframe of her little sister's playroom and watches as harry moves a little doll around while jane's laughing the kind of laugh that is filled with so much happiness it hurts your stomach a little.

and lynn wonders this is the side of harry that jackie gets. the one that has her going to sleep with sore cheeks just from smiling so hard all day. lynn knows that she's not the most approachable, and usually, she's rarely anything but cold, but she can't help but wonder why harry didn't like her.

"harrrrryyyyyy," the girl whines. "dance with me."

"janeyyyyy," he mimics. "i can't. i haven't danced in a few years."

"that's okay. i'll teach you again," she takes his hand, and lynn expects harry to shake her off and decline once again. but, he doesn't. he takes her hand and lets her lead. and lynn stays hidden in the shadows, watching every giggle fall from jane's mouth earn a grin so big from harry, she thinks they might be warmer than luke's sunshine smiles.

peter invites them to stay for dinner, and lynn was about to decline when harry speaks for her and says they would love to stay. apparently, kathleen had spent hours in the kitchen, which was more time than lynn had seen her cooking throughout her entire life combined. peter had said they do big family meals like this once a week, and something deep inside of lynn twists. it was like her father's words tried to erase every night she sat at the breakfast bar alone, eating a kid cuisine that elena had made for her before going out with her friends.

she feels like she's watching this entire dinner play out from a spectator's standpoint. she wants to scream and yell that this isn't them. this is an act that her parents are putting on, and she has a reason to resent them. she really does. she wants to grab harry by the shoulders and shake him. beg him to see right through them because she didn't want to be made out as being the hateful firstborn who does anything to spite her loving parents.

instead, she twirls the spaghetti around her fork and takes another sip of her wine.

"i'm sorry," harry says to her once they're on the way back to his apartment. it was late. the sun had set hours ago, and the only thing lighting up her car were the street lights they passed every few meters.

lynn hums and keeps her eyes on the road because she's not really sure what harry's apologizing for, and she doesn't think she can handle a backhanded remark right now. spending time with her parents took almost everything out of her.

"i blew off your sister's first recital because kids don't like me and i didn't want..."

his voice trails off, and lynn can't hold back the eye roll.

"it's okay to say you didn't want to go."

"to disappoint you," harry leans his head against the window as he speaks, avoiding any possible eye contact with her. "i didn't want to disappoint you. or them. i don't know... probably all three of you all. i was scared."

"jane really likes you, harry. amelia, too. you don't have to be scared around us."

"yeah?"

"yeah," the silence that falls around them is almost comforting in a way, and lynn almost doesn't want to break it but it feels right. "and you are so good with them. especially jane."

she watches the way he smiles to himself in the reflection of the window. the silence is back and lynn thinks it deserves to stay after a day like today. harry closes his eyes, only for a second before opening them again and offering lynn a bed to crash in because he's seen her yawn twice.

and really, who is lynn to say no?

1 JULY 2018

they have their third styles' family dinner at harry's parents' house. he spent nearly the entire drive over there on the phone with his dad, begging him to treat lynn with an ounce of respect. in the end, they weren't allowed to talk about college, jobs, promotions, or income.

the gesture surprised lynn if she was being honest. after the first dinner, she didn't really expect harry to stand up for her at all. and it's not like he needed to. she was perfectly okay with doing it herself.

they remain in silence for nearly the entire drive. nothing but the sound of rain hitting the car could be heard. she wasn't sure if she should thank him for speaking with his dad, or if he was doing it out of guilt after what lynn had witnessed when she got to harry's apartment.

she had walked in on harry knuckles deep inside of jackie, and turned right back around and walked out without saying a word. she took the elevator down and paced around the hallway for a second before sending harry a text to let him know she was outside. she wasn't sure if they knew she saw them, but when harry got into the car with pink cheeks and stuttered over his words, her suspicions were confirmed.

"i was thinking," harry breaks the silence. "you can choose the music for the whole ride. my apology for what you saw earlier."

"i'll play whatever i want," lynn glares at him. "you're in my car."

"damn okay," harry raises his hands like lynn's got a gun to his head. "now i see what jackie means."

"what's that supposed to mean?"

he shakes his head. "said you hadn't gotten laid in a while and you'd probably be uptight all night."

the way lynn swerves when the words leave his mouth lets him know that maybe what jackie said should have been kept between just them.

lynn doesn't end up responding, and really, she shouldn't have to. because jackie knew the real reason she hasn't slept with anyone in ages and she can't help but wonder if she shared that with harry, too.

"i'm sensing you're mad at me," harry says.

"congratulations! you know how to read social cues," lynn rolls her eyes, and the car goes silent again.

when they get there, marianne was in the kitchen preparing dinner while john was relaxing in the living room. lynn could say a thousand horrible things about her own father, but when kathleen was up and contributing to the household, peter was, too.

"lynn, so nice to see you," john smiles at her, but makes no move to get up from the couch. "mari said you brought some lovely pastries last time. i was hoping you'd do the same this time."

"sorry," lynn says. "didn't have time to stop today."

the conversation dies right there as john doesn't bother to reply, and lynn takes it as as sign to go offer her help to marianne. she wasn't the best cook but certainly she would be able to chop an onion.

and maybe she was wrong. because marianne hands her a cutting board along with a knife and a few different vegetables. she slices one carrot and cubes a single potato before the woman puts her hand on her shoulder and asks if she would mind helping harry set the table.

there were only four of them, and they were having soup. setting the table was not a two-person job.

marianne's phone rings while she's trying to take a selfie with the two to send to gemma and she accidentally answers it. an older woman pops up on the screen, and lynn guesses it to be harry's grandmother.

"mom," marianne turns around so it's only her in the frame. she's smiling so brightly, but her tone is a little off. "is everything alright?"

"i just had some free time and i thought i'd give you a call," the older woman says. lynn moves behind marianne to finish setting the table. "is that gemma back there? put her on. i've missed my favorite grandchild."

"that's harry's girlfriend, mom."

"oh... he's there?" the old woman's demeanor completely. she went from sounding so incredibly warm to sounding ice cold with the sourest expression on her face in a matter of seconds. when marianne says yes, the older woman hangs up the call.

"harry..." anne looks up from her phone to look harry who hasn't moved from the spot in front of her.

"it's alright."

"i didn't mean to answer," she says. "i would never do that."

"really, it's okay," he offers her a warm smile, but lynn can tell that it doesn't really reach his eyes. at least not the way it did when he was dancing with jane.

harry excuses himself outside and lynn can't help but to follow when he doesn't return a few minutes later. she finds him sitting on one of the outdoor couches marianne and john have on their back porch. there's an overhang, but the porch isn't entirely closed in, so she's certain he's getting a little damp.

"hey," she leans over the back of the couch. "you alright?"

"hm?" he turns his head ever so slightly to see who it was. "yeah. i'm fine."

"yeah?" because it looks like you've been crying, she wants to say. "you sure?"

"yeah," he leans his face against her hand that's resting on the couch.

so lynn moves it to his cheek, and then his hair, and then to his shoulders, and she doesn't really know why she ends up massaging nearly every part of harry she can reach, but she does. because harry's sad and something really, really deep inside of her wants to make it better.

the way he leans into her touch is so soft, so unlike him. or maybe it is like him. lynn doesn't know. whatever he gave her was surface level and she's certain the most she'll ever get out of him is his favorite color.

"ah, you guys compliment each other so well," marianne's voice comes through the cracked back door. lynn feels her face burn at being caught. and also because how long have they been out there? "i don't want to interrupt, but dinner's on the table."

"thank you," harry says when it's just them outside. it's quiet, and he's following his mom inside before she even has a chance to respond.

dinner is less painful than expected. john follows all of the conversation guidelines he agreed to. except for once, when he made a sly comment about getting a college education. lynn would've made a slight deal about it, but harry had been nearly silent the whole dinner. the only sounds that came from him were the occasional hums of agreement and the occasional scraping of his spoon against the ceramic bowl. she thinks an argument with his father might be just what he needs to set him over the edge.

marianne surprises them with homemade brownies, and lynn ends up eating harry's for him because he said he didn't feel well and she didn't want to hurt the woman's feelings. and also they were extremely good.

when they leave, lynn has the leftovers in her hands, and harry carries the weight of the million 'i'm sorry's that his mom threw at him before they walked out of the door.

"are you up for a little drive?" lynn asks once they're both in the car. harry's putting his shoes on her dash, and she decides that she can let it slide tonight. just this once.

"where to?"

"no where in particular."

"i feel like this is going to lead to my murder," he reclines the seat and leans back, eyes closing.

"ha ha," her voice is monotone."i just," and she knows she shouldn't be prodding, but lynn couldn't help it. she's never seen harry act like that in the entire month she's known him. " i saw the way your demeanor changed after that call with your grandmother."

"lynn-"

"i know. it's not my place. i'm not asking you to tell me. we can sit in silence, or you can put music on. i'm not picky." she looks over at harry. "driving around is what used to help me."

"okay," he says. "but can we get tea or something?'

"sure," lynn opens her maps to see starbucks is the only coffee shop still open and she apologizes for it, but harry assures her that it's okay. starbucks tea was his favorite.

when they get to the drive-thru, lynn's annoyed to see that there's not a single tea menu listed on the board. she asks for a green tea, and the barista replies, asking if she was looking for the emperor's cloud or the jade citrus mint.

"i'll have a honey citrus mint," harry says. "i think you'd like the mint majesty. it's caffeine free, too."

"yeah? okay," she orders the two teas and harry insists on paying because it was his idea and really, she couldn't complain about free tea.

they drive in silence only for a few minutes before harry reaches for her phone to put on some music. he shuffles one of the 1975's albums. lynn really wasn't sure which one it was because she never listens to them, but it wasn't bad. and neither was her tea. in fact, it was good. better than good even. she loved it. lynn would be lying if she said she wasn't curious as to how harry knew she'd like it.

"are you sure you like your tea?" lynn says over a song change. "you've barely touched it, and i don't mind trading with you."

"i know. i used to get it whenever i was sick." his thumb traces the lid as he speaks. "it's more of a comfort thing i guess."

harry's sitting with his hang hanging low almost like it was too heavy for him to hold up. he's either looking at his feet or his face is pressed against the window. seeing him like this makes lynn finally crack, "are you sure you're feeling alright?"

"when my grandmother called my mom today," his voice was scratchy, and he pauses. lynn's not sure if he was clearing his throat or on the verge of tears. "it was the first time i've heard her voice in a year. she doesn't really like me."

"does your stellar attitude have something to do with it?" it was meant to be a joke but harry seemed to find no amusement in it.

"no, it's because i loved a boy."

she laughs a little because harry was the textbook definition of a straight male. besides the fact that he's probably slept with half of the female population, his attitude gave it away. lynn looks over at him expecting a joking smile to be sat on his lips, only she's met with the most stone-cold expression she's ever seen on harry's face.

"oh," she clears her throat and sets her tea in the cup holder. she wasn't expecting harry to be so honest with her. "well, your grandma fucking sucks for that."

"you really think so?"

"i do. i also think that you shouldn't try and change yourself because of your family's shitty opinions... i'm referring to the whole jackie thing if that wasn't obvious."

"wise words, lynn, and your reference was very obvious...but i also like women," he holds his hands in front of his mouth like someone had just told him some life-altering secret. "i know. shocking."

"i read a book in my gender studies class called compulsory heterosexuality. maybe you just think you do because that's what society tells you."

"i am extremely confident when it comes to my attraction to women," he has a small smile on his lips. "would you like a demonstration?"

"and there's the harry i know," she smiles at him, and he only stares at her. "what?"

"i don't think i've ever seen you genuinely smile," lynn wants to say the same about him, but that would be a lie because she's seen him smile with nearly everyone but her.

"yeah, yeah," she waves him off. "if you ever need to vent about your grandmother, i'm all ears. and for the small price of another mint majesty tea, i can even pretend like it never happened afterward."

"you know me too well," he says. "thank you for tonight."

"any time."

"do you think maybe i could sleep at yours?" he asks.

lynn's immediate response is to say no, but she doesn't. she lets a few moments pass and then settles for an "okay, but consider this your warning."

4 JULY 2018

when lynn warns harry about her place, he expects it to be a little messy. clothes thrown around the room, an unmade bed, and perhaps a spider or two lurking in the corner. or maybe it was in a busy neighborhood with lots and lots of loud traffic.

it's neither. lynn's studio apartment is located in a nice, gated apartment complex, far away from any busy street with lots of noisy cars. it's cluttered, but also extremely clean. it smells like freshly washed sheets that were hung on a beach to dry, but also like warm vanilla (which was also how her hands smelled when he pressed his face into them).

there's books laying on a desk in the corner, each one with a dog-eared page near the end. two half-empty mugs sat in her sink, and there was a bouquet of wilting flowers sitting in the middle of the counter. drawings and paintings from jane were stuck on her refrigerator with alphabet magnets, and pictures of her sisters hung front and center.

her bed was in the corner of the room. it was unmade but still looked clean if that made sense. you could tell the sheets were frequently washed and didn't have an ecosystem growing in between one of the layers.

her duvet cover was white, but the blush pink sheets poked out from underneath. and there was a stuffed bear that sat against one of the pillows that had a little too much wear to be amelia's or jane's.

the whole apartment was nothing like what harry imagined lynn was like underneath that cold, hard front she put up. he expected her apartment to be sterile feeling with little to no signs of life. he imagined it to be bigger and practically unused. but this was different. it felt like a home.

he doesn't know what lynn's warning was for until he's wearing her clothes and laying under the blankets that sat on top of some kind of rolled up mattress that she pulled out of a closet.

lynn pulls a key off of her nightstand, and walks over to the door where harry sees the four deadbolts lined up. she locks every single one of them, and then gets into bed, gripping the key in her hand.

"should i be scared?" harry had asked. he doesn't remember the area on the drive in, but certainly there's not enough crime to warrant four locks on the door.

"no," was all she said before rolling over, back facing him. "goodnight, harry."

he so badly wanted to ask what that was about, but he doesn't get the chance because when he wakes up, lynn's gone. nothing but a note stating he has to show up to her family's fourth of july party in return for her hospitality the night prior.

harry could say she's slept at his twice before and he's willing to call it even, but he kind of wants to hang out with her sisters again. so, he puts the note in his pocket, and steals one of her hoodies before calling an uber back to his.

he wasn't really sure what exactly consisted of a family picnic because growing up, the fourth of july meant sparklers and staying up past his bedtime and that was it. there was no family get togethers, and only on special occasions were they allowed to go into town to watch the fireworks.

so harry googles it, and decides to bring a side dish along with jackie. really, she caught harry as he was walking out of his front door, and harry's not one to turn down an environmentally friendly car pool.

"this is my first adams' family picnic," jackie says on the drive over. "silas always raves about them, but i've skipped them so much. lynn's stopped inviting me."

"she didn't invite you?"

jackie shakes her head. "honestly, i'm not surprised. she's been so forgetful recently," she takes his hand and presses her lips to his knuckle. "but, im happy to get to spend some time with you."

"yeah," harry says before thinking. he was okay with people thinking he was in an open relationship, but he wasn't entirely sure if his or lynn's family fit into that category of people. "actually, jackie, i don't know if we should in front of lynn's family."

the girl mumbles something under her breath and looks out the window.

when they get there, lynn's not answering her phone, so he follows jackie through the side gate into the adams' backyard. he wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn't lynn's entire extended family.

"harry, i'm so glad you could make it." kathleen seems to appear out of nowhere and hugs him. she kisses both of his cheeks and then moves to jackie and does the same to the girl. "and jackie, it's so nice to see you. it's been forever."

"it has, miss kathy," jackie grins. "thank you for having me."

"you know you're welcome anytime. and you, too, harry. you must be pretty special to lynn if she's kept you around this long."

"she's pretty special to me, too." harry smiles to hide the way his entire body cringes at the words, and hopes kathleen doesn't notice. he felt so awkward and out of place, and he didn't realize just how much effort lynn put into this whole thing. she was the one who usually took the lead and guided him through these conversations with her parents, and he felt he was a little too far in over his head without her.

what if he said the wrong thing and their parents found out everything was fake? he'd quite literally have to off himself if anyone found out that he was playing pretend with a girl his mom had set him up with at his big age of twenty one. that would be the worst thing to ever happen to him. even worse than the make shift intervention.

"how about we grab a drink?" jackie asks. her brow's raised and she has a smile on her face. harry thinks he'll need quite a few drinks to stomach this party, so he nods and follows her to the coolers.

a hour or two later, harry's stumbling through the sliding glass door that leads to the house. he's not really sure how much time has passed, but he's certain of two things.

1: he really needed to find a bathroom

2: one more drink and he would be borderline obliterated

jackie's behind him, wiping her wet feet on the mat outside. they had been sitting with their feet in the pool, sharing drinks supplied by peter and kathleen and sipping little pink whitney shooters jackie kept in her purse "for emergencies".

the two run into lynn in her parents' kitchen after leaving the bathroom. she was leaning over the counter, pouring some powder into a very expensive looking kitchen aid. silas, who harry didn't expect, was standing behind her with his hand on her lower back.

"hey you two," jackie draws the attention of the pair, her words slurring together.

"oh, jackie," lynn doesn't bother to turn around but harry can see her glance at silas. her voice is so monotone, and she doesn't even try to hide her lack of enthusiasm. "glad you could make it."

"figured you just forgot to text me," jackie raises her brows, and then a little quieter she says, "that seems to be a common occurrence lately."

silence floods the room for a second before silas steps away, extending his had to harry. "i'm silas," he says. "it's nice to finally meet you. lynn always has nice things to say."

jackie laughs loudly at this and harry feels so incredibly awkward. obviously there was some unresolved tension in the group, and perhaps he shouldn't have let jackie carpool with him after all.

"i could say the same," harry shakes his hand, and goddamn, did he have a grip. if silas squeezed any harder, harry thinks there wouldn't be a bone in his hand left unbroken.

"i hope so. she shouldn't have a bad word to say," silas's voice is so cool and even as he walks back over to lynn, pulling her hair from her shoulders. "had an accident a few years ago."

harry looks to see lynn smiling one of those rare, warm smiles she gave him that night in her car, but this time her smile's for silas. "resulted in a very unfortunate bob."

"hmm," jackie hums next to him. "wasn't as bad as your bang era."

harry clears his throat when he sees the very noticeable grown out bangs framing lynn's face. "i um-," he rocks back and forth on his feet, the pink whitney and beer bubbling up in his throat. "i made a pasta salad, but i think i left it on my counter. i'm going to-"

"what the fuck is going on with you, jackie?" silas turns around and has his back resting on the counter. his arms are crossed in front of him and he watches as lynn leans into him, her hand resting on his chest as she tries to whisper something to him. "lynn, no. she should go."

no one says anything, and harry cannot stop looking at the way silas stands behind lynn with his arm now wrapped around her, holding her against him like she needed some kind of protection.

"silas is right," lynn's voice is soft. "i'll pay for your uber, but you really should go. you're drunk."

"you're both crazy. i'm not drunk."

"we're crazy?" silas steps toward her. "jackie, you're the one who's been fucking lynn's boyfriend."

harry waits for one of the girls to correct silas because harry was lynn's fake boyfriend, but neither do, and harry can feel the cold sweat forming as the realization hits. jackie thought it was all real.

he looks up at lynn, and the look on her face was enough to make harry feel like he's been punched in the stomach, and he can't believe he was the cause of it. he wouldn't let things with jackie go as far as they did if he had known.

harry doesn't say anything when silas walks jackie out. honestly, all harry could think about was lynn and the thousands of ways he needed to apologize to her. maybe it was all the drinks, but he felt so, so guilty.

she's turned away from him, her attention back on whatever she was baking. "do you need any help, lynn?"

"i think you've done enough." as the words leave her mouth, he doesn't feel so bad anymore.. sure, he slept with jackie, but he always assumed she knew about their arrangement just like silas did. there were plenty of opportunities for lynn to tell him that she didn't and that the two seeing each other made her uncomfortable, but she never did. he wasn't going to take the blame for something he didn't know about.

"and what have i done exactly?" she starts pouring the batter into cupcake tins, and ignores his words. "it's okay to say you want me all to yourself, blondie."

"in your dreams, harry." she turns around finally, licking the spoon in a way that has harry's jaw going a little slack. "go do something. you're bothering me."

he hums for a second with his finger tapping his chin like he was actually pondering it, "i don't think i will."

"silas is outside. you could go see how many of my friends you can get to sleep with you."

"i'll think about it. he's not really my type."

"i thought you could always appreciate a good body," harry can't help it when he cracks a little smile.

it's quiet for a beat, and lynn goes to put her cupcakes in the oven. she's wearing a pair of jeans that fit her in all the right ways and when she bends down to slide the pan in, harry can't help himself. "why do you think i'm still sitting here?"

he hears lynn scoff, "i'm not sure what's more unappealing. your personality or the way you always seem to reek of a three day old hangover."

"not true. your father said i smelled lovely when i was sandwiched between him and your mother last night."

"i'll make sure to ask them about it when we're all having lunch," she stands with her back against the oven, now facing him. "maybe we can get the whole extended family's input?"

harry shakes his head and sighs. he leans against the breakfast bar, slouching over counter a bit. "i thought we were going to be more civil with each other, lynn,"

"you think fucking my best friend was going to have me kissing the ground you walk on?"

"how was i supposed to know you didn't tell her?" his arms are crossed in front of him. "you have silas all over you like a goddamn blanket and you expect jackie to think you're in love with me? come on, lynn."

"that's right, harry. blame everyone but yourself," she moves so she's opposite harry, palms smacking the granite counter. "have you been drinking?"

"yes?"

her eyes narrow. "you know, i'm starting to think your grandma was onto something when she stopped speaking to you."

harry sucks in a breath and he feels like the wind's been knocked out of him. he's drunk and there's tears pooling in his eyes, but he can't look away from her. lynn's staring at him with the coldest stare. like she meant every word she said.

"go fuck yourself, lynn." he flicks her off and turns on the balls of his feet, walking back out the sliding glass door. regret comes seeping over him because god, did he want to go home. he really shouldn't have had that much to drink.

he decides on going to sit in his car. he'd sober up and then goes to his parents. listening to a lecture from his dad would surely be better than sitting here and having to act like he wants to be anywhere near lynn. he was so incredibly stupid for thinking that a pointless car drive and a cup of tea was going to change anything about the relationship they had already established.

harry was so good at pretending to be someone he wasn't. he always tried to come off as someone who was always calm and kept himself together. he was confident in just the right ways, and everyone he met loved him. or at least what they saw of him.

there were plenty of people on campus who would say hi to him if they had passed each other in a hallway. they were friendly, not friends. and that was the perfect way to put it. he held everyone he met at an arm's length away.

harry spent years perfecting this stupid act he put on for nearly everyone he met, so he doesn't really understand why lynn seems to be the only person in the world that doesn't fall for it.

"harry!" he looks over to see jane sitting on the raft in a pool, a juice box in one hand and a popsicle in the other. "come push me around."

harry walks over to the edge of the pool, crouching down to be eye level with her. "well, aren't you bossy?"

she laughs and kicks her feet and it's so contagious, he can't help but smile. he doesn't realize the girls' grandmother is with them until she speaks from one of the lounge chairs, her face hiding behind a magazine.

"takes after her sister. that's why she has no friends."

harry's heart jumps in his throat when he sees the little girl start blinking rapidly through her pink flamingo sunglasses. so, he does the only logical thing he can think of, and gets in the pool with his tshirt on and sunglasses in his hair.

when he comes up, jane's peering over the arm of the floatie with a smile that's so big, harry decides he can look past the wet cotton sticking to his skin. "alright, sunflower. tell me where you want to go."

"sunflower? i'm not sunflower! i'm jane!"

"but, you're always so bright and happy, janey," harry laughs. "like a sunflower."

"mmm, okay," and then she offers him a bite of her popsicle which he would have declined in any other situation, but he did not want to see the little girl cry today.

he pushes jane around the pool like he's her personal servant for what feels like forever. she loved asking to go in to the deep end where harry could barely touch. the water would go up to his ears and he'd act like standing on his tip-toes was the most strenuous activity ever. her laugh drowned out every huff and puff her grandmother made, and harry felt like he could finally breathe when she got up and went somewhere else after asking harry if he could watch the little girl.

"how long can you stay under there?" jane says. "go under and i'll count."

and so harry does, and when he comes up, jane's at twenty seven and lynn's standing over him with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"are you fucking kidding me?" her voice is quiet yet there's so much anger in every word she says. harry doesn't even know what he's done wrong. "you're embarrassing me. get some dry clothes on and act like the grown adult you are."

"lynn, i-"

she leaves before he can even ask what's going on, and when he turns around jane's looking at him with big eyes and her hands clasped together under her chin. "can we please play mermaids, harry?"

"of course, sunflower."

peter comes to collect jane later. it was time to eat and he had made her a plate. he offers to make harry one, too, for keeping jane busy while "the adults had fun" (as if he wasn't an adult himself). harry politely declines, and instead takes a seat in a lounge chair, wanting to do nothing more than to dry off.

and to also end whatever the fuck this thing he was doing with lynn had turned in to. they were supposed to be in a fake relationship in order to help stop their borderline insane mothers from meddling in their love lives and instead, harry was surrounded by fifty people he didn't know while lynn was god knows where. probably inside somewhere with silas's hands all over her.

it didn't make sense. why would she even bother to invite harry here when she all planned on doing was staying as far away from him as she could while leaving him to fend for himself. he knew five people here if you included her sisters and her grandmother that he had met briefly at the pool. he didn't even know her name yet he would go as far as to say he hated her for what she said around jane.

"hey, man," silas is sitting at the end of his lounge chair. he's got a pile of neatly folded clothes in his hand that he's holding out for harry. "i've got a change of clothes for you and dinner's ready if you're interested."

harry holds up his hand. "thanks, but i think i'll actually be going. you can tell lynn that this is done."

"listen," silas clears his throat. "lynn is my best friend, and i love her, but she was wrong for not telling you that jackie didn't know."

"you don't have to try to side with me or try to be my friend, silas," harry blinks. "or whatever you're trying to do really. i'm okay with you pretending i don't exist. just like lynn does."

"i'm not going to pretend you don't exist, harry. you two can talk when she wakes up from her nap." silas reaches out with the clothes again, and harry takes them. "meet me in the kitchen when you're ready. i got this new beer from the brewery in town you should try."

silas leaves and harry sits there for a second because what the fuck just happened? he half expected silas to rip his head off and call him a few nasty names before kicking him out of the party, and the other half thought the guy was just going to punch him in the face.

harry debates on calling it a night and going to his apartment instead, but a drink would be nice, especially if it was on silas's dime. so he changes in the bathroom and then meets silas in the kitchen where he has a two plates made and set in front of two cans of some kind of cherry pie cider on the breakfast bar.

"wow, silas," harry says. "are you wining and dining me?"

the guy laughs, face buried in the refrigerator. when he turns around, his arms are full of different condiments and he closes the door with his foot. "these stupid parties used to be so overwhelming for me. i used to always eat in here alone, just so i could have some peace and quiet."

"why are you doing this?" they're sitting next to each other now. silas stops eating, and wipes his mouth with a napkin before turning to harry.

"because you remind me of myself, and i know how hard these things were for me when lynn first started inviting me."

"It's..." harry doesn't really know how to explain how he's feeling, so he turns his attention to the pasta salad that was probably a hundred times better than the one sitting on his kitchen counter right now. "i don't know."

"a lot?"

harry nods. "i just don't think i'm a very social person."

"cheers to that," silas raises his can. "just because you and lynn aren't really together doesn't mean you should feel uncomfortable here." harry thinks if he responds, he'll end up crying. so he doesn't. instead he pushes his food around on the plate, appetite gone.

"pete asked me to start a fire afterwards if you wouldn't mind helping." silas continues, and harry nods.

when they're finished, the two boys go outside with a new cider in hand to where the fire pit was and start the fire that lynn's father had asked for. really, harry started it while silas sat and watched. he didn't mind though, harry was in eagle scouts growing up and building fires was probably the only thing he was good at.

when the sun begins to set, lynn's family moves few by few from the patio and pool area to sit around the fire. silas introduces harry to some of lynn's extended family members, and he starts talking to her aunt cece. she introduces him to her wife like it was nothing. and really, it shouldn't have been a big deal or anything. harry was just used to the judgmental stares and comments made by his family. it never really crossed his mind that entire families could be so accepting.

when his grandmother found out he was dating a boy, she refused to come to any family function he was at. the same with his aunt, uncle, and cousins. the two didn't want their kids around someone like harry.

jane squeezes between the two to sit next to harry on the bench, and she rests her head against his arm. kathleen's sitting across from them, and a few minutes later lynn (and silas of course) sit next to her.

"it seems like you've made a friend," kathy says.

"best friend," jane corrects. she sits up and smacks her hands on her lap. "nana said i didn't have any friends."

"what?" lynn's voice comes from across the fire. "when did she say that?"

"at the pool," jane's grinning. "but i know she was just joking with me. harry said he was my best friend when we were playing mermaids.

harry feels his face warm at her confession. "and i meant it, janey."

the little girl smiles at him in a way that makes it impossible not to smile back.

"we need to have a best friend tea party on saturday. with lots of sunflowers." she says, and then she sighs. "mom you said i could have chocolate if i ate all of my salad and i did."

the way her train of thought changes so quickly makes harry laugh.

i'll get you some, jane," lynn stands up from her spot and harry's quick to do the same and say he'll join her.

"lynn," he calls her name once they get inside. she's a few steps ahead of him and makes no move to answer.

"lynn," he tries again. "can we talk, please?"

she turns to look at him when they're both in the pantry. "there's nothing to talk about, harry." she bends down to get something on the bottom shelf, ignoring him once again.

"there is," he says. "because i don't want to do this anymore."

she tilts her head. "do what?"

"this," his hand is moving between them. "whatever this is. us. i can't do this anymore."

she rolls her eyes at this. "you can only pretend when it benefits you. got it."

"that's not-" his voice breaks, and he's been trying so hard to hold in everything all day. it all just feels too much, and he shamelessly wipes the tears as they fall. "do you not hear the way you talk to me? why am i always in the wrong?"

"sleeping with my friend and being so drunk you're swimming around in your clothes doesn't seem wrong to you?" she faces him with her arms crossed in front of her.

"what? that's not what happened."

"right," she rolls her eyes again and goes back to collecting what she needs. "this act is pathetic by the way."

harry doesn't understand how they even got to this point. he was hoping they'd have a little break up. he'd go back outside and say goodbye to jane, and maybe silas because being around him wasn't as bad as he thought it would be, and then he'd go home.

she turns her attention back to whatever she's been trying to reach for the last few minutes. harry's eyes follow her hand to see a box of graham crackers pushed all the way to the back of the shelf before reaching up to push them into her reach. he wasn't much taller than her but the extra few inches helped.

"your grandmother said jane was annoying and bossy," he feels his throat burn as he speaks and decides to leave out the part where she said that she was just like her sister. "i saw her face when she heard it, and i panicked. i didn't want her to think about it for another second, so i jumped in."

it's so quiet, harry can hear the way lynn swallows at his words. she says nothing though, so he decides to keep going. "you know that one phrase someone said to you, and maybe they didn't mean it, but it still sits in your head? i didn't want that to be hers. i'm sorry for embarrassing you, lynn."

"it hit a little too close to home for you, yeah?" lynn says, realization written all over her face.

"the hurt that comes with hearing someone you admire and love so much say those things about you..." fresh, hot tears are sliding down his face. "i'm trying really hard not to be mad at you because maybe you don't get it, but what you said earlier-"

"i know. it was horrible," she drops the smores ingredients on the floor so she can wrap her arms around him. "god, i'm horrible."

"did you mean it? what you said?"

"when we were in the car, yes," she pulls back so she's looking at him. her hands are still clasped behind him, fingers gently brushing against the nape of his neck. "i meant every word i said that night. but today, you brought jackie, and i didn't want her here. the things she said, and the fact that you two were sleeping with each other...i took it out on you when i shouldn't have. im sorry."

"i didn't know that she thought-" harry doesn't really know why he's sobbing so hard, but he can't stop. the rest of his sentence is stuck in his throat.

"i know," her hand cradles the back of harry's head, softly guiding his face into her shoulder. "i am so, so sorry."

they stand in the pantry for a little while. harry's face is pressed against her neck, and her hands are rubbing his back. she's gently rocking them side to side and harry feels a little sick for letting himself melt into her so easily. he's crying because of her, yet part of him knows he'd let lynn make him feel the way she did today a hundred times over if it meant she'd hold him so close that he could smell the vanilla on her skin.

"what i told you that night, it's not something i usually share," he says, voice a little scratchy. "i really don't want it brought up ever again."

"it won't be. i promise."

harry steps back, palms pressed to his eyes. "i'm sorry for crying this much. i just need a second."

"you have no reason to apologize," lynn's bending down to pick up the items she dropped. "i really am so sorry, harry."

"i know you are. it's okay," harry takes a deep breath and then grabs the chocolate bars from her, holding them in the air. "i think we've kept jane waiting long enough." he reaches for lynn's hand before opening the pantry door for the two. when they step out, peter's standing in the kitchen, staring at them. he's got a beer in his hand, and harry can tell by the way his eyes are glassed over that he wasn't really tuned in on their conversation.

lynn doesn't even acknowledge her father's presence. instead, she wraps herself around harry's arm and pulls him outside with her.

he roasts jane's marshmallow with lynn sitting on his knees, and after hearing harry say he likes his burnt, she decides that she does, too. which makes everything easier for harry and everything harder for silas who took on the chore of building the actual s'more.

when they're finished, lynn leans back against harry's chest, voice soft, "do you think we could be okay, or is tonight it for us?"

he looks over to see jane sitting on silas's lap, her hands and now silas's shirt covered in sticky marshmallow and decides that he could tolerate lynn's mood swings if it meant getting to experience this kind of normalcy again. honestly, today wasn't really normal. it was messy and chaotic and everything that comes with having a family this big, but harry misses the crazy family reunions and loud birthday dinners that came with his own family and maybe holiday picnics like this could fill that void.

"i think we could be okay again," the intensity of his voice matches her, and he can feel her relax into him when he speaks.

the group moves to the park where lynn and harry first met to watch the fireworks put on by the neighborhood. halfway there, jane starts whining about her legs hurting and that's how harry ends up with her on his shoulders.

marianne and john are there when they get there, and they're sitting on a blanket and talking to gemma and drew. harry can't remember the last time his parents came to the event, and he can't help but wonder if that was because they just never invited him.

amelia joins them, too, leaving her group of friends. she takes jane from harry, and silas follows them, leaving only harry and lynn to share the blanket she had brought.

when the fireworks start, she's sitting next to harry with her head on his shoulder and her arm wrapped around his. her fingers are brushing against his knuckles, and when she leans back to look at harry to see if he's enjoying it, he's already looking at her.

his free hand reaches for her face before he dips his head down and kisses her. if she were to ask about it later, harry would say it was because both of their families were around. not because he wanted to.

(he kind of did.)

[only-kiwi]

Can I be on the tag list?

part 13 - obvious

it’s been a while since i updated 💀 never doing a series again i’m so bad lol but i might still post here and there (i probably won’t). but also eternal sunshine is giving me soooo much inspo idk 😭😭😭

positions masterlist

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ynupdates Y/N via Instagram stories earlier today!

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ynfan1 she’s so funny

ynfan2 hope she’s okay and not too stressed out

harryfan1 she must be so stressed :(

yourinstagram hey guys thank you for your concern but i am more than okay!! of course i have a lot going on but you know i like to keep myself busy. i’m also not planning the wedding alone <3 i love you so much but there’s no need to worry my loves.

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yourinstagram positions merch modelled by my muse 🤍 also new single ‘obvious’ out tonight :)

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ynfan3 pls im broke

ynfan4 they’re so hot i can’t

harrystyles I’m my muse’s muse? Pinch me x

yourinstagram @/harrystyles crying

harryfan2 pls never break up

harryfan3 i guess i have to buy the mech now

selenagomez Get married already

yourinstagram @/selenagomez working on it 😭

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harrystyles My love is free.

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harryfan4 need me a man like harry

harryfan5 he’s SO in love i feel sick

yourinstagram not dad chilling in the back lmaoo

harrystyles @/yourinstagram he’s just here for a good time

ynfan5 if you guys ever break up i’m personally coming for you

[sushirrrry]

EXECUTIVE a harry styles one-shot smut blurb; 19.3k words cw: oral sex (f receiving), fingering, dom/sub, breath play, dirty talk.

"If they want the fucking numbers, they've got to stop being pussies and give us the fucking reins. I'm not sitting around and waiting for their stock to crash and for their stupid, fucking minions to come back on me to tell me what I already knew and told them from the start—I'm not painted out to be the biggest fucking moron, that's for certain. It's either a deal or it isn't, plain and simple. If they don't want to have that fucking conversation, it's done. Fuck them and their stupid fucking counteroffer. It's a fucking slap in the face, and I'm not even entertaining the idea."

Harry pulled the phone away from his ear, clicking on End Call before he threw his phone over and onto the wooden desk that sat perpendicular to the vicious New York skyline. His heart raced as he shook his head.

An adrenaline junkie like him fed off of the conversations like these.

His sleeves were pushed up his forearms, his eyes navigated towards the contractual wreckage of paperwork that had seemed to be forgone on his desk as he pushed some of it to the side. His elbows leaned on the desk; his hands tied together as he rested his lips again them in a precocious thought.

Running the company came with a sharp tongue and a knack for knowing when it was time to push back. Harry was a mogul in all of the sense of the word—his company had grown to a gargantuan size, which allowed his position within the business to skyrocket to a level that was so without fail that he couldn't believe it sometimes.

His mouth got the better of him; in some ways, it created the effervescence of attack. It was all that he could do to keep himself from picking the phone back up and telling them to shove it all back up their ass—he refrained for the time being, until he was pushed again.

But no one usually poked the bear unless they truly believed they had a chance in slaughtering them. Mr. Styles was far too confident in his work and his business to ever let that happen.

The bear's claws reacted too quickly for the barrel of the rifle to even face him.

"Uh, excuse me, Mr. Styles?"

His eyes raised to the door that he hadn't seen opening before his lips parted just a bit to answer the woman questioning him. She wore a black skirt with tall, black boots that suited the length of her legs. Her top arranged in a bit of a messy manor, but it was almost as if she had styled it that way to add a bit of flare.

Her blazer hung a bit low—practically to the mid-length of the skirt that rode up her thighs, but he wouldn't have been caught dead staring. In public, anyway.

His eyes made their assessment of her quickly before returning to her naturally, raspberry lips that took up much of her lower face. The natural length of her smile was perfectly proportioned, not that he had spent much time thinking of it, of course.

Felicity—his assistant. The one with eyes the color of the ocean that he would vacation on in the Maldives; the most piercing, stunning blue. The quiet one, a bit shy in her reservations, almost like she was the smallest fish in the ocean made entirely of sharks. Her reservations to others seemed to aid in bulldozing over her confidence, but to Harry, it was an enticing spectacle of fantasy.

A fantasy he'd promise to never share with even his closest comrades, if an NDA wasn't in place, that is.

The dark brown locks settled against her back in heaps of loose, voluminous curls as she held tightly to the phone behind her fingers.

"Am I interrupting?" She asked, her question a bit hesitant as she didn't seem to move any further forward into the large space of his office.

"No—no, you're not," He told her, "Come in, Felicity, I need to use your brain for a moment."

"My brain?" She asked him, cocking her head a bit.

That was the thing about Felicity that almost made him foam at the mouth– her way of innocence and contemplation that allowed him to see his viewpoints from her standpoint.

Harry's company was outsourcing most of the global news which meant that he oversaw several departments within. His leadership was only as good as the recommendations and guidance that Felicity was able to provide him; her devil's advocacy, her interpretation of empathy, and being able to see how interactions happened without Harry present versus the other sense.

Felicity was a practical need in his company for various reasons, not one to just make his blood boil and frantically move around his veins every time he caught a whiff of the coconut lime scent that his mind had become familiar with.

She was a calmness to him in many ways, so her presence now settled his heartbeat from the previous conversation.

"That deal we're making this afternoon, I just got off the phone with Sadler and they're folding– they're becoming weak. And it's pissing my off. They're coming to me to help solve their issues, because they know I can do it. They're , but they know we'll do it. Which pisses me off because it makes us look weak if we just say yes."

Felicity blinked a few times as she watched Harry's reaction, her legs crossed at the feeling before she held her hands in front of her and nodded.

Harry sucked his lips into his mouth before he shook his head, a few of loose curls settled on his forehead as he pushed them back and Felicity wished that he hadn't.

"I think you're going to push them to do it without the counter," Felicity nodded. "From what I'm hearing, they're folding, and they can see that what we can provide is significant. Especially in terms of the election. We can do it– you can do it."

His eyes flew to her word change, noticing that her eyes had moved away from him. The subtle blush of pink ate away at her cheeks before Harry nodded in his own satisfaction.

"Enough about me," He shook his head, "What did you need, Felicity?"

Her eyes raised as it seemed she came back to conclusion about what she had been there for to begin with.

"Oh, I just talked with Nava at PLI and they wanted to express their gratitude towards you, because they said that you helped them with understanding the fundamentals of their offer and I thought it sounded like a for-sure deal– I just wanted you to know that Nava is a yes," She nodded and raised her brows again in remembrance, "Oh! And I'm also running to pick up some coffee and snacks before the board meeting. Flat white?"

Harry smirked at the praise from her, watching it leave her lips effortlessly. He nodded a few times at her question before he rose from his chair and grabbed the tie around his neck to loosen just a bit.

Harry grabbed the paperwork off of his desk before he moved towards the door and guided Felicity to follow. "Yes, please. A flat white with cinnamon, maybe a pump of caramel? What do you think?"

The words were like a question as Felicity walked next to him through the natural, brightly lit office. Her fingers tapped away at the device before she noticed the slight edge of the spicy cologne that wafted from his demeanor as he turned his head toward her.

"I'm not a huge fan of caramel," She stated a bit hesitantly as they stopped in front of one of the offices where Harry was about to go into a meeting.

He looked at Felicity as they stopped, his eyes moving up and down as he went from her lips to her eyes as if involved in a game of ping-pong.

"What do you like, then?" His words were soft, fluid.

Felicity swallowed as she shook her head a few times and nibbled on her lip. She hummed for a moment, "Um, I prefer vanilla."

The corner of Harry's lip moved upwards. "Make it a hot flat white with an extra shot of espresso, cinnamon, and a pump of vanilla, please."

Felicity wrote it down in her notes, but her fingers almost shook with adrenaline as she felt his gaze linger on her without her noticing before she nodded. "Great. I'll– uh, I'll leave now so I can be back in time to make sure you have what you need."

Her feet started to move away before she heard the booming sensation of her name. The way that her eyes fluttered back at him made Harry almost take a step backward.

"Uh," He felt speechless at the sudden look of her, "Please get whatever you need, too." He felt the professionalism start to creep its way back in. "Can't have you falling asleep on the job, you have notes to write."

Felicity bit the inside of her cheek before she nodded. "Yes, sir."

With that, Felicity turned her back and started to head down towards the elevators. Harry turned to make his way into the boardroom where he saw the table sitting and waiting for his arrival.

The hush that fell over the crowd made him shutter every time– the power he held echoed through his conscious at every moment it could.

He only smirked as he sat at the head of the table, pulling himself to sit up and lean on the table before he looked up to see the many eyes staring back at him.

"Shall we get to work then?"

__________________

"This coffee is fucking cold."

One of the board members pushed it away after taking a small sip, as Felicity had just sat it down in front of him.

It was an older gentleman– Hank– who had worked with the Styles family for many years and been able to help SCO with their major launches with other shareholders. His entitlement was present in the room, which pressed on her ego just a bit. Her head turned towards him as she shook hers.

A woman at the end of the time made a face as she looked at the side of the cup, "Ordered a fucking latte—they even messed it up and it's cold. The coffee shop is just down the block."

Felicity tucked some hair behind her ears as she shook her head in a bit of disbelief as she tried to find the receipt that the coffeehouse had given her. There wasn't any way that they gave her the wrong order, but she didn't know if there may have been a mix-up in who she gave the coffees to.

"T-That's impossible—I just order—" But she was cut off by the man who licked over his lips and held his hand up to stop her words from even echoing in the room at all.

"Just go get some hot coffee, would you?"

Felicity's eyes blazed around the room as she noticed that the others had practically ignored her efforts of the two full cardboard contents of coffee cups that she had practically run the streets of New York to pick up. Not only were they not even acknowledging her, but they were condescending in her efforts. Yes, she was an assistant—she wasn't their assistant. It wasn't her fault that she was one person, but she knew that she had to try harder to make the best impression that she could.

"Everyone just shut the fuck up and drink your coffees, would you? Our deadline is in six fucking hours. If you can't handle a little lukewarm coffee, get the fuck out of my office. I pay too much of your goddamn salaries for you to cry like a fucking baby."

Harry's eyes moved to the nervous-looking girl who stood by the door, along the edge of the buffet that held the rest of the coffee, donuts, and bagels that had practically been falling out of her arms when she arrived.

He couldn't tell—it may have been the lighting, but her eyes looked glassy as she tried to stand with her shoulders back. Harry caught her attention before she threw herself back together and walked over towards him, leaning down to where he sat at the table.

"I can run to go get something else, I don't think it would take too long, you know. Or I could order it to be delivered?" Felicity asked, a bit cautious, he could tell. But her piercing blue eyes were practically a shade of gray as he looked at them through her thick, tortoiseshell glasses that complimented the brightness of her eyes.

His eyes fell to the way that the chapstick she always applied gave her lips the most subtle peony color—so pink, but so natural. He thought that may be a better place for his eyes to land instead of directly into her eyes, but then he panicked for a moment and turned them back to her eyes.

"That's not necessary." Harry shook his head, answering for the individuals in the room. Even if they pushed their coffee aside, Harry would have never blamed it on Felicity for any failure—it wasn't her fault. He took a sip of his own; to his dismay, it was a bit cold, but he wasn't going to complain about it.

The stature of Felicity at the door made him take in a deep breath before he caught her attention, asking her to come towards him with just a look before she was practically on top of him. Her willingness to do as he said gave him a feeling of endorphins that were unlike any he had before.

Harry looked up at her from his seat, licking over his lips softly.

"Please make a reservation for two at The Malbec tonight at nine—whether or not these jackasses are going to be done working, I sure am, and I'm going to celebrate it. Add that I would like the executive seating and the Pauillac on the table, not chilled."

She nodded a few times at his requests, adding it into her notes on her phone before she looked back at him cautiously.

"Should I be arranging a car to pick someone up for you?" She asked. Her teeth scraping against her bottom lip as she waited for his response.

Harry shook his head back at her before filing through a few papers, "Not necessary today. Just make sure that you're not off the clock yet," He nods, "In case something doesn't go as planned."

Felicity nodded at the feeling of his eyes on hers before he turned to face the table before him.

"Someone get John on the phone," Harry ordered, his eyes going towards, "Hank. I want their numbers for the day and the plan for the fiscal year. I want to hear it from their lips, the spreadsheets don't mean shit if they're just going to lie to my face. Mary, contact PLI to get their rates."

Felicity had started to make her way towards the door, back towards her desk that sat in the main office towards Harry's own private one, before Harry called her back, "Felicity, sit in this meeting, will you? Grab your computer."

Her eyes narrowed at him in a bit of confusion before he stood up and grabbed a chair from the side of the room and pulled it to the spot next to where he was, at the head of the table.

Felicity did as he wished, leaving to grab her laptop and notebook essentials that she used to keep track of his days, his weeks. When she arrived back, she could feel a few eyes on her as they talked through the deal with John. The silence in the room as he spoke over the speaker was deafening before she sat down at the spot next to Harry.

His focus on the conversation made her attention turn towards him.

Working at SCO was one of Felicity's highest honors—she felt that her confidence was gained just by being in the room with some of these people. But, at the same time, she wondered at what point this would all get to her. She wasn't like this—she didn't have the same cutthroat mindset of tearing another down to get herself to another place.

In some respects, that's what was the balance between what Harry was and what he knew that he needed. He needed someone like Felicity to sit next to him—a calming sensation that he didn't ever notice until he would garner a sniff of the coconut shampoo that drifted from her silky chestnut hair.

It was sickening at times—the way he felt about her. When he was sitting next to her now, he watched as she let her fingers grace over the laptop keys, focused in on whatever task she was working on. His eyes moved away when he watched as her teeth loosened on her lower lip, letting the plumpness of it a drawback to a straightened line of her mouth.

He shifted in his seat as he felt himself get a sensation of pressure below the belt.

When he spoke, it was with a confidence that she couldn't seem to place. It was as if he could break and make with just words alone, a skill that he had to have been born with.

As they discussed the offers more in-depth, Felicity found herself distracted from her own work as she let her eyes gently maneuver back to where Harry sat at the end of the table. Her fingers practically stopped typing as she listened to the conversation and watched as his brain work in overtime.

It wasn't just impressive; it was extraordinary.

The narrowing of his brows, the calculated glance at the table as if he could cut through it with just his sight, the determined clench of his jaw.

"Don't fucking low-ball this," Harry practically snarled as he tapped the point of his pen to his notepad. "I know what's best for this company and we don't want people who underestimate the work and quality of our services. Globally, we're ahead of the entire market– we beat out every major network in significance. If you truly want to hand us a shitty number like that, you'll fucking fall. Your company will fail, and we will continue to sit right at the top as you lick the dirt off our shoes. It's not a competition; we've already won. So, do you want to win with us? That's the question here."

There's a slow chuckle on the phone, a bit of silence, too. Felicity looks up from her laptop to watch as a few members whisper to one another before hearing John on the other end.

"Listen, it's– we understand this. SCO is globally leading, but this is an election year– how are we supposed to gain traction when the news sources from SCO are against the current climate? We just don't see the same vision right now and we need to make sure our values are aligning– SCO may not be leading once the election happens."

Harry's eyes don't dim– Felicity watches as he turns different, his focus staying on the notepad under his fingers as he takes a beat before he stares at the phone in the middle of the table.

Her leg crosses under the table, gently caressing his unbeknownst to her. His eyes falter for once, as she retracts her position when she watches him crack for the first time. She noticed that he faltered but only a small huff of his breath before she bit her lip.

"We're a multi-billion-dollar company that focuses on the current political climate at hand since we completely understand the market, unlike someone who needs to be bought out to ensure that they don't sink. If you're just sitting in the open water, we will look the other way when a shark comes by," Harry shrugs, "I don't quite understand your vision of understanding moral compasses when you're sitting on significant lawsuits and company fouls that don't seem to benefit you right now or the lying, cheating words that come from your mouth."

Felicity's eyes flew up from her place at the table, watching as she saw everyone else's down. It was an unmistakable feeling of vigor that suddenly oozed from the place of Harry's seat. His demeanor was powerful, it was penetrable.

The quietness over the phone doesn't seem to faze anyone else, but Harry's eyebrow arches at the seconds that go by before he pops his tongue into the side of his mouth with a cheeky grin that was questioning on mad.

"Looks like they just got eaten by that fucking shark, huh." He says quietly before leaning over to press onto the conference room phone. He ended the call before he watched the room continue in silence.

Another woman, Laura, sitting at one of the sides spoke up as she held her phone in her hands.

"It looks like they're countering again." It was a bit quiet, almost like she didn't want the entire room to hear as she read on her phone before looking up at Harry, who held the emotion of a bear.

"Tell them they can choke on their own spit." He bites before Felicity cleared her throat.

His eyes immediately softened at the way that she interrupted, mostly because he was a bit confused by it.

"Mr. Styles," She pipped, "I—I, um, if I may." She chews on her lip a bit before she takes in a breath. "It sounds like they're needing a bit more leverage. Maybe a bit more face-to-face interaction that will cut and garner the deal. You're going to need more than John's input; he needs more intel from other aspects to understand what their losses look like."

Harry's eyes simply rest on Felicity as he leans back in the office chair, his legs crossed—a pursed pout on his lips as he nods at her words. A trickle of egotistical pride lies beneath his chest as he stares at her for a moment.

"Set the scene for me." He tells her, before watching Felicity take a deep breath. He watches her chest fall and rise and something about it sets him into high gear.

"Your family started this from scratch—this company is bigger than just the cash flow, and it's completely understood that it's worth billions, but they need to understand that there's a larger purpose for the work that they've put into it. They're not on the same business level that SCO is—it's apparent by the way that they throw around their value system. Meet with John outside of the office setting, get him where he can be able to see that you're serious without the psychological barrier of the phone—"

"That's fucking bullshit." Felicity hears from down the table, another man making a comment about her complete train of thought that. "You really think business is about emotion?"

Harry narrowed his brows, Felicity a bit surprised but not completely. Her head turning back towards her computer.

"You need to be thinking internally for what's best for us, not babying them to give us what we want. You know they're going to fall right into our hands, we don't need to get soft on them." Mary, a woman that Felicity generously thought would at least have an understanding of her interests, seemed to shame her more.

Harry pursed out his lips as he stares at the notepad in front of him. He pushed his hands against the table to rise from his seat before he's raised, watching silently as he eyes Felicity quickly before he starts to make his way out of the room. Before he does so, he turns his back and holds onto the door before he looks at Felicity directly.

"Felicity, please meet me in my office."

She swallows down the lump in her throat; cursing herself for even making a peep. She knew she should have kept her mouth shut. Instead, she closed the laptop before she grabs the few belongings and makes her way out of the door.

Harry is steps ahead of her, not looking back, as they make their way to the office that sits in the north side of the larger office space.

When he walks in, he makes his way to his desk before leaning on it. Felicity walks in behind him, hesitating before

Harry notices that she hasn't fully made her way in yet.

"Come in," He tells her, "Take a seat."

Her words practically spilling out of her as soon as they reached the threshold of the door; there was nothing that she could say now that would make him keep her there, but she wanted to at least try.

"I-I know I overstepped my boundaries– I promise, I really do, I promise I will never do that again," She's holding the laptop against her chest, practically begging, "This is extremely unprofessional, but you need to know that I need this–"

"Do you know why you're still here, Felicity?" He asks, "Why you're still at SCO?"

His interrupted words make hers fall short as she stands at the door still. His arms are holding himself practically against the desk as he leans back against it.

Tears threaten her eyes as she tries to think of what she needs to pack from her desk quickly. This feels entirely too personal– he's firing her on the spot.

She shakes her head as she doesn't want to come up with an answer. Harry squints his eyes a bit as he notices the emotion that starts to creep on her face. All the sudden, he feels bad for what he's doing to her.

It feels a bit forward, maybe a bit out of his place. But he needs her to know exactly how he feels about her, and why the last assistants never stuck around.

He needs her to know that's she's different.

"It's because you're fucking smart," He tells her, "What you have, they lack. You have this– well, for lack of a better word, you're emotional. You can see beyond the bullshit and really down to the person." He points towards the area of the conference room that they just left.

"I'm not here to baby your ass or carry you through this job– you don't need this fucking job. You have so much more about you than being an assistant, okay? So, don't take what some fuckers in that office say about you and your ideas as gospel. They aren't getting it done, either– as you can see."

Felicity's demeanor loosens at his words; her knuckles along the laptop at her chest starts to loosen as she breathes in just a bit.

"I'm sorry–"

"Stop apologizing." He orders, "When you do that, all you're doing is making them right about you. They aren't."

There's a silence between them for a moment before Felicity nods a few times and bites at her lip. "You're right."

"Most of the time." He tells her, a smirk has replaced the seriousness of their conversation. "That's why I have this big office and a 300ft. yacht and they don't."

She follows with her own small, sided smirk, watching as he goes to move from his position.

"That sounded very cocky, I'm sorry." He laughed a little bit, lowering his head as he felt a bubble of laughter. Felicity followed behind, laughing a bit as she bit on her lower lip.

The tension had been cut; this overwhelming feeling of comfort had started to come across her, specifically when Harry looked back up at her and she could see the shining level of his green eyes and the deepening dimples crossing his face.

It wasn't an emotion she saw very often; it looked impossibly lovely on him.

"Stop saying sorry, remember?" She reminded him, a sheepish smile laying on her lips.

Harry moved his fists into his pockets as he started to walk a bit towards her.

It was then that Felicity recognized that his pure power and force was enough to knock her down to her knees. The way that he stood up, his suit tailored perfectly around his small hips and shoulders, she couldn't understand the feeling that had come over her suddenly.

Harry approached her, they were standing eye to eye as he searched between them both. He had been searching for something, surely, by the way his eyes moved between her own.

Felicity tipped her chin up a little bit; it was slight enough that they both noticed, but a sudden embarrassment crossed her thought at the way she had possibly invited a completely inappropriate behavior.

"Let's get back in there, yeah?" She clears her throat as she turned her head and body, moving back out towards the conference room.

Harry's fists tightened next to him at the way she moved away, and he couldn't help but shutter at what could have possibly happened moments ago.

He lowered his head before he shook it a few times, "Yes, of course," He confirmed, nodding at her, "I'll follow you back, I'm just going to," He felt himself getting hot which made him feel vulnerable to her stares. "I'll be in there in a moment."

Felicity turned, her hair falling over her shoulders before she nodded. "Yeah, no problem."

Before she was able to move out of the room, Harry caught her attention once again before he narrowed his eyes to her. "Can I—that reservation I asked you to schedule. Please move it to Friday night. Something's come up, actually."

Felicity made a motion to speak, but she didn't end up with any words. Instead, just nodding a few times, her eyes smiling back at him as she agreed to his request. "Sure, no problem."

Her smile had vanished from his view as she turned to walk back to the conference room.

When she noticed that she was out of sight, his eyes had widened just at the breath that he had been holding in. It didn't matter how big or important a meeting could be, Harry never got nervous. He was never worried about anything—he knew what he was getting himself into, and nothing scared him. There wasn't a reason to be.

Standing in front of Felicity was a feeling he had never imagined would give him a doubt; he never felt like he would be pushed away or turned away, and the feeling of dismissal was encapsulating, to say the least.

He pushed his hand into his hair as he went to sit in the chair that was pushed in behind his desk, swallowing the lump in his throat as he shook his head.

Never in a million years did he think that he would feel such a way—never like this.

"Let's get back to work, then."

_______________

It had been a few days since the encounter in his office. Harry had noticed that even the next morning, Felicity seemed to be in much better spirits. Her head was held high; her shoulders were sitting back, like she was prepared to keep her chin up for the day.

He could catch glimpses from his office, watching as she typed away or smiled down at her phone. A piece of him felt only the slightest bit of—he didn't know the feeling very well—jealous. He wanted to know more, wanted to understand what she could have been smiling at.

He knew that his job had been done a few days ago as he watched her spirits rise just at his words. Something about that feeling was missing now—he didn't understand what it was, but his ego may have been getting in the way just a bit.

Harry sat his pen down that he had been using to write out some tasks before he grabbed the pad of paper and started to make his way out of his office. The small desk that sat outside of his was taken by Felicity; a few photos and memorabilia sat to give her space a bit of light and personalization.

It didn't mimic Harry's own office very well, as his was kept more straightforward and narrower. There wasn't any photos or personalized mementos—just plain, really. But the photo of Felicity and another man caught his eye, something he had never really seen before. Something he never felt that he would have had to pay attention to, that is.

"That your boyfriend?" He felt himself saying, but an ultimate feeling of embarrassment rose as he watched Felicity look up at him quickly. It was clear that she hadn't really noticed him sneak up on her, and her hands flew to the phone on the desk before closing the screen promptly.

"Uh," She shook her head, "I—I mean, we've been talking a few months," She referenced to the phone before she looked back at Harry and noticed that there may have been a bit of miscommunication.

"Oh—uh, no, sorry," He shook his head, pointing to the photo that sat on her desk. "I was—that photo, I'd never seen that before."

Felicity turned her eyes towards the photo that sat on her desk in the black frame before letting out a breath of relief. "Oh! No, that's my brother." She laughed a little bit before she watched Harry reach out to grab the picture frame off her desk.

He studied it for a few seconds, letting his smile move up a bit before he sat it back down. "Yeah, you guys look alike. I just—it was new, so I didn't know."

Felicity bit on her lip before tucking her hair behind her ears, "No—yeah, I would make that assumption, too. It's fine, but yeah." She didn't know that he would notice that she set up the photo or not. She knew now that he paid attention; he had an attention to detail, it seemed.

The small moment gave Harry a bit of concern as he felt that there was some unresolved feeling between the two of them. He cleared his throat, holding the paper out before her as she piqued at the small task guide that Harry had been feverishly writing down.

"I have a few things that I need to get done today, if you don't mind." He had handed her the paper before her eyes ran over it a few times. "It's just a few little things, but I need to have a few suits dry-cleaned for our business summit on Monday in England—I'm flying out tomorrow morning on the jet, but we'll need to make sure that everything is taken care of for that. I believe you, myself, Laura, Hank, Daniel, and probably William will be there, so we'll need to make—"

"Excuse me, but," Felicity chuckled before shaking her head a few times. "Did you say me?"

Harry blinks a few times in confusion before he bites the inside of his cheek. Surely, she knew that she would be leaving in the morning– she had to have known that as his assistant, she would be most responsible for being on the trip.

"Uh, well," Harry blinked, "Yes, I mean. of course. You're the most vital person for the trip, really."

Felicity bit into her lip before she turned towards her notes, her eyes flickering over them as she realized she wouldn't need to send him a detailed email of their agenda– she'd be there to tell him in person. So, all this work—it didn't matter now.

"Right– yeah, of course. I'm stupid for not putting that together." She shook her head as she took in a sigh, crossing out a few notes on her pad. She turned her attention back to him before she cleared her throat. "What time should I be at the airport tomorrow, then?"

Harry bit his lip, shrugging as he felt the smile crossing his lips, "I don't know—you tell me. You're my assistant."

Felicity blinked at him a few times before laughing out a little bit, letting her head rest in her hands as she felt a bit ridiculous for feeling so caught off guard. "Right—right. I—yeah."

In the back of his head, there was a delicate feeling of intrigue that bit at the back of him. He squinted his eyes a bit as he settled against the edge of her desk. As he crossed his arms over his chest, he narrowed his attention down to Felicity until she looked up at him and felt the wandering look. All Felicity knew is that she didn't want to look at the way that his forearms protruded against the fabric of his pressed white button-down.

"Is everything alright?" He asked her, the smile on his lips tug briefly before he was letting it fully on display. "You seem a bit... caught up."

She blinked a few times, shaking her head as she looked at her computer screen. "I'm fine—yeah. I'm just—I was a bit caught up, I guess," She chewed on her lip as she realized that getting personal was just that. It was personal. She didn't want to bore him or let know too far in. Their relationship was strictly business; it seemed that she endeared him though.

Her eyes traveled back to him when he didn't seem to leave her alone and she noticed that she'd had another message.

"I'm just... the guy I've been seeing, well, on and off—he just asked me to dinner and he's picking me up from here tonight around five. We haven't seen each other in a while, he's a bit..." She bites her lip again as she tried to find the right word, "I don't hear from him often. But when we're together, everything is fine. So, I guess I just got a bit overwhelmed with it."

Harry pinches the inside of his bicep when she speaks, his smile fading just a bit. He didn't want her to notice that, though. He didn't know why, but it left a sour taste in his mouth to think that she had been excited for someone who was making her wait. Instead, he shifted a bit on the desk as he cleared his own throat before speaking.

"That's—that's great," He tells her, watching as she smiles at his appreciation and acceptance, "Where is he taking you?"

"We're just going to this place off from fifth avenue, some place he said is nice. We're really just meeting for a beer or something." Felicity's eyes light up at the realization before she turns to face him a bit head on now, her chair swiveling around before she crosses her legs and faces him. "What about you, though? That reservation I made for you tonight—who are you meeting with?"

Harry's lip parted as he remembered the reservation.

He remembered the reservation he had moved to tonight, simply so that he could flesh out a few details with Felicity over a dinner with just the two of them. Of course, he hadn't mentioned it to her. It was stupid of him to think that she wouldn't be busy on a Friday evening, of course. He had wanted to talk to her about the upcoming week; maybe get a little more out of her if everything was off the record at a dinner that wasn't going on the company credit card, but his own personal dollar.

Harry shakes his head a bit before he scratches at the back of his head, "Uh, right. I—I might need to cancel that. I don't think that's going to happen anymore."

Felicity watches his expression before she seems to mimic with a bit of somber. "Oh. Sorry. Tough subject?"

When he pushed himself from her desk, he placed his hands in his pockets before he hung his head a little bit. It hadn't occurred to him that the disappointment had been a bit stronger than anticipated-- and it wasn't just because he always got what he wanted.

"Hm, something like that," He tried to explain before he changed the subject to get it off his mind, "But yeah. So, dry-cleaning and all that can be finished before the morning, yeah? If you have any questions about any of that, I'll be in my office. Meeting at one and then I'm going to leave here around five."

Giving him a warm smile, Felicity nodded her head at him, watching as he turned to his office.

Her attention fell back to her phone; falling back to the smile and giddiness that had been so rudely interrupted by a different kind of feeling—one that she wasn't so sure she was supposed to enjoy, in that way, anyways.

_______________

The black Suburban pulled up against the curb; Harry's phone against his ear as he moved towards the vehicle in a fluid motion.

A driver had opened the door before he crawled in the back seat. The call on the other end had been a business call that he was supposed to listen in on; he wasn't going to speak, just listen to the meeting of what was said. He decided it had been enough and clicked it to end before he looked up and out of the window.

His head turned towards the door before he watched Felicity standing at the curb. She looked uncomfortable as she stood and had her eyes searching for whatever it was that she was looking for.

It was a little bit past six then; the rest of the day was filled with a meeting or two before he really started to get more work, letting his head get wrapped up in taking calls and finishing off emails before he would be away from the office for a bit.

This was how they left each other on most days; his car pulled up, and he usually drove away before he could notice if she caught another ride or if she headed towards the subway. Her eyes were searching— almost like she had been waiting for something or someone but didn't want to seem disappointed. Harry could feel it in his chest—he could feel the way that she stood with her arms crossed over her chest in a bit of distress.

It had occurred to him then that Felicity had mentioned that she was supposed to be picked up around five—a full hour ago.

The rain had started just a bit, enough that she quickly looked to the sky for a moment as if to curse it.

He watched as her phone fumbled in her hands. A discerned look on her face made him halt the driver before they could start pulling away. Harry watched her, the knowing look on his face as he rolled down the window to call out towards her.

"Felicity," He stated, opening the door before he stepped out. "Come on, get in."

Her eyes looked to him, practically mortified. Her head started to shake a bit before he moved out of the car just enough that she noticed his offer was serious and that he wasn't moving. The door was open now as he stood outside of it and held it open for her.

"Let's go– it's raining." He said, squinting a bit as the rain started coming down a bit more.

It seriously took Harry a moment before he realized that it may take a bit more for Felicity to listen to him; her contemplation didn't last long as the rain started to hit the cement loudly—her papers and bag held over her head as she made her way towards the open door of the large vehicle.

Felicity's heels clicked against the sidewalk as she hurried into the back of the van, crawling across to the other side and trying to keep her skirt down as she realized he would be coming right behind her.

There was a brief pause of silence when the door shut behind Harry.

Once they were situated in the backseat, Harry looked at her for a moment as she seemed a bit out of sorts. Her eyes were on her phone as she cleared her throat.

Her eyes were narrowed down as she searched through some texts, a bit all over the place it seemed. Harry knew Felicity better than this, and her nerves were starting to overwhelm her hand, almost like she was completely unsure of what was happening right now.

"Do you just—do you mind dropping me off at fifth ave—" She had started, but he was already shaking his head.

"He's not showing up, so no. Peter, drop us at The Malbec."

Her head turned towards him at the bluntness of his tone and the way that he resisted her need. The way that he answered her was unlike he had ever spoken to her; that caught her off guard the most.

Felicity flipped through her texts once again before she scoffed out, "Harry, I have a date tonight. I'll just get a car from there—"

"No, you won't." He told her, before situating himself in the back. The way that her hair had a bit of windswept to it, the length of her lashes, the complete blush of her cheeks—it was all enough for him to generally bust at the seams.

Seeing her like that was a wake-up call as he looked away and tried his best to be a gentleman.

"I'm off the clock, so my duties are relinquished for the night." She told him sharply, giving herself a bit more voice before Harry really glared at her this time. He had never heard her speak to him in such a way, but something about it gave him a mouthful to bite from.

"Don't fucking talk to me like that, I'm your boss." He told her; his eyes seemingly turning a darker color the more she stared at him. It was enough for her to scoff and turn her head out of the window as they had started to drive up towards the restaurant that she refused to go to.

Harry spoke again, this time a bit softer. "It's just dinner. No work."

It takes a moment before Felicity leans into the window and lets her head rest against the glass. The feeling of the coolness takes over before she shuts her eyes for a moment. It doesn't feel like she wants to cry, but maybe there's a bit of emotion that she can't seem to let go of.

The disappointment aspect was never good to her; that was how this always worked. Something always disappointed her. There hadn't been a moment when she felt comfortable or safe—no, really, she just wandered around in this life with so much hope. So much hope and very little pride, now.

She lived for the hope of it all.

When they made their way to the restaurant, it had started to rain a little less. It was merely a sprinkle before Peter pulled off to the curb closest and the two of them were able to get out.

Felicity was instructed that she could leave her work items in the car, bringing only her purse as Harry followed behind her. When they walked into the restaurant, her eyes widened at how fancy it was—the dim lit lights were much brighter than the sky had been at this time of day, especially when the clouds rolled in.

The host was able to take them directly to their seats—the ones that Felicity had made the reservation for. It was an intimate seat; two chair and a small table that were seated close to the window, but enough away from everyone else.

The Paulliac was on the table as instructed; the host pulled the chair out for Felicity before she was able to take a seat. The only reason she would have ever been to a restaurant like this is for a work event. The host sat menus in front of them before giving them some space.

Harry pushed his sleeves up on his forearm; the littering of tattoos on him was endearing to Felicity's eye before she looked away at the attention she was drawing to them.

"Wine?" He asked her softly, taking the bottle from the table and holding it out in a means to offer her some. She had agreed, nodding a few times before looking at the menu and the items on it. Surely, she couldn't pronounce half of them before she looked up to see that Harry had been looking at her already and her cheeks grew rosier.

Felicity felt that there was a tenseness now, like she didn't have too much to say. She didn't want to say too much and bore him, she didn't want to not say a word and feel the awkwardness that seemed to linger as they sat longer.

"I mean, since we're here," Felicity grabbed the phone from her purse as she scrolled through it, pushing her hair out of her face to tame it a bit from the frizz that the rain caused, "So, just to recap some new additions to the calendar, you have a dental appointment next Monday, a meeting with PLI at 10—"

"You said you grew up in DC, didn't you?" Harry cuts her off, his question making her turn to look at him with a solid glance before she starts to nod a few times. It was a bit unwarranted, but she decided that she would settle into it.

Felicity doesn't know why his soft voice seems so foreign from the bitter sound of his usual bite.

"Y-Yes, yeah, I grew up in Northern Virginia, actually." She gives him a solid answer before she licks her lips. Her hand moves to grab the wine glass, taking a solid sip before she places it back into its spot on the white knit tablecloth.

Harry nods at her simple answer, not necessarily looking for anything else. His head was filled with the worked he had been processing through the week, and something about this felt... warranted. He wanted this to be normal; to feel like she could see him from a different perspective, maybe, without less fear in her eyes.

Something about her makes his blood boil with a derailment—it's almost like he can't seem to read her, which makes him angry and animalistic, almost. He doesn't know why but he feels a bit shy in her presence.

Her eyes read over the menu before she clicks her tongue, "Anything on here that you would recommend?"

"You have any food aversions?" He asks, pretending to look over the menu as if he didn't already know what he was going to order.

She shook her head, not really thinking of anything. She knew that there were foods she didn't particularly enjoy, but she knew that if something was going to be expensive, she would put that aside to at least try.

When the waiter came by, Harry took initiate to order for the table– the two of them. He ordered an entrée, three appetizers, and a spring salad. Felicity listened as he did so, knowing that he knew what he wanted and when he wanted it.

She couldn't relate to that; not these days, at least. She didn't know what she wanted, so she pretended not to think about it most days. Instead, she recognized that not putting the pressure on it made it feel like it was enough; she had to understand that she was okay to be a bit unsure at times.

The restaurant has a crowded chatter amongst the guests, but Harry can't help but pay attention to the silence of the table instead.

"So," He pulls at the tie around his neck just a bit as he leans towards her at the table. "I'm thinking of possible meeting with PLI, in person. Like you mentioned this week, at that meeting. Something about looking someone in the eye might be the best approach and making sure everything is clean."

His eyes lifted to meet hers, watching as she took another sip of the wine. Her eyes were placed now on her hands that laid in her lap.

"Thought this wasn't a work dinner." She mumbled out, but suddenly caught herself, "But yeah– yeah, I think that would be good."

Harry pressed his tongue into his cheek, tilting his head a little bit as he heard her questioned statement. His frustration at not being able to read her was posing a threat to his mood before he shrugged a little bit, "It doesn't have to be, but you are kind of quiet, and I feel like I made you uncomfortable in the car. Or something."

"I'm not uncomfortable," She lied, "I'm– I don't know. I'm just a bit thrown by the events of the evening, and I think men are kind of preposterous right now. Please don't take that personally, and really, no offense or anything."

Harry shrugged, his lips turning downwards as he contemplated the truth in her statement, "None taken. I may agree with you, but," He licked his lips, "Can we agree that women are sometimes a bit..."

As he hesitated for a moment, Felicity spoke instead. "I would suggest that you not finish that sentence, probably. It sounds like the beginning of an HR concern."

Harry lifts a brow in curiosity from her argument that seemingly pushed her a bit out of the boundaries, "You can speak, but I can't? Don't believe that's a fair view of how you think women should live in society, is it? You want fair treatment, so I'm going to be honest with you."

"I didn't limit you from speaking, I just suggested that you should not. You can definitely say whatever it is that you'd like to say to me, Mr. Styles." Felicity shook her head a bit, tucking her hair behind her ear. The way that she said his name always made him a bit woozy.

There was a moment when Harry wasn't completely sure that he didn't see the glimmer in her eye—that he didn't see a sparkle that may have been a fleeting moment, just a quick nod to him before it was gone forever, making him look mad for even thinking it in the first place.

"I will say it, then, if you're willing to listen," Harry told her, "I think that men and women aren't usually equal—nor should they be," He paused for a moment before he watched as her facial expression started to contour with a confusion so loud that he was certain the chefs in the back could hear. "I think that we live in a balancing act. For instance, the guy that you were looking to see—sure, he's probably an asshole, but you continued to want to see him. The pendulum works both ways. Maybe you shouldn't have wanted to meet up with him."

Felicity scoffed out a breath before she took a sip of the wine again—she could feel that there was a growing fuzziness that she wasn't able to keep up with. "Oh, you're giving me relationship advice now?"

The way that she bit when she had a bit of alcohol in her made Harry's eyes turn a darker shade of green that was unable to be noticed by the dimness of the restaurant that sat in. It was much more direct than she ever had been with him before; he wondered if this was how she was normally.

"I like to think I have your best interest in mind." He tells her with full honesty, feeling a bit bare with the truth laying flat on the table.

There is a moment that Felicity feels her heartstring tug, wondering if he meant it to hit her as specifically as it did. But she clears her throat when she watches the way that Harry refills the glass of red wi the out her asking for it, noticing that he fingers tremble when he grabs the bottle.

"I— I really do appreciate it, like, what you– I mean, you probably don't remember, but just this week with the whole coffee incident–"

Felicity is cut-off, by him, but she can see that the anger peculates off of him as he recalls the incident, "I hate that they think people are below them like that. It bothers the shit out of me," She can tell that the thought bothers him; his eyes narrow down as he takes a sip of his own wine, "Yes, it's your fucking job, but it's also not worth their time to be shitty to you for something you can't control. And you couldn't be nicer, grateful, kind—"

Harry's cut off by the food coming to the table. He shakes his head at the possible embarrassment he may encounter from the softness of rambling he had started to portray about some of her highest qualities.

The dinner that came out was exceptional— nothing less of what Felicity could have imagined. It was top-tier; the wine that was paired with it made her giggle a few times when Harry would go on rants about the way that he thought some of the companies ran. He would start the conversation with, 'off the record' and she would smile about how he could keep their conversations low.

It wasn't until she had told a soft-spoken jab about how she believed that he needed to stop hiring old, white men that she noticed that his dimples were parallel on either side of his face. They lit up his features, turning his eyes the color of a southern sky.

When they had finished, Harry took the check with ease and signed his name in capital letters, as if he wanted everyone to know that he had spent the amount of money at dinner that she spent in a month of rent.

Harry placed his hand on the small of her back as they maneuvered out to the car. The street was starting to become a bit crowded, especially at the door for the wait. Harry had texted his driver to make sure they could be picked up, which again, he made sure to open the door for her as they flew into the backseat.

Felicity told the driver where she needed to go; back to her apartment that sat on the upper West side of the city. It was close to Central Park; a few blocks away, she'd say.

There's a moment when Harry feels that he doesn't want the night to end. He surely doesn't want to watch her leave— that's for sure. The car ride is spent with him catching her glances as they watch the lights in the city pass by; the honking of the cars and the putter of rain starts to encapsulate the backseat.

"Is this good for drop off?" The driver asks, looking in the rearview mirror at Felicity before she nods, agreeing with a soft yes, and starts to collect her things. The items she had brought from work were still in their place.

Harry watched as she goes to speak, knowing that it was going to be a goodbye. He would surely see her in the morning, but he couldn't bare the idea of flying across the ocean, staring at her across the seat from himself, without any words left unspoken.

"Uh," He shifted a bit in the back of the car, Felicity could see that he was looking up towards the building that she called her own. "Do you actually mind if—uh, I really have to piss."

Her eyes widened a bit before she let her own lips widen into a smirk. "Oh— yeah, please."

It hadn't occurred to her until they were walking up the steps and into the building that she may have had some underwear on the floor and could potentially have a sink filled with dirty dishes— she couldn't quite remember.

But what she did know was that Harry was following in her steps as they climbed a few flights until they reached the third floor.

"Quite a workout, huh?" Harry puffed as they reached the front door to her specific apartment.

"Hm," She hummed, "Imagine having to move all of my furniture up here. I had to ask random men on the street to help me."

Felicity digs into her purse before she's able to find the keys to the front door.

"I don't want to be super nosy," He looked around the small vestibule that they were standing in while Felicity tried to find her keys—even though the purse she held was naturally quite small. "But is there any reason you live in a place that resembles a prison?"

Felicity chuckled out a laugh before she found the small keyring and tried to put it into the lock. Her hands were a bit unsteady—the wine was holding the buzz over her as she steadied her hands to unlock the small door.

"This is what livable looks like in New York," The door swung open; Felicity moved into the tiny apartment before placing her bag on the kitchen counter. "Maybe I need to have a discussion with my boss about a raise."

It wasn't the smallest apartment, but it was exactly what she needed. There was no storage space, but there was a separate room for each need—living room, kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom. She had a small working office in the corner by the balcony that she had been lucky enough to score from this specific unit.

Harry looked around the place, his eyes feasting on every detail. "That can probably be arranged if I can be certain that you won't get mugged getting into your front door."

He noticed how lived in it felt—the opposite of the cool, modern, high-end penthouse he would resort to later that evening. Everything was painted a different color of beige, keeping the lightness of the empty place very noticeable.

There were photos on the walls, painting and portraits, there were words that resembled some of her favorite music and books. It was colorful and there were plants that were seemingly a bit out of control.

"The bathroom is right there, by the way." Felicity pointed, before Harry turned towards the small room to his left.

"Thanks." He stated before he moved into it and shut the door behind him.

It was the same reaction he had to the living room and kitchen; his eyes narrowed in on the details of the shower curtain and the small bottles of serum that sat along her sink. The way that her toothbrush was bright pink, matching the towels that hung on the wall.

There were delicate parts of her that he was certain she wouldn't have told him about because she didn't think that it mattered. But in the long run, he liked the bits of color and the pieces of art that hung next to her sink.

It was a detail he hadn't really thought about of her before.

When he had come back, he stared at her position in front of the sink. Her sleeves were rolled up as she washed a few dishes that had been sitting there. Her heels has been removed, but the jacket and the short skirt still hung from her delicate frame as he watched the way that she focused on a task.

She noticed that he was looking at her now before she gave a small smile and felt that he wasn't in a hurry to leave.

"I would offer you something to drink—I mean, I would offer you anything, but I'm not really," She looked around the kitchen. "I have coffee and vodka. And not like," She scrunched her brows together as she looked in her fridge. "Not good vodka. You would look down on me if I served you this, kind of vodka."

Harry let his smile tilt up a bit as he meandered into the small space of the kitchen. If she was offering him anything—

"You really think I'm that much of a snob?" He smirked.

Felicity huffed a little bit as she turned her head towards him, "The wine we drank tonight was $600 a bottle."

He doesn't say anything for a moment before he tilts his head a bit and shrugs off the comment. He wonders if she thinks of him differently—not for being her boss, but for having a high taste. Possibly the earlier of the two, too.

"I grew up that way, I guess. It's hard to decipher what's normal." He tries to explain to her, which makes her look at him with a mockery of a face. Her eyes roll with a smile, and he gives her a look of disdain.

She goes to respond to him, but instead he moves his body practically over top of her back to grab the vodka that sits on the second shelf of the fridge. It's a bottle that cost Felicity about $12.75 just the other week, and it has a good amount still left in it. Harry holds the neck of it in his hands before he looks at it and sets it down on the counter.

"Lemons? Juice? Anything?" He asks; taking the liberty himself to look through one of the cabinets to try and find himself a glass. Felicity stays still for a moment before she's able to grasp the magnitude of the situation.

Her boss—Harry Styles, CEO, is standing in her kitchen and trying to make himself a cocktail with her $12.75 vodka that she had bought at the bodega just a few days prior. He's perusing through the cabinets—the few that she had—before he turns to her.

"Uh, I have a bar cart." She tells him solidly, before she moves her way into the living room where the car sat. Her head is feeling fuzzy, and she wonders if adding the vodka to it will make her completely lose all faith in herself. She has a feeling it will make her say something absolutely ridiculous, to him of all people.

Felicity grabs the shaker, two glasses, a lemon from one of the small bowls that she uses for décor but also for moments like this and makes her way to the kitchen where Harry has already taken the ice trays out. When he looks back up at her, he nods back to where she came from, her eyes following his gaze.

"Go sit on the couch, let me make you a drink." He tells her, "You had a long week."

"I'm going to be completely honest with you," She folds her hands together before he looks at her with a bit of a concerned look, "I don't know if I like the roles reversed like this."

He gives her a smug smile before he turns back to what he had been doing previously; now filling up the shaker with ice before he poured a few seconds worth of vodka into it.

"You think I'm a stuck-up prick," He tells her, "Let me show you that I'm not, will you?"

The statement that he left on his lips settled in the air between them; Felicity blew it away as she breathed outwards and just nodded in place. She suddenly became a bit meek before she made her way back to the sofa where she settled into the cloudy cushions, sitting with her legs underneath of her as she tried not to flash anything from her skirt. She heard Harry mixing the cocktails in the glass shaker, shortly before coming out with two glasses in his hands.

He hands over a glass that looks solemnly... clear. Maybe a bit too clear, but she felt satisfied to know that he was trying his best to make a spot in her world. She didn't have to climb to his level, he was trying to stay at hers.

"To..." He trailed off as he held his glass up to her. The small loveseat that they sat on felt incredibly intimate all the sudden.

"To... London?" Felicity stated, "To having to be up tomorrow at five, but continuing to drink even though we can get to London."

Harry laughed at her words before he clinked his glass against hers, "To London."

The way that his accent wrapped itself around certain words held her attention briefly before she was able to take a sip of the cocktail he prepared. Strong wasn't the word; overkill may have been more like it.

"Holy fuck," She coughed softly before she felt a sting in her eyes, "That's—please never go into bartending."

A subtle look of offense took over his face as he went to take a sip of his own before he widened his eyes at the flavor of it. "Oh, shit. Yeah, wow. That—that'll do some damage."

Felicity started to laugh at his own reaction before she sat the drink down on the coffee table and watched Harry do the same.

"So, to brief then," She stated, "I believe that it's still true that you're just a stuck-up snob who can't do anything on his own, including making a cocktail."

Harry stood up for a moment but took offense to her comment. He started to remove his jacket, which only intrigued her—it meant he was staying a while longer. "Hey, to my defense, your fridge is very, very sad. There was not much I could have done to make this better. If you're going to drink vodka, at least buy a decent brand."

Felicity tucked the hair behind her ear, "I'm here to make vodka Sprite's, okay? Not martinis," She leaned against the back of the sofa, "And there you go again with being the rich snob."

It was annoying to her that he had decided to roll up his sleeve, just enough on his forearm that she was able to see the tattoos that weren't seen very often. Seldom, really. In the office, she would notice that he would be focusing on something in his office, his sleeve rolled up a bit, but that was the extent of it.

It seemed there were many more up his arm than she had initially thought, but she knew that she would never see them all.

When he went to sit down, he went to move the throw pillow behind his arm, but as he did so, he noticed something black against the white couch cushion.

Immediately, his fingers flew to the item before he lifted the lace that held his attention quite mesmerizingly. Felicity gasped at the realization before she grabbed them from his hands, absolutely mortified didn't even cut it.

"I'm so embarrassed," She finally spoke, almost trying to blame the redness of her cheeks on the strong beverage he gave her. She knew that it was the inflammation of her dignity, not the vodka.

There wasn't a word spoken before she watched that his expression changed surprisingly. He took a long sip of the vodka drink before setting it back down.

But the smile that follows from the cocktail is all she needs to see before she can smile back.

"You continue to surprise me," His words were placed with a package of slurring vocab before he swallows back anything else he'd say out of pocket, "I'm going to be very honest that I didn't imagine you as— I mean, I never imagined you in lace."

"You say that like you imagined me in something else." The words that came from Felicity weren't her own—she didn't know why she said them, but his quick rebuttal shut her up completely.

"Silk, probably," He uses his finger to touch the rim of the rocks glass that he's holding, where the condensation made a drip over the dress pants that situation themselves over his thighs, so lucky. "Or—I mean, you could surprise me even more," He went quick after a moment.

Silence. Protruding silence that is viciously capturing them in this haze of only breath that either of them can hear. It's uninterrupted until Harry leans his head back and the creaking on the sofa fills Felicity's head, rather than the idea of what's to come.

She had felt it before; the warranted tension that Harry seemed to have over her. Maybe it was her fault for leaning into it, but sometimes, she just couldn't help it. The way that he found himself taken by her was just unspoken most of the time. She was surprised that he wouldn't have pulled anything at dinner, but she could fill in the blanks as she invited him up to her apartment.

It was inevitable, she thought.

She shouldn't have done that, but should not's were not what she was thinking about as she drowned herself in the alcoholic state of the sour vodka that wafted of lemon juice and baited words.

Instead, Felicity blinked a few times, watching as he stared at the ceiling. The blankness of the pure white ceiling seemed to keep him grounded before she watched his jaw tighten.

"You're full of surprises, a lot of mystery, you know?" Harry breathed out. The tie around his neck was getting tight, but he couldn't loosen it now—if he was being honest, it was adding to the pleasure of the moment. He wouldn't speak that out, but while the tightness caused a bit of discomfort, he thought of it in other instances. "I'm not sure I can keep up with it."

There was an unresolved tension in the words he spoke, maybe even a bit of slur in them before Felicity followed suit; her head resting practically next to his as she stared at the blank white ceiling that had very little to memorize or stare at.

"What fun is a mystery if it's solved?"

He wasn't sure if she saw—he wasn't sure if she saw the way that his eyes fluttered at the thought of uncovering every instance of mystery that she kept hidden away, in this small apartment. The air was starting to become lost on them, feeling like the oxygen was being pulled as he breathed. The shakiness of his breath was caught by her when she turned her head—she wished that she hadn't.

All she could process was the way that his eyes stared upwards, lips parted in an unsure manner before she watched his eyebrows knit in a deep thought that she couldn't seem to interpret. But this pique of interest held her as she kept her eyes on him—he could feel every deep breath that she tried to mask.

"I don't know if you knew this about me," He quietly stated, "But I really can't handle the unknown."

It was then that his head turned towards her; the distance between them was much shorter than he could have thought. He didn't notice until his eyes directly moved towards the way that her lips curved in the small bow, the one that he had known so well from the number of times that he couldn't keep his eyes from her. But this was different; this held much more tension that he couldn't believe.

This time he could smell the liquor that lingered on her lips that mixed so well with the cherry of the chapstick that he knew she applied generously. He would watch the way that it slid over the lips as he sat at his desk and wondered what was on her mind.

"You're very good at getting what you want," Felicity breathed, watching as he shut his eyes for a moment. It was as if with every word she spoke, he was closer and closer to the edge of something great.

Her eyes traveled to the way that his legs sat just open—they were just waiting for someone to notice. Felicity swallowed at the idea of sitting between them, on her knees. Sitting there with her eyes laying on him; he took notice of her tense shoulders and her harbored through before he sat up just a bit. He scooted himself back on the sofa—Felicity blinked at the way that he invited her with just the flicker of his eyes.

No words needed to be spoken when the look could speak for itself, but the way that he speaks breaks the barrier of silence.

"How good am I at getting what I want?"

The heavy eyes that she held were only staring at his lips and the way that he spoke—the flicker of his tongue over the satin maroon of his lips. She couldn't contain herself, because she knew that his aura was a force to be reckoned with. She had seen it up close and personal; she knew that everything that he did was because he was in it one hundred percent.

He didn't half-ass anything—not a report, not a phone call, not a meeting, not a thought.

Everything Harry did was with the full intensive purpose of being the only thing on someone's mind, body, and soul.

Felicity trembled in the spot next to him, but her legs urged to move themselves. Her brain wasn't moving as fast as her decisions; and in an instant, her knees lowered to the spot in front of him. Her hands settling on the thick of his thigh as she allowed her eyes to hold his. For a moment, hesitation crossed his face, but she could have mistaken it for vulnerability.

The way that he breathed outwards was enough to make her gain the strength of a thousand horses—the talk that he talked wasn't as strong now, she felt a sensibility of pure radiance from her actions.

"I'd say you're the best at it, really." She let her hands settle on his thighs, but she took them away so she could drop the blazer down her arms. The tight white t-shirt settled against her frame as he watched the way that she pushed her brunette locks from her shoulders.

But his being felt incredibly taken by the way that she slowly moved—she wanted to savor every moment of this, he could tell that she was being critical, slow, and putting together each piece of herself in front of him.

That's what he thought at least, until he recognized that there was a tremble in her hand when she went to grab at the belt buckle, he barred. His hand flew to hers when she touched it; almost annoyed at himself by the look of terror that he was faced with as he knew that she had felt pushed away at that.

Instead, he pulled at her to stand up in front of him, between his legs. She did so with ease but a bit of confusion laid on her face as she stood with her hands by her side, Harry's eyes dancing along the figure—the divots in her thighs, the way the skirt just held to her so beautifully.

He let out a whimpering sound before he let his hand fall to the tightness of the front of his pants. Instantly, the pleasure trigger was pulled, and he knew what he had gotten himself into now had to be completed. It had to—he never did anything half-assed.

"Go put your heels on," He instructed her, watching as she stared at him willingly.

"A please would be nice." She tutted back, letting her lip fall into the curve of a smile.

Instantly, she knew that this wasn't a game anymore—this wasn't a fun, hushed little game of pleasure with nobody watching. She knew that the way that his eyes changed at the blink of an eye, the way that his jaw tightened at the statement: and the clear smirk on her lips faded.

"I'm not asking you," He sat up a bit, "I'm telling you."

Felicity had been used to being spoken as such; her memory fading into a moment, but her barriers kept up as she understood that her body was reacting only to the way that the words flowed from his mouth. She knew there was safety in his tone, she could see it by the way that he had stared at her with these stolen glances all night.

Instead, she followed his direction, moving back towards the door until she placed the black heels onto her feet again. They hurt just a bit from wearing them all day, she had to admit. But they made her stand taller, firmer against the fake wood flooring of her apartment. She wondered why the downstairs neighbors would think, as it became later at night.

"Come here," He told her, holding her wrist when she got close enough. He pulled her back to the place in front of him. She stood taller now, his nose practically at her bellybutton as she watched the way that he pulled her close.

Now, his hands lay on the outside of her hips, the sides of her thighs. She shuddered at the feeling, knowing that this was the first time she had been touched by him in such a manner. The musky scent of teakwood and spice drifted from the curls that settled against his forehead, she was sure of it. She could feel the heat of his breath just above where she needed him most as she stood close to him, right between his legs as he sat on the sofa.

"Do you know how many times I've thought of you like this?" He practically choked on his words, quiet, "So fucking beautiful."

She breathed out a shaky breath, holding onto every ounce of madness that she had collected over the past few moments.

"How many?" She asked him. Harry stood up, letting her take a step back as she felt the prominence of him now-- how he was a bit taller, even with her heels on. Every part of her ached—so unfamiliar to her, this feeling of need and want. It was a sensation of desperation that she hadn't known before; her inner monologue was flooded with dangerous prose as she felt his fingers cradled onto her jaw.

"More times than I'd ever be able to count." He told her, his voice deep and sharp as he pushed his hips forward. She walked backward a few steps, he followed in her lead like a waltz before he pushed her pelvis into the wall, holding it there with his own.

"You're going to be my good girl tonight, aren't you, Felicity?" His words were practically a whimper as he let his lips slide along her own; the tremble of her quivering lips made him shake in his own anticipation. "You love to listen, hm? That's why you're always taking my orders and assisting me? Getting paid to do what I say?"

It was always obvious by the pink of her cheeks and the timid ways of her soul that Harry could see right through her. From the moment she arrived on the job to the way that she completed everything task with ease; every job, every plan he needed executed, she followed in righteous order.

It made him proud, to say the least. She ran the company better than he did most days, but she didn't get half the recognition.

Until now, surely.

Her eyes nearly roll back into her head at the foul play of his words; the way that his eyes follow down the path of her lips, his thumb mapping the path down her chin before he grabbed it between his thumb and index finger.

The villainous smirk on his lips can't be seen by how close they are now.

"Does saying 'Yes, Mr. Styles' make you wet, Miss Carter?"

The question rolled off his tongue as he watched her minuscule behaviors; the way that she practically shivered against the wall made his eyes move to the way that her knees bent in just a bit.

His mouth turned up to the side as he realized that his was right yet again.

Felicity groaned in the back of her throat as she let it tip against the wall. He was practically on top of her by the way that he stood, his knee was pushing her knees apart before she was able to protest any of it. Not that she would've; she knew that it was about to turn into an evening that she couldn't have truly imagined if you had asked her just hours before.

"You're getting shy on me, again?" He remarked, but this time, it was paired with some loose kisses along her neck as he used his hand to cradle her jaw enough that she was pressing into it with ease. "What happened to that smart mouth, hm?"

Felicity ached as she breathed—her body pressured against the wall was her own doing, practically to keep herself from overwhelming herself. If she leaned into him too much, she wouldn't be able to breathe at all.

"Yes, Mr. Styles." She bit her lip at the words coming off her tongue.

She could feel that the instant gratification that came from him was filtered through the stare that he barred towards her; the way that his nose brushed against the lobe of her ear as he practically fell into her graces with three simple words.

Harry groaned at the feeling of her pressed against him then; her brain sparked a few times, trying to remember how it felt before this. How reality felt. This wasn't reality in the slightest; this was a dream.

"Tell me," He urges her, "What was his name?"

She lets her eyes wash over his face as she notices that his strength and need have put him into a trance of pleasure and further need.

"Who?" She questions.

"The guy," He lets his lip gently caress right between her chin and lip. "The guy you were supposed to see tonight."

Felicity remembered how the evening was supposed to go—her interest completely lost in that game, when this one seemed a bit more daring and fun. It felt that she was seen here; like she had been stared at for quite some time, ogled, maybe.

"Uh, S-Sam." She choked out as she felt the way that his hand pinched at the small of her waist, almost like he was trying to make sure she didn't leave.

He hummed softly before he tipped her head back, the simple press of his nose moving her head against the wall. "Fucking loser."

Her mouth instantly felt his—a righteous moment of complete satisfaction bundled beneath her. It was the first time that his lips had laid into hers, moving gently against one another as they fit perfectly in sync. It wasn't too rough—just enough to know that she was in the hands of someone who knew what she was asking just by the way that his body moved. He could read her body and react to the fact that her chest may have been pressed against the wall a bit too much, so he pulled back to give her room to breathe.

The way that they flew through her bedroom door was just as shocking to her as it was to him; it made a much larger noise than she anticipated as they practically flew over the threshold and into the creamy white sheets of her—thankfully—made bed.

He landed on top of her in the heat of the moment. Their lips stayed attached through it all, almost like they were making up for all the lost time over the years. His tongue gently caressed over her top lip, which elicited quite a whine of surprise from her.

Her hands flew to his necktie, trying to loosen it before Harry grabbed her wrist—hard enough that she barked out a whimper.

"No," He told her sharply, watching as she hesitated underneath him. Now her hair was feathered out against the bedspread, her light eyes were catching every glimpse of her. After a moment, he looked at her softly, knowing that she didn't understand the game that he was about to play.

"We are going to play by my rules tonight," He told her, watching as she pushed herself up towards the headboard. He followed her lead, letting her hands rest on the back of his head as she tried to kiss every inch down her neck. "And I have a few notes you need to take, got it?"

Felicity tried her best to stabilize her breath as she was given a moment away from their lips touching to catch it. She licked over her lips, feeling her heart pounding along her chest before she nodded against the bed and the linen comforter that laid underneath them.

Harry sat up, his hair a bit of a mess, the clothes on his body were practically ripped from the front where they had been neatly tucked. The growing need for her was obvious as he felt the tip of his cock struggling beneath the waistband of his belt. The friction made it quite hard to concentrate on what his plans had been, but he knew that he had to be firm with his requests.

"First," He instructed, "The safe word is poetry."

Felicity's eyes stared at him with quiet focus as she nodded a few times to try and understand that. She hadn't ever been with someone who needed to use a safe word in any sexual act, so she struggled to wrap her brain around what that could have possibly meant. But her actions continued to nod as she wrapped her arms around his biceps to try to bring him back to earth. The idea that he had to bring it up intrigued her.

"Second," He pulled at the necktie around his own before he loosened it enough to grab and throw off of his own neck. His hands moved to place it around her own, helping to move the hair from her neck so that it could rest comfortably around her own. "I like to use props. Are you okay with that?"

Felicity felt her heart beating steadily in her chest for a few seconds before she nodded her head. He watched the innocence completely take over her face as he smirked at the all-knowing tale of it.

"Third," He bit on his lip as he moved down to let their foreheads rest along each other, "I need to hear you—no nodding or shaking your head. Consent makes me feel good. And when I feel good," He kissed her once again, a quick one this time, before his voice quieted so that it was just between them. "You'll feel even better. Okay?"

Felicity breathed in a deep breath before she tried to use the voice that had been drifting away from her. She didn't feel in her body like an echo of a voice had started to take over instead of her words. But she let out a rasp of a word, "Okay."

Harry nodded a few times, knowing that with her eyes, he would be able to continue, but only if he was able to talk her through every part of it. He didn't know her experience level or what she was comfortable with, but he knew how to make pleasure the only thing that would be on her mind for weeks. Hopefully, it wouldn't be the last time he got the opportunity.

"This is—uh," She looked at the ceiling, feeling like an idiot for starting to speak before she shook her head, and watched Harry give her a look of confusion. "No, sorry. Nevermind."

"What is it?" He questioned, hoping that something he had said hadn't scared her away. She took in a breath as she thought about how the wording could anger him—maybe it would stop whatever was happening, which she didn't want to happen now that they were in the midst of it all.

"I—uh, I mean, like, are you okay with this?" She asked quietly before pushing up on her elbows. "I—do I have like, sign something?"

Harry raised in brows in a bit of a humorous way that only made her cheeks grow red with shame at her silly question—in all honesty, it wasn't silly, but Harry was giving her a hard time about it, anyway. He bit on his lip as he felt the smile that was threatening to overcome his entire face.

"Am I supposed to be worried that you're going to tell the Daily Mail that I have a huge cock?"

"Harry!" She covered her eyes, floating back onto the comforter, "Nevermind—maybe I'll tell them it's small, though, if you don't stop being mean. I'm just trying to protect you."

"Aw," He tutted, putting his thumb over her bottom lip, but his eyes had grown a bit darker—the way that they had been a bit earlier. It was almost an illicit reaction; the way that he spoke to her, was so filthy with each word spoken that made her melt into the bed. "Dare you to say that to my face when you're choking on it," He pressed his hips into hers then, knowing that she would react to it. Hers moved upwards into him, just as he had intended, "I'm not worried about an NDA in the slightest bit."

In a teasing manner, she scrunched her nose and playfully spat back, "What if I tried to steal all of your money?"

He pressed his hands next to her head on the bed, letting her eyes look directly into his as he spoke, hoping his voice didn't falter: "You can have it all. Take it."

Something about it should have made Felicity giggle—almost like they were joking around. But there was a way that his sincerity felt more like a proposition than a source to cut the tension of their achingly needing bodies against one another.

Her body seemed to enjoy the way that he stated the smooth words, as she let her hands fall into the brunette curls that settled on the back of his neck. It didn't take long for her to pull him closer, letting her lips graze over him in such a frustrating manner. She was completely built up, her could feel the way that her thighs trembled against him.

Pushing her legs open, Harry pushed the hem of her skirt up her hips so that he could find a home between them. In doing so, flashing the baby pink of her lace panties only let his blood flow faster and faster.

"I bet you've soaked those, hm?" He tuts, pressing his nose into her cheek ask he lets his hand knowingly move to the place he speaks of, knowing that he's right. Again. "Sam doesn't know what he's missing, does he?"

The teasing was becoming a bit too much for her—waiting for his fingers to move faster, she moved her hips a bit to try and get herself the pleasure she was trying to search so desperately for from him.

Harry notices the way that she tries to squirm, and he smirks at the reaction he's giving her; knowing that within every inch of her is building up a tension that will release. It will be like a dam that overflows—a satisfaction that will be so worthy of the cost of admission. He can't help but notice, can't help but watch her need.

He can't help but know that he's going to fuck her into an oblivion so dark, the stars will be lost in space. She doesn't know that yet.

Instead of being mean, he decides it might be better for him to give her what she needs—what she's been so kindly asking him for with her pretty hips and her pretty lips.

"On your knees," He tells her, watching as she moves underneath him. She wiggles around until she's on her stomach; the necktie gets him harder as he watches it dangle from her neck like the apple in Eden. Every part of him wants to take the bite—not yet, oh, not yet.

When she does this, her back arches upwards, and Harry's knees settle on the bed as he hovers above her and watches the way that she submits to him. Every word he says she listens—he can barely handle it anymore.

In an instant, his hands reached the bottom of her skirt, pushing it up to fully show the outline of her ass in the cheeky pink lace. It's always been known to him that she would wear something so pitifully scandalous under those black skirts, but he couldn't have imagined it would be like this.

Her pretty face has been folded into the creamy duvet, waiting for the touch of him to send her into an implosion.

All he wanted was to taste her—to make all of the thoughts he had prior feel like they were significant and they were able to be adhered to. He wanted to make her feel like she was the most special person on the planet; like she could feel every inch of him, and she would be thriving in that thought for the end of time.

This may be a one-time occurrence, and he wanted to marvel in it. He wanted her to enjoy what she didn't know could be.

Harry's hands pulled at the pink lace, wondering how lucky he was to be able to enjoy this sight—and what a sight. The wetness of her folds only made him salivate; made his hungry eye a darker shade of green before he dove his tongue directly into her, licking up the mess he had already made of her.

The soft whimpers turned into moans as she practically lurched forward—the initiation hardly bearable as she scrunched her eyes at the feeling of pleasure. The warmth and invite of his tongue pressed against her, lapping her up and into a pitiful puddle. When she felt the nudge of his finger, she gasped at the feeling of him; the duo of his tongue and finger sang together in harmony like a choir of angels.

"Oh, fuck," She quietly moaned out, holding herself on her elbows as she grabbed at her pillow for a bit of leverage. She felt him hum into her, his nose gently brushing against her as he pushed her ass up to get further towards her clit which hungered for his touch, as did his tongue.

The taste of her replenished him, making his heartbeat faster as he felt the stringent feeling of tightness along the dress pants that held him in. Without letting his tongue go without, he used his hand to swiftly throw the belt from the loops of his pants, unbuttoning them quickly and without another thought.

"Fuck, you taste like I thought you would. So fucking sweet." He stated, pushing her ass out of the way when he pulled back. He threw her down onto the bed so that she would be looking up at him. The girl was fully dressed still, just with her skirt pushed up—underwear a bit haphazardly thrown to the side. The rose-colored cheeks threw him as he used his hands to pull the skirt down her thighs.

"Get naked." He ordered, watching as Felicity's hands moved to throw the t-shirt from her body as he requested, leaving her in her panties and bra. Harry threw the white button-down of his from his chest; Felicity got a bit distracted by the way that the tattoos generously scattered over his body. She swallowed back her intimidation as she held herself up on her elbows.

In a swift motion, her panties and bra were thrown onto the ground, leaving her in just the necktie like Harry had ordered for her. She hadn't even quite noticed that he had been rid of his own clothes, her eyes wandering down but not wanting to stare as she noticed that the smirk on his face was ever present.

"Think it's still small?" He asked, with a chuckle as he pulled at her knees, moving her down towards him.

"Maybe smaller than I'm used to." She played back, biting her lip at the intrigue of how he'd react. His arms grabbed at her waist before he threw himself down onto the bed.

"Ride me, then. If you think you can take it as good as you say." His words spit out before Felicity could think too much. It had been a while she had been in this situation, with a guy in her place, at least. Her hand reached over to the nightstand to grab a condom, Harry nodding in appreciation for the gesture.

Her hunger and desire for this became a bit more active as she was now in the driver's seat, moving and manipulating her body to sit across his lap. If she would lie, she would say that it was smaller than average. But unfortunately, she was taught to always tell the truth.

It was much bigger—especially as he rubbed his hand down himself, a gasp of air baiting out of his lips before he looked up at her in a state that could only resemble pleasure.

Harry rolled the condom down his length, watching as she settled into his lap. Her legs settle on either side of him before he looks up at her. The blazing fuzziness of his mind from the liquor has started to cease and is replaced with a hunger of desire for the brunette instead.

"Pretty, pretty." He tells her, watching as she looks antsy enough to move, but he pulls her down to kiss her, anyways. It's a moment that he knows he's taking away from her, but he needs some form of interaction from her. A small detail of need that overcomes him.

His hands steady her hips above him, holding his cock up to her entrance before he watches her hips move down to encapsulate him all—her movements are slow as she throws her head back in an unsurmountable pleasure that she quite practically leans forward against him to catch herself from falling.

"Fuck," He grunts, shutting his eyes just at the way that the blood moves directly to his cock at the feeling of her wetness. She's completely drenched and open and ready which makes her so sensitive and barely capable of words at this point.

Her hands steady herself, holding onto his chest as he allows her to take the lead on what she needs. But he can tell from the look on her face that she's having quite a hard time collecting herself—almost like she's quite unsure of what to do with the power that he's given her to be on top. It's not him pitying her, but him wanting her to enjoy the experience.

So, maybe, in another life, this can happen again.

"Baby," He choked out, shaking his head at the way that he knew it was the wrong choice of words, "Felicity—let me," He grabbed the small of her waist as he sat up quickly. His arms pivoted them so that he could throw them back around on the bed. It wasn't to take anything away from her, but to give to her more than she was giving to herself.

"Let me do this, yeah?" He joked with her, letting his lips kiss along hers, biting and nipping and finding small ways of showing her that the softness of him was still there even in the darkened eyes and furious gasps.

His body readjusted, his hips pushing into her in a more fluid motion. This got her to gasp, a breathy one that he liked hearing—those were the ones that were out of pure pleasure and satisfaction; ones that he felt drunk on.

In a way, this felt a lot different than before. The overhead light of her bedroom was soft; there was a significant dimness to it. He wasn't sure if it was because the room was small, but it felt like there was a intimacy that he had been missing before. His eyes tilted upwards to the paintings and lines of movie quotes that lined along her bedroom wall. There were framed simply and held color and brightness to the space, which distracted him for only a moment before he was able to lay against her.

The necktie around her took his focus back.

"I'm going to play with you a bit, is that alright?" He asked her softly, biting at his lip before he found himself pressing into her hips. His hands grabbed at the necktie before letting them start to tighten it around her neck. " 'Member you words, hm?"

Felicity whimpered out at the coax; nodding her head, "Please—please."

Harry sat up at the request, happy that she was using her words in this sense. He readied himself; thinking of what he needed to think about to try to get himself to a different place. He didn't want to cum too quickly; his cock was barely holding on as it was. The friction of her sweet wetness was enough to make him fold again and again and again.

His fist moved to grip at the knot of the tie, pushing it upwards until it hit at her chin. She raised her head, almost to give way to the pressure that it held against her. She was only briefly capable of speaking a few words, but she was taken with pleasure at the way that her breathing was manipulated.

"Breath play," Harry practically reads her mind as his hip's diver deeper into her. The feeling of her legs at his ribs, practically around his body as he feels the back of her ankle into his back. "Your words, baby."

Felicity took a deep breath; Harry moved his hand so that she could take it in more. He wanted her to feel the wooziness, the daydream-like feeling of the high that it could bring her. He wanted this moment to be special, for her to remember that she was in the most requitting love affair. That she was taken care of, adored, seen.

At the end of the day, Harry wanted to make sure that her jaw was cradled, her lips were kissed, her eyes were stared into, and her breath was taken away.

His hips snapped further, her moan sounded like a small mew before he sat up a bit straighter, loosening his hand on the tie before he grabbed at both of her hips. His hand moved to maneuver over her clit, thumb drawing a star over top of it to which she squirmed in sensitivity. He smirked at the way that she held softly against him before he let a dribble of spit land directly on her, smearing the wetness to coat her.

"Jesus fucking Christ." He stated, the blown-out pupils of them both had them reeling—he noticed he had really neglected parts of her that he had wanted to remember, but he also knew that there was a significant need that they were both needing to fill. He knew that this was just inevitable fucking from weeks—months, really—of built-up tension that they both needed to get out of their system.

"I—I want more," She nodded, her voice quiet and barely above a mumble before their eyes made contact.

He felt that she was a bit, for lack of a better word, fucked. Her eyes were a bit droopy, she may have been trying to cover up how much she really drank, but her effervescent neediness was going to haunt him forever.

"I can give you more," He nodded, "I can give you so much fucking more." His hips snapped forward, again and again and again—her headboard hitting the wall every time he did so. Their breath heavy and their eyes connected as he did so.

"Such a pretty little fuck," He lifted her leg up from around his waist before he gave her knee a gentle kiss. "I'm so hard, fuck."

The fully natured nudity of their bodies was new for him—it was usually very quick, especially when they would come to his. But this was significantly more intimate; he wanted to spend this time with her. He liked that they decided to do it this way.

She could feel the tightening of the rubber band that was about to snap. It had been building with every swipe of his thumb, the way that his tongue had gently nudged at her clit; the way he had plunged forward with every deep thrust. She was impressed with the way that he moved her body to be able to hit at her spot every single time. He had studied her, watched what she did—how she reacted.

"I'm—fuck," He pulled himself forward, letting his head drop as he fell into her touch. This was new; her hands on his shoulders, the way that they moved into his hair and down his neck. "Poetry, okay?" He reminded her softly before he kissed her lips.

What happened after that could have been a blur—to Felicity, she wasn't entirely sure if she could remember it all. His hand gripped around the tie of her neck, pulling softly so she felt a dizzy sensation.

"Fuck—fuck, Harry, I'm cumming—fuck." Her teeth bit so sharply on her lip that she was afraid it might rupture the skin; the taste of blood would come soon afterwards, but her reality was set in the pleasure kingdom that Harry's hips created for her.

It was dizzying how he snapped his hips upwards, hitting her every single time. The pressure of his thumb over her clit sent her into an overdrive; letting her walls completely break, the dam overflowed, flooding. The orgasm over taking her sent him into a state of pure shock and adrenaline, snapping his hips a few more times before he felt the absolute relief.

Her eyes shut; Harry lurched forward as he fell into the grip of her hands. It was a feeling of falling that he genuinely believed were cloud-like.

For a moment, he wondered if they would ever slow their breathing down. He wondered if the sound of her heart beating against his was real-life or just a fantasy. It may have been an orgasmic-induced dream.

The puzzle piece form of the two of them let him settle nicely into her; his nose poked at the skin of her neck, which he may or may not have left a mark or two on.

In the solemness of the air, his breathing finally evened out.

___________

"Are we cleared for take-off, Mr. Styles?"

The noise jolts him a bit, he wouldn't lie.

Harry clears his throat as he opens his eyes which have been hidden by the sunglasses that have settled on his face. He readjusts in the seat before he looks around the small jet plane that had been chartered for their adventure.

It was early, approaching on seven in the morning. His sleep had been nonexistent until that small nap that he had gotten himself before being woken up by the pilot.

"Uh," He swallows, trying to make it seem that he was more awake than he was.

"I believe that we're all here." Laura states to the pilot before she gives him a tight smile. She returns to looking at her cellphone, lowering her hands into her lap as she continues to scroll through what's possibly an email.

Harry looks around the small jet, watching, searching... wondering.

He blinks a few times to try to imagine if there's a reality where what had occurred last night was working against him—he had hoped that she hadn't been scared off, that she hadn't run away at the idea of what this weekend could possibly hold.

Not that it was going to happen all the time, certainly not. But he wondered if there could be a next time—he wondered if she would have liked that. It turns out, with the no show to the work trip that she had been informed on that—

"I'm sorry."

The sweet tone of the voice carries through the plane before he turns his body in the single chair to look at where it had been coming from. Coming up the steps, being greeted by the stewardess, a smiling face that had her sunglasses pushed into her hair—a pair of black yoga pants and a t-shirt with a cardigan sweater overtop.

He watches as she takes her bag, feeling uncomfortable by the stewardess taking it from her before she gives her a tight smile and settles into walking towards the back. The plane isn't large, but it feels incredible big when he is waiting for her to approach him.

Their eyes meet and she gives him a tight smile before greeting the others on the plane. The seat directly in front of Harry isn't taken. Go figure. Her hands are full—holding her purse, a bag that most likely has something to eat for a breakfast, a coffee, and—

"Your dry-cleaning," Felicity handed the back to him before she took her seat that sat directly across from him in the small private jet that had seemingly felt much smaller as she took in how close he was to her now, "Mr. Styles."

The flicker of her eyes to his—the way that her hair had been blown dry, bouncing with curls, the freshness of her toned-down makeup to allow the texture of her skin to show with the subtlety of the glow.

Even in the early morning hours, even though he had just left her a few hours prior, even though they had both had less than a few good hours of sleep—she still looked like she was greeting him at heaven's pearly gates.

When the bag was unzipped to check that everything had been added, his eyes fell along the purple necktie that he had unnervingly left at the edge of her bed the night prior; he must had run out of the door of her apartment without it. His eyes glanced at the way that the small item drifted over the white button-down.

It was familiar, of course, because it had been the one that he was wearing yesterday when he had entered her apartment but left without it in his hands or around his neck. He cleared his throat at the sight, knowing that it was a nod to him and only him. When he sat them down across his lap, his eyes landed on her again—the casualty of her smirk was harrowing now.

"Mr. Styles, are we waiting on anyone else?" The pilot had come back towards the rows now, to ensure that everything would have been cleared for the take-off. Harry looked back at him, and shook his head without another doubt, but a solidly aching feeling in his chest as he barred the words back at him.

"No, I—I'm not waiting for anyone else, at least." He looked up at the girl in front of him, "I'm good."

The pilot got the plane ready for departure; Felicity stared at the window as she tried to take in the experience, knowing that the exhaustion that was starting to overcome her would be able to be given a final rest when she leaned against the window.

But, for the time being, she liked being able to rest in the light of Harry's stare as he couldn't take his eyes from her.

The plane, the job, the clothes, the dinner—none of it mattered when the view in front of him was something that money would never be able to buy.

____________________

hiiiii!!

happy tortured poets department day, here's a one-shot <3

just a little fun one hehe, almost 20k words is so much for me, so thank you for reading this!

love u as always

- emily

[hsdiaries]

after show adrenaline.

famous!harry x y/n

quick little blurb, about 1.7k

sir kink, praise kink, oral m receiving, p in v.

I ran to the back of the stage, the roar of the crowd was still going behind me, echoing through building. It only added to the adrenaline rush I was feeling after tonight's show.

I felt good.

Truth was, I wanted to feel even better. I slowed my run to a quick walk, making my way to where I knew the car would be waiting for me. As I turned the final corner at the end of the hall, I saw the car, but what my eyes landed on was even better.

My sweet Y/N.

Just the sight of her made my cock twitch in my pants. She was wearing those damn black jeans I loved. They hugged her waist just right, holding her ass up, accentuating it's plumpness. A dainty button up top sat on her body, barely covering her tits that sat so perfectly on her frame.

When I finally reached her, she pushed up from the car, her hands wrapping around my neck. She never cared if I was sweaty after shows; a part of me thought it turned her on secretly, though she never admitted it.

"Best show ever, baby. I swear that was the best performance you've ever given." She said, her praising me only fueling my adrenaline.

"Yeah? The best?" I asked, smirking at her causing her to chuckle. She leaned forward and bit my lip, pulling it towards her before letting it go.

"The best." She smiled that sexy smile that she only ever gave me. I had seen every smile on her, and this one, the one that went slightly more to the left cheek than her right, it was just for me.

"Y/N, I need to show you something in the dressing room baby." I said, and she raised her eyebrows softly.

"Oh, really? What exactly?" She said and I laughed, kissing her forehead.

"You'll see." I said, kissing her softly before taking her hand in mine and leading her towards the dressing rooms. We had about fifteen minutes before they came to clean out the rooms, that was more than enough time.

We reached my dressing room and I quickly pulled her in, closing and locking the door behind us. I pushed her body against it, my hands gripping at her waist. The tip of my nose moving along the length of her neck.

"Y/N, I need some attention." I said, my lips meeting her neck, sucking softly against her skin. I heard her giggle, as her hands moved down the front of my body, my chest exposed through the jacket I was wearing tonight. She moved her hand over my cock, palming at it sweetly.

I bit at her neck, a soft moan escaping her, "You didn't get enough tonight?"

"It wasn't the type of attention you can give me baby, and you know it." I whispered against her neck, my tongue running up it to her ear. I bit at her ear lobe and her hand gripped on my hardening cocked.

"Because no one can tell you how good you are like I can, right sir?" She said, too sweetly for her own good. She palmed over my cock, and it only got harder under her touch, blood rushing without any control.

"No one can do a lot of things the way you do, Y/N." I said, moving my gaze to her and soon we were kissing, our lips loving harshly against one another. Her hands began fiddling with the button on my pants, moving the zipper down quickly, and pushing my pants and briefs down my legs. I felt the relief of my hard cock not being contained by my tight pants anymore, and groaned against our kiss.

She chuckled, moving down my body, trailing kisses until she was down on her knees. I watched as she grabbed hold of me, moving her tongue up my length, wrapping it around my tip until she finally took me in her mouth completely. She moved her mouth up and down my length so skillfully, her hand moving on the places her mouth couldn't, her other hand palming against my balls.

"Fuck, Y/N, you're an angel with those lips, baby, uhh..."I groaned, grabbing a fistful of her hair, pushing her further down on me, my hips bucking towards her. She always took me so well, never a complain from her. I felt as my length curved down her throat, her saliva dripping down my cock and dribbling out of her mouth as I continued to fuck her mouth.

I felt as she used her hands on my thighs to push away from me, she peeked up at me through her long lashes, licking her lips. Her hands both on my length, moving up and down me, slick from how wet her mouth left me.

"I want you to fuck me, H. Fuck me baby, cause that's just something else your so good at. Driving yourself in and out of me. Making me come the way no one else ever has." She said, my core tightening at her words, abs contracting. She had this sweet way of saying the dirtiest things that just drove me insane.

I quickly retightened my grip on her hair, pulling her straight up on her feet. I brought her to my lips, kissing her desperately as I reached down to undo her jeans. Her hands wrapping around her neck, fingers crawling and wrapping themselves into my hair, tugging on it.

I quickly worked on pushing her jeans and underwear off her lower body, down her legs far enough she could step out of them. Once she did, I picked her up, her legs wrapping around my waist. She kept kissing me, her tongue finding mine, her hands moving to my shoulders as she began to grind her middle against my stomach. I could feel how slick she already was; her wetness coating my stomach with every movement and it caused a groan to escape my lips.

"Harry, I'm so wet for you." She said into our kiss, tugging at my hair as I walked us over to the couch in the room, quickly placing her down.

"I know baby, so good for me, so ready." I bit at her lip as I sat down with her on me, "Slip me in baby, ride me please."

She nodded, lifting her body slightly as I reached up and unbuttoned her shirt, pushing it off her shoulders. I loved that she never wore a bra, I loved that I could immediately take in her perfect tits, my hands palming at them; my fingers pulling at her nipples, teasing them between my fingers. I felt her take my cock in her hand, rubbing my tip against her opening, "Oh god." She moaned, beginning to slowly slip me inside her.

She was so tight, so warm and the slow circles she was drawing on me as she took me in further caused my head to fall back, "Fuck Y/N, god baby you feel so good." I wrapped my arms around her, pressing my face into her chest, placing kisses everywhere, moving my mouth over her nipples, sucking and licking them as she began bouncing on me more.

She would squeeze me, pulling me deeper inside her as she did. Her movements so confident, her moans so freely filling the dressing room.

"Oh Harry, oh god. Do I feel good sir? Does all this feel so good for you baby." She moaned, my lips still on her breasts. She knew what she was doing with her words, my grip tightening around her waist so my hips could move up, pushing my self deeper into her.

"So fucking good, Y/N, oh sweet girl. So fucking good." I said, my hips bucking up and meeting hers. She gripped onto my shoulder and I pushed back slightly so I could move my hand, placing my thumb on her clit. I rolled it in circles against it, causing her head to fall back. Her movements turned into slow circles, her hips grinding on my cock as she pushed herself against my finger. I was coated in her wetness and I didn't care.

"Haa...oh fuck, Harry, please don't fucking stop." She moaned, whimpers coating her heavy breathing. I grabbed onto her hip with my free hand, not wanting her movements to falter, keeping her hips moving on me.

"Come for me sweet angel, come on me baby, let me feel every bit of you." I said, her head coming back straight, our eyes locking as she nodded. She bit her lower lip, her eyes fluttering closed. She looked so sexy, every bit of her body like this, riding me, was pushing close to my undoing. I could feel my core tightening, and I groaned at how good she felt.

"I'm going to come...oh god like that...Harr..." she stopped moving, her body trembling as I kept moving my thumb on her clit, driving hard deep thrusts into her. She came, her moans rolling off her lips with profanities mixed in.

Her body, went slightly limp in my arms, and I used every bit of strength I had to pick her up so I could flip her over. I kept myself inside her the entire time. I placed her on the couch and brought her legs to my shoulders, pushing them against her body as I began thrusting in her. They were long, slow thrust as I used every last bit of energy I had to keep on going.

"Come for me, sir, please. God, you deserve it, please." She begged, her hands reaching up and pulling me to her. Our lips met messily, I felt my arm buckle slightly, and I reinforced my weight on it, driving my cock in her faster now, letting her slick guide me. She kept squeezing me, pulling me deeper inside with each thrust until finally I felt my release.

"Fuck." I groaned out, her lips peppering kisses on my chin and jawline. My breathing was heavy, both of us sweaty. I bit my lip, swallowing breaths that got caught in my throat.

She ran her fingers softly through my hair, she knew this always helped me come to after I came. Helped me relax.

"I'll fuck you like that after every show if you want." She whispered teasingly and I chuckled.

"How about you do it again at home first?" I said pulling out of her slowly, before moving to kiss her lips.

She bit at my lower lip and nodded, "All night of you please."

[babyyhoneyyyyy]

⋆˚࿔ WELCOME TO MY MASTERLIST 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

hi! I'm fer and these are some of the ideas that have crossed my mind for a long time and now have become reality on wp and tumblr

「 ✦ LINK TO MY MASTERLIST ✦ 」

you can also find these stories in my book "From The Vault" hope you liked it! <3

[lovegoodlane]

Chapter 5- Skimpy

Warnings: Sexually suggestive content (kissing, discussion of sex)

Words: 2k

Violet stood in her cramped bathroom, putting the final touches on her makeup. Harry had invited her to a party at his house tonight.

They hadn't seen each other since last weekend when they went further than ever before, and Violet was worried that he was beginning to regret what had occurred between them.

They had texted during the week, keeping the topic solely on the album cover. Violet didn't know how to approach the subject of the sexual encounter that they had had on his couch.

Miya leaned on the doorway, a sound of approval leaving her lips when she took in Violet's appearance. The white dress she wore hugged her hips in just the right way, and the hem stopped at the perfect length, short but not too short.

"If Harry doesn't fuck you tonight, then I will," she joked, winking at Violet who was staring at her in the mirror.

Violet chuckled before becoming serious.

"I'm beginning to think that what we did last weekend was a mistake," she confessed, bracing her hands on the sides of the countertop in front of her.

Miya furrowed her brow in confusion.

"Do you regret it?" Miya asked, concern lacing her voice.

"No, but I think he does," Violet replied, her voice sounding shy.

Miya entered the bathroom, grabbing Violet by the shoulders to turn her so they could be face to face.

"No man should ever regret anything that they are privileged enough to do with you," Miya said, her gaze intense. "Go to that party and absolutely own it. If he doesn't want to get with you, I'm sure one of his friends will. Make him jealous. He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on."

Violet merely shrugged at Miya's little pep talk. She didn't want to hook up with anyone else.

"You look absolutely stunning," Miya complimented. "None of those rich bitches will ever be able to compete with you."

Violet smiled, appreciating Miya's words. She reached out to hug her, something that they didn't do very often. Neither of them were affectionate by nature.

"Thank you, Mi," Violet said into the crook of Miya's neck. "I'm going to wrangle a man tonight."

----

Harry leaned against his kitchen island casually, enjoying the last few moments of peace before the guests began to arrive. Niall sat on top of one of the kitchen counters, already sipping from a plastic cup filled with God knows what.

"Did you invite Violet?" Niall asked, looking down into his cup.

"'Course I did," Harry replied, not even bothering to meet Niall's eye.

"Good," Niall said. "It's good for her to get acclimated to these kinds of things. She'll have to get used to celebrities if you really want to be with her."

Harry's head shot up, and he sent Niall a bewildered.

"I never said I wanted t’be with her," Harry said, his tone sounding accusatory. "She's pretty. And she’s probably good in bed. Y’know how I feel about dating."

"If she's just a good fuck, you wouldn't have invited her tonight. And you would've sealed the deal by now," Niall said, raising his eyebrows at Harry.

"Didn't want t'scare her off," Harry said, turning away from Niall.

"Mate, you know she would have given you anything you wanted," Niall said, a light chuckle escaping his lips. "You're taking it slow because you care for her."

"I'm taking it slow because she's making my album cover. Y’don’t have to read into everything, you git," Harry said, sounded disinterested.

"So you wouldn't mind if someone else got with her?" Niall asked, lowering himself off of the counter.

"'Course not," Harry lied.

Of course he would mind. Violet was his. Harry has never been particularly fond of sharing.

"Sure," Niall replied, clearly not believing Harry's words.

Harry was saved from further awkward conversation when there was a knock at the door, signaling that the first guests had arrived.

----

Violet parked the car she shared with Miya on Harry's road, taking a deep breath before heading toward his house. She decided to come an hour after the party had started, hoping that she could slip in somewhat unnoticed.

She knocked on the door, standing in the breezy night air in her skimpy dress. Niall opened the door, his expression widening into a smile.

"Good to see you, Violet," he said. "Come in."

She stepped inside and took in the sight. There were only a few dozen people. It wasn't exactly the raging party that she had expected.

"You look lovely," Niall complimented, leading her toward the kitchen to get her a drink.

"Thank you," she replied, straining her neck to look for Harry.

"Harry's upstairs," Niall said, noticing her actions. "He had to take a phone call from his producer."

"Oh," she said quietly, taking the cup from Niall.

She took a swig, fighting back the grimace that was attempting to form on her face. Whatever was in this drink, it was strong. But Violet would probably need it for some extra courage.

"Harry told me," Niall blurted out, turning his face towards Violet.

"Oh," Violet said again. This time, a blush crept up her cheeks.

She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Either Harry had gushed about his experience, or he had talked about her like she was just another one of his conquests.

"I don't mean to embarrass you," Niall said, a sympathetic look on his face.

"No, it's fine," Violet replied, trying to fight the awkwardness of this conversation.

"Harry can be really cold sometimes," Niall said. "Don't let that scare you off. I know he refuses to say it, but I think he really likes you. Don't give up on him."

Violet's eyebrows knit together in confusion. Why was Niall telling her all of this?

"I think you're good for him," Niall said, almost as if he had read her mind. "You make him laugh. He needs someone that can take some of the stress out of his life."

Violet nodded in understanding. She was about to reply to Niall when Harry came into the kitchen, hair looking disheveled.

Harry looked up, noticing the pair in the kitchen. He cocked his head to the side in confusion.

"I was just telling Violet how heavenly she looks," Niall said, winking at Violet. “Doesn’t she look like an angel in this dress?”

She grinned at Niall, knowing that he was only trying to tease Harry.

Harry raised his eyebrows, hinting at Niall to leave them alone. Niall took the cue.

"Well, I better be off," he said casually before planting a light kiss on Violet's cheek. "It's always a pleasure, Violet."

Harry glared at him. Niall shot back a devilish grin, knowing that his flirtations with Violet were getting under Harry's skin.

As soon as Niall was gone, Harry rounded the island to stand next to Violet.

"M'glad you came," he said, grabbing a cup and filling it with the mystery liquid.

"Yeah," she replied quietly. "What was that phone call about?"

Harry let out a sigh, obviously stressed.

"S'just my producer," he said, leaning back against the island. "I've had writers block and haven't been able to get any more songs done."

"Oh, that really sucks," Violet replied, turning her body to face him. She didn’t really know what else to say.

"Yeah, it does," he chuckled.

Violet put her cup down on the island. She paused for a moment to think about her actions, but forced herself to just go for it.

She reached out to tame his messy hair. Their eyes met, and Violet felt the ever familiar blush creeping up her cheeks.

Harry's hands found their way to her waist, pulling her in for a kiss.

This kiss was different. Their other kisses had been needy, but this one was tender and loving.

Harry pulled away all too soon.

"Will you stay after the party?" he asked, his voice low and sultry.

A small smile crossed Violet's lips.

"Of course," she replied, standing on her toes to give him one more kiss.

They pulled apart, smiling at each other.

"I should really be getting back," he said, taking his cup and heading for the living room.

She watched as he disappeared into the next room. She sighed, feeling content. Maybe he did like her after all.

----

An hour had passed, and the party was still going at full speed. Harry was making his rounds, talking to all of the guests. Violet busied herself by talking with Niall and Shawn.

She liked Harry's friends. They were all great guys, and she felt comfortable with them. Even if her and Harry didn't work out, she knew that she would still have a friend in Niall and Shawn.

"Are all of Harry's parties usually this small?" she asked, looking around the living room.

"Pretty much," Niall replied. "He was into bigger parties when we were younger. We've all become much more tame since then."

Violet's eyes followed Harry wherever he went. He looked at ease, which is something that she wasn't able to witness very frequently. She smiled to herself, thinking about their plans for later.

She watched as he approached two girls clad in designer dresses. Their giggles were loud enough to be heard from across the room. Violet rolled her eyes.

"You probably won't see most of these people ever again," Shawn said, directing his words at Violet. "Harry always invites the same few key friends, and the rest of the party is a mixed bag. People almost never get invited twice."

Violet cocked her head to the side in curiosity.

"Are you trying to tell me that I won't be invited back?" Violet teased, smirking at Shawn.

"Of course he'll invite you to another one," Shawn said. "I just meant that you shouldn't worry about getting familiar with anyone that you haven't already met."

Violet grinned, proud that she would likely be considered to be in the group of Harry's close friends.

Her gaze shifted back to Harry. One of the girls was attached to his arm, whispering something into his ear. Jealousy bubbled up in Violet's stomach, but she fought to suppress it.

Harry pulled back to look at the girl, giving her one of his seductive smirks. His hand landed on her hip, pulling her in for a kiss.

Violet couldn't stop the small gasp that escaped her lips. Shawn and Niall turned to her in confusion. They followed her gaze to Harry, who was still kissing the girl.

Violet turned to face Niall and Shawn, absolutely speechless. They looked down at her, and she could feel the sympathy radiating off of them.

"But..but he..." Violet stammered, trying to collect her thoughts.

Niall pulled her to his chest. This surprised Violet, and she looked up at him in confusion.

"I'm sorry, Violet," Niall said, sounding truly apologetic. "Harry can be a bit of an arse sometimes."

"He asked me to...." Violet trailed off, her words muffled by Niall's chest.

Niall was still holding Violet to his chest when he shot a glare at Harry from across the room. He felt so protective over Violet, and he knew that Harry was trying to backpedal from any feelings he had for her. What an arse.

Violet pulled herself away from Niall, a new fire ignited in her eyes. The two boys looked at her with confusion, unsure of her next move. She looked at Shawn.

"I need you to do me a favor," she said, her voice cold.

"Anything," Shawn replied, hoping to soothe her.

"I need you to ‘fuck’ me," she said, using her fingers as air quotes.

"What?" both boys exclaimed at the same time, looking at Violet like she was insane.

"Harry hates when you flirt with me," she said to Shawn. "I'm just playing ball. I have to get him back."

"You don't have to go that far," Shawn said, sounding mildly alarmed.

"Not actually fuck me," she said, flicking his arm. “Just take me into a room, we bang around and moan a little, and he’ll get the idea.”

"This sounds like some American high school movie bullshit," Niall chimed in, shaking his head in disbelief.

"All I need is to make him jealous. If he can be with other girls, then he should be fine with me being with another guy," she explained.

She looked at Shawn, who was still weighing his options.

"Fine," he finally said. "But if Harry kills me, you're paying for my funeral."

----

Next Chapter

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reader inserts

i have always wondered if people actually insert themselves into the reader inserts or rather use OC's they have created in the past