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Her head throbs; all of this is too much to think about, too much to consider, and too much to sort through in this unfamiliar bed. Y/N starts to crawl out of it, “I need to go,” she told them, “Thank you – thank you for everything, I’m sorry for ruining your night.”

“You didn’t ruin it,” Emi smiled gently, and with a delicate, manicured hand, she squeezed her bicep, “Are you calling for a ride? Please don’t wait outside, you can stay here until they come.”

Y/N nodded – staying in here, instead of loitering outside their flat building in an area she’s never been sounds much better – so she grabbed for her purse that she’d dropped at the side of their bed.

She didn’t give herself a chance to overthink it when she scrolled to Harry’s contact.

Y/N overthinks and yearns, but Harry just knows they're soulmates

(21K+ words)

part 1

part 2

iii.

Y/N’s body aches.

She knows this feeling all too well; despite being beneath layers and layers of blankets and bedding, with Ferret warm against the back of her neck, her window being closed tightly, and her space heater rattling in the corner of the room – she shivers. Her brain feels filled with tufts of cotton, and her mouth and throat are so dry that she wants to shove her head beneath the faucet and let it run between her lips. Her head hurts, her nose is stuffed, and racking her eyes open feels like a chore.

How she got sick, she wasn’t sure, because she’s barely been around anyone for the last couple of days. After the pool party, she more or less shut herself away in her flat, and when she went back to work, she kept quiet and did her business. Eloise offers her ear whenever she’s ready for it, Niall brings her snacks because, for him, the way to the heart is through a satiated stomach. The others at work see the heavy grey cloud looming over her so they don’t make an effort to speak much, though she does hear whispers, some people theorizing if she and Harry are fighting or not.

It had been a little over a week since she found out about Harry getting his mark and a little over a week since she’d last spoken to him. The whole thing was just so fucked, she wasn’t sure what they would even say to each other when they did speak again – if he even wanted to speak to her again. For all she knew, he could have found his soulmate by now and was living blissfully in the afterglow of their time together. Y/N was but a sad little memory in his now perfect, beautiful life, and she could just hope and pray that she didn’t have to see them in public together or something.

The thing is, Y/N is always happy for the people she’s helped when they find the person they want to be with. Not only was her job done, but she’d been a key part of bringing more love into the world, and she had always thought that was pretty nice. No matter how draining it was to take on relationship after relationship, to learn everything about a person for it to be yanked away, to know deep down that she was being used – she still felt accomplished. Still smiled to herself when they said they found their person and could rest easy that night knowing that she was useful. That someone so sad and downtrodden, when it came to love, would find a new light in their life, made just from them, from the moment they were even a concept thought up in the universe.

But with Harry. . .she didn’t know if it would feel like that. She is mad at him for keeping the mark a secret from her, don’t get her wrong, but even if he hadn’t – even if he called her that Tuesday morning and told her he woke up with it all pretty on his hip – she doesn’t know how she’d react. Happy for him? To a point. She wants nothing more than for Harry to be happy, but selfishly, she only wants Harry to be happy with her. The thought of him looking at someone else with those big, moony eyes he got when he was talking about the person he thinks his soulmate would be. . .she just couldn’t be settled with it.

There was a yearning in her chest that had never been there before, something much crueler than anything she’d felt in the past. The longing for a soulmate had been replaced by an ache for Harry. For him to be hers, wholly, and truly hers. With there to be no agreement, no special “power”, no fake dating; just for there to be matching soulmate marks and meet-cutes, and looking him in the eyes and just knowing, deep, deep down that he’s the one.

Because she did know that he was the one for her, but not by the star’s decision. In the stars, it’s someone completely different; someone who didn’t know that Harry was touchy yet. Someone who didn’t know his affinity for cats that look stinky despite having one that is pretty enough to place in competitions. Someone who didn’t know that the clean cotton scent soothes his mind, but a particular pomegranate scent reminded him of his hardest year in UNI so he couldn’t stand it. Someone who didn’t know that Harry’s art was beautiful yet, who didn’t know his brain was even more beautiful, who didn’t know that his eyes crinkle when he smiles, and his dimples dot his cheek like a moon crater, and he drools a little and snores when he sleeps but somehow still looks cute.

Someone who didn’t even love him yet, is meant for him.

And Y/N is left all alone.

Like always.

So who or what got her sick, she wasn’t sure. Maybe the stress of everything had weakened her immune system, at least enough that someone coughing into the air and her walking through it took her out. It doesn’t really matter though, does it? She’s sad, and she’s sick, and she thinks the universe actually has it out to get her. At first, she’d just been joking but this. . .this has just done her in. Maybe in a past life, she’d been a ruthless, cruel dick of a partner and this is her punishment for it; retribution for something she didn’t remember would feel better than this just being the lot she was given.

There was no way she could go to work like this. Even lifting the upper half of her body from the bed felt like a test of endurance, so she didn’t even want to consider the fortitude it would take to manage to get ready and then get to work. Y/N knew how to pick her battles, so she called her floor manager to let him know first, then called scheduling. She even offered to do her editing from home, if they would just email her the documents, but her manager (his name is Charles) tells her not to worry about it and focus on resting. She’s thankful because she didn’t want to do shit today, she’d just been offering to be nice.

After texting Eloise and Niall, Y/N forces herself to at least go wee in the bathroom. She’s a little dizzy when she stands but she makes it unscathed and even gathers enough energy to brush her teeth and splash some water on her face. That’s the extent of her abilities, however, because a headache tickles her sinuses she takes some medicine and rubs some cream on her chest to help suppress this awful cough that rattles through her chest.

Y/N is feeling a little miserable, and petulantly wishing that someone was there taking care of her. If she and Harry hadn’t fallen out as they did, he probably would have – as soon as she would have messaged him that she was sick, he might have stopped by. Cooed and petted her, calling her a poor baby while he stroked the hair from her face and let her rest in his lap. He’d probably make her soup, and tea, and wake her up to take medicine and a bath, then let her cuddle back into his body to go back to sleep.

She doesn’t get those things now, but she pretends, as horribly desperate and pathetic as it sounded. If Y/N closed her eyes, she could feel the warmth of his body beside her, and if she tried hard enough, she could imagine his voice. How he would click his tongue and pull the blankets over her body, “Now how did you catch a fever, silly?” He’d murmur, low and teasing, “You don’t need to catch an illness for me to take care of you, you know? You could just ask.”

It’s easy to pretend, until Ferret starts walking over her body, pressing a claw right into the soft spot beside her belly button as if to say, “Snap out of it idiot, this is pitiful.”

It’s storming outside, the rain battering against her window is loud and the thunder rumbles through the sky. If there was ever a day to stay inside, today would be it, so she guesses, at least she has that going for her. Feeling the medicine do its job, it’s easy to fade back into sleep, as she lets herself melt back into the mattress. She makes a mental note to take her temperature when she wakes up again if she can find her thermometer.

Y/N is in and out of it for a while, never sure for how long she’s sleeping at a time. All she knows for sure is that around noon, her phone buzzes beside her head and for some reason, it yanks her from a dream. She blinks several times, still feeling like garbage but slightly better garbage as she crawls her fingers over to her phone. There are a couple of messages, some from Niall, telling her to get better, her mum with a recipe for the soup she used to make when she was little with a fever, and then one from Eloise that sticks out.

Niall’s a dumbass btw

He told Harry you have a fever

He’s in a tizzy

Her brain is mush as she reads the message after that, sent only three minutes ago from Harry.

I know we aren’t talking right now

but I hate that you are alone and don’t feel good

So I ran to the store during my lunch break and got some things

For you

Cold medicine and stuff

I’m just letting you know so you don’t let it sit outside

Some of it's perishable!!

I’ll just drop it off I won’t bother you

Feel better

I’m always thinking about you

Miss you.

The weather is still treacherous outside, so the thought that Harry is just out in it right now drives her crazy. She huffs a breath, forcing herself out of the bed. Her limbs feel heavy as lead but she trudges through it, getting to the living room, and then to the door. The idiot! Why would he come all this way in such awful weather just to drop things off? She didn’t need him risking his safety on these flooded roads just because she was out of sorts, whether she was pissed at him or not.

Her original goal had been to call him and yell at him for being so stupid, but then she hears the rustling of bags outside of her door and she realizes that he’s already there.

Maybe it's the medicine, or maybe the fever is higher than she thought and making her make decisions that she would normally second guess a thousand times over. Whatever it is, she walks to the front door and yanks it open, huffing and puffing because the short trip had taken all of her stamina and snuffed it out like a flame between her fingers. Harry stands like a deer in headlights, staring at her all doe-eyed at first, before his brows furrowed and his face drops into a frown, “What are you doing out of bed?”

“It’s storming,” she said, matching his disapproving gaze, “Why are you out in such a bad storm?”

“I was just –”

“Being stupid,” her voice sounded like there was gravel in her throat, and Harry grimaced, then his frown deepened.

“It’s not being stupid if it might help you,” he countered, standing up from where he’d still been hovering, “I know you don’t want to see me, that’s why I warned you, so you wouldn’t open the door or something like you’re doing now.”

Y/N stared at him hard – since when did she say she didn’t want to see him? She wanted nothing more than to see him, she just knew that she shouldn’t. She couldn’t, right now, that she needed to take some time to process this so that when she did see him, she wouldn’t do something stupid, or say something stupid. It wasn’t a matter of her not wanting to – not at all.

“Get inside,” she pushed the door further open, ignoring how her heart squeezed when Ferret chirped brightly at the sight of Harry.

“But –”

“You aren’t going back in that,” she cut him off, “Get inside.”

Harry does well to listen. He leans down to gather all the bags he’d just set on the mat outside of her door, and warily steps through the threshold into her house. She hates it, not because she doesn’t want him in there, but because of how hesitant he seemed; not even three weeks ago he was barging in like he owned it. Now it feels like he’s a stranger entering through the door, unsure of where to take off his shoes, if he should take them off if he’s allowed to get comfortable here.

She rolled her eyes, “You know there are no outside shoes in here,” she grumbled, shifting her gaze from Ferret who was slithering between his ankles like he couldn’t have been happier to see him. It felt too much like she was keeping her child from his visiting rights with his father, “Take them off, the storm isn’t letting up any time soon.”

Y/N doesn’t know what to do with herself – it would be a little crazy to slink back into her room and shut the door after more or less demanding that he stay until the weather clears. But to sit with him seemed like a lot to work through with her brain feeling heavy and her sinuses full of tar. Still, she forces her feet to move her to the couch, where she drops herself down and yanks her blanket over her shivering body. Y/N closes her eyes, tilting her head back against the cushions; she feels weak, even from the little movement that she’s done.

“Oh,” his voice is quiet, and there’s the gentle rustling of his bags, “Have you taken your temperature yet?”

She shook her head, “Was going to, but fell back asleep.” Y/N coughed, an ugly sound barking from her throat and her eyes don’t have to be open to see Harry grimace at the sound.

“I’m –” he started, then paused, she could visualize his pinched expression as he sorted through what to say, “Listen, I won’t just stay here and watch you feel bad, yeah? If I stay, then I’m going to take care of you. You don’t have to talk to me, or look at me, or any of that but I can’t – I can’t just see you like this and do nothing.”

Y/N feels a frown form on her mouth for multiple reasons. One of which is she doesn’t like the tone of his voice – it isn’t rude, or snappy, but it. . .he sounds desperate and sad in a way he has never sounded with her before. He’s resolute in his statement, but the words leave him like his heart is in the middle of cracking and she doesn’t like that she’s the cause of it. The second reason is that it feels wrong for her to ignore him for a week and then accept his groceries and his care. It would feel like she was using him, even though she knew it wasn’t the case – she knew that Harry thrives off caring for people. That it would make him feel good, to take care of her, even if she was mad at him. But that’s the issue, isn’t it? Y/N’s mad at him. Why should she care what makes him feel good and what doesn’t? Plus, was it a threat? He won’t just stay with her and watch her feel bad, so the alternative if she doesn’t let him take care of her is going back out in that storm, isn’t it? And she just won’t allow that –

“Do whatever you want.” She settled for, which was as good a response as she could come up with, given the turmoil in her head.

Y/N hears Harry move into the kitchen, and distantly she can make out him opening cabinets and closing the refrigerator’s drawers. She falls quickly into that space that’s halfway between consciousness and dreaming, where her head starts to dip, too heavy for her shoulders but she jerks herself awake before she can get too loose. She isn’t sure how long Harry is in there, but it feels like hours have passed and no time at all, when his hand settles gently on her knee.

“Hey,” he murmured, “I made you some soup, yeah? When was the last time you took medicine? Think you may be due for some more.”

“This morning,” her throat is gravelly, full of rocks and pebbles as she swallows dryly, “It’s in the –”

“Bathroom cabinet, I know. I grabbed that and the thermometer,” he placed everything out on the table in front of her, and Y/N’s left to wonder how he’d carried so much in his hands, “Open your mouth for me, I’ll check your temp.”

This is wholly too domestic for their current situation but she feels so poorly, she really doesn’t care. Her jaw drops open for him and he dips the tip of the thermometer beneath her tongue, but not without pressing the cool, back of his hand to her forehead. Y/N leans into it without much thought, welcoming the soothing touch.

The thermometer beeps and Harry clicks his tongue, “You’ve got a fever, Sweetheart,” he presses the hair out of her face, strands that had fallen out from where she had it pulled back, “You were just g’na stay here, and suffer all alone? You can barely move.”

She frowned, “There’s not much else I can do,” she reminded him, “I don’t have someone to look over me. I only have myself.”

Harry shook his head, “You always have me,” he set the thermometer down on the table, then grabbed for the medicine, “Even. . .even if you hate me, you always have me.”

Y/N wondered if the heat in her chest was from Harry or her fever.

. . .

Once Y/N had taken the medicine, and gotten a little bit of soup (and water) in her, she felt a little better. She wasn’t sure what kind of soup it was, but it was light and tasted good, and she was sure it could give her body enough energy to fight whatever cold she picked up. In truth, she hadn’t been eating very well lately, and whenever she was eating it was of very little substance; sweetbreads, packs of chips, finger foods that didn’t take any thought or effort, or maybe whatever she could find at a convenience store. The closest she’d gotten to anything real was the little bowls of ramen that she could heat in the microwave, but she doubted the freeze-dried vegetables offered much substance.

Harry brought a pillow and blanket out from her hall closet, setting her up in the living room, “I’ll wash your sheets,” he told her, “Try to rest.”

She nodded, and with the telly turned on something (the volume set low) she drifted off into a dreamless, cold medicine-induced sleep. It’s heavy and hard, and every time she starts to wake up a little bit, a sleep demon of some kind takes her by the shoulders and plunges her deeper into it. She isn’t sure how long she’s asleep, she only knows that she rouses for a moment when Harry is tidying up in the living room, tip-toeing around.

A grunt leaves her to grab his attention, and he giggles a little when he looks at her, “Hi there,” he murmurs.

“Get over here.”

“Hm?” His head tilted slightly, and Y/N’s chest ached – she’d missed him so much.

Y/N frowned, because – well, she wasn’t positive if she was asleep, or if this was a dream, or if this whole day had been a dream and he wasn’t actually here with her. Still, she wanted something badly – something that she’d been pathetic in pretending was her reality just a couple of hours ago, and Harry would. He would do it because he’s sweet, and he’s gentle, and his hands have been twitching and itching to touch her. Even in the state she’s in, Y/N could tell, because he wears every thought, emotion, and desire on his sleeve.

“Let me lay my head on your lap.”

Harry doesn’t waste a second. He grabbed his phone out of his back pocket and set it on the arm of the sofa, waiting until Y/N moved her head up further so he could steal the pillows from beneath it. He finds his spot in the corner, where his bum always sat if they weren’t snuggled up in the center of the couch together, and Y/N drops her head onto his thigh. The medicine had been working long enough that she could breathe a little bit through her nose, the smell of him soothing the tension that had lingered between her bones since their fight. Lamely, earlier in the week she’d wondered if she should invest in the laundry detergent he uses for the comfort the scent alone brought her; she was trying to find alternatives to having him around all of the time when he inevitably found his person. As pitiful as it was, if she missed cuddling him all she would need to do was hug her pillows and the case would be a stand-in. It was just so mortifying she would have to keep that between her and the universe.

His hands aren’t as hesitant as they had been before when his fingers weave through the locks of hair on her head. Her face twisted up, “You don’t –” she started, then took a second to clear her throat, as crunchy as her voice sounded, “You don’t have to. My hair feels gross right now.” Today had been her wash day, so she knew it was not in its best state.

Harry doesn’t stop though, massaging his fingertips into her scalp, “I don’t mind,” he cooed, using his other hand to press the hair from her face, then thumbs over her eyebrows, smoothing them out, “It feels good to be petted on, when you feel poorly.”

Especially by you, “Especially by you.”

Oh wait, those words were supposed to fizzle out on her tongue, but they don’t – they escape, like a rabid badger trapped in a cage made of sticks and twigs. Harry only chuckled, using one hand to stroke through her hair and the other to caress light patterns on her face, “You with no filter is kind of nice,” he admitted, and Y/N huffed out a breath (a risky game through her nose, because she could have shot out snot with it, but thankfully that doesn’t happen).

“Don’t get used to it. These thoughts are under lock and key.”

Ferret jumps up, using her body like a balance beam on unsteady feet, before sinking in the space between Y/N’s shoulder and the couch, his warm little body close to Harry. He purrs like a motor, rumbling low as he burrows in.

“Don’t I know it,” Harry replied wistfully, “I never know what’s going on in that pretty head.” His fingers don’t stop, they’re gentle, tender, and insistent – just like him, “I. . .you don’t have to respond to this, but I just wanted to apologize again. I know words are just words, but I’m – I don’t know,” he traces the slope of her nose, “I just miss you.”

Y/N’s heart is sore from all the clenching and aching and yearning it’d been doing for the last week. She knew she wasn’t necessarily ready, to just open the door back up – to let him in, and push it all to the side, because the problem wasn’t just the secret. And the way that Harry is apologizing to her, she thinks he may realize it.

She was in love with him.

And he was destined to be with someone else – someone who wasn’t her.

It’s the worst pain, she thinks; worse than stubbing her pinky toe, or when Ferret scrambles out of her arms with his claws out, or slamming her elbow into the corner of a table at work. This is full-bodied, hollowed, and gnawing. Unlike a sharp pain, which she thinks would be preferable, to this chronic soreness that lingered through her muscles, her joints, and her thoughts.

Her fingers dug into the soft, linen fabric of his bottoms, and she tilted her cheek even further into the warmth of his broad thigh. It hurts already, and she doesn’t even think he’s found his soulmate yet. But it’s like sea salt in an open wound, the thought of it, she’d rather think of anything else.

Y/N doesn’t have to say the words I miss you too because she thinks it’s more than implied, the way she desperately clings to him.

Instead, she replied, “Tell me what you’re drawing for work.”

A soft, breathless laugh leaves his throat, “Ah, you would hate it,” he began, “It’s one of those romance novels where the bloke is clearly the douchiest prick in the world, so –”

Y/N listened to his voice, melted into his body, and let herself fall back asleep.

. . .

They don’t talk about it.

They should, definitely – Harry stayed overnight with her, ran her a bath, made her dinner, and then readied her bed for the night. He kept the window open, the cool night air filtering through the screen, turning her curtains to waves as they cleared out the fever in the room. Y/N is already feeling much better, with a constant rotation of medication and whatever healthy, superfoods Harry had been concocting in her kitchen, her fever has been brought down significantly. Her head feels full, but in the way that she’s cozy and calm, her mind melty and warm. He made a pallet on the floor beside the bed, and Ferret – the class one traitor – abandoned her to snuggle up in his throat.

“Dolly would never do this to me,” she accused, much to Harry’s delight, who giggled and snuggled down with the blankets pulled to his throat.

Y/N fell asleep easier than she had since all of this started, then woke up in the middle of the night for a brief moment. Her arm was hanging off the bed, and Harry’s fingers were interlaced with hers, propped up on his pillow. The smile that overwhelmed her mouth was too big, and she doesn’t think she’s smiled this way in a while, because her cheeks hurt with it.

The next time she wakes, the sky is bright and dazzling, the pallet on the floor is made up and there’s cold medicine sitting, waiting for her on the nightstand. There’s a Post-it beside it, the same one Harry always left her little notes with.

I had to go to work today :(((

Breakfast is in the kitchen! I hope you have a good day today, please don’t hesitate to call or text me. I’m always here if you need me.

There’s a hollow left in her heart again, especially when she realizes that Ferret has already been fed, probably with the sole intent that he would let her sleep instead of stomping all over her head, and the sense of longing is immense.

But she does nothing with it.

The thing is, she can’t do anything with it at all. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them, for Y/N to start seeing Harry again, or to let things go back to normal. If she was more selfish she would; if her greed for him and his time were greater than her morals, then she would in a heartbeat. But it was wrong to want someone else’s soulmate so vehemently and it would hurt triple the amount after the pain of leaving him and his friendship behind, then the subsequent relief of having him back in her life. The second time he would pull from her would be worse than the initial, only because she’d spend every day waiting, anticipating, and dreading the moment he showed up with someone at his side. All shy smiles, introducing Y/N to his person, his destined person, that wasn’t her.

Y/N couldn’t be a permanent figure in Harry’s life again until she sorted through all these fucked up feelings. Unless she was mentally prepared to see Harry with someone who wasn’t her, loving someone who wasn’t her, then it wouldn’t be fair to torture herself seeing it. And it wouldn’t be fair to Harry either, to reintroduce herself into his life only to yank herself back out of it as soon as his mark was matched. Not that he would care at that point – he’d probably be so overcome with joy and happiness over finding his person that he would have no time to think about where she was. Still, she holds onto the glimmer of hope that maybe she wouldn’t be forgotten, at least by him. That maybe it would be different than all of the other times.

She expresses this, in her own way, to Eloise. Try as she might not to sound overly pathetic, it is pretty difficult to avoid given the subject matter and her placement in the situation. Still, at least El pitied her enough not to bring up how depressing it all sounded, instead nodding almost overenthusiastically in agreement.

“It’s so important to take care of you first,” she told her, tucking her dessert fork underneath the slice of cake she’d been eating – they went to a new patisserie a short, eight-minute walk from their work building, and Y/N divulged everything. It’d been two days since he’d come to take care of her, so it was weighing pretty heavily in her mind – and by weighing heavily she meant it was all she could possibly think about. Eloise just seemed ecstatic that Y/N was finally talking about it, rather than internalizing every emotion that happened to flitter through her head. “Have you guys spoken since?”

She shook her head, “No, I was. . .trying to figure out how to say it without, you know. . .exposing all my inner turmoil. I don’t want him to feel worse than he already does.”

Eloise plucked at her bottom lip, worrying the flesh between her index finger and thumb, “Hm, maybe you can just keep it sort of simple? Don’t go into anything specifically, just say that you appreciate his help the other day, but you aren’t necessarily ready to see each other regularly yet.” She shrugged her shoulders, “For someone else that might not work, but he’s like an overeager puppy with you, I think he’ll accept any explanation you give him, even if it was ‘just because’.”

So Y/N took her advice, right there, hoping that maybe Harry would be busy with work so he wouldn’t see it immediately.

Thank you for taking care of me the other day.

I’m not ready to start seeing each other too much yet, so I hope you understand.

I just wanted to thank you.

Eloise didn’t notice it, but Y/N noted that in her time spent messaging Harry back and forth, she’d adopted his horrible habit of sending multiple messages when it could just be one large paragraph. She isn’t sure when she started doing it, but it makes something twinge in her brain.

Her phone buzzed before she could set it back down on the table, and Eloise's brows raised. She swiped the notification, leaning in so that Eloise could read her screen too.

You never have to thank me for anything.

I’m just happy to be able to help you, you know?

And don’t worry about that at all. Take your time, I understand.

I’ll always wait for you.

“Jesus Christ,” Eloise carded her fingers through her hair, “It’s like he was built in a lab.”

Y/N. . .didn’t know how to feel and she still doesn’t.. Her heart was too tender to consider feeling much of anything, and at the time, she could only nod her head and hope she didn’t spend the rest of the week thinking about it, which wasn’t too hard, all things considered. Usually, there’s something like a raffle to randomly disperse the harder, more wordy pieces to look through and edit but Y/N had volunteered herself to take them. If she was distracted then she wasn’t thinking about it, she’d just hope that the piece wasn’t a romance of some kind. Or if it was, then the situation was like – completely separate from what she was going through.

So why did she end up crying reading a vampiric romance? Well. . .it isn’t the first time someone has cried in the middle of editing, so nobody paid much attention to it, but it was pretty embarrassing. It’s like – she doesn’t know, the main character is in some angst-filled star-crossed lovers scenario, because vampires and humans can’t be together. This should be a tired trope, but it gets Y/N every time, and a particular line cranks at her chest in the worst way.

I’ve been waiting for you for 800 years. I can wait for a couple more.

And maybe she wouldn’t care about it had Harry not just promised to wait for her earlier this week, and then all of a sudden she’s comparing the two of them to a vampire and a princess betrothed to someone in a faraway land, and what the fuck is she even doing?

Y/N sees Niall’s blurred hand before his voice sounds above her, “Okay, so I know you like a vampire book, but usually you don’t cry to them,” he plopped down on the stool that she and Eloise took turns propping their legs up on, “Are you still on your Harry ban?”

Flustered, she wiped at her eyes with her knuckles, “That has nothing to do with it.”

“Yeah, sure,” he replied in a noncommittal tone, leaning on his elbow and twisting back and forth with his hips, “I think it’s time to throw you head first into the dating pool.”

“That sounds like an awful idea –”

“Only if you’re going into it expecting love,” he plucked the stuffed animal Harry had bought her to decorate her desk with – actually, there was a lot of stuff littered around her desk that was Harry-related, but she didn’t have the heart to get rid of them. She had to pinch her fingernail into the meat of her palm so she didn’t snatch it out of his hand and place it back where it should be. It wasn’t the most expensive thing, but it was a soft, cute little bunny that usually sat propped against a framed photo of Ferret. “You wouldn’t be going out to date or find love, you’d be going out to fuck.”

She squinted at him, “Excuse me?”

“It’ll make you feel better,” he smiled, “Anytime I’m sad, a one-night stand kind of just – y’know, gives me something else to think about. Maybe you’ll find a regular fuck buddy!”

Y/N huffed, “Ni, that sounds. . .” stupid, the worst, stressful because Y/N could not think about the last time she slept with someone and she thought she would probably agonize over the whole thing. But. . .maybe she could live outside of her head for a little while. If she went out with Niall, then she surely would find someone she could at least have fun with – people are drawn to Niall in a way similar to how they are drawn to Harry, only for much less. . .wholesome reasons. Niall kind of just walks around like someone who knows how to fuck, so when you’re out with him loads of people come in droves. If they aren’t trying to fuck Niall, then they set their sights on Eloise and Y/N, but typically they wave them off and just spend time with each other.

It would be nice, wouldn’t it? Maybe she could find someone cute – she wouldn’t mind who, a man or a woman, she thinks that anyone would be nice. If they took care of her, made her comfortable enough that she didn’t mind stripping down for them a couple of drinks in. At that moment, to be so hyper-fixated on the person above her and a little stressed about whether it was going to be good or not, that she wouldn’t be thinking about Harry at all. Hopefully.

“. . .like, not your worst idea.” She lulled her neck to one side, stretching out a crick in his neck, “When?”

Niall grinned, “Let’s go Friday, Babe.”

. . .

Honestly, the night had started okay.

Niall came around to get her at 8 PM, with Eloise sat pretty in the passenger side with sparkly eyeshadow. Eloise turned in her seat to face Y/N as she crawled into the back, “Alright, for the record, I don’t think this is a smart idea but I also get it a thousand percent, so I’ll bite my tongue.”

“You look hot, Babe,” Niall is also twisted around to see her, “We’ll find you someone at least half as cute.”

Y/N shivered in one of her skimpier dresses, that rucked up as soon as she sat down. The fabric twinkled and sparkled, and Eloise offered to add glitter on her cheeks that she brought in her purse. Niall begged to try the lip oil she had lustered over her mouth, and Y/N finally relented when they parked outside. Still, as Y/N tried to stroke it over his mouth, he kept talking, “S’all about you t’night,” he told her, but it came out a bit distorted, his lips in a dramatic pucker, “I won’t drink a lick, so I can make sure you aren’t going home with a douchebag or a killer or someone.”

“That’s very comforting, thanks Ni.”

They ease into the night. Truthfully, just as she’d told Harry on their first date, she hates bars, clubs, and the atmosphere of waiting at the bar trying desperately to catch the bartender’s gaze to order an overpriced cocktail. It rarely seemed worth it, it’s why she dipped out before she could get drunk enough for it to be worth it, but she’s trying to stick it out. Even if all she wanted was to sit inside her room, have Ferret stomp all over her thighs, and Dolly be a sweetheart snuggled into her hip. Sweet little Dolly, who she hopes isn’t as confused as Ferret.

Y/N gets a Tequila Sunrise and tucks the little straw into the corner of her mouth; they’ll sit and drink for a little while first, that’s how this usually goes until Y/N and Eloise are tipsy enough to want to dance. Being a lightweight means Y/N only needs to get halfway through a second drink before she’s ready to, but Eloise needs at least the full two, and Niall’s rearing to go at any moment. This is one of the more popular spots in town, so there were a lot of bodies, and their luck in finding a table did not go unrecognized by the three of them.

Still, spots in bars were not meant to be kept. Especially when a Black Eyed Peas song Y/N distinctly remembers creating choreography for when she was in primary school, starts to play. So she’s easily bewitched onto the dance floor by Fergie in an act of early 2000s nostalgia, as she laced her fingers with Niall who is somehow remembering every single word in perfect rhythm and timing.

Dancing is fun, and when she’s slurping down the rest of her drink, it’s easy not to let memories of her and Harry dancing at Finn’s boyfriend’s party suffocate her. She is by no means dancing in any sort of way that would lure anyone like a siren, but she’s having fun, and she’s laughing, and sometimes that’s enough – at least it is for the people she would want to approach her.

There’s a pretty woman, who departs from her friend group to start bumping her hips with Y/N and Y/N squeals out of excitement. Maybe she would take her home? Y/N wouldn’t mind – she’s pretty, and her hair looks really soft even in the matching, intricately braided buns on either side of her head. Her eyes are piercing, even in the low lighting of the club, big and brown. She wears something Y/N could only ever dream of having the confidence to pull off, but for that reason, she sees the soul mark that sparkles with her body glitter along her ribcage.

She must follow Y/N’s eyes, how they widen, and she slipped her fingers between Y/N’s, matching them up palm to palm – her hands were a little smaller and very soft, and just different enough from Harry’s that she didn’t get sad, “Have you ever had a threesome?”

Y/N blinked at her, shaking her head, her body still moving to the music but noticeably subdued so she could focus, “Oh, no I – never have,” she admitted, “It feels like it’d be kind of hectic.”

The woman laughs, and squeezes her hand, “It’s fun,” she replies, “My soulmate and I met each other pretty young, so we like to explore sometimes. If you’re interested,” she squeezes her hand again, “If not, that’s okay, we can just dance.”

Y/N’s eyes flit behind her, searching for who could be her soulmate and she spots a guy staring at them from a couple of meters away. Which, it could have just been some random creep leering at them, but she could feel in her gut that it wasn’t. There’s a certain way that soulmates regard their other half; it’s something tender, no matter the situation they’re in. A softened gaze, just like the ones described in books, their eyes full of fondness and respect in equal parts. That’s their person, they know it and the world knows it, whether the mark they wear on their body is visible or not.

“You both want to? With me?”

She smiled, nodding, “Yeah, you’re gorgeous,” Y/N’s face felt hot, and she giggled lamely, “We live close by. I want you to meet him first though, before we go, so you’re comfortable.”

Y/N lets herself be pulled away, and the guy she’s brought to is just as striking as the girl. She’s confused as to why either of them would have chosen her out of everyone, but maybe the dancing was more alluring than she’d first thought. Or maybe, Niall was right about body glitter attracting potential mates like pheromones in the wild, or whatever the hell he’d said that should be a drunk comment but somehow came from him completely sober.

Whatever the reasoning, they’re both nice, and hot, and when they press up against her on either side while they dance her mind is reeling. So Y/N hadn’t had much hope that she would be able to go home with one person, much less two, and even much less two people who were already soulmates. But things can happen like that sometimes – she tries to go with the flow.

Eloise gapes and Niall high-fives her, and they both remind her to send her location as soon as she makes it to their flat. One minute Niall is slipping a condom into her hand like a loving and overbearing guardian, and the next she’s sandwiched between the two taking her home. Kai and Emi were their names, she had finally learned, and they match together well; they play off one another with the practiced ease of two people who’ve been together most of their lives, but there’s no lingering spite or jealousy, or anything negative.

No, the experience is actually wholly positive. They compliment her, and their touches and caresses are flirty without being too forward, and Y/N feels relatively safe for only having just meant them. Emi keeps their fingers slotted together and squeezes her every so often like she’s checking in if Y/N doesn’t say anything for a little bit, but it only happens a couple of times. Kai, at most, had given Emi what Y/N presumed to be his jacket and Emi gave Y/N what must have been her jacket. The night wasn’t bitterly cold, but it was still chilly, and her dress just barely covered the top of her thighs so there was a lot of exposed skin.

The walk is only around 10 minutes. Y/N sends her location as they step into the elevator, and Emi nods her head, “Oh, good girl, I do that too,” she grinned, “Kai didn’t understand why women felt the need to do that, we had a pretty intense lesson on it.”

“She’s not kidding,” Kai agreed, “We talked about it for like 3 hours that night, I’m pretty sure. I’m glad we did though, shits horrible for women, isn’t it?”

Emi clicked her tongue, “It sure is,” she pressed herself closer to Y/N, pushing the hair the wind had swept into her face from it, “We can do this a couple of different ways, Sweetheart, I’m good with any of them, yeah? I don’t mind if it’s just you and me and Kai watches – he doesn’t mind that either. Or if you want him to play too, we can do that.”

“I’m – I’m good with whatever,” Y/N nodded, “I’ll just go with the flow, yeah? ‘Cos I’m not sure what I’d like or not in this situation.”

“That’s good by us,” Kai grinned, and Emi matched it, and it was cute. . .Y/N thinks they’re really cute.

So everything should be fine.

And it was! At the start, it totally was, because they kissed in front of her after leading her to their room, and then Emi detached from him to kiss Y/N and her tongue was soft and tasted like whatever fruity drink she’d had in her hand when they met. Her lips are soft, and her hands are gentle when they slide over her thighs, then she breaks away and Y/N’s head automatically turns in search of someone else, so Kai meets her mouth, and it’s a little different. His lips are soft too, and a little fuller, and his hand feels bigger when it cradles her jaw and the other one feels just as big as it strokes up her side.

It’s good, Y/N’s getting into it, arousal burns in her belly, and she isn’t thinking about anything at all except how they were going to go about fucking and if she would be able to taste both of them or not.

Then their heads knocked together while they were trying to change who was kissing her, Emi and Kai, a little thunk, followed by a gasp and a fit of giggles. They really are so cute together, both of their hands reach toward the other’s affected side, gentle in their cradling and petting, “Ah, sorry baby,” the way they look at each other, that softened you’re my person, my only person gaze that Y/N had been thinking about before, it set a bubble in her chest.

One big – too big, situated between the pleural space, pressing up against her lungs and making it difficult to breathe.

They were cute, really cute, and how nice it must feel to just know – to just have the person you love with you and to share sweet, intimate moments like these, even in front of a stranger. Just knowing that they’re yours and you’re theirs, and it’s happy and lovely.

And then all of a sudden images of Harry flash in her head like an obnoxiously bright marquee. Harry all teary-eyed and pouting after the sad ending of a movie, the fairy lights above their head twinkle in his irises when he begs her to cuddle him because he’s so upset. The way the world seemed soaked in glitter and ten times more vibrant when they had picnics together, with a sky blue enough and grass green enough to belong in a painting and the way the sun bathed him. A hazy glow of him sitting arm to arm with her, pressed too tight in her cubicle because his floor manager loves him enough just to let him go where he wants to work on his covers, and he’d choose right beside her. His arm knocked into her body, his whine when she’d shove him over, how he’d only let them work for an hour and a half at most before begging for a break, or a snack, or for her to come with him to the vending machine.

The way her heart always felt so big that it might be choking her, sitting in her throat, begging her to just confess her stupid fucking feelings like it might alleviate some of the pain sitting there, unmoving.

“Oh?” Emi’s voice slices through her head, yanking her back into the moment, “Oh, Darling, what’s wrong?”

Y/N is confused at first until she opens her mouth to question it and feels the tell-tale stiffness of her cheeks when her tears have dried. Her hand lifts to her face, fingers ghosting beneath her eyes and coming back wet, “Oh,” she repeated, blinking at them, “I didn’t. . .I didn’t realize.”

They had been working on undressing, but both seemed to realize that the moment was as good as gone. Y/N had unintentionally ruined it, now all bleary-eyed and feeling fucking mortified that she’d started crying during a hook-up. They aren’t mean about it at all, no, they back off but not so far that Y/N feels like a pariah. A careful hand strokes at her bicep, “I’m sorry,” she sniffled pitifully, blinking hard, forcing her tears to abate, “I – um – am kind of going through something right now.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Kai is the one to inquire, head tilted, and his dark hair is long enough to shift over his forehead but he pushes it out of the way.

Normally Y/N would shake her head, say nothing was wrong, that she was okay, she would be, or whatever, she was just two drinks in and emotional for some reason.

But it felt easy to just. . say it. To two strangers, sure, but somehow that made it better, made it easier, because there were zero pretenses to keep up. She omits nothing, from her weird, freaky power to help people get their soulmates, to Harry, to falling in love with him so incontestably, to him getting his mark, to him lying about it, to her finding out, to him taking care of her when she had a fever, to now. She says it all fast, and kind of all over the place; she doubts they were able to completely follow the story but they both nod along, gasp at some parts, and give appreciatively sad hums and murmurs at others. This must be fucking crazy to them, some random woman they had been keen on fucking divulging her whole, depressing romantic life on their bed. They were probably regretting inviting her over – she’d probably be someone they talked about later, with their friends, how this stupid, hopeless girl gave them blue balls or whatever.

They take care of her though. Kai gets her water and Emi stays with her, frowning sympathetically, “That sounds like a lot to go through,” she murmured, and Y/N wondered if she was a therapist of some sort, “I mean, I can’t even imagine, it sounds very painful. Does he know how you feel?”

Y/N shrugged, “I don’t know,” she answered, “I always thought I was being so obvious about it but my friends say I have a relatively good poker face, so he. . .he might not think it was real? When I’d flirt back and stuff.”

“Well, to me it sounds like he cares a lot about you,” she continued, “I know it seems like. . .unheard of, but I have friends who have ignored their soulmate bond to pursue other relationships. For some people the whole “destined” to be together thing isn’t for them, you know? Maybe that could be you two?”

She shook her head sadly, and Kai returned with the water at that point, handing it to her, “I couldn’t do that to him,” she replied, trying not to sound so despondent but there wasn’t much hope not to, “He loves the idea of soulmates so much if I. . .if I kept him from his person, it would feel selfish, you know? And then he’s like. . .walking around, missing a piece of himself, feeling too guilty to do anything about it because I’ll be a big baby.”

Kai rests his hand on her shoulder and squeezes familiarly, and wow – if they aren’t therapists, they should probably go into the field, “Don’t you think, maybe he should be able to make that decision for himself?”

Y/N worried her lip between her teeth. No, she’d never considered letting him decide for himself, because she knew he would follow his heart and not his brain. Harry is a lover, through and through, his heart yearns and yells and demands, and his brain, soft and sweet, lets it with little fuss. He wouldn’t consider how it would impact him in the long run, if he never found his soulmate, and never received that deep connection he’d been seeking for so long. And if he did find his soulmate while they were together? Well, it would hurt Y/N – it would be excruciating, of course, she doesn’t even want to think about it – but the turmoil Harry would go through. The heartache and guilt and panic. . .it isn’t worth it, right? To see him with his face all screwed up and tears caking his cheeks, and – she just doesn’t want to see him look like he did the night of the pool party. His face was wrought with guilt, his words heavy with his stress. The imagery of it makes her heart squeeze uncomfortably tight in her chest, and all she wants to do is sink her face into his neck and hold him.

But wasn’t she being a little selfish too? She was thinking everything she’s thinking about with both her and Harry in mind; keeping them separate would make it better in the long run, right? Though, now that she thinks about it, she’d only been considering her own feelings in the present moment. It hurts too much to see him, knowing what could happen in the future, so she avoids it. But for Harry, maybe it hurts too much not to see her. And then she really isn’t just doing it for them, how she’d told herself, right? She’s doing it for herself. . she’s avoiding him to ease her sadness over the situation.

Sitting here, on this couple’s bed, Y/N realized that she really hadn’t explained her reasoning to Harry at all. He probably just thinks she’s still pissed off about him not telling her about the mark, but she doesn’t even care about it anymore. She understood why he hid it, she couldn’t say that she wouldn’t be the same had the roles been reversed.

She didn’t give herself a chance to overthink it when she scrolled to Harry’s contact.

. . .

There are very few people who call Harry at 11 PM.

That’s mostly because everyone knows he goes to bed early. On an average day, he’s probably tucked away in bed by 9 PM and moments from sleep thirty minutes after, so people know to contact him with important things around 8-ish, or else he might not get back to them until morning. He rarely wakes up to his phone ringing too, unless it’s right by his ear, and even then he thinks Dolly goes out of her way to amble on over and lay on top of it to muffle the noise.

Lately, Harry hasn’t been able to sleep very well. He doesn’t fall asleep as quickly or as hard as he usually does; his legs feel restless and his skin is itchy, and the spot on his hip brings discomfort in a way that he wants to press his thumb hard on it – like a toothache. Where he used to be a heavy sleeper, even the lightest sounds and movements jolt him awake; Dolly moving from one position to the next, the air conditioner kicking on, his next-door neighbors coming home and shutting the door. Each sound drags him into consciousness, he’s roused for at least a couple of minutes before he can find sleep again.

As a result of this, his eyes have been puffy and swollen, and more often than not he had dark circles that persisted no matter the cream he swiped beneath them. His muscles ache from tossing and turning all night, his hair and skin have lost any sort of glow they might have possessed before, and his brain moves at a snail's pace all of the time. Niall pouted when he saw him the other day, flicking his shoulder, inquiring where all his luster went.

“You know where it went,” Harry whined quietly, and they left it at that.

He doesn’t blame her for the state he’s in. This is a problem of his creation, he knows that, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. How Harry had seen it at the time, is that if he kept it a secret, then he’d get to keep Y/N longer. Instead, his time with her was cut shorter than he thinks it would have been otherwise, and now he’s here, in this awful in-between.

Seeing her had made it no better; when she was ill, she’d opened the door to what he had thought was a crafty venture leaving groceries outside her door – he’d never expected her to scold him and then invite him in. She thought maybe she’d opened the door, seen the bags, tell him to fuck off and slam it in his face, but she hadn’t. No, Y/N was mad at him for driving in the weather and ordered him inside to wait the storm out. Then, in an even more surprising turn of events, she let him take care of her, even wanted to lay her head in his lap, and. . .after so long of not having anything – not even getting to look at her, really, this was more than he could have hoped for. He hated that she felt poorly, but he was on cloud nine; his heart was full and bursting with so much love it was jittering out through his vessels. He was almost shaky with it, the intensity of it – he’d missed her so much. To simply comb his fingers through her sweaty hair, and let her sleep in his lap was paradise to him, as sad as that was.

When he had to leave though, it felt like his heart was cracking all over again. When she messaged him to say she was grateful but not particularly ready for things to go back to normal, he understood, but it felt like someone put a pillow over his face. It felt suffocating, not to have her at his side – it was the worst kind of torment.

That’s why Harry feels it – he knows it, deep in his gut, that she’s his soulmate.

When his ex Josie had come to him, all bleary eyes and apologizing, Harry hadn’t wanted to hear it. He was hurting, his brain felt waterlogged by his tears and his capacity for understanding had been resolutely diminished. Just as it had been when his ex-boyfriend had tried reasoning with him after he met his soulmate, and his ex before that. . .and his ex before that. They all said the same thing, but Harry didn’t want to listen to how happy they were going to be without him.

“It’s not something you can ignore, H, you just you know. Deep down, in the pit of yourself, you know and it’s hard to stay away. To keep this going, when I know I’d just be stringing you along.”

And this, what he feels with Y/N, seems a whole lot like knowing.

He gets it now when they say that without your soulmate once you’ve met them, it feels like a gaping hole in your center. Harry is all too aware of the emptied, hollow feeling he walked around with ever since she’d stormed off at the party. And how that missing piece patched up at the sight of her, even if she was mad at him, scowling, her hair a mess on her head, her face puffy, and her nose clogged with snot. As soon as she’d opened the door, it brought a comfort he’d never known (or at least had never realized until then). Like peeling off cold, rainy clothes and sitting in front of a fire to warm up – something cozy and warm.

It would make sense that they were meant to be together, even if Y/N never does get her mark. Harry had never realized how similar their situations were until recently; both of them were dating people who found their soulmates, only while Harry had some time in between his, Y/N’s were rapid fire. And while Harry broke up with them, moped about it, and then carried on in his pursuit of love – Y/N had accidentally made a legacy of it, was used for it, was abandoned, was found again, was used again. It was hopeless, for both of them; and then they found each other. And Harry wanted to use her just how everyone else had – the thought of it now makes him shudder.

Harry wondered what the likeliness of meeting your soulmate before receiving your mark is, and the exact progression of events if this were to happen, but there was little to know information on it. Anything that was said about it, was offhanded, fighting comments on online forums that didn’t extend far past, My wife and I met before our marks and we’re just as happy as anyone else, so you can take your fucked comments and –

All he’d gathered for sure, was that it was rare. And what he knew was that Y/N was rare too, whatever unique power she had. It wouldn’t make sense that the way she found her soulmate was unique too.

So Harry thinks being away from her has been affecting his sleep, and if it wasn’t something odd connected to their bond together, then Harry would say it's the stress of being away from his soulmate. Either or, he isn’t sleeping as well, so he jolts awake at the first ring of his phone, despite the time. He doesn’t know if he’d been asleep for a while, or if he’d just fallen asleep, or if he’d even been asleep at all – but his ringtone sounds out through his otherwise quiet room and the way his limbs jerk makes Dolly irately leave the bed.

A sleepy pout forms on his lips as he bats around for his phone in his sheets, his eyes squinted as he looks at the caller ID.

His thumb swipes to answer before his brain can even truly comprehend that it’s Y/N.

“Lo’?” His voice is heavy with sleep, thick and groggy so he must have been at least a little bit unconscious – or maybe it’s just because he hadn’t used it in a while.

“Hiiii,” she answered shyly, and the slight inflection in her tone suggested right away that she’d been drinking; she didn’t sound trashed, by any means, but he could tell. Plus, she was calling him at 11 PM, and she hadn’t properly spoken to him since she had her fever. He hardly thought this would be the time she called him sober.

Harry cleared his throat and sat up in bed, “Are you okay?” He inquired immediately, and Y/N gave a soft (albeit sad) little laugh.

“Ah, yeah, just. . .” she trailed off, then sighed, “No, not really, but not like an “I’m in danger” kind of way. You were asleep weren’t you?”

He shook his head, though she couldn’t see him, “No, not really,” he mimicked her response, and was he really lying? He hadn’t been sleeping well at all. “Do you need me to come get you, Sweetheart? Are you stuck somewhere?”

“I – yes, I was wondering if you would get me? I went home with someone,” his blood runs cold, “Or, well, two someones,” his heart speeds up horrifically fast, “Um, and I just – they helped me realize some things. I want to see you if you’ll see me, but I understand if you don’t –”

“Send me your location,” he’s already kicking his feet over the side of the bed, snatching his jacket off the back of the chair, and throwing his arms inside of it, “I’ll be there in a little bit, I’m leaving now.”

When they get off the phone, something thick and sticky settles in his chest, dripping down to his stomach. Harry has felt jealous before but never to this degree; this soul-stopping caliber. It clogs his pores, forcing itself deeper inside his body to such a grand magnitude, that he has to grit his teeth and bear it. They weren’t together – they weren’t even speaking to each other, but it hurt all the same. Honestly, it hurt, even more, knowing he’d run her into their (plural!) arms.

The flat building she sends him is close enough – just a ten-minute drive, and he cuts it in half because this deep into the night there’s barely any traffic. She, Niall, and Eloise must have gone out – he’d seen Niall’s story this evening and had wondered at the time if she was with them. Maybe she had already left with whoever it was she was with now by the time they had taken those photos in the club bathroom and his brow twitched at the thought.

It didn’t matter though. What mattered was that Y/N had called him, she wanted to see him – he knew he wasn’t her only option for a ride. She had plenty of people she could call, or, worst came to worst, she could have ordered an Uber or a Lyft. But she didn’t, she called him, because she wanted to see him, and that made him happier than he thought words could allow him to describe. Pulling up in front of the building, he leaves his car idle as he waits for her to come out, the engine a gentle thrum that completely contrasts with the roaring of his heart.

From the time Harry messaged her to let her know he was there, it took about five minutes for her to appear at the door. He swallowed thickly – her dress was a little short, and kind of disheveled, along with her hair that looked mussed, like someone had run their fingers through it and she hastily patted it down afterward. Harry hates it – hates the thought of someone’s hands on her, of their lips on her skin, her mouth.

But Y/N isn’t shrouded in the afterglow of someone who just had a beautiful threesome. She looks sad – her mouth is pouted, and her brows are furrowed, and he’s worried that something happened. She’d said she wasn’t in danger though – so maybe she was just unhappy to see him. Maybe this was her coming to meet with him to tell him that she hated him and never wanted to see him again. He feels dizzy with the new onset of panic, but he puts on a brave face for her.

Y/N opens the door and climbs in, a smile on her mouth when she sees him, “Thank you,” she murmured, “I – you really didn’t have to come, I didn’t realize it was late.”

“S’alright,” he waited for her to buckle before putting the car in drive, “I was awake.”

Both of them know he’s lying through his teeth but neither mention it. Instead, Y/N sighed gently and settled into the seat that was already adjusted to her liking – nobody had ridden in the passenger side since she had last, and Harry had no reason to move it anyway. She turned to look at him, and she didn’t look like she’d drank too much; as light of a weight as she was, she probably was pretty toasted for a little while but hadn’t had another in long enough that it was simmering out.

“If it isn’t too much – could we go to your place? I wanna see Dolly.”

How could Harry ever say no to her?

The drive is quiet, besides the radio that Y/N clicks on. They pull in front of Harry’s flat, and they’re quiet on the way up as well. Harry doesn’t hear her voice again until he unlocks the door and Dolly is sitting beside it like an irate wife left alone in the middle of the night. At least she was irate until she saw who Harry brought, and she chirped before lunging into Y/N’s arms from the floor. This is something she’s only ever done with Harry, and only in particular circumstances, like if she was starving (hadn’t eaten in four hours) and Harry wasn’t working fast enough to feed her.

Y/N squeals but accommodates her readily, and Dolly is a motor of purrs, rubbing her cheeks against Y/N’s face and kneading over the part of Y/N’s chest that’s showing, “Aish, okay, okay!” Y/N giggled and it was so sweet to Harry’s ears, he could scream, “I missed you too, baby! I’m sorry for leaving – has he been starving you, why do you feel lighter?”

“Don’t let her fool you,” Harry clicked his tongue, dumping his keys into the bowl on the table beside the door and toeing his shoes off at the heel, “She’s actually been eating more since you saw her last.”

“That’s not what she’s telling me,” Y/N grinned, keeping Dolly tight in her arms before walking further into his flat.

Harry followed after her, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket – he was never uncomfortable around her, but he felt nervous about what she was about to say. For what she might do. What if she’d come just to take all of her things that had accumulated here during the last few months? Or what if she was stopping by to cuddle with Dolly one more time before telling Harry she was out of his life for good?

Sweat beads on the back of his neck and his heart thumps too hard against his sternum, enough to rattle his ribcage and threaten to crack it. His eyes threatened to water, but he blinked hard to avoid it, biting hard on the inside of his bottom lip. What was he going to do? Now was his chance to plead with her – to convince her to keep him – but all the words escaped his throat and snuffed out on his tongue. Wither like a petal under too much sun. His nails pinch into his palms as he wills something – anything out of his throat.

I love you – he wants to say, I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you so much that it hurts me to be away from you. That I want you with me all of the time, that everything I see and do reminds me of you somehow. That the thought of being without you makes me want to dig a hole in the ground and live there. That I feel my insides twist and coil and shiver and quake with so much want for you that I don’t know what to do with it. That, even if for some reason you weren’t my soulmate, I would rather leave them alone to find their own path, because I want to be selfish, and I want to be with you, and only you, because you’re my person – even if the stars don’t think so, I know it.

“I’m bad at this,” Y/N started before Harry could spill every single thought that has crossed his mind in the last couple of weeks, “Um, at like – being awkward with someone that I care about, I hate that. So I don’t want to be awkward.”

Harry nodded, “Of course, of course, I – I’ll never feel awkward with you,” he scratched his arm, lifting his sleeve with it, “But I am nervous, I’ll be honest.”

Y/N frowned, plopping down on the sofa with Dolly still in her arms, “Why?”

“Um, I guess –” he stepped closer to her, his veins feeling empty, absent of blood and thrumming with needles and pins, “I just. . .am worried that you’re coming to say goodbye to me?”

What Harry is waiting for, is for Y/N to regard him solemnly, to admit that this is exactly why she was coming over, and to give him the talk that she’d been preparing. Again, he feels tears crawl up his cheeks in preparation for it – he’d try to hold it together at least a little bit, but he wouldn’t be void of all emotion. He’s human, after all.

Instead, Y/N’s eyes go wide, “What? No! God, no!” She shook her head so fast he thought the earrings she was wearing might fly out, “Was I being too cryptic? I wasn’t trying to be, I – no, that’s not what this is at all,” her arms let go of Dolly as she motioned him over, though Dolly merely settled in the cradle of her lap. Harry felt relief flood through him like an ice-cold wave, and a tear that had been preparing itself still made the descent down his cheek. He walked to her briskly, looping around the coffee table and almost throwing himself down beside her. Y/N twisted her whole body to face him, holding her hands out for him to take, “I was actually coming over to apologize for keeping you waiting for so long!”

“You never have to apologize for anything,” he took her hands quickly, lacing their fingers together and he’d missed the feeling of her smooth palms so much, “Nothing, ever, I should be the one apologizing for everything.”

“That’s no – you’ve apologized, and I’ve finally accepted it, yeah? No more apologies out of you,” she rested their hands between them, and Dolly came over to rub her face and gums all over their knuckles, “So I’m not sure where to start, and I don’t want this to be long-winded, so I’ll paraphrase some of my revelations here, kind of.” She squeezed his hands again, tighter than before, “I know it’s not a huge surprise, probably, but I think I’ve had feelings for you for a while, which was shitty on my part, to let it happen. You needed my help to find your soulmate, and not only was it taking forever, but I was growing so fond and so attached to you that I knew it was going to hurt when you did find your person. I’ve known that for a while,” Harry swallowed hard, blinking at her – how long had she known she had feelings for him? Was it as long as he’d known about his for her?

He’d been set on letting her speak before intervening at all, but he couldn’t help it, “Developing feelings isn’t shitty, you’re – you’re human. To expect yourself to be in this situation time and time again and feel nothing is too much.” He held her tighter, “I – what does it say about me, that I was trying to court you the whole time, and didn’t make my intentions clear?”

Y/N scrunched her nose up, but her gaze was soft and fond in a way he only sees it get for him, and he melted, “Let me finish baby,” Then Harry melted some more because she called him baby. He nodded, closed his mouth, and let her continue.

“And, through some retrospection, I’ve realized that even if you had told me when you got your mark, the same day, the same hour, the very same second that you realized – my reaction probably would have been close to the same. Maybe a little less theatrical, but I would have withdrawn thinking that I was making things easier for us when really I was making it all worse. And, really, I was making things easier for me, not you. I wanted it to be as easy as possible when you left me for something better. I was protecting my heart and disregarding yours, and for that, I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Harry is such a crybaby, when it comes to things like this, and when someone is mutually wearing their heart on their sleeve with him. His eyes bead up with tears, and he raises his hand to wipe them away but ends up taking her hand with him. Y/N smiled softly, unlaced their fingers, and wiped his cheeks with her knuckles, her caress tender, “You’re such a baby,” she murmured fondly, and Harry smiled, his cheeks feeling warm, “I do want to point out, even though I’m apologizing, I value open communication above all else, so don’t ever keep a big secret from me again, or I’ll do something drastic.”

He laughs, and sniffles, and there’s such a weight lifted off of him he can do nothing but melt into the sofa, “Okay,” he murmured, eyes fluttering shut as she kept petting his face, “I won’t, I promise I won’t.”

“Have you found them?” Y/N inquired, “Your soulmate?”

It’s you, it’s always been you.

“Not. . .not officially, not. Nobody’s spotted me with the same mark or anything.”

Y/N regarded him thoughtfully, still petting at his face, now mindless in her movements like she didn’t even realize she was doing it, “Then, if you want. . .until you find them, I was wondering if we could date. Not pretend to date, of course – like, we’d properly date.”

Harry cups his hand over hers, pressing it closer to his face.

“I haven’t been pretending for a while.” He admitted.

. . .

Harry is still all jitters and static energy buzzing through his body while he waits in his room. Y/N wanted to take a shower, and wash herself of the alcohol sweat, the club atmosphere, and the body glitter that she’d had all over her. All of her extra stuff was still there, but she told him she was going to use his body wash anyway and Harry would never tell her no to anything. He made his bed from where it had been rumpled from him tossing and turning before this, then sat gingerly in the center, waiting for her.

He’d wondered if he was dreaming a couple of times; worried that he would be startled awake to his alarm and Y/N nowhere to be found, but he dug his nails into his thighs and the bite of pain grounded him. He was very much awake and after thirty minutes, Y/N re-emerged in his room, wearing his clothes, smelling like his soap, and he felt so relieved, he thought he could probably float away. She’d have to grab him by the ankle and yank him back down.

Y/N crawled into his bed, “Your toothpaste tastes better than mine,” she whined, and she didn’t plop down in the spot beside him as he expected. Instead, Y/N climbed into his lap, straddling his waist and looping her arms around his neck. She hugs him tighter, closer to her, tucking her face into his throat and rocking all of her weight down so that Harry falls backward into his bed. His hands set on her hips at first, and then his arms slide around her waist and he’s holding her tight.

“I missed you,” he could hear the pout in her voice, her arms pinned between the back of his neck and the bed and her face stuffed in the curve of his throat, “Too much, like – being without you was fucking awful.”

“I know,” he held her tighter, “I know, I missed you so much, it felt – it felt like it was hard to breathe.”

Y/N murmured her agreement, pulling away too soon.

“Can I see it?”

His brows pull inward, “What?”

“Your mark,” she looked down between them, “Can I see it again?”

Harry stares at her, searching her face for. . .something. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for, but whatever it is, it's difficult to find. Y/N looks relaxed – sobered and musing, reflective. It didn’t seem like something she was doing to torture herself, just something she was interested in, her fingers mindlessly thumbing at the fabric sitting over it. Harry doesn’t speak, but he moves his head just a little, the barest nod, and Y/N scoots down so she sits more on his thighs. He stayed still as she hovered over him – maybe he’d imagined this in a completely different scenario, where they were about to make each other feel good, rather than her regarding his soulmark.

But the universe has tossed them into something so confusing and so different, that it felt silly to question anything anymore. So he watched with bated breath as Y/N lifted the hem of his shirt, pushing the fabric midway up his torso, her eyes fixed on his lower right hip. Harry had looked at it every now and then, but he hadn’t stared at it how he’d imagined he would – hadn’t stroked his thumb over it and daydreamed about his person as he might have even just half a year ago. He kind of avoided looking at it all together, because in the lines all he could visualize was the hurt on Y/N’s face when she found out he hadn’t told her immediately.

The way Y/N looks at it though – she looks at it like it’s something beautiful. The way Harry thought he would look at it.

Her eyes are wide and soft, her fingers tentatively stroking over the skin, “I’ve never seen one up close,” she murmured, tracing over the lines, “I never really wanted to, I don’t think. I always told myself I wasn’t bitter about not having one, but I think refusing to look at someone’s soulmark for more than three seconds is a little bitter.”

One of Harry’s hands rests on her thigh, and the other uselessly holds his shirt up, though it would have stayed still no matter what. He’s worried about speaking like he’d break whatever this trance was that she was in. It felt. . .different, to have her not only looking but caressing the skin there. Like something was shifting, clicking into space, filling something empty.

He breathes in slowly, and gently, his chest and belly rising and falling with the movement but Y/N seemed unbothered by it. With her thumb, she presses down into the center of the circle and he nibbles at his bottom lip – it’s tender there. More sensitive than he’d care to admit, but Y/N could do anything to him. He’d let her do anything she wanted, even if it brought him pain.

“It’s pretty,” she murmured, like a secret just between the two of them, “Just like a birthmark, right, like – the skin doesn’t even welt or anything.”

“Yeah, it – it’s kind of cool,” Harry replied, lulling his tongue over his dry mouth.

Y/N’s eyes meet his and hers are shining but not with tears, or anything sad. Just something sweet, and warm. . .something nice.

“Really cool,” she agreed, then flattened out on top of him again, “Were you jealous when I said I was with someone else tonight?”

And Y/N said she wanted open communication, so – “Yes,” he replied, dipping his face back into her body, hiding himself, “I hated it so much.”

“I’m sorry,” her voice is muffled into his shoulder, “While I was waiting, I thought about how I would feel had the call been reversed, and I – would not have been able to handle it.”

His arms curled around her shoulders, pressing her closer, “S’fine,” he wanted to stay like this, wrapped up in her, consumed by her; he’d missed her so much, even if it was only a few weeks. It felt like an eternity, he would require at least 600 hours of cuddling to feel even partially satisfied with making up for the lost time, “I’m just so happy to have you here with me now, I don’t care.”

Y/N melted into his body, all boneless, and it pressed him further into the bed.

For the first time in a long time, Harry falls asleep hard.

It’s perfect.

. . .

Y/N has been happy lately.

Not that she was like – the most miserable person ever before, but this feeling was different. . .better. It feels like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, or like her body had converted all the bitterness and sadness and general upset over her situation into something light and fluffy. Like the marshmallow you scoop out of a jar, or what clouds should feel like. It’s nice. She isn’t sure if it was making up with Harry that did it, or finally appreciating the outcome of her ability – touching and caressing the mark that will forever stay on his skin – but it felt. . .like something had clicked. Something made sense, that night, and it alleviated a pain that Y/N had been lugging around with her for so long.

She isn’t sure what though.

But, at that moment, she thought maybe it was okay if she never had a soulmate. It wasn’t such a scary thought as it used to be – maybe Y/N was destined to fall in love with Harry, and even if she wasn’t his soulmate, maybe they were destined to be together for now. And that’s okay! Why not revel in this love before he meets his soulmate? Experience it and look back on it fondly, instead of feeling heartbroken and weak. Hell, maybe Harry’s soulmate will feel like Kai and Emi do – maybe they could be a polyamorous couple or something. Surely, whoever Harry’s soulmate is must be as amazing as he is, right? She could love them like she loves Harry, and honestly, she would make the effort no matter what, if it meant making Harry happy.

So it’s like a breath of fresh air. The rest of the weekend they spent a tangled mess of cuddled limbs in his bed, on the couch, on the floor, or in the kitchen – like noodles entangled in each other, fluid in their movements. They don’t leave the flat much at all really, except to go retrieve Ferret, who has a lot to say about her sudden sleepover without notifying him. Otherwise, they order in, they snuggle, they talk, and talk, and talk so much, you’d wonder how there was anything left to discuss.

It’s good – Y/N missed him so much, she can’t imagine being without him again.

Eloise and Niall both know, after a couple of frantic messages from them that she didn’t see until the following morning, she let them know that she was okay, that Harry picked her up, and that they’d talked things through.

Niall messages promptly (Eloise was sleeping off a hangover, so her reply came much later).

Omg yay!!

But if you EVER AGAIN IN YOUR LIFE disappear off the face of the earth after going home with two strangers i will SMOTHER YOU

“You know what, it shows he cares,” Harry had defended him, pulling her closer to his body by the shoulder, “If you did that to me, I’d have called in a SWAT team or summat.”

Monday morning they met for coffee, both pouty that they would have to spend a portion of their day apart. Harry reminded her he was still allotted a little under 600 hours of cuddle time that she had to make up, and she could deliver on them whenever she felt like it. Y/N suggested she start chipping away at the debt Tuesday night, when the cinema prices drop down, so they can finally watch the movie both of them had wanted to but it felt wrong seeing it without each other. The seats recline and warm, and the middle bar between them lifts so they wouldn’t miss even a second of pressing into the other’s body.

“It’s a date,” Y/N smiled, “A real one.”

“Baby, how many times will I have to say it? They’ve been real for me for like – the last month.”

She pinched his bum, laughing when he squawked, “Well, it would’ve been nice if I’d gotten the memo.”

Spring was in full swing, finally. The nights and early mornings weren’t as chilly as they once were, and the morning dew was starting to smell more and more like the world waking up after a long rest. The grass was lush and plants thrived in the hours and hours of sunlight, and wind chimes clinked together with each warm breeze. Renewed and refreshed, the sky was just as bright and blue as it was in childhood; the world was technicolored.

Harry cradled her heart in two careful hands like it was something precious. Something that needed to be tended to and cared for with the utmost precision, beating in his open palms, that he soon cups to protect from the outside world. He demonstrates it in the way he treats her softly, how he navigates through the world with her, the way he looks at her, the way he speaks to her, and the way he holds her.

It’s in the way he turned to her, facing each other on the picnic blanket, lounging in the sun. It’s in the way their fingers are laced together because they always are now, if Harry has anything to do with it, he holds onto her like she’ll float away if he doesn’t. It’s in the way he somehow presses closer to her, and she feels and smells him all around her.

It’s in the way he says, “I love you,” and it’s in the way Y/N’s heart feels swollen in her chest, “I love you so much it kind of feels like it’s hard to breathe, but it’s good. A good breathless, like after running a marathon or something.”

She understands all too well what he means.

Harry leaned over, his lips grazing against hers for a few seconds like he was giving her the chance to push him away. She hadn’t pushed him off for the first hundred kisses he’d dotted on her mouth and skin once they started seeing each other again, so she didn’t know why he would think this was any different. Maybe because of his confession? But it wasn’t something shocking to her. What they felt for one another, this happiness and glimmer that brews between them when they were together, that paints the world in glitter and makes her insides hum warm and fuzzy. . .it could only be love.

So she threads her fingers into the hair at his nape, draws him the rest of the way, and their mouths push together. It’s different this time – this kiss says so much without having to say anything at all.

I love you with all the air that I breathe.

I love you so much it hurts me.

I love you more than I could ever put into words.

I love you more than words could ever allow.

You’re my soulmate, even if it’s not written in the stars.

Harry’s lips are soft, and they taste like the strawberry lip mask that he swears by. The top half of his body is stretched across her, their chests pressing together, she thinks she can feel his heartbeat and wonders if it has started to sync up with her own. It’s a chaste kiss, nothing gaudy or provocative (they’re in public, after all), but it’s good – it’s so good. Something Y/N would replay in her head over and over again. Something she’d never get tired of.

When they part, Harry kisses the tips of their nose together in something so sentimental it’s almost disgusting.

“Ooh,” Harry pushed himself up a little higher, “You’ve got an eyelash baby!”

“I think I have a couple of them. Unless something changed last time I looked in the mirror –”

Harry huffed out through his nose, “Smartass,” the pad of his index finger swipes against her cheek, and Y/N goes cross-eyed trying to look at it, resting there, threatening to blow away with a shiest breeze, “Make a wish, yeah? And make it count!”

She can’t remember the last time she’d wished on an eyelash. To do it again feels innocent and new, so she closes her eyes tight, and she wishes for something good. She doesn’t necessarily know what that good thing is, she just knew that it was a good thing. Maybe she’d get a treat later today, maybe Harry would play with her hair, maybe she’d make him laugh one of those loud, obnoxious ones where his nose scrunches up and his eyes crinkle and he claps a hand over his mouth all embarrassed.

Whatever is, she doesn’t mind.

Y/N tugs him down, even though he drops and almost knocks the wind out of her.

“I love you too,” she tells him earnestly, nosing at his cheek how Dolly’s been doing with her lately, taking him in, “So much.”

Y/N thinks, that maybe the ‘something good’, is how wide his smile is after she says it.

. . .

“Oh my god.”

It was blistering hot out – a random spring day where the weather spiked to about 28°C (82°F) out of nowhere, subsequently on the day that Harry had planned for them to take a hike. One thing about Y/N is, for as adventurous as she likes to make herself out to be, she is not the nature kind of adventurer. She likes to try new places to eat, or weird places to shop, or maybe go to the town over and see what their drive-in theater is like. Not the, let’s climb up the side of a small mountain and hope we don’t cross the path of a cougar and feel sweat cake her skin.

But it was important to Harry because for some reason the man she loved could be that horrible nature type of adventurer. So she sucked it up, woke up at an ungodly hour to get ready, packed a bag for the day and kissed Ferrett all over his stinky little face, and told him his favorite person is a maniac. “A nature-loving maniac,” she muttered before her phone buzzed in her pocket, alerting her that said maniac had pulled up at a quarter till 5 AM.

The goal was to watch the sunrise; it wasn’t a horrible hike, just about 20 minutes up a mountain. The drive was the longest part, but she could sleep a little if she wanted to on the way back and get a good nap in, so that made it a little better. Plus, when she got in the car, Harry patted her head, missing her hair, and scratching his fingers at her scalp, “Hi, pretty baby,” he greeted, “Did you eat breakfast?”

“Mhm,” she murmured, eyes closed and she felt a whole lot like one of the cats when they’re petting between her ears, “I wanna eat again at the top.”

“I already have a lunch packed, Sweetheart,” he puckered his lips, smooching sounds at her, “Hungry thing, like a baby bird, starving without me.”

“Enough!”

It goes well! Y/N keeps her whining and complaining to a minimum, during the steep bits he gets behind her and presses his hands on her bum. It takes them only 20 minutes to get to the top, and the cliff top they’re on overlooks the city. She couldn’t tell you what buildings are, they’re pretty far away, but it is kind of gorgeous. The distance they are at mutes most of the noise, so it’s quiet, apart from morning birds chirping and a couple of insects buzzing. Harry doesn’t mention how he found this spot, but it doesn’t seem like his first time up here. He does seem excited to share this moment with her, absolutely buzzing and if he had a tail it would be wagging.

The start is fine, absolutely beautiful, and then the sun creeps up over the horizon and it’s gorgeous in a way Y/N hasn’t seen before – she’d never actually watched the sunrise, now that she thought about it. They eat their lunch (or was it brunch, technically?) and loiter for a little while, maybe too long, because by the time they’re leaving, there is little to no shade and the sun is baking through her clothes, and she’s regretting wearing more than a sliver of fabric over her crotch because she’s sweating. Still, Harry is silly and sweet and makes it bearable because he seems so happy, it just reverberates off of her.

She does fall asleep on the way home, she wakes up five minutes from her flat and she’s a little groggy and grouchy and in desperate fucking need of a shower. But she has Harry shower first, because. . .well, she doesn’t know, she’s feeling sweet and his showers are quick, and she won’t have to worry about taking up all the hot water before him. And, true to it, Harry does shower relatively fast, maybe within ten minutes he’s finished. Y/N gawks at his body when he comes out in just a towel, and presses her fingers into the tender spot where his soulmark lays across his hip.

“Ah!” He squawks but doesn’t tell her to stop, because she’s pretty sure he secretly likes it.

By the time she’d had her shower, she was more awake, though she knew herself and knew her body, and as soon as she sat beside Harry on the couch she’d melt into him and fall asleep. She walks into the living room where he’s already sitting, Ferret curling around his lap, while Y/N pulls her hair off her neck and into her bun. She’d forgotten a hair tie on their hike so the thought of her hair touching her nape for any amount of time for the rest of the day, just seemed awful.

First, Y/N sat down, relaxed into him, and settled, lulling into that pleasant calm that she knew would eventually send her to sleep (Harry accepted it happily, wrapping his arm around her and holding her close) – then she remembered that there was a merch drop for one of her favorite artists and jolted back awake, “Shit! Harry, the t-shirts!” She leaned forward to grab her phone off the table.

“Baby what t-shirt. . .” he trailed off, his voice leaving, and Y/N was too busy with her phone, hunched over it and trying to login to her account to notice, “Oh my god.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed, turned to face him, “Listen, don’t be jealous, yes I think they’re beautiful, but I just like the band.” When their gazes locked, his face was almost blank, like he was registering something for the first time, and it took her aback. She’d told him about the t-shirts the night before in a series of panicked messages because they always sell out fast, especially now that they come with a signed album. He sent multiple emojis and a message that said, “You got this baby!!!!!!!”

He’d playfully mentioned being jealous before because multiple of the band members were beautiful and he said she was going to run off with one of them if he ever took her to their show. Still, the face he’s making right now doesn’t seem the least bit playful. This isn’t even the face he makes when he’s jealous.

It’s blank, and then it isn’t – his lips twitch like he wants to say something, and his face goes pink, his ears are red, and when he blinks tears bead up in his eyes, “Harry?” She lowered her phone back to the table, turning her body now so she faced him more, “Hey, what’s wrong? What happened?”

“Your mark.” He says it almost as quietly as a whisper, breathless.

Y/N’s brows furrowed deeper, “My what?”

Harry’s hands are careful, approaching her like he would a wounded animal in the woods, tentative and a little hesitant. His fingers touch the back of her neck, where her skin is a little sore; she kept waking up on her belly with Ferret lying on her back, sometimes kneading at her nape, so she could only imagine how many little kitten claw abrasions she had littering the skin. She can’t really visualize them, so she just slathered Neosporin over it and hoped for the best. The pain was only intense once, a couple of weeks ago, but her shoulder had been sore too so she’s pretty sure she’d been sleeping in a weird position. Y/N had a nasty habit of doing that, her head, body, and arms all twisted in various directions.

Still, Harry wouldn’t act that way about cat scratches, would he? Unless they looked absolutely horrible.

Her hand lifts to meet him, where he strokes over the skin, “Oh, yeah I guess Ferret got me pretty good. Does it look bad?”

He blinks at her, “I knew it.”

“Harry, what? C’mon, you’re not making sense!”

His gaze finally meets hers again, tearing away from her neck, and a smile grows over his face, “It’s not a cat scratch, it’s your mark.” He finally answered, and the joy that outstretched his features was all-encompassing.

Y/N blinked at him.

“Oh.” She tilted her head, her hands hovering over the spot but Harry gripped her fingers and brought them down, running them over it, “That’s – it’s mine? I have one?”

Her voice doesn’t feel like her own. Her body doesn’t feel like her own.

Y/N had finally accepted that maybe not getting one was okay. She’d spent years of her life yearning for it, wanting it desperately, wondering why she didn’t have it – what she had done to deserve such a fate. And then she finally just lets it go, accepts that maybe it wasn’t her reality, and finally has made peace with it.

But Harry is saying she has one.

Whoa.

“Whoa,” her skin doesn’t feel any different – it’s just smooth, the back of her neck, the little bump of her spine, but Harry keeps guiding her to trace the skin like there’s something magical there. His eyes can barely look away from it, “Does it –” she’s nervous to ask, nervous to know, but she has to know, “Is it similar to yours?”

Harry shook his head, but before Y/N’s heart could drop to her stomach, he opened his mouth, “Not just similar,” he told her gently, “It’s an exact match.”

Y/N thinks this is what floating must feel like. This calm, easy feeling that washes over her; warm and bright, like resting on your back in water, hovering over the surface without the water sloshing in your ear. Just floating, a couple of meters above ground, over a field of flowers so happy from rain and sun. In a world that smells like something sweet and light, where the colors are vivid, where the birds sing, where she merely floats around, satiated, and satisfied.

All this drama. All this heartache and stress and worry that they put themselves through, and they’d been soulmates all along.

“Can you take a picture of it?”

Harry nodded, taking her phone off the table and using his hand to brush the baby hairs completely out of the way before she heard the shutter click a few times. When Harry flipped the camera around, she saw exactly what he’d said – it felt a little more real now that she was looking at it, just a few shades darker than her skin, a circle that turned into a swirl, dots that could be little stars, three lines that reminded her of Ferret’s whiskers. Y/N had spent so much time looking and pressing at Harry’s lately that she didn’t need to compare it, but she did anyway. She presses at his chest so his back meets the sofa, and pushes his shirt up above his belly button, pulling his briefs further down. Y/N held the phone screen beside him, her heart feeling heavy, too big for her chest, shifting her lungs and threatening to crack her ribs with the growth.

“I knew it,” Harry whispers again, “I knew it, baby, I knew it this whole time, it had to be you.”

Y/N thinks it's her who kisses him first. All but lunges at him, actually, like a new vampire at the first sight of blood, if she weren’t already leaning back then the force she’d exerted would have pushed him there. Their chests knock together and their mouths do what she can only describe as smush together, in something a little sloppy, a little desperate, and uncoordinated. It is nothing like the sweet, chaste little kiss they shared on the picnic blanket two weeks ago. This is something different, something primal and needy.

They part for a second, to suck in a tiny breath and then dip back in only this time Y/N’s licking into his mouth. She’s tasting his tongue, she’s feeling his scalp beneath her fingers as she runs them through his hair, she’s feeling his body radiate warmth, the softness of his skin.

She’s feeling her soulmate.

Her soulmate.

Their tongues curl around each other, Y/N tries to press impossibly closer to his body, her thighs trapping his hips in a hold she thinks would rival a wrestler. Harry’s hand doesn’t leave her nape, stroking over it, and with each caress, she can hear his voice repeating, “I knew it,” like a mantra. Pleased with himself for never doubting this, even when it took too long. Even when she thought one day he was going to leave her for bigger, better things, someone created just for him.

And she’d been that person all along.

She isn’t sure if her cheeks are sticky with her tears or with his, but it doesn’t matter. Their kiss starts to taste salty when the dewy drops slip down their nose and over the curve of their mouths. Y/N bites at his bottom lip then suck it back into her mouth, then presses her lips hot into his again. This feeling is overwhelming, but so good, so, so, so good. Her brain feels dizzy with it, her insides flutter, and she doesn’t know if she’s trembling or if every one of her cells is vibrating and cheering and telling her told you so! Because her body knew from the very moment they touched that he was her person.

“Sweetheart,” he finally panted, when they take a long break, though he does push kisses along her tear-speckled cheeks between breaths, “I’m – you might need to get off my lap, baby.”

Harry’s hard under her, she had felt that a little while ago and made no move to get off of him before. Honestly, it only encouraged her to keep kissing him, subtly rolling her hips into his body, making sure he only grew stiffer and stiffer beneath her. Y/N wanted him wholly. They hadn’t slept with each other yet, and she wasn’t sure why – it had never felt like the right time before, she guessed, but it certainly felt like the right time now. Y/N wanted to wrap around him, she wanted their bodies to merge, to sink into him, for him to melt into her.

“I want you,” she answered, then shifted in his lap, pressing tighter to the bulge for good measure, “I need you.”

That’s all she has to say.

Harry stands up with her, his arms supporting her bum as he guides them to her bedroom. Y/N would have been just fine on the couch, but Harry is a romantic after all; he would never let their first time be anywhere but a bed. He carefully lays her down on the mattress, then crawls over the top of her, his lips smearing over her mouth once again. It’s hot again – she’s warm all over, and everywhere his hands touch sends searing waves through the rest of her body. They don’t stay in one place for long like he’s mapping her out like he hasn’t spent so much time already stroking, massaging, squeezing, and tracing all over her hands, her arms, her legs.

Her skin pebbles with goosebumps when his hands fix around the bottom of her shirt, peeling it up, over her head and helping her wiggle out from the collar. Y/N hadn’t bothered with a bra after her shower, so her breasts were free just as soon as the fabric left them. He stares down at them, marveling, one of his hands on either side of her waist smooths up so the swell of her boobs rest in the curve of his index finger and thumb. Harry squeezes experimentally, his eyes on her face as he lulls his tongue over his lips, “Anything you don’t like, you tell me, okay?”

Normally when someone says that, the ensuing action is something that might be an acquired taste, but Y/N wondered how anyone could not want Harry’s mouth all over their body. He lowered himself, hand full of her breast, before he lulled his tongue over the nipple. Laved it over with his spit then blew cool air on it, watching as it hardened beneath the stream of his breath. He smiled, almost like he found it cute how responsive her body was to him before he closed the gap and pulled it between his lips.

Y/N gasps, her hips jerk and she drags her covered pussy over the stiffened bulge in his bottoms. Harry moans around but he doesn’t detach himself, busy rolling her nipple around his soft tongue in circles and then sucking it hard into his mouth. She’d be surprised if she didn’t have love bites around her nipples in a few hours, the way he bites down, just barely indenting his teeth before soothing it back over again.

When he removes himself from that nipple, he kisses all around her breast, sucking patches of skin into his mouth, just pecking over others, bridging the gap with wet presses and open-mouth kisses to her other nipple. Y/N makes a reedy sound in her throat, her legs wrapping around his hips loosely when she tries to rock her hips into him again. Harry uses the hand that was still thumbing and rubbing over the nipple he had been sucking on, to move to her hips. He pressed down, pulling away with a click of his tongue, “Be patient,” he chided gently, and she would be annoyed if she didn’t love the sound of his voice, “I want to take my time with you.”

“I’ve been patient,” she mewled, her chest heaving with an exasperated breath, “Take your time with me later, I want you now.”

Y/N didn’t care how desperate or pathetic she sounded. Harry didn’t seem to mind either, when he pushed his mouth back to hers, letting his tongue flutter between her lips but as soon as the tip of hers met the tip of his, he withdrew, teasingly, “Okay, you impatient thing,” he reached behind himself, grabbing the top of his shirt and pulling it over the top of his head, Y/N drinks in the sight of his body like she hadn’t seen it like twenty minutes ago after his shower. Like she hadn’t seen it hours ago when he got too hot on their way down the small mountain and pulled his workout top off. Then his fingers curl into the elastic of her bottoms, “I at least need to stretch you a little, hm? Will you allow that?”

She frowned at him but raised her hips for him, helping him work the shorts and panties off of her legs. Y/N is going to say that he just wants to be a pervert and stare at her since he’d seen how wet she could get the night that they sexted each other, but her words are stolen from her throat when he lets a glob of spit drool over the top of her. She twitches when it meets her pussy, sliding over the swell of her clit before Harry’s fingers delicately rub over her slit. Y/N feels herself throb, her walls contracting like they’re trying to beguile him inside.

Harry coos, “You’re so pretty for me,” he rubs his thumb over her clit, biting on his bottom lip while he smiled, rolling it in circles, and it’s already so swollen that it stiffly moves beneath the pad, “So beautiful. I can’t believe you’re all mine.”

A single finger dips inside, right down to the knuckle, he eases in and visibly has to steel himself as her walls suck him inside. Y/N can’t even pretend like her pussy is acting with a mind of its own, Y/N is just as greedy for him. Harry feels around for a little while, petting and stroking like he has to map the inside of her as well, and he moves around so much that he eventually pushes right against the bundle of nerves tucked away inside of her. The reaction is immediate and full-bodied, her thighs try to close around him, but with one hand he has his palm flat against the inside of her thigh, holding her open.

“I love you,” Harry murmured as he eased another finger inside of her, scooting down the bed. In his path, he kisses along her torso, over her ribcage, dotting pecks over her belly button and sucking quick little marks in the area around her hip bones. Down to his ending goal, so his face was sitting between her legs, and now he leaves wet presses to the tender flesh of her thighs, “I love you so much. Knew from so early on that it could only be you – that nobody else would fit me like you do.”

Y/N whines, overcome with love, her chest tender, “I love you too,” she whispered as Harry kissed down her thigh, until he was hovering over her cunt. His warm breath washes over Y/N’s weeping center, the way she drips around his fingers is probably a little wild. Y/N gets pretty wet under normal circumstances, sure, but now she’s in love, and happy, and it feels like all those feelings have culminated into an absolute wave between her thighs.

“I’ve been thinking about tasting you since I went on my trip,” he confessed, not pausing the movement of his fingers inside of her, though his voice does little to drown out the embarrassing squelch, “And as I recall you said you would let me taste you.”

There’s no more preamble than that. His tongue is soft and wet, lacing between her lips and petting over her swollen clit. Harry moans in tandem with her, as she spreads her legs further, her head tilting back, “God,” she whines, “You’re too – you’re too good at this, it’s not fair.” He laughed as he slid his tongue up and down her folds, spreading and stretching the two fingers inside of her, slowly working her up to take a third. Which wouldn’t be much on a smaller hand, but Harry’s hands are quite big, and even just two fingers kind of feel like the width of one of her smaller toys. Smaller but not small, so she’s already feeling quite full.

It’s a good feeling, to be full of him, to have him inside of her in any capacity. Now that she’s had a taste of it, she isn’t sure how she’s going to ever go without it. He might just have to carry her around sitting on his cock all day, drawing a book cover while she edited a chapter, stretched out and warm on his prick.

Harry pulls her clit into between his lips, sucking small, short little actions that threaten to make her eyes roll back. Arousal burns white hot in her belly, and she feels herself leak a little more, her juices dribbling down to her bum. Then the soft suckles get harder, and harder until she can see his lips pucker around it and his cheeks suck in, and he’s sliding a third finger in somehow, even though she thinks she’s clamping down on him. Y/N feels close, all love-struck and needy, she thinks he could probably make her cum by walking by her if she’s honest.

Her hand buries in his hair, pulling, “I’m g’na cum,” she warned him, the telltale signs of it burning up her spine, slithering out through the rest of her body, as the orgasm dances through every single nerve she has, “Ah, fuck, please don’t stop, please don’t stop.” Harry groans into her like he’s close too, and her thighs start to shake, the vibrations of his noises tripping her over the edge, as her hips buck and rock into his face without any say-so from her. Her body moves off impulse, pushing him further into her, and Harry accepts it graciously, working her through her orgasm, slathering his tongue back up and down her slit, around his fingers, fluttering the tip of it at her rapidly pulsing and twitching hole.

He stays there until she shoves him away, her palm pressed against his forehead, and Harry laughs. His lips are swollen and wet, a bright pink that rivals a lot of lip products on the market. He dots kisses on the tops of her thighs as she settles, jumping and jerking, her body sensitive to the touch all over.

“We can stop here,” he murmured, “I just wanted to make you feel good.”

Y/N mustered the best glare she could, with all of the muscles in her whole body, including her face, feeling liquified, “If you don’t get inside of me, I’ll scream.”

Harry laughs, something so sweet in such a filthy situation as he sits back up. He’d only put on briefs after his shower so there was only one last layer to shed, and Y/N’s eyes were glued to him as pulled them down his thighs, off his legs. His cock bobs, heavy and full, precum dribbling down the tip already and she wondered if maybe, they were just a leaky duo. When he finally sits, his dick settles right up against his belly, with a slight preference toward his right, directed toward his soulmark. He settled between her thighs, took hold of himself by the base, and squeezed for a second, sucking in a slow, deep breath before tapping the tip against her messy slit.

The sound of them colliding is soft and wet, a little ‘thwick, thwick, thwick,’ that makes Harry smile, “What a cute noise,” he started to rub himself against her, painting the head up and down, early pushing inside of her then taking it back and sliding back up her slit. Harry can only stand it about four times before he has to give in, tipping the head of his cock inside of her, and pushing his hips forward.

He collects her thighs, guiding them around his waist as Y/N keens at the stretch. Harry’s just as big as he looked in the picture, it had not been the magic of angles at all, so her toes curl as the burn gives way to pleasure the further he dips in. It’s too fucking good, how he fills her up, stuffs any gap inside of her. For the most part, he glides inside, aided by her previous orgasm loosening her up and making her even wetter, but toward the end he has to rock his hips a little, pushing past the last little bit.

Then his balls are snug against her bum, and he’s dropping down on top of her, their mouths meeting again. This kiss is a little sweeter, despite their position, it feels like a gentle reminder. He finds her hand, takes her wrist, and moves it above her head. He slips his fingers between the spaces of hers, holding her tight as he carefully starts to roll his hips. Just a little bit at a time, getting her used to the feeling, getting him used to it. She feels like puddy, moldable in his capable, tender hands.

“I love you,” he murmured, and he says it so often, every night before they go to bed, every morning when they wake up when he kisses her cheek before they go to their separate floors at work, but he says it now like he just likes the taste of it on his tongue. His lips skim across her cheek, stiffened and sticky from the dried tears from earlier, “My pretty baby, my soulmate,” his teeth drag against her ear, “You’re perfect. Feel so fucking good inside.”

Y/N’s body reacts accordingly, squeezing around him even tighter, and she’d never thought she was one for this mushy, lovey-dovey kind of dirty talk but it’s doing things to her that she’s never felt before. Harry fucks her slowly and tenderly to start, just gentle rolls of his hips, and when he’s done kissing her cheek and nipping at her ear, his forehead rests against hers. His eyes bore into her own, his mouth fell open, mirroring Y/N’s and they breathed each other's air and moaned into each other’s mouths. When he picks up the pace of it, Harry slides his forearm under the pit of her knee, keeping her spread open and wide for him.

“I love you,” Y/N finally reciprocates, because she can be honest and admit that she’s feeling a little cock dumb right now, her brain barely keeping up with anything other than, Harry, and big, big, big, and feels so good, love him, love him. So formulating words is a triumphant task, one she’s proud of herself for being able to accomplish.

“Can I see it, baby?” Harry asks her, pushing the hair from her face, “Do you mind if I flip you onto your tummy? Wanna see it again.”

Y/N mustered all her strength to help him as she nodded, agreeing – she wanted him to see it. She’d gotten to play and touch and press into his so much already, she thought it was only fair. So he slides out of her, helps her flip over, stuffs a pillow beneath her hips, pushes her legs out just a little, and then slips himself right back in like he was made to fit just there. The new angle knocks the breath out of her, along with the new, reinvigorated thrusts from Harry as he guides her head. Her cheek is pressed to a pillow, and Harry pushes her hair out of his way (it had somehow fallen from the bun at some point, Y/N isn’t sure when), and he thumbs over the spot again.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, and his thrusts pick up, faster than before, harder, and Y/N’s whole body feels it. Harry stretches across her back, his chest against sweaty skin as his lips push against the mark that matches his, suddenly on her skin, like it was always meant to be there, “God, fuck, you’re mine. I’m yours, and you’re mine, and this is. . .this is perfect, we’re perfect,” he fucks her harder, the hand that was squeezing her hip tight enough to leave bruises now slides between her body and the pillow, two fingers finding her clit.

Y/N cums again, even harder than the first time. Her mouth falls open to moan but it gets caught in her throat, as she shakes, and trembles through it, squeezing Harry and sucking him further and further inside. She can hear her blood roaring in her ears, her vision blurs and her muscles jerk and tighten, loosen then tighten up again as her orgasm trapezes through her. It had built up so fast and so suddenly that it completely blindsided her, and Harry for that matter, who finishes fucking her through it before he has to slip out, sliding himself in between her cheeks, her bum sandwiching him. Harry finishes shortly after her, “G’na cum, baby, g’na cum for you,” and, his cum hot and wet meets her lower back, all over her bum, and there’s so much of it she can feel it dripping down her thighs.

They’re wet and sticky again, the showers they had both taken were completely a moot point now but Y/N didn’t care. She sank into the bed beneath her, Harry’s body on top of her like a weighted blanket, and for the first time, she understood how those could be comforting rather than suffocating. She feels each heavy, deep breath that Harry takes, how his lungs expand, and the way his heart thuds. Her eyes are closed, and she thinks, if he let her, she’d fall asleep in seconds.

His cum cools between them, and the insides of her thighs are a sticky mess of her arousal, but the moment feels intimate and innocent in a way Y/N can’t describe. He stretched out on top of her, rousing enough to give giddy kisses to the back of her neck again, still in such awe and wonder by the affirmation of something he knew deep down. Y/N wished she had been as confident as him in the universe’s plan this entire time. Maybe she could have saved them some of the trouble that they went through.

But that doesn’t matter now.

Not when they have matching marks.

Not when this is perfect.

“Can’t believe you thought this beautiful mark was a cat scratch,” he murmured against her nape, “I can still taste the antibiotic ointment on it, Sweetheart, you should really investigate harder when you think something’s harmed you.”

Y/N wiggled beneath him, “I’m telling Ferret that you think his cat scratches aren’t beautiful,” she threatened, “I’ll tell him you called him stinky too.”

Harry gasped, “Don’t you dare,” he squeezed her sides, and she could hear the smile in his voice when she squealed and jumped, “I won’t have you letting Ferret believe that I abide by any of your usual Ferret slander.” He flipped her around, enough that he could see her face and they could look at each other, “I’m serious!” He exclaimed when she smiled.

“I am too, he’s a stinky little fiend. So stinky and so fiendish that I believed he was continuously scratching me in the same spot before I believed that I got a soulmate mark.” She sighed, shaking her head, “I reckon we need to go pick up Dolly, so she can teach him a thing or two about keeping his claws in his paws. . .and I miss her.” Y/N shrugged, “It feels weird not to have her with us on such a monumental day.”

A dimple pops onto his cheek.

“You’re right,” he grinned.

. . .

Later that night, Y/N and Harry are lying in her bed watching the telly. His hand presses against the nape of her neck, and her fingers trace over his lower right hip. Ferret is tucked against Harry’s side, Dolly is stretched out over Y/N’s thighs, and Harry and Y/N are so close together they might as well be one body.

“If I was stinky as Ferret, would you still love me?” She inquired idly, and Harry laughed quietly, his chest rumbling with it.

“Honestly, it might make me love you more.” He replied.

Y/N knows, for sure, this is where they’re both meant to be.

#jawllines

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laughontour · 27 days

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Seven Hours

A/N: this is heavily based on that gif of Harry on stage and waving with a massive grin to the camera, and there was no way in hell that I wouldn’t write what I fantasised in the tags of my reblog lmao. It’s smut (again), so enjoy!

WC: 7,172

“Want you naked in that bedroom when I come home.”

The tone of his voice sends shivers down her spine, and Y/N can feel her thighs involuntarily clench shut. She rolls her lips between her teeth, eyeing up his pink mouth, and her mind starts to wander to the memory of it kissing on her cunt.

She blinks, words in a hushed whisper. “Better be quick then. Can’t promise I won’t start without you.”

Y/N and Harry finally have some time to themselves.

Keep reading

#read

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laughontour · 1 month

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silk and rope masterlist

in which y/n and harry embark on a daddy dom/submissive relationship, but things get messy — both in and out of the bedroom.

content warnings: smut! so much of it! included but not limited to: daddy kink, squirting, overstimulation, dumbification, anal play, y/n in her subspace, bondage, use of toys, dirty talk, cum play

part one

y/n is used to having shitty dominants until harry realizes they may be compatible in the bedroom

part two

y/n can't help it if she falls into her little space when harry's not around — but it turns out she can't control the things she says, either

part three

harry gets his shit together when he realizes he'll do anything to have y/n in his life

blurbs:

harry's stuck in dom space*

harry wants y/n to be his little housewife*

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laughontour · 1 month

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cupid-styles masterlist

note: ramadan mubarak! during this time, I'll be tagging anything not ramadan-friendly with the ⭐️ emoji! please feel free to block that tag during the fast! (3/11/24)

series masterlist

70s!harry* (complete)

it's 1976, daisy is best friends willow styles, and she has a huge crush on her brother, harry. content warnings: smut, talk of war, outdated conversations about the LGBTQ+ community, a coming out scene

grumpy h* (complete with extras)

y/n and harry are TAs for the same course and he's really mean to her for no reason. content warnings: minor angst/harry not being the nicest, smut

sugar daddy h* (complete with extras)

harry’s tired of being used by his partners for money so he seeks out a sugar baby, except he’s really bad at dating apps. content warnings: age gap (8 years), smut

silk and rope (ddlg harry)* (complete with extras)

y/n and harry embark on a dominant and submissive relationship and things get a little messy both in and out of the bedroom. content warnings: smut!! like so much smut. this series is filthy

only angel (tattorry/plugrry)* (complete with extras)

harry owns a tattoo shop, sells weed on the side, and y/n is a shy virgin who wants to break away from her controlling parents. content warnings: smut, y/n has shitty parents, negative discussions of weight loss/dieting, needles (for the purpose of piercing), one fainting scene caused by a piercing

late night talking (cam girl!y/n x nerdrry)* (complete with extras)

harry’s a shy, quiet computer engineer who tunes into y/n’s daily cam streams, but things get complicated when they start talking every day. content warnings: smut

daisy (grumpy english profrry x quiet TA!yn)* (in progress)

part one | part two

y/n is harry’s teaching assistant and she’s desperate for his approval. content warnings: smut, inappropriate relationship, small age gap (four years)

you’re my last shot* (pregnant!yn/enemies to lovers/co parenting au)

rockstar!yn x groupie tour photographer!harry*

a/o/b (or frat alpha harry)*

hockey player!harry x ballerina!yn*

fall/halloween blurb masterlist

the year of magical thinking — college!harry au

in which eloise and harry bond over their favorite author (tw for grief and death-related content)

puppy*

aka the threesome one-shot

new year's stranger

harry and y/n only see each other on new year's eve, so it has to be fate. right?

renaissance — single dadrry x art teacher!yn au

harry is a single dad who has a big fat crush on his son’s art teacher extra: lucky*

casual*

harry's a douche and thinks things between he and y/n are way more casual than they are

fic recs

main writing tag (includes concepts/requests)

bestie asks | bestie recommendations | cupid after dark

#read

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laughontour · 1 month

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MASTERLIST (@purplekiwis)

Damaged Goods (Ongoing Series)

Summary: Enemies to Lovers;College AU

Harry and Y/N are too alike for their own good, and unfortunately both have a thing for saying things they don't really mean.

Series Masterlist

Damaged Goods Blurbs:

Harry is sick and grumpy, and Y/N takes care of him (Blurb)

Chain Reaction (One Shot)

Summary: 80s!Harry x 80s!OC

Tracy Turner's Valentine's Night couldn't have kicked off any worse... could it be that stumbling into a secret, private club after hours changed the fate of her night?

Hands (Multi-Part Series)

Summary: Professor!Harry x Student!Y/N

You’ve got a new professor, and an obsession with his hands…

Series Masterpost

Breaking the Ice (2 Part Series)

Summary: Hockey!Harry x Skater!Y/N

It’s no secret that as a figure skater, you’re fed up with the local hockey team being treated like royalty… and your ex’s status as a player isn’t helping much either.

Part 1

Part 2

In The Witching Hours (3 Part Series)

Summary: Wizard!Harry x Witch!Y/N; Soulmates AU

An emergency admission to the hospital gives rise to a series of strange events but luckily, there's a cute, shy wizard around...

Part 1

Part 2

Cherry From The West (2 Part Series)

Summary: Cowboy!Harry x Saloongirl!OC; Wild West AU

The story of a hopelessly romantic saloon girl, her long lost lover and very, very stubborn horse.

Part 1

Part 2

Tentmate (One Shot)

Summary: Friends With Benefits

Y/N has always hated camping... until her and Harry got stuck together in the same tent. (This one is smutty AF)

I Did Something Bad (One Shot)

Summary: Demon!Harry x Demon!Y/N

Harry is a newly born demon who's still learning how to control his killer instincts.

Poet!Harry Blurb Series

Summary: Poet!Harry x Bookstore!Y/N

Y/N owns a small bookstore and Harry is her chronically sleep-deprived poet lover.

The Poetry Class (Blurb)

Poet Harry being a menace in the kitchen (Blurb)

CEO!Harry Blurb Series

Summary: CEO!Harry x Employee!Y/N

Y/N is new... and curvy, and Harry is a little too into it.

Part 1: CEO!Harry has a crush on his brand-new employee Y/N (Blurb)

Part 2: CEO!Harry still has a crush on his brand-new employee Y/N but now they're talking (Blurb)

Part 3: CEO!Harry is having some very serious bikini problems (Blurb)

Part 4: CEO!Harry and Y/N meet in the office's elevator (Blurb)

Part 5: CEO!Harry and Y/N bump into each other outside the office (Blurb)

Part 6: CEO!Harry throws an office party that ends in a very unexpected way (Blurb)

Sub!Harry Blurb Series

Summary: Sub!Harry x SoftDom!Y/N

Harry and Y/N are cute, kinky and love each other an awful lot.

Series Masterlist

#read

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laughontour · 2 months

Text

“Why can’t I stare?” He pressed, turning to face her more fully, resting his weight on his hip rather than his bum, and he sat his elbow on the back of the sofa, “You’re the one who said you loved kissing me so much that we needed to do it all of the time –”

Y/N’s eyes go comically wide, “I did not –” she started to squawk but he kept talking over her.

“--so maybe I am staring at them. And maybe I should grant your wishes and we should kiss a little before the food gets here, and my breath is all onion-y.”

Y/N feels bad it's taking so long but Harry doesn't mind

(18k+ words)

part 1

ii.

Y/N thinks that cats might just like stomping on her head.

Ferret does it because he’s Ferret; he’s all lean limbs and awkward tufts of hair that spike around his ears, with paws that are too big but he doesn’t seem to grow into, and a torso that would be lissom if he wasn’t so clumsy – he looks like that kind of cat that stomps on heads. It would be more shocking if he weren’t just narrowly avoiding stabbing her forehead with his claws in the morning because he’s hungry. She couldn’t even blame him either, because it was a foolproof way to yank her from the depths of a dream. One minute she’s swimming in water that’s too crystalline to be real trying to speak to fish, and the next she’s in her bed, Ferret’s front paw pressed against her cheek while he purred (seemingly content despite his “starvation”).

So she assumes she’s at home when she feels it, only for whatever reason Ferret was being a little more graceful than he usually is. He felt a little heavier too, like his metabolism had finally slowed so he started plumping up, and Y/N could have the slightly fat cat of her dreams. His purr was. . .different, softer, a little more reserved than the engine-like revving that usually tore her into reality. And when he crawled over the top of her head, flopping his body in front of her face in what might be a suffocation attempt, she realized that there was much more fur, it’s softer – Ferret’s fur is kitten soft, but this is something different – something purebred. And it smells not like herself, or his stinky little self, it smells like Harry. Why would her cat smell like Harry?

Her eyes flutter open, fighting past the heavy feeling of her lids and the sun streaming in through the window. Y/N pulls her curtains at night and screws her blinds shut tight (not just from the desire to wake up in relative darkness, but fear that someone was looking at her through the window, despite being on the third flow of a relatively tall flat building), and it is something so deeply embedded in her nightly routine, she doesn’t even forget to do it when she’s drunk.

When her pupils finally adjusted to what felt like a blinding light, she took in her surroundings. However, her surroundings were mostly composed of the white fur that was currently stuffed right in front of her face. This is not her cat, and this is not her room, and the mattress she’s lying on is too soft to be her own. It’s only when the cat turns around and she recognizes Dolly’s sweet, bright eyes slowly blinking at her that she comes to the understanding that she’s at Harry’s. In his clothes, soft and worn slouching over her body, with his blanket pulled up just beneath her armpit. The window was open just a sliver, enough that the wind billowed the curtains out, and the fan whipped around above her.

Harry was nowhere to be found, but that was probably for the best right now. She was barely awake and it always took her a couple of minutes to attune herself to reality after she roused from sleep. Especially when she wakes up somewhere that isn’t her room. Her muscles were stiff like she’d not moved for a while, and when she pressed up from the bed, she stretched out her arms and stifled a groan. Did Harry have plans? It couldn’t have been that late in the day could it have been? But Y/N was known to sleep in sometimes a little too late after being out the night prior, even if she turned in around midnight. Maybe he had an appointment or something – maybe he had plans for coffee. Though Harry doesn’t strike her as the type to leave unannounced or without explanation, and there’s no parting note on his nightstand. Just her phone, which had no new messages from him either – just a couple of pictures that Eloise sent from the night before, and Niall “helpfully” reminding her that he’d slid condoms into the side pocket of her purse.

They didn’t sleep together, she knew that, but they did kiss. The memory of it slaps itself across her face as she raises her fingers, touching them to her lips, probably dried from sleeping with her mouth open. His lips had been so soft against hers, so pillowy – he kissed her like he really wanted to like it was the most natural thing in the world. When she remembered how he followed after her mouth as she pulled away, something twisted in her lower stomach that was a little too similar to arousal. Harry kisses like he needs to breathe, and that is without him even licking against her tongue – she couldn’t imagine what it would be like if he’d had.

She feels embarrassed, even if she isn’t the one to suggest it. Y/N had given in pretty easily though, without him needing to ask twice, and for some reason, she’s feeling shy about that. Maybe he’d realized how easy for it she’d been – maybe he left this morning because he was worried she was developing feelings for him. Had he noticed so quickly? Y/N would have probably run off too, to avoid the conversation, letting her down easy, reminding her that she’s only here to help him find his actual soulmate, not to sponge off his affectionate tendencies for her own –

“You’re awake!” His voice slices through her spiral and Y/N turns to look at him. Harry had showered, she could tell by how damp his hair still was, and he looked way too good for someone who also drank the night before. His clothes are cozy though, sweatpants and a shirt that matches the one she wore, “I was just coming to check on you and Dolly. She didn’t want to get up with me this morning, she was loving her snuggles with you.”

Y/N is still squinting a little bit against the light, her hand mindlessly running through Dolly’s fur, “What time is it?”

“Just a little over 9,” he replied.

“I’m sorry,” she used her other hand to knuckle at her eye, “I – you probably want to get your day started, and I’m here loitering in your bed.”

Harry makes an affronted noise, brows dipping in, his whole face drawing into a pout, “What?” He shook his head, “No, stop that, why are you apologizing? You looked so cute and peaceful sleeping with Dolly, I just couldn’t wake you up.” He motioned around his room, “I have no plans for the rest of the day. I made breakfast for us too.”

She blinked at him, her brows raising, “You cook?”

“Oi, do I look like I can’t?” He held out his hand for her and Y/N slid hers inside of it – it was unnecessary, she didn’t need help getting out of the bed, but his palm was soft and warm and Y/N couldn’t help wanting to hold it. She gets onto her knees on the mattress and then becomes acutely aware that she has no shorts or pants on, but his shirt hands low enough that it isn’t obvious. Harry helped guide her off the bed, and Dolly followed suit, “I made waffles and sliced some fruit. Give me a second so I can put a couple of eggs on the stove, it should still be warm so it’ll be quick.”

He squeezes her hand then lets go, leading the way into the kitchen, “You don’t have to –”

“I know what I don’t have to do,” he clicked his tongue, “I want to, though. I have coffee in the pot if you want, or there’s some peach juice I got from the market – it’s really good. The glasses are in the cupboard above the sink, Sweetheart.”

Harry’s kitchen is spacious for a flat; there was enough room that they could both move about comfortably unlike her own kitchen, where if there’s more than one human body and one cat body in there, you’re constantly bumping and knocking each other around. He clicks the burner on where a pan is sitting, waiting like he’d planned to make her fresh eggs from the start.

Once she got the juice, he directed her to sit at a small table he had set up closer to the corner.

“You don’t want any help?”

“I think I can handle two eggs,” he chuckled warmly, turning back to the stove. This was new. None of the people she’d helped before had made her breakfast; they would buy her something to eat, sure, or bring her breakfast in the morning before a shared lecture. Nobody had taken the time to make her a meal though, and it made her heart feel too big for her chest, displacing her ribs to make space for itself. He seemed happy to be doing it as well, humming low and sweet to himself as he cracked the eggs, murmuring and mocking Dolly’s meows as she curled between his ankles.

Y/N cleared her throat, “She stomped all over my head this morning,” she doesn’t specify who, and she doesn’t need to – Harry hums an understanding noise.

“She wants a second breakfast,” he flipped the eggs with an ease Y/N had only ever seen on the telly, “And she thinks she can trick you into it, the sneaky little thing.”

She runs her lips over her dry mouth, “She does this to all your sleepover partners?” Y/N doesn’t think she wanted to know, actually, but the question leaves her mouth before she could think about it. Y/N thinks that her subconscious loves to torture her, and wants to be reminded that she was not special in this. Harry had probably cooked breakfast for people before, and he would continue to do so when he found his soulmate. Y/N thinks whoever it is would be lucky to have someone who seemed so pleased cooking eggs for them.

Harry snorted, and she braced herself for him to agree, but he only shook his head, “No, actually,” he slid the spatula beneath the eggs and plated them, “She hated my ex, so she never really spent much time in my room when she was around. Now that I think about it, she hated most of my exes, even if it was just a couple of dates and not anything official – she wanted nothing to do with them,” he arranged her plate carefully, adding butter to her waffle and pressing the sliced fruit off to the side. He’d sliced the grapes too like he was worried about her choking on them and the thought almost made her giggle. Once he finished, he turned to her with a smile, “So, looks like you’re special, right? To win Dolly’s affection is a difficult task – she hated me the first few weeks she was here, and that’s when she was a kitten that I bottle fed.”

The food looks delicious – the eggs are fluffy and the waffle is still warm, a little steamy. She only realized then that Harry had carefully curated some of the fruit into a smiley face, and she was so endeared she could scream, “She probably just smells little stinky Ferret on me.”

“I’m over this Ferret slander!” Harry protests, sliding maple syrup onto the table, “When I met him, he smelled like you, and you smell amazing.”

Her face feels warm, “Is he paying you? I’ve never had someone defend him so adamantly before.”

Harry plops in the seat across from her, “He’s Dolly’s best friend,” he rests his chin on his hand, watching as Y/N picks up the fork on her plate, “Of course, I’ll defend him.”

She’s about to accuse Ferret of bewitchment but is stopped when the first taste of it hits her tongue. It’s delicious, is the thing – even for something as simple as eggs and a waffle, Y/N is pleasantly surprised, “Oh, Harry,” she murmured, politely holding a hand over her mouth, “This is delicious, what the hell?”

A dimple pops on his cheek, “Told you I could handle two eggs.”.

For a while, they just exist together. Harry watches her eat and adjusts in his seat to accommodate Dolly who all but launched herself into his lap, while Y/N ate. Eventually, she motioned toward his phone and told him to scroll through something because, “You eyeballing me is making me nervous,” and he only giggled and listened to her. They stay like that until she’s cleaned her plate, content and full without feeling too heavy. Harry must have still been stealing glances at her because he knew exactly when she finished, his eyes flickering back up to her from his phone.

“Y/N?” He started and she hummed, tucking her straw to the corner of her lips, “About last night. . .”

Harry trailed off and Y/N paused mid-sip, holding the juice still in her mouth. This is when he would tell her it was a mistake, she’s sure of it. He’d explain that he’d just been drunk, that kissing had seemed like a good idea when he was filled with cocktails but now he wanted to nip that in the bud. Little did he know that he didn’t need to worry about Y/N initiating any kisses or even bringing it up if he didn’t. She was an expert at pretending like something didn’t happen and nothing had changed, when she put her mind to it, and she was certainly going to put her mind toward this.

She swallowed, “Don’t worry about it,” she waved her hand, “We were drunk anyway, so we can just pretend that – y’know, that stuff happens all of the time. We don’t have to worry about it.”

For the second time that morning, Harry’s eyebrows furrowed rather than his face relaxing like she thought it might. It’d been like this before, where they’d kiss her then feel silly about it, and Y/N always promised that it was okay, that it came with the territory. Normally she’s being looked at with relief and gratitude, not disgruntled confusion.

“That’s not what I meant,” he went on to say, “I’m not worried about it, I was just – I wanted to know if that was okay to do now.” Harry pulled her plate away from her, closer to himself, “But if you don’t want that then that’s okay.”

“No, I –” she mirrored his confusion, “I just thought that –”

“That I regret it?” He filled in, and Y/N nodded, occupying her hands with the hem of his shirt, twisting and pulling at it with her fingers, “I don’t. I know it doesn’t seem like I think things through before I do them, but I do. It felt nice to kiss you, so I’d like to do it more – it doesn’t have to be anything complicated. Is that what you’re worried about?”

No, I’m worried about the cultivation of feelings for you that seem to grow by the second, and if you weren’t so oblivious, you might notice that dummy!

She doesn’t say that. It would be smart if she did say that, all things considered, because then it would be blunt and honest and they could eradicate any form of misunderstanding or miscommunication. Harry would know exactly where she stood and they could act accordingly so that it didn’t feel like a punch in the chest when he woke up and called her to tell her he had his mark. That would be smart, and it would be on trend with how smart she usually is with this, but it seems like a two-year-long sabbatical had expunged any trace of intelligence she still had.

Because instead of saying that, or even just agreeing that it would be better for them not to kiss, she rushes to say, “I don’t mind the kissing. I liked it too,” she shrugged her shoulders, trying to seem nonchalant about it but her heart is thudding so quickly in her chest she thinks it rivals a hummingbird’s, “So we can if you’d – if that’s what you want.”

“Is it what you want?” Y/N took a drink of her peach juice so she didn’t have to answer verbally, and nodded again, chewing hard on the inside of her cheek. Harry’s serious demeanor eases some, and a smile works back on his mouth, small and sweet, “Then that settles it. I was hoping you would say yes,” he takes her plate and starts to stand, Dolly having long since hopped off and shuffled away, “I love kissing.”

God, what kind of mess had she gotten herself into?

. . .

Harry liked doing things for people.

Y/N thinks it was something that was written in his DNA from the moment he was born, probably nestled somewhere close to the bit that was read for his soulmate. Harry likes to help, and he likes to feel useful. This means he’s cooking meals, bringing her lunches to work without warning her, and massaging her shoulders when she complains about them being stiff. He’s always listening; Y/N offhandedly mentions she’s out of her favorite candle, and Harry brings her one the next time he comes over. She complains about wanting meatless shepherd's pie, and Harry has a recipe ready, baking in the oven when he invites her for a Dolly-Ferret playdate. Hell, Y/N had complained about the water pressure in her shower and he came to work with a small box, and a big smile.

“Are you busy this evening?” He inquired, resting his bum on Niall’s desk (Niall was sitting there, but he was leaning back in his chair on his phone, so he wasn’t concerned).

“You know I’m not,” she clicked her tongue, “It’s a Wednesday night, those are reserved for wallowing and sleeping.”

Harry taps his fingers against the box, “Well, pencil me in, I’m going to change your showerhead.”

Finally, she looked at the outside of the box, and the brand she recognized because it was a luxury brand that Y/N had completely ignored when she scrolled past it online, “Harry, holy shit, that’s like – those are really expensive! You didn’t need to buy it for me, you could have just sent a link!”

“For this price, I knew if I sent you the link you wouldn’t buy it even if I plead my case to you,” and he wasn’t wrong, is the thing. Y/N liked to be relatively frugal and showerheads over a hundred notes was a little absurd in her book, “But I have this one and it is so good – you’ll wonder how you were showing before it.

“How much do I need to send you?”

“Nothing,” he waved his hand, “I bought this without asking, I’m not going to make you pay me back for it.”

“Harry –”

“Think of it as a gift,” he grinned, and Y/N had a very particular feeling that he wouldn’t accept no or any monetary payment, even if she got on her knees and begged, “You can buy me a coffee or something.”

Y/N scoffed, “You’re crazy,” she ran her fingers over the box, and her heart felt too warm – when was the last time someone bought her something, just because? It would have had to have been back then when she was doing this often – she used to get gifts all the time. Halting her soulmate gig also halted impromptu gifts every once in a while, and she wasn’t afraid to say that she missed that bit. No matter the cost, it was always nice to be doted on and pampered a bit.

Still, there must be a reason why this felt so special; a rapid bunny-like heartbeat thundering in her chest at the prospect of someone listening and caring enough to try and solve a problem for her. The gifts before were more materialistic – jewelry or clothes, maybe a painting that she saw in the store with them once that they bought weeks after they found their soulmate to smother any remaining guilt. This was. . .thoughtful. Something useful to her – something that she didn’t necessarily need, but that she wanted, that would make her life a little nicer.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah – hey, should I bring Dolly? She’s been meowing at me so much lately, I think she wants to hang out with Ferret again.” He smiles wistfully, “I’m starting to think they’re dating or summat, it’s kind of cute. Do cats have soulmates?”

She snorted, “You think Ferret’s stinky self would be Dolly’s soulmate? No, she probably – I reckon her soulmate would be some purebred Maine Coone or something.”

“You know, Ferret’s self-esteem is going to be seriously depleted if you don’t start complimenting him more,” Harry sighed, clicking his tongue, “That’s why I have to spend time with him, so I can nourish the growth of his confidence. He’s gonna go through life thinking he’s stinky and unloveable if you have any say.”

Y/N clicked her tongue, “Aish, you only love him so much because you don’t have to live with him.”

. . .

Harry is borderline appalled by the water pressure before he switches the showerhead. He turned it on, just to see, and he felt the length of time that it took it to get warm; you would have thought it was ice cold. Harry gasped like he’d been wronged by her landlord, brows furrowed, “How do they expect you to live like this?”

He’s quick in switching it out, and precise in his movements like he’s done it plenty of times. Y/N tells him as much and he admits that, before finally investing in a better quality showerhead, he used to have to buy one every year. They would always crap out, or the holes would clot off with limescale deposits that wouldn’t dissolve in vinegar, and he’d have to buy another one – after three of them, he had become pretty proficient in changing them out. At least that’s what he tells Y/N while he does it, Dolly and Ferret both watching with wide eyes in their spots safe by the sink.

Once it’s finished, he turns it on and gleams at her, “Tada!” He exclaimed and Y/N couldn’t help but match his excitement, her smile stretching over her mouth.

“Oh wow,” she murmured, stretching her hand out, her palm getting pelted by the water – it was still warming up, but the pressure was much better, “I’ll be living like a noble, for sure. I’ve never had a detachable showerhead before.”

“You haven’t? It’s got loads of different settings too,” he pulled it from the hook, pointing it toward the bottom of the tub, twisting the knob, and switching from setting to setting. Y/N watches in awe as the water pressure increases and the way it thins out, gets sharper, switching which holes the water was coming from. Some of them are softer, a rain setting, some harsher, a massage setting, and there’s one setting in particular that made Y/N’s eyes go wide. The water is coming from the center, fat droplets in a pressure that isn’t too hard and isn’t soft, and she is suddenly reminded of a very distinct (and NSFW) video she didn’t scroll by on Twitter one night. She’d stopped and watched the whole thing, actually, and had been halfway grumpy over the fact she couldn’t try it herself because her shower head was sadly screwed right into the wall (at least she could use the bathtub faucet though).

“Oh wow,” she laughed, her face feeling hot at the memory of it and the fact she was thinking about it with Harry shoulder to shoulder with her, “That’s – that’s nice.”

It must be written all over her face, because Harry inhales sharply through his nose, “Don’t be filthy!” He scolded her, scandalized, and Y/N scrambled as he switched the setting back to the main one.

“I’m not!” She lied, “You’re the one bringing it up, you’re the filthy one!”

Harry’s cheeks get hot, pink as a rose, and he flushes down to his neck as he turns it off, “So there it is your new showerhead. Use it responsibly.”

“Stop talking, right now!”

It only takes a little bit of time for Harry’s flush to go away; they settle out and return to normal, and Y/N pretends that the conversation didn’t happen at all while they’re ordering food. Instead, she focuses on how Harry ordered possibly every topping for his burger and chewing over her bottom lip trying to decide if she wants a medium fry or a large fry (she never finishes a large, but when she finishes a medium, she’s longing for more fries, and it’s just an endless, vicious cyclic horror story). She doesn’t think Harry is looking at her anymore after he put in what he wanted and passed his phone off to her – but a clear of his throat and a murmur of, “You’ll chew through your lip like that.” Indicates that maybe he’d been looking at her for quite a while. The gnaw of her teeth settled to a stop when she turned to look at him, head lulling to the side like it was too heavy to pick up (and sometimes, after a shift, it felt like it was).

“Oh,” she felt a little embarrassed, actually, because it wasn’t the cute, subtle lip bite they show in movies or describe in books – the front four of her teeth had been digging pretty harshly into her bottom lip while she debated, but it was something nobody had ever noticed before. So she doesn’t really know what to do, besides pinch her brows, “Stop staring at my mouth.”

Y/N’s eyes go comically wide, “I did not –” she started to squawk but he kept talking over her.

“--so maybe I am staring at them. And maybe I should grant your wishes and we should kiss a little before the food gets here, and my breath is all onion-y.”

She’s used to this kind of thing; Y/N hadn’t been lying when she’d described it. In the past, people got their wires crossed, tangled up, and twisted when it came to this whole “pretending to date” thing. Just how it is in every film, every book, every story written and posted on the internet with your two favorite characters in a show, or members of a band – when you pretend to date, your heart longs for it. It aches and yearns for the intimacy of actually being in a relationship, so things like holding hands, cuddling, and kissing become practiced parts of the ruse.

There had also been the debatable fact that whether or not the more intimate she was with someone, the quicker they were able to find their soulmate. Back in UNI, there hadn’t been any proof to these claims and Y/N didn’t bother to test them out, but she knew some people swore by it. She knew through word of mouth, it was whispered that if she kissed them, or touched them, then their soulmate would come quicker. Maybe that’s what Harry was doing. . .or maybe it was a little bit of both. Honestly, with him, it could be either; hyped up on the companionship of spending time after work together for a meal, and the desperate need to do this with his actual soulmate and not a cheap stand-in for the better thing.

Either or, Y/N had never claimed to not be selfish sometimes. And she thought it was okay to be selfish, now and then. She’d spent the better part of her life so far aiding everyone else in finding long-lasting love, so shouldn’t she reap some benefits? Like kissing pretty boys with curly brown hair and green eyes?

The air feels right for it too. Her windows are open wide, a warm, spring breeze blowing through the screen and billowing the curtains out now and then. The fan above them in her living room whips around above their heads too, so it is unsurprisingly chilly but for now, Y/N was comfortable with it (and shocked that her candle – a sweet but pleasingly light, artificial strawberry scent – had been able to keep a flame in these particular conditions). The wind smells and feels like spring, and after a long, frigid winter, she’s pleased with it.

It’s their second kiss, so it’s a little clumsy. Harry crawls closer to her on the couch and he’s the one to officially initiate it; they tilt their heads the same way, and their noses bump into each other, and she wondered how they were much more refined with this when they were both off their asses. Instead of getting flustered though, Harry giggles, his ears scorching red but his eyes crinkle when he smiles and it’s contagious enough to make her laugh too. When they settle, Harry goes in again, head tilted to the right and his lips are soft against hers.

Their first kiss was chaste, even for them being drunk, just a simple, gentle peck that lasted for a couple of seconds.

This one was a little more involved; Harry hovers over her, so he’s using one hand to keep himself balanced but with his free hand he has carefully cradles her cheek in his palm. Harry likes her top lip, she’s noticed, that even in two kisses that is the lip he usually goes to put between his own. He pushes them together, releases them, then pushes them back together, and this time his tongue traces along the line of her lips and Y/N tries not to make a surprised sound in her throat but fails.

Harry pulled back right away, “Sorry,” he murmured, sheepish in his tone, “Was that not okay?”

“No, it was – it was fine, just –” she giggled, also feeling embarrassed, “Um, just I haven’t really kissed like that in a while. I’m worried it won’t be very good.”

He had understanding eyes, wide and soft as he nodded, “Ohhh, alright,” he replied but made no move to withdraw completely, “We can stop here if you’d like, but – I mean, if you don’t mind, I don’t mind. I’ll guide you through it.”

It makes something curl low in her belly, the promise to guide her. Harry wanted to kiss her so badly that he didn’t even care if it wasn’t good – she bristled with the knowledge, and her whole body felt like it was buzzing – like her veins were humming. She nodded, wordless, just hoping he understood what she meant and he did (he always does). So Harry goes back in, he tickles her lips open with his tongue and slides his tongue into her mouth. It’s warm and wet and he tastes like the smoothie they picked up on the way home. Y/N follows his tongue as it strokes against hers, rubbing against each other, following each other – she tries to remember to breathe through her nose, but she isn’t doing very well at it.

Harry’s a good kisser, and he shuffles closer, nearly sitting in her lap as he straddles one of her thighs. His fingers slide from her face, back to the nape of her neck, where they curl through the strands. Y/N feels like she melts, into the cushions, into his hold, and at first, her hands stay lamely in her thighs, but Harry plucks one up and slots their fingers together. He squeezes like he’s checking in on her, and she squeezes back. It feels good, this feels so good, and something feels like it’s clicking into place in her brain – maybe she should seek out kisses more often. She thinks, once Harry leaves her, Niall would, if she asked him. Or Eloise, even, sometimes she likes a friendly kiss once in a while.

She isn’t sure how long they’ve been kissing, but it’s at least long enough that his phone buzzes with a notification reminding them that there were items in their cart. It’s embarrassing, the way they both jump, and Y/N accidentally sets her teeth into his bottom lip. Harry makes a sound that’s somewhere between a grunt and a groan, “Sorry!” She reached out, the pads of her fingers gentle on his mouth, like her touch would soothe it at all – if anything, she was just reminded how warm his lips were in comparison to her icy hand. Harry doesn’t flinch away from it though, he only stares at her, eyes all wide, “My bad, I – your phone scared the shit out of me.”

“Me too,” he spoke against her fingers, then finally pulled back, a soft smile pressing his cheek up, “Did you decide what you wanted?”

“Mhm,” she agreed, and she’s thankful, that they’re just going back to normal conversation – she doesn’t even know what she would say if he brought it up, “Tell me the total and I’ll send you money for it.”

Y/N’s lips tingle and buzz for the rest of the night.

. . .

It had been rain-filled the last few days. To get Y/N through the thick of it, she reminded herself that it was the sky feeding the grass and the seeds deeply embedded in the soil. Y/N doesn’t mind the rain so long as she doesn’t have to go out into it, but sadly, this wasn’t the case, because some wealthy man hadn’t shown up in her life bearing the same mark she did on their bodies, and told her she doesn’t need to work yet. So each day, she trudges into work, no better than a wet rat drenched in rainwater, scurrying around on the streets. Especially when the rain decided to fall at a slant and her umbrella went in the opposite direction it should have, and the hoodie she wore could really only save so much. She was just thankful that her hair hadn’t been caught in the crossfire of the rain’s argument with the ground, and how hard it was darting against the pavement.

And of course, she gets zero time to go assess the damage alone in their work bathroom.

Harry, who is looking a little too dry for the onslaught outside, is standing at the elevators. The sound of her shoes squeaking against the linoleum must have garnered his attention, because he turned from the elevator, his eyes set in her direction. First, they light up, like he’s excited it is her he’s seeing, despite him seeing her almost every day, and then his eyes roll over the rest of her body, and he pulls his lips into his mouth like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Don’t even start,” Y/N grumbled before he could start teasing her and Harry gave an insulted sound, something close to a scoff but not quite.

“I wasn’t saying anything!” He defended himself, placing a hand on his chest, “Just – this look is cute, even when you’re all dripping wet. You kind of look like Dolly after her baths. It’s almost a shame your hair didn’t get wet to complete the image I’m seeing in my head.”

Y/N could yell at him, or call him a dick (playfully) like she would Niall or Eloise, but she knew that wouldn’t get to him. If anything, she thinks he thrives off when she snaps at him because the fire of it never reaches her voice and he’s once again reminded that she’s just a big softie.

So she pouts instead, making her bottom lip big and fat, and Harry’s face warps from someone two seconds from making a cheeky remark to someone amid a panic, “Oh, hey, none of that,” he frowned, and for a moment he looks guilty like he had brought the rain on himself, “You must be cold, right? Cold and wet, that’s an awful way to start the day.” Y/N nodded, and Harry’s frown somehow deepened, “Poor thing. You know, I have a sweatshirt in my employee locker and –”

“You use that?” Y/N can’t hide her surprise – the employee lockers were little scams, she thought, because why did she need to pay a monthly fee for a locker that wouldn’t be used anyway? There were more than enough for everyone to have one without payment being an issue – she always thought nobody was stupid enough to fall for the clear scheme and keep things under and at their desk.

But of course, Harry would have one – for some reason, that just makes too much sense.

“Yeah, of course I do,” he reasoned, “Once, I ran into one of my coworkers and they spilled their coffee down the front of my shirt. I had nothing to change into, and it wasn’t worth the drive back home, so I had this huge stain – it was embarrassing,” he shook his head, “So the next day I bought one of these, and always keep an extra pair of clothes in it!”

Y/N bit her tongue because she wanted to ask why he doesn’t just use his car, but he was smiling so triumphantly at his sensibility, that she just couldn’t take it away from him. “You would let me use your sweatshirt?” She said instead and he nodded quickly.

“Yes, obviously. It won’t help with your bottom half being soaked, but at least you’ll be dry up top, right?”

Harry’s sweatshirt would be big on him, so it’s plenty big on her, but Y/N likes it. It’s soft, and the inside still feels fleecy and new, like the washing machine hadn’t damaged the fibers yet with repeated cycles (probably because it’s been living in his locker for however long). It smells like his chosen fabric softener; the same that he washes his linens in, because as soon as she pulled it over her head, it felt like being submerged in his sheets again. A part of her longs for it, snuggling up in his bed, Dolly cuddled close between their legs and she even added stinky little Ferret who would no doubt be trying to smother her awake so he could eat. The very imagery of it makes her so content, that she almost forgot that she had to spend 8 hours using her brain today.

It’s warm, and Harry’s waiting for her outside of the bathroom. He grinned way too prettily when he saw her and went to readjust the collar, which must have flipped in on itself, “You look so adorable,” he complimented, and Y/N’s heart did a flip in her chest that she didn’t bother to ignore – it was becoming more mental effort to ignore the organ’s reactions to him, rather than just accepting them for what they were, “It should be illegal.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, her face feeling hot, “You should be the lead in a romantic comedy.”

“Because I’m so handsome?”

“Because you’re so cheesy.”

. . .

The longer it goes on, the harder Y/N thinks it’s going to be when he finally gets his mark. They were going on two months of playing pretend, and Y/N wouldn’t lie and say she didn’t like it. She’d always become relatively close with the people she’d done this for in the past, but never to this degree – never to the point where Y/N actually had to remind herself that they weren’t dating. No matter how close she became with them, there was always a distinct cleaving between reality and what they were doing for show. When they held her hand or brought her breakfast, or smeared their mouths against hers, she always had it lingering in the back of her mind that this wasn’t really for her. That all of their actions had one, overarching, transpicuous goal.

With Harry, it didn’t feel like that. When he held her hand, it felt like it was because he wanted to. When he brought her breakfast, it was like he couldn’t imagine stopping and not buying her something as well. When he kissed her, it was with purpose, with intent, because he wanted to feel his mouth pushed up against hers and lick against her tongue. There was no subtext or hidden motives. . .he just wanted it at the time, with her, and that’s why he was doing it.

However, that’s just what it felt like. The unwelcome reminder of what this actually was manifested randomly, when she least wanted it to. Whether she was going about her nightly routine and it slapped her across the face or when their knuckles brushed together as they walked side-by-side down the street, and it slammed into her like a biker not looking forward. It’s almost like her brain waits until she’s forgotten about it enough to truly enjoy herself before it decides to strike. Harsh in its words, reprimanding her for being so stupid, for soaking this up like an affection-starved sponge, for breaking her own rule of not letting her heart get too caught up in this.

The reminder hurts, but it’s necessary. It makes it just that more manageable not to escape into her delusions, which is for the best. And, for at least a couple of days, she holds strong, keeps a level head, and doesn’t fall down the rabbit hole of feelings and premature heartache at what’s to come. She can appreciate the time spent with her friend without thinking of what is to come, and instead of wallowing in her misery about it, she is proactive and conceives plans to eradicate her feelings. Or, at least diminish them enough that she could still stay in Harry’s life without it being a problem for him and his soulmate. She thinks she would still like to be in his life, even if it would hurt. Y/N would rather see him happy, gleaming, smiling brightly, and loving someone else than not see him at all.

She does pretty good with that, as she said, for a couple of days.

Then Harry whines. He pouts his mouth when she doesn’t automatically link their fingers together while they walk, and he nudges his head beneath her arm like a puppy asking for pets, and he uses this berry lip mask and comments so longingly about how, “Nice my lips are right now, it’s a shame nobody has made an effort to kiss and taste them.” If Y/N was determined to stop these burgeoning feelings in their tracks, then Harry was hellbent on fostering their growth. He sends her messages throughout the day, just checking in on her, or telling her about things he saw that reminded him of her, or telling her the song she recommended to him has been stuck in his head all day and he can’t get enough (which Y/N treats like a proclamation of love from any of her friends when they tell her that – it makes her feel all too warm).

Eloise had been hesitant at first, and skeptical of their outings together. She was never rude or mentioned anything, but she would give Y/N a look when Harry would wander his way onto their floor (nobody ever questioned why a book cover artist would need to be on the editors' floor, but everyone loved Harry too much to point that out). The more Harry showed up though, the more integrated he became even in their friend group, going out to eat with them, or out to bars, and he, Eloise, and Niall even scheduled to get pedicures together (Y/N’s feet were too ticklish for someone to go near them, which was ammunition she did not necessarily want to give Harry but she had to).

Niall doesn’t question anything because he’s Niall, but he’s just as bewitched by Harry as everyone else. And the feeling is mutual because Harry just couldn’t get over the fact that Niall was good with numbers when he seemed like someone barely good with letters. He had a habit of sitting on the small stool Y/N had hidden beneath her desk (to rest her foot on, of course, not so that Harry had a seat for when he took extended lunch breaks up on their floor) and quizzing him.

“How many hours in 7 weeks?”

“1176.”

“If my order was £21.22, what would a 42% tip be?”

“8.91, but at that point you might as well round up to an even 9.”

It’s just too easy with him. Things are too normal and Y/N feels too happy, for this to be what it is.

They were stretched out on a picnic blanket again, another lunch spent outside with Ferret and Dolly, but now they are staring up at the clouds and watching them pass by. Y/N thinks about how big the world is, and she wonders who would see the same clouds that they are seeing right now. Would Harry’s soulmate see them? Would they feel a twinge in their heart, knowing that he’s looking at the shapes with someone different? That he is reveling in the calm and the quiet with a person that isn’t them?

Was her soulmate looking up at the sky too? Would they see the same cloud, so fluffy and white that she just wanted to sink her body into it? Were they with someone else? Did they even exist?

Harry’s hand is big and warm, resting over hers on the blanket.

“What do you think your soulmate is like?” Y/N doesn’t realize her lips are moving until the words are out of her mouth. The breath Harry was in the middle of taking pauses, and the gentle caress of his thumb over her knuckles stopped, and even the one bird that had been singing suddenly ceased its chirp, as if even the world around them was wondering why the hell she brought it up.

She could hear his head turn to look at her, “What?”

“Your soulmate,” she repeated like it was obvious because it should be. She’d just realized that since a week or so after they started, she really hadn’t heard him mention them and Y/N wasn’t used to that. Normally, the person she’s with has mentioned their soulmate no less than forty times in seven days. They don’t give her a chance to forget that she’s merely a stepping stone to a better, more fulfilling love life. But sometimes, it feels like, even Harry’s forgotten why they started all of this in the first place, “I was just wondering what you think they’re like. You’ve never mentioned it before.”

Harry cleared his throat, his hand slowly resuming the way he rubbed over the top of hers, sending pleasant goosebumps up her arms. His leg is resting on the bottom half of her dress to keep it from billowing up and out, so they’re pressed relatively close to each other, though she couldn’t say they wouldn’t be like this, even if her wardrobe wasn’t an issue with the wind. The sun is warm, even hidden behind the puffy white clouds they’re staring up at.

“I used to think about it a lot,” he finally replied, his voice gentle, “I’ve never thought much about what they looked like. Back in school, everyone would always theorize what color hair they might have, or the color of their eyes, if their skin would be pale or brown if their skin had freckles or moles, but all of that seemed so. . .I don’t know. It just didn’t seem important to me, ever, what they looked like.” That makes Y/N’s lips twitch up in a smile – of course, he wouldn’t care, he’s just so good, but she thinks that someone as beautiful as Harry, could only end up with someone just as beautiful, if not more (if that was possible), “I guess, I’ve always just imagined that they would compliment me and I would compliment them, not in appearance, but in the way we fit together, you know? Their strengths are my weaknesses, and my weaknesses are their strengths so that when we’re together, then we’re just. . .unstoppable, seems cheesy, but that’s the only word I can think of.” Once he’s started, it seems easy for him to keep going, and Y/N likes that. She likes how much he talks, how open he is, the way he wears his heart on his sleeve, “I think they’re someone I would feel so comfortable with, it’d be as easy as breathing with them. That I could just exist in their presence and not feel like I have to be. . .on? Y’know, I can just be me. Someone who, knowing that I’m coming home to them, even if we’re in the middle of the biggest fight – I feel relieved and happy.” He shrugged his shoulders, “I kind of imagine them to be someone funny, who makes me laugh. I think they would be okay with cuddling too, and me waking them up with kisses in the morning because I can’t help myself. Even if they hated those things though, I would love them. Unconditionally.” Harry nodded to himself, “That’s what I think, at least.”

She felt herself smiling, sighing gently, “That sounds nice Harry,” she flipped her hand over, weaving their fingers together, “Really nice. I’m sorry it’s taking so long.”

He squeezes her hand, “I don’t mind,” he murmured, “I’ve waited my whole life, so I don’t. . .I don’t mind waiting longer.” Then, he’s turning, and Dolly readjusts the way she’d coiled up in between them, belly-up, now finding Y/N’s hip to rest her chin on, eyes falling closed again. Harry’s on his side now, looking at her, and Y/N can’t help but turn to face him. He always looks pretty, but he especially looks gorgeous on days like this. His skin is glowing (he swears by his skincare routine and Y/N really needed to try it one day), and his eyes are big, and light. The kind of green they are in the sun makes her wonder what they would look like reflected off the ocean, like maybe they were two, smooth marbles that belonged at the bottom of the sea. Someone stole them from a mermaid’s den to put them in Harry’s head and make him look at her the way he was right now. Like he could peer through her soul and read through her very being, “I have you, so it isn’t hard.”

Y/N wanted to kiss him right now but it didn’t seem like the right time. Not after he’d just finished divulging what the person made just for him was like – it would seem like she was clinging onto something desperately, and she didn’t want him to know how hard this was for her. Harry, as soft as he is, would let the guilt eat away at him and that’s the last thing that she wanted. She just wants him happy, that’s all, even if it can’t be with her.

So she only nods in agreement.

“You have me.”

. . .

After spending so much time with each other, when Harry isn’t around, Y/N’s days are. . .quiet. Long and quiet, in a way that she used to yearn for after her days at work, but now she feels just slightly off put by it. Her days at work are quiet, her days after work are quiet, and the thought that this is what it would be like when Harry did find his soulmate just about gives her hives. It’s deafening, almost, if she thinks too much about it, but she’s sure she’s just getting too deep in her head.

Harry went to his Nan’s farm a couple of hours away because his cousin just had a baby, and they were using it as an excuse to all get together. He didn’t invite her directly, just slyly mentioned that she’s always welcome to anything that he was going to do unless he ever specifically stated otherwise (“Which would never happen,”) and Y/N thanked him. Despite how close she felt to Harry, she would hold true to her early request that he not get her involved in family affairs. It’s just one thing that she won’t do, especially because she’s worried that if all Harry’s family members are like him, then she’d like them too much. And liking them too much meant it hurting when this inevitably came to an end, so she’d like to spare herself the additional heartache.

So she sat this one out and told him to have fun and to send her pictures. He’d always described his Nan’s farm as something out of a fairytale, with rolling fields of green and acres upon acres of land she sat on. There was an apple orchard on the property that he used to go and pick apples from all the time when he was a kid, and a farm with horses, cattle, and chickens – sometimes she had sheep too. She never sold them off to be butchered, but she did sell their milk and eggs, and the sheep’s wool when it grew out enough to shave them down. According to Harry, she didn’t need the extra money (retirement, plus her ex-husband's pension, and her current husband’s (her soulmate) business funds more than just their leisure lifestyle), so she took it and put it away. Harry suspected that she put it away for grandchildren and expenses they may have in their future because she was always the first to help with tuition, graduation parties, weddings, and vacations. She’s a generous woman, through and through.

And she loved babies, so anytime someone had one, they brought it over to meet their Nan. It’s cute – Y/N wished her family did stuff like that.

He would be gone for a four-day weekend, starting on Thursday, and he would return Sunday night. Harry promised he would send plenty of photos and messages, but after he texts her that he’s made it safely, she doesn’t hear from him much the rest of the night. Y/N doesn’t take it to heart, she knows he’s busy, and the service out there isn’t the best thing in the world. Still, she finds herself missing his rapid-fire, ten messages in a row when it could have been put together in two. Her phone only buzzes with a photo Niall sends of his pedicured feet and asks if she’s jealous that he could sell foot pics and she couldn’t, and then a message from Eloise asking if she wanted to get breakfast in the morning.

Otherwise, the night is quiet. Ferret is extra cuddly with her, snuggled up against her chest, and she wondered if he missed Dolly (who made the trip with Harry, because her long-time cat friend Mr. Muskrat lived there – he told Ferret not to be too jealous though, because Mr. Muskrat was 15 years old and not looking to be a suitor at the time). Typical Thursday nights for them had been Dolly playdates lately, or at least a Harry playdate, who smelled like his friend. Ferret is never this snuggly with her, usually slinking around and “accidentally” pushing things off the counter (the little bastard), so she petted him between his ears and cooed, “I know, stinky head. I miss them too.”

Eloise and Y/N get breakfast that morning at an acai bowl place near their job. Eloise complained about her current boyfriend, who likes to sit with his headset on at his computer while she’s on his bed and clearly horny. “I mean, are there hot characters in Genshin? Does he want to fuck them more than he wants to fuck me? Because I’m sitting there, ready to get my shit rearranged and he’s talking about some bitch named Neuvillette.”

“I think that’s a male character,” Y/N pointed, “With beautiful hair, so he might want to fuck them, sure.”

Y/N gets her first photo from Harry around lunchtime, when she’s forking noodles into her mouth from the ramen bowl she brought. Normally Harry makes her stop eating so she can enjoy her lunch, but today she eats as she edits, and threatens to stomp on Niall’s feet when he tries to take a slice of the cucumber she had in her snack container. He pouted at her, big and deep, and it didn’t have nearly the same effect that Harry’s does on her, “You’re much more giving when Harry’s around,” he noted, “He’s never allowed to leave again.”

“I’m not giving, he just takes what it is you're after and gives it to you.”

“Well, you don’t yell at him for it, so it works out in my favor.” Niall sighed, leaning back in his seat, taking his thirty-minute break with his phone about 10cm from his face, “Did you see the girls from Dance Moms are finally doing a tell-all? They’re at each other’s throats and –”

Niall keeps going when Y/N’s phone buzzes, and she sees a photo from Harry. The fields are beautiful, so green, hills and hills of it further than the scope of the camera could reach. There are trees and flowers, the clouds look as lush as the grass and the sky looks extra blue there, unbothered by the pollution of city streets. The countryside was always quite beautiful, she’d say, especially all the stars you could see at night.

Isn’t it pretty?

I wanna roll down a hill like a kid

I’ll get grass stains though so i might not

Maybe i will though

if i can convince one of my younger cousins to do it with me

hahahaha

Y/N huffed a breath through her nose, replying.

I would roll down the hills if I were you

It’s very pretty, it looks very soft and I think a couple of grass stains would be worth it

Does it smell nice out there?

The message is read immediately like he had the thread open and was waiting for her to reply. The three dots pop up immediately.

It smells SO GOOD

Like flowers and grass and spring

Does spring have a smell?

It hasn’t rained for a few days so the dirt should be dry

I’ll roll down the hill! I’ll have someone take a video to prove it

My mum asked who you were bc you’re all over my socials

I said you’re my best friend!!!

Miss you :((((

Y/N’s heart squeezes in her chest.

Miss you too.

I’ll look forward to the video!!

After work, she stops by the grocery store and picks up food for the weekend. Her cooking wouldn’t taste nearly half as good as Harry’s would, but she could at least make the attempt, and there was a vegetarian stuffed pepper recipe that she’d been wanting to try. Harry had promised to make it for her when he got back, but she was craving them now. It was crowded for a Friday, but the weather was nice, so it kind of made sense – there were always hoards of people in any and every store on a Friday with mild temperatures and a nice, warm breeze.

She doesn’t realize until she’s at home and packing all the food away that she bought things that Harry likes too. The protein bars that he eats as a snack, and the oversized oranges that he swears by (they are extra juicy and sweet). Those two at the very least she could lie and say she got for herself, but she also picked up these god-awful snack cakes that he loves – ones Y/N could not get behind in the slightest – and those could only be for him because they would have no other reason to be in her pantry. She feels silly for it, wondering why her brain was convinced that she needed to buy snacks for him when he wasn’t even with her.

Y/N had just finished making dinner and pouring herself a small glass of wine when she got another message from him. This time it’s a picture of Dolly with another cat snuggled together – Mr. Muskrat was a British shorthair, who was still looking around while Dolly had her body tucked up against his belly.

Don’t show Ferret!!

Are you eating yet?

We had my Nan’s shepherd’s pie. . . so delicious.

I’ll have her make some so I can bring you it Sunday!

Y/N sends him a picture of the stuffed peppers.

Looks so good

Chef Y/N

Make some for me next time!

Ferret rubs between her legs, lacing around her ankles before slinking off to his food bowl beside the refrigerator. She liked the message and felt a smile stuck on her lips; she could tell he was smiling at his phone. She doesn’t know how she knew, she just knew, and his smile had always been contagious so she just let it spread across her cheeks.

They message back and forth for a while and Harry lets her know he might disappear in a bit because they were going to drink wine and sit on her patio and look at the stars. It was something they did when he was younger (minus the wine on his end), where they would pick their favorite star out and name it, after finding the staple constellations that everyone seemed to know about. Y/N told him to choose a star for her since she couldn’t see them as well. The clouds had shifted from puffy, white pillows, to heavy stones of grey, threatening a storm later that night. It was dark, so she couldn’t visualize the clouds either, but the sky was dark and endless, save for the little peek of the moon every so often.

Y/N pours another glass of wine, and halfway through she’s feeling a little unsteady on her feet. A lightweight right down to it, she giggled to herself for not being able to handle her liquor even a little bit and headed to the bathroom. She’d done this tango enough to know she wouldn’t drown in the tub, she wasn’t drunk by any means, just pleasantly lightheaded and tipsy. Bubbly as the soap she puts in her bath to make them foam up right over her chest, filling the water a little too high so with one wrong move she’d be sloshing it onto the floor outside of the tub. She soaked for a while until she started to feel sleepy and all the bubbles had dissipated so she was just staring down at herself in the clear water.

By the time she crawls into bed in her pajamas, the clock reads 10 PM and she’s feeling like an old lady. Tipsy off two glasses of wine and tired from her bath, and she’s only up an hour later than she usually is on a work night.

Before she could start wondering when she’d left her UNI party days and the ability to pull all-nighters, her phone buzzed at the side of her head.

Is it weird that I want to kiss you right now?

Can’t stop thinking about it.

Y/N pauses, blinking at her phone, her breath stuck in her throat. He messages her again.

Sorry if that was too much

It wasn’t too much

I want to kiss you too

Maybe it was the alcohol that made her say it. Harry must be a little drunk too, and there’s no telling how many glasses he might have had at that point. He gets carried away when he’s talking with a glass of wine in his hand, and sips and sips and sips, refills, repeat, until he’s three glasses in and confused about how he’d gotten this drunk this fast. He just gets caught up in the conversation, always giving his all to the person speaking, sparing every second of his attention on them and what they’re saying that he isn’t paying attention to much of anything else.

Good

That makes me happy

Bc i want to kiss you like, all of thetime

Your mouth always tastes so sweet

I’d taste you all over if you let me

Arousal sizzles through her lower belly, manifesting in a little trickle she can feel building up between her legs. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting but it certainly hadn’t been that – she guesses she should have expected it though. Harry is much more touchy when he’s drinking, more handsy, and less particular about where he puts his hands. She thinks back to the first night that they kissed, how he’d been holding her hips while they danced, how he kept wiggling her skirt down over her bum, the way he’d grab her hands and pull them to his bare chest making her rest them there, like he wanted nothing more than to be skin-to-skin.

Y/N has sexted a couple of times but never with someone she was actually really, really attracted to nor with someone she had feelings for. It was normally a dick pic sent unprompted, and Y/N had to answer back mid-skin-care routine, hastily, a little disgruntled by the sudden meat on her screen. The girls she’s been with were always much more tactful and artful with their nudes, but even then, the timing was just never right for her to really sit down and get into it.

But this. . .she could tell where this was going, she was pretty sure.

You’re being filthy

Aren’t you at your nan’s house? There’s no time for perverted thoughts

Y/N nibbles on her bottom lip, waiting for his reply.

Sorry, cna’t help it

Everyone’s already asleep anyway

My room is on the opposite side of the house

Alllll alone, wish u were here

I’d let you

You’d let me what?

Taste me

Fuck

Really? You’d let me?

I want to, i just know you would be so good

The sounds you make when we kiss are always the prettiest

I bet you sound pretty like that too

I’m embarrassed about how hard i am thinking about it

Y/N’s heart is thudding in her chest. They’ve always been playfully flirty but they’ve never really gotten into it like this before. Never so candid about the sexual feelings they might have for one another. Everything had been mostly platonic, up to this point, except for the kissing but even then. . .their kisses did get rather filthy. They would kiss for so long that it would get kind of sloppy, their lips swollen red and slicked with spit. Harry had started nipping and biting and pulling at her bottom lip, and when he would she’d end up making sounds that she was trying to keep to herself. Then there was every time they would rearrange and she would scoot forward, and they’d be groin to groin, and Y/N had to desperately ignore the way he would always be half hard in his bottoms.

They never brought it up, they just kept kissing until they were breathless and eventually stopped.

Show me

She sends it, then hides her face in her pillow and squeals. Ferret is over her, apparently, because he hops off the bed and leaves through the crack in her door. If she’s annoying him he usually just goes to sleep on the sofa for at least part of the night (but she always wakes up with him back in her room, on her bed, trying to smother her).

It takes a little bit, but a picture does eventually come through. Harry’s in a bed, the flash is on because the room is dark apart from what might be a salt lamp in the corner of the room, the orange glow recognizable and telling in the photo. Harry’s only in a pair of white briefs, his stomach looks soft against the elastic band but she can see the muscles in his abdomen form well-toned lines. His hips are always just a bit softer than everything else, and it makes her want to dig her teeth into him.

The briefs do very little to hide anything. Harry is hard and the fabric is thin enough that she can make out the ruddy tip where it’s tucked over on the left side. Her mouth all but waters and she plucks at the waistband of her underwear mindlessly, wondering if she should touch herself. Wine always makes her a little horny, and Harry. . .well, Harry always makes her a little horny too. How his hands are always all over her, big and broad, it’s hard not to consider what it would be like for him to hold her down. How he would grab at her tits, and squeeze and knead them in his palms. The way he could envelope her throat with only one of them.

It looks so pretty, even like that

You’re really that hard from thinking about tasting me?

Yes yesyesyes

sorry

You’re just so pretty and you always smell so good, i just want to bury my face in

or have you sit on my face

And go until i can’t breathe

shit . . .is this okay? I feel like sexting wasn’t in our unofficial agreement

Y/N snorted – of course he would ask when they’d already started.

It’s alright, some of the others have sexted me before too

Comes with the territory i think, with fake dates and all

I… hate that

Sorry

That makes me so jealous for some reason

Y/N smiles, huffing a laugh through her nose.

You don’t need to be jealous tho

Anytime i’ve done it before, i’ve never been this wet

She does finally sink her hand underneath the fabric then, letting her fingers slide down into her slit. Her folds are really wet for having not touched herself yet, and they’re soft and swollen from her bath, where she’d trimmed herself a bit. She dips her fingers in and swirls them around, feeling herself clench, like her body was trying to entice them inside of her.

That almost made me cum :((

Want you here

Not just for this but just bc i miss you so much

But for this too

Just wanna make you feel good

Are you touching yourself too?

Yeah, i am

Ugh

I know you probably look so pretty

Will you come hard for me?

And if you’re comfortable, send me a picture of your fingers afterward?

So i can imagine them in my mouth

It doesn’t take much for Y/N to cum. She’s already so worked up that when her fingers do meet her clit in a slick, wet slide, she rolls her fingers over it in tight circles that make her thighs threaten to close. Her brain is all over the place: images of Harry two hours away with his hand wrapped around his cock and his balls full and heavy, picturing him between her legs, tongue slurping and licking her, getting drunk off it. Y/N had never sexted someone who seemed more like they wanted to get her off rather than talking about how far they could get their dick down her throat, so this was a pleasant surprise.

In the end, it was the thought that Harry is taking more time between sending each message because he’s too busy stroking over himself with one of his hands. If he thinks she would sound pretty, then he must sound like a dream, moaning and whimpering. She would pay to hear it.

But she doesn’t have to pay, because Harry sends a recording.

That’s what makes her cum. His breathing deeply, moaning low and muffled like it was in the palm of his hand, and the wet, slick sounds of his palm against his shaft. Did he use lube or did he spit into his hand? Or maybe he was just that drippy and leaky with precum that she could hear it so loudly. Whatever the reason, it sends her straight into her orgasm, from the tips of her toes, bursting through her veins and fizzling into a pleasant hum. She’s breathless and sticky by the time she’s finished, the mess between her legs cooling into something uncomfortable. Y/N doesn’t let this distract her from swirling her fingers right outside of her hole, thighs twitching from the sensitivity, and her pussy fluttering. She turns the flash on her camera and takes a picture of her two fingers, and the sticky string that connects her index and middle finger together when she pulls them apart.

She double-checks that it’s Harry she’s sending it to before she pushes the blue button.

The response she gets only a minute later is Harry, his cock softening against his thigh, and a pool of cum in the shape of a heart on his lower belly. He sends the pink heart emoji, with the smaller one that sits atop it (it’s his favorite), and a message.

You’re the best

Im so sleepy now

Goodnight xx have sweet dreams

Send pictures of you and Ferret in the morning okay???

Love you!!

Y/N smiles at her phone, feeling boneless and lazy. She needs to get up and pee and clean up a bit but she gives herself a second to just exist, melting into her mattress, wishing that his ‘love you’ was a little more than just Harry being sweet. But, as she is with most things, if this is the only time she’ll get it then she’s going to milk it a little. Pretend that he meant it in a way different than he does.

Sweet dreams, love you too!!

. . .

Sunday night, there’s a knock on Y/N’s door.

Harry stands there, holding Dolly underneath his arm and a floral casserole dish in the other.

“I told her you were important, so she made some just for you,” he told her, “Now invite me in so I can get my bum in a seat that isn’t a car, ‘cos I’m sore.”

Y/N is relieved that nothing changed after Friday night. Harry had been messaging her like normal on Saturday, but she still had some reservations that he might be a little weird about it when they meet up again. Y/N didn’t regret it but she didn’t know how he felt about it, and she didn’t want to assume that he was in the same boat. If he didn’t bring it up, she wouldn’t, and if he wanted to pretend like it didn’t happen, then they could do that too.

But when he’s handing her the dish Y/N’s mouth pops open to say, “Oh god, you didn’t have to hand deliver it after you’ve been traveling for so long. I would have come to get it from you!” Harry replied with.

“It’s the least I could have done after you put me to sleep on Friday,” his voice is teasing, and light, but his face still flushes at the memory, despite being the one who brought it up, “And dealing with me drunk and horny.”

She laughed, any remaining tension seeping from her shoulders, dissipating into thin air.

. . .

Harry needs to tell her.

On Tuesday morning, he woke up with what felt like someone branding him – maybe a little less severe. On his lower right hip, just above where the elastic of his underwear usually rests, and for a second, he thinks that Dolly had scratched him. That’s unlike her though; Ferret may stomp all over Y/N’s body and have little to no control over when his claws slip out, but Dolly is very particular about when the pointed tips dig anywhere that isn’t her scratching post. She’s his good girl, through and through, the only time he ever feels her nails is if she’s kneading biscuits on his chest or sometimes his thigh, and even then it was never like this.

He’d still been half a step in a dream when he reached down, expecting to feel skin raised and inflamed, but he felt nothing – just the smooth surface of his hip. His brows furrowed, he peeled his eyes open and raised his sheets, then sucked in a gasp so hard it nearly chokes him.

Like a new addition to his skin, like a birthmark, decorates a small patch. It’s nonsensical, like most of them are, a doodle that looks like a circle, turning into a swirl, dots that could be stars, three lines that remind him of Dolly’s whiskers, uneven in length. It’s a shade darker than his skin, and there’s no indication that it had even just appeared – no irritation or swelling, despite it feeling like a smoldering wound. A cat scratch that had been cauterized or something, that’s what it felt like. Has anyone ever described that before?

He sits up a little too fast and gets dizzy, his brain swimming and swirling. Harry can’t take his eyes off of it, his heart hammering – he’d wanted this so badly. Every day since he’d learned about soulmates, he woke up and mapped out his whole body, looking for anything that hadn’t been there the day before. At first, he never felt discouraged when he didn’t see it; his mum had caught him searching a few times and always told him that it would happen when the time was right. That his person would appear almost in tandem with his mark, and that everything would fall into its place when it was meant to. So don’t panic and don’t rush it.

So Harry waited. He waited until he was 10, and his first love (who was three years older than him) met his soulmate at the neighborhood pool. He waited until he was 14, and his girlfriend who he was sure was the one, woke up with a soulmark beneath her ear and Harry had nothing beneath his. He waited until he was 18, in UNI, happy as can be with his partner, only to be left yet again, when their mark popped up on his thigh and all Harry had was his smooth, peach-fuzzer, pale skin.

He waited until he was 21, until he was 22, until he was 23, 24, 25. He waited until he was 26, and the girl he’d been dating for a year and a half and he loved her enough he was looking at rings and talking about down payments, and making promises that soulmate marks wouldn’t change anything – woke up with delicate swirls and scribbles above her ankle. He waited four more days, and she was crying, apologizing, telling him how sorry she was but she met them at work, and it all just clicked into place. Something she’d never experienced before, something beautiful.

Harry waited, until he was at a work party, welcoming some newbie who was talking about the girl across the table like she was some deity sent by Cupid himself. And he watched her get nervous under the attention, brushing off the rapid-fire questions, with two friends flanking either side of her shooing them away. Then he saw her excuse herself, a little while after, and instead of going to the bathroom she was making a beeline for the exit, and Harry’s feet were carrying him after her before he could even think twice about it. He’d only had two beers with his meal, but his tact, and social awareness had snuffed out into a nonexistent puff.

Harry waited, and he waited, and he waited until he decided that he couldn’t wait anymore. And if this girl was real – if she could help you find your soulmate just by pretending to date her? Well, he thought it was worth a shot. Anything would be worth it, to not feel this pain of someone being chosen over him again, and again, and again.

Y/N was so understanding when he spoke to her, and even when he (shamefully) started to snivel and cry about thinking he was going to marry his ex and how bad the last 4 years have been as far as romance was concerned. That was his first clue that Finley wasn’t fucking around, that people must come to her about this often enough. She comforted him, promised to think about it, and then the next time they saw each other, she agreed to do it. Harry had spent the entire weekend stressing over asking her if she would say yes or not if he’d made her uncomfortable, if he might have ruined her night. Y/N managed to comfort all that panic in one simple conversation. Honestly, even before they spoke to one another and sorted through all the details – when she messaged him the night before, Harry had felt at ease almost instantly.

His second inkling, that this wasn’t some elaborate joke, was how halfway reluctant she seemed about the whole thing. Harry figured it must be hard doing this time and time again, helping people find their soulmates only to be left with nothing to show for it. To go from seeing someone frequently, to not seeing them much at all. To never know if your soulmate was out there, or if the consequence of having such a power meant you had no soulmate at all. That’s why he tried to make it clear to her that no matter what she chose, he wouldn’t hold it against her. Hell, he was just so enamored by the fact that she’d done it in the past. If it were him, he might withhold his powers out of spite – why should everyone else get their soulmate, and then he’s left all alone? How was that fair? So for Y/N to do this regularly – god, he just thinks she must be a saint.

Harry could follow the rules she set out just fine, he didn’t mind them, and she was nice so pretending to date her wouldn’t be hard. Actually, about three to four weeks into it, he’d forget pretty frequently about the whole arrangement. When he was planning things with her, it was genuine; Harry wanted her to come with him to get Mediterranean after work, and he wanted to go to the theaters with the nice, reclining seats and watch a movie in IMAX together. Harry wanted to go on picnics and kitty playdates, and he wanted to spend time with Y/N in the mornings before work, in the evenings after it, and on weekends when they both had nothing to do. When he wasn’t with her, he missed her. All of his other friends knew about her, Adam could probably recite Y/N’s sub sandwich order because for some reason that comes up a fair amount.

“Are you sure she isn’t your soulmate?” Adam asked one day (unprovoked, because Harry hadn’t even spoken about her for at least twenty minutes) when Harry was waiting for a thunderstorm to settle down so he could drive home safely, “I’ve just never seen you so. . .taken, with someone before. And that means when it comes to you because you fall in love every three seconds.”

“Heyyyy,” Harry pouted at him, but he really didn’t have an answer. This – how he felt about Y/N – certainly felt different than it ever had before. Harry was someone who did become infatuated fast, but with Y/N it felt so natural, so certain, so sure, that he was supposed to feel this way about her. That Y/N had been placed on this earth so that he could see her smile and hear her laugh, and he had been put on this earth, to do the same for her.

Harry thinks she’s beautiful; her brain, her face, the way her giggles sound, and the noise she makes when she’s grumpy, huffing, and pouting. Her tears are beautiful when they slide down her face and leave her cheeks sticky. The furrow in her brow is beautiful when her eyes are glued to the screen trying to decipher what the author could have possibly meant by using the word scrumtrulescent to describe a car. She’s beautiful when her lips are all swollen red and bitten from his mouth. She’s beautiful when he wakes up from a nap finding Ferret smothering the bottom half of her face with his back. She’s beautiful when she asks him to describe what he thinks his soulmate might be like, and she’s beautiful when she’s oblivious to him describing her.

Because it has to be her.

It just has to be.

Harry throws his bedding around, looking for his phone that he knows got tangled up in his sheets the night before. He looks at the time – 8 AM – and knows that Y/N is already awake and getting ready for work. She’d messaged him a photo of Ferret with one eye open and the other closed with Ferret the scallywag beneath it. A headache threatens to grow behind his temples when he realizes that if Y/N had woken up with a mark, feeling like she’d been branded, then she would have told him. Or, in her panic, she wouldn’t have bothered to message a photo of Ferret.

Of course he won’t know for sure until he sees her, and until he can somehow peek at her hip, but right now it’s not looking. . .great for him.

It shouldn’t matter. Harry should just be happy to have one, he knows, but the truth is, Harry can’t be happy if Y/N isn’t. He doesn’t want to stop the way their dynamic is now. He doesn’t want to add another person to it, and he doesn’t want to figure out someone, and how they would feel about Harry’s relationship with her, when he’s so clearly in love with her it’s almost obnoxious. And how would he propose a polyamorous relationship where Y/N was included without seeming like a sleazy guy? Actually, how would he explain that he was going to love Y/N probably a little more than whoever his actual soulmate was?

Harry had never dreaded meeting his soulmate before.

But with Y/N involved, apparently, he’s just feeling a lot of new and different things.

He needed to tell her. It was one of the things she requested of him, at the very start, one of the only things that she requested. She didn’t want him to prolong things to spare her feelings, she wanted him to let her know, so they could end things inconspicuously.

. . .technically, though, that was only if he found his soulmate right? And what if it wasn’t to spare her feelings? What if Harry is doing this to spare his own? Then it’s different. . .right?

He wouldn’t keep it a secret for long, and if he really does find his soulmate, of course, he’ll tell her, but at least for now, Harry would like things to change relatively little. Knowing Y/N, she’ll back off if she knows he has his mark. She’ll try and leave him room to go and seek out his person, making herself distant so he wouldn’t have to feel bad when he distanced himself (not that he planned on that, even a little bit). Always so self-sacrificial; his mind and body yearn to see her now. Harry is nervous, and his mark is burning, and he simultaneously wants to stare at it and pretend like it isn’t there.

The thing was, Harry had finally accepted that maybe he didn’t have a soulmate, and he was alright with that. He thought that maybe he and Y/N were just soulmates who didn’t have soulmarks. Him all of a sudden having one complicates things.

What was he going to do?

Fuck, what was he going to do?

.. . .

Harry attempts to not be so obvious about it, but he’s never been very good at hiding things.

It must be written all over his face as soon as he walks through the door, Niall spots him outside of the elevator, and his brows furrow, “Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Constipated,” he replied easily, and Harry huffed at him, “Relax your brow.”

Harry does loosen up the muscles in his face some, “You’re right,” he murmured, “My bad, the sun is just kind of bright today.”

Niall surely doesn’t believe it because the sun has only just barely made its appearance from behind the clouds, but the good thing about Niall is that he isn’t pushy and he doesn’t quiz you. If you don’t want to discuss something with him, then you don’t have to – it's as easy as that. He just needs to count his blessings that he hadn’t run into Eloise, because she would have had him confessing everything in a matter of three seconds, with one look over her shoulder.

Harry is itching to see Y/N but he’s already late, so he has to go straight to his floor. He’s greeted by the secretary, and his floor manager almost immediately, then his cubby buddy and a couple of his other coworkers swarm him as soon as he walks in. Harry would be alarmed if they didn’t always do this, chatting about a little bit of everything, and a little bit of nothing, while Harry boots up the tablet so he can start his final draft. It was for a romance novel, and humiliatingly enough, in the first couple of drafts, the woman he drew on the front had a striking resemblance to a certain editor a couple of floors down from him. So he’d decided that he’d try the author’s other vision, without any people on the front, and instead draw an intricate mural of flowers hidden among a grassy hill.

He draws until his hand cramps and he just can’t take it anymore, packing up for lunch twenty minutes early, and the floor manager just winks at him and tells him to not let anyone know he gets special treatment just for today (he lets him do this quite often, actually, and nobody really bats an eyelash – the floor rules are much more lax than most floors in the building). Harry takes the familiar pathway to Y/N’s floor, and makes his way to her briskly, catching only the tail end of the conversation she must have been having with Eloise.

“--must’ve slept weird or something, I don’t know,” then she caught sight of Eloise looking behind her, and turned around to face him.

It feels like a weight had been lifted from his chest – he isn’t sure why. Just knew that it felt like it was hard to breathe a little, like when the air is clouded and heavy with smoke from a bonfire and he’s sitting a little too close, but when he saw her, it was good. Like being in the countryside, where the air is light and feathery like the wind. He wanted her there with him so badly when he went to visit his Nan, he could barely contain himself, but he knew she didn’t like getting the family involved. It wouldn’t be for nothing though, he would be introducing her as the person who should be his soulmate, no matter what the mark on his body said.

“Harry,” she smiled, “Where the hell were you this morning, I got you a muffi–oh!” Harry wrapped his arms around her, and honestly, it’s more of a headlock than a hug, but it’s the best he can do from this angle. Y/N doesn��t seem to mind, leaning back into him and wrapping her hand around his forearm, “I mean, it’s only a muffin, I hardly think I deserve a hug.”

You deserve the fucking world.

“You underestimate how much I love a muffin,” he replied instead.

. . .

Y/N isn’t typically a huge fan of swimming, but under the right circumstances, she could get behind it. These particular “right circumstances” are the manager of Harry’s floor coordinating a party for his own birthday and inviting everyone, and telling everyone to invite everyone, to his massive house with his equally massive pool. Y/N doesn’t mind a pool house party, because there’s somewhere to escape if it gets too cold outside and there’s a toilet that flushes and food that hasn’t been sitting stale under the watch of 2 or 3 teenagers who hate that they have to work in the summer.

And she’d get to watch Harry wander around in a tiny little bathing suit, so. . .well, she couldn’t complain.

It started at noon, but she and Harry didn't arrive until a little after 3 PM when the sun had lowered just enough to be tolerable and so Harry didn’t turn bright red underneath it. A lot of people had already been a few drinks in, but Y/N wasn’t necessarily in the mood for it. She stripped out of her clothes with Harry at the beach chairs, a little taken by how much of a resort vibe the pool gives. At first, she had no idea where the floor manager was getting this money, but she overheard someone say his soulmate was some lawyer bigwig. Which, how lucky is that, because now they have a 40,000-gallon pool, lined with white cushioned beach chairs. There’s a fire pit made of grey bricks, and seats around that. They’ve even got large umbrellas hovering over some seated areas — it’s amazing.

The pool was ice cold at first, but once she (Harry) shoved her shoulders beneath the water, it ended up being okay. Harry is swimming around too, though they hover close to each other. Y/N tries to suck up his body heat the best that she can, and maybe she just wants to be pushed up against his naked body — sue her.

Harry doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he reminded her a bit of a guard dog, “Jesus,” he murmured, retying her top for the 4th time because every time she resurfaced from the water it would loosen bit by bit, “Is this top made so you have no choice but to flash people? We need to leave a bad review.”

“It used to be much better,” she admitted, “I haven’t bought a new top in a while.”

“Let’s go shopping for a new one before it gets warmer enough that these parties are happening all the time,” he suggested, “I need a new one too, this one is a little short.”

“Nooo, the shorter the better,” she tells him, reaching down and pinching at the fabric where it’s just about halfway up his thighs, “It makes your bum look peachier.”

His face gets pink and Y/N revels in it, loving how flushed and shy he gets with her.

They stay inside of the pool for a while, only getting out when Niall has reached the point of being drunk that cannon balls with their floor manager had started seeming like a good idea. Then Y/N crawls out, with the help of Harry’s hands on her hips because someone was occupying the ladder (the person occupying it, Harry tells her, is named Gene, and she doesn’t know how to swim so Y/N doesn’t want to make her let go). Harry squeezed her hips and re-adjusted the suit bottoms that had ridden up her cheeks. She has half the mind to suspect Harry is jealous of the others seeing her and she couldn’t help the giddy little bubbles that fizzle in her chest because of it.

So now, it was around 6 PM and the sun was lowering in the sky but still pretty warm. Y/N and Harry don’t need to be sharing a seat but they are, and Harry’s legs are outstretched on either side of it while Y/N has her own crossed, a towel flopped over her lap. She’s turned to face him and Eloise, who sits on the neighboring seat, talking idly, while Y/N demolishes a bowl of sliced fruits that were in the kitchen. There were quite a few still left because people were focused more on day drinking than they were on the catered fruit, so she was trying to figure out how she was going to steal them for herself. They were so juicy and sweet, everything so wonderfully in season, and honestly, she wondered if they added some sugar to them.

“Is it good?” Eloise inquired, her eyes trained on Y/N amused.

“So fucking good,” she nodded, then stabbed her fork into an orange slice and holds it out for her to have it. Eloise goes ahead and takes the whole fork and plops it and the fruit into her mouth, “Hey –”

“Find those pics of Ferret when he was a baby. The one with him compared to the grapefruit and then he started biting it – he looks so skunky in that one.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up, “Omg, you’re right!” She sets the bowl down on her knee, reaching down for her purse and rifling through it for her phone.

“What is up with this consistent slander on this poor cat?” Harry exclaimed, clearly exasperated and it made Y/N laugh – he really would defend Ferret no matter the circumstances, “He doesn’t even smell! He smells like Y/N’s rose oil most of the time like he’s been rolling around in it!”

“It’s not so much the smell as it is the look,” Y/N explained, “I mean, he’s just so – Oh, shit! Harry, I’m sorry!” The balance of the bowl on her knee had not been nearly as sturdy as Y/N had taken it for, because the rest of the fruit, along with the juices that had settled at the bottom, splashed out and onto his lap. If the setting was different, she honestly might have bent down and licked him clean, but this was a work event (no matter how drunk everyone was getting) and she didn’t need an HR ticket against her.

So she uses the towel in her lap, “It’s okay, baby don’t worry about it,” but she’s already rubbing him down, wishing she had a bottle of water to pour over it.

Harry has quite a few tattoos, but she’s a little confused when with one of the swipes of her towel, something like ink emerges from his skin. Her brows furrow and she squints looking closer, rubbing again, “Wait – Y/N,” he grabs her wrist, making her stop and Y/N is confused.

“What, did you get my name tattooed on you or something?” She joked, but when she looked up at him, his face is. . .eerily serious.

Dread tickles at the bottoms of her feet, when her eyes flicker down at it again. She can see a circle that turns into a spiral, and when she strokes the towel again, three lines, like cat whiskers. Confusing little doodles, not in the black ink that the rest of his tattoos are in, but in a pigment just a shade darker than his skin. . . .like a birthmark.

Like something written into his DNA.

Like a soul –

“It’s time for cake!” Someone cheers from somewhere – Y/N can’t really focus on much of anything right now.

“Oh,” her voice is gentle, just above a whisper, and this inky, dark feeling crawls up from the base of her feet, wrapping like tendrils around her ankle, yanking her further into a pool of it – of something murky, and rotten. Even so, she fights to put a smile on her face, just a little one, “That’s good, Harry,” she avoids his gaze, “This is what we were doing it for, yeah? This is good.”

“Y/N –”

“When did you get it?” Why was he covering it with makeup? Did he just not want it to be a big deal at the pool party? Everyone turned it from a birthday event into a Who is Harry’s soulmate event. He must have just found it this morning and didn’t want to stir up a fuss, or anything. He would be kind enough to think ahead like that – everyone gets so interested when Harry’s involved, it might take away from the celebrating, and the cake, and the pool.

But why wouldn’t he tell her? That’s – why would he want to keep that a secret?

“Last Tuesday.”

Two weeks ago.

He got it two weeks ago.

Her eyes narrowed, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Harry looks flustered as Y/N takes the towel back, pulling her legs out from where she’d been tucked close to him, “I just didn’t want –”

“I told you,” she keeps her voice low, she’s not trying to make a scene and this doesn’t need to be as dramatic as it could be, “I said you don’t have to prolong anything because you feel bad for me, okay? I’m not some. . .some pitiful creature that you have to coddle from the truth. That shit pisses me off, Harry, and you know that.” Y/N presses herself up but she doesn’t do it too quickly, lowering to grab her bag but Eloise had already plucked it off the ground for her.

“Please, that isn’t why,” he pleaded, and he looked so distraught, if Y/N didn’t feel so upset maybe she could listen to him. But she doesn’t want to right now – the emotions wreaking havoc in her body are so intense that she isn’t sure which ones to listen to. She’s sad because if he has his mark that means his soulmate must be close by – that their time pretending to be together would come to an end, and he would go on, and live his life happily with someone who wasn’t her. They would get smoothies together after work, cuddle with Dolly on the sofa, and curl up next to each other in the recliner seats at the movie theater. They would wake up to each other in the morning, or they’d send messages saying they love the other so much, and they would share clothes all of the time (Did Y/N have to give him his hoodies back? She probably should – they weren’t hers to keep anymore).

And she’s angry, so fucking mad, because she told him not to do this shit. It had happened more times than she would have bothered to count, where the person gets their mark and finds their soulmate and they don’t tell her because they feel bad. Because when everything works out for them, that’s the perfect time to start feeling shitty about using her. Now they feel guilty that she’s going to be all alone, poor pitiful Y/Nm with no soulmate, and no romance in her life, just this uncanny fucking ability to make sure that everyone else gets their chance. She just wanted people to be real with her, and honest. She was an adult, she could handle this, and if she couldn’t then she wouldn’t do it.

But she had! She’d done it again, after swearing it off, because she wanted him to find his person. Even when she realized that she had feelings for him, she still wanted him to find them, even if it was going to suck for her. Even if it was going to hurt.

Because that’s what this feeling is, all dark, and inky, and suffocating. When she’s angry and she’s upset, the amalgamation usually transcends to hurt. This time, it’s excruciating. This time, she wants to press herself into her mattress and stay there for months. This time, Y/N wants to cry. . .she really, really wants to cry.

Eloise follows her to a point when they are far enough from the others so that nobody is eavesdropping, “Do you need company or do you need to be alone?”

“I just, need to be by myself for a second,” she replied, and she hates, hates, hates that she knows that she’s like that, but Harry isn’t – he doesn’t want to be alone when he’s upset, he wants to be with people, and the thought of him being alone right now. . .she can’t stand it, “Could you – I know its a lot to ask, but could you please stay with him? I don’t want him to be alone.”

A look crosses over Eloise’s face, something understanding as she nods, “Of course,” she replied, “I can handle him. He’s an idiot but so is Niall. I’ll rally the two of them together.”

Y/N smiles but it hardly reaches her eyes, “Thank you, El.”

“Message me when you get home.”

Y/N actually holds it together for longer than she suspects she might. She keeps it together while she’s pulling on her t-shirt and shorts over her wet swimsuit and orders an Uber. She keeps it together the whole ride home, even when the driver won’t stop talking about. . she’s not really sure what he was talking about, but she was humming and nodding like she might be listening so he kept going. And she keeps it together on the way up to her flat, when she gets through the door after she showers, and washes her face and brushes her teeth.

Then she goes into her room. Ferret is sitting on the bed, minding his business.

Y/N cries then, for some reason. And, not for the first time, wishes this ability was not her own.

. . .

Harry knew he probably looked stupid in front of Eloise and a ‘yanked from his drunken stupor to sobriety by way of angry Eloise’, Niall. But he’s stressed out, and upset with himself and this fucking mark on his hip, and his eyes have been filled with tears for the last twenty minutes while Niall squeezes his thigh, teetering on the edge of the bathtub, and Eloise holds a bottle of water for him, her hip cocked against the sink. They’d fled to the bathroom so that they could have some privacy.

“I’m an idiot,” he cried, and Eloise nodded while Niall shook his head, “I shouldn’t have – I shouldn’t have kept it, I don’t want her to be mad at me.”

“Let her stew over it for a little while,” Eloise tells him, setting the water bottle on the counter, “She just needs a minute to gather her bearings and then she’ll be ready to talk. She’s probably more hurt than she is angry, anyway.”

Harry frowns, and Niall adds, “Yeah, once I accidentally spilled my coffee all over her new purse and she didn’t talk to me for like. . four hours, but after lunch, we made up.” He smiled, and whatever he’d been drinking was still swimming in his gaze, “She just needs to work it out in her head.” He doesn’t have the slightest idea what they could be fighting about, since he’d been kept out of the whole soulmate agreement situation, so Harry does appreciate the attempt on his end. Even when Eloise mutters something that sounds like, “Very unhelpful Niall.”

“I didn’t want things to change.” He snivels, “I wanted it to stay the same, I just want – I want to be with her. I don’t want a soulmate if it isn’t her.”

“Just tell her that, when you get the chance,” Niall encouraged, “She likes honesty.”

Eloise replies, “For once, I do agree with Ni. She’s someone who appreciates complete transparency, so tell her exactly how you feel, yeah? Don’t hold anything back.”

Harry nodded, only feeling slightly better. Still, he’s overcome with so much guilt he just wants to run to her flat and fix it right now. But he won’t – he’ll wait until she’s ready to talk.

And then he’ll tell her he’s in love with her, next time they speak.

#jawllines

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laughontour · 2 months

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Sometimes, love can feel like it’s everything. And sometimes, we hope it can be.

- A Husband/Dad AU // Harry x Reader -

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Rated: M, mature / Word Count: 35k+

story tag

trailer

song

moodboard

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All of my writing can be found here and feel free to come talk to me here!

*please note this story discusses infertility and miscarriage*

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laughontour · 3 months

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“Start slow,” Y/N explained, rounding back to their plan, “Maybe come see me on my floor during your breaks – don’t do some grand display of affection, that would be too on the nose and Finley would have a fucking field day letting everyone know my business again. Spend time with me, we’ll start as friends, and then we’ll let it “progress into something more”,” she air quotes around it, “It’s important to keep in contact too, to make ensure both of our comforts, so don’t be afraid to use my number, alright?”

“Thank you again, Y/N,” he reached out for her hand, and Harry’s were unsurprisingly soft; they encased hers, and she’d not realized how icy her fingers felt until the warmth of his palms began to thaw them, “This means the world to me.”

Y/N shifted beneath his admiring gaze, his eyes were too clear and too green, even from this distance.

“Don’t mention it,” she replied, “Start whenever you’d like.”

When Y/N dates someone, they find their soulmate. . .it's never her

Y/N isn’t bitter about it.

She thinks it would be easy to be, but she’d lived her life up to this point as a hopeless romantic, which soothes the burn on her skin. Each time it happens, she scrapes away the charred remains, revealing the fresh, raw underbelly beneath it, and waits patiently for it to harden again, just in time for the next round. An endless loop, a timeless cycle, one that was hard to accept some days and painless to swallow on others it just depended on how she was feeling and where she was hormonally. Leading up toward her period it was harder, her emotions were fried, and her capacity to handle just about anything dwindled to a short fuse, but afterward, she could handle it much better – that’s the best time for people to ask her.

It started like this: Y/N was in her seventh year and they just learned about soulmates. She feels bubbly and excited at the prospect of someone being made just for her from the moment they were born, and has convinced herself that it was her shoulder buddy in class. Y/N doesn’t remember his name now, but she remembered his long, blonde hair and the horrible but sought-after skater haircut he wore. His clothes never fit quite right, all baggy, and he didn’t try hard in school, honestly, he was someone that her parents would hate, but he was cute and funny, and Y/N liked how he made her feel. He didn’t look at her a lot, and he kind of checked out during partner work and wrote down her answers but. . .well, she was bewitched by puppy love, so what could she do but think his impassiveness and dispassionate toward school was dreamy?

He must have figured out that she liked him because Y/N was obvious and also her friends at the time had big mouths, so it would eventually get back to him. And he must have thought Y/N wasn’t so bad (or he thought that he could easily raise his grades by copying her homework) because he asked her out, in the most awkward, uncomfortable way he could have but Y/N thought it was so romantic (a piece of paper with U want 2 date? Scribbled on it and a piece of gum). They held hands after class, he picked her up from her 4th hour for lunch, they sat with his friends and her friends, and Y/N was sure this was what every love song and rom-com was about.

That next day, Y/N waited patiently for her soulmate mark to bloom on her skin but it didn’t. She’d done a full body check that night and the following morning, but she hadn’t been deterred – sometimes it took a little while to happen, they’d learned that in class too. So she didn’t have one yet.

But he had his.

On the back of his hand, a squiggled mess of a mark was on his skin just a pigment darker than his normal pale tone. He looked at the back of her hand when she came to class, his brows knitted in confusion that mirrored her own, and then there was a pat on his shoulder that drew his attention away from her. A girl stood there – she might be in the grade above them – and she looked down at him, smiling gently, her hair blond with the tips dyed from red juice, “Hi,” she started, “My – um – my friends were telling me that they saw someone with the same mark I woke up with this morning,” she flipped her hand around, and Y/N felt her heart drop to her stomach. It matched his perfectly, every weird little curve and squiggle.

That’s how her first relationship ended, after a day – Y/N was heartbroken because. . .well, duh, of course she was, he’d been the love of her life (or something like that). She cried to her parents, they promised her that one day she’d share a mark with someone, but to focus on her studies and building a life for herself. Love would find her one day, and in the meantime, them and her friends would love her enough for a thousand soulmates.

Y/N swore off love until her tenth year, and there was a girl in her class named Yana who was pretty and smelled like cinnamon always. She laughed at Y/N’s jokes and her giggle sounded like bells twinkling and Y/N was sure this was probably love – her heart raced when she suggested they go on a date. This time, it lasts about two weeks, when she wakes up to a message – a nondescript part of Yana’s body with spots and dots that look like a constellation, accompanied by a Look!! Do you have it too?

She searched all over her body, looked in the mirror, recorded her back, searched and searched and searched.

And for the second time, Y/N doesn’t have one.

Yana tells her that it’s okay, that they would stay together and maybe hers just hasn’t materialized yet but Y/N felt deep in her marrow that she didn’t receive a mark like Yana’s yet because she wasn’t going to. A week and a half later, Yana finds her soulmate at the cinema.

Two times is coincidental, maybe, but then it happened a third time. Then a fourth, then a fifth, and then Y/N’s kind of thinking that the universe is playing a cruel joke on her, because every time she starts dating someone, they find their soulmate shortly after. It might be a day, a couple of weeks, or a month, but it eventually happens, and each time Y/N is left alone, confused, and slightly heartbroken, but used to it.

Then people started noticing a pattern, first in high school and then it followed her to UNI. Word of mouth travels fast when there’s someone who could speed up the search for your soulmate, so she had a lot of people pretending to be potential partners. And what could Y/N do about it? Everyone already knew, it only took a couple of failed relationships to prove as much. She could become a recluse, only leaving her flat to go to her classes, then go to work, and then come home and wallow in her misery and self-pity wondering if she would ever find her person. . .

. . .or she could help them.

Not all of them, of course, even she didn’t have the energy for that, but the ones who she could tell were in it for the right reasons. It wasn’t difficult to convince her, but she did have some standards, at the very least. She namely had a soft spot for people who had been in relationships but had broken up because the other person found their soulmate, so she always agreed to arrangements like that. The ones who seemed desperate and lonely, the ones who were stressed and tired, the ones with good, tender hearts and gentle spirits.

Did it suck? Yeah, sure, but Y/N did feel good too afterward. How happy they are when they find their person, the smiles that are barely contained, the way they hug her, and thank her like she’s some cupid-like being for merely enjoying drinks and meals and dates on their dime (that’s her only request, is that they pay for their outings). Then, even if it’s not her own, there’s more love in the world, and that’s hardly something she can be upset about.

Y/N had imagined that the reputation she held had withered away when she left UNI and started working. It was never something she went around advertising (it was a little depressing, no? And she didn’t like the pitied gazes that greet her), so she was pretty certain she had wiped her hands clean of it. At least until someone showed interest in her, and if they were nice enough she would agree out of a twisted moral obligation to help them find love. Otherwise, she would keep to herself, as far as dating went, and work on building her career, making friends, and living life as Y/N and not as Cupid.

She works in the editing department of a publication company, which was the best job she could have hoped to get with her degree. Y/N used to have aspirations of being a writer but those were snuffed away by her first creative writing course at UNI, so she thought she'd at least like to be a part of the process where someone’s dreams came true. Then she could vicariously live through them.

The responsibilities weren’t horrible, and the days could go by relatively quickly. Plus it paid well, enough that she could cover all her expenses and have some left for things she liked and wanted to do. She’d made good friends there too, like Niall and Eloise, which is all anyone could hope for at work to get through the harder, slower days. Niall is usually the driving force behind them being involved in work-related functions, always expressing the importance of mingling because you are just a couple “you know a guy, who knows a guy” away from being the CEO of a company one day. Eloise goes along easily with it, as does Y/N, because. . .well, why not? What else was she going to do on a Friday night? Curl in her blankets and rewatch the same show from the beginning because she’s too stressed to start something new? There’s only so many times she can do that in a row before it starts to get concerning.

That’s why they were here tonight, celebrating a new hire. There were a couple of people from different floors, production, IT, and the like – Y/N isn’t sure who was leading this particular welcome party, but she could tell they were more focused on inviting their friends than prominent people the new person would be working with. Their cubby wouldn’t be beside Y/N, but they’d be relatively close – their picture on file looked familiar and their name rose a bell or two in her head. Did she have a class with them before? Maybe she’d seen them present something in UNI.

Y/N isn’t sure who it is until they are all sitting around the table (there are about fifteen of them, and she’s thankful this particular Korean Barbecue place had a table with enough seats to accommodate the whole group), she locks eyes with them, and then suddenly she remembered who they were. Finley was an underclassman in her Lit course in the third year of college; he was only a year younger than her, but hellbent and desperate to find his soulmate because all English majors were either cynical about love or completely enamored with it. He’d heard about Y/N’s. . .talent (if you could call it that) and asked her if she could help him, ignoring her when she told him that there are maybe more things in life that he should be focusing on (like passing their midterm that he still hadn’t started studying for).

But as always, Y/N’s suckered into it because her heart was too tender, and it only took half a week before his soulmate – a new student joining Finley’s gamer society or whatever – stumbled into his life, with his identical mark. Y/N didn’t remember him by name alone because it’d been so fast, but she’d always been better with faces anyway.

He recognized her from across the table, smiled familiarly at her, and then left it there. Y/N was grateful because she really didn’t need people knowing about this gift – it had been nice not taking everyone else’s love life into her hands, for a little while.

. . .But then when they are asking Finley about 40 thousand questions, his soulmate gets brought up.

“How’d you meet?” Caroline, a woman a few years her senior in the marketing department inquired, leaning forward. She hadn’t found her soulmate yet so she was always fascinated with everyone’s stories, so she leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm, and waited for him to reply.

And Finley, bless his heart, could not read the way Y/N’s face was screaming “DO NOT BRING IT UP!!!!” because he motioned toward Y/N with an indebted tone, “Well, thanks to Y/N’s powers, I meant him about a week into dating her.”

“Powers?”

“Power? What power?”

“You and Y/N dated?”

“Oh god, you dated and you found your soulmate? Poor Y/N, come here girl –”

“Wait, what?” Niall is the one who says it from beside her, head tilted curiously, “You never told us about –”

“It’s nothing, really,” Y/N shook her head, raising her hands up, “Honestly, it’s just –”

“Don’t be humble! Y/N is seriously the best,” Finley boasts on her behalf, and Y/N wishes she had sat closer to him so she could dig her nails into his thigh and tell him to shut up, “The only reason I met my boyfriend is because of Y/N. Whenever she dates someone they find their soulmate – she was our campus's unofficial cupid.”

“Holy shit, really?”

“Oh my god! Why didn’t you ever mention –”

“Probably so people wouldn’t be annoying.”

“That’s crazy! Y/N, but then, do you have your soulmate?”

“Enough with the questions,” Eloise finally spoke from beside her, shuffling closer to Y/N’s side, her body warm and comforting, “This is about Finley joining us, not about Y/N.”

They seem to take the hint, despite everyone being well on their way past tipsy. Y/N feels some tension ease from her shoulders but she’s still on high alert, her heart hammering an unsteady beat in her chest, and her adrenalin is spiked like her body is telling her to run out of there. It was fine, she kept telling herself that, she could just accuse Finley of being a true romantic and falling for hopeless rumors and then hopefully corner him later on and tell him she doesn’t do that anymore. Convince him to let everyone know he was just playing around before, that was all, so she didn’t get stuck in that endless cycle again.

Because she doesn’t mind helping, honestly, she doesn’t, but she just needed a break for a while. That was all.

When an appropriate amount of time has passed not for it to seem like she was making a scene, Y/N excused herself to the bathroom. Almost everyone was too drunk at that point to notice that instead of going right toward the bathroom, she turned left, toward the front door. She wasn’t leaving, she just needed some air – a second to clear her thoughts.

Her belly was pleasantly full after Niall kept grilling for her and piling it up on her plate (his silent apology for what happened, even though he doesn’t understand the severity of it, nor what was going on exactly – it was sweet) and her body feels warm from Eloise pressed to her side. Winter’s icy temperatures had finally been tapering off into something slightly warmer during the day, but as soon as the sun sunk beyond the horizon, the breezes were still cold. She buries her hands in her pockets after zipping her jacket up to her chest, wishing that she’d worn a hat or a scarf so that she could have covered her ears. At least she was lucky enough to have thought ahead and worn her fleece-lined tights so she wasn’t bare-legged out here in a skirt.

The bell on the door jingles soundly, indicating someone had opened the door but Y/N had closed her eyes for just a second so she hadn’t seen who it was. And she surely didn’t know they were standing before her until they made their presence known, with a gentle clearing of their throat, “Excuse me?”

Y/N opened her eyes to look at the person, finding a man that she knew but she didn’t really know. Harry Styles could probably win any popular vote that he took part in – people loved him a lot. Y/N had never interacted with him – maybe once briefly to hold the elevator open – but she’d heard stories about how dreamy he was. His voice was low, but his words were sweet, and his mannerisms and how he carried himself were that of someone soft and gentle. He dressed well (today, in corduroy trousers and a soft, cashmere sweater) and always smelled like expensive vanilla cologne, and apparently when you’re close enough to his head, you can smell his shampoo. His hair had recently grown back out after he buzzed it, so the curls were a soft and healthy brown, and she wondered if he’d styled it messy or if he was someone who could just run his fingers through it a couple of times and it looks perfect like that.

He stood before her looking sheepish, his cheeks flushed pink and Y/N didn’t know if it was from the cold or the alcohol. The glossy look in his gaze suggested the latter.

“Hi,” Y/N greeted politely, “Are you okay?”

Harry nodded, straightening out the hem of his sweater, “Um, yes, I was actually – I was going to come out and ask you that.” He pointed back toward the restaurant, “I saw you come out here instead of the bathroom.”

Y/N’s brows raised, surprised that he had been watching her, “Oh, I’m – yeah, I’m okay,” she smiled, and she knew it didn’t reach her eyes much but that’s all she could muster for now, “It was just kind of warm in there.”

He nodded again and sighed softly. Something was bothering him, she could tell, the way he chewed on his bottom lip and plucked at the hem of his sweater again, Y/N gave him a second to sort through what he might want to say. When he finally decided, his gaze found hers again, with a reinvigorated drive.

“Was it true, what they said? About you and the – and how people find their soulmates?”

Y/N pauses, maybe a little too long for her next words to sound like the truth, “That’s just a rumor.” She shrugged, “It happened a couple of times, and you know how campus gossip spreads.”

Harry stared at her – he wasn’t buying it, “How many times is a couple?” Each and every single time – doesn’t really sound like something that would get him to drop it, so Y/N just stays quiet. She could tell where this was going, and she had a feeling it wasn’t him about to explain why this had been happening to her her whole life, “I know this is probably annoying, and it seemed like – it seemed like in there, you didn’t really want to talk about it,” he sniffled, Y/N thought maybe from the cold, but then she watched as tears bead his waterline and her eyes widen, “I just – um, it’s happened to me a lot in the past four years, where I’m dating someone and they find their soulmate, then we break it off. Like, it’s been consistent at this point, in my last four relationships. This last time though, we’d been together for a year and a half, and she told me that even if she – even if she found her soulmate, it wouldn’t change how she felt about me, but. . .words are just words, you know. I thought I’d marry her one day.”

Okay, maybe Harry was way drunker than she’d originally thought. She’d heard a lot about Harry but she’d never heard that he was prone to tears, and she wasn’t really sure what to do – her hands left her pockets and hovered, over him, “Oh, wait, don’t – don’t cry,” she shook her head, “Don’t cry, it’s okay, that – you know, that happens sometimes it’s –”

“It just really sucks,” he knuckled his eyes, “And now I’m embarrassing myself in front of you, and I just – would you be willing to help me? It’s okay if not! It is, honestly, I promise I won’t be upset or anything, I’ll get over it,” he told her, “We don’t even work on the same floor, so you don’t need to feel obligated and ignore my – ignore me crying too, I don’t want you to feel pressured. Would you just think about it, maybe?”

Y/N swallowed thickly, her heart twitching in her chest – she hates seeing people cry, and he just looks so. . .so dispirited, she feels bad for him. But she needed to think about it, she knew, she needed to spend just a little time thinking about it, and if she was willing to get back into this. If she does it for Harry, then everyone would want it too, right? Was there a way to do it so nobody thought she was trying to help him find his soulmate? Could they make it so it just seemed like a legitimate relationship?

“Yes, of course, I’ll – I can think about it,” she assured him, and Harry gave her a teary smile, his cheeks even pinker, “Just give me the weekend, okay? I’ll have an answer by Monday.”

Harry hiccuped, “Thank you,” he murmured, “For even considering, thank you. Do you – do you want to go back in?”

“Yeah, sure, but maybe – you might want to wait until you’ve stopped crying a little.” She suggested, “I’ll stand out here with you.”

“Thank you,” he says again, wiping helplessly at his eyes.

. . .

Y/N doesn’t just think about it – she agonizes over it.

Every minute of every hour after Harry had approached her, the debate on whether or not she should help him weighed heavily on her mind. It used to be easier deciding; if someone asked her she said yes, and that was that. It’s what she was known for already, doing it one more time wouldn’t hurt, and she’d get that small glimmer of happiness that bubbled up in her chest when she saw how overjoyed they were. She’d always thought that, if she’d never have a soulmate to look at her like that, then this was enough – the look they gave her when she said yes, and the subsequent look she received when it worked.

She’d just thought that she was done with that part of her life, was all. Each time she helped, a little piece of her felt like it’d been clipped away. Used and tossed aside – not like anyone meant to do it cruelly. More like a Post-it being crumpled up and tossed aside; it was really useful at one point, with a shopping list, or the day’s schedule, but after it had served its purpose there was no use for it anymore. They appreciated her at one point, thought of her as a gift from the universe, and then gently cast her aside so they could live their happy life and Y/N pretended not to feel the sudden shift in her daily dynamic. From being with someone all the time tricking the universe, to being all alone.

And if she agreed to Harry, wouldn’t that open up a can of worms? Then she would have to say yes everyone, no? Or had people gained more tact since UNI? Y/N had kind of hoped she’d played it off so that nobody thought Finley was telling the truth, but apparently, she’d not done it well enough, if a drunk Harry was able to read her then stumble out and ask about it.

She guesses the big problem here isn’t helping Harry. Part of her wants to help him, more than understanding his situation, she wants to give him a hand in a way that she wishes someone could give her. She didn’t know much about him, but he seemed sweet enough, and Y/N had always had a soft spot for guys who get all teary-eyed – she thinks it’s really cute. Why not help him?

As long as he could agree to just. . .not be so obvious that they’re faking it. If he was a good actor, that would help them out, though the universe doesn’t necessarily require an Oscar-worthy performance for this to work. Just for her peace of mind, and unless his soulmate works with them, then hopefully they could taper it off realistically too. Then there’d be no question in anyone’s mind if the rumor was correct. . .well, everyone apart from Finley, but she’d buy his silence somehow.

Y/N hadn’t remembered to ask for Harry’s number Friday night, so she asked Niall for it Sunday. He doesn’t get back to her until later when the moon takes the place of the sun and the sky is speckled with stars for the first time this Spring. If Y/N had a patio she’d be sitting on it, looking up at them for hours, wondering for the first time in a while what cosmic deity hated her so much that this was the lot she’d been given, as far as soulmates were concerned. She doesn’t have a patio though, which is probably for the best, to reduce the amount of self-pity wallowing that she’d be doing otherwise. Instead, she was in her pajamas, having spent most of the day lounging on the sofa after grocery shopping that morning.

Her grey little cat (appropriately named Ferret, because he’s lanky and slinky like one, and the pattern on his face looked similar) had been sitting on her lap but got irritated when her phone kept vibrating, so he’d slithered off to the kitchen. It turned out that Harry might be incapable of texting a continuous thought in one message because she’s hit with what feels like 40 messages in response to Y/N’s Hi Harry, this is Y/N.

Hiiii

Y/N! I’m so glad you called

Or, messaged I guess haha

I realized after we left each other that we had no way of contacting the other person!

And I’m not sure what department you work in, idk if you know mine either

(it’s design btw!)

Y/N blinked rapidly, staring at her phone, and let out a surprised giggle when he sent a gif of a cat with a paintbrush. God, who was this guy?

The three bubbles that indicated he was messaging her again popped up, but she tried to beat him, thumbs moving quickly to reply.

Oh, nice! I’m in editing!

Look, about what you asked. . .I made my decision and I wanted to discuss it face-to-face, if you’re able. Maybe tomorrow morning before work? Can we meet for coffee? Just the cafe on the first floor of our building, around 8?

Harry replies quickly.

Yes! Of course!

I’ll pay.

No matter what your decision is, thank you for even considering it!!

Don’t feel pressured!

Do whatever makes you happy! That will make me happy!

See you tomorrow!!

Y/N snuggled down into the throw blanket she had pulled over her shoulders, burying her nose into the knit – at least he’s sweet. If she was going to go through with this then she knew he would treat her well, even if it was all pretend. Y/N doesn’t get too delusional about it but she does allow herself to revel in the pleasant things, like the dates, and someone pouring all of their attention into her like she was the most interesting person in the world. Sometimes she got gifts too before they found their soulmate, and then afterward as another show of gratitude. Really, she gets spoiled and she enjoys that. She thinks she deserves something out of the arrangement at the very least.

At some point she would have to leave the couch and go to bed – it was getting late. And now she had to wake up even earlier to meet with Harry. She had to get ready for her schedule to not be her own for a little while, to accommodate him – though it was nice that they worked in the same place. It was much harder in UNI, trying to work around different lecture times, labs, assignments, and the like. Maybe it would be easier, and less draining this way. Hell, maybe she’d even start doing it again, but she should look into monetizing it right? A daily fee – she could get a new couch then because this one was doing nothing for her back.

God. . .what was she getting herself into?

. . .

Harry looked a little too refreshed for it being so early in the morning like he’d been awake for hours already. Y/N thinks that Harry probably finished messaging her then pulled his blankets up to his chin and slept happily, while she rolled around stressed out and panicked for a couple more hours before she finally fell asleep. Then Ferret stomped all over her head this morning to wake her up for breakfast early this morning, and when she looked into the mirror she almost screamed because she looked like someone made her stay awake all night. It had been corrected the tiniest amount by washing her face and brushing her teeth, but she was too stressed to do any sort of makeup.

So the comparison is probably laughable – anyone looking on would think that it was Y/N about to ask Harry for something, not the other way around.

He already has drinks for them, and Y/N’s brows raise when he gleams at her, pushing the cup across the table, “Niall told me what your favorite drink was down here,” he admitted sheepishly, “And your favorite pastry.”

Y/N pulled the chair out, lowering to the seat, “Thank you,” she smiled, “You really didn’t have to do this–”

“No, I definitely did.” He interrupted her, shaking his head, “I made a fool of myself, honestly, so I wanted to get you this and I wanted to tell you that I was serious when I said you don’t have to help me. It was unfair for me to corner you outside and ask – the least I could’ve done was ask through text so you didn’t feel forced to think about it. If you don’t want to, it’s seriously no hard feelings. I’m just an emotional drunk and whiny, and I’m kind of a crybaby by default so. . .it was just a mess. I’m really embarrassed about it.”

Y/N runs the pad of her thumb over her eyebrow, a small smile twitching at her mouth. It’s her out if she wanted it, but how earnest he seems – the fact that he didn’t seem to be just saying it to make himself sound good, and if she wanted to say no, he would accept it gratefully. . .that made her want to do it more. Even if life would have been a lot easier had she said no.

“That’s sweet of you,” she replied, “But I’ve already decided that I’ll help you.”

Harry seems well and truly shocked, his eyes going wide, “You will?”

“Mhm,” she agreed, nodding, “I – just have a couple of – I don’t want to say terms because that makes it sound super contractual, but it’s just a couple of things I want to establish for my peace of mind.”

“Anything,” Harry replied committedly, still seeming shocked that she’d agreed – like the offer had been too good for him to believe, so he’d already begun accepting it wouldn’t happen, “Anything you want!”

She swallowed, scratching the side of her head and hoping she didn’t fuck up her ponytail, “Right, so,” she gathered her thoughts, organizing them in a neat little row like ducklings, one after the other. She’d been thinking about it all night, so the list had been perfected, “I want to avoid people thinking that this is something I do again. It can be a lot, and then everyone is trying to go on fake dates because they want to find their soulmate and it’s just. . .exhausting, sometimes. I don’t mind helping someone here and there, but at some point, I was doing it every week, and as soon as one person found there’s, another one lined up for me to help – it’s too much,” Harry’s gaze was locked on her, drinking in every word, “So I would need you to really act like you’re dating me –”

“Done.”

She startled, blinking at him, “Oh, yeah, okay good,” she pulled the drink closer to her, “Like a proper courting, we need to make it look real. And then, no matter how long it takes you to find them, whether it’s a couple days, a week, or a month, we need to let it taper off like. . .naturally. And, I know this is asking a lot, but you could just hide that you found your soulmate for a couple weeks after the fact. . .just until it simmers down a bit? Just so people don’t try correlating the two. I mean, ideally, nobody would know what we were doing at all, but we work in the same building and I’m not so naive that I think we could keep this a total secret.”

“Yeah, that sounds reasonable! I think it’d be better to make it organic too, so like. . .the universe doesn’t catch on?” He tilted his head, “How does it work exactly? I’m kind of confused.”

“I’ll get into that at the end,” Y/N tells him, but to be honest, she doesn’t really know either. It just. . works, that’s the easiest way to put it, “Anyway, this kind of goes with the first point, but I don’t want Niall or Eloise to know either. Both of them are super close to me but I never got into all of this with them before and I think the fewer people who know about it the better.”

“The dates we go on. . .I mean, I don’t really ask for anything in terms of payment, so usually people just pay for the dates we go on if they're dinner related but I try to stick to appetizers so it’s not too pricey. That was more of a benefit when I was a broke UNI student, so I won’t be as strict about that now. I’m happy to pay for myself too, if you’d prefer that.”

He shakes his head, “Of course, I’m not going to make you pay for anything,” he told her, “That would be so shitty.”

She snorted, smiling a little, “I usually keep families out of it if I can. I mean, if we run into a sibling or a cousin and they tell them, that’s okay, but I try to avoid things like – dinners and meeting them. I don’t like lying to people and I’m horrible under pressure, so I would make things so weird and that’s just unnecessary. And the thought of your family remembering me as the girl who was weird before you meant your soulmate is just. . .I have some pride, you know?” The latte he’d ordered her was still hot, so she only sips at it, stifling a wince when it felt like she’d burned the tip of her tongue off, scalding a few of her taste buds – but it was sweet and cinnamony so she went in for another sip, “Um, there has never been like. . .a requirement as far as affection goes, I kind of just leave that up to whoever. I think sometimes people start getting so used to being with me and taking me out that they start sort of. . .I don’t know how to say this – maybe they forget that we aren’t really together? So they want to kiss and cuddle and stuff like that. I’m not opposed to it, you would just need to let me know that’s where we were taking it beforehand.”

“I’m super affectionate with the people in my life,” Harry commented, “So if touching is okay with you, then I’m big on touch in general. But let me know if anything weirds you out or makes you uncomfortable and I’ll stop immediately, no questions asked!”

“Yeah, that’s fine, I’m usually pretty touchy too,” I used to get all of that out when I was fake dating people so that they could find their soulmate, but now that I don’t, I’m actually super lonely and just get affection from my cat and an overly snuggly Eloise when she’s drunk – she would say that, but she doesn’t need to seem any more pathetic than she already does so she kept it to herself, “So I’m good with that. Uh, the last thing I think is the easiest part. Just let me know immediately when you’ve found your soulmate, okay? There’s no need to drag it out because you feel bad or feel like you’re leaving me or something. You’ll just let me know and we’ll come up with a plan on how to inconspicuously end things, and that will be that.”

It had happened to her before, a couple of times in the past. Even desperate people seeking after their soulmates have some sense to feel guilty for using her the way they have to, to find them. To end things abruptly felt too harsh, too cruel – to so belatedly exclaim to someone that you found your soulmate when you know they haven’t found theirs. . .well, it’s unintentionally brutal. But Y/N doesn’t really care – if anything, she shares their excitement, if not for the simple joy of there being love in the world, then for the fact she doesn’t have to keep the farce up for any longer. She might get a couple of days or maybe a few weeks to decompress and recompose herself for the next round.

So there was no reason to feel bad when they found them. And Y/N is more upset that they kept it from her and kept stringing her along rather than just being upfront. If there’s one thing that makes this flow smoothly, it’s complete transparency from either party.

“As far as how it works, I’m not entirely sure,” she cleared her throat, thumbing at the cardboard around her paper cup, “I’ve tried searching it before on the internet and nothing comes up, and I’ve looked through books about soulmate theory and all of that, but I never find anything that describes what happens. For whatever reason when someone pretends they’re dating me, it registers something in the universe, and within a few days or a couple of weeks they get their mark, and then soon after that they find their soulmate wandering around, or in a class with them, or at a grocery store. It’s not just a matter of spending time with them – I thought that could be a part of it at first, but if that were the case then all my friends would have met their soulmates already too.” She drags her thumb a little firmer against the cup, trying hard not to fidget – she gets irritated, not knowing the exact mechanics, “So it only works when someone has the intention of “dating” me. And the difference in times that they find their person is always changing too.”

Harry’s brows are pinched in thought, and for a second Y/N is wondering if he’s second-guessing going through with this – it would make sense if he was, Y/N would think. Not everyone was okay with pretending to be in a relationship.

Instead, he regarded her thoughtfully, “Do you think maybe they get their mark when they start developing legitimate feelings for you?” His head tilted, he looked like a puppy, and though it wasn’t much, Y/N understood more and more why his appeal to everyone at work won him a popularity vote – he is rather amazing. “Like, maybe it’s based on that? It would make sense why it is always different amounts of time right? Some people catch feelings or fall in love quickly, and some people it takes more time for.”

She’d never considered that as a possibility, actually, and she isn’t necessarily sure she wants to. So she shrugged her shoulders, “Maybe,” she replied, “All I know for sure is that we act like we’re dating and eventually it will work for you.”

His smile is warm, gentle, and brimming with excitement that he’s trying to contain for her sake, “Is there anything you would like as a form of payment? I know you said dates, but I. . that can’t be all you want, right? That seems like too little.”

“Never underestimate a good meal out,” she answered promptly, “It’s expensive to eat at restaurants nowadays, honestly, you’re kind of the one getting ripped off. All I’ve got to do is sit and look pretty.”

And accidentally get attached to you, and feel an added hole in my chest where it feels like someone is missing after being a major addition to her life for weeks before they leave. A couple of holes is fine, sure, there’s minimal damage there, but when there’s a ton of them so close together it starts to resemble a crater, a deep indentation her only reminder that at some point, someone pretended to like her, and that should be enough, right? She at least got to kind of experience it.

She keeps that to herself and laughs when he laughs, and that’s that.

“Start slow,” Y/N explained, rounding back to their plan, “Maybe come see me on my floor during your breaks – don’t do some grand display of affection, that would be too on the nose and Finley would have a fucking field day letting everyone know my business again. Spend time with me, we’ll start as friends, and then we’ll let it “progress into something more”,” she air quotes around it, “It’s important to keep in contact to, to make ensure both of our comforts, so don’t be afraid to use my number, alright?”

Y/N shifted beneath his admiring gaze, his eyes were too clear and too green, even from this distance.

“Don’t mention it,” she replied, “Start whenever you’d like.”

. . .

Harry gets the ball rolling relatively quickly.

He doesn’t make a show of it, though word travels quickly that they are becoming friends because it’s Harry and people pay attention to what he’s doing and who he’s talking to. So when he slows down at her desk after bringing Ethan (another editor on her floor) a bagel and coffee he’d paid him for, there are at least three sets of eyes on them, “Hey, I think I have that necklace,” he began smoothly, motioning toward Y/N’s throat and she reaches up, almost surprised to find that something was dangling from her neck. In the mornings, Y/N gets ready for work in a half-asleep stupor so she rarely remembered accessorizing, if she’d done it or what she chose.

The necklace was a simple silver satellite chain, with a dainty diamond pendant that nestled in the dip of her collarbone. It was a gift from a fake lover's past; the wealthier people she’s helped just couldn’t accept not paying her back in some way, and in a dopamine-riddled high after meeting their partner they got her things like this sometimes. Y/N doesn’t decline them because. . .well, she likes nice things.

“Really?” She inquired, and she actually had no idea if he did or if he was just trying to start a conversation but she played along anyway, “I wouldn’t expect you to have something so delicate and pretty, since you’re all brawns and big muscles.”

There’s a trace of sarcasm that anyone could note in her voice; Harry is lean, and his muscles are well-defined but by no means is he some buff, gym bro walking around the halls. Harry preferred light, feathery colors – he wore tops similar to blouses and pants that belonged in a spring catalog. His fingers were littered with rings, a lot of them thick and brassy but some of them were simple loops with a gem or jewel of some kind at the center. If they were going to be honest, it made more sense that Harry would have this necklace than it did that she would.

Harry grinned, “Oh, yeah, you know me,” he leaned against the light pink acrylic plexiglass that separated her desk from Eloise, who slurped from her cup of coffee and eyed the two suspiciously, “Rough and tough and strong and mean – I reckon the Weather Girls were referencing me in their song.”

Y/N snorted, idly thumbing over the chain, “Why’re you in this neck of the woods?” She knew, but she needed to keep the conversation going. He pointed back at Ethan who was eating the bagel like it was the best thing he’d had in his life (his fiance put them both on a pretty extreme diet for their wedding, so he was starving 90% of the day), and she hummed her response, “Weird you come empty-handed to my desk though. You should always bring offerings to everyone on a floor that isn’t yours, it’ll reduce rivalries.”

“Did our floors have a rivalry?”

“They do now.”

His nose scrunches and Y/N notices that his hair looks soft and healthy under the light. Harry wears a cream-colored cardigan today, and the sleeves come over his palms, Y/N thinks absently that if for whatever reason, he met his soulmate today – they would think that he was cute. He is, after all.

When he eventually leaves, Eloise moves her chair closer to Y/N’s desk, “I didn’t know you two were friends?” She prodded gently, showing her interest, and Y/N only waved her hand at her, like she was wiping the suggestion away.

“Mm, we ran into each other getting coffee the other day,” she only altered the truth a little – it wasn’t a total lie which made her feel better, “He’s nice, we get on well.”

“I don’t know if there’s anyone Harry doesn’t get on well with,” she clicked her tongue, setting the mug down with a soft clatter, “He might be the world’s most amiable man – he should be studied.”

Eloise is typically skeptical of all office relationships in any capacity – she knows everyone’s everything, and who is speaking to whom and why (It was the most interesting part of their dinners or drinks with Niall, delving into everyone’s gossip). So if she wasn’t immediately questioning the situation at hand, then they were good. She could see through bullshit better than anyone she knew.

The next time Harry approached her it was in front of Niall, and he didn’t even raise an eyebrow. Part of that might be since he was combating a hangover from the prior night and because he was face down on the desk, barely moving – Y/N was moments from doing a wellness check when Harry appeared. In his hand was an almond croissant and a coffee, a pleased smile tickling his cheek, “This is my white flag,” he explained, “I nominated myself as my floor’s rep, and I’m asking for a truce in this rivalry.”

It only took Y/N a couple of seconds to get what he meant, and when she did, she scoffed, rolled her eyes, but took the croissant and coffee with a smile all the same, “You’re ridiculous.”

When Harry leaves this time, Niall presses his cheek to his bicep and pushes his sunglasses up, squinting hard against the light, “Our floors have a rivalry?”

Y/N reached over and pulled the sunglasses back down, covering his gaze.

“Not anymore.”

It’s baby steps at first, just as Y/N had requested. Harry tiptoed into her life carefully, introducing himself into her daily routine in a way that wasn’t too sudden but didn’t drag out – like someone who might have an interest in her. Each day, Y/N would get a message around dinner time asking if it went well, or if he was doing okay, and if she had any pointers – considering that these messages were her only reminder that he was acting, she’d say he was doing pretty well. Nobody was put off by his sudden routine appearances on their floor, but she hardly thought anyone would – people are just happy to have him around for even a little while, she is beginning to understand.

Harry’s presence is magnetic, even for people who don’t have a romantic interest in him. She wondered if there was magic in his bloodline; an enchantment passed down through centuries that encouraged people to be obsessed with you. He receives more smiles and waves from the people on her floor than Y/N does, and she’s worked here for close to two years.

And somehow, he remained humbled and kind. There was never a moment in the last few weeks that Y/N looked at Harry and thought “This guy needs to be taken down a fucking peg,” and she has the thought rather often. Arguably, he could stand to climb up a couple of pegs and at least be a little obnoxious – then Y/N wouldn’t feel so flustered in his presence, even though she knew all of this was a well-crafted act. The meetings were planned, but the reactions, what she said, the way her heart threatened to trip over itself when he reached out to adjust her earring that had flipped around. It’s moments like that, when his fingers just barely skim over her ear and catch a graze at her jaw when he pulls them back, that Y/N has to ground herself and do it quickly.

It had been a while since she’d done this, and her responses to the casual touching were proof enough of that. How she stumbled over her words and faltered in her retorts was embarrassing. Not to mention she was out of practice and clunky with her flirting, so it mostly sounded like she was trying to start a fight with him, but he only laughed and continued.

Back then, when she did this all the time, Y/N had grown used to the flirting, touching, kisses, and scripted declarations of love. At one point she was worried that when it was real, it wouldn’t touch her heart in the way it used to. So she has to admit, she’s a little relieved that she could still have these excitable reactions, even knowing it was fake — then, one day if it ever is real. . .she thinks she’d feel it so intensely in her chest that it would spiral through the rest of her body in dazzling flames. Her emotions weren’t as frozen thick and solid as she’d thought they were.

On a Thursday, Harry plopped down in Eloise’s empty seat (she was. . .somewhere, Y/N wasn’t sure – she had a peculiar habit of going MIA for at least thirty minutes out of the day) with a lofty sigh.

“Do you ever spend any time on your actual floor?” Y/N inquired, her gaze undeviating from the screen in front of her – she’d been tasked with chapters 1 through 20 of the draft one of their veteran authors had sent in, and it was no easy task. This particular writer did a lot of world-building in the first couple of chapters, so they were long and hard to get through before things finally picked up. Y/N would have thought someone gave her this task because they hated her guts, but she knew she was the second choice – Amelia had been set to edit this particular manuscript, but she went into labor a week or so earlier than expected and went on maternity leave.

That meant, instead of enjoying the weather outside – which had finally begun to maintain a consistency of warmth throughout the entire day – she was stuck in here. At least she could appreciate it for a bit this morning, on her walk to her car, and then the walk into work. There was no time to relish in it, apart from a couple of seconds with her eyes closed and feeling the morning sun bathe her cheeks.

“Do you ever spend any time not on your floor?” He countered, rolling the chair around the desk so that he could nestle up right beside her, “Take a break with me, everyone is outside enjoying the sun.”

Her brows dipped, burning eyes finally yanking from the screen to see that other than Easton, who was tasked with the rest of the manuscript Y/N was currently editing – the floor was deserted. Not even the floor manager was in her office. Then she looked toward Harry, who wore lavender trousers and a linen button-up tucked into the waistband – she could imagine the shirt must billow in the warm breeze. His eyes seemed brighter the warmer the weather became, which was doing nothing but strengthen the allegations that he’d been born from a piece of the sun (Niall’s allegations, specifically, but when he’d said it once months ago in the break room there had been several murmured and hummed agreements).

“Oh?” She pressed her knuckles to her eyes, rubbing in slow circles, “I don’t really have time, I’ve gotta get this done.”

Y/N felt something loop around her ankle, and when she looked down, she saw he’d hooked his leg around her and started to pull, turning her from the computer so she could face him, his lip deep and pouted, “Just for a little bit,” he whined, “I was looking all over for you, everyone knows it, so if I come back empty handed I’ll look stupid.”

“I don’t think anyone will be paying attention.”

“Y/N –”

Easton cleared his throat, “Just let him take you out,” he intersected their conversation, “He’s spoiled, he’ll keep trying until you say you agree.”

Harry’s dimples pop out, “He’s right, I’m very persistent.”

Y/N sighed, pressing the chair from the table, “Alright, just like 15 minutes though,” she agreed, mostly because she didn’t want to bother Easton who she knew was significantly more behind than her, and had to fact-check some more alchemy related chapters than she did. Y/N, though she hadn’t known Harry for long, had gathered that he was used to getting what he wanted – rarely anyone told him no, so in a way, he was spoiled rotten. It would be easier to take the 15 minutes and then come back inside to finish, rather than fighting him for 15, still going out, then spending another 15 with him, “Then I really need to come back. Don’t you need to design a cover or something?”

“I can bring my iPad outside,” he doesn’t grab her hand, maybe that would be too on the nose, but he does curl his fingers around the fabric of her thin pink sleeve – the linen overalls she had on over it were thin too, but created just enough of a barrier that the breeze wouldn’t ripple goosebumps up her skin. It’s also thin enough that she can feel the warmth of his hand through it, and – like always – wherever Harry touches glisters beneath his fingertips. She wondered if he felt that too, or if it was just another result of her having no tender affection for however long. Harry is probably so used to it, that he doesn’t feel a thing.

There’s no reason for him to be guiding Y/N by her sleeve because she knows where to go; one section of the building sits lower than the rest, and the roof of it is flat and decorated for “work community get-togethers”. This is where people go out for breaks sometimes to get out of the building and away from the fluorescent lighting, even though there are huge panel windows on one side of their floor – it was still nice to feel the fresh air. Especially on a day as nice as this.

As soon as she steps out into the sun, she immediately feels the warmth of it embrace her. The air smells like Spring – she doesn’t know how else to describe it, even this far in the city, it smells of fresh-cut grass, and the air blows sweet scents from the flowers recently rehoused in the dirt up here. The breeze carries Harry’s scent in her direction too, like vanilla and amber, and when she squints over to look at him, he’s smiling even wider, “See?” He ushered her toward a spot closer to the edge, where they could look through the bars of the iron gates that lined the perimeter of the roof, “Isn’t it nice?”

“Mhm,” she agreed, “I guess your ideas are good sometimes.”

“I’m full of plenty of good ideas,” he suggested, and Y/N settled into the spot beside him, “Like, maybe you should let me take you to the street vendors down by the river on Saturday, right? There’s some pretty good food there, and I reckon there are lots of cute stalls with things to buy.”

Y/N blinked, a little startled, “Oh, we. . .us two?”

“Yeah, us two.”

There are people close enough to hear, she realized, that’s why he was doing this right now. Why he probably wanted to get her outside, so there was more of an audience, so they could sell it. Y/N chews at her bottom lip, and her reaction. . .she isn’t sure what part of it is her acting and what isn’t – she would say this was pretty genuine.

“Sure,” she nodded, “Yeah, we can. You’re paying.”

. . .

“I heard Harry is taking you to the street vendors,” Eloise's brows were raised, slipped up beside her and bumped her chair into Y/N’s, tugging her from the book once again, only this time Y/N’s on chapter 18 so it feels less imperative that she ignore the world around her, “Niall is feeling neglected that you haven’t kept us involved in your evolving romance.”

“It’s not like that,” she replied, “He’s just being nice.” And trying to find his soulmate.

She didn’t seem convinced, huffing a breath through her nose, “Sure, is that what you call it now?” Her head tilted, “A bloke took me to the street vendors once, and that night I ended up getting backshots on his sofa.”

“Jesus Christ, El –”

“Harry’s sweet, so I’m not concerned he will treat you right,” she started, her voice softening, “But in all the time I’ve known you, you really don’t date. If there’s one thing I know about Harry, too, is that he’s a romantic, that he just recently broke up with his girlfriend because she found her soulmate, and there was a recent company dinner, that he attended, where the new employee said you had a sweet little habit that you’ve never spoken about before.” She should have known that she couldn’t keep it from Eloise – she’s always intuitive, to the point where she feels her skills are wasted editing crime and mystery novels, “I’ve always known you were selfless, sometimes to the point of a fault. Just be careful, alright? And don’t get your heart too involved. This. . .if this is a real thing, I don’t like the thought of you getting taken advantage of. It isn’t fair to you.”

“I know,” Y/N murmured, “Thanks for. . .thanks for worrying about me.”

A gloomy cloud hangs over Y/N’s head for the rest of the day.

. . .

Hi!!

Just wanted to check in with you. . .

Are you okay?

Did asking in front of people make you uncomfortable?

I’m sorry if it did

I was trying not to be too obvious about it

It just felt right, to ask you then

We don’t have to go!!

Y/N’s phone had vibrated no less than eight times in a minute Friday night. It was her fault that Harry was feeling anxious and she felt guilt gnawing at her heels because of it. Eloise had gotten into her head and made Y/N feel stupid about the entire situation again – nobody had ever really put it the way she had before, though Y/N knew that it was the truth.

Typically, when anyone found out what Y/N’s purpose seemed to be in life as an unintentional matchmaker, they regarded her like a saint; how virtuous and kind of her to keep love alive, right? To sacrifice her time and energy for a relationship that doesn’t even benefit her, in the long run, was something admirable to them, especially because they didn’t know the mental turmoil she suffered throughout it. Y/N loved love, and in the long run, even if it chipped away at her piece by piece, she still did it.

Nobody had ever sounded so. . .displeased by the situation. They’d not accused her of being selfless to a fault or told her that this arrangement wasn’t fair to her. Nobody had ever validated the feelings that burn through the back of her mind now and then, the ones that make her feel like a bitter, angry person. The ones that wondered why nobody seemed to care how she felt about all of this. And why everyone expected her to go out of her way to help the general campus populace by finding the person made with them in mind. And why nobody ever seems worried about the reality of it for her. Maybe she had no soulmate, and that was why this had been bestowed upon her. Isn’t that sad? Had no one considered this? That putting her through this time and time again could only weaken her resolve? Did they even care?

Every time she helps someone, they go on to live happily ever after, and Y/N is left with atrophied hope for her own love life. It does suck, it does, but Y/N had already decided a long time ago that she didn’t care about that. She isn’t bitter about it, she isn’t, but she’s allowed to be a little sad right? It must be harder after her Cupid sabbatical. The familiar burn on her skin was searing, molten, and fiery in a way that she’d grown unaccustomed to now.

So she’d sort of distanced herself from Harry, not entirely on purpose. When he’d come to visit her Friday morning, she wasn’t rude, but she wasn’t as willing to keep up their banter as she normally would. And when he’d noticed and inquired if she was alright, she only smiled and assured him everything was fine, though she could tell nobody was buying it. She’d been in a rotten mood all day, quiet in her cubicle, she worked through her lunch, and when Harry messaged her asking if she was going to come on the roof again today, she told him she was busy. Even Niall, who – at his best – could be the densest man alive, knew something was wrong (he got her a cookie from the vending machine and left it on her desk with a cat paw sticky note: Eat this to better your mood!! - with a poorly drawn dog beside it).

If she was honest, she didn’t think Harry would care or notice. They’d only recently become “friends” and his social life at work was healthy enough that she knew he wasn’t wanting or lacking interaction. So what if she was in a bad mood? He didn’t even work on the same floor as her, so if he wanted to ignore it, then he could.

But he doesn’t ignore it. And either he’s just as intuitive as Eloise, or Y/N’s easier to read than she initially imagined, because he seemed certain that his asking was what upset her. While it was actually what had happened 30 minutes after that, he didn’t know, but it was a good guess all the same. She did seem confused and startled when he’d requested it of her, and Y/N knew that sometimes her confusion comes across like she’s put off.

It would be easy to blame this all on him, but she wouldn’t – this was her fault. All Harry did was ask her if she would, it was Y/N’s problem that she’d agreed to it. To punish him for her own mistake wasn’t fair either, in the same way, it might not have been fair for him to ask her to do this.

Still, all of this being said, she doesn’t want to back out. There’s something about Harry that is just good; she may not know him well enough to conclude, but she can feel it in her gut that Harry is a softhearted person with pure intentions. She wants to help him, she wants him to find his soulmate, and she wants him to be happy. She doesn’t know why, but she does, in a way that she did not want to help anyone before.

Y/N said that she would help and she would. Maybe she’ll never do this again, but she’ll finish this out.

Sorry, I’m alright!! Promise, you didn’t do anything.

I didn’t sleep well Thursday night so I was just in kind of a bad mood, but I’m feeling better now after finishing work today. I’m still on for tomorrow if you are.

Y/N barely had to wait two minutes before he was replying.

I’d love to go tomorrow!

I’m sorry you didn’t sleep well, I hope tonight is better.

I’m excited for the street vendors! Btw, even if we didn’t have this whole arrangement, I would still want to go with you tomorrow. You’re fun to spend time with

So I don’t want you to think that every outing is just for the purpose of soulmate searching

I think we would make great friends! So we should hang out often

Y/N, who was currently roasting alive in a bath hot enough to be soup, held her phone just outside the rim of the tub. Bubbles slid down her forearm, dripping to the tile beneath it then fizzled out into a puddle while she had waited for his reply. She was feeling a little dramatic about how she spent the entire day moping and feeling sorry for herself, so she was letting all of the negative feelings melt away in the water, so she could pull the plug and let them whirlpool down the drain. Ferret sprawled out on the rug, in a position that hardly looks comfortable but he sleeps peacefully. There’s a candle flickering on her counter that fills the room with lavender and soothes her restless brain to something calm, quiet, and far more peaceful than it had been prior.

She smiled at the screen – he’s sweet. Of everyone who she’d done this with, he is the only one to suggest that he would have liked to be friends with her outside of this. It makes a warm bubble in her stomach, one that envelopes the bitterness that nipped at her the night prior and smothered it.

Are you sure you can handle another friend Mr. Popularity vote?

Harry must be sitting, staring at his phone like she is, because once again he replied almost instantly.

Stop it!

Too embarrassing, i think my friend Adam rigged the votes

I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 4 PM!

Y/N liked the message and set her phone down on the thick edge of the tub before submerging her arm in the water along with the rest of her body. With everyone else, she went into these arrangements a little less enthusiastic because it felt like a job she’d unofficially been employed for. She decides that this time, she’ll go into it like she was hanging out with a friend – it would make it less contractual that way, she thinks, and that would make this easier in the long run. Y/N had lost the hardened shell she’d developed in high school, through UNI – she’d softened with time, and she needed to account for that.

It was important to be tender with herself.

. . .

“I can already feel cavities forming in my molars.”

“I told you that 4 chocolate bonbons might be pushing it.”

The last time Y/N had been at these street vendors was, surprise-surprise, on another fake date outing, only that had been with a girl named Bonnie who promptly had a panic attack because of the overstimulating atmosphere. So she’d maybe only been to the first three on the street before they turned around and went somewhere for lunch instead (Bonnie did, however, meet her soulmate who was the waitress tending to them, so Y/N would say that’s a consolation prize for their disaster of a date). She’d never gotten around to coming here after that.

Harry seemed to be at ease in the chaotic climate, and it was one he was apparently familiar with because most of the vendors they walked up to greet him by name. Different jewelry stalls, handmade clothes, knitted hats, amigurumi crochet, and just about every single booth that sold a sweet treat of any kind, greeted him with a smile and a happy chirp of his name. He always shows them a dimple, responds with their first name, and then ushered Y/N in front of him, “This is Y/N,” he introduced her each time like he was proud of her – like she was a nifty little thing he’d bought at a different stall, “She’s my friend, so you better be nice to her and give her the deals you give me.”

They spend a lot of money, even with the deals that Harry’s getting for them, and instead of eating a proper dinner, they graze on all the different food options. Corn dogs with cheese in the middle, fried strawberries, peppers on skewers, warmed pineapple, cotton candy, and fruit teas. They share most of the food, and this is when Y/N finds Harry is not concerned about sharing straws or splitting food in half for both of them to eat. He offers her drinks and holds out snacks for her to eat from his hand when hers are too full. All of it is with such a practiced ease, you would think they’d been on plenty of outings like this.

There is plenty to talk about just from their environment alone, but they also take the time to learn about each other as well. When the air quiets down, some stalls are closing, and the sun is starting to sink beyond the line of buildings, they find a bench near the river. They carefully probe into each other’s lives – Y/N does this with almost everyone when she starts spending time with them, expertly digging through their head, getting them talking enough that they don’t notice they’ve been talking for an hour and a half, exposing little crevices of themselves they try to keep hidden at first. Harry, it turns out, is just as good at that. Nobody ever cares enough to inquire about Y/N’s life that much, so she’s startled into responses that are maybe too honest, but Harry doesn’t seem perturbed at all.

He’d been snacking on the bonbons throughout the conversation, but after he grimaced and ran his tongue over his teeth, he continued where they left off, “Usually I can tell if someone was a big partier in UNI, but you’re hard to pin down,” he told her, reaching for the tea he’d balanced between his thighs – he wore shorts today, and they’d ridden up enough that Y/N could shamelessly stare at them. They’re muscular, and he’s got a tiger tattoo that she’s intrigued by but hasn’t found a place in the discussion to bring the ink up, “I can see you being a lightweight, for sure.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open, aghast, offended, “What the hell?” She complained, “I mean, you’re not wrong, but that’s so rude! Do I have a look on my face or something that says I am?”

He simpers, “No, you just give off a vibe! Like, I could see you mostly being the type who wants to stay in and be cozy but you’ll go out with your friends if they badger you enough.”

“Well, you give off a lightweight vibe too, then.” She retorted petulantly, and Harry laughed.

“I mean, I am! That’s nothing to be ashamed of, if anything, it’s better to be a lightweight so you don’t have to spend as much on drinks, right? That’s how I see it.”

Y/N nodded, “You’re right, it is way better. I wasn’t – I mean, you hit the nail on the head, it usually isn’t my idea to go out and if I do, I’m usually thinking about how excited I am to get home in my bed.” She shrugged, “But I try not to let on that, that’s what I’m after, I’m good at hiding it.”

“Yeah, I feel that,” he replied, “My social battery is actually not as brimming with life as people seem to think it is, but I feel too bad to tell anyone, so I stay out too late. Then it feels like a waste of an off night, right? Like, I didn’t get to enjoy it properly enough.” Maybe it wasn’t surprising for Harry to learn that Y/N was more of a homebody, but it was surprising for Y/N to hear that Harry was someone who would rather turn in early but is guilted into staying later. Harry had always just seemed like one of those bionic people with a social battery that never fizzled out, she guesses she’d never considered that might not be all that true, “Hey! Next time everyone goes out, you have to come with me, okay? Then we can use each other as an excuse to go home early.”

A chilled breeze whips through the air, the moon bringing cold winds that disagree with Y/N’s short-sleeved attire, “Yeah, that’s a good idea,” she answered, crossing her arms over her chest to shield herself from it, “One of us can act drunk so the other has to escort them home.”

“It might not be an act, Babe, I might actually be drunk, but yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking,” Harry started to pull his windbreaker off of his arms – he’d just put it on when they first sat down because of how chilly it had gotten once they were closer to the water. She’s about to call him crazy for taking it off already when he delicately hands it over to her, “Here, have this for now.”

Her brows dip, “Wait, no, you’ll get cold and –”

“Don’t argue,” he clicked his tongue, “You’re in tiny shorts and a tiny short sleeve, you’ll freeze out here and I’m not answering to Eloise when you’re an ice cube.”

Y/N pouted, but she wasn’t one to fight against something that would help her, so she took the jacket from his hands, “You’re in tiny shorts too,” she grumbled, opening the jacket up and sliding her arms inside of it, “Thank you.” It’s warm, obviously because it’s a jacket, but she thinks it’s extra warm from Harry’s body heat as well. The smell of it is nice too, like he’d only just pulled it out of the dryer before he came to get her and his cologne. She’d never have guessed he’d been walking around in it all day, and then she wondered if Harry even sweats, because at some point she was getting a little too warm near some of the food stalls.

They’re quiet for a little while, but it doesn’t feel awkward. It was comfortable, listening to the water beside them, and the sound of people murmuring somewhere nearby. Now warm, if Y/N closed her eyes she thinks she might fall asleep – she does close them, but unless Harry was willing to open up his lap for her to lay on, she wouldn’t succumb to it. It had to be around 7 PM now, maybe half past; if she didn’t feed Ferret at 9 PM for her bedtime meal then she’d surely get woken up to paws stomping around her chest. There was still time though, unless Harry wanted to do something else. . .maybe she could convince him to just stop by her place, so they could –

“Y/N?” Harry began gently, his voice low, “I have a question about the. . .the soulmate stuff? If you’re okay with me asking it.” She hummed in question, as her encouragement for him to continue, and after a few breaths later, Harry finally did, “When did you figure out you could do it?”

“Mmmm,” she let her eyes flutter open, her gaze flickering back over to him, “When was the first time it happened? That and when I figured it out were at different points.”

“Both then.”

She turned to face him more comfortably, shuffling their bags around so that she could sit with her leg bent on the bench with them, “The first time it happened was my seventh year. The first time I realized what was happening for sure, was in my eleventh year, I think.”

“Did you ever like. . .tell an adult?”

Y/N chuckled, with a shake of her head, “Noo, I didn’t. It – I mean, it seems stupid now, but I thought they would think I was this huge loser for getting dumped all of the time, so I never brought it up. My parents kind of know, but they don’t understand it either, so we’ve just never really spoken about it.”

Harry takes a slow, deep breath – the kind that might suggest he isn’t pleased with this, “It has to be so frustrating, not to understand it fully. I tried looking it up one night and got so irritated by the lack of responses, and that was only a couple of hours. I can’t imagine how you must have felt this whole time.”

“Aww, you’re looking it up,” she teased, though her heart did squeeze in her chest just a little, “You’re interested in your fake date that much? I must be special.” Even in the dark, she could tell he was blushing. She thought it was cute that it started at his cheeks and slowly spread out down his neck, or upward to color his ears. His reactions were cute and unalloyed; it was refreshing to experience. Y/N spares him from actually having to respond to that, and continued, “Yeah, it sucks not understanding it, but what can you do?” She shrugged her shoulders, “I could either be miserable about it, or accept it and move on, and I’ve chosen the latter.”

He sighed, soft and warm, “Thank you for spending this evening with me,” he murmured, slowly starting to gather his bags, “I’m having a lot of fun and I wanted to do more together, but if I make my cat wait any longer to eat, I think she’ll bite my toes in my sleep.”

Following suit, she gathered her things and stood, “Since when do you have a cat? What the hell, I feel lied to!”

“I’ve never brought her up? Holy shit, let me pull up a photo.”

His cat is a little girl Dolly, a long-haired white rag doll with bright, light-colored eyes, and grey little legs. Of course, Harry would have a pretty kitten like her, who could easily put her little awkward, lanky boy to shame. In return to his photo album full of Dolly, Y/N shares photos of Ferret, who gets a very intense reaction from Harry, like he might be the cutest little guy he’s ever seen.

“He looks stinky,” Y/N replied, “You’re being too nice.”

“I love the ones that look stinky,” he grinned, “I bet he isn’t though. You always smell so good and wherever you are, the scent lingers for a little after you’ve left, so I reckon that’s what clings to his clothes.”

They’re walking back to the car, the crowds have thinned out considerably so they don’t have to duck and dodge how they were earlier, “Are you sure it’s a good smell?”

“The best smell,” Harry assured her.

. . .

They spend more time together.

Harry likes to try and involve Y/N in anything he is doing. Did he want to get smoothies before work? He asked if she wanted him to pick one up for her. Was he so hungry after they clocked out that he just deemed it necessary to get food before he drove home? Then he’s inviting her to eat with him. Was he taking pretty little Dolly to the park to enjoy the warm, morning weather in her stroller? Well, he’s packing a lunch too, and he heard Y/N had a cat stroller as well, so. . . . .

That’s how they end up at a picnic Sunday morning, amidst a three-day weekend. It was clear that Harry had not planned for her to reject him at all because he had a big enough, quilted blue blanket and more than enough food for two people to share. He’d even brought more than one water bowl that he handed to her and let her know she could keep it. Harry made little sandwiches – it was just peanut butter, strawberries, and honey, but he laid it on milk bread that he made (and apparently makes often). There were crackers with cheese too, and then two neatly packed slices of cake for dessert.

Dolly was trustworthy enough to be let out of her stroller, and while she did have a harness and leash on, she didn’t really need it. She curled up on an empty spot on the blanket and bathed in the sun, eyes falling closed after she spent an ample amount of time looking around. Ferret, the slinky little bastard, could not be trusted at all, and he had no leash, so he had to stay in the stroller but it was spacious enough that he could move around a good amount, and lay down for a nap if he wanted. The two cats showed a fair amount of interest in each other, and nobody hissed or growled upon sniffing through the netted barrier – when Dolly was first let out of her stroller she propped up on her back paws and leaned onto his, their noses touching as they investigated. Then she plopped back down on the ground and found her spot on the blanket, which, honestly, was as good a first meeting as any.

“I found out Niall was good at math earlier this week,” Harry mentioned after he finished his sandwich, reaching back into his basket for treats, Y/N smiled when Dolly’s head almost immediately perked up, “He was behind me in line at the cafe, and told me what I needed to make exact change, including tax and everything. I didn’t expect it at all.”

Y/N tore a piece of her sandwich off, down to the last half, and sad about it, she was trying to make it last as long as she could because it was really fucking good, “He’s smarter than he looks,” she replied, “Smarter than he lets on as well. When I first met him I thought he was an idiot.”

Snorting, Harry leaned forward the short distance to Ferret’s stroller and unzipped the little side pocket that led into the main compartment where he was. Ferret had not settled down for a nap like Dolly, instead, his eyes were darting around, following birds and squirrels as they scuttled around, his eyes huge. So he practically eats the treats out of Harry’s hand while he’s trying to set them down, and he receives a small, pleased coo in return, petting behind Ferret’s ears, “He’s nice too. I’d never gotten a chance to speak with him except on a company outing here or there, but we talked for a little while, and you’d think I’d known him for years.”

“Don’t tell him that, it’ll go to his head,” she replied playfully – Niall was good. A little stupid, and really funny, he was a nice, lighthearted presence to have around whenever she was feeling too angsty, “He grew up with one older brother, but he always whines and complained about how he wanted a younger sibling, so I’m pretty sure he just adopts everyone even a couple months younger than him as that.” Before she places the last bit of her sandwich into her mouth, she hovers it over her lips, “So be careful around him, or he’s g’na start calling you Kiddo and giving you unprovoked life advice.”

He laughs again, his eyes settling on her. Then Harry blinks, “Oh, wait,” he used his hand that had not just had cat treats, and leans in, his fingers carefully touching her scalp. Y/N’s mouth is full, and her chewing slows as he rearranges what must have been mussed hair, rearranging pieces, accidentally letting some fly into her face, and then tenderly pressing it from her forehead, to behind her ear.

Harry had grown much more handsy in their time spent together. Not in a creepy way – no, his touches were always very delicate and careful. In the beginning, he’d touch her lightly at first, and if she didn’t flinch, stiffen, or pull away, then he’d felt reassured enough to be a little firmer. Y/N had never shied away from his hands, so he grew bolder and more confident in what he was doing.

“There, the wind had just flopped your hair all around,” he withdrew his hand from the top of her head, then playfully prodded at her full cheek, “Swallow, silly.”

It kicked her into chewing again, which she hadn’t realized she’d stopped.

Her face feels warm and she’s blaming it on the sun beating down on them.

. . .

Maybe the integration of Harry into her life was a little too natural.

Most days, and most little dates, Y/N doesn’t even remember why they were together in the first place. The overarching goal of Harry finding his soulmate gets lost in the gaiety of it all. He eases himself in so effortlessly, that Y/N couldn’t recall what she did on her weekends when he wasn’t around, or who she’d be getting dinner with after work. Even with Eloise knowing the plot behind their time together, she’s easily charmed in their time spent with Harry, when he goes out with them to dinner, or when they leave the building for lunch. Harry had become such a sure part in her life, that he’d become a part of theirs as well.

So it was easy to forget until she saw Finley again. She’d been avoiding him all she could for the last few weeks (which was a testament to her abilities, because they work within close proximity to one another) but when she stopped to get her and Harry lattes (he was running late and she decided to do the grit work, for a change), he’s in line behind her. And they don’t make her lattes quick enough for her to be gone by the time he’s finished ordering.

“Hey, how are you?” He inquired and Y/N mustered a polite smile – she couldn’t hate him, is the thing. Even if he couldn’t shut his big mouth about what she’d done for him, it was what led her and Harry into. . .whatever they’ve been doing. And she’s been having fun.

“I’m good. How’re you and Nick?”

Finley, at first, smiles at the mention of his soulmate, but then his brows twitch and dip into a frown, “We’re – we’re good. Um, I haven’t been able to catch up with you since my welcome dinner, but I just wanted to apologize for bringing it up.” Y/N’s eyes widened a little, “I mean, I’m so thankful for what you did for me, but I was talking about it with Nick and he said that you might not have wanted that out here. It wasn’t fair of me to share your secret.”

She let her lips quirk just a little, and a small smile graced her mouth, “That’s – thank you, Finn, it’s really sweet of you to apologize. Don’t worry about it.”

“I was wondering if you wanted to come to Nick’s birthday party? He’s always wanted to meet you, y’know, outside of all the soulmate stuff, I thought you were so amazing I brought you up a lot.” Y/N let out a surprised laugh, “Seriously! I was such a loser sophomore year and you were just this — I don’t know, I just used to be so impressed by you, and how you carried yourself. You just never seemed to care what people thought.”

Y/N used to care a lot, actually, maybe too much but she’s glad that she could come off in a way that would suggest otherwise, “You’re silly,” she replied, “As far as the party, would it not be a little awkward?”

“No, not at all! It’s at this club we like to go to ‘cos I was able to rent out one of the VIP booths. You’re welcome to bring whoever! Niall and Eloise are already coming, and I know you and Harry are close lately, I think he might like this club too, from what I’ve heard.”

Y/N has always had trouble saying no when someone asks her something in person, it’s part of the reason why she’d gotten into any of the soulmate stuff, to begin with. She thinks it’s because she knows how hard it is to ask someone something that could be rejected – some people have an easy time with that, sure, but others, like Finley – it took a lot of courage. He’d admitted to her that he’d known about her ability a month before he finally felt brave enough to inquire, and even then he tripped all over his words and seemed so frazzled.

“I’ll ask Harry if he wants to come,” she replied, “Even if he doesn’t, I’m sure I could make an appearance. At least to meet Nick.”

“Perfect,” he took out his phone, “I lost all my contacts like a year and a half ago switching phone providers, so would you mind giving me your number again?”

Harry seemed thrilled to go when she asked him. It was only then that Y/N realized Harry was usually the one making all of the plans, asking her to go here or there, expressing the desire to see her. He should be the one according to their circumstances, but Y/N still feels a little guilty. At least when she sees how smiley he is after she invited him as her plus one. He even interlaced their fingers together after they high-five, all giddy and she made a mental note to make the plans at least once every few weeks.

“I’ve been wanting to go out drinking with you since we first talked about it,” he expressed, tucking his straw into the corner of his mouth, “Should we get ready together?”

. . .

Y/N shows up to Harry’s flat at 7PM Saturday night, and by the looks of his dewy skin, his damp hair, and the towel wrapped around his waist, he’d just gotten out of the shower. Dolly is lacing through Y/N’s legs as soon as she stepped inside, “You came just in time, I literally stepped out of the shower three seconds ago.”

“I can tell,” she bit her tongue before she told him that he smelled good, like rose oil, and instead looked around his living room curiously. It was very Harry, relatively neat and tidy but his bookcases were full and cluttered with different trinkets, and his walls had these big, beautiful art pieces that Y/N had never seen before. She’s particularly drawn to one hanging above his grey, plush sofa, a painting with a finish that looks like glass and beautiful swirls of black and red that at first glance just appear to be sporadic and uncorrelated. When she looked closer, she saw the human heart was abstractly hidden within the paint, “This is pretty.” She told him, narrowly avoiding slamming her knee into the coffee table as she tried to get closer.

“Thank you,” he answered, “It was my fourth year final project.”

“Holy fuck, you made this?” She turned to look at him, and he smiled sheepishly, nodding, “Harry, you’re like. . .a real artist.”

He laughed, took his hand away from the towel on his waist (she almost screamed because she thought it was going to puddle at his feet, but he’d tied it – she guesses his hand had just been there for security reasons), and grabs her by the bicep instead, pulling her with him, “Stop, I’m feeling shy,” he led her deeper into his flat, “Come help me pick out an outfit.”

Getting ready with Harry beats getting ready alone by a mile. Y/N was already in the dress she was going to wear but had a sweatshirt pulled over it while she did her makeup, because she was apt to spill something. Harry ended up choosing (with Y/N’s intense approval) a short-sleeved jumpsuit, navy in color with two thick, white stripes running down the front, to the bottom of the bootcut pants. It wasn’t zipped up the whole way, so his chest was out, glossy and smooth, and she’s reacquainted with the tattoos on his torso. She’d seen more of them when he was in just the towel, but she was trying not to ogle him, so she didn’t get to inspect.

When Y/N does pull off her sweatshirt to reveal the dress she had on beneath, Harry whistles. It was satin, and little, with a high neck and long sleeves but a cut out where her chest was. He gapes at the length, pulling gently at the skirt of it and in doing so, his fingers just barely graze her thighs, “This tiny little thing,” he murmured, “I’ll have to be your bodyguard tonight. If anyone looks at you I’ll bite them.”

She rolled her eyes, “Please, like people aren’t going to be drooling over your pecs,” she slapped her hand against one, and Harry gasped, clutching it

“Oi, they’re sensitive!”

They turn up to the party around 8:30 PM, taking the subway since neither of them was planning on staying sober enough to drive. Y/N had been to this club only once before, but Harry admits that he’s been here plenty, for lots of parties and get-togethers. His recent, long-term girlfriend had her birthday here, but he promised that he wasn’t looking at it from a dejected lens. “Actually, I haven’t really thought about her much since we started all this,” he’d admitted, and Y/N was confused by the small, sort of giddy leap her heart did at the comment. What did it matter to her if he’d thought about his ex?

Nick is Finley’s perfect match, somehow, in the way he moves, how talks, how he greets her. He is more self-assured than Finley, Y/N could tell that right off the bat in how he spots her, immediately walks up to her, grinning from ear-to-ear, “You’re even prettier in person!” He complimented, and Y/N shook her head.

“Stop that right now,” she hugged him when he held his arms out to her, “You’ll give me a big head.”

There were some people Y/N recognized from UNI, but nobody else that she had fake dated so that was nice. There were a couple of other coworkers too, like Finley had been wanting to get his money's worth in the price he spent on drinks and the space. The section that wasn’t specifically for Nick was still open to the general populace, and it was packed full, the dance floor, the other tables, and the line to the bar seemed horrendous so it was a good move to rent out the VIP, Y/N would say.

It takes Y/N and Harry both two drinks to feel it, she could tell. Y/N was handsy with just about anyone who looked at her, squeezing their fingers, holding onto their shoulders, telling them how gorgeous they looked and how nicely their outfit suited them. When Niall and Eloise do show up, she practically almost kisses Eloise right on the mouth, who only laughed and squeezed her sides, “Someone’s had her one sip of vodka.” She teased.

Harry was the same, only he was less touchy with everyone else, and more touchy with her. At some point he loops his arm around her neck in a pseudo headlock, pulling her back into his body when she was waiting in line for another drink, and his cheek pressed to the side of her head, “You’re having fun?” He inquired and Y/N nodded, “Good,” she could hear a smile in his voice, “I’m glad.”

If Y/N was sober, she would not be humiliating herself on the dancefloor, but she wasn’t, so it was easy for Niall to coax her out. And where Y/N went, Harry followed, her self proclaimed bodyguard, despite also being bubbly and tipsy. It was old club hits, the kind of thing she’d be shaking her ass to if it was 2002, so she’s more or less having the time of her life. By no means is she dancing well, but Harry is hyping her up and spinning her around, and Niall is learning how to twerk from someone who was dancing beside them. It was nice, good, and fun – better than she’d anticipated.

She isn’t ashamed to admit she tuckers out by like 10:30 and with her hands interlocked with Harry’s, she pulled him close so she could speak into his ear, “Do you wanna go home? I’m sleepy.” Harry smiled, nodding, “We should go home together!”

“Yeah?” He still moved to the music, guiding them off the dance floor and back toward the VIP section so they could bid their goodbyes, “You want to spend the night?”

Y/N nods so fast she thinks her brain is bouncing around, “Yessss, please! We can – I can snuggle with Dolly,” she took his arm and wrapped it over her shoulder, “Don’t tell Ferret though, he’ll be pissed.”

Leaving is an easy affair, somehow easier than when she’s alone, and nobody tries to guilt them into staying for longer. Y/N guesses she really gives them no chance to, because she only goes up to Nick and Finley, and then to Niall and Eloise with a, “I’m leaving, love you!” Before she’d gripping Harry’s wrist and yanking him to the next destination. She ordered them an Uber, opposed to them trying to navigate the subway this late at night, and he was outside waiting for them by the time they made it through the mass amount of bodies to the door.

“I’m excited for you to spend the night,” he admitted, “My flat gets soooo lonely when it’s just me and Dol, she’ll enjoy the cuddles I’m sure.” Then he frowned, “I’ll be jealous though, I want to cuddle too.”

“Big baby,” she said as they crawled into the backseat, “I’ll cuddle you too, yeah?”

The drive was short and quiet; Y/N had never been a fan of annoying the Uber driver with drunken antics so she keeps to herself and leans into Harry’s body entirely. He’s warm, which feels good, even though the night is windless and tepid. Y/N wishes he was wearing a hoodie so that she could crawl inside of it, pressed up close to his body, with her head sticking out of the head hold with him. Was that too much? Probably – she wasn’t going to say it out loud but she was enjoying the thought of it.

It hits her again, in a moment of vodka haze clarity, that there was a purpose for all of this. That she and Harry weren’t just close friends who met by chance at a company dinner and got on really well. That there was an endgame for this, that meant Harry would find someone, his person, with whom he could share all of the affection that he’s been giving her. Someone put on this planet with him in mind, encrypted in their very DNA, a sequence that their souls share. Then he wouldn’t need her like this – wouldn’t have all this extra time to give. That’s probably why he sees her so much. Maybe he thinks the frequency in which they hang out might speed up the process – she wondered if he was getting annoyed with how long it was taking. It’d been about a month since they started everything and still, he’d had no results – no soulmate mark, and no soulmate.

Selfishly, Y/N doesn’t want him to get one.

She’ll miss this, she’ll miss him – when leaning on him is okay, and when he could take her hand and idly play with her fingers in quiet moments. She’ll miss going on cute little dates, even if they’re pretending, and talking to him, hearing his voice, feeling the warmth of his body radiating off her. Everyone always promises to keep in touch once her job with them is done, but they never really do. She couldn’t blame them — you don’t keep a credit card once it’s expired, or use a pen after the inks run out. After the object completes its job, why would you keep it around?

Normally she doesn’t care — it used to sting, but the more it happened, the less it hurt. Like the pain of a tattoo disappearing an hour into it, the skin thrumming, the area numb. But now she does…now, she just hopes that Harry won’t completely forget about her. Maybe they could go out sometimes—maybe they would be able to do things as long as his soulmate is there. Y/N’s sure they must be great if they were Harry’s person — they had to be amazing.

“Sweetheart?” Harry tugs her from the reverie, yanking her from her head, and she realizes they’re idle in front of his flat building, “Are you okay?”

She blinked at him, trying to ignore the pain in her chest, “Oh, yeah,” she sat up straighter, unbuckling, “My bad, I wasn’t – I wasn’t paying attention.” Y/N tried to shake herself out of it; spending the night here wouldn’t be good if she spent the entire time suddenly agonizing over a situation that hadn’t even happened yet. Another reason why she didn’t drink a lot, was for this particular reason – instead of helping her forget what upsets her, it supplies more information to upset her further. It’s something she always seems not to remember until she’s three drinks in and feeling sorry for herself.

Harry guided her into his flat, his hands warm and reassuring on her shoulder as he directed her. Y/N wasn’t stumbling, and neither was Harry, but they did lean into each other like the other’s body was the only thing keeping them standing. Even when they walked through his door, to his sofa, they plop down on top of it and sink inside of the cushions, “Hm, where is your head?” He pokes her cheek, a habit he’d picked up, but it’s never a sharp jab, more of a lingering press that he slowly lets slip away, “You left meeee, come back.”

“I’m still here,” she lets him take her wrist, pulling her hand to his face – he nestles his nose into her palm until she opens up entirely, and he rests his cheek in the palm of her hand, nuzzling into it, “I had a lot of fun tonight, I think I’m just sleepy..”

He chuckled, low, and warm, and Y/N still kind of wants to crawl underneath a hoodie when he’s wearing it but she doesn’t know how to ask for it. She doesn’t know how to admit to herself that she’s starting to get feelings for him, because she doesn’t understand why. It had never been a problem before, really – even if she thought she was starting to like them for a second, the thought would typically scatter before it got too real. Or they would find their soulmate. But she’d always been good at separating these fake dates and real life.

Not with Harry though. Not when he does this, rubbing into her hand like a cat. Making her feel so special and important to him, making her forget that he wasn’t actually courting her. That this was all pretend.

“Y/N?” He murmured her name again, softly, “Remember when you said. . .you said to talk to you if I wanted to like – kiss and everything?” She held in a sigh, nodding, because she did remember saying that – remembered offering it because it didn’t matter before if they kissed her or cuddled her, or any of that. Y/N knew her heart wasn’t in it, “I think maybe I’d like to kiss you. Would that be okay?”

And she should say no, of course she should! She’d just realized that she’s feeling too emotionally attached to him and to kiss him right now would be so stupid. . .but she wants to. She wants to feel his mouth on hers, and she wants to experience it at least once. Even if he met his soulmate tomorrow. Even if he never sat this close to her again.

“Yeah,” she replied, and he’s so close, too close, his eyes so clean and so clear, and so fucking green, “You can.”

Harry is tender and loving, their lips smearing together. It feels nice, like something is connecting in her head, and he’s still holding onto her hand but he maneuvers so they’re holding them more comfortably. It’s nothing filthy – he doesn’t try to slide his tongue into her mouth, or press his bulge into her, or anything like that. The most he does is carefully guide her so that she crawls into his lap, her thighs astride him as they keep kissing. It feels good, his hands find her hips, then stroke up her back and flatten out against her shoulder blades, pushing her closer. Y/N cradles his face in her palms, she tries to lean away for a breath but Harry merely follows her, taking her top lip between his carefully.

When they do finally part, Y/N can’t look at him. Instead, she leans her head against his shoulder, melting into his lap, pretending that what she did wasn’t stupid. That it wouldn’t make it hurt twice as much when he does leave her.

“Let’s go to bed,” he murmured, “I have clothes you can change into.”

She hums, dipping her face closer to his neck.

“That sounds nice.”

#jawllines

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laughontour · 3 months

Text

only angel (tattoo artist/plug harry)

in which harry owns a tattoo shop, sells weed on the side, and has a big crush on y/n, a shy virgin who's very much enamored by him.

here is part one of tattoo/plug harry!!! I hope you like it :) please lmk if you'd like more from them <3

word count: 10.2k (!!!!)

content warnings: y/n's parents being unkind people, comments and discussions about weight/disordered eating, fainting (caused by a piercing), smut! (y/n's first time being fingered, dirty talk, harry being a soft dom)

masterlist | talk to me

part two

. . .

Y/N doesn't know why she's here.

If the glares from the employees of the tattoo and piercing shop are anything to go off of, they don't know why she's here either. And it all makes this whole thing even more embarrassing.

In reality, she does have a reason to be here. Mai, one of the few friends she's made in her grad school program, asked if she would drive her down to The Village for a tattoo appointment she had.

Y/N's eyes nearly bulged out of her skull when she asked, especially when she pressed for more details about this tattoo she was getting (it was a strawberry just above her hip, which Y/N didn't quite understand considering she thought tattoos were supposed to be meaningful). But, ever the pushover, Mai ended up convincing her, going as far as getting her to come inside — the one boundary she had — and wait while she got it done.

(Thankfully, her parents had some benefit charity thing going on today, so they weren't concerned with Y/N's whereabouts or where she was taking the car they bought her on a Saturday afternoon.)

The shop, called St. Mark's Place Social Club (aptly named, she supposes, considering it's located on St. Mark's Place), is nice. Unlike what she imagined tattoo parlors would look like in her brain, the spot Mai chose to get tattooed at seems sanitary and actually quite trendy.

It's not wildly crowded with customers hustling and bustling around, but there's a few artists at work at their own small stations. The walls are painted a cozy forest green, all donning frames upon frames of, what Y/N assumes are, sheets of tattoo designs. The receptionist who checked Mai in even offered them some water, which Y/N thinks was very nice.

"Are you nervous at all?" Y/N asks quietly as they sit in the rattan chairs in the waiting area. Mai's filling out some questionnaire on an iPad, but she shakes her head at her question, crossing her legs.

"No, not really," she murmurs nonchalantly, "I have a few tattoos already and I've been here before. The artist that's doing it is really cool and he's so hot."

Y/N's mouth forms around an oh as Mai quickly taps her signature into the tablet. She stands from the rickety chair and walks back over to return it to the front, her heeled boots clacking against the wood floor as she does.

Y/N has her gaze set low in her lap, eyes passing over her fresh manicure (her mother has a standing weekly appointment for her). She doesn't even notice that someone's standing over her — more so, towering over her — until the figure clears his throat, her head snapping up to address them. Assuming she's done something wrong (what it is, she isn't sure), she goes to apologize immediately, but the long haired man in front of her cuts her off.

"You have an appointment?"

Instantly, she flounders. Her mouth drops open as she stumbles over an answer: "I— um, no, I'm not— no, no appointment."

"So you're a walk-in, then?"

"N-no," she shakes her head quickly, his all-black outfit forming a blur in front of her eyes, "No, I'm not getting a tattoo."

The man laughs. He actually laughs at her, and Y/N doesn't know whether she should be embarrassed or pleased that she's made this very attractive man smile.

"You're sitting in a tattoo shop. You know that, right?" the stranger crosses his heavily tattooed arms over his chest, and Y/N's eyes fly to the swirls of black ink covering his skin. They're everywhere; all different fonts and images and numbers and... she wonders if he even knows what they all mean or how many he has.

"Yes," she finally manages out, folding her hands neatly in her lap. It's the default body language she goes to when she's nervous — when she was a teenager, her parents paid for her to go to social etiquette classes, and the instructor told her that this was a good way to show that she was in control of her actions, even if underneath her pastel pink turtleneck, her chest was covered in hives. "No, I'm not getting a tattoo. I'm here with someone getting one."

Thankfully (though Y/N would've preferred it happening about two minutes earlier), Mai walks back over to them, a grin taking over her features when she spots the man talking to her.

"Harry!" she greets excitedly, and Y/N watches as his eyes flicker over to her, flashing a tight smile in her direction.

"Ah. This is who you're here with." he — Harry, apparently — says to Y/N. She doesn't know what she's supposed to say to that (if she's supposed to say anything), but any response is once again cut off. "Hey. You ready?"

She only now notices the gum wedged between his teeth, his jaw moving in a hypnotizing way. His tone appears to be far more clipped with Mai, but Y/N is fast to chalk it up to some fluke. Maybe the other employees mentioned something to Harry and they thought she was in the wrong place or something. That would make sense, she thinks.

"Yeah, all good. I'll see you in a bit, Y/N," Mai nods, swinging her bag over her shoulder, focusing her attention to Harry, "So listen, I'm going to a show in midtown tonight, I was thinking maybe after we finish up here we can—"

"Are you coming back with us?" Harry's eyes fall back onto Y/N, and it's only then that she realizes he's talking to her again.

"Uh... am I allowed to?"

He smirks. Y/N's chest feels like it may concave in simply from the sight.

"I own this place, so yeah, you're allowed to."

Mai's tapping her foot impatiently now, her hip popped out slightly with her arms crossed over her chest. "My appointment started a few minutes ago, Harry—"

"Okay," he says curtly, turning on his heel to face her, "Go in the back and get ready then. You know where my station is."

Both Mai's and Y/N's jaws drop at that, his snappy tone clearly not one to fight back on. Surprisingly, Mai does just that, turning around and walking back to where Harry has his things set up.

"You coming, then? Y/N, right?"

The teasing smirk is still painted over his features, as if he finds humor in outwardly rejecting Mai's advances. Y/N doesn't know why her heart beats a little bit faster at that, warmth spreading from her chest to the rest of her body as he continues gazing down at her.

"Y-yeah," she answers, grabbing her purse and standing up. "If it's not too big of a deal."

"Course not. C'mon, you can follow me."

. . .

Mai's tattoo comes out beautiful.

However, Y/N can hardly focus on the artistry and apparent talent because she's far too busy staring at Harry, who also looks beautiful while he works.

It's distracting, embarrassingly so, that she barely even registers when he's finished wrapping her new tattoo in some sort of clear wrap, sending her back up to pay. Quickly, Y/N scrambles to grab her things, realizing that she's once again left alone with Harry.

"What, running away so soon?" He asks as he cleans up his work station, spinning around to face her in his chair. He has that smirk on his face again — the one that simultaneously intimidates her and makes her entire body burst into flames — and anxiety begins to eat away at her, nervous of saying the wrong thing.

"I just— you're done. So I was gonna go."

"How do you know Mai?"

It bothers her somewhat that he ignores her, but being the subject of his intense glint, she shifts her stance from foot to foot, shrugging her shoulders.

"We're in the same grad program. We've had a few classes together." she answers obediently, clutching the strap of her purse closer to her shoulder.

"Mm," he hums, tossing some paper towels in the trash, "You sure you didn't want any tattoos today?"

Y/N's face erupts into a hot flush for the thousandth time today and she instantly begins to shake her head. "No. No, thank you, I mean. My parents would kill me."

"Your parents?" Harry asks, a slightly stupefied expression on his face. "You're in grad school. Surely you don't make decisions on your appearance based off of them."

He punctuates his sentence by giving her a once-over and she feels nervous under his gaze. She's never particularly felt good about her appearance. She's always just felt... neutral. She grew up with a mother who was constantly dieting, imparting weight loss tips on her every chance she got. When Y/N hit puberty, her father made comments about how grateful he was to finally see her drop the "baby weight". Even now, her mother critiqued her, making comments about how important it was to maintain a good figure; that she'd never find someone to spend her life with if she didn't take care of her looks.

So, all in all, it was safe to say that tattoos were extremely off the table for Y/N.

"It's complicated," she finally replies vaguely. She knows that most people in their mid-20s aren't as deep under the thumb of their parents as she is, but she wasn't lying when she said this — the circumstances weren't as black and white as she wished they were.

However, there was something she'd always been curious about, and she had seen the piercing rates out in the front of the shop.

"But, um— do you guys do piercings?" she follows up before Harry has a chance to question her parents any further.

"We do," he replies slowly, "Well, yeah, I do. Why, are you thinking about getting something pierced?"

She swears his eyes quickly glance to her chest, but just as quickly as she notices it, they're focused back on her face. She clears her throat, willing herself to have an ounce of self-confidence.

"I was wondering if I could get my ears pierced."

Harry quirks an eyebrow and stands from his chair. Her heart rate speeds up tenfold when he walks over to her, his hand reaching outward.

"May I?" he asks, pausing before he makes any movements. She nods, hoping he misses the way her throat bobs in nervousness. Gently, he pushes some of her hair behind her ear, taking a look at the lobe. He does it to the other one and she wonders if he can sense that she's holding her breath.

"Hm, you really don't have them pierced," he mumbles lowly, eyes flitting back to her face. "Yeah, we could do that if you'd like. You sure daddy won't get too pissed?"

He says it with a simper though she's not entirely sure why; she thinks if he understood the dynamic between her and her parents, he'd be more concerned than teasing. Nevertheless, she shakes her head.

"Like you said," she says softly, blinking as they stare back at one another, "I shouldn't make decisions on my appearance based on what they want."

His smirk breaks into a grin, and for the first time, Y/N feels like she's doing something right.

. . .

Y/N didn't think she would be this nervous to get her first piercing, but between the gorgeous man invading her space with a needle and the fact that Mai definitely won't want to be her friend anymore, she's feeling a little tense.

Before getting situated in the chair, Y/N said that she needed to tell Mai she'd be a bit longer, but Harry waved her off and told her he'd take care of it. Apparently, that just meant peeking his head out from his work station and yelling out to Mai that Y/N was busy and wouldn't be driving her home. (Y/N thinks she heard Mai practically stomp out of the shop.)

So now, she's spending her Saturday the last way she thought she would: With her eyes squeezed shot, anxiety making her heart thump far too fast in her chest, with a long-haired tattoo artist hunched over her body. He's so close that she can smell the woody fragrance of his cologne, and she has to resist breathing it in as she inhales deeply in an effort to calm her heart rate.

"Alright, you ready?" Harry asks lowly, his tone a groveled murmur that sends tingles down her spine. She nods, feeling particularly speechless from his closeness and her nerves. "'kay, I'm gonna count to three. Take a deep breath."

Y/N imagines he looks especially gorgeous right now, but she's too scared to open her eyes and see the needle he's about to puncture her skin with. Instead, she simply nods her head again, mentally preparing herself for the countdown.

"Breathe, dove," he says calmly. Her stomach jumps at the pet name but does as he says. "Good. Okay... 1, 2, 3."

She jumps from the bite of pain that stings her earlobe, instantly wedging her bottom lip between her teeth as he shushes her.

"It's alright, that was it," he murmurs, though she can still feel him at her side, carefully wiggling the earring into the newly formed hole. "Y/N? You okay?"

She blinks her teary eyes open and opens her mouth, willing her throat to push out a yes. Instead, Harry's face goes blurry as the images in front of her get hazy. In a panic, she tries to stand, the ringing in her ears sending loud alarms to her brain. She thinks she hears Harry tell her to sit down, his strong arms taking a hold of her own — but that's when everything goes dark.

. . .

Harry's known this girl for all of two hours, and he's never felt panic ravish his body the way it did when she passed out a few minutes ago.

Thankfully, she comes to less than two minutes later (he counted), but he remains by her side the entire time, gently stroking her hair back. As a professional tattoo artist and piercer, he's of course had people faint under the needle, but it's never happened from just a standard ear piercing.

He supposes he maybe should've prepared himself for this. The sweet girl who accompanied Mai didn't look like she belonged at St. Mark's Social Club, but the moment his eyes zeroed in on her, he felt pulled to her. From the pastel pink top that stretched over her chest to the white ribbon tied in her hair, she was the opposite of any girl he's ever been attracted to — and yet, all he wanted was to tuck her under his arm, pull her into his chest, and spend the rest of his life protecting her.

Harry tells himself he's being stupid; some lovesick nerd that just needs to get his cock touched, but as he watches her slowly nurse a cup of water, warmth returning to her complexion, every doubt is thrown out the window.

"I'm so sorry," Y/N pouts, lifting a hand to run through her hair, "I'm... I feel so stupid, I'm so sorry, Harry."

"Why are you apologizing?" he asks through furrowed brows. "It's not your fault. People pass out all the time here, you have nothing to be sorry about."

"Y-yeah, but this is annoying... you probably have another appointment coming up and—"

"I don't."

"Yeah, but—"

"Y/N?"

"What?"

"Stop it."

She huffs, but the apologies stop after that. With his arms crossed over his chest, leaning back against the wall, he watches to make sure she finishes her water. He can tell she's still feeling embarrassed and it bothers him that she thinks of herself as something to feel sorry about.

"Y'know, kinda looked like some kind of badass Sleeping Beauty while you were passed out," Harry says with a smirk, making her eyes widen, "Pretty cute, if you ask me."

Y/N's face warms and he chuckles, deciding that making this girl blush is his new favorite past time.

"You're being silly." she mumbles, finishing off the water with a final swig. He shakes his head and takes the empty cup from her hand, tossing it in the garbage can behind her.

"Would never lie to you, dove. We're going on what, three hours of knowing each other? I wouldn't even dream of it."

"Harry," she whines and it makes him immediately grin, especially as she pushes her bottom lip out in a slight pout, "Shush, stop it."

"Think I should just call you princess from now on, hm? Such a pretty face coming in here, think I got lucky having you pass out on me."

He laughs loudly when her lips part, her jaw slack from the compliment. She doesn't have a comeback for that one, but he assumed as much. He turns to face the cabinets behind him and grabs a paper towel and a pen, quickly scrawling out his number on it before handing it to her.

"This is my number. I'm not gonna do your second piercing today 'cos that sounds like a recipe for disaster, but I want you to text me when you wanna come in and get it done," he explains, "I only work here on the weekend, but I'll come by any day you're free, princess."

She shuffles her feet before nodding her head, stuffing the paper towel in her bag. "O-okay. That sounds good."

"Good," Harry breathes, reaching out to for her hand to help her up, "Do you need a ride home?"

"No!" her eyes dart away from his face, blinking quickly as she focuses on the dark green walls. "Um, no, thank you. You've done enough for me today. I appreciate it, Harry."

"Sure," he says slowly, narrowing his eyes at her, "Okay, well... get home safe for me, alright?"

"I will." she nods and punctuates her sentence with a harsh swallow. "Can I... is it okay if I text you when I get home?"

A gentle smile wiggles its way onto Harry's face, warmth filling his body once again.

"You took the words right out of my mouth, princess."

. . .

To: Harry (St. Mark's Social Club)

hi, im home!! im so sorry again for what happened but thank you sm for making sure i was okay. hope it wasn't too inconvenient!

Y/N's never texted a boy she has a crush on (well, except for Jason Saunders in the 8th grade, but her dad found out within the hour and made her delete his number as he watched). She thinks she must still be lightheaded from fainting because there's no way she can seriously have a crush on someone she barely knows, but nonetheless, she pushes herself to message him to at least thank him for everything he did for her.

She sighs as she throws her phone in her purse and climbs out of her Range Rover. Locking the doors, she crosses her fingers as she walks up the stairs and to the elevator of the luxury garage, pressing the penthouse button on the panel. She hopes her parents are still out — if they're home, she'll be on the receiving end of their badgering for the rest of the evening, and she still wants to work on a paper she has due later next week.

When the sleek elevator doors open, she's met with silence — the only telltale sign that she's alone, with the exception of her parents' private chef and maid. Relief floods her body as she steps out and into the apartment, toeing her shoes off in the entryway and taking quiet steps to her bedroom.

She's exhausted from the day, flopping down on her bed with a sigh. Mindlessly, she feels for her phone in her bag, pulling it out to scroll through Instagram before she commits to doing work for the rest of the night. Instead, she's met with not one, but two texts from Harry.

Remember what I said about apologizing, princess?

Glad you made it home safely. Don't forget to text me about your second piercing — just name the day and I'm there. xx

She wants to let out a squeal, even if there's a large part of her brain that's constantly reminding her to limit her excitement. He's probably just being polite, she says to herself.

Still, it doesn't stop her from replying a mere moment later, promising to restrain her apologies and message him when she's ready to get her other ear pierced.

. . .

"Where were you yesterday?"

Y/N blinks at her father as she sets down the spatula, shifting her attention from the buckwheat pancakes she's currently cooking.

"Studying on campus," she replies easily, even if she had to coach herself all night to lie. She's never one to fib, let alone to her parents — she's always felt some type of fear when it comes to her father, but she knows he never would have approved if she gave him some vague answer about taking a friend to an appointment.

He lets out a noncommittal humph. "You know there's no reason for you to be getting a masters degree when you'll just work at the company when you graduate."

Her stomach tightens. It's a frequent area of contention between she and her parents — their dream for her has always been to work at their jewelry company as soon as she graduated college, but she somehow managed to convince them to entertain her wish to go to graduate school for an English degree. They told her she could do it as long as she starts at their office as soon as graduation comes around.

She hasn't quite yet figured out how she's getting out of that one. If she even can.

"I know, father," Y/N forces out, redirecting her attention to flipping the pancakes on the pan. "It's just important that I get good grades."

"I can't imagine it's very difficult. You speak the language."

She bites her tongue. Her parents have never understood her love for books, always scolding her for having her head in the clouds from a young age. If she's being honest, books have served as a way for her to escape, always wishing she could be the girl getting whisked away by her romantic interest.

Things always worked out in her books. Potentially having a happy ending like the ones she reads about is the only thing that keeps her going sometimes.

Her mother, looking pristine as always even at 9 in the morning, enters the kitchen just as Y/N's sitting down to her eat. Turning stiffly, her eyes narrow at her daughter.

"Those better not be full fat, Y/N." she says, jabbing her pointer finger at her plate.

"They're not." Y/N says softly.

In response, she simply hums. "I don't understand why you don't just have Freya make you food. She's there for a reason."

Y/N quickly stuffs a bite of pancake into her mouth, shrugging her shoulders as she slowly chews. She's never felt comfortable requesting their chef make her anything to eat when she was perfectly capable of doing it herself.

"Don't shrug. It's not ladylike," she scolds, Y/N's posture immediately straightening, "We have a lunch meeting with the Franklin family today. If you're available, you should come. You need to start learning the business."

"I have to work on a paper," the lie rolls off her tongue, knowing full well that she nearly finished it last night, "Finals are coming up. School is getting very busy."

"You know, Y/N, you're lucky we grant you all this freedom." her mother spits, the high heels of her Louboutin shoes clacking against the marbled flooring. "One day, you're not going to have this much of a choice in how you spend your time."

Despite only eating half a pancake, Y/N no longer feels hungry. Instead, she just nods her head and rolls her lips into her mouth.

"You're right. Thank you for everything you do for me."

She clears her dishes and goes back to her bedroom before her parents have a chance to see the tears streaming down her cheeks.

. . .

Y/N spends the better part of Sunday crying in her bedroom.

She's so exhausted of this cycle. Her parents work so hard to tear her down all the time, never once taking into account what her dreams and aspirations are. She feels like she can't do anything right, as if nothing she'll do will ever please them.

In her fit of anger and sadness, she decides she needs to leave Harry behind. He's just a pipe dream, a tiny little sliver of what her life could be if she had less restrictive parents. That night, when she's laying awake in bed, she decides that in the morning, she'll take the fresh piercing out and throw the earring away, delete his number, apologize to Mai, and pretend like this weekend never even happened.

That is the plan, anyway.

Until she wakes up to her alarm at 8 am and she has an unopened text from him, and her heart beats in a way that she's never truly felt before. She doesn't think she's ever smiled this wide after just waking up, the mere appearance of his name on her screen sending waves of hope and happiness throughout her body.

From: Harry (St. Mark's Social Club)

How's the piercing holding up?

After getting home on Saturday, he texted her a series of care instructions for the piercing, instructing her to clean it twice a day, twist the earring, and let him know if anything felt off. She wasn't sure what it was, but she felt particularly giddy when he told her what to do.

To: Harry (St. Mark's Social Club)

good!! no pain or anything and ive been doing what you told me to :)

She has a class at 10 this morning and she knows she should follow her typical routine of a shower, breakfast, and getting ready, but instead, she just lays back in the fluffy tufts of her bedding, smiling to herself as she waits for Harry to text back. A minute or so later, her phone vibrates.

Good girl.

Think you'll come in for your second anytime soon?

Her stomach twists in a delicious way but she's not sure why. There's nothing inherently sexual about what he's messaged her, but it has her craving more, a steady heartbeat forming somewhere deep in her core.

Her eyes read over his question and she bites her lip. She knows that less than 10 hours ago, she was planning to forget Harry, but the feeling he gives her is addictive. She doesn't want to stay away — so she won't.

yeah, if you don't mind doing it :)) maybe today?

In reality, she doesn't want to go under the needle again so soon, but she's craving to see him. He did say he'd come in any day for her.

Harry: I'd love to. What time are you free?

Y/N: i have classes from 10 to 1 today.. would 1:30 work? i can come by on my way home from campus

Harry: How about I meet you at your last class and we walk to the shop together?

Y/N swears her heart is going to beat right out of her chest. Her parents have never allowed her to hang out with a guy outside of anyone they approved of — over the years, they've attempted setting her up with other men of their same financial and social stature, but Y/N was never interested. As a result, they all grew bored of her by the second date, and her parents would yell at her for not being appealing enough.

She doesn't know if Harry will be bothered by the same thing, but she wants — no, she needs — to find out.

Y/N: okay:)

Harry: Great. Can't wait to see you. x

. . .

Harry knows he's pushing it.

This girl may as well have wealthy virgin tattooed across her forehead, but he just can't get himself to stay away. It doesn't seem like she wants him to either, which just makes it harder. And as he's waiting for her outside of her lecture hall on a campus he's never even step foot on, he realizes that they're from very, very different universes.

That doesn't really bother him. He can see the obvious differences — he wears all black, has over 70 tattoos (most of which were impulsive or practice while he was apprenticing), and gives people tattoos and piercings for a living. Y/N is smart and soft; an English major in graduate school, lives with her parents, and drives a car that costs more than his yearly rent.

He's not blind. Although, if he was blind to pretty, innocent girls, he probably could stop walking around with a permanent boner from thinking about how gorgeous she'd look in his bed.

The only thing that can tear him from his thoughts is the sight of her. He watches as she walks through the doors of the building, a slight pep in her step when she notices him, waving her hand with a smile. He licks his lips absently, willing the arousal pooling deep in his stomach to go away.

"Hi," she greets as she approaches him, "How're you?"

"I'm good." he answers, trying his best not to let his eyes wander over her outfit, "How was class?"

"'s okay. Kind of boring. Almost fell asleep once or twice."

"Yeah?" Harry chuckles as they begin to walk towards the nearest campus exit. "Gotta stay awake in those smarty pants classes of yours, princess."

He already knows she's blushing before he turns his head to see the familiar flush flower over her skin. He points to the bag over her shoulder, pausing his steps. "Lemme carry that for you."

"Oh— no, you don't have to, I don't want to be annoying—"

"Why would that be annoying?" he asks with a quirked brow. She swallows, shrugging her shoulders. "I don't have to if it makes you uncomfortable."

"N-no, it wouldn't," she shakes her head and he nods, keeping his arm stretched out. She pushes the strap down her shoulder and hands the bag to him. "Thank you. That's very kind of you, Harry."

"What d'you have in here, a ton of bricks?" he asks teasingly as he slips the pink tote over his own shoulder.

"No! I have to bring books to campus every day so we can discuss certain passages and stuff. I guess I've been doing it for so long I didn't notice how heavy it is."

"It's very heavy, Y/N," Harry says, stuffing his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt, "No wonder you're falling asleep in class, you're basically doing an upper body workout on your way there."

"It's not that big a deal," she replies nonchalantly. "It's just— it's what my professors want, so."

He continues grumbling, annoyed that anyone would ask this girl to shuttle all this weight to campus every day.

"Can you start parking closer to your lecture halls, then? I don't wanna find out you dislocated your shoulder one day."

She shakes her head. "I don't drive to campus."

"Oh, is parking that bad?"

Y/N begins to fidget, wringing her hands out in front of her as they walk. Harry glances at her from his peripherals, soaking in the nervousness written all over her face.

"No... my parents don't let me drive to campus, that's all."

He hums, attempting to stay unbiased, even if everything he's learned about her so-called parents has only made anger rise in his chest.

"Do they have a lot of limits on things you can and can't do?"

"Kind of. I don't know."

"Is... is that something that bothers you?"

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth as they stop at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to turn. He shifts his body to face her.

"I've never really told anyone about how they are, but... well, they take care of me. They always have. They just have a very clear vision of what they want for me."

"Right," Harry nods, "Just because they care for you or pay for certain things doesn't mean they're good, though. I'm not saying they aren't— I just don't want you to confuse the two."

"I guess."

He decides to leave it at that, mainly because he can she's growing uncomfortable, but also because they're approaching the shop. He pushes the door open and holds it for Y/N, who sheepishly walks in, Harry close behind.

He doesn't acknowledge anyone as she follows him to his station, but she supposes it's not out of the ordinary for him to do these things since he's the owner. Once they're safely sheltered by the walls of his space, Y/N lets out a breath, sitting down in the chair she was in on Saturday.

After setting her bag down, he washes his hands at the sink. A long-haired guy pops his head in, grinning when he sees Y/N.

"Hey, H," he greets, "Didn't know you'd be here today."

Harry's tone is gruffer towards the man, even though he seems friendly. "Yeah. What's up?"

"I need a favor. I have an appointment that looks like it's gonna take a little longer than anticipated — last minute changes and all that to the design, but Jude is coming in to pickup at 2. You mind dealing with him?"

He glares at the man before assuming what Y/N is starting to call his signature pose — arms crossed over his broad chest, leaning back against some surface in his station (today, it's the tattoo bed).

"None of the other idiots can do it? Kinda busy."

"It's your off day, figured you could handle him," he shrugs, "Unless you'd like to introduce me—"

"Shut up." Harry replies, clenching his jaw. A spark zips up Y/N's body, though she's not sure why he seems to take offense to the man's words. "Yeah, I'll deal with it. What does he want?"

"Just some edibles and a few grams of bud. Nothing crazy."

Again, Y/N doesn't miss the way Harry shoots a glare at him, who simply raises his hands in mock defense. As if speaking through some sort of secret language, he backs out of the room, his Adidas sneakers sounding crisply against the wooden floors as he walks away.

"Sorry," Harry mumbles.

"Oh. It's okay."

He turns back around to look at Y/N, who somehow looks even smaller in the chair since they arrived.

"You have no idea what that was about, do you?"

She shrugs, though it's clear that Harry's right. She doesn't often like showcasing her naive nature, like it's some sort of party trick for people to laugh at. It makes her feel sad, a reminder of the "normal" years she could have had if not for her parents.

He sighs and lifts a hand to run through his messy hair. "A few of us sell weed on the side here. It's not really a big deal, but we just do it for some extra cash on the side. I would've rather told you on my own time, though."

Y/N's palms find her thighs, plucking at the hem of her skirt as she swallows, digesting the information. Weed? Her parents had always taught her that all drugs were bad. In their minds, weed was just as bad as heroin, but when Y/N read about states legalizing the former, she didn't quite understand how that made sense.

"I hope that doesn't make you think any differently of me," he continues. "I'm sorry."

She keeps her eyes set in her lap, "Is weed... bad?"

She's expecting him to laugh at her but instead, when she looks up, she's met with a small, adoring smile on his lips. His eyes twinkle just a bit as he shakes his head.

"No, it's not bad, dove. What do you know about it?"

"Nothing, really. I know it's legal in some places but my parents always told me to stay away from any drugs."

"I think a lot of parents do that," Harry replies with a nod, "But it can actually be really helpful for people. Mentally, physically. And others just like it, they enjoy the feeling of being high."

She swallows before biting her lip. "Do you... do you like it?"

"I do." he says. "Is that okay?"

She thinks he could tell her he's a serial killer and she would be okay with it.

"Yeah. 's okay."

His grin widens. "Alright. Lemme get you settled with this other piercing. I'll have to step out to sell to Jude at 2, but after that, do you wanna grab something to eat?"

She nods so fast she feels like a bobblehead. A chuckle — the warmest, most melodic thing Y/N thinks she's ever heard — sounds from his mouth.

"Just don't pass out again on me, Sleeping Beauty."

. . .

Y/N takes her second piercing much better than her first.

(And by that, she means she only teared up a little bit, and no fainting occurred.)

She's actually more nervous about the whole weed... thing. She feels torn. There's a half of her that feels intimidated by it; the part that still has a foot stuck in her parents' world, she supposes, where they taught her to never even look at people like Harry. The other half of her is intrigued to see what happens. Fascinated by him, maybe, and the way she feels when she's around him, and she doesn't know whether that's a good thing or not.

"Harry!"

Someone calls his name from the main room as he's cleaning up and he peeks his head out.

"Yeah?"

"Jude's here!"

He looks a lot less flighty about it than she assumes he would. Instead, he simply walks back into his station and unlocks a bottom cabinet to reveal a safe inside.

"Know you're watching, princess," he says, turning his head to flash a toothy smirk in her direction. She looks away, blinking nervously. "Don't reveal any of my grand weed secrets to anyone, hm?"

"I'm not," she huffs, making him chuckle, "I'm just... curious."

Harry hums, pulling contents out from the safe. When he's done, he doesn't even bother concealing any of the weed he's just taken out, instead just rising to his feet.

"I'll be right back. We can talk about the curiosity in a second."

Y/N's not snappy enough to come up with a response so she simply watches him walk away. She's only seen drug deals go down in movies and TV shows, where they're dramatic and part of the mob and guns are a necessity. She doesn't think this is one of those drug deals, but who is she to assume?

Surprisingly, Harry returns less than two minutes later with a small wad of cash in his hand. He pockets it, smiling at her when he sees she's still sitting there, the same perplexed look on her face.

"Steal any of my bud while I was gone?"

"Harry!"

He cackles and shakes his head. "Alright, dovie, c'mere."

Hesitantly, she stands, shuffling over to where Harry is back to kneeling on the floor. He looks up at her with an expectant expression, a wordless command to do the same. She does.

"Okay. You said you were curious?"

She nods.

"I've always found that the best solution to curiosity is knowledge. This doesn't mean you have to do anything, but it's good to know about things that may intimidate you," he explains. "So, weed can be found in a few different forms. I only sell flower, which are these little buds," he pulls out a container, showing her the small green nuggets. "And edibles, which is just candy or chocolate, stuff like that, with different levels of potency."

"Oh." Y/N furrows her eyebrows, a small wrinkle forming between them. "That's it?"

He chuckles, "Mhm. That's it."

"And what does it do?"

"Like how does it make me feel?"

She nods.

"It's different for everyone and strains — like, the types of weed — will affect people differently, too. For me, it just makes me a little more relaxed and giggly, more touchy and less in my head. It's nice."

"That does sound nice." she says softly. He hums as he pushes the container back into the safe, locking it back up in the cabinet. "Do you think I would like it?"

It's a question that kind of blurts out without thinking about it. When he turns to look at her, eyes serious and thoughtful, she feels small; the way everyone her age or older has always made her feel. She swallows harshly, immediately regretting it.

"I don't know the answer to that, but if you ever want to try, you can tell me. I'll make sure you have a safe experience."

It's not the answer she's expecting, but instead maybe the one that only exists in her wildest dreams. She looks down to hide her blush and he smiles to himself, ducking down to catch her eyes.

"You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're a blushy little thing."

Her jaw snaps closed, wiggling uncomfortably at his blatant call out. Her mother always told her that her emotions were easy to read — she said it made her weak, though.

"I like it," Harry quickly amends, throat bobbing, "I like it a lot."

She thinks she notices his eyes zip to her lips, but just as quickly as they dart down, they're back up to her eyes. She swallows when she realizes they've somehow gotten closer, the distance slowly closing between them in millimeters. She doesn't know who's moving in — if it's him or her or both — but suddenly, she's looking up and his face is hovering over hers, blinking in silent permission. When she doesn't grant it because she's too nervous to speak, his tongue peeks out, licking over his raspberry lips.

"Is this okay?" He asks, minty breath ghosting over her mouth. "Can I do this?"

She nods, because she thinks any noise that would come out of her mouth would be just that — a sad excuse of a squeal. Her heart is pulsing in her ears, her hands trembling over her thighs, and then it happens — he presses his lips to hers, so gently it's almost like they aren't even there. The last time Y/N kissed someone, it was in ninth grade in the locker room after school, and she doubts it even qualified as a real kiss. This is different, though. This is Harry.

He feels the nervousness radiating off of her so he breaks away, despite the already addictive taste of her mouth. He's gone too quickly and it makes Y/N's heart rate quicken even faster.

"Need you to relax, princess." He says with his forehead pressed against hers. "Just follow my lead, okay? Promise it's not hard."

Embarrassed, she nods again, willing him to close the gap for a second time. This time, his lips are quick to move against hers, and it initially takes her by surprise. But she does what he told her to, mimicking his movements in tentative paces. With each passing moment, he's kissing her more and more breathless, and she lifts a shaking hand to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. It's a bold move for her and she swears she feels his signature smirk form into their kiss.

Time doesn't feel like it moves much when Y/N's mouth is on Harry's, but she knows it is because she needs a break to breathe. With panting lungs, she pulls away, watching as Harry's eyes flicker open. His lips are pinker somehow and swollen with spit. The image makes her core throb.

"Y'okay?" He asks. Y/N notices his pupils are darkened and he shifts from his seat on the floor, adjusting his lower half.

"Y-yeah," she nods, "Needed to, um, breathe."

He chuckles. "Yeah? Get a little dizzy there?"

"A little bit."

"Cute," he murmurs, lifting his thumb to swipe a bit of spit away from her bottom lip. Instinctively, her mouth opens, and she watches as his eyes flicker to hers. Through labored breath, he slowly moves his thumb along her plushy lip, resisting the urge to sink it inside. She's not sure why something as small as this is stirring her insides, but her eyes widen when he breaks away, pushing the finger into his own mouth.

"Oh." She breathes out.

"I don't wanna scare you," Harry whispers, "But I'm completely fucked when it comes to you, dove. If you don't want this... want me, I need you to go now."

She swallows. Slowly, she rises to her knees and inches towards him, closing the small gap that formed between their bodies. She's hesitant in her movements but pushes herself to straddle him, gently sinking her ass down into his lap. His eyes widen.

"I want this. I want you." She says.

"Good," Harry mumbles, brushing his lips against hers for the third time that afternoon, "Good."

. . .

Y/N thinks she could go pro at lying to her parents.

A month ago, she had to spend hours preparing the perfect fib, coaching herself on how to articulate it just casually enough so it didn't seem fabricated. These days, they come out like nothing.

I'll be home late, I have a group project to work on in the library.

I'm going to a tutoring session for one of my classes, I probably won't be home until dinnertime.

I'm spending some extra time on campus today so I can get a head start on a paper.

In all truthfulness, school couldn't be the furthest thing on her mind right now. Harry is.

Ever since that day they kissed at his shop, they haven't been able to spend more than a day apart. Mostly, they follow the same routine from that very afternoon, where he'll pick her up from her last class of the day and they'll walk back to St. Mark's together. Sometimes, Harry will have deals to do so they sit and talk in the downtime. Other days, he'll have actual work to tend to, accounting and whatever it is he does as a business owner, so she'll do some homework, enjoying the silent companionship. Y/N never stays too late into the evening, not wanting to push her luck with her parents, but Harry always sends her off with a kiss that leaves her breathless, making her promise to text him when she gets home.

And the kissing... yeah.

Y/N likes to think she's gotten better at it from all the practicing they've been doing. She still gets a bit flustered, but it's one of her favorite things to do with him. The second they shuffle into his station, Harry closes the door so they're finally in private, and it's like a switch is turned on. Within seconds, they're wrapped up in each others arms, mouths wet and hot against one another. She's discovered that her favorite place to be is seated in his lap while his tongue explores her mouth, breathy pants parting her lips. He loves to squeeze her ass over the pleats of her skirt, knowing that it riles her up in the smallest forms of contact — tiny rolls of her hips, nails being pressed into his skin, a slight pull of his hair.

She doesn't think things could get much better with Harry until today, during their typical makeout-and-grinding session, when he ducks beneath her jaw, pressing messy kisses to her soft skin. It's then that the words leave his lips.

"Can I feel you under here, dove?"

His hand is fisting the hem of her skirt and the low tone of his voice makes lightning zip through her body. She doesn't know how to reply — she wants to say yes, but her mouth is dry from immediate anxiety.

"N-no one's ever touched me there," she whispers, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Harry hums, unbothered, kissing her jaw once more before backing away slightly.

"Don't have to do if you don't want to. We can just keep doing what we've been doing if you'd prefer." he replies nonchalantly, his lips swollen. She swallows nervously, perturbed by his frank nature.

"I— I do want you to feel me," Y/N mumbles. It's not a lie — yes, she's a virgin who knows next to nothing about her body besides its reproductive process, but sometimes, when she goes home in the evening, she thinks about what it would like to keep going. She's seen movies and TV shows, but those have only made her even more curious. Sometimes the guy takes it slow and makes it romantic, other times it's painful and uncomfortable. She can only hope Harry would take care of her.

"Where, princess?"

Well, she can only hope that Harry would take care of her in his typical teasing ways.

Huffing, she shakes her head. "I can't say that, H."

"Can't touch you if I don't know where you want it," he murmurs, kissing her cheek lightly. "Wanna hear you say it. Ask me."

"Harry," she whines. "Please? You know... where."

"Here?" he asks, pressing his the warmth of his hand to her thigh. "This where you want me?"

"No."

"Hmm, how about here?" he moves his hand up just a bit further, inching underneath the fabric of her mini skirt to the crease of her thigh. Again, she shakes her head.

"Dunno where you want me then, dove. Thought you were my good girl."

"H-higher." she mumbles, attempting to push her body closer so he gets the hint.

"Higher?" he echoes with a smirk, "Here?"

This time, his fingertips have found the waistband of her panties. It immediately feels wrong, but not because of who's touching her, but rather the act of it. She takes a deep breath and tries to ignore the voice in her head. Slowly, in an act of false confidence, she bunches the fabric of her skirt up at her hips, watching as Harry's eyes widen. They instantly dart down to the small wet patch between her thighs and it makes him groan softly.

"Jesus," he mutters, forgetting about his little game. He gently thumbs at her clit through the material and she jumps. Using his other hand to squeeze her hip, he tries to keep her steady, mumbling out an apology. "Am I allowed to see this cute little pussy?"

She clenches at his question, surprising herself with how turned on she feels from just a few words.

"Yes," she nods, "Please."

"'Please'? Aren't you just the sweetest wet dream, hm?" Harry murmurs. He pushes the width of the fabric to the side, making Y/N shiver from the sudden exposure and being under his gaze. "Are you always this polite or is this just for me, princess?"

She licks over her lips when he parts her pussy with his ring and middle fingers. He hums, dipping a fingertip into her crease and lifting it to his mouth. He looks at her expectantly and she realizes she hasn't answered him yet.

"J-just for you."

"Pretty, swollen pussy just begging for attention. Do you always get this needy when we kiss?"

She nods, her eyelashes fluttering as he runs the tip of his pointer finger through her wetness.

A poor excuse for an answer sounds through her lips, the affirmative tone being the only thing that gives him an idea of what she said. He snickers boyishly, Y/N's jaw dropping when they both feel her pussy pulsate.

"I think my girl is a bit naughtier than I thought," he breathes, moving his finger back up to her clit to form slow, small circles. She gasps from the intensity, a new sensation of overwhelming pleasure that she's never received before. "Is that the truth, dovie? Do you wanna be my naughty girl instead of my polite one? Tell me."

"Harry," she mewls, arching her back to press deeper into his touch, "P-please— feels really good."

"Yeah?" he smirks, a mocking tone to his voice that makes Y/N squeeze her eyes shut. "Yeah, does it feel really good?"

"You're— you're being mean—"

"Oh, I don't think so, dove. I think I'm letting you use my fingers to get off, petting this pretty little clit until you cum all over my hand. I don't think that's mean, do you?"

He stops stroking at her and her eyes snap open. She can feel how warm her face has gotten under his touch, quiet puffs of breath ghosting over his lips as his eyes twinkle, knowing what he's done.

"Why'd you stop?" she asks in a small voice.

"You said I was being mean," Harry replies with a shrug, "If I were really mean, I'd leave you here high and dry. Do you want to learn about edging today, Y/N?"

She shakes her head, her bottom lip pushed out in a pout. He hums and lifts his hand to his mouth, his pink tongue darting out to swirl around the fingers that were just caressing her. She watches him with wide eyes. She doesn't think she's ever been this turned on in her life.

"Do you like when I tease you?" he asks lowly. They both know the answer — her body couldn't lie even if she wanted to, and Harry noticed it the second he felt her pussy clench against nothing at his mocking tone.

"Y-yes." she whispers.

"Dirty girl," he murmurs, moving both his hands down to her hips to give them a squeeze. He tightens his hold on her and gently moves her up to the tattoo bed, helping her lay down. "We have all the time in the world to learn about what makes your pussy wet, but right now, I wanna make her cum. Can I do that, dovie?"

Y/N nods, allowing him to adjust her body however he wants. He smiles at how pliant she is for him, sticking to her good girl demeanor.

"Need you to tell me if I go too far or if something doesn't feel right, okay?" he reminds her as he fits himself between her thighs, "At any point, you say stop and we do, no questions asked."

"Yeah. Okay."

It's apparent to her that Harry is experienced, because it takes no time for him to wiggle his fingers back to their initial position. His thumb is applying the smallest bit of pressure to her clit, still sensitive from when he was playing with it before, but now he's circling over her hole with one of his larger fingers. She gasps at the slight intrusion.

"Have you ever put your finger in here, princess?"

She shakes her head. "N-no."

"Do you want me to?" he asks, though he can already feel the way her hole is all but sucking him in, "It won't hurt. Promise."

She trusts him — maybe foolishly, because she knows her parents would disown her if they knew the position she was in right now — but she pushes the thought to the back of her head, instead simply answering his question with a nod. He keeps his eyes on hers as he slowly pushes in, a gasp instantly falling from her plushy lips. Her immediate reaction is discomfort, but as he starts to stroke at something towards the back of her walls, it feels... good. Overwhelmingly good. So good that a loud moan frees itself from deep in her chest and he jumps up, gently pressing his other hand over her mouth. He ducks down and presses a kiss to the shell of her ear.

"Know I'm making your little hole feel so good, but there's other people here. I wanna keep those moans just for myself, okay?"

Her eyes roll back as he continues to pump his finger inside of her, the assault on the magic little spot never stopping. She can sense the smirk that's likely formed on his face but she can't find it in her to care because she's never, ever felt this good before. She whimpers against his palm and he groans quietly, the sight of his gorgeous girl writhing beneath him nearly too much to handle. He wills his own raging hard-on away, instead focusing on Y/N's need to cum before he can even consider getting himself off.

"H-harry," she sounds beautiful mewling his name even when it's muffled by his hand, "I feel— I'm—"

"I know, dove, I know," he coos, quickening the loops around her clit. She's growing increasingly sensitive from his touch as her hole throbs around his finger. "Let go for me. Let go for daddy, lemme see that pretty pussy soak me."

Realistically, he would've preferred introducing her to the whole daddy kink thing on different terms, but he's instantly reminded of how insanely lucky he is when those are the words that push her over the edge. His jaw drops as he watches her squirm underneath his hands, riding out her orgasm and squeezing him in the most delicious way.

"Fuck, you're so fuckin' beautiful," he groans, unable to stop himself from lightly grinding his covered cock against her inner thigh. He can feel the warmth radiating off of her core and his desperation to feel her grows by the second.

When her orgasm finally subsides, she's panting heavily and he swallows, palming himself over his pants.

"Is this okay?" he asks breathily. Y/N raises up onto her elbows, her eyes growing a bit wide when she sees what he's doing. Despite how exhausted she is, she still nods, the curiosity of what he looks like when he comes steadily building inside her. "'s not gonna take me long — that was the prettiest thing I've ever fuckin' see. Jesus."

She blushes but he doesn't notice as he pulls his cock out from under his pants and boxers. He spits into his palm and starts to stroke himself, his gaze glued to the swollen mess between her legs.

In college, Y/N watched porn once. It was with her roommate and her friends, who found out she was a virgin and asked if she knew anything about sex. She didn't, so they had some sort of debauched education night for her, which was really just an excuse to giggle and make fun of the way guys moan in porn. It made her feel weird, watching this couple have sex on camera, but what she does remember is the girl encouraging him to cum. Once she started begging, it pushed him to her orgasm, and Y/N was pretty impressed with that.

So, she swallows her self-conscious nature and gazes up at Harry as the slick pumps over his length grow clumsy. She can see the pre-cum bubbling at the tip and the way he gathers it with each stroke, using it to further lubricate himself.

"Want you to cum for me," she breathes out, the words sounding foreign when they leave her lungs, "Please. Wanna see it."

Harry's eyes nearly bulge out of his head and she assumes she's done something right by the way he quickly squeezes them shut, a quiet fuck falling from his lips.

"Please cum for me, daddy."

Much like it was for her, the use of his honorific is what finally pushes him to his finish. His jaw goes slack and his chest vibrates with muffled groans as spurts of cum rain down on Y/N's mound, eliciting a small gasp as the feeling. It's messy, but she's enamored by how gorgeous Harry looks when he comes: swollen lips, clenched abs, flushed cheeks, his large hand fisted around his length.

"Shit," he mutters, reaching up with his clean hand to push his curls out of his face, "Are you alright? Was that okay?"

She nods far too quickly for her own good. She'd be lying if she says she isn't slightly overwhelmed, but she wouldn't take any of it back. She never wants to forget how good he made her feel, while the knowledge that she's the one that turned him on like that is a boost to her confidence.

"Lemme clean you up, hold on," he says breathily, reaching over to grab one of the folded hand towels in the cabinet. Gently, he runs the fabric over her sensitive bottom half, shushing her softly. He does the same thing for himself and then helps her shimmy her panties back up. "You sure you feel alright, dove? You're being quiet."

"'m okay. Just tired." She replies truthfully, sitting up to lean back against the wall.

"Yeah? One little orgasm and you're ready for a nap?"

She giggles and buries her head into his shoulder, her limbs feeling particularly jelly-like. He wraps a loose arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer, chuckling as he presses a kiss to her hair.

"That's alright. I'm happy to take care of you however you need, princess."

. . .

"When were you planning on telling me the bookstore is hiring?"

Harry's eyes widen at Y/N's unusually bold demeanor. He glances down at her, following her gaze to where she's staring at the small bookstore across the street. Sure enough, there's a help wanted sign in the window.

"I didn't know you were looking for a job, dove," he replies with a shrug. In all honesty, he's never really paid attention to the business across the street from his own.

"Well... I'm not really, but I do want to start making my own money." she says softly, biting her lip.

He raises his eyebrows, "Yeah? You wanna go see if you can fill out an application?"

Despite her nerves, she still nods her head. Harry smiles and intertwines their fingers together, guiding her across the way to the bookstore. He holds the door open for her and she swallows anxiously, stepping inside the quaint store. With his hand pressed to the small of her back, he gently ushers her to the cashier.

"Hi," she says shakily, "I saw you're hiring people and I was wondering if I could apply."

The woman at the front grins, immediately launching into a conversation with Y/N about how excited she is that someone's interested in working for them. As she pulls a paper application out from a drawer on the side, Harry smoothes his hand over her back, rubbing it gently. He's so proud of her, his heart feels like it could burst.

It's only when she's finishing up filling out her information that someone says her name. They both turn, Y/N's eyebrows instantly furrowing in confusion.

"Y/N," the woman hisses, and Harry glances down to watch his girl's face crumble, "What are you doing?"

"Y/N... who is this?" Harry asks, his possessive instincts immediately taking over.

She swallows harshly, tugging at the sleeves of her sweater.

"Um... this is my mom."

read part two here!

#read

3K notes · View notes

laughontour · 3 months

Text

Knockout Masterlist

Boxer!Harry x You

*Contains Mature and Explicit content, so please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞*

~ Knockout* (Pt. 1)

The one where Harry is a handsome stranger who always comes to your diner covered in bruises.

~ Whiplash* (Pt. 2)

The one where Harry does something dangerous in the shadows, and he’ll do anything to keep you out of it.

~ Reckless* (Pt. 3)

The one where Harry secretly gets paid to fight, but you’re the one paying the price.

~ Uppercut* (Pt. 4)

The one where Harry is fighting everyone. Even you.

~ Outlawed* (Final Part)

The one where Harry just wants to fight, and you just want to love him.

#read #left off on uppercut

2K notes · View notes

laughontour · 3 months

Text

sunshine (making out blurb)

first blurb for grumpyrry x sunshine virgin y/n!!!

sunshine masterlist

+++

Y/n’s math homework is always a little less horrible when she’s doing it with Harry.

When it’s just her doing calculus by herself, it’s miserable. She gets stressed out as soon as she gets a problem wrong, overwhelmed by all the weird symbols and shortcuts that she doesn’t know. Calculus is just so stupidly hard! She usually has to spend an hour just reading the textbook and finding videos to help her understand whatever they just learned in class… until she eventually gives up and goes to bed.

It’s different with Harry though. There’s something about the way he explains things to her that just makes it make sense. She’s told him time and time again that he should be the one up there teaching the class instead of her stupid professor. He makes math easy. A big part of it might be because he’s right there to catch her mistakes and answer her questions if she gets stuck, but also he’s just a really good teacher. He breaks concepts down for her in a way that isn’t all complicated and math-y, but like a fun little puzzle. And if she doesn’t get it, he’ll do the problem right in front of her, explaining every step and pausing to make sure she gets it. He’s patient and motivating, and pushes her to solve problems by herself, even if she’s scared that she’ll do it wrong.

Plus, he gives her a nice little kiss as a reward every time she solves a question right, so you best believe she’s not giving up until she gets every damn question in that textbook right!

“Good job sunshine,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

They’re sitting thigh to thigh on her bed, y/n’s ipad in her lap and her textbook right in front of her criss-crossed legs. She’s in a cutsie little pajama set, matching white pj shorts and a tiny tank top with little roses printed all over it. Harry sits with his legs spread out in front of him, with one of his hands gently resting on her back as he leans over her shoulder and checks her work. She smiles cutely, the apples of her cheeks rounding out as Harry’s pink lips pucker against her cheek as a reward. Not only does she feel proud of herself for getting the math right, but she also feels her heart do a backflip every time Harry gives her a kiss. Who knew doing her math homework could be so fun!

She flips her pencil around in her fingers, turning her head to the side so she can get a proper reward. Kisses on the cheek are good motivation for when she’s struggling and she needs a little something to keep her going through a hard problem… but she got this one right. Her eyes meet his bright green ones, which are glimmering softly. He’s already smiling at her, his thumb tracing soft little circles on her back, and he doesn’t deny her when she leans in for a soft, sweet, and innocent kiss on the lips. In fact, when she tries to pull away from her soft little peck, he follows her forward, refusing to disconnect their lips until he gets a few more kisses in.

It makes her giggle against his lips, pushing on his shoulders. “I only have one more,” she says, not wanting to get distracted when she’s so close to being done.

The dimple in his cheek deepens, and he stares at her softly. His eyes are so intense, as if he’s looking straight into her heart, as if he’s trying to see into the depth of her soul so he can really understand her. They flicker back and forth between hers, filled with just pure adoration. “If you get this last one right, I have a surprise for you,” he whispers mischievously.

Y/n’s eyes widen, a flash of excitement flickering over her irises. “What?” she asks eagerly, her hands landing on his thigh.

His lips twist in an impish smile, and he nods towards her homework. “Do it and you’ll see.”

She gets it right in one try, zero questions asked. It seems like kisses and little surprises are really all it takes to teach y/n math. She’s looking back at him with giddy eyes, basking as he gives her one last kiss for doing her homework correctly. “Go look in my bag,” he mumbles against her lips, one of his hands coming up to tuck her hair behind her ear. She pulls away from him, giving him a suspicious look with squinted eyes and pursed lips, but he just smiles and nods his chin towards his bag.

She gets up and cautiously approaches, peeking back at him nervously. All he does is smile, leaning back onto her pillows and putting his hands behind his back. She unzips his bag, and inside of it…

“Oh,” y/n’s eyes round out as soon as she sees it. “Harry,” she whimpers, turning around to face him with a pout. Inside of his bag is the cutest pink stuffed elephant, with a little elephant nose that makes y/n want to cry. The elephant has animated eyes and big floppy ears, and it’s soft and fuzzy and just makes her heart melt because it’s so her and it’s so Girl and her grumpy boyfriend just knows her so well!!! She picks up the elephant and runs over to her bed with it and she gets extra excited when she sees how perfectly her new friend fits in with the rest of her pink stuffies and pillows. She climbs straight on top of Harry, putting the elephant next to her worn out stuffed bunny, and throws her arms around his shoulders.

“Thank you, I love it, it’s so cute,” she babbles, burying her face in his neck. She’s almost getting emotional because there’s absolutely no occasion for him to be getting her gifts, her voice getting a little high pitched and wobbly. Harry smiles like it’s no big deal, his hand petting her hair softly as he chuckles softly. “What’s it for?” she asks, pulling away and looking at him with big round eyes.

He shrugs. “Saw it when I was out last night. Thought you would like it.”

She stares at him with that endearing little pout, not knowing what to do except to lean in and kiss him. She puts her hands on his face, her fingers cupping his and his smiling cheeks pressed against her palms, and pulls him forward so she can press her lips against his.

His lips struggle to kiss her back with how big he’s smiling, so in awe of her and how cute she is, but he manages to rest a hand on her hip and pucker his lips against hers. Her hands slide down to hold onto his shoulders, and her fingers twist in his shirt as their lips fold over each other. She loves kissing him, she really does. Whenever she flutters her eyes shut and presses her lips against his, all her worries melt away. Her shoulders relax and her mind goes blank. Harry brings up a hand to cup her jaw, and his thumb traces over her cheekbone softly, just feeling her delicate skin.

They haven’t gone any further than these innocent kisses so far, except for that first time in his room, when he’d turned what should have been her romantic first kiss into an impromptu makeout sesh. He felt horrible when he found out that he’d tried to casually hook up with her when she hadn’t even had her first kiss! And absolutely sick to his stomach when he realized he’d been her first kiss, and that he had fucked it all up!

A sweet little sunshine girl like her deserved to have the first kiss of her dreams, he mourned. At a moonlit picnic or in a garden of roses. And he’d given her the worst first kiss. He literally made her cry.

Since then, there have been plenty of better, sweeter, more romantic kisses, to make up for that teensy little blip of a first kiss – kisses on her front doorstep after the most magical first date, kisses at the park underneath the cherry blossom trees, goodnight kisses in her bed before he tucks her in and heads home for the night. But nothing more than that.

Tonight though… he’s tempted to try a little something more.

He kisses her lips one final time before pulling away with a soft click, his hand still gently cupping her jaw. His eyes slowly open, and he finds his sunshine already looking right back at him, her eyes wide and moony. Her lips are parted, so soft and delicate and kissable, and she blinks innocently. She’s so cute, so reactive and eager. She’s staring at him like he just gave her the world with that little kiss.

His fingers trace down from her cheek to her lips, and then to her jawline. With the softest nudge he tilts her head to the side, then brushes her hair off to the side to expose her neck. When his lips skim the sensitive skin right above her pulse point, her breath catches in her throat. Her grip on his shirt tightens, and her thighs tense from where she’s sitting atop him, straddling his hips.

His lips press against her neck so softly, the most delicate kiss he’s ever pressed against her skin. His eyes flutter shut and he just lingers there, inhaling deeply. She smells like vanilla and sugar cookies. She makes his heart pound and his head spin. His hand on her hip holds on tighter, his fingers dimpling her soft skin as he starts to press more kisses up her neck and around her jawline.

Y/n’s eyes flutter shut and she tries to regulate her breathing, but her breaths are short and shaky and she can’t think straight. Harry’s breathing sends shivers down her spine, tickling her ear every time he exhales. His cotton candy lips tickle her throat and press down in hot, slow, gentle kisses. She swallows thickly and tries to hold down all the noises that want to escape her, but somehow a breathy moan leaves her lips. She feels herself grow hot and she’s not sure if it’s embarrassment at how weak she sounds, or if she’s just getting all hot from how Harry’s tongue just darted out to lightly tease her neck.

Harry smiles to himself lightly, deciding to test the waters and suck a little bit at her neck. He forgets, sometimes, just how innocent and inexperienced his angel of a girlfriend is. She gets worked up easily and is so responsive to his touch. Even the lightest of kisses against her throat have her whimpering and floating in another world. He loves it. He can sense how antsy she’s getting now, how she’s shuffling around on his lap and fisting at his shirt. She hopes he can’t tell how sweaty her palms have gotten, and she’d actually die if she knew that he could feel her clenching around nothing through her tiny sleep shorts.

He doesn’t spend too much time on her neck, not wanting to leave any marks without her permission, instead sliding his fingers into her hair and tilting her head down again so it’s no longer thrown back. She lets him maneuver her easily, opening her eyes, her chest rising and falling heavily. Her eyebrows pinch together as she briefly looks down at his lips, longingly. She tries to get ahold of herself, but just a few seconds of him loving on her neck have sent her into a spiral. She’s so sensitive, so reactive – she jumps when his hand migrates to her thigh, goosebumps rising as he rubs up and down her bare leg.

Harry’s eyes are warm and fond as he just stares at her– her pretty eyes and her delicate eyelashes, her lips, her cheeks, her smile. He tries not to linger too much on how cute she looks in her pajamas, how the low neckline accentuates her neck and her collarbones or how the thin material fails to conceal her peaked nipples. If he thinks about it too hard, he’ll get hard. And he doesn’t want that yet, doesn’t want to overwhelm his sweet, pure, innocent sunshine with his horny thoughts.

He kisses her again as a distraction, slotting their lips together, and it’s sweet and simple and calming. Kissing her is comforting, her lips a safe haven. She could be an angel, for all he knows, with a halo and wings and everything.

“Sunshine,” he murmurs between kisses, “do something for me?”

“Hm?” she hums, hazy and half-paying attention. She stutters a bit when Harry’s tongue flicks at her bottom lip, and then at the seam of her lips. He gives a reassuring kiss.

“Open up f’me a bit.” His hand cups her jaw and he soothingly pets her face, as if coaxing her to part her lips. “Wanna– wanna taste you.”

She can’t help but pause, pulling back from the kiss for just a second to process what he’s said, but she’s nodding yes before any insecurity can fill her mind. “Okay,” she says softly, swallowing nervously. “Um–” she tries to ask this without embarrassing herself, “What do I do with my tongue?”

He continues pressing kisses to the corner of her mouth, “Jus’– um – lick against mine, sunshine.” He pulls away for just a second, eyes half-hooded and not at all fazed about having to explain this to her. “Dunno how to really explain it. You’ll get the hang of it, though.”

She nods once more, insecurely, and flutters her eyes shut as Harry leans back in to continue kissing her. His fingers scratch deliciously against her scalp as he licks against her lips again – this time, she opens. His tongue dips in slowly, like soft honey, warm and wet. It’s unfamiliar, sure, but it doesn’t bother her. She tries to mimic the way his jaw falls slack, and how his tongue dips forward and back softly, opening up for him more and more as he continues to gently kiss her. He licks into her again, brushing his tongue against hers and she finds herself not even thinking as she brushes back. Her eyebrows pinch together and her nails start to dig into his back as she unconsciously leans closer to him.

Their lips move against each other slowly, a sultry dance that’s all brand new to y/n… but god is it hot to have his tongue in her mouth. He’s warm and wet and playful, using his tongue to tease her lower lip while they kiss, flicking against her tongue flirtatiously. A whimper crawls up her throat, needy and desperate for more. He’s showing her things that she’s never experienced before, and all the pent up sexual desire she’s had is bubbling up in her tummy, begging to be released.

She’s started to move her hips against him in soft rolls, grinding herself down as subtly as she can, and Harry’s hands on her hip seems to be encouraging her, gripping her tightly and pulling her closer and closer. Her arms unravel from around his shoulders and sneak their way down to the hem of his shirt, fingers finding the firm, warm skin of his abdomen. Her hands skim upwards to feel the lines of muscle that line his tummy, and she can’t believe that this green eyed adonis is literally her boyfriend. She lightly tugs on the shirt signaling that she wants it off, and starts whining while her hips move against his and Harry lets out a deep, low groan.

He gently grabs her hands that are toying with the edge of his shirt and guides them back around his neck. “Not yet, baby,” he mumbles, giving a couple of soft, more tame pecks while his hand slows down her hips. He gives her one firm kiss to her lips to leave her breathless, then traces some more down her neck while she pants up towards the ceiling. Her throat bobs as she swallows thickly, and for the first time, her eyes are filled with lust, arousal, and need. Harry looks just as bad as her, his eyes dark, pupils blown out, lips pink and swollen.

“Need t’take it slow,” he rasps, sounding more like he’s trying to convince himself rather than y/n.

She takes a deep breath, and nods her head, understanding. He’s doing this for her, saving her firsts so that they can be comfortable and memorable and special special… but god, sometimes she wishes he would just rip her clothes off and stuff his cock inside of her the way Rhysand does in the book she’s reading right now. Virginity is overrated anyway, who cares how she loses it! (she does)

But she agrees nonetheless, rolling off of him with a heavy sigh and wiping her lips with the back of her hand. She feels sticky in between her thighs and her heart has not beat at a normal pace for the past ten minutes of kissing Harry. But, whatever. She picks up her new stuffed elephant, petting its floppy ears softly, and thankfully doesn’t notice the way Harry has to subtly adjust his plumped up cocked.

She just flops down next to him, elephant in hand, kicking her feet in the air behind her, and asks, “What do you think we should name her?”

+++

It’s become a sort of routine for Harry and y/n to hang out after class on Friday nights.

Monday and Wednesday nights, y/n is usually at the library studying, and on Tuesday/Thursdays, Harry has a math lecture from 6-7:20. Of course, Harry will oftentimes sit at the library with her, maybe do some homework (or usually take a nap) while she reads her biology textbook and takes color coded notes. And on the nights that Harry has his late night lectures, she’ll stay on campus a little later so that they could get dinner together before class.

But Friday nights are when they really get to see each other. Sunshine is usually too burnt-out by the end of the week to even think about studying, and Harry is more than content to sit at his apartment and play video games while she reads a book in his bed.

It’s their favorite way to hang out after a long week. No loud parties, no stinky rooms, no distractions. Just them, together.

Blake’s gone back to visit his hometown for the weekend, so Harry and y/n have his apartment all to themselves. That means that instead of hiding out in his room like usual, they’ve migrated out to his living room. Harry’s playing some video game on the TV, filled with blood and war and gory stuff, but he’s turned down the volume so that the gross sounds don’t bother sunshine while she’s reading. She’s got a big hardcover book in her hands (Happy Place by Emily Henry), a book that she’d gotten when they went to Barnes and Noble together last Friday. She’s only just had the chance to start it, though, since she had a big bio midterm earlier today.

Harry sits shirtless on the couch, his eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched in a serious way that looks insanely hot from where y/n is sitting. Her back is resting against the other arm of the couch, facing Harry with her feet up and crossed at the ankle, her pink fuzzy socks almost brushing against his elbows. He’s shirtless, only wearing a pair of gray sweats (!!!), and his arms just look so… big and yummy. She can see the small freckles and bumps on his tanned back as he hunches over his controller, and can’t tear her eyes away from the shadows of muscles along his back and shoulders. And his heart shaped lips… so pink and plump and kissable…

An amused smirk gradually spreads on Harry’s face, signature dimple denting his cheek as he feels y/n’s hungry eyes feasting on him from the other end of the couch. From the corner of his vision, he can see the way she’s chewing on the inside of her cheek, how her eyes are captivated by his bare torso with such fascination.

He doesn’t think she even realizes how long she’s been staring at him.

He gives her a quick glance, eyes glimmering teasingly, and she realizes that she’s been embarrassingly caught. Quickly, she averts her eyes back down to her book, pretending like nothing happened.

Harry chuckles. “Whatcha starin’ at, sunshine?”

“Nothing,” she hums casually, despite her burning hot cheeks.

He pauses his game, putting the controller down onto the little coffee table next to him, and turns towards her. She refuses to meet his gaze this time, continuing to stare down at the page even though she’s processing about 0% of the words that she reads. No, her brain is exceedingly preoccupied with how her very attractive and very shirtless boyfriend is staring at her right now, with that teasing look in his eye. And that stupid, smug smirk. He’s like a snake about to attack a tiny little garden bunny.

“Baby…” he goads, but she continues to pretend-read her book. Only when he lightly tickles her sock-covered foot does she pay any attention to him, yelping out and jolting her feet away. He snorts out a laugh as she folds both her feet underneath herself, clumsily protecting herself from Harry’s devilish fingers. It wouldn’t be hard for him to tackle her right now, hold her down on the couch while his fingers dig into her ribs and under her armpits until she's cry-laughing. He’s done it plenty of times before, and has found it to be the most effective way to get her attention… so she puts the book down obediently and looks up at him with a shy smile.

“Hi,” she says innocently, pretending like she hadn’t been ogling him for five minutes straight while he’d been playing his game. She just sits there with her hands in her lap, as if she’s an angel.

He smiles knowingly. Her longing stares and hungry eyes are her silent indication that she wants a kiss. The type of kiss where he pulls her into his lap, licks into her mouth, and palms at her ass. A real, proper make out.

She probably doesn’t know that she’s so obvious about it, he thinks – staring at his lips with puppy dog eyes and drooling over his bare chest. She’s trying to play it casual, but he can see the needy glimmer in her eyes. It seems like making out with her that first time in her bedroom opened the floodgates, unleashing something in y/n that had been so innocently contained by her angelic, virginal facade. Ever since then, she’s been giving him these eyes, begging for more.

He shakes his head to himself, still smirking, before leaning forward to kiss her. This is exactly what she wants, and Harry knows it. Her longing stares and hungry eyes were just her silent way of asking for a kiss, since she’s a little too shy to ask for it straight up.

Their lips fold over each other, a slow kiss, gentle and meant only to subdue y/n. The only sound in the room is the soft smacking of their lips against each other, the little click that comes every time his lips slide off hers and then reattach milliseconds later. He leads the kiss (he always does), so every time he tilts her head, sunshine tilts the other way. When he slides his fingers into her hair, she stretches her neck upwards. When his teeth nip at her bottom lip teasingly, she whines with furrowed brows, pressing herself against his lips harder. And when he licks at the seam of her lips, she opens up for him, just like he taught her.

He can feel his cock stirring, and forces himself to pull away. It’s a kiss deep enough to satisfy most of sunshine’s needs – to quiet her racing mind and get her focused on just him and nothing else – but it’s also nothing too intense to overwhelm her. And, it’s tame enough for Harry to be able to show some restraint.

He has to take a second, hovering in front of her with his eyes still closed. His hand is still cupping her jaw, just reveling in the taste of her chapstick that lingers on his lips… he takes a deep, calming breath. Breathe in, hold for seven seconds, then out. He’s strong.

But… when he opens his eyes, she’s looking up at him with disappointed and longing irises, her bottom lip jutting out sadly. She wants more, her eyes clearly say, and she’s needy for him, her pouted lips tease.

Okay maybe he’s not that strong.

He’s barely kissed her, and yet her pupils are blown out with desire, breath already catching in her throat. He wonders how disheveled she’d look if he really kissed her. How she’d whimper out little noises if he licked into her mouth, or how her chest would rise and fall while she tries to catch her breath. She’d probably grip onto his shirt, wrap her arms around his neck and twist her fingers into his hair, tugging on it desperately. And he’d grip her hips, grind her down onto his cock, bite on her bottom lip and suck on her tongue… god, his dick twitches at the thought of it.

If he were strong, he’d shut his eyes and get a hold of himself – but he’s not. Instead he stares at her pretty lips, slicked and swollen just from that little bit of kissing. His thumb softly brushes against the apple of her cheek, while her eyes only grow wider and more pleading. If he likes her lips so much, then why doesn’t he just get back to kissing her!

His thumb comes down to tug on her pouty lip so he can watch it bounce back into place. His eyes darken, his nose flares, and his eyebrows furrow, and then he hears her whimper, literally whimper because of how pent up and needy she’s feeling. His resolve crumbles.

If she wants more, he’ll give her more.

He kisses her again, still soft and gentle, but somehow it’s hotter. Needier. Their lips fold over each other over and over again, an eager, spit-slicked exchange. The only sound in the room is the soft smacking of their lips against each other, the little click that comes every time his lips slide off hers and then reattach milliseconds later.

Y/n is unconsciously lifting herself up to be closer to him, nearly sitting on her knees now, pressing herself upwards and upwards. At this point he should just pull her on top of her, he thinks, so he puts a hand on her hip and coaxes her onto his lap.

She’s clumsy as she climbs onto him, too concentrated on not messing up their kiss to successfully untangle her own legs (she’s still new to all this), but Harry doesn’t mind it. It’s endearing, how her foot gets stuck underneath her butt as she presses herself closer to him, or how her knee knocks against his hip as she tries to straddle him. His hands gently guide her thighs as she maneuvers herself onto his lap, hands encasing her ribs and steadying her uncoordinated movements.

His thighs spread open in a natural manspread, and he slouches down enough on the couch so that y/n’s a head above him. She has to lean down to keep their lips connected, her hair falling into his face, and her hands tentatively find their way to his shoulders so that she can keep her balance and not fall on top of him. Harry’s fingers gently brush the hair out of her face and tuck it behind her ear, then linger on her face, tracing over her cheekbone and cupping her jaw. He loves holding her face when he kisses her, especially because she unconsciously leans into his touch, sighing happily the way a kitten being pet would purr.

She never knew the simple act of kissing could be this hot… but there’s something about having his warm mouth against hers, feeling the slick of his spit as he sucks her bottom lip into his mouth… even just feeling his heavy breaths against the side of her cheek. Soft sighs and little moans escape her in a way she can’t control, and her brows pinch together in the cutest, most desperate way when his hands migrate over her bum and start palming her.

She just wants to kiss him over and over and over again! No breaks, not even to breathe. She wants to feel his lips against hers until she passes out.

She reciprocates his every move eagerly, like a little puppy learning how to do tricks. She’ll move her head whichever way his nose nudges her, slot her lips against his at whatever pace he decides on. When he breathes, she breathes, and when he slides his fingers into her hair, she stretches her neck upwards. He’s constantly tilting his head to the left and then to the right, switching between suckling on her top and bottom lip, alternating between open mouth and closed mouth kisses – just teaching her as he kisses her.

Harry pulls away softly, pressing his forehead to hers and petting the apple of her cheek with his thumb, giving her a break to catch her breath. “Alright?” he asks a bit breathlessly. She nods, eager but apprehensive. Harry calms her with a simple peck, soft and familiar. “Y’doing so good, sunshine,” he murmurs reassuringly.

He’s kissing her again three seconds later, slower and more deliberately this time. She parts her lips once more, more sure of herself this time, and when his tongue flicks against her bottom lip softly she experimentally licks back. It immediately illicits a deep groan from Harry. He slides his tongue past her lips, tasting her, licking into her. His teeth nip at her bottom lip teasingly, and she whines with furrowed brows, pressing herself against his lips harder. He’s obsessed with her. Her lips are so soft, her body so pliant, he could kiss her for hours on end.

She’s growing more and more desperate as their kiss grows hotter and hotter. Her hands on his shoulders start to wander, grazing over his tattooed chest, and she shuffles around on his lap, trying to wriggle closer to him. She’s getting that tingly feeling in her center that she only gets when she’s reading one of those books, and unconsciously, she starts grinding her center down on his lap.

Harry lets out a strained groan, his hands immediately shooting down to hold her hips still. “Fuck,” he rasps, throwing his head back.

“Hm?” Y/n is out of it, chasing after his lips as he pulls away, completely unaware of Harry’s discomfort. She pouts at how his fingers are digging into her hips, preventing her from wriggling any closer to him when it’d felt so good! “What’s wrong?”

She threads her fingers through his hair, her nails scratching against his scalp, and tries to pull him back for a kiss – but he turns his head to the side, refusing. The abruptness leaves y/n disgruntled and confused. She’s panting, a bit breathless from how his tongue had been licking in her mouth, the electricity that had been flowing through her veins slowly fizzling away. Her lips are swollen, nearly bruised, and furrows her brows at the abrupt end to this >very nice kiss.

"Need–" he licks his lips, "need t'take a second."

"Why?" she whines, staring down at his mouth.

"M'bout to cum in my pants, sunshine. Gimme a bit."

Her eyes widen. She looks down and sure enough… there’s the outline of his hard cock, a prominent bulge in his sweatpants. She’s never actually seen one in person and– gosh the size of it makes her tremble a little bit. Is that normal or is he just really big? He looks thick, and the tip of his cock is a significant length down his thigh. Why is her mouth watering? She swallows thickly and looks back up at him, like a deer caught in headlights.

She tries to give him some space, moving her hips back so that she’s not brushing against his erection… but even that small movement is painful for Harry, making him throw his head back with a loud groan. “I need to go to the bathroom,” Harry pants, hands on her hips, already lifting her off his lap.

“What– oh!” she squeals as she’s suddenly thrown onto the couch.

She blinks. The bathroom door shuts.

She’s never been more aroused in her life.

+++

Harry has his hand down his sweatpants before he can even lock the door, fishing out his cock and palming himself with a deep groan. His pants slide down to midthigh as he spreads his own precum over his shaft, his fingers wrapped around himself in a tight fist. He pumps quickly, making sure to rub a thumb over his tip every once in a while, as that's one of the easiest ways to make himself cum. He wants this to be quick – he’s not in the bathroom jerking off because he wants an insane orgasm… he just wants his cock to stop hurting while he’s kissing his girlfriend!

He throws his head back against the wall and thrusts his hips into his own hand, conjuring up all the images in his head – y/n’s pretty lips, slicked and swollen with his spit. Her disheveled hair, mussed up from his fingers. Her wide, moony eyes, her dreamy sighs and whimpers. Her cute bum in her tiny shorts, that had fit so nicely in the palm of his hand, that had jiggled so prettily when he lifted her onto his lap. His toes curl as he lets his thoughts get more explicit – how pretty would she look if she were the one jerking him off right now? If she was down on her knees with her tiny hand wrapped around his cock, pumping him and looking at his prick with those bambi eyes. What if she took him into her mouth? Laved her tongue around his tip the way his thumb is doing now? His biceps bulge as he jerks himself off, harder and faster, more cum leaking from his tip and making the glide smoother. If only he could fill up her mouth, cover her pretty lips with his cum…

His entire body shivers, long white streaks bursting from his cock and all over his fist. He bites his lip, refusing to let any sound escape the bathroom for y/n to hear. She’s not ready for… this.

He looks at himself in the mirror– his cheeks are flushed, his hair is a mess, and his cock looks worn out. He washes his hands in the sink with soap, shamefully washing away the mess he made on his own hand, then splashes his face with water. His prick is still sensitive and he winces as he tucks himself back into his sweatpants. It’s barely been five minutes since he first entered the bathroom, meaning that he lasted a whopping… three minutes.

She says nothing when he comes back, already back to reading her book. He lets out a sigh of relief.

He stays firmly on his side of the couch for the rest of the night.

+++

“Harry,” y/n moans.

Her hair is splayed out on Harry’s pillow underneath her head, Harry hovering right above her. He has one hand pressed on the bed to keep him above her, and the other on her hip, roaming up and down her body. One minute he’ll be cradling her ribcage delicately, and the next he’ll be gripping her thigh and hoisting it up and around his waist so that he can fit his hips in between hers.

Her hands are similarly roaming up and down his chest and his back, holding onto his shoulders and grabbing his biceps as he kisses her. Her back arches as his hand squeezes her bum, and a broken whimper filters between their lips. His tongue slips into her mouth when she whines, gliding against hers smoothly. And when he pulls off from the kiss, he lightly bites at her lower lip, tugging on it playfully before letting it bounce back into place.

He buries his face in her neck, kissing down to her shoulder and over her collarbones, sucking lightly and then smoothing his tongue over the abused spots soothingly. His teeth nip and graze the thin skin of her throat, and his chest rumbles when she throws her head back to grant him more access.

This is torture for him.

It had started off so innocently, just the two of them watching Netflix together. His head was laying on her chest while they watched their movie, her fingers brushing through his hair (he loves it when she plays with his hair). But then – god, he’d been so stupid!!! He looked up at her, and saw her pretty face and her pretty eyes and her pretty lips… and he just wanted to kiss her so bad. One kiss wouldn’t hurt, he told himself!!!

He lifted his head from where his ear had been pressed against her breast, and leaned up to just press one sweet, innocent kiss to her lips. But then, one kiss turned into two, and two turned into three. He hated how she had to strain her neck and lean down to reach his lips, so he twisted around to make it easier for her. But then his neck started to hurt, so he pushed himself up so he was hovering above her. And now his dick is hard, and he’s grinding it down into her most intimate area.

He’s mentally bashing himself while kissing her – he should’ve had more self-control, he should pull away and go to the bathroom to sort himself… but also he can’t stop kissing her.

Y/n has zero complaints either, practically egging him on, begging him to go further. She threaded her fingers through his hair while they kissed, and wrapped her arms around him so that he wouldn’t pull away. She whimpered and whined prettily, fluttered her eyes when he kissed down her throat, arched her back into him and lifted her hips so that she could press herself into the area where he was obviously very hard.

He’s literally just a guy. How is he supposed to pull away when his soft and sweet girlfriend is pressing herself against her cock and moaning against his lips?

“Fuck,” his voice is strained and there’s a vein bulging in his neck as he takes a second to breathe. Y/n has learned well, and starts trailing kisses along his jaw while he catches his breath. She tries her hand at sucking marks on his neck, but finds herself too impatient to focus all her energy on one spot when she just wants to kiss all over his neck and cheeks! Her lips skim the corner of his mouth, pressing soft, teasing kisses.

He breathes heavily, shutting his eyes and trying really, really hard to not cum in his pants.

Y/n makes it practically impossible though, whining “kiss me,” as her nails scratch deliciously at his scalp. Fire rushes through his veins at the sound of her voice and he nearly collapses on top of her.

“Baby…” he says, half warning and half pleading. She’s literal heaven on Earth. Her lips are like magnets, and when she skims her lips over his he can’t help but pucker to connect them in a kiss. She bites down on his lip, teasing him, and licks into his mouth, desperately wanting to feel his tongue gliding against hers again.

She’s a riled up little thing, concupiscent and needy, eager to kiss for hours at a time. He’s had to invest in a jumbo sized vaseline to keep his lips hydrated with how overworked his lips are. And she’s naughty under her good girl, studious, bookworm persona. She tugs on his hair and leaves scratches on his back when they kiss, wraps her legs around him and lifts her hips to grind her softest areas against his hardness. She moans and whimpers and tells him how good he feels, presses her breasts up to his chest… god he can only imagine how she’ll act when he actually gets to touch her.

His hand slides up her side, over her ribs and to her breast, palming it over her t-shirt. She loves being groped, apparently, always leaning into his touch whenever his hands pinch her tits teasingly or cup her ass. It makes her even needier for him, makes her more desperate to get rid of the clothes and jump straight in. Neither of them know how they’ve managed to go this long with only make outs and groping, when they’re just so obsessed with touching and feeling the other. It’s mostly only Harry’s romantic heart that has managed to keep them strong, who is absolutely adamant on giving y/n sweet and cherishable firsts. These hot makeouts are just a loophole around his rules.

Harry loses himself in her, lets her fill up all his senses. She’s all he can hear, all he can smell, all he can taste, and all he can touch. His mind is void of anything except for getting closer to sunshine, kissing her more and touching her more. Her tits are soft and warm, her bum is round and biteable, and her cute little tummy jumps whenever his fingers skim over it. He unconsciously grinds his hips into her center, the tip of his cock rubbing against her clit, from what he can feel through her thin shorts. His jaw goes slack every time he grinds himself against her, the pressure in his pants growing tighter and tighter– until he groans loudly above her, hiding his face in her chest as his entire body shudders and his arms grow weak.

Y/n freezes, knowing that this particular grind of his hips was different from the rest. Instead of rolling his hips forward and backward, the way he’d been doing before, he presses his hips firmly against her and ruts forward in short jolts, hips twitching and abdomen clenching. A raspy groan leaves him, his cheeks red as cherries and his eyes hooded with pleasure. Y/n feels herself gushing at the thought of what just happened, and replays it in her head over and over and over again. Her voice cracks around a moan as he gives one final thrust against her, his hand squeezing around her tit firmly and erotically brushing against her nipple.

Their eyes meet, hers wide and blown out with a mix of innocent shock and filthy thoughts, while his are clear as the morning sky after a night of cleansing rain. He radiates post-orgasmic bliss.

His cheeks are red like cherries and his eyes are lust-filled and hazy, hooded with pleasure. He radiates post-orgasmic bliss.

“Well, shit,” he chuckles at himself. He’s kind of embarrassed that he literally came in his pants by making out with his girlfriend, but for the most part he is just relieved that his balls aren’t bursting anymore. “Sorry, sunshine. I couldn’t– um, I couldn’t really control it.” He pushes himself up, feeling his own cum slowly against his thigh. “Are you okay?”

She nods, almost as if she’s in a trance. “I… want to do that again,” she whispers bashfully.

“Y’want to make me cum in m’pants again?” he asks with a soft, confused laugh.

“I-I just want to watch you… cum, again,” she hesitates around the word, feeling dirty and shy, despite how true the statement is. “Next time… next time, can I help?” she asks hopefully.

HIs eyes roll to the back of his head and he leans back down for a kiss.

“Y’gonna kill me, sunshine.”

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laughontour · 4 months

Text

So on a Tuesday, Y/N wakes up from a fitful rest and leaves Harry’s bed to find him in the kitchen. Leaf is cradled to his chest while he speaks to someone on the phone – a designer, she thinks, they’re talking about a pattern of something, but Y/N isn’t sure. She doesn’t get to know either because as soon as Harry sees that she’s awake, he smiles, then hovers his finger over the end button, “Mael, I’ll call you a little later, yeah?” He hangs up without a second thought, and Y/N’s eyes go wide.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she frowned and Harry waved his hand.

“Nah, s’boring shit anyway. Chevron is a thing of the fucking past and it’s not coming back any time soon on my watch.” He turned on his stool, stretching out his legs and waving her forward, and when she got close enough, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer, until she was standing between his thighs, “You take forever to get up. If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were still a human.”

Harry and Y/N like being around each other maybe too much

part 1

part 2

part 3

iv.

Y/N wondered how many vampires she’d seen in her lifetime.

Unlike the stories and movies, they didn’t lurk in the night and meld into the shadows all of the time. Their skin was pale, but no more pale than someone living in the mountains with very little sun. Their eyes weren’t red, or golden brown, or pools of black – they were just normal irises, no different than humans, the color encrypted in their DNA from conception. They were gorgeous, sometimes eerily so, but not in a way that you could easily group them by their features. It was comparable to being backstage on a runway – the people surrounding you were models, you knew that, and they were all beautiful in their own way with their own unique features. The difference is that instead of only finding them pretty in passing, it’s mesmerizing, almost hard to fathom, alluring in an almost unignorable way.

But Y/N can’t remember ever being out in public and seeing a vampire, even if she didn’t know what they were called at the time. Clearly she didn’t, if one was able to ask her on a date and she’d just presumed she’d lucked out with an attractive man who didn’t mind dating below his league. Otherwise, they were masters of camouflage, or Y/N was just less observant than she thought.

Because right now, even to the untrained eye, Y/N is almost positive that she looks like a vampire. Or at least that something is off with her. It’s in the way her posture is almost too correct, ramrod straight like someone straightened out her back and put her in a brace to keep her unmoving. Her chest did not rise and fall with each breath – not because the need to use her lungs had not been completely eradicated yet, but for the fact she’s taking a ton of shallow breaths through her mouth to avoid smelling anything, or anyone. The way she holds her fork looks weird to her – she hadn’t held a fork in so long it was an unfamiliar weight between her fingers. She gave terse replies to questions, and could barely hold a conversation longer than small talk.

To anyone looking or interacting with her, they must think she’d grown up in a basement and just recently ventured out into the world. To Harry, who sits across from her with an amused look dancing across his features, he knew she was just attempting to reacclimate into society.

They had been out before, but normally that was at night, or early during cloudy weekdays when most of the city population is stuck in their stuffy office buildings. When the amount of humans is sparse and Y/N could amble away if being around them became too much. She’d never been forced to sit among them for longer than a couple minutes at a time, maybe waiting in a long line, or patiently off to the side when a human woman was interested in the same earrings that she was.

That had been her toeing the water; Harry held her hand at the edge of a dock while she dipped her feet into the pool of being a productive member of society again. She would have to return to work at some point, and she would need to be able to attend social events or see her family, or her friends back home without wanting to eat them. Harry was surrounded by humans all day nearly every day and he hasn’t lashed out and ended up in a tabloid for sinking his teeth into a designer. It was possible, though it would take time, and a lot of practice – at some point she would be able to integrate seamlessly back into the human world.

At some point – right now, it was fucking hard.

Harry took her out for lunch, at a small deli a couple blocks from his flat. It was a day when the sky was heavy with clouds and would be for the majority of the afternoon, so they were able to venture out with no fear that Y/N would get all rashy again. All of Y/N’s fear lay within being in closed quarters with humans and pretending that the scent of their blood doesn’t affect her in the slightest. Or that the leaves of the salad she was stuffing into her mouth tasted more than just bland, rubbery nothing to a palate now keen on something metallic and sweet. And in that fear, and her overexerting her effort trying to look normal, she thinks she’s making herself look uncanny, unapproachable, and too much like she doesn’t belong. Like someone clipped her out of a comic book and pasted her in The Very Hungry Caterpillar.

“Relax your shoulders,” Harry spoke from across the table, having already eaten half his sandwich, tucking the straw of his soda at the corner of his lips and sipping, “It looks like I just brought you out of a boarding school.”

“Shut up.” Y/N had been saying that a lot to him today because it was two simple words that didn’t require as much effort as trying not to eat someone.

Harry smiled, all too relaxed for what Y/N would think are pretty serious circumstances but she guesses he’s been through this so often he isn’t worried about a thing. Harry never seemed worried when they did something new, always promising her that he would know if she was going to do something stupid, because he knows her. And if the need to subdue her were to arise, then he could do so easily, or so he tells her every time she’s stressed about it.

“You had plenty to eat before we came,” he murmured, voice just a touch lower, his brows raising slightly, “Even if you take a small little breath through your nose, you won’t feel like you need to do anything.”

It’s difficult to talk inconspicuously about it, in case someone nosy was listening into their conversation (because Y/N is fucking nosy, so she knows someone else is bound to match her), but Harry does it easily. Y/N did eat a considerable amount before they did this, from the baggies, and even a little treat from Harry just before they’d left the flat. She was full, blood-drunk, and hazy up to the point that they were about to walk inside the shop and she’d worked herself up.

“Mind over matter,” Harry slid his leg to her and locked their ankles together – he was resting his chin and cheek in his palm, watching her carefully, drinking her in, “Just take a small little breath through your nose, hm? You’ll see it’s not as bad as you think.”

Y/N blinks at him, gripping her fork a little too hard, and she feels the stainless steel give beneath her grip, “I – okay,” she nodded, slow, steady – the whole point of this excursion was to start working on being able to smell humans without wanting to desperately sink her teeth into them. Before she could start utilizing feeders, she needed to be completely in control of how her body responds and reacts to stimuli like this. At least that’s what Harry tells her, and she’s inclined to believe him since there isn’t anyone to bounce off of his ideas anymore. She isn’t sure if they’re still on the pathway he used for all the new vampires he mentored or if he’d toggled it based on their situation. She could message Christopher and Naomi about it but every time she messages them, her heart yearns and aches in her chest.

“You’ll stop me if anything happens?” She knows he will, but she feels better when he’s all cocky and sure of himself. One of them needed complete faith in the situation, and it usually was Harry.

Harry, who had been treating her all soft and tender lately. His words could still be harsh and he rolls his eyes and rumples his lips at her when she says something he thinks is stupid, and he’s patient, but even that patience runs out relatively quickly – but every interaction has a much softer edge to it. With every harsh critique of her technique or skill, (“How many times are you going to listen to the neighbor’s conversation and not me outside, downstairs, when you’re on the balcony? It shouldn’t matter how many flights up you are, this is baby stuff we’re trying to accomplish now!”) there is a gentle caress of her skin. His fingers will dance along her wrist, and he’ll slide his fingers between the slots of hers, and squeeze, before murmuring, “Let’s try again.”

They are much closer now – Y/N doesn’t know if they’re dating, or if vampires even date, but she knows that Harry treats her like they might be. Harry pushes his nose into her neck and breathes in deeply like she’s the best thing he’s ever smelled. He entertains her musings about code and work despite not having a clue what she’s talking about or saying. At the end of the night (early in the morning) when she is thinking about lying down, Harry offers his room to her, his bed.

“You can always sleep in here,” he’d told her, “Even if I’m not here, yeah? Just don’t stain the sheets or anything, because to keep them this pristine even with a kitten has been hell.”

Shit, he’s even referred to Leaf as their baby a couple of times, whereas previously he’s only called her his own. “What are you doing to my baby?” Is what he would say before when Leaf is playing with one of the many feathered string toys that Harry bought her and Y/N accidentally makes her jump right into the wall. Now it’s things like, “Our baby is so happy,” when she comes up to them on the sofa, purring and kneading at Y/N’s thighs before snuggling in her lap and falling asleep.

Things with him were soft. This certainly felt like a relationship, sometimes, but Y/N knew better than to get ahead of herself. Last time she did that she ran away from her hometown and then got bitten by a fucking vampire, so it was better to just take things a step at a time.

“What, you think I’m g’na let you eat someone and make me look bad?” He speaks low enough that only she could hear, helped by the loud chatter of voices around them, and stretches one arm across the table, looping his fingers around her forearm, and dragging the blunt tip of his nail along her skin, “Of course I’ll stop you, dummy.”

Y/N shivers but feels safe; he’s got a leg wrapped around hers, and a hand on her. If she tried to move, he would stop her immediately. Harry doesn’t say aloud that that’s what he’s doing, but they both know it makes her feel better when he’s got his hands on her in some way. She’d told him as much in the past when she’d looped her arm in the gap between his and his body when they first went into the grocery store.

“Hm, is this a ploy to make me touch you in public? You’re a filthy exhibitionist.” He’d teased her at the time, but now he keeps his hand on her when they’re out. An arm wrapped around her shoulder, a hand at the nape of her neck, his fingers looped around her wrist.

She lets herself breathe in, just a little bit, a tiny inhale through her nose. The scents weren’t overwhelming like she’d thought – there’s plenty to sift through, it wasn’t just an onslaught of the blood pumping through the veins surrounding them. Fresh bread, the fabric softener on people’s clothes, the cleaner used to wipe down tables when they were emptied – she smelled all of that too. All a mix, like when she was a human, only she could smell and separate them just a note better than she could before. And the blood – she couldn’t smell blood before, but with a belly full, it wasn’t as hard. It still made her mouth water, and there was an itch beneath her skin that wanted to be plucked at, but nothing she couldn’t handle.

Harry drags his nails back and forth on her forearm lazily, “See?” His relaxed posture stays, leaning on his palm, “You’re not a monster, are you, baby?”

She swallowed thickly, shaking her head, “No, I’m not,” she cleared her throat a little, “We need to – um – we need to get Leaf chicken treats, she likes those best.” Y/N wanted to practice being normal, talking about normal things, and thinking about something else than how she’s trying not to breathe in too deeply. She didn’t necessarily explain this to Harry beforehand but he doesn’t seem confused either, just goes along with it.

“Really? I kind of thought she liked the shrimp ones better.”

Y/N focuses more on Harry’s scent – he smells good. He always smells so good, that whenever she does sleep in his bed, she dips her nose into the blankets and stuffs her face into the pillows (obviously when he’s not there, she would never live that down). If she could shove her nose in the base of his throat and not stuff her teeth into his neck then she would do it all of the time. Harry does it to her, unprovoked and unannounced, burrowing the cold tip of his nose against her carotid. She used to squirm, her ear meeting her shoulder as she pulled away from him, but now she’s gotten used to it – now, she almost expects it when he comes home from work, and if he doesn’t, she’s a little disappointed.

It’s easy to forget why she’s at Harry’s in the first place if she’s just focusing on her and Harry’s dynamic. It’s also easy to forget that she would eventually face the music when she has to confront her feelings – Niall. There was a heavy weight on her shoulders like she wore a helmet of cast iron everywhere she went; sometimes she would forget about it, it’d been so long that it was easy to let it slip her mind, but then her shoulders would feel the pressure of it periodically.

Like when you wear glasses for the first time. At first, it is all you can think about, how it rests on the bridge of your nose, the way the frames outline your field of view. But a couple of hours in they’re merely an extension of you, you forget they’re on your face until you reach up to rub your eye and something is in the way.

The helmet was heavy, the look in Niall’s eyes as he told her, the cold feeling that had flushed through her veins when he’d admitted it. She wondered if it felt like his own helmet had been lifted, the weight of his guilt eased by the admission. Did he know he was going to transfer it to her? Take the helmet off and plop it onto her head?

Her heart was torn in two. Y/N wanted to hate him for it, she really did – want to cuss him out, scratch him, and spit on him – how did vampires fight? Did they bite each other? Do they punch each other? Kick, slap? Was it still below the belt to kick him in the balls or was that an appropriate fighting tactic? Harry had never taught her how to fight – she thought maybe some sort of combat training would be important down the line, but vampires don’t usually do that. Movies and books make it seem like it was a constant battle, always something going on that they needed to defeat. Vampires typically coexist peacefully, is the thing, and their only true threat are hunters but it’s often better to avoid them or flee the situation than to fight, at least when you’re new. As long as she doesn’t act recklessly then she wouldn’t have to worry.

And in the same breath that she hated him, she owed him her life. It was a new one – a flawed one, no more flawed than her old life, but still a new life. She would have to change how she lives, eats, exists, and it’s scary – it’s so scary! But she was alive. She was still walking around, she could still work toward goals she’d set for herself, and she could find a place for herself in this world instead of bleeding out in an alley, still feeling lost and alone.

Would she have walked away from someone in need how she expected Niall to? If she’d stumbled upon the same scene, would she have been able to ignore it? She couldn’t even ignore a fucking kitten meowing! So it was hard – her feelings were difficult to work through and that was only worsened by her not seeing him. Playing house at Harry’s flat and ignoring what happened.

“Where’d you go?” Harry pulls her out of her reverie, and she realizes she’d been digging her fingers into the croissant she was holding, her eyes dazed. He drags his fingers along her skin again, tenderly, gently, “Hmm? Where’d my girl go?”

Y/N feels warm and bubbly and allows herself to revel in the giddiness that comes with Harry treating her like something special. If there was one single benefit from this whole mess, it would be Harry – experiencing this homely side of him. Whether it be the connection through their blood, or their time spent together, she felt at complete, and total ease in Harry’s presence. If she was starting to spiral, he pulled her out of it just as quickly.

“Sorry,” she murmured, swallowing, ripping a piece of the flaky pastry and laying it on her tongue – it tasted like nothing, chalky and bland, “I. . .need to figure things out with Niall soon. I can’t keep burdening you.”

“You’re no burden,” he answered without a second thought, “Not even a little bit, but I understand needing to sort things out for your peace of mind.” He reaches forward, thumbing at the apple of her cheek, and pinching playfully, “But you don’t need to leave just for that, hm? You’re no burden to me.”

Y/N rests on the palm of his cheek, sighing, and the smell of all the other humans in the place pales in comparison to Harry, “Mm,” she nuzzles – it’s embarrassing, how easy she is for him, but he doesn’t tease her like he probably could, “I just. . .I think, how I’m seeing it, is I would have done the same.” She explained, “If I’d seen someone, I would have done the same, you know?” Her gaze flickered toward him, “Would you?”

“I have,” he shrugged, “You know, it’s something that you never really know what you’ll do at the moment but when it’s presented in front of you – that’s when you’ll know. You act off instinct,” he squeezes her shoulder, slipping down to her bicep, “Just how you ran to go save Leaf with no concern of the sun. This isn’t me trying to sway you either,” he shook his head, “If you decided you fucking hated him and never wanted to see him again, I would endorse it. If you decide that you’ll forgive him, then I’ll accept that – whatever you want to do.”

Y/N nodded, “Yeah,” she ripped another piece of croissant, “Yeah, okay.”

. . .

Despite coming to terms with what she wanted to do, it still took her a week to gain the courage to see him. Harry doesn’t push the issue, merely enjoys his time with her and Leaf until she tells him she is ready. Honestly, there were a couple of times when Y/N wondered if she should just start ignoring it again and live life peacefully with Harry, or as peacefully as she could. But still, it weighed on her, like a Niall-shaped force that stretched himself over her and smothered her in her sleep. She had dreams of confronting him, some heartwarming and with a good outcome, some horrible that left her with tears bearding her eyes.

She needed to do it. If she did, then she could better focus on whatever the hell is going on between her and Harry. And being a vampire. . .big, important things like that.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she frowned and Harry waved his hand.

She laid her hands on his thighs, “I need to do it today,” she told him, and she didn’t have to be descriptive for Harry to know what she was talking about, “It’s gotta be today or I won’t.”

His gaze softened, the pale skin of his face smoothed over into something contemplative and understanding. There’s a soft sound that pulls from his throat, and his legs squeeze around her as he nods, “Okay,” he answered easily, “Do you want to ambush him or should I give him a heads up?”

“Will he run away if he knows I’m coming?”

Harry pursed his lips in thought, “You know, Niall isn’t one to run away,” he started, “But he also isn’t one to admit when he’s in the wrong either, and he’s done that, so I reckon some of the things I knew about him fundamentally might be wrong. He may flee from guilt alone or he’ll respect you enough to want to hear what you have to say.”

“Then you can let him know,” she took Leaf, scratching the soft, short furs beneath her chin, “If this is a friendship worth salvaging, then he’ll wait for me.”

The drive, which typically felt like an hour-long adventure out to the secluded space in which Mitch’s house resided, felt far quicker than it ever had before. Y/N thought it was because this time, she actually wanted it to go by slowly so that she had the chance to collect her thoughts and plan out exactly what she was going to say, and how she was going to say it. She needed the full forty-ish minutes (accounting rush hour) to develop her script, but Harry must be pressing the gas pedal right down to the floorboards because they zip through the roads in record time.

There’s a hazy, orange glow casting over the trees while the sun sank beyond the horizon, the other half of the sky blotching the inky black sky of a winter night. She wondered if there would be stars later on – there hadn’t been for the last couple of days because of clouds heavy with snow, that’s now freckling the earth and freezing up the soil. Y/N missed them – she feels like she hasn’t seen them in a while.

They roll up in front of the house, and Y/N thinks all of three seconds go by before a pouting Naomi rips the passenger door open, “Shame on Harry for keeping you all to himself,” she whined, and she unbuckling Y/N before Y/N could even gather her bearings, pulling her out of the car and into her arms. Naomi looks a bit frail but she’s got the strength of someone who’s prepared for war, and she gives Y/N a bone-crushing hug. “I’ve missed you!”

Y/N laughed lightly, squeezing her arms out from where they’d been trapped between their bodies so she could reciprocate the show of affection, “I missed you too,” she replied.

“Oi,” he grumbled, “I wasn’t keeping her to myself, I gave her a haven in a rough time.”

“You never let any of us come over besides Christopher!”

Harry crossed his arms, after pushing his sunglasses up into his hair, “Why would I want you heathens in my flat? The lot of you would trash the place or steal from me.”

“You’re just no good at sharing, you –”

Their voices fade into the background as Y/N leaves them to bicker, a tiny quirk at her lips like the muscles in her face want to smile but are thinking better than to. It was nice, sort of, to be back; to smell all the familiar scents, like she was returning home. This felt more like home than her flat did now, just from the sheer amount of time she’d spent here. She walked the familiar map from the front door, to her room, and nearly made a pitstop to give herself more time but muscled through the desire to. Y/N took the four more steps she needed to before knocking on Niall’s door – she could smell him in there.

“Come in.” His voice sounds stiff, and when she opens the door, the position he’s sitting in matches it. He must have heard her coming because he isn’t in the lax state he normally is – his legs are off the end of the mattress, feet firm on the floor. He sits straight, his face serious, stern. She’s so used to the nonchalant way he goes about that this is the most uncanny and makes her feel like an agent sent to question him, or a judge to sentence him. Y/N hated that, she doesn’t want it to be like that – she wants it to be normal between them. Or, normal-ish, at least.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her cat paw chair sitting at the foot of his bed. Niall followed her gaze and answered before she could even question it, “I – um – promise I wasn’t stealing that,” he replied, “I missed. . .you know – having it in here made me feel a little better. Which I know, I don’t deserve to feel good about what happened.”

Y/N ignored him, closed the door behind her, and then plopped down in the chair, resting her back on the pink, plush toe beans, “Get on the floor,” she ordered, patting the empty spot in front of her with her foot, “Please stop sitting so straight, it’s freaking me out.”

Niall is quick to crawl down on the floor in front of her, he relaxes his shoulders so they slump just a little, and he kicks his left leg out how he usually did when he was sprawled out on the floor of her room and they were talking. It brings some normalcy to the situation that Y/N desperately needs. She bites the inside of her bottom lip for a second before giving an unneeded clear of her throat (it was just a habit at this point, she wondered how long it would take for it to break).

“I’m just gonna come right out with it because I don’t want to beat around the bush, and if I do, I’ll just talk myself in circles until I don’t make any sense,” she started, “At first I was so mad at you I could have slapped you and spit on you and called you names. I was pretty sure that I never wanted to see you again and that I would be fine if you were completely wiped from my life,” he grimaces at the description but does nothing to refute it, “But you couldn’t have been wiped from my life, if I wasn’t living to begin with, which – I know, it gets a little confusing and convoluted. This life I have now is. . .odd, and different, and I’m not human anymore, and maybe by all technicalities I’m not alive, but I feel like I am.” She runs her thumbnail along the inside of her other palm, following the lines in them she’s had since birth, “I feel the world around me, and I can love, and I can talk, and laugh, and work, and cry. I can do all the things that I did before and then some, so even if it is different. . .I’m still alive. And I wouldn’t be had it not been for you.”

Niall is following along, motionless, soaking in every word, “I’m more upset that you kept it from me. It would have just been nice to know, right? What exactly had happened that night, it’d been plaguing my mind and you would ask every so often, and now I’m realizing it was less from a place of care and more you covering your tail.” She shrugged her shoulders when Niall’s face scrunched with shame, “But I can’t sit here and act like I would do something different. I don’t know what I would do, in a situation like that – I think, if I came across someone in my position, then I would have changed them too. I don’t really know how at this point, but I would have tried to figure it out. And I would have been scared, afterward, I don’t know if I would have told anyone either. But I thought we were close enough. . .at least a month in, I feel like you could have told me,” she sighed, “That’s what makes me angriest. I thought we were friends but you were just being nice to me because you felt bad.”

“That’s not true.” It was the first time he’d uttered a word since she began, “You – maybe at the start, I was a little more protective of you because I felt bad, but the rest of it – I truly felt friendship with you. Not all of it was a lie,” he shook his head, “I wanted to tell you, I did, but it never seemed like an opportune time to. And the one chance I did get, I chickened out. But I get it, if – if you need to be angry, be angry, I honestly wish you would just slap me or hit me or something, so it felt like I was getting punished for it.”

“I wanted to, believe me, but Harry was pretty convinced that you were punishing yourself enough for it. Listen, what I’m saying is,” she crawled off the cat paw, and took his hands in her own – they were smooth and ice cold – he probably hasn’t been eating well, “My feelings are very conflicted and confusing, and I don’t know if I forgive you entirely, but forgiveness isn’t out of the question. Do you get what I mean?” Niall hums his assent, “I know things can’t go back to the way they were entirely, but I’d like it if we could get somewhere close to it. And – and if you think about it, we’ll probably be around for decades, won’t we? I’m bound to get over it eventually.”

Niall and Y/N don’t really hug – Naomi is the touchy-feely type, and Y/N can be when she wants to be, but Niall is much more reserved with his affections. So that’s why she is tentative and a little hesitant in embracing him, slowly wrapping her arms around his neck, but she’s pleasantly surprised to feel him hug her back tightly, “I’m sorry,” he murmured, and his words vibrated through her throat, “I’m so sorry, thank you for even coming back to talk to me. I thought surely with Harry at your side, you would’ve hated my guts.”

“You would be surprised by this, but Harry went to bat for you pretty hard,” she peeled back just a little bit, “I mean, he didn’t try to change my opinion but his of you never faltered.”

Niall frowned, “Ugh, it’s so hard to keep up with hating him sometimes,” Y/N laughed, “Seriously, he’ll be the worst prick alive and then he does something unreasonably kind and it’s like. . .either be a dick, or be nice, I hate the mix-up.” He gently let his arms slip away from her but he remained close, “Speaking of, I’ve been eavesdropping on him and Mitch – they never hear me coming so I can always get away with knowing shite I shouldn’t – has he told you yet? About the whole blood thing?”

Y/N shook her head, and part of her was worried that Niall would save it for Harry to tell her, but she forgot that Niall is Niall, and through and through, he loved causing trouble for Harry at any given notice, “After Mitch’s initial displeasure that he’d been keeping it from him, he said there was something called ‘fated pairs’ or something like that. Your bodies call out to each other on a molecular level, something that was – predetermined the day you were both born. There was a lot of vampiric folklore nonsense that he spouted off, but he seemed pretty convinced. I don’t know why it affects you both in the way that it would make you horny, but, yeah. He said that it would’ve been the same if you were human – even if you were both humans, actually. That it was like a soul bond.”

It was a lot to take in; Y/N is relieved of one stress and then immediately another is placed on top of her. Was it stress though? She doesn’t feel stressed at the thought of them being bonded together by their souls – she doesn’t mind that – but she is stressed that maybe he minded that. Because as far as Harry was concerned, there was no rhyme or reason for their reaction to one another’s blood. Y/N hadn’t even known he’d spoken to Mitch about it, and so to find out he has and he didn’t even express the findings to her. . .worries her, a bit. Did he not like it? Was the thought of being tied to her horrible? But if it was then he wouldn’t have been so doting and cuddly these last few weeks, right?

“You look stressed,” he noted, “I would be too if I was bonded to that fucker, so I understand.”

Breathlessly, she laughs again, “He’s not so bad.”

. . .

Harry gets pretty clingy when Y/N goes back.

Though he’d promised that she wasn’t a bother, she still felt guilty to be inhabiting his home when he was at work. She’d been hearing him postpone different trips too, a couple of days in Italy, a fashion show in France – things that he always went to before, and she had a feeling it was because he didn’t want to leave her alone. It was sweet, but it made her feel guilty, so she decided it was okay to go back for a little while and reacclimate to the house.

It wasn’t so bad – going from Harry’s modern, high-tech flat to Mitch’s Victorian-style mansion was different but it isn’t horrible. Y/N liked being surrounded by people when Harry was at work or attending some smarmy event, instead of being alone. The only downside was there was a little Leaf-shaped hollow in her heart, but Harry describes shared custody and drops her off with Y/N when he knows he’s going to be out all day or if he does have to leave for one of those week-long trips.

The others act like she never left. She goes to the movie nights and nobody mentions what happened. Christopher gives her a big, long hug when he sees that she’s returned, then promptly warms her two mugs of “the sweetest blood” as a welcome home present. Naomi comes to inhabit Y/N’s bed and talks about pop culture and how Samuel is fucking someone who isn’t Theodore so that had been a lot of drama while she was away. Delphine starts to visit her room for Leaf – apparently, she’d grown up with a lot of barn cats, so she was very fond of them, and they find their shared love for animals as a link to start speaking more comfortably with each other. And wherever Delphine was, Saskia was close behind. Her past with cats was checkered because she had an allergy to them before, but being a vampire meant eradicating all allergies, so she hesitantly gave Leaf a pet or two.

Leaf, all tiny and soft, loves the extra attention.

Niall still comes to her room but not without being invited first. Y/N thinks eventually this will change, but it seems like he doesn’t want to smother her with his presence, though Y/N wouldn’t find it smothering at all. He’s still hesitant, and she gets it – Y/N liked that he respected her enough to let her decide if she was in the right headspace to see him that day or not.

The only person who takes it hard and acts like it is the worst thing in the world is Harry. He never goes three days without coming to see her, and when he isn’t with her, he’s messaging her and calling her, asking if she wants to FaceTime in between flights. When he does come, he poses a strict, “Nobody bothers us” rule where he threatens to move her dresser in front of the door to ward off “unwanted” intruders (though they could all probably move the dresser anyway, they’re very strong). He crawled into her bed and pulled her into his body, dragging the blankets over them, “You smell too much like the others,” he’d grumble, resting his chin on the top of her head, “Hate it.”

“You’re silly,” she’d respond but soaked in the snuggling happily — it used to be something they merely indulged in while she was asleep; before, Harry would only ever kind of curl around her or pet her or hold her when she was all blood drunk and full, seconds from slumber. Now he’s much more open and willing to do it whenever – when they were watching the telly, when they were on the ground and Y/N was painting her nails (“I should sit behind you, yeah? You can sit between my legs, and when you’re done with one hand, I’ll blow on your fingers to dry them,”) if they were outside on the deck, practicing whatever Harry had come up with for the day.He crowds her space like he was made to. If Harry was there, they’re glued at the hip, and that was just normal now.

Y/N wondered if he would ever bring up the whole bond thing, but he seemed content not to. Still, it didn’t seem to deter him from letting her snack on his blood, which she sure only furthers the whole thing. So maybe he wasn’t concerned with it – maybe he was just seeing where it went. Y/N isn’t sure, but she’s usually good at ignoring things. If the other party didn’t want to talk about it then she wouldn’t either, it was never in her nature to press for answers.

. . .when she was a human, at least. Being a vampire hasn’t changed her at a fundamental level, she doesn’t believe, but it has given her a new outlook on life, and a different perspective on some things. It was better to ask and get an answer that she didn’t want rather than continue not knowing something for sure. If she’d lived by that rule in the past it would have probably saved her a lot of trouble.

So Y/N asks him outright, Leaf curled in her lap in a tiny furry heap, and Harry with his arms curled around Y/N’s body protectively. Nobody else was in the den – they were either in their rooms or out and about (with a strict curfew now, because of the whole thing between her and Niall – Mitch blamed himself for giving them a little too much freedom being newly presented). Harry suggested they utilize the tv then, instead of trying to watch it on her laptop screen. Harry tells her they should be at his flat, but since he was supposed to go three hours away for a photoshoot tomorrow, he didn’t want to leave her alone (it turns out he’d been postponing more than she had initially thought so now he was playing catch up – something about Spring deadlines and all of that).

The screen clears as the next episode of the show they’re watching loads up, and maybe it isn’t the best timing or the best place to do it, but she has to ask before she loses her nerve.

“Are we a. . .fated pair? Is that what it’s called?”

She feels Harry stiffen behind her, his hold around her arms tightening only slightly as he processes what she’d just inquired. There aren’t a lot of things that could stun Harry, as long as he’s been around he normally has a response to anything and everything within a couple of seconds – but he sits with this for a little longer. His fingers, where they’d rested on her waist, began to play with the fabric of her shirt, plucking at the hem and fiddling with the stitches. The tension in the air is palpable, but it isn’t a horrible tension. Not something she wanted to run away from, at least.

“Niall,” Harry finally muttered, like he’d been spending half of the time he was silent, trying to figure out how Y/N would have heard that, “That fucker is too good at masking his presence.”

“Harry –”

“I know,” he exhales, and Y/N thinks it’s funny that he does things like this not because he’s releasing a breath, but to express how he’s feeling. He nudges the side of her head with his own and dips his nose into the curve of her throat, his favorite spot, “With you at my flat, and with how you’d been eating from me still, the – how I felt for you was becoming concerning and a little obsessive. Not in like an obsessive “I’m going to kill her so nobody else can have her” way, more like a “I want to be near her and I’m forgoing responsibilities to spend time with her” kind of way. I don’t do that, for people, I’m not. . .so giving with my time, which makes me sound like a dick, but it’s the truth. I have my time and they have theirs, even if it’s someone that I’m interested in,” he slides his fingers beneath her shirt’s fabric, his nails tracing circles into her skin, “But with you, I just. . .wanted to be around you. To be with you makes me feel calm; it soothes me like putting ice on a sprain. And for you to drink from my vein and our bodies react so intensely to it. . .well, it had to be something.”

“I was glad to ignore it and just continue enjoying myself with you, but I was getting curious. And I knew you and Niall would make up soon, and you’re so concerned about being a burden all of the time, I knew you wouldn’t take me up on my offer to stay with me. This meant I was going to be coming around her, and being way more possessive and clingy than I ever have before and Mitch always knows what’s going on in the house. He would ask me about it eventually, so I just beat him to it.” He lifted his head, and his words were less muffled when he coaxes her to lean back against his chest more, “He went into the most intricate, convoluted discussion about molecules, and vampiric folklore, and I’ll be honest most of it went right over my fucking head, except for him saying that we were bound together by our souls. That whether we had met like this, or centuries ago in my village, while I was running from war, or had I just been some random UNI student sitting beside you in class – we would always have this kind of connection. It’s rare,” he squeezes her hips, “It’s a rare thing, a really rare thing, and it used to happen more often back in the 1600s but that doesn’t mean it never happens now.”

Y/N cranes her neck to face him, “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her brows pinched toward the center, and Harry reached out, using his thumb to press at the crinkle in her skin and smooth it out.

“I wanted to, but – I don’t know. I kind of wanted you to conclude for yourself, if you liked me or not. I didn’t want it to feel forced because you knew about this. Other than my blood making you a filthy, horny little thing, I don’t know exactly what your feelings are for me. And I know – you told me you feel whole after you drink from me, but again, outside of that – outside of the blood, I don’t know how you feel.”

Y/N thinks, that if she’d eaten recently, blood would be roaring in her ears and her heart would be thudding something fierce in her chest. It was one thing to have Niall tell her on a whim, it was another thing for Harry to admit it to her, all shy, avoiding her gaze and pressing tight and close to her body. It was another thing to hear him feel insecure about not knowing how she felt about him.

Because for Y/N, she’d thought she’d been incredibly obvious. She wanted to be around him always, she recognized his scent out of everyone anywhere, she felt safe when his hands were on her in some way, or even when he was just nearby. Even when he was short with her, or grumpy, Y/N had felt endlessly at ease. After what happened at the club, he was the only person she wanted to be around. The way her heart lights up when he calls her sweet names, or when she sees him for the first time in a while. How her whole mind swam at the prospect of him rather hurting his hands than letting anyone else see her vulnerable when she’d been in the sun. No matter when he lost his patience, or when he seemed upset, or even when he swore up and down that he shouldn’t be a mentor – he was supportive, tender, and made her head feel melty and her insides gossamer soft.

“I have plenty of reason to like you, outside of some bond,” she finally replied, wiggling in his arms to face him again – Leaf got up, stumbled out of her lap, then stretched with a silent yawn, “And it wasn’t just after eating. Just being with you makes me feel. . .complete, just as I said before. I thought it was just the blood, but when you leave for work and we’re separated, there’s a – it’s noticeable, the gape I feel in your absence.” Y/N curled her fingers up in his shirt, “I mean, how I feel for you, surpasses how I ever felt for Daniel, my old friend. As dramatic as it is, I’d thought I would never be able to love again –”

“Oh, you humans and your theatrics,” he murmured with a laugh and Y/N smiled shyly, looking away.

“-- but the way I’ve felt about you lately, I just don’t think whatever puppy love crush I had on him scratches the surface. Sorry, I wasn’t clear about it. I’d been so focused on trying to figure out my place in this world again and how to live life like this, that I hadn’t given myself a chance to sit and sort through my emotions. But they’re there – they’re real and scary.”

Harry kisses her – she wasn’t expecting it, but she’d completely turned around in his lap by then so at least the angle wasn’t horrible. His lips are soft, and without the preface of something lewd, it is saccharine and chaste. Y/N shivered, her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned into him, practically molding herself into the shape of his body. It was good – Harry’s been treating her delicately for a while now, but this was different. Like he was kissing something important to him. Something that he wanted to handle with softhearted gloves.

When they part, Harry kisses the corner of her mouth, then her right cheek, her temple, over her forehead, and down the other side of her face. They’re feather-light and ticklish but his arms cage her in so she couldn’t wiggle away, helpless but to giggle. Once he finishes, he hums low and their eyes meet.

“I’ll be keeping you, so get used to this.” He admitted, and if he’d eaten recently, then his cheeks would have flushed pink the way they do anytime he’s sentimental.

Y/N nodded and hid herself in his chest.

She didn’t mind that at all.

. . .

Harry couldn’t wait to see her.

He used to take great pleasure in his week to two-week-long trips out of the country for work, whether he was going to Dubai, Milan, Paris, or other places like it. Harry would gorge on international feeders and sex and all the adoration from people who question his otherworldly beauty and get lost in his sharp gaze. It was nice to be sought after, admired, to get his fill of all the blood he wanted. He thought it was a fair trade, for all those years ago, when he’d been scrawny and worthless to everyone.

However, now? He just can’t wait to get home. Without the sex and the gorging, there actually wasn’t a whole lot to do in any of those spots that he hadn’t done thousands and thousands of times before. It was work, strictly work, and there was no sort of pleasure, apart from the gratification of seeing one of his looks trek down the runway. Besides that, there was only one person he wanted to sleep with now, one person he wanted to be adored by, and only one person he wished to get lost in his gaze.

And she was thousands of kilometers away from him, probably coding some program that made no sense to his brain, in his sweatshirt that he made her promise to wear and those horrific (and endearingly cute) slippers shaped like cats that she picked up from the store in honor of Leaf (who liked to chew on them when Y/N wiggled her toes). Even on the plane ride back home, he wondered how he could make it quicker – if there was a way to travel even faster than a plane. He supposes he could run, his legs are quite fast, but if someone spotted him going a little too fast to be human, then that would be a whole other list of shit to deal with instead of just tucking himself into Y/N’s side.

So as soon as he was finished up, the models had gone home, he’d given his statement for editorials, and he’d shared one glass of wine with a designer he really couldn’t be arsed to learn the name of (he’d drank with types like Chanel and Dior in the past, so the glitz and glamor of it now are easily lost on him) – Harry was on a plane and headed home. He used the in-flight wifi to watch a movie Y/N had suggested to him, but he was barely paying attention. How could he, when he was so excited to get home to her?

It was crazy to think this was where their relationship had ended up. She used to be nothing but an obnoxious little thorn in his side and now all he wants to do is smother her with affection and give her his blood. Y/N was so important to him, it made his heart feel heavy and full for the first time in. . .well, he isn’t sure it’s ever felt this heavy and full before. The weight in his chest is unfamiliar, and at first, it had been unwelcomed, but he likes it now. It’s as if she’d curled her body around it and took residence there. She’s always with him, in that sense of it.

The others had gotten used to it far quicker than he’d imagined they would. He expected more teasing as well, but they all like Y/N a lot, so he guesses to tease him is to tease her indirectly and they don’t want to. The most he gets is scolded that he isn’t good at sharing, and why should he be? Harry feels like he’d spent centuries waiting for her, now that he has her – doesn’t he deserve to be a little selfish? Especially after a week of not seeing her, Harry just wants her all to himself. That’s why he suggested that she come to his flat the first day he’s back, so they could be alone.

So he’s more than happy, after the flight, after getting his shit from baggage claim and finding his car in the mass of other vehicles parked for overnight trips, and the 30-minute long drive from the airport to his flat – to see her just as he’d envisioned her. Only with a few additions; she wore the sweatshirt, and she had on these little shorts that were filthy (but she swore up and down she wore them because they were comfortable and not to taunt him with how little it would take before her bum was out), but tucked under her thigh was Leaf’s feather toy. Whenever Y/N was working, Leaf could go from sleeping peacefully at her side to the zoomies in all of three seconds, so this was her way of keeping her preoccupied – the stick was placed just precisely so that the feather and the string hung off the side of the couch for Leaf to jump and pull at. Y/N has pretty decent thigh muscles so she’s able to keep it in place without letting it move around too much.

She has those horrible little booties on, but she’s wrapped up in the throw blanket that Harry usually has wrapped around him – not for warmth, of course, but the way soft fibers feel against his skin is nice. He knows Y/N is not using it for that purpose because it touches nowhere that her skin shows, besides a little bit of her face. Y/N has it so close to her so that she can smell him, and Harry is just. . .so endeared by that he could scream.

When he walked through the door, Y/N turned to face him with a big grin. She slid her computer out of her lap, and Leaf’s toy fell to the ground once she stood, carefully stepping over the kitten, and getting up on the other sofa so she could climb over it. She gets to him quicker this way, and her arms slink around his neck, and she holds him close, “Finally,” she murmured, “A week is too long.”

“You could always come with me.” He smiled into her hair, letting his eyes close – it was good to have her in his arms again, “I don’t think they’d mind a puppy backstage.”

Y/N peeled away from him, flicking him in the center of his chest, “Shut up,” she threw at him, but it held no real spite, and her eyes were dripping in mirth, “Should I dress myself then show up?”

“Oh, baby, please don’t – let me be the one to dress you.”

It was nice, that back and forth, and had Harry not felt so keyed up then he probably would have started a load of laundry, showered, gotten in more comfortable clothes and they could have just hung out for the night.

But Harry was keyed up – a week away from Y/N meant a week away from not only her beautiful brain, but her beautiful body as well, and he was missing the sounds she’d make when his fingers slid against her. How easy she was to rile up, the way she tasted on his tongue, how dripping wet she got from even just a little bit of Harry’s blood in her. It’s precisely why he’d eaten so much before leaving, and he’s sure she could tell he’d just eaten recently, with how warm his cheeks felt they must be rosy. And that flush on his pale skin is clear as day, especially how it slithers down his throat, and if he’s really worked up, it might splotch his chest.

“When’s the last time you ate, Sweetheart?” He inquired – the icy little tip of her nose was enough to tell him it had been a while.

“Mm, I had some earlier, when I woke up,” she explained, “But I got distracted with work, so I haven’t since.”

Normally, Harry might chide her for that, but he’s all too excited to offer his throat, “I have a treat for you then,” he placed his hands on her hips, walking her backward, “Get on the couch.”

Where Y/N used to start on the side of his body and eventually make her way into his lap while she ate, she just crawled into his lap now to cut out the unnecessary jostling around. The weight of her in his lap is familiar, nice, and something he didn’t realize that he missed until he was away from her. She stretches her thighs on either side of him and scoots in very close; Harry is already half hard, and he isn’t sure if he’d been like this since he saw her, or on the plane when he’d even just thought about her. Whatever it was and whenever it was, he was definitely already getting hard just from the anticipation of her teeth in his neck. It felt like young adulthood all over again, when it wasn’t “mind over matter”, and Harry couldn’t help but get hard in three seconds from one thought.

“I missed you,” she tells him, pressing her chest up against his, her nipples were already hard and Harry felt dizzy with the want burgeoning up from deep in his belly, “So much, and you were only gone for a week. It’s a little embarrassing.”

“I miss you when I leave you alone for an hour,” he slides his hand on the nape of her neck and brings her closer, “Isn’t embarrassing. I’m flattered that you like me enough to miss me, even. Now take what you need, baby, I ate enough to fill you up.”

The slide of her teeth into his skin never gets old, especially when it’s his throat. There’s a bite of pain, immediately soothed over by the euphoric feeling of it not only being a vampire bite, but a Y/N bite. The way she goes about it is still so tentative to start, and unsure, like she’s worried about hurting him – but the moment she tastes his blood on her tongue, all that vanishes. She moaned against his neck like she’d been starving for months and he’d finally come to save her, her fingers digging into his body wherever her hands lie. Harry can feel her inhibitions leave her, the way she gulps, drinks him down, and takes her fill how he wants her to.

It’s always after a minute that Y/N’s body starts to move out of tandem with her. She hates that she starts rutting against him like an overexcited puppy, but that doesn’t stop the way her hips twitch and push closer to him while she’s eating. Harry’s hand slid from her neck, to meet his other at her hips, holding her still as she rolled her hips into him greedily. “Mm, it feels good, doesn’t it, baby? Especially after not having it for so long,” Harry shuddered, closing his eyes as he melted into the feeling, “I bet your pussy is already soaked.”

Y/N whines, and he can only imagine how debauched the scene must look from an outsider's perspective. Her hands slip under his shirt, fingers tracing along his stomach and when the muscles in his abdomen tense up, his cock throbs to match. Harry’s fully hard now, and he thinks he’s already leaking, dripping into the inside of his trousers because he was always one to forgo underwear when it caused lines in his pants. Y/N lines herself up with him, tucking him into the folds because her pussy just swallows these shorts up, and rolls into him, “That’s it,” he whispered, “Such a good girl, you can have anything you want.”

The times she bites his throat aren’t always for pleasure. Harry still tries to prepare her for the first time she will meet with a feeder, so each time Y/N eats she gets better and better. She’s learned to stop when she’s full and to not overstuff herself just because it tastes good. She also has learned to read the queues of the other person, that she might have had too much – it’d be different for a human, but she can tell by the way Harry might start feeling even a degree less warm than he began as.

He isn’t sure what coaxes her to stop today. She pulled away from his neck and lulled her tongue over the little puncture wounds in his skin, before moving so she faced him. Y/N made a pretty sight with her hazy eyes and her mouth stained red. Before he could spend too much time admiring her, she fixes her lips against his, slips her tongue into his mouth, and oh fuck.

She’d kept some of his blood in her mouth, so it filled his own when she kissed him, and his eyes all but rolled up to the back of his head. Who had taught her something so filthy? His cock throbs so hard in his pants and he’s leaking so much precum he’s wondered if he’s cum already – he’s sure it’s sticky and webby beyond belief around the head of his cock, and Y/N isn’t helping the matter, she’s just making it worse.

Harry takes her by the chin, parts her lips, and makes sure they stay open. Without having to instruct her, she presses the tip of her tongue to her bottom lip, waiting patiently – normally Harry places a couple of fingers on her tongue for her to suck and bite at, so he presumes that’s what she was expecting. But Harry couldn’t help himself, and if Y/N was going to be filthy, then he was going to be filthier, so he encased her tongue and her bottom lip with his mouth and suckled at it. When Y/N mewls, he takes more of her in, sucking the taste of him off her tongue while he pries at her little shorts. He was in no mood for her to get off his lap to wiggle them down, so he tore them, shredding the fabric.

She makes a startled sound, mixed with a moan when Harry slips his tongue back into her mouth to kiss her properly again. Harry’s head spins when he backs away from her – they could kiss forever without needing to take a single breath (or they would be able to one day when Y/N really didn’t need to use her lungs anymore), but Harry wanted to look at her. Want to see her with lips bitten red and swollen, filled with blood that Harry kind of wants to knick with his tooth and drink from. He presses at her chest just a little so she stretches back, and he gathers the fabric at the bottom of her shirt in between his thumb and index finger, pressing it up her quivering belly.

Her pussy is puffy and swollen and soaking wet, he would’ve thought she’d been touching herself before he’d come home. He can’t tell if he wants to bury his face or his cock into it more, but another hard throb suggests he’d better do the latter or he would cum hard in his pants. He uses his fingers to spread her open, showing off the engorged bud of her clit, chuckling brightly when it pulses beneath his attention. Harry is unsure what drives him to sink his fingers lower, get three of them wet then return to her clit to slap it, but he does, and the payoff is Y/N trying to close her legs around him with the most wanton of sounds. He does it again, a little harder, and Y/N’s hand comes to grab his wrist, “I’ll cum,” she whines like that was supposed to deter him, “I’ll cum if you keep going.”

“Isn’t that the point?” He murmured, sliding his fingers through her juices and tucking them up inside of her, petting at her g-spot for a second before slipping them back out and licking her off his hand, “Want you to cum.”

“I wanna cum with you in me,” she sounded like she was pleading with him, and Harry had always been a sucker for pretty girls begging, “Please?”

Harry’s quick to work the button of his trousers open, pulling the zip and removing his cock from the oppressive confines of it. He’s harder than he’d even thought, but he was right to assume that he’d leaked so much precum it looked like he’d cum. The clear fluid oozes from the tip in a long, sticky line, filling up the dip of his hip bone. Y/N ogles him with awe-filled eyes, “Whoa,” she swallowed thickly, her fingers tracing up the underside from his balls to the tip, in a move he doesn’t think she means to be as teasing as it is, “You’re really hard.”

“I know,” he bites down hard on his bottom lip as he throbs again, under her attention, in the coolness of the air.

“Like, harder than I’ve ever seen you,” she states, and now her palm slides against his shaft, and she squeezes experimentally, looking between him and his cock, “And you’re so wet –”

“Y/N,” he just barely holds back from whimpering, “No teasing, Darling, I need to fuck this into you or I’ll cum all over myself. You don’t want to waste it, do you?” He inquired, and Y/N shook her head, scooting closer, “Yeah, let me fill you up, Baby, want to watch it fucking drip out of you when we’re done.”

She visibly shivered again, and Harry helped her lift and slide his cock inside of her. Y/N moans, her face pinches up from the pressure of him against her walls but she slips right on down like he belonged inside of her. Harry thinks Y/N likes the stretch – the burn of it, as long as it doesn’t border on too painful. She bottoms out, her arms wrapped around his neck, and she smushes their lips together. The kiss is brief before she nips at his plush bottom lip and sucks it into her mouth. While she does that, Harry presses his upper lip just above hers, his fingers digging into her thighs as she squeezes around him, accommodating his size. Her walls were velvety soft and smooth as they contract around him, the ridges and bumps something he’s set on memorizing.

Her ministrations with her mouth go to his chin, she kisses then bites her way down his jaw, to his ear, laving her tongue over the little wounds that were no doubt closing and healing over by now. Harry offers her his hand when he realizes that she must want to bite something, and he’d made the right assumption when she fits his knuckles between her teeth and chews on him. Harry laughs as she starts to lift her hips, then drops back down onto him, “You’re so fucking cute,” he chuckled, “Should we get you a chew toy? A little bone for a puppy like you?”

“Shut up,” her words are muffled around his fingers in her mouth but she’s riding him well. It feels so fucking good, Harry is holding onto every last bit of strength not to cum before her. A damning feat to accomplish when she finds the angle that hits that bundle of nerves inside of her just right – she clamps down on him, her eyes bead with tears as she fucks down onto him, and nibbles at his fingers.

“Do you feel good, Baby? S’my cock stretching you out nice?” Y/N nodded, whining, “You can cum for me. Don’t you want that? Cum on me and I’ll fill this little pussy right up.”

Harry shoves the sweatshirt up so it rests just above her bare tits, or at least enough that he can visualize them and then get one into his mouth. Her nipples are still hard, so pert and sensitive for him when he pulls them between his teeth and lulls his tongue in big circles around them. Harry alternates between sucking hard and flicking his tongue, and Y/N goes from chewing on his knuckles to holding them uselessly in her mouth and moaning around them. Harry feels her start to cum before she can even tell him through these breathy little whines.

He isn’t ashamed to say he starts cumming before she could finish – he makes sure to work her through it still, fucking through the point of overstimulation, his thumb lulling on her clit when he raised his feet onto the coffee table and started to fuck into her. Harry fills her up, his orgasm splinters through him so intensely that he thinks his vision whites out for a second. He’s throbbing so hard inside of her, he knows she could feel it each time, and in response to each one, she mewls and sighs as she finally starts to come down from her own high.

Harry untucks his face from her chest just as Y/N drops his fingers from her mouth. He’s still tucked inside of her but his cum slicks out from around where his cock is plugging her up, too much of it to even keep inside. The feeling is a little atrocious as it cools, but the thought of what it must look like almost has him stiffening up again.

Y/N all but collapsed onto him, and Harry oofs! dramatically, before wrapping her up in his arms. Her arms moved to hug around his waist this time, and she murmured something on his shoulder that he couldn’t quite make out. She turns her head, so her cheek rests against his shoulder instead, “I said I really missed you,” she repeated, “I’m happy you’re back home.”

A lot of responses run through Harry’s head, including, but not limited to I’m happy you’re here with me, I’m happy you’re in my life, I’m happy my cum is dripping out of you right now, I’m happy that our fates matched in this way, I’m happy that we have a kitten name Leaf, I’m happy our souls are bound together.

Harry doesn’t though. He thinks them, and he smiles to himself when he replies with something that he’s pretty sure covers all of that.

“I’m happy too.”

#jawllines

1K notes · View notes

laughontour · 4 months

Text

"Don’t be,” Niall is at her other side, casual in his strides, hands stuffed deep into his pockets, “They’ve got special drinks here so you can get fucked up. Your body metabolizes it too fast to stay drunk for long but it’s nice for a little while at least.”

Harry waves his hand at Niall like he’s batting him away, “You’re a bad influence,” he grumbled, “The last thing she needs is to be drunk and grinding on some random vampire stuck in his frat boy douche days like you guys are.”

“Oh I’m sure you would hate that, wouldn’t you?” Theodore was behind them, Y/N guesses he'd been pretending he was invested in the conversation he’d been having with Marcus but he very easily strays away to invade theirs, “Y/N, don’t let him deter you, vampire dick is crazy with one night stands if you’re interested.”

“Or girls, if that’s what you’re into,” Saskia adds in, “Or both.”

Harry lets out a sigh beside her, breath puffing out in a plume of smoke, “Just stick beside me tonight.”

Harry is possessive, Y/N gets answers, and wait, who changed her?

part 1

part 2

23k+ words

[Warning: blood play in the smut, because they're vampires, so of course!!]

iii.

Things are. . .different.

Not drastically, but enough for Y/N to notice; she expected nothing less, after what they had done with each other. Of course, their dynamic would shift, she just didn’t know if the shift would be slight and gradual or notable and sudden. With Harry, it could be either, as wishy-washy as he is with her sometimes. However, for whatever reason she thought maybe being nose-deep between her thighs might have halfway connected a thing or two in his brain and what he wanted his disposition toward her to be. Was he the dutiful mentor, ready to guide her through life and aid her at any moment? Or the begrudging adviser, perturbed by her presence and put out when she needed help?

Depending on the day, she could get either, and that was before the additional camber in their already convoluted dynamic. So she was hardly surprised when he was all over the place after too like he wasn’t even sure what to make of what happened between them. Surely, in all his years on this planet, and all his years mentoring other vampires, he must have run into something like this, right? It couldn’t just be her who felt a tickle down her spine and the vessel-consuming ache of wanting to be filled when she sank her teeth into someone’s body.

She would ask around but she’s kind of embarrassed to even look at anybody right now. They were in a household of vampires, with hearing that could only be rivaled by a greater wax moth and they weren’t necessarily being quiet about it either. Everyone heard her, everyone could probably smell her too, and if she hadn’t already kept herself up half the night thinking about it, Niall only confirmed her suspicions the following morning.

“He’s a prat, but he walks around like he’s got a horse cock, so I can’t say I blame you.”

He’d moved on from it generally fast, but that didn’t stop the consumption of her whole body in shame-driven flames. And when Christopher’s cheeks went a bright, rosy pink when he saw her next, Y/N wanted the whole ground to open up and swallow her whole. She’d only finally gotten comfortable enough to participate in movie nights routinely, and now she wanted to gnaw through her leg more than sit beside any of them on the couch and pretend they didn’t know. That they didn’t hear her, or the absolute filth that left Harry’s mouth, no matter how it might have been muffled against her body.

Y/N’s sure they all fuck around – there’s no way Delphine and Saskia haven’t slept with each other at least once, with how they’re always clinging onto the other – but still, she can’t fight the embarrassment. She didn’t even talk about sex that much with her old human friends, and these new vampire acquaintances had practically a front-row seat to hear her get eaten out. . .on her period. . .

God, she’s mortified.

Harry doesn’t seem concerned about it in that regard. He doesn’t seem ashamed of it in the slightest and that might make her feel a little better in different circumstances if he wasn’t being weird otherwise. It’d been three weeks since it’d happened: some days Harry was around her all day and was no more than an arm’s length away the entire time. He’s on her cat paw chair, in her bed, helping her hang up lights, moving dressers where she wants them, theorizing if she should get a telly in here as the others have in their rooms. If they aren’t in her room, then they’re outside practicing, playing games to help her strengthen her senses when she needs them, and dull them when she doesn’t. Or she’s in the kitchen with him. Christopher is warming her blood again because Harry thinks they should take a break until they can figure out exactly what’s going on. Still, Harry is on the stool directly beside her and his knee is nudging hers, and his arm is pressed against her forearm, and he’s crowding her space, so even if she wanted to ignore him she couldn’t.

And then some days she doesn’t see him at all; Christopher comes to her door throughout the day to bring her blood, Niall stops by to complain about the others, and Naomi pops in (she’s finally stopped giving Y/N that I know you fucked our century-old vampire mentor look) for face masks that they don’t need because their skin is smooth as whipping cream and pimples are a thing of the past (but it’s fun to do them still, and they smell nice).

But Harry never shows. Doesn’t message, doesn’t call, doesn’t even bother to tell her if he’s working or not like he’d taken to doing. The silence is such an unforgiving static, she briefly questions if he’d ever existed at all, but then she looks to the right and sees a dumb pair of sunglasses or his forgotten 500-quid sweater that is thrown over her dresser. Still, it’s eerie, and Y/N wonders for three seconds if he’s okay then remembers he’s a fucking vampire and one who’d been around long enough to evade several wars.

Then, as soon as she’s getting used to the quiet and relative peace of Harry doing his own thing – she can smell him before he even steps through the door like her nose was hard-wired to detect him. He’s at her door, no matter the time of day, and he’s invading her space again.

It doesn’t make much sense, but nothing does anymore, since she was bitten and turned into a vampire. She’s still having nightmares, and she wants blood so badly sometimes she could tear through her mattress, and she misses biting into his wrist, and his throat. Her gums are sensitive and sore, Christopher says from being used more frequently, and then not used at all – these teeth were still new enough that abrupt changes like that were distressing and she starts to wonder if they were sentient. Then she considers practicing biting into the blood baggies, how Harry said she would have started learning if he weren’t her mentor, and Christopher smiled apologetically at her before replying.

“I reckon Harry probably wouldn’t like you drinking from baggies,” he explained, “He, in his own way, forbade it. And I’m not keen on getting on his bad side.”

“Well then let me bite you.” She says it only halfway joking and halfway feeling maybe a little too needy to dig her teeth into someone’s skin.

Christopher shakes his head adamantly, “That would surely put me on his shit list. Who would feed you so often if I wasn’t around?”

It’s annoying. All of it is annoying, and she still doesn’t understand why she couldn’t bite someone else. Theoretically, wouldn’t it clear up more questions if she saw how her body reacted to them feeding? How would they react to her feeding? That would at least give them somewhat of a better foundation for what was going on, and maybe a better idea of how to deal with it.

But Harry seemed adamant that this wasn’t the way to go. He shuts it down every time she brings it up, so Y/N just stopped bringing it up.

She was getting antsy inside of the house. Y/N wasn’t sure how much of it had contributed to what was going on between her and Harry, and how much of it contributed to being stuck inside a house for two months, but she didn’t think it mattered. Especially when she started working again, Y/N was twitchy and annoyed, and she had a phantom ache in her fingers from scrolling and rewriting programs and codes because that’s all she could do from home. They didn’t hurt, her joints well-oiled machinery now opposed to the knobby knuckles that had been her human hands – but she still stopped every twenty or so minutes to fan her fingers in and out like she was kneading the air.

At least when Harry was in the mood to smother her she had some form of distraction, but when he goes MIA, she has nothing to do. Niall will do whatever he does when he’s disappearing, and Christopher will pop in to give her blood but never stays too much longer than necessary. Naomi might stop in to watch a show on Y/N’s laptop screen (or watch her program for about three minutes before getting bored and getting on her phone) – but if they’re all busy, then Y/N is just alone. And if she isn’t asleep, then she’s tossing and turning, ready to crawl out of her skin, missing the feeling of the wind and the warmth of the sun.

Y/N was just going to stay on their deck. They had a nice overhang that shadowed any light they would consider too much, but normally that wasn’t a problem, for how dreary this winter had been. However, the weather didn’t certainly play fair with her, because the moment she decided she was ready to pop outside for fresh air was the moment that the clouds unfurled, exposing its underbelly. The sun shot early morning beams across the sky in some spots, in a hazy turnaround from the rainy day they’d been having before, lighting up certain spots of the backyard.

It wasn’t going out how she wanted; Y/N was worried about being surrounded by humans, but she missed being around more than the same couple of people all of the time. And Y/N didn’t even fucking like crowded spaces, or fighting for her life in the grocery, or nearly being body checked in the mall line during Christmas season shopping – but it made her feel more alive. At the very least, she didn’t feel like she was wasting away in a room, trying not to chew through her hand because she couldn’t drink from Harry or she’ll get horny, and god what the fuck is even going on anymore?

The fact of it is, that Y/N was feeling weird, and upset, and she went from feeling better and stronger drinking from Harry to this irritated, general disgruntled feeling. That she does open up about to Christopher, who had been trying to satiate her with the sweeter blood (all the positives - A+, O+, etc – are much sweeter, for whatever reason). He regarded her with a knowing look, soft and kind, and Y/N just wondered how he got stuck here doing this, but she still didn’t ask – it still felt rude to ask.

“Yeah, it’s difficult switching from a vein to a bag. Mitch explained it to me once, the chemicals and endorphins released for us when we get to bite – it’s a lot, and confusing for the body when we start doing it and then stop. I know you hate hearing this, but it’s just something that gets better with time.”

Yeah, Y/N did hate hearing that answer but she accepted it because she’d finally seen it to some extent. Existing is easier than it had been a month ago, using her nose to differentiate scents is easier, hearing is easier, and she isn’t as overstimulated from just sitting in her room with people walking around outside the door. Even the hunger is a little better, not as overwhelming and preoccupying as it had been. At least, not in the same way it was now. Before she felt like an insatiable little monster, drinking and drinking and never being full, her stomach feeling hollow, empty, always mere moments from devouring itself.

The hunger now is. . .pressing, but not dominating. It’s more annoying than it is dire. She just wants to bite into Harry again, she was willing to ignore the reaction her body had if it meant getting to eat and feel as satiated as she does when it’s from him.

So she was outside, sitting on the deck, taking in lungfuls of breath that she didn’t necessarily need but it felt good to let her chest fill up with the cold air. She had planned to just stay out for a little bit, the cushioned seat beneath her bum, and listen to the still, early morning world around her. She wasn’t even going to go into the yard, she didn’t need to.

And then she heard something.

Y/N liked to try at least to practice without Harry sometimes to improve, and maybe please him a little bit when he finds that she’s gotten better at controlling her senses than she had been the last time they met. Praise from Harry is something that never fails to make her bristle, even though she hates it, if she had a tail it’d be wagging and thudding every time he told her she did something well. Maybe that’s why he is so sparing with his compliments because it certainly does make her try harder.

She has her eyes closed, just listening, seeing how far she can hear, and what she can hear. Most of the time it’s just little animals, eating, their footsteps, them crying. . .

. . .them crying?

Her brows furrowed, and she leaned forward, and then she kept hearing the crying and. . .it was an animal, surely. It sounded like a small animal, a baby animal, and when she focused in, she could smell them too. Smell the blood of them. Was that what drew her forward? Off the deck, across the yard, beyond the trees? Or was it the remaining bits of empathy in her human heart for another living creature suffering?

She didn’t know exactly what it was that compelled her but she knew she couldn’t ignore it. Would it have been smarter to take Christopher with her? Sure it would have been, but Y/N was driven by pure instinct right then. There was no time to stop and consider anything, not how this could be some weird trap, or it could be too far from the house, or how humans could be hiking in the woods and she’d be near enough for it to be a problem.

Or even how the patches of sunlight aren’t so sparse anymore, how they grow, connect, and make bigger spots of sun that Y/N has to avoid. She would just be quick about it – she doesn’t have the speed down yet, anytime she tries to go something quicker than a fast jog she usually slams into something or trips, but she’s still quicker than she was as a human. Y/N would go investigate, figure out what was happening, do whatever it was that she apparently was going to do, and then head back to the safety of the shadows.

But again, she can’t think about that right now when she keeps listening and sniffing, and then she’s seeing a kitten six meters in the distance. Fur matted and dingy, nose pale, its tiny little body pinned beneath a branch. Y/N wondered if the branch had fallen on it, or if it had tried to squeeze between it and the soil beneath it but couldn’t. It didn’t matter how it got there, Y/N decided, because it was too cold, and this tiny ball of fur shouldn’t be out in it, much less injured in it.

Y/N crouched down to her knees – she didn’t have animals growing up, but she did have friends who had them. Dogs and cats alike, so Y/N knew it was important to get down on their level, to not appear as domineering looming over them. She clicked her tongue in a manner she hoped was soothing, “Hi baby,” she cooed, then held out her fingers beneath its nose to let it sniff her, “You’re stuck, huh? How’d you get like this?” Y/N cautiously picked the branch up and felt how heavy it was for its size. Most likely weighed down by all the rain they’d had in the last few days, she wondered if that finally made it snap.

Part of her thought the kitten might hiss at her and scurry off, but it made no move. It held its paw up as it hurt, and Y/N found the blood on the fur was dried, old, and crusted into grey hairs. When Y/N chanced petting the top of its head, a loud, rumbling purr left its throat, high pitched and clunky in the way it would be a baby. Y/N’s heart yanked in her chest, and she carefully plucked the kitten up by her belly and cradled her to Y/N’s chest.

“Poor thing,” she held it tightly, “I’ll have someone take you to the vet, okay? They’ll fix you right up.”

The trill is still loud, combatting with all the other sounds of the woods and when she finally looks up from the kitten she realizes the predicament she’s in. Because now, she’s in one of the few spots where there is shade, the clouds in the sky almost having entirely broken up. She looked around, panicked at the sight of the blue sky, and how the grass glittered off the sunlight. Things that would typically bring her peace now flood her with immense dread.

She hadn’t been out in the sun before, but Harry had made her stick a finger out into the unshaded portion of the deck once. He’d told her that she wouldn’t understand why she shouldn’t just go out in it until she had some form of pain to associate with it. And it hurt, badly, burned like someone had stuck her finger into an open flame but not without giving her a papercut and rubbing huge grains of sea salt into it. She snatched her finger back quickly, held it to her body, and frowned at him for making her do it.

“Now you won’t make any stupid decisions.” Harry had seemed all too pleased with himself at the time, smug that he was such a good mentor. . .she wondered what face he would be making now. Probably glaring at her. He’d probably call her an idiot too.

“Fuck,” she murmured to herself (and the still purring kitten in her arms, very unaware of the predicament they face. It was either sit here and wait until the clouds completely break away to be burned, or to run back to the house and be burned – there was no getting out of it, and she’s regretting not wearing a sweatshirt or a jacket how she usually would. She’s in a tank top of all things, showing probably the most skin she has had this entire time she’d been here. Of course today would be the day that she ran out into the woods for a crying kitten, and not when she’s covered head-to-toe in a sweatsuit, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The sun expands its hold on the soil before them, slowly spreading out, getting closer, the shade waning. Her heart was hammering; she needed to move. She needed to move, and also not hurt the little kitten in her arms either. And while she’s at it, she needs to beat Harry’s ass later, for messing with her head so much that she went outside in the first place to try and clear it.

Y/N swallows thickly, all of her muscles tense taut as a bow like she was in a relay and impatiently waiting for the start signal. She gives herself a countdown, braces herself, then makes a run for it.

It burns – like fire, running through it covered in open wounds then dropping into seawater, even going as fast as she possibly could. The scorching feeling transmits inside of her body too, taking hold of her like she’d swallowed metal right off a blacksmith’s tongs. It’s horrible, she wondered if she’d melt, and if she could survive that as a vampire or if that’d do her in. Distantly she remembered Harry shrugging off her being left in the sun – the whole reason Adam had brought her into his home and stuffed her into his closet – he made it sound like she could get past this. But could she? She’s never felt pain this immense before, not since. . .

. . .not since she was turned that night. Writhing on the ground, screaming, begging them to make it stop as her body seared away any chance for her staying human.

When Y/N makes it to the deck, she is just barely able to set the kitten down on the cushioned seat, before her vision becomes spotted and blotchy.

Vampires can still pass out? Weird.

. . .

Y/N wakes up in water, with a disapproving Harry glaring at her from his spot beside the tub.

“You’re an idiot.” Is how he greets her.

The water sloshes against the side of the ceramic when she tries to move, but the way her muscles scream and her skin aches, the agony of moving is too much to bear. She’s forced to stay still as Harry looms over her, the sleeves of his linen button-up pushed toward his elbow, his pale arms crossed over his chest, “Don’t move, dummy.”

“You could have opened with that,” Y/N replied, though her throat felt sandpaper dry, her mind slowly caught up with the situation at hand. She vaguely remembered making it to the deck, the burn of the sun still hot on her sizzling skin, like grease popping on a skillet, the little kitten in her arms. Then nothing – now she’s here. If she digs through her memories she could recall Mitch bringing something like this up, if she were to go into the sun; unforgiving blisters and a horrible, painful bath would follow it.

When she looks down she’s covered in something thick and slimy, with the color and consistency of mud you might find at the bottom of a river. The water around her miraculously stays relatively clear, despite what she’s coated in, and she’s sure it’s due to some vampire magic she hadn’t learned yet, or maybe never would learn. She stays still – it’s much easier to do so now than it was when she was human. Telling her body what to do and it listening to her for a change.

“How many times have I emphasized not going outside in the sun?” Harry chastised her, “We only go out on cloudy days, I had you feel the pain that comes from just a fingertip, I don’t even stay out in it for suspended amounts of time and you think you can just what? Sunbathe for a couple of hours? Did Niall talk you into that stupid shit?”

She frowned at him, “Stop yelling at me,” she grumbled, weighing if she should bring up how when he initially spoke about her going out in the sun, he’d described it as a “little rash” that she would get, “I was getting stir crazy in there, okay?”

“So you go out in daylight? How could you be stir-crazy when I take you to the backyard routinely?”

“Am I a dog?” She retorted, and Harry’s brows furrowed deeper, “I just wanted to get out of my room, because I’m all twitchy and jump, and it feels like I’m starving sometimes, even when I’ve been eating from the bag. Then you’ve been acting so weird, and you won’t let me bite anymore, so I just –”

“So it’s my fault that you got burned?”

“No, just,” she said, her eyes closed, “I was just going to stay on the deck, but then I heard crying and I smelled blood. I just moved without thinking.”

Harry still seems displeased, huffing an irritated breath, “Yeah, you weren’t thinking. You’re lucky that Christopher came out to find you or your burns would have been way worse. You’re still a newbie, you aren’t ready for shit like that yet.”

Y/N wants to rub at her eyes, but if she moves she thinks she’ll melt away, so she stays put. Part of her just wants to keep her eyes closed, so she doesn’t have to visualize the disappointment swallowing Harry’s features. Admittedly, it was stupid what she did, but she still didn’t appreciate being scolded like an honorary child. Plus, she’d been doing it to save something, doesn’t that count for anything?

“The kitten,” she started, “Is it okay?”

Harry looks like he wants to withhold information from her as a punishment, but even he isn’t that cruel. He finally stops looming and moves toward the sink, “She was taken to a vet to get looked over,” Harry replied, shaking his curls out with his hand, “She’s malnourished and wounded, so she couldn’t just stay here. What does that pitiful little thing matter, even?” He motioned toward her, “You’re in much worse shape than some feral kitten.”

She frowned again (or had she ever stopped frowning? She wasn’t sure). It wasn’t like she’d expected to be able to keep that cat, but she would have at least liked to see it off; sweet as it was, the way it purred in her arms made her feel something she hadn’t felt since she’d been changed. She hadn’t gotten to touch or hold any animals actually, now that she thinks about it. There was no drive to eat them like she feared to have, just the same yearning and longing in her chest at the sight of it, and the way cuteness and aggression threatened to suffocate her. It would have been nice to have it around, slinking through the halls, tail undulating behind itself. To wake up with it purring in the crook of her neck, or to see it sitting on her dresser when she came back to her room – it would have been nice.

“The solvent coating you has to stay on for ten minutes,” Harry continued unprompted, tugging the sleeves of his shirt further up roughly, his irritation clear as he turned away from her and began to organize the bottles on the sink, “I already did the first couple of steps with Naomi while you were asleep, so the worst of it is over. This will still hurt like a bitch, but I think you deserve it at this point.”

“What else do you have to do?” She ignored him, and Harry exhaled through his nose in a sharp breath.

“I have to coat you in three different oils. The first burns, the second cools to the point of pain, and the third is meant to moisturize the skin. It’s thick and feels horrible when you’re in bed, but again, you –”

“I deserve it, yeah,” she sighed, “I got it.”

Harry is moving about quietly, angrily, popping open the caps and filling up three separate bowls. Y/N decided it was probably in her best interest to stay silent and let Harry work, though she was curious about the whole process. She wanted to know what her skin looked like when they found her, and if this had ever happened to Harry before. When she’s able to forget about the pain slithering its way through every nerve in her body, she has half the mind to feel embarrassed that she’s just in this tub naked beside Harry. There were no bubbles to obscure the view, just her naked body covered in something gooey in the water, seeming too clear for what was submerged beneath it.

There’s no words for a while. Not as Harry brings the bowls over to the bath or lowers down to his knees beside it. He has a sponge resting on the edge of the tub that he dunks into the water, plucks her arm up by her wrist, and then squeezes the sponge over it. The substance, whatever it might have been, slides off her body easier than she had imagined it would and reveals Y/N’s skin underneath, looking rubbed raw and irritated.

Why was Harry doing this? Y/N wanted to ask but she figured the response she received would probably be snarky, so she kept her mouth closed. She just wondered why it wasn’t Mitch, Naomi, or some random vampire healer they invited from a cave in the Alps. Did it have to be her mentor who partook in this whole process while she was stark naked in a tub? Or had Harry just wanted to scold her freely as soon as possible?

Y/N knows when it’s time for her to get on her knees in the water so he can reach her torso and he hands her the sponge and shifts his gaze politely when she fusses about him seeing too much when she has to get between her thighs and her bum.

“I had my face stuffed in your bleeding pussy, but seeing your ass is too much?”

“Shut up.”

The oil Harry drips on her does burn as promised, and he starts from her neck and drips it down her body, using his hands to slick her skin up with it. She bites back on a hiss at the pain, but she knows he can tell it hurts from the way her face contorts. An antiseptic smell fills the bathroom, the sensation of it on her is equivalent to continuously spraying peroxide on an open wound. It stings, it burns, it fizzles and sizzles through her cells in a way that brings tears to her eyes. With the oil, he focuses on only the spots that were exposed to the sunlight – what was covered by her tank top and sweatpants was only treated with the thick slimy stuff as a preventative measure, Harry had explained to her (sometimes the blisters that erupt on the skin from the light can spread out like an infection if not dealt with correctly, so the first few steps focus on stopping the spread – he’d completed that by the time she came to).

Still, it burns what skin it does touch, and Harry – for once – shows even the slightest bit of sympathy for her.

“I know,” he murmured, avoiding her gaze, but his tone was as gentle as it’s been the entire time. “Just a couple more things.”

He pulls the plug in the tub and starts with the second oil, which feels like rubbing a block of dry ice against her skin. Her fingers grip the edge of the ceramic tub and he reminds her to be careful not to crack it, which she guesses is something she can do now. So Y/N is mindful not to squeeze too tightly, biting so hard on her bottom lip that she tastes the metallic of blood on her tongue. The entire surface of her body feels rubbed open and raw and sore. She’s struggling to focus on anything but the pain occupying her, even the soft way Harry starts to hum, or the calming, gentle coo of his words when he promises that they are almost finished.

The third oil is thicker; it drips down her skin slowly as molasses and Harry’s palms guide it over her arms, her shoulders, her upper chest, and back. He pets carefully at her neck and smears it over her face. She feels hot from the discomfort, the embarrassment, and the sudden overwhelming hunger that smothers her just as soon as she isn’t focusing on how sore she is all over.

Harry removes a towel from the warming rack, instructs her to stand, and wraps the bath sheet around her body. It doesn’t hurt as horribly to move but it certainly doesn’t feel great either; she slides her hands into Harry’s awaiting ones when he helps her step out of the tub, “Christopher will add a pain reliever to your blood,” he told her, “It’ll make this a little more bearable.”

“Do you think the kitten will be okay?” Y/N inquired, now that Harry was being even the slightest bit more tender.

It seemed to be the wrong thing to ask because Harry made a noise that sounded less than pleased as he kicked her out of her bathroom and into her main room, “Be worried about yourself,” he grumbled, “Things could have been way worse for you, you’re lucky to have gotten away with what you did.” Harry ushered her into her room where there were already clothes laid out for her on the bed – if she allowed him to dress her, he found great joy in it, even if it was just picking out regular, comfortable clothes for her to lounge in. Y/N wondered if it was something from his past that brought him comfort, or if he was just a control freak, or maybe both.

He’s getting worked up in a way that she’s never seen before. The kind of worked up you get when your friend does something stupid, when your partner does something dangerous, when you’re – “You wouldn’t have puffed into a cloud of dust but depending on the severity of the sun and how fresh you are as a vampire, you could have been out of commission for weeks to months. If it were summer, if it were noon, if Christopher hadn’t found you when he did –”

“You were worried?” Y/N filled in the gaps herself.

Harry was a dick most of the time. He teases her relentlessly, scolds her for little things, loses his patience quickly, and acts like he’s obsessed with her one minute, and like he wants nothing to do with her the next – it’s confusing and distressing. Their relationship is all over the place and has split away from the normal mentor and mentored dynamic that they might have possessed had things been different. Honestly, Y/N had wondered if he was even capable of feeling worry when it came to her – even though she was still a fresh, baby vampire, it would take a lot to kill her. Maybe when they had gone to her flat, he had felt worried she would eat her neighbor and he’d have to clean it up, but she hadn’t thought he would ever worry because of her.

But the look in his eyes today, every time he opens his mouth he sounds so mad that he could spend hours upbraiding her and still have more to say come tomorrow. A couple of months ago, she would have thought Harry was angry that she made more work for him, but Y/N feels like she has just a slightly better understanding of him now.

Harry was angry because she put herself in danger. He was angry because he cared.

A couple of emotions trickle over his face; typically, he’s good at schooling them if he doesn’t want Y/N to know what he is thinking. But right now, he doesn’t hide anything. Not the narrowed eyes, the clench in his jaw like he’s going to berate her for even thinking he would worry – and then the way his gaze softens, how his eyelashes flutter when he closes them, gathering his thoughts, collecting his rampant emotions, organizing the way he feels. There are moments like these where Harry is so unbelievably vulnerable with her, matching the openness of her heart and her feelings. They are few and far between but they are there, and they are real, and they make Y/N feel more human than she has for months.

“Of course I worry,” he settled on, his arms still hanging at his sides rather than crossing over his chest like he does when he’s getting defensive, “I always worry.”

He turned away, stalking toward the bathroom. Y/N listens to him clean up while she gets dressed, cringing at the way the oil sits on top of her skin and how it feels against the cotton fabric of her shirt. Harry was right, it is a miserable feeling, but it isn’t the most intolerable thing in the world and the coolness feels good on her skin that simmers beneath a boil. It doesn’t hurt to move but it doesn’t necessarily feel good either; her skin is already rapidly recovering even from the couple of minutes she’d been out of the bath so she could only hope for a speedy recovery.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N apologized when he finally came out, and Y/N noticed that he changed his clothes – now that she was looking, he seemed to be in one of her shirts so she guessed he got messed up during the bath, “I should have thought through what I was going to do before I did it. I was feeling jumpy, like. . .like I needed to crawl out of my skin and Christopher said that it was because I went from a vein to a bag so I’m still just getting used to that. That isn’t an excuse though, I should’ve – I should’ve asked for help. So I apologize.”

Harry looked cute in her shirt – it was an older one she had, a band she followed closely before all of this happened printed on the front all big and bubbly. It was cutesy and pink and flounced over his frame. She thought it was criminal to look so good in an oversized shirt when she felt like a toddler playing in adult clothes if it was too big on her (though that didn’t stop her from wearing them). But he was a model, so it makes sense – it was his job to make outfits look good.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he replied, his hands full with the dishes he’d used and the bottles of oil tucked beneath his arm. Harry is careful as he places them on the top of her dresser, next to a picture frame she’d brought back from her flat, a photo of her and her friends the last year of UNI. That seemed so long ago now – Y/N could barely remember how she felt in the photo. She was probably all torn up over her pitiful unrequited love – she thinks that’s why they took her out that night, to try and make her feel better, and it ended up being really fun.

“It was unfair of me to yell at you. I haven’t been making this transition the easiest, I know, I – was at a loss on what to do if I’m telling the truth,” he grimaced when the glasses clink together, echoing through both of their sensitive ears, “I switched Niall from bag to practicing from my vein and the reaction was never as visceral as what I have to your teeth. It felt smart to just stop it entirely so I could figure out what was happening but I didn’t consider how that might make you feel, both physically and emotionally. Of course you would run out into the woods after smelling blood, it only makes sense. At least you did it to save a kitten, I’ve done much worse.” Harry digs his nails into his wrist without hesitation, and Y/N’s eyes widen into saucers, scooting up closer to her bed, “You’re hungry, baby, I know you are. You can have a little taste and Christopher will bring you more.”

There he goes, calling her baby again, and Y/N’s whole body thrums to life with it. The smell of his blood sends her mind into fuzzy flashes of light, like pressing into her closed eyelids too hard and being dazzled by the universe and constellations made by the consistent rub into them. A confused sound stirs from her throat, brows knitted as she looked between him and the red droplet that welts up toward the surface of skin, “But you said –”

“I’ve been reading a lot about it,” he cut her off, “There are a dozen different interpretations of what's happening and unless we get a healer involved then we won’t know for sure. Getting a healer involved means telling Mitch that I’ve been keeping something from him and I just don’t know if I’m ready for the theatrics that will bring from the old man. But what I’ve learned for sure is that it doesn’t hurt us in any way, it just makes us horny, and that’s something we can ignore if we want to.”

Y/N swallows thickly, her throat feeling dry all over again. It’s a battle of self-restraint, not jumping him immediately but she thinks her body has already decided for her as she crawled closer. Her tongue moves wet and warm over the cooled skin of his forearm, licking up the blood that had trickled and tasting saltiness and copper and good, good, good. She missed him so much, sliding her teeth inside, holding onto him tightly – this was as close as they could get with each other, his blood running down her tongue and into her belly. It makes her feel warm, and the itch in her brain is scratched.

Was it the blood that she missed? Was it the need to satiate the need her teeth felt to bite down? Or was it the desire to be this close to Harry? Was Harry what she missed? Him being inside of her, feeding her, completing her –

Embarrassing enough, Y/N’s hips twitch forward but Harry uses his other hand to hold her still. He’s so strong that he keeps her there, clicking his tongue, “Not today,” she wasn’t looking at him but she could tell he shook his head to punctuate it, “Your body needs rest.”

She murmurs a sound against his skin, like an agreement she thinks, but her brain has gone cotton so isn’t sure what she means.

Harry doesn’t let her go for as long as he usually does, and surprisingly Y/N is easy to detach from his wrist, “We should do it in small doses.”

Y/N hums another sound that might be an agreement but now she’s confused because she doesn’t remember when Harry had sat down, or when she had mindlessly crawled into his lap. She’s here now though, staring between them at the heavy bulge in his trousers. Her hands move before her brain can, hovering over his cock but Harry’s fingers wrap around her wrists – his hold is gentle as he guides them up and away from him, “Your body needs rest,” he repeats, “Lay down and try to sleep.”

Sleep doesn’t come as easily as it used to for her when her belly was warm and full of Harry’s blood, so now that it has been reintroduced even in a minute amount, Y/N thinks she could close her eyes and fall asleep instantly. But she’s feeling uncharacteristically needy, with everything that has transpired, and she wants to melt over his body like a second skin. Y/N doesn’t want to look for the reasoning, she just wants him to stay with her.

But it seems she doesn’t even need to ask. Y/N crawls into the bed and Harry lies down beside her, in his self-proclaimed spot on the left, her shirt pooling around his body, “I’ll stay with you,” he told her, “Protect you from any wandering Nialls and Naomis so that you can sleep.”

It was unnecessary; Niall and Naomi wouldn’t bother her if she was asleep, but if that was the excuse Harry wanted to use then she didn’t mind. As long as he stayed there with her.

. . .

Y/N hasn’t been surrounded by this many people in months.

Even before she was changed, the last time Y/N had been at a bar or club of any kind was in UNI and even then she had to be drunk to enjoy herself. Otherwise, it was just an overpopulated room, with music too loud for normal conversation, and the suffocating need to look good. In her early UNI days, she liked that sort of atmosphere, and it gave her an excuse to grind on whoever she wanted without many repercussions. At the time, validation from someone pretty at the bar had meant a lot to her, no matter who was giving it to her.

Now, Y/N was experiencing mixed emotions. When Harry had suggested taking her out with the others, Y/N’s first worry had been that instead of slowly integrating her with humans, he was about to drop her into a cesspool of them. Sweaty and drunk, touchy and feely, completely impervious to fear that should arouse from creatures like Y/N and Harry. What if a well-meaning human accidentally brushed up against her and she turned around and sunk her teeth into their throat? Then what? Wasn’t this a little irresponsible?

Harry seemed unimpressed by her concerns, “Do you think I’d really just drop you in a room of humans?” He dropped a parcel on her mattress that he’d been holding since the conversation started, “Do I look like an imbecile to you?”

She frowned at him, looking down at the box and pulling it into her lap. Y/N wedged her thumbnail beneath the tape on one side and began to peel it open, “That’s what you made it sound like.”

There are exclusive sections in certain clubs downtown reserved for vampires, Harry explained. They look like uppity, VIP sections for smarmy, wealthy individuals but it wasn’t someplace you could buy yourself into. You had to know someone, who knew someone, and that was the ticket inside. This is where they could congregate in larger groups and it’s also where the human feeders are.

“I looked through all of your things,” he’d continued to explain when she finally peeled the box open, revealing shimmery, navy-colored fabric that twinkled when it hit the lights in her room, “And none of them spoke to me, so I just brought this from work. It’s part of a winter collection spread for a company I model for.”

Y/N was hesitant to pull the dress from the box, because if Harry brought it from work then that meant the price tag was easily a year’s worth of rent for her. She had to stand from the bed so she could hold it out and up against herself. Y/N wondered how Harry would know her size but she guessed with how much time he spends going through and critiquing her outfit choices, he was bound to figure it out sooner or later.

“This will compliment you nicely,” Harry nodded, pulling the fabric flush to her skin, showing that it would come down about mid-thigh for her, “I think you’ve been doing well to mingle with everyone in the house, but I think it’d be good to get more stimulation. It’ll make you feel less. . claustrophobic and jumpy and willing to run out in daylight to save a kitten.” Harry makes light of it now that he isn’t upset anymore, and weakly dodges her reaching out to hit him in retaliation for it, “We’ll go tonight.”

“I wish you would give me more time before dropping things on me.” She groused and Harry made a miffed sound in his throat.

“Because you’re so busy?” He scoffed with a roll of his eyes, “If I gave you too much time in advance, you’d ruminate over it for hours until you tried hiding in the woods from me to avoid it.”

Harry wasn’t wrong. She was surprised he’d gathered that in his short time knowing her while it took most of her closest friends years before they realized the best way to make her do something out of her comfort zone was to give her little choice but to do it. Y/N didn’t necessarily mind that, as long as in the end, it was for her benefit and not something that would harm her. And she thinks this would be beneficial, maybe, and at least getting out of the house without the fear of eating someone would soothe her a bit.

“I’ll make sure you’re well-fed before we go,” Harry promised her, “A few of the others wanted to come too, to experience this with you.”

“What if something happens?” Y/N fretted her bottom lip between her teeth, the sharpened canine just narrowly avoiding piercing the flesh, “If I – what if one of the feeders walks out or –”

“That’s not going to happen. The feeders are separated and heavily protected by security, so there’s no need to worry about them. And the building itself is very protected as well, from hunters, from other humans – plus if anything did happen, I would be there,” he reminded her, “I’ll scruff you like a naughty cat before I let you do anything stupid.”

Despite it sounding like a threat, the notion does pacify her mounting worries.

Being packed in the car with the others makes her feel very human. Christopher was driving, Harry sat in the front seat, Niall and Marcus in the middle, and Y/N was pressed close to Naoimi and Vivianna in the very back. Delphine and Saskia were driving with Theodore and Samuel in a separate car because they typically like to stay out later than everyone else.

They’re stuffed close together, Y/N’s thighs pressed tight between the wall of the car and Naomi’s thigh. Her dress has ridden up a considerable amount just from sitting, so if there were any room to move she was just one wiggle away from her underwear showing. It was something she’d need to be mindful of tonight, for sure. Y/N is trying her best to be in a good mood, but she’s nervous, and she’s feeling a little slighted because Harry’s promise to keep her fed was just multiple bags of blood given to her at the rate they had been when she was first starting to eat. She’d thought maybe he’d feed her from his neck or something but she guesses that was too much of a risk before they went out, or maybe he hadn’t eaten enough to share yet.

Y/N isn’t sure. She’s full, but unsatisfied in the way she knew she could be.

It isn’t as simple as just stepping through the doors of a club. It’s underground, they have to enter through an abandoned building a few blocks away from a busier area downtown, but they park their car in a lot behind an office. The concrete is uneven and cracked, so when Christopher turns into a space they have all been boggled and jostled around. Y/N had only narrowly avoided slamming her head into the window, but Naomi had slid her hand between the cold glass and Y/N’s head before she could.

“I swear he hits the potholes on purpose,” she’d whispered to her, “As payback for all the hard labor.”

They file out of the car like cold-to-the-touch clowns (only darker clothes), and the wind doesn’t bite her skin the way it used to but she can still feel that she should be. The others make a show of crossing their arms around their body in place of acting too content; Y/N replicated them, though nobody was looking at them. They talk and chatter normally, nobody seems tense or nervous about being out in public which makes Y/N feel both better and worse. Better because if they’re calm then she should be calm right?

But she’ll feel worse if she’s the only one who feels like she’s about to have a panic attack. Her heart thuds hard against her sternum, curling her arms tighter around her body. She can hear shit she knew she wasn’t supposed to, from kilometers away downtown, to deep in the bed of the forest. Y/N is trying to focus on selectively hearing how they’ve been practicing, but it’s harder than at home. The scents, the smells, the blood that is thrumming through the veins of people mucking around the city. Was it really safe for them to have her out like this? Even if she’s going to a place primarily with vampires, getting there is a difficult step, is it not? Y/N’s worried that she’s out of her depth, even if she’s full right now, she doesn’t know if she should be trusted anywhere near humans without –

“You think too much,” Harry’s voice appears out of nowhere to her left and she nearly screams, “Calm down. I would know if you were planning on doing anything crazy before you even did,” the soft skin at the pads of his fingers strokes across her nape, “Didn’t I tell you I would stop it? You don’t trust me?”

His words are rough and accusatory, but he speaks to her gently, just above a whisper like that would keep it between them even though everyone around them had great hearing. Though he has no natural heat in his body, a pseudo-warmth fills her when he stands close, up until the point his hand falls away from her neck.

“Sorry,” she swallowed thickly, “I’m just nervous.”

“Don’t be,” Niall is at her other side, casual in his strides, hands stuffed deep into his pockets, “They’ve got special drinks here so you can get fucked up. Your body metabolizes it too fast to stay drunk for long but it’s nice for a little while at least.”

“Oh I’m sure you would hate that, wouldn’t you?” Theodore was behind them, Y/N guesses pretending he was invested in the conversation he’d been having with Marcus but he very easily strays away to invade theirs, “Y/N, don’t let him deter you, vampire dick is crazy with one night stands if you’re interested.”

“Or girls, if that’s what you’re into,” Saskia adds in, “Or both.”

Harry lets out a sigh beside her, breath puffing out in a plume of smoke, “Just stick beside me tonight.”

Y/N could barely imagine being in a room full of more than eight people, let alone considering the possibility of hooking up with anyone. Why would anyone even be after her when she was with the people she was with right now? She’s surrounded by people who could be models and someone who is a model, nobody would be sparing her a second glance. Maybe they would be wondering why her entire ass was out when this dress rolled up over her cheeks. If someone did approach her, there’s no fucking way she’d even know what to say – she’d probably mess up and say something stupid, like ask them how long they’ve been a vampire, and when did the hunger pains stop, and do their mentors also spread their thighs when they’re on their period?

The walk isn’t too far, and they seem to be steering clear of big crowds. Y/N wondered if that was for her benefit or everyone’s benefit – she didn't ask. They pass a couple of humans and Y/N tenses but Harry and Niall bracket her sides whenever they do, but she doesn’t feel the knee-jerk reaction to tear through them like she thought. She doesn’t feel hungry, but still, she’s wracked with nerves. Christopher once told her that her disgust and sheer fear of doing it was proof enough that she wouldn’t lash out in normal circumstances. Still, she was worried.

They come up to a large building, with cement walls with most of the windows covered up by slats of plywood nailed into each other. It’s the type of place she would avoid at all costs, but they walk into it casually. The smell is musty and stale; with exposed insulation and mildew. Y/N can tell the walls and floors have been weathered by humidity, rain, snow, excruciating heat, and the bitter cold. If they were still human she would be concerned with what they might be breathing in as they were led across what must have used to be an office floor, full of cubicles, and chairs, and bored workers with sore necks and achy eyes from staring at a screen all day. She can hear music, in the distance beneath them, coming from the depths of the building.

There’s another door, this one leads to a stairwell, and she follows them all down, deeper and deeper toward the basement. The further they get, the louder the music becomes. The stairs are winding, so when they wrap around the last set of steps Y/N is startled to see a man sitting in front of another door, on a stool, scrolling through his phone. He’s not the burly, beefcake she would expect guarding the outside of a club full of immortals but she guesses there were a lot of surprises.

This man looks up from his phone, his eyes are an intense blue that is ridiculously disconcerting. They settle on her immediately, slicing through her like tiny knives, “She’s new,” he stated, not as a question, just a statement because he can look at her and tell, or smell it on her, or both – she curls her arms around her body tighter, even though she didn’t have to pretend to be cold anymore, “Is she gonna cause problems?”

“Don’t be a dick, just let us in,” Niall grumbled and Harry exhaled loudly.

“Listen, mate, she’s much better than this creature,” he motioned toward Niall, “A far better temperament, no crazy bar fights, yeah? Scouts honor.”

The doorman narrowed his eyes at them both, flickering between all of them with a pursed mouth before he stepped to the side, his palm touching the knob and twisting the door open, “I’ve heard that before,” he murmured, “Have fun.”

Just as Y/N is wondering what the point of that man is at all (because if a vampire wanted to get into a club, couldn’t they just muscle their way in?), Harry explained as they were entering through a long hallway, with black tile floors and a burgundy runner rug down the center, “He’s one of the only people who can open the door. It’s charmed.” And while it doesn’t make a lot of sense to Y/N, she nods her head and accepts it, like she’s been doing with just about everything.

The atmosphere is much like human clubs, where the music is thudding, and the songs are a mix between Billboard’s Top 100, EDM remixes, and Y2K throwbacks. A few major differences Y/N notices right off the bat are that the air around them doesn’t feel sticky or too warm, and Y/N isn’t suffocating beneath manufactured fragrances poorly covering the scent of body odor and sweat. There are still people grinding on each other, and kissing, some even stumble a little but it all seems more. . .tasteful, somehow. Maybe it was the fact everyone was dressed like they were prepared for a photo shoot at a moment's notice.

Their group thins out almost immediately, everyone going in several different directions and Y/N loses track of them all almost immediately. Harry stayed beside her and guided her to a table, “They’ll come back soon,” he told her, “Most of them are going to get something to drink. Marcus and Saskia need to eat though, so they might be a while.”

She nodded, happy to slide into a blue velvet booth across from Harry. Y/N is marveling at the interior design of the place, the glossy walls that sparkle, decorated with several different lights, abstract art, and other weird shit Y/N thinks you could probably only find in a place like this. Y/N vaguely recognized the song booming through the speakers – it had just started gaining popularity before she was changed, so it pulled a weird longing in her chest. Just as she’s wishing for the song to end, Harry grabs her attention again, rapping his knuckles on the table, “Christ, it’s like I brought an alien out of their spaceship,” he murmured, “You’re looking around like you’ve never seen people before.”

A pout decorates her mouth, which is feeling underdressed without lipgloss or lipstick but she hadn’t been in the mood to do any sort of makeup (The entire prelude to them going out, Y/N was stuck wondering if vampires could still have panic attacks, she didn’t have time to try and color match or ask Naomi for a glossy tint she could borrow), “Don’t be mean,” she replied, “I’m – there’s a lot to see. You would be amazed too if you were stuck in a house constantly.”

Christopher and Niall return first, and Christopher slides a fruity-looking cocktail in front of her on the table, “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to,” he told her, “I didn’t have to pay for it, so don’t feel obligated.”

“If you tell them it’s for a new vampire, then they’re usually pretty sweet. The bartenders are very kind.” Harry is surprisingly handed a drink by Niall, who looks more or less distraught that he was made to give Harry anything. Even more so when he realizes the best place to sit is probably beside Harry, across from Y/N and Christopher who had just slid in beside her, but Niall makes Christopher scoot over so he can squirm in the space next to them, “Ah, what am I going to do with you? You’re rotten,” Harry complained but wasn’t concerned with Niall’s choice for very long. He pulls the glass to his mouth and takes a small sip of a darker liquid – was it whiskey? Or was it like whiskey? For some reason, Harry being a guy who was drawn toward brow liquor didn’t surprise her.

Y/N’s hands grip the sweating glass, the ice clinking against the sides when she rests the edge of the glass against her bottom lip, tipping it carefully until she feels the taste of it splash on her tongue. It’s. . .sharp? Is that a way to describe it? Y/N doesn’t drink many liquids apart from blood now, so she is taken aback by how sweet and poignant the juice is. Then there is something beneath it all the sweet, both tangy and bitter, but she isn’t overwhelmed by that. She wondered if that was what would make her drunk.

The others do come to enjoy their first drink at the table, but by the second round, some have gotten up and have been moving around. Y/N is finally settling some; the jitters she’d been experiencing before dissipating the longer she sits there, and the longer she speaks to Christopher who is (by no choice of his own but is being a great sport about it) pressed up tight against her. The drink was leaving her loose-limbed and relaxed, speaking to him freely – probably more freely than she’d ever spoken to him by the time she was on her second, slightly stronger drink.

Christopher doesn’t seem to mind being surrounded by a ton of inebriated vampires, so he entertains her as she muses about his life. She asks him things about his past, cautiously dancing around the million-dollar question. Honestly, she’d thought she’d been doing pretty good at seeming inconspicuous about it but Christopher can sniff her out from a light year away.

“You want to ask, don’t you?” He pressed, “You’re the only one who hasn’t asked why I’m only half.”

Y/N’s face feels warm and she doesn’t know if she’s flushed from the alcohol or if she’s embarrassed from being called out. She wanted to know but she was also a firm believer that it wasn’t a lick of her business. Christopher wasn’t used to that, in a house full of nosy vampires, so she guessed he’d just been waiting and waiting for her to inquire – until he realized he was going to have to offer up that information himself.

“Yeah,” she nodded, a sheepish smile on her mouth, “I’d – if you’re comfortable.”

Christopher snorted, “Of course, babe, it’s really not that interesting of a story. I grew up in a cult.”

“What?”

Christopher was born into a cult; it was a small one, not something published on the news or in the papers because it was in a remote spot in the mountains. He said his childhood was fairly normal, all things considered, that he woke up, ate breakfast, and went to play like any other kid would be doing. It wasn’t until he turned 16 that he realized there was something more to his family than just a lot of people, living peacefully in the forest, among the trees, living off the land and game, and sleeping in huts and caves.

They took him to the mouth of a cave, a fire burning and crackling bright with two people sitting beside it. His eyes were still sleep blurry, and the soles of his feet ached from the stones and sticks that he’d stepped on as they took him through the trees to this spot.

“I remember thinking they were pretty,” he told her, scratching the side of his jaw, “It was rare we saw anyone outside of our tiny village, and everyone looked. . .well, as good as they could having grown up in the forest, cleaning up in creeks, and running around in barely any clothes. This was about. . .90 years ago? So I had no concept of models, actors, singers, celebrities, or that kind of star power where you look at someone and you just know they’re probably important but these two looked important and gorgeous.” He scrunched his nose up, “I’d grown up being told my duty was to marry and bed who I’m pretty sure was a cousin of mine or something – have more kids, grow our colony, something like that. I thought maybe that’s what this was – I was going to get married to the girl, and the man was just making sure I was good for his daughter or summat.”

But that’s not what it was. The cult he was in believed these two to be gods because they never aged, and they came with jewels and gold that they could sell down in the main town and taught them how to cultivate and harvest different forms of food on the terrain they lived on. They would give them anything they desired, so long as they provided them with something to eat.

Someone to eat.

And it was Christopher’s turn.

Before they ate him, there was a ritual performed – only the elders knew it, Christopher was confused and scared, tied up to a post so that he couldn’t run off and some incantations were murmured while they covered him in blood – whose it was, he wasn’t sure, but he was begging and pleading with them to let him go and they weren’t listening. The vampires bit him, one on his wrist and the other on his throat, so he got lightheaded fast, and had they not been stopped he probably would have gone quickly.

But they were stopped; hunters had been spying on this cult for a couple of months, and this was finally their chance to put a stop to it. They killed the vampires, killed the elders, took Christopher off the post, and collected him all boneless, barely alive.

“And then I woke up,” he shrugged, “Kind of anti-climactic, really, but I woke up without memory of anything. Where I was from, what had happened, why my body felt like it was on fire, and why I felt like I was starving. I don’t know if the hunters thought I was too far gone to be saved, or if they didn’t understand that if they didn’t kill me then I would turn, but they just dropped me off in a leaf pit. I didn’t have the drive you guys do to drink blood or the need, but I knew something was wrong with me, and that the foods I used to survive off of didn’t do it for me anymore. I wandered around for a while, found a village, and told them I didn’t remember anything or where I was from so they took me in.”

“Mitch found me years later, drawn by my odd smell. He offered me to come with him, for safety, so he could study me – he was so intrigued by the fact that he knew I was a vampire but I smelled like a human as well. He spent decades trying to figure out what it was, and the only thing either of us could come up with was that whatever ritual they performed kind of screwed something up. When Mitch did more research, he found in some texts there were rituals and spells people performed at sacrificial vampiric ceremonies to stop them from coming back as vampires themselves. I don’t know if the cult knew or not, but I guess it doesn’t matter much. For some reason, I’m this way, and that’s life now, whether it was the ritual or not.”

Y/N was blinking at him, all wide-eyed and shocked, and it took a couple of seconds of silence before she could muster a response, “Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” her hand found his, slotting their fingers together, she’d been fed a third drink at this point so she was feeling tipsy, and it turned out human her and vampire her were the same in their tolerance, their emotions – her eyes bead up with tears, “That’s – that’s horrible. I’m sorry.”

He laughed and patted her thigh, her dress had rolled up quite far and he fixed it for her, “That’s okay, babe, it was years ago. I barely think about it now.”

“Is she crying?” Harry’s voice rings out, and Y/N only notices that he’s been staring the entire time Christopher explains the story, “What the hell – I told you guys not to let her drink too much.”

Christopher doesn’t want her to dwell on it – he sends her off with Naomi and Vivianna to dance, much to Harry’s irritation, who is convinced that she needs to stay near him. Y/N lets herself be dragged off to the dance floor, immersed in the music, the bodies, and the dancing. It feels nice to move around freely, even more so when Christopher comes with them and she slings her arms around his neck and holds him tight, “Let’s have fun, okay? Do you want to have fun with me?”

“Do you want Harry to beat my ass?” He took her by the hips, displacing her gently and pressing her toward Naomi who collected her easily, “I’ll dance too, hm? But Harry is watching us like a hawk.”

Her gaze moves, slipping over to Harry who is glaring daggers across the room at them. Y/N frowned, “Why is he angry?”

“Because he’s obsessed with you,” Naomi replied, pulling her vodka cranberry to her mouth, and putting the straw between the corner of her lips, “Haven’t you guessed that? He’s so possessive of you, you would’ve thought you two have been together for years. He all but bit Christopher’s head off when he offered to call the healer to do your bath.”

Y/N tried to crane her neck to look at Naomi, who looped an arm around Y/N’s shoulder, over her neck, holding her close. Naomi is always pretty touchy-feely, so Y/N’s used to this by now, her hands coming to hold her forearm, the skin soft, smooth, and cool, “Healer? You mean he didn’t have to do the bath for me? It wasn’t like a mentor’s job?”

“He wouldn’t let anybody else do it,” Vivianna answered, “The oils and scrubs during the bath are irritants to skin that hasn’t been damaged by the sun. When Naomi was with him during the first part of the bath, his skin was so red and inflamed, you would’ve thought he was the one with the burn.”

Y/N’s brain is kind of fuzzy from the alcohol, so she’s a little slow on the uptake but it’s piecing together – what was that about? Did he not believe anyone else could do it? Did he not want someone else to see her naked? What was his hang-up?

Christopher has his arms slung around Samuel who had slithered his way in front of him, grinding up on him with a big, dopey smile, “He hated the thought of you being hurt – blamed himself for it, so he wanted to fix it, no matter it hurting him. And a part of it is because he’s a possessive bastard but that’s neither here nor there.”

Y/N melted into Naomi, swaying back and forth with her as she moved them, “Oh,” she blinked at them, “Do you think that has something to do with me drinking his blood?”

“Oh, that’s because –”

“Harry should explain that to her,” Christopher butted in before Naomi could tell her, “Hm? He’s just too dumb with his emotions Y/N, he hasn’t had feelings in so long, don’t blame him for it.”

“Feelings?” Y/N repeated.

They could go no further, however, because Harry’s scent comes close first and then she blinks and he’s right in front of her, in place of Christopher and Samuel who had been there prior. Harry’s top matched hers, now that she really looked at it, a dark blue that glimmered under the shimmery lights above them. The buttons were undone so most of his chest was showing, pale and soft – she’d never felt it before, but she could only imagine the skin was smooth and unblemished. His pants were dark and wide-legged; the outfit should make him look like a 70’s pornstar douchebag, but he looks good in it. Did he want to match her? Was that on purpose? “Don’t let them corrupt you,” he frowned, reaching forward and gripping the hem of her dress, pulling it back down her thighs where it had ridden up, “Come with me.”

Y/N pouted, “I wanna dance though.”

“I’ll dance with you,” he slid his hand around her waist, pulling her closer, “Dance with me instead.”

Naomi loosened her arm around Y/N’s throat, “He’s never a good sharer,” she sighed, then gave her a small nudge toward him, “Go on then, you can have your time with her too. Bring her back though.”

Harry pulls her close to him, slips his arms around her body, and pulls her from the group so they are dancing alone (or as alone as they could be with other people crowding them), “Harry? You don’t want to stay with the group?”

The tip of Harry’s nose is cold dipping into her neck, hands on her hips, “They’re annoying,” he murmured, “Why do you even want to spend time with them, just spend it with me.”

“You begged me to spend time with them before.” Y/N countered.

“Well, that was stupid of me,” he replied.

She twisted around in his hold so that she could face him, peering up at him. Y/N opened her mouth to speak but thought against it – anything she would ask Harry, she was sure he would vehemently deny it. So instead, she found his hands where they sat on her hips and took one of them, taking it to her face. She inspects his knuckles, the smooth, faultless skin. Y/N tries to imagine it reddened, and sore, him ignoring the pain of it to finish her bath. How he carefully and gently smoothed the oils over her skin so tenderly and took care of her; he was so weird. So mean, and so angry with her but was still so attentive to her, and fed her afterward. He makes no sense, and no matter how gruff and rude he can be, she’s never felt uncared for by him.

Does Harry like her? And why does his blood make her feel the way it does? Why does it make him feel the way he does when she eats? What do the others know about it?

All these questions are way too annoying.

“Oh Christ,” he murmured, “You’re more of a lightweight than I thought, aren’t you?” At some point, she uncurled his fingers and laid her cheek in his palm, like a cat requesting to be pet, “Should I take you home, baby?”

Y/N is going to tell him sure, she doesn’t care to be here too long anyway, maybe just a drink more or a dance but she’s got no need to stay out very late. She never has.

But something stops her. A voice. An all too familiar voice, that makes her blood run cold.

Y/N pauses, no longer moving with the music, or rubbing her cheek against Harry’s palm. She’s still, unmoving, every cell in her body is still, “What’s wrong?” Harry inquired but he sounded far away, like her head was in an echo chamber.

I didn’t mean to! I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I –

He was here. The man who changed her was here – Y/N turned on her heel, eyes scanning the room until they settled on him, with blond hair down his neck. She remembered him, how she met him on a dating app, how he’d asked for her number, how Y/N was trying to finally get out of her shell again after everything that happened with Daniel – her friend and the situation that drove her to this city in the first place. She remembered eating with him, they. . .they saw a movie? And he said he would walk her home. Y/N was reaching into her purse to put her movie ticket in her wallet, but a hangnail on her thumb snagged against her wallet. She hissed and snatched her hand out of her purse, a droplet of blood welting up on her skin.

“Are you okay?” Y/N inquired when he stopped moving beside her, and she hadn’t noticed for a few steps until she turned to look behind her. His face was dipped down toward the ground, he took a deep, trembling breath, “Quentin?” That was his name, Y/N remembered now, and how she couldn’t imagine moaning it in bed if that’s where the night had ended.

He swallowed thickly, and refused to look at her, “Shit,” his voice shook, “I – I really wish you’d just –”

It happened so fast, how she was brought close to him, how he grabbed her hand and pulled her thumb into his mouth. Y/N gasped and tried to yank away, but he moved so fast – one minute he was at her thumb, the next he was at her neck, his teeth pierced her skin, and now. . .and now. . .

Y/n didn’t think she was mad at first when this had all started. Honestly, she still doesn’t know how to feel about the whole situation, but to be faced with the man who had done it. The man who bit her, then left her passed out, left her in an alleyway – she’s angry. It was easy to say she forgave the person who did it when she wasn’t looking at them – when they were just a formless, remorseful shadow in her dreams.

But right now she was so angry.

She’s gonna kill him. He ruined her life, didn’t he? She’s going to fucking kill him.

Y/N broke away from Harry; she moved briskly in a blind rage, straight toward him with a single goal in mind. Distantly she hears Harry call for her, but she keeps moving, pushing past bodies, and when Quentin turns his head, he sees her. If there were blood to run from his face, then it would have at that moment. His eyes go wide, his mouth falls open, Y/N reaches out her hand because she is going to fucking kill him but something stopped her. Someone stopped her.

“Y/N, no,” Niall’s voice is gentle, but his grip around her wrist is firm, “It isn’t worth it.”

“I can’t just –” she feels breathless, her mind swimming – any good, drunk feeling that she’d felt before had completely evaporated. She’s more sober than she’s ever been in her life, “He’s the reason – he’s the reason I’m like this. I’m going to kill him.”

“It wasn’t just him.” Niall answered urgently, tugging at her when she tried to go toward him, “It – it wasn’t just him, Y/N.”

“What?” She finally looked at his face, the distress written over his features, weighed his face down. Y/N seldom saw any emotion on Niall’s features that wasn’t indifference, annoyance, or anger, but this one was new to her. This look of solemn, constraining guilt made her stop movement entirely. She didn’t fight to get to the man anymore, the taste in her mouth turned bitter and vile, and her heart worked itself in an impossible knot. A cold feeling trickles down her spine.

It wasn’t just him. . .it wasn’t just him?

The memories hit her like a rock careening down the side of a mountain. This man – her date had taken her, bit into her neck, and fed from her but if there was one thing she’d learned in her books and all the studies she’d read and what Harry had explained to her – people don’t just turn because they were bitten. If that was how it happened, then every feeder would have become a vampire by now.

Stories were true, in some ways, about vampires. Venom did exist – it’s what makes the bite sear through the skin at first, pain crackling through the body as it burns through cells and rewrites the data. But it could be controlled when it was released and when it wasn’t, and some methods and medicines suppress the secretion of it. A vampire blinded by hunger, enough that they would bite someone on a street because they smelled their blood, was not secreting venom – they were focused on satiating their desire for a full belly. The bite didn’t burn from this man – it hurt, but it wasn’t piercing.

He was stopped in the middle of it. An Irish voice, one steady and disgusted, “Enough, you fucking dick,” and Y/N remembered crumpling to the ground, her vision splotchy, her fingertips cold, her hearing buzzing in and out, “Are you an idiot? You were going to kill her?”

“No!” Quentin had taken a shuddering breath, his mouth sounding wet from her blood, “No, no, I didn’t mean to! I’m so sorry, I – I –” he sounded panicked, worried, “She cut her hand and just – it smelled so – it smelled so good. I didn’t mean to! I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I –

“You said you were ready to leave,” Niall sounded angry, even over Y/N’s own, raggedy, thin breaths, as she struggled to stay conscious, “Fucking idiot! You said you were ready!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m – please don’t tell. Please don’t tell them.”

“Fuck off, I’ll tell them if I want to.” There's a gust of wind, the sound of someone getting hit, the scuffle of shoes against the concrete trying to gain traction to take off, the pad of feet against pavement, “Shit. What should I do?”

“If I’d left you, you wouldn’t have made it,” Niall explained, his grip on her wrist almost bone-crushingly tight, it isn’t a conversation that should be happening in a club, but it is. Harry is beside her now – she could smell him, and feel him, where he was pressed up against her, “By the time I called Harry or Mitch and they’d come to see what happened, you wouldn’t have survived. I didn’t – I’d never been faced with a choice like that before,” he shook his head, “Either let them find your body in the alleyway that next morning or. . .or condemn you to a life like this one. Neither choice seemed good, but it would have – it would have eaten me alive if I’d left you there. It was selfish of me to change you for my own conscience but I – I did. And I didn’t tell anyone because it’s not permitted in the house, to change someone like that – to do it without asking Mitch. So I called Adam, I told him where to find you – I lied about how I had found you, and. . .and yeah.” His hand fell away from her, “I’m sorry.”

Y/N doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t know what to say.

Niall? It was Niall? She feels like her heart is cracking, for some reason. It wasn’t the kind of portrayal she might feel if it was a best friend of years who had done it, but it was still Niall – still someone she was close to. . .at least Y/N thought they were. Someone who always felt like he was advocating for her, offering to be there for her, she just – she felt comfortable with him, in a way that she hadn’t felt with anyone else – not even with Harry.

And he was the one who made her like this?

Would it have been better to wilt away in an alley in a puddle of her blood rather than be made something like this? Would it have been better for Niall to lay awake at night with a guilty conscience, than for her to wake up with an unquenchable thirst, and a desperate need to be filled with the very thing that flowed through her veins? That kept her alive?

Would it have been better for her to have not woken up a monster? Someone who couldn’t even manage to be around humans too long without being a threat?

Y/N doesn’t know what to say, so she says nothing. With his hand away from her arm and at his side, she turns on her heel, and blindly makes her way out of the club, paying no mind to where she was going, or who she was running into. It was all too suffocating now, the eyes of a dozen people boring into her as she learned something she didn’t want to. She thinks it would have been better to live in ignorance and never remember. To not know that Niall was as kind as he was to her, despite being distant and cruel with everyone else, because he was culpable of giving her this life.

This life. . .this miserable twist in her future.

Or she would have been killed.

It was a shitty decision to make.

Harry catches up to her after she’d stepped out of the stairwell, into the empty office floor that echoed her footsteps. He’d probably been calling her name for a while but it only registers now, in the silence surrounding them, “Y/N, wait –” he is a few steps behind her, she thinks, but she doesn’t turn around to look at him.

“Did you know?” She bit at him, “You knew, didn’t you? That’s – he probably told you, and you knew.”

“No, I didn’t know,” he sounded more flustered than she’s ever heard him before like he was at a complete loss, “I had no fucking clue, I’m just as shocked as you are.”

A frown yanks her mouth down, her face feeling heavy, just like her bones, and her muscles, and it feels like maybe she’s using every ounce of her strength to keep from melting to the ground in a pool of flesh and tendons, “Do you promise me?”

Harry’s tender when his hand touches her shoulder, turning her to face him. There’s a look in his gaze that Y/N’s similar to the one he’d given her in her flat when she’d started to cry, longing for a life she was no longer a part of. It was only then that she felt the scorching hot tears that burned her eyes, scalded her cheeks, and dripped down off her chin. Why did it even matter? Could she trust a word that any of them said? If Niall could lie to her so plainly for months, then what was stopping Harry?

He uses his knuckles to wipe her face, carefully and quietly, “I promise you,” he looks into her eyes, deep like he’s staring into the bed of her soul, “I wouldn’t lie to you about something like that, Sweetheart.”

As much as Y/N would like to be tough as nails – to rip herself from Harry and storm off into the night to collect her thoughts and sort through her emotions alone – she isn’t. She doesn’t feel tough, and she doesn’t want to be alone; she feels flayed open like a fish laid out on ice.

So she tips her face into Harry’s chest and the skin there is just as soft as it looks, but she can’t even enjoy that. His arms wrap around her – Y/N can’t think if they’ve ever hugged before or if this was the first time. She shivers in his hold and then liquefies, molding into the shape of his body. “I’ll take you home.” He offered but Y/N shook her head adamantly.

“No, I don’t – I can’t –” Not with Niall as her next-door neighbor. Y/N didn't want to be around him right now, or the others, because she likes them but they’re nosy and this is probably the best gossip they’ve had in a while. They’d want to talk about it, to talk to her about it, to poke and prod at her brain and she just isn’t ready for that yet.

“I know, dummy,” he chided, but there was no fire behind it, and he traced his left hand down her forearm, to her fingers, slipping his fingers into the gaps between hers and holding tightly, “I’m taking you to my home.”

. . .

Harry’s flat is precisely what Y/N would have expected out of him.

He scoffed and turned up his nose when he’d first seen how she decorated, or when she’d complained about the barren walls of her room at Mitch’s. Always spoke highly of minimalism, how overconsumption feeds capitalism, and how having too many things on the wall is hectic and clutters the brain. So for the walls of his flat to be a cool-toned grey with wall art intricately spaced and placed through it, made a lot of sense.

The door opened up to his kitchen, much like her flat, but unlike her flat, the kitchen looked like it was made within the last year with how pristine and clean it appeared. A vampire has no use for a kitchen, so she guesses it made sense for the black, marble countertop to be spotless, and the stainless silver sink to be without blemish or crumb. He didn’t even have a sponge out to fake like he did dishes.

The dark tile floor clicked beneath the heels she wore until she immediately leaned against the counter and began to unstrap them, yanking them off her feet. She inspects the living room that’s positioned before her; there’s a stretch of hall with grey, wooden floors and a single stair down that separates the kitchen from his sofas, like a small den. He has two couches that look surprisingly comfortable for how cool, crisp, and unlived everything else appeared. A large black rug sat beneath the coffee table in the middle. Adjacent to the side Y/N stood on near the kitchen, there were windows from floor to ceiling, and since Harry was twelve stories up she didn’t have to worry about people peering inside from the street below (he lived in the nicer part of the city anyway but even wealthy areas had creeps that looked through windows).

Once Y/N saw the fake fireplace and the huge flat screen fixed to the wall above it, she understood why Harry acted like her flat was a drug den (and he probably wasn’t even that far off).

Before she could continue looking around, something small and furry caught her eye, sitting and waiting patiently, staring up at her from her feet. A brown little kitten that sticks out in Harry’s dark mode flat like a bright red crayon. A familiar little meep and look in its eye tells Y/N that she’d met this kitten before, and she’s only more positive of the fact when she sees how it leans the weight off of its wrapped paw.

“Oh, look at you,” Y/N murmured, and she knew it was bad practice to just scoop a kitten up but she couldn’t help it – if it scratched her, it scratched her, but she needed something small and warm in her arms, “You look so good, don’t you? Not all covered in dirt and blood?” She turned to Harry, who was walking down the hall with clothes in his arms, “Why didn’t you tell me you kept her?”

He sighed, “Well, she was going to be a surprise,” the kitten purrs, nuzzling into Y/N’s chest where she pressed the little girl close, “Once she was healthy. She still had a week of antibiotics left and two weeks of treating her paw with some medicinal ointment and keeping it wrapped. Then I was going to hand her over in a nice little tidy bow, but I guess now is as good a time as any to give her to you.”

“I thought you said I had no business having a kitten?”

Harry’s gaze darted away, “You seemed so sad about it,” he uttered, “All mopey over a damn ball of fur, so I thought keeping her would make you happy.”

Her heart swells in her chest, pushing other organs out of the way, pressing up against ribs and making them shift so there’s more space for it. Harry acts so mean all the time like he’s a tough-love kind of mentor, but he’s nothing but a hard shell with a soft, gooey middle. Thoughtful and sweet, he surprises her more and more every day, “Does she have a name yet?” Y/N held her up to her face to get a good look at her, and she continued to vibrate with purrs as she looked at her, her tiny features, and her rounded little kitten belly like she’d just eaten recently.

“I was going to wait for you to name her,” he told her, “But. . .well, I’ve been calling her Leaf.”

“Leaf?”

If Harry had fed at the club tonight, his cheeks would have been a pink, rosy hue with the way his gaze darted from her again, and he busied himself ripping open the freezer to show it was full of blood baggies like the one at the house is. Harry grabs a mug for her from the cabinet, sets it down on the counter with a clatter, and leans down to another cabinet where he plucks up a blood (bottle) warmer.

“I tracked in a leaf with my shoe a couple of days ago, and she really liked it,” he explained quickly, “And meowed like I’d stolen her heart when it crumbled and I swept it up and threw it away, so it kind of just. . .I don’t know, it stuck with her. You can change the name if you want.”

Y/N shook her head, “No, I don’t think so,” she ran her thumb over the short, tufts of fur around her ears, “Leaf suits her.”

Harry instructed her to take the bundle of clothes he’d left for her on the counter and go have a shower, so she did. It took her a little while to figure out the knobs in his bathroom before she realized there was something built into the wall she could use for settings like temperature, water pressure, and the way it falls out of the showerhead. It was the most relaxing shower she’d had in a while, all things considered, as she scrubbed her skin raw with the soaps and scrubs that Harry had lined up inside of it. She’s thankful that he’s a man with a taste for sweet smells rather than “manly musks” and “deep forest mahogany pine” or whatever, so she was happy smelling like strawberries and cream all over.

And this is what Harry uses, which brings her more comfort than she had thought it would. Filled in a room that smells like him, in a flat that smells like him, drying off and getting into clothes that smell like him. It’s what her brain needs right now to quiet itself. Y/N has gotten relatively pretty proficient in disregarding her feelings. Running away from them in a new city instead of facing them head-on and dealing with them. It had worked for her this far. . .except for the whole turning into a vampire thing once she’d moved her, but hey, she didn’t think about Daniel a lot not, considering the circumstances. It was kind of an extreme route for the universe to take for her, but. . .well, what could she do now?

Y/N wore Harry’s clothes – or at least the top was definitely Harry’s, soft, worn, and loved shirt with threads coming loose at the collar and the words on the front weathered away from multiple machine washes. The bottoms fit her too well to belong to him. She shuffled out of his bathroom back to the living room, where Harry had a mug warm in front of the couch, and the most recent drama she’s always watching when he comes over on the telly. She didn’t even know he’d kept track of what she was watching, because he was too busy criticizing her taste for only watching romantic shows that were too lovey-dovey, with unrealistic leads.

Harry is on the phone, his face set in a hard frown before he looks up and sees her standing there. He jumped, hand to his chest – she still did startle him by accident, with how light she was on her feet – before he muttered, “I’ll talk to you later,” through the receiver and hung up the phone, “You look much cozier in this rather than that filthy little dress.”

“Filthy?” She tilted her head, brows knitted, “I didn’t think it was filthy.”

“You didn’t think the tiny little fuck me dress was filthy?” He looked surprised, “It was riding up your thighs all night! One wrong move and both your holes would’ve been on display.”

Y/N drops down on the bigger sofa, catching the blanket that Harry throws at her in a massive bundle, “You’re the one who gave me the dress!”

Always so difficult, he rolled his eyes, “Ugh, who cares about who gave who what,” he waved his hand back and forth, “Christopher and Naomi looked like they were going to eat you alive. I was starting to get annoyed.”

“Annoyed?”

“Watch the show.” Harry shut the conversation off there, though he was the one who’d opened it and Y/N puffs a laugh through her nose.

She doesn’t know if Harry neglects bringing up Niall because he knew she didn’t want to talk about it, or because he didn’t want to talk about it. As hard as it is for her, she imagined some parts of this are hard for Harry too – the person he mentored is who did it to her. Broke some rules that they had established for themselves; she wondered what Harry’s opinion was on the situation. If he would have saved her too or left her to rot on the concrete. If he would have taken the choice from her. . .if he would have made her this.

Because, from what she’s gathered, none of them chose this life. It fell onto them unwillingly and they’ve just learned to adapt and accept it. It faces Y/N with the question, and discovering her morals: if she saw someone was about to die and knew she could save them, would she do it? Could she turn away? Or would she bite them, even knowing what life may bring them if she did?

A body is beside her, the cushion next to her dips in and Y/N’s body sinks into it, now pressed against Harry’s side, “Don’t think about it for the night.” He ordered, and his fingers trailed lightly over her forearm, in small, delicate circles, “Just watch the show and pretend none of it happened.”

Y/N listens.

. . .

It’s been two weeks since everything happened.

Harry doesn’t rush her to sort through her emotions; he tells her to take her time and promises she can stay at his flat as long as she likes. Even told her he prefers to just keep her under his watchful eye here rather than having to stay at the house with her because he pays rent for a reason and this place is too nice to be uninhabited (his words). Once he’d told her that, she’d decided she’d milk it until she couldn’t anymore – until her brain started protesting leaving a conflict unresolved. She’d done that too many times in her life, and she was starting to get tired of the way it ate at her in the time following.

Y/N took his guest room and lived in his clothes for the first couple of days until Christopher made his way over with some of Y/N’s things. Her computer to work, some of her clothes, a few toiletries – Y/N doesn’t care about all of that though, because she sees him, and her eyes water for some reason, and Christopher collects her in his arms in a big, warm hug. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured low, and unlike everyone else, Christopher was always so warm – the tip of his nose didn’t scent goosebumps where it dipped into her neck – it was like being hugged by a hot pack, in comparison to the rest of them. “Ah, I miss you pet. It’s weird not having my newest little pup around to feed.”

Harry shut the PDA down relatively fast and Christopher gave her a knowing look. He stayed for a little while, they all narrowly avoided the elephant in the room, and then they had a slightly tearful goodbye, “He’s not going off to war,” Harry grumbled, frowning, “You never get all teary when I leave.”

“Cos I know you’re coming back.”

“I need to stop making you feel secure, so I get more emotion from you.”

They fall into a pattern. Y/N wakes up midday (or leaves her room midday), right around the time the sun has begun to set, early now in the middle of winter. Harry is usually home but if he isn’t, he’s shown her how to use his warmer at home to make the blood herself while he finishes up at work or appears at some smarmy event to show his face. She drinks it down, warm in her belly, feeds Leaf her dinner (vampire-owned kitties still eat kibble, not blood), and has a hot shower before going to the living room. Harry always leaves the area low-lit and somehow inviting despite the cooled color choices of his furniture and walls. Y/N enjoys the synthetic heat of the fire and tidies up the room if she left it cluttered the night before (and cluttered without food wrappers, is leaving the blanket unfolded on the couch or having her computer sitting on the coffee table). She opens the windows and stares down at the city streets below before she gets some work done.

Harry comes home with a sigh every day – Y/N wondered if it was hard being surrounded by humans 24/7 without eating them, but he never expressed that it was. He flopped down on the couch beside her, recounting the events of work, telling her stories with names of people she doesn’t know (she’s starting to learn who is who though). Then Harry either showers and they’re in for the night, or he tells her to put on real clothes because they are going to train.

“Just because things are a little fucked right now, doesn’t mean there’s any excuse not to use this time to improve your abilities and skills,” he told her, and when she groaned, he clicked his tongue, “I’m a diligent mentor, you know that.”

Harry switches focus now that they’re in the city, to being around people – humans, namely. It’d been months since she was consistently around them, and Harry told her it was time to start reintegrating back into society. She could never feed from a human if she couldn’t stand to be around them. The more desensitized she gets, the better.

So they start by going out late at night, in areas that Y/N would have avoided like the plague when she was human. It’s because there are people around, but the action is sparse – there are a couple of stragglers who have stayed out too late. Harry tells her to breathe through her mouth and they focus on how to ignore them at first; to continue a task or walk by them without feeling like she should stop, and sniff their throat, and see if they’re something good she could eat.

Then they switch gears from ignoring to having to interact with them. He takes her to a grocery store at 10 PM, Y/N has a shopping list to get through, and Harry purposefully puts something on it that she would have to speak to the worker for. When she expressed her concern, he batted it away, “You know I won’t let you kill anyone,” he told her, in a tone far too soft for the suggestion of his words, “I’m way stronger than you, little thing, even if you’re all blood lust driven.”

At first, it’s miserable, and Y/N has trouble not staring directly at the store clerk’s thrumming carotid when she speaks to them – but she doesn’t eat him. She grounds herself, calms down, cools the rapid desire to drink straight from the source. He always made sure she was fed beforehand, but it was still hard not to let her mouth water. It was like eating a small meal, then being tempted with dessert; a pie warm from an oven, the apple-filled insides sticky, warm, and promising.

But she does better than she expected and Harry praises her like she really is a puppy. Y/N thinks he’s seconds from scratching behind her ear and calling her a good girl, which. . .as degrading as it is, she isn’t necessarily opposed to it.

Things are easy with Harry. Easy as breathing used to be, and she thinks she doesn’t give him enough credit for how adaptable he is, and how tender he could be with her. There was a reason he was a mentor – he was so good at it, even if he was sort of dumb about things sometimes.

There was something special though, between the both of them. Something that Harry doesn’t have with the others, and that they haven’t expanded on, or gone into. Normally Y/N is content with just leaving things as they are, but the last time she did that, it blew up in her face. The last time she did that, she fell in love with her friend after sleeping with him, and instead of stopping it there, she let her feelings get too big. Expected a fairytale and got a poorly scripted Hallmark movie instead, which got trashed in the writing room for the sudden shift from small-town romance, to adjusting in the world as a vampire. She hadn’t defined her relationship back then and now she couldn’t even look at him.

She didn’t want that with Harry. Christopher and Naomi’s words at the club come to her just before she goes to sleep most days, loud and clear as if they’d only just spoken them in her ear moments prior. It forced her to consider what Harry was to her – what he meant to her. Y/N likes him. . through all his teasing, and all the push and pull, she likes those moments where he’s vulnerable with her. Where she could tell he cared more than he let on.

It felt like there was never really time to explore her emotions for him, always concerned about being a vampire, and how she got to this point in her life, but now while she was trying to focus on anything but all of that – she had more than enough time.

Y/N likes being around Harry in a different way than she likes being around the others, and not because Harry feeds her from his veins. If that were the case, wouldn’t she want to be around Christopher all of the time too? Honestly, most of the time she’s with Harry is usually scolding her like she’s a naughty cat, but she still feels so at ease being with him. When he’s close to her, her mind settles down, and when she smells him, she almost instantaneously feels calm. If things were different – if circumstances were altered, and they were just humans, Y/N would probably have been neck-deep in a crush so intensive that her friends and family would be concerned.

She is someone who relishes her time alone, but she doesn’t mind spending it with Harry. When they are merely quiet, existing together in her room, or on the sofa, or in the kitchen she has the same level of comfort she does when she’s by herself. Y/N doesn’t feel like she has to put on a show for him, to be something that she’s not, and he’s seen her at her most cracked open and vulnerable and he doesn’t treat her any differently because of it. Doesn’t see her as weak, or pathetic. He encourages her to feel things, to lament her old life, to stray away from the cold archetype vampires are supposed to be.

When Y/N looks at him, she doesn’t see a monster.

“Harry,” she inquired one day, sitting on the barstool at his counter, swiveling back and forth. He’s on his phone so he hums to let her know he’s listening, even as his fingers type away, “Did you ever find the reason why we feel the way we do? When I drink your blood?” He stops, the pads of his fingers hovering over the screen like he hadn’t expected her to ever follow up on that, “Christopher and the others – that night, they kind of alluded to you knowing something.”

He exhaled, slow and thready, “Of course they did,” he uttered, “Fucking thorns in my side.” Harry set his phone down, chewing on his bottom lip like he was going to eat it right off of his face. It was seldom that Y/N witnessed him nervous, but it was clear on his features, that there was something he’d probably been intent on keeping to himself. It took him a little while to gather his thoughts before he spoke again.

“There are. . .a lot of reasons it could be,” he told her, “I’ve read hundreds and hundreds of pages and texts, and they all have slightly different variations of explanations why it’s happening. Because for me, at least, it wasn’t just getting hard,” he cleared his throat, “There’s no, non-corny way to say this, but after you feed from me, I feel. . .whole? I’m unsure if that’s the right word. I didn’t know for sure how I felt though until we went so long without it, and then when you bit into me again after your bath, it felt like a space had been filled.” Harry’s eyes find hers again, and Y/N realizes she's not pulled her stare from him the entire time he spoke, “I’d never felt that with any of the people I’d mentored.”

Y/N blinks at him, letting his words melt over her brain.

“Me too,” she finally admits, “When I drink from you, it feels like a part of me is. . .complete? Like a missing spot had finally been plugged. It’s nice.” Y/N swallowed thickly, pushing past every bit of nerves she felt to keep going, “But why – if it felt good for both of us, then why can’t we do it?”

Harry chuckled gently, “Beside the fear of me rubbing my dick raw to the thought of it? I don’t have a great reason, other than it was freaking me out. I was – it was hard not to be completely overcome by you. I wanted to let you feed from me every day when you woke up and when you went to sleep – having you in my lap with your teeth in my body was something so gratifying for me, it drove me crazy. And the thought of. . .fuck, the thought of you drinking from anyone else pissed me off. But if I couldn’t let you learn to feed from a human it would stunt your development as a vampire, if you ever needed to eat and I wasn’t there. So I thought it would be better to go back to the baggies until you learned how to properly feed on a human.” He worries his lip between his teeth while he watches her, trying to gauge her reaction.

“Do you want to drink from me?”

Y/N feels just as surprised as Harry looks about the offer. She didn’t mean to say it, she doesn’t think, but it slipped out before her brain-to-mouth filter could kick into gear, “I mean, I think it would be. . .I think we could just see what happens. Right? We can see if it’s the same.”

“That. . .doesn’t make a lot of sense,” he called her out, clicking his tongue, “But I’m not. . .opposed to it. I’ve actually been wondering about it for a while. Do you want to feel my teeth in you?”

She nodded, already feeling a little overwhelmed. Y/N had thought about it briefly before, in passing, but now that the option has been presented to her, she can feel her cells humming to life at the prospect. The last time Y/N was on the receiving end of a bite, it ended quite disastrously, so she was eager to erase that memory. She’d drunk enough today that she thought she could share and not feel like she was missing anything. Maybe not as much as Harry was able to give her sometimes, but she thinks it will still be okay. It would still be nice for him.

They moved to the couch and sat facing each other. Y/N was always wearing shirts that slung low around her collarbones, so there was no need to move much around. Her heart is racing, thudding hard in her chest, a bunny-like thump. Leaf leaps off the back of the couch where she had been sleeping, toddling back toward Harry’s room where she kept most of her toys hidden beneath his bed.

Harry swipes his thumb over a tender spot on her throat with one hand, and a tender spot on her wrist with the other, “Where do you want me to bite?”

“Where – where do you think would be best?”

He contemplates this quietly, mulling it over in his brain as he considers each option. Y/N’s pulse feels like it’s bounding in both spots, as tantalizing as it could be, promising a gushing mouthful no matter where he chooses. He swallows thickly, humming low, “Ah, puppy,” the nickname makes her feel fuzzy all over like her body is thrumming with static, “Part of me wants to drink from your sweet little throat so badly, but that might be too much for your first time. I’ll stick to your wrist for now, okay?”

Y/N nodded, raising her wrist to his mouth before she could second guess it. This feels imperative now like she needs it to happen, and after weeks of feeling weirdly hollow about the whole mess of a situation she’s in, she thinks this will feel good. Being completed by Harry will feel good. Y/N tongues at the back of her teeth, which throb in jealousy watching Harry prepare to bite.

Harry is quick about it, with the precision and practiced ease of someone who has done this for centuries. A little gasp slips from her mouth when his teeth slide into her, but she barely feels the pain that she’d expected. She didn’t even have time to tense up, Harry bit before she could realize what he was doing, and she only had a fraction of a second to register it before she was flooded with a load of endorphins. They rush through her, something hot and fuzzy zipping through her vessels, across her body, encompassing her in something unlike anything she’s felt before. Is this what it was like for Harry each time? And she had thought she couldn’t get any hornier, than when she bit him, but her lower belly twists and burns with arousal. She nearly moans just from this feeling.

He drinks, slow and easy, but his eyes have fluttered closed and he does moan against her, vibrating up her arm. Harry can’t speak to her but she knew what was going on in his head – it’s good, it’s good, it’s good. He shifts, spreading out his legs a bit, giving his cock room to grow if that’s where this was headed.

Underlying all the desire that swims is the thing they’d both been talking about. The feeling of being complete; slotted together like a missing gear in a clock tower. Something that you might not notice – the clock worked alright without it, but with the gear, it flourishes, it chimes brightly, and moves smoothly. It’s nice, this feeling, and compared to the murk that had been looming in her head, this was good.

Harry doesn’t take too much. He stops just before she gets lightheaded, but he parts from her wrist and immediately his lips press to her mouth. The kiss is sticky with her blood, the taste metallic when his hot tongue slides into her mouth with a groan. Harry kisses like he’ll evaporate if he doesn’t; like he could get his fill from licking into her, not bothering to be clean or proper about it. It’s messy and wet, and Y/N thinks she drools a little which should be disgusting but Harry only moves closer to her, merging.

When he draws back from her, the green of his irises is almost completely erased by his pupil. He really is a sight to see – probably something that would have scared her before, her blood all over his mouth, but she’s sure she makes a similar, horrifying eyeful. Harry doesn’t look at her like that though – he looks at her like he wants to devour her. Like he could sink his teeth into her neck and drink and drink and drink until he’s had his fill.

He guides her back onto the couch, pushing the sweater she wore (it was his) up beneath her breasts, fitting his cold palms on her hips. His cheeks are a healthy flush since he’d just eaten, the tip of his nose warm when he nuzzles into her throat and teases the tip of his canine across her pulse, “Fuck,” he breathes out against her skin, shuddery and light, “You taste good, Puppy.” He licks over her neck and sucks a kiss there, but the pattern he moves his mouth is similar to how he would drink from her. Y/N’s hands curl around his biceps that cage her in, she squeezes him and digs her fingers in deep.

If this is how keyed up Harry felt every time she fed from him, then she understood why he needed breaks in between. Y/N doesn’t think she’s ever been so wet before, with so little stimulation leading up to that point. She soaks through her underwear like she’d already cum, and when it is pulled away from her body it feels sticky and cooled. Harry fits himself between her thighs, not shy of the bulge in his pants tucking against her cunt, and he laughs breathlessly when she rocks her hips into him, “Harry,” she mewled, rolling her hips again, and again, mustering all the strength she could in her legs as she looped them around his waist and pulled him closer, “Harry.”

“What is it, Puppy?” He teased, finally moving the sweater over her breasts, revealing them soft and supple as his breath ghosted over with each word, “Are you feeling needy? You just love it when we share blood, don’t you? Filthy fucking thing,” Harry, again, is acting off innate instinct and something that resides deep in his loins – just as he was when he’d tasted between her thighs, he is driven by desire with a tongue that speaks nothing but brazen filth, “G’na fuck you full,” he promises, hand sliding from his hip, between the waistband of her pants and underwear. His fingers slide into the mess of her juices, running a big circle over her clit before pinching it between two fingers squeezing in pulsing motions.

Y/N bucks into his hand, her knuckle fitting its way between her teeth as she moans around it. Harry notices her muffled sound and hums disapprovingly, “I hope you aren’t trying to hide your noises from me.” She shakes her head, quickly, because why would she hide them now when she didn’t even bother trying to hide them when they were in a house full of people? It just felt good to have something in her mouth, to nibble at it while Harry worked two fingers inside of her, the glide of it easy from how turned on she was. Y/N doesn’t even have to explain herself, because Harry figures it out quickly, “Oh, okay, I see,” he murmured, understanding and sweet, “You just like having something in that mouth still, don’t you?”

Harry pulls at her wrist, ignoring her whine in favor of replacing her fingers with his own. Harry’s are bigger, his knuckles are nicer to chew on, honestly, and she really isn’t defeating the puppy allegations when she accommodates this new intrusion readily. Y/N squeezes around the fingers inside of her, sucking him deeper in, and her canine knicks the pad of his finger. His blood splashes on her tongue, and the sound that leaves her is so wanton and obscene, she feels embarrassed by it immediately.

But it only encourages Harry to fuck her harder with his fingers, spreading her out, finding the swollen, needy bump inside of her. “Have a little taste, baby,” he eggs her on, “So greedy, such a greedy thing. Want my teeth in you and your teeth in me, huh? So fucking naughty.” Y/N tries to stretch her thighs further for him, rocking her hips down into his hand. A pea-sized pit begins to grow in the center of her, spreading out, stretching tendrils of heat to lick her insides as it grows and grows. Y/N was cumming before she could warn him, and she was cumming hard. sucking on his fingers, tasting his blood, and feeling stretched open, full, and overstimulated, especially when his thumb found her clit to loop tight circles onto it.

She manages to get even wetter. When Harry slips his hand out of her pants, her slick clings between his fingers in sticky webs. Y/N tries to hide her face in her hands, finally feeling some shame, but Harry chuckles as he removes his hand from her teeth, “Don’t be shy,” he murmured before he smearing his fingers over her mouth, getting her mess all over them before pressing their lips together again. It’s filthier than the first, as he licks over her mouth, her chin, everywhere he has stroked it over her face. Was it centuries on this earth that made him so filthy? Or had he always been destined to be salacious and foul-tongued?

Harry helps her wiggle out of her bottoms, leaning back so that he can look at her as he spreads her thighs. She can tell she’s as wet as she feels by the way his eyes drink her in, and he lulls his tongue over his mouth. Y/N’s certain he’s about to dive in again but Y/N whines, pawing at the waistband of trousers, “Please,” she begged, fumbling with the button, “I want to see.”

“You wanna see my cock?” He finds her hands where they’re at his waist, pulling them down so that she cupped him over the fabric, the tent in his pants more than indecent, “Wanna see how big it gets for you? How wet?” Y/N nodded, not above begging again but Harry is either finding it in his heart to be kind, or he’s seconds from busting at the seams. He undoes his button at a leisurely pace, collecting both his trousers and his briefs at once and pressing them down his thighs.

Y/N almost gasps at the sight of him; Harry’s cock is pretty. She could tell he was heavy, by the way it bowed and bobbed when he moved, and he was so big – something she’d only ever seen in porn and was certain didn’t exist in real life. Y/N swallows the spit gathering in her mouth so she doesn’t dribble down her already messy chin. It’s flushed pink, the tip ruddy and he drools precum from the tip in a thick line, sliding down to land on her hip bone. She wondered if her heart could beat faster than a hummingbird’s.

With careful, nimble fingers, she reaches out to touch him. Her fingers lace around his dick so she could feel the heavy weight of it in her hand, touch feathery light, barely even squeezing him but he still moans softly and closes his eyes like she’d tucked him in her mouth. She wanted him in her mouth, to taste the liquid his prick offered so willingly on her tongue, but she wanted him inside of her more. Still, she strokes him, makes him leak more, collects some of it on her fingertips, and pulls it to her mouth.

The sight must work him up pretty badly because he has to grab her wrist, “If you want me to fuck you, then you need to stop before I bust,” he ordered and Y/N nodded. She’s splayed out for him, open and needy, the picture of pure desperation. She wondered if she ever needed something so badly in her life. The blood, definitely, but this is an extremely close second.

His silken cockhead nudges at her folds, adding to the mess when he paints it up and down, rubbing against her swollen clit, watching her lips separate around the tip that he teases at her hole. Y/N holds the sweater she wore up and out of her way so she can watch, her fingers clutching the knitted fabric tightly, “Will it fit?”

Harry groans like she’d punched him, face drawing up in something like pain while he squeezed the base of his cock, “God, are you trying to make me cum before I get inside of you?” He resumed stroking against her, slow and steady, “Don’t worry about that, puppy, I’ll make it fit.”

As if to punctuate, Harry steadies himself at her drippy hole and pushes in. The tip already feels like a lot, stretching her out wide as he bullies his way inside of her, slowly, but steadily, until Y/N feels like he’s in her stomach, “Will it fit,” Harry repeated, stroking the bottom of her tummy, his thumb swiping over the hair over her mound, “Course it will, with your little pussy sucking me in like this.”

“Want it hard,” Y/N requested, “Please, need to feel you, wanna feel you everywhere.”

In her mouth, in her veins, on her tongue, down to her marrow, deep inside of her – Y/N wants him so bad she could scream. Was this blood lust? Was this something she could feel with another person? Or was it something reserved only for Harry? She didn’t even want to sleep with anyone else to figure it out, she just wants to stay plugged up with Harry’s cock forever. They wouldn’t have to leave even, just feeding off each other’s blood in a constant rotation.

“So fucking good,” Harry sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as he starts to roll his hips, hard, as she’d asked. Harry fucks like he’s being paid to, with deep, intense strokes that fill her up so fucking full she can barely breathe. She doesn’t think she’s stopped pulsing around him, squeezing him, pulling him deeper and deeper. Y/N would wrap her legs around him if not for how he holds her open with his broad palms spanned out over her thighs, keeping her spread and still for him. Harry’s eyes are all over, like he’s stuck between wanting to watch his cock spear her open, and her face, and looking at the rest of her body, “You’re so wet, baby, there’s little trails of your cum clinging to me. Sweet little webs from you, hm?” He pinches her clit between two fingers, then smacks it with three and grins when she cries out, bucking toward him.

“You’re mean,” she whined, but quickly follows it up with, “M’g’na cum, please don’t stop.”

“Am I mean, or am I g’na make you cum, which one is it?” Y/N pouted at him, which only made him laugh more. There’s a loud squelch each time Harry bottoms out, and of course he couldn’t just leave it be, “Oh, listen to that! Your pussy loves me, doesn’t it, puppy? Listen to how loud she’s being.”

Harry uses the pad of his thumb to flick her clit back and forth, then takes his other wrist and bites into it. Y/N’s confused, she makes a sound in her throat, but she doesn’t get what he’s doing until he leans back down, presses their lips together and more of his blood rushes onto her tongue. The swell that had been burgeoning through Y/N’s body overcomes her entirely, she whines pitifully against his mouth, her eyes beaded with tears as she cums harder than she thinks she ever has in her life. The force of it pushes Harry out, she squirts over his thighs and cock, and Harry cusses before he’s cumming too. He cups his hand over his shaft and presses the other side against her twitching, oversensitive pussy, rocking his hips to work himself through it and feeling her twitch against him.

They part with a wet gasp, Harry kisses away whatever was on her bottom lip but Y/N’s mouth just hangs open dumbly. Y/N shivers, her body a livewire, like any touch would zip through her in electricity so intense it makes her buckle. Harry presses his head to her shoulder, like he’s catching his breath but she knows he doesn’t have to – he laces kisses where his mouth lies, until he’s had his fill. Then he maneuvers them both, despite Y/N being all weak-limbed and floppy. He scoots higher on the couch, so she could lie her head on his chest, and pulls the throw blanket over their bodies to shield them somewhat. From what, she doesn’t know, but she’s thankful to be covered a bit.

“Wow,” Harry laughs a little, pulling her arm more across his chest so that he could start to trace circles and design into the skin, “You’re cute. Did you know that?”

Y/N didn’t know what he found cute about that entire situation, but she doesn’t question it. Instead, she nuzzles into him closer and says, “You can drink from me now too, when you want.”

“We might never leave the bed, if that’s the case.”

. . .

Harry gets her cleaned up. Y/N probably could have been more helpful during the process but he goes on about how he’s a gentleman, and after cumming as hard as she did she deserved to be pampered. So he drew her a bath in his insanely large tub, and unlike the first time they did this, he isn’t scolding her and she isn’t in pain. Harry drags the soapy cloth over her body and washes her off, encouraging her to close her eyes and enjoy it. He gives her a warm towel when it’s time to get out, does a face mask with her, nips at the tip of her nose when she pouts at whatever he said (she doesn’t even remember, he makes her pout so much, she thinks her face is going to get stuck like that). Y/N dresses in another one of his sweaters and he shows her to his room – she’d been in it a couple of times at that point, mostly to ogle the floor to ceiling windows in there that match the living room, mesmerized by the city lights, especially with the time of year it was – everything all strung and lit up for the holidays.

Now she crawls into his bed, the black sheets spotless, the duvet downy soft and plushy. Her head sinks into the pillows, her body sinks into the mattress, and Leaf uses the ramp that Harry had bought her to toddle her way up onto the bed (“She’ll hurt her leg if she jumps,” he’d reasoned). She purrs and curls up between Y/N’s thighs, and Harry snuggles up on her left. Y/N isn’t sure what time it is, but there is no hazy glow that would suggest dawn was soon. Just the dark sky, and the stars smathered like freckles over it.

Y/N’s mind is clear, she feels relaxed, and whole, and nice. Now was as good a time as any to really think everything through – to decide how exactly she was going to feel, besides hurt.

“What would you do?” Y/N inquired, and once again, Harry is looping and tracing delicate designs onto her skin. She doesn’t have to specify what she’s talking about, because he already knows, but she continued anyway, “Do I forgive him?” She asks, “Does he even care if I do?”

Harry murmurs, “He cares,” almost immediately, “Niall is. . .he puts on a tough front. I think he’s been hurt a lot in the past so he acts all hard and rigid, but he really isn’t. He’s so doughy and squidgy in the center, he’d just never admit it. But he cares, probably more than anyone else would.” He sighed quietly, “I can’t tell you what I would do. It’s been so long since I was changed, I’m not mad anymore, but I used to be.” His fingers trail up her arm, toward her neck, and he traces along her jawline, “It just went away with time.”

“I just wish he would have told me.” Y/N continued, “I hate that – I hate that he kept it a secret. If he would have explained it right off the bat maybe I wouldn’t have – maybe I wouldn’t feel so hurt. Then there was no false pretext. He’s been so nice to be this whole time because he felt guilty.” Her fingers curled up in Harry’s sweater, “I want to hate him for it, for turning me into this, but he – he saved my life. And this isn’t. . .being this, and meeting you doesn’t feel like a bad thing really. It’s scary, sometimes I want blood so badly I feel like a monster, but you’ve all been so supportive and kind and if you’re like me. . .if you’re like me, then I couldn’t be a monster, because you guys aren’t. And I feel like I’m taking too long to decide, I’m – I don’t want to put you out, I know I should go back to the house. But I’m so angry,” she huffs, frustrated, shaking her head, “The situation is shit.”

“It is shit,” he agreed, “He should have told you, or at least told me or Mitch and we could have told you but he was scared. Still, it doesn’t negate the fact that he stole a decision from you.” He threads his fingers through her hair, “Whatever you want to do, I’ll support you, yeah? I’ll always stay by your side. Take all the time you need to decide.”

Y/N closes her eyes, she nuzzles closer to Harry’s chest and presses her face into the fabric. She lets herself be comforted by his scent and the warmth of Leaf purring against her legs.

She falls into a dreamless sleep.

#jawllines

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