#Fine Line album
casting part one part two
A NEW PUBLICATION FROM ASTANGELI
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tchalamet not this astrology stuff again...
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Content: an enemies to lovers au in which Harry and Y/N are forced into a cross country road trip to make it to their best friends’ wedding on time
Warnings: language, mentions of nsfw content
Pairing: Harry Styles x reader
Word Count: 20k
A/N: I actually cannot believe that this is finally being posted over almost a month of working on it!! originally, I was going to make this one long stand alone fic, but once I hit 35k with no end in sight, I decided to split it into two parts so that it would be easier to read for you guys. I’m hoping to have part 2 posted within a week, so keep an eye out for it!! this fic was partially inspired by this post by @avhrodite (thank you miss bailey!!) and can I just say that I had so much fun writing it!! I love road trips!! it makes me so sad that I had to split this fic because there are so many fun music scenes in the next part but those will all come in due time!! I would also like to give a big thank you to miss andrea @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy and miss alex @darthstyles for putting up with me bouncing ideas off of them and for proof reading for me!! and miss andrea again for editing this stunning header pic!! also everyone I tagged is a wonderful writer and if you’re looking for more to read after reading this then I HIGHLY suggest taking a look through their masterlists. and as always, if you like this fic, please like and reblog it!! and shoot me a message!! feedback is always appreciated, not just by me, but by all content creators <3
also!! if you want to set the mood for a road trip with Harry, here is a link to the playlist that is mentioned and referenced in this fic!!
When she was a little girl, Y/N’s grandmother had told her about Murphy’s Law. Grandma Sarah’s favourite activity was staring at her granddaughter over the kitchen counter, a knife in one hand and half an onion that she’d been cutting in the other, spouting various wisdoms at the young girl, who would often be sitting and peeling vegetables for her. The old lady had hoped that, after being lectured enough times on life’s difficulties, Y/N might be able to avoid making the same mistakes that she had made in her own time. She always had a list of advice that she’d cycle through, as if she were a record on a loop.
“Always look both ways before crossing the street. Your great uncle Albert didn’t, and he never regained full function of his left hand.”
“Beauty fades, but there’s no shelf life on your mind.”
“The grass is always greener on the other side, so stop staring at it, and focus on taking care of your own lawn.”
All of the advice was, by any accounts, useful for anyone to know, especially a young girl. Of course, sometimes the advice would get a little scrambled after Grandma Sarah had had a few glasses of wine, but even her tipsy thoughts were useful to Y/N in her later years. To this day, Y/N still sets a glass of water on her nightstand before going out to a bar, and her hungover self is always grateful the next morning. And Y/N had yet to find anything that smelled as sweet as a vanilla dabbed behind her ears and on her wrists when she runs out of perfume. However, perhaps the most important piece of advice Grandma Sarah ever gave her came one afternoon when Y/N was eleven years old, and her older cousin Grace was due to get married the next week.
Grandma Sarah had cracked egg after egg into her mixing bowl, always without getting any unwanted pieces of shell in the egg whites, and gave her granddaughter a long look across the kitchen counter.
“When you get married, Y/N,” She had said, voice firm. “Remember Murphy’s Law. Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment. When Murphy’s Law comes into play, there’s nothing you can do except roll with the punches.”
Eleven year old Y/N had nodded her head seriously, as she always did when her grandmother told her seemingly important things. The advice, despite its usefulness, however, didn’t stick around in her head, and Murphy’s Law didn’t cross Y/N’s mind for fourteen years.
It takes fourteen years for Y/N, who is standing in front of a flight check-in at LAX, two large suitcases next to her, one of which contains two gold wedding bands, passport in hand, and a distressed look on her face, to remember the law her grandmother had once told her about.
“When you get married, Y/N…anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment.”
Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Y/N pushes the echoing words of her grandmother out of her head. “I’m sorry, just—” She gives a pained smile to the lady working the check in. “Can you explain that to me again, please?”
The lady also takes a deep breath, the smile on her ruby tinted lips just as pained as Y/N’s. “There’s a storm system moving through Utah and Colorado. These systems have the potential to become tornadoes, and because of that, the conditions for flying are too dangerous right now, so all flights through that area are grounded until further notice.”
“So my flight is cancelled?” Y/N holds up the ticket in her hand that’s stamped with LAX – JFK. “This flight, this flight to New York, which is nowhere near Utah—that’s cancelled?”
The check-in lady, whose name tag reads Brynn, gives another tight smile. “Yes, ma’am. It’s cancelled.”
“Okay, no, I’m sorry, Brynn, but that doesn’t work for me.” Y/N shakes her head fiercely as the manic rush of emotions through her begins to set in. The denial, she finds, keeps the oncoming panic at bay, and so she decides to focus on that to ground herself. “My best friend is getting married in the Catskills in one week.” Y/N holds up one finger, as if her words are hard for Brynn to understand. “That’s one week from today. I’m the maid of honour. I have to be there to help organize, keep her calm, and make sure she actually makes it down the aisle, because—between you and me—she’s got some commitment issues—” The more Y/N speaks, the more her panic begins to spill out in her words, like a dam with a leak that’s about to burst. “And she forgot the goddamn wedding rings, so I have those too, and I just—I really need to get to New York, like, now. Right now.”
Y/N finally pauses to take a sharp breath, and Brynn, who had been waiting for her to finish, speaks again, her voice flatter than before.
“I’m very sorry to hear that, ma’am, but as I said, all flights are grounded right now.”
Pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers, Y/N takes another deep breath. Roll with the punches, her grandmother had told her. What else is there to do? “Okay.” Y/N is careful to keep her voice in check when she speaks again. “Alright. Do you know when they’ll be ungrounded?”
“As I’ve said,” Brynn’s smile is more of a grimace now, and Y/N knows that she’s treading on thin ice. “All flights are grounded until further notice. We’re not sure when we’ll be able to open them again. It could be a day, or it could be five. If you’d like, I can put you down on a list to be called when flights are available again, but I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.”
“Let’s do that, then.” Y/N relents in a tired voice, already making plans to pick up a coffee on her way back to her apartment. In the back of her mind, she begins to wonder if she has any Baileys Irish cream liqueur left in her kitchen cabinet—and if 8:30 A.M. is too early to be drinking Baileys with her coffee.
It takes Y/N two cups of coffee with Baileys (it had been 10 A.M. by the time she arrived home, thanks to L.A. traffic, and she had decided that 10 A.M. was a fine time to drink when one’s flight gets cancelled indefinitely) to work up the courage to call Jo and tell her that she isn’t sure if she’ll be able to make it to the wedding.
Josephine Waters, or Jo to anyone who doesn’t want to get punched in the arm, has been Y/N’s best friend since the girls were five years old. They became fast friends on the first day of kindergarten, as Jo liked how Y/N could already colour inside the lines, and Y/N liked how Jo tackled a boy who tugged on Y/N’s pigtails. From the very beginning, the two were a perfect match for each other; where Y/N was reserved, Jo was wild. Where Jo was disorganized, Y/N was focused. Each girl balanced the other in the most natural way, and it’s this fact that Y/N and Jo credit for the two of them staying friends for twenty years. As they grew up together, they grew together, taking the very best traits from the other and using it to help themselves develop. Y/N had been the first person that Jo came out to, confessing to her best friend during an eighth grade sleepover in a quiet and nervous voice. To Jo’s pleasure, Y/N had been completely supportive, and returned the favour from the first day of kindergarten by punching a boy in the nose for calling Jo a homophobic slur. Jo helped Y/N through her parent’s divorce. Y/N helped Jo manage her ADHD. Jo talked Y/N through discovering her bisexuality in university. Y/N answered every 3 A.M. phone call to comfort Jo after a panic attack. In every sense of the word, the two girls had been there for each other.
And now Y/N is going to miss Jo’s wedding.
The harsh realization digs a pit in her stomach as she opens her phone and clicks on Jo’s name. It’s noon in L.A., which means it’s 3 P.M. in New York time, and Y/N knows Jo will answer. She always does.
Sure enough, after three short rings, Jo’s voice chirps through the phone. “Hey, Y/N! Has your flight landed already?”
“No, there’s—there’s been an issue.” Y/N downs another gulp of her coffee, wishing she had added more Baileys when she had the chance, and clears her throat before continuing. “There’s, um, a storm in Utah, and apparently it’s bad, and so all flights from L.A. to New York are grounded until further notice.”
Jo makes a scoffing noise, and Y/N can practically picture the indignant look on her face that she’s seen so many times before. “That’s ridiculous. Did you tell them that New York is nowhere near Utah?”
“What about that my wedding is in one week?”
“I told them that, too. Brynn didn’t seem to care.”
“Bitch.” Jo mutters under her breath. “Okay, just wait a second, Laure just walked through the door, so I’m putting you on speakerphone—”
Y/N hears rustling on the speaker, as well as muttering in the background as Jo speaks to her fiancée, and then Jo’s voice is back, sounding slightly more distant.
“Okay, so I told Laure what happened—”
“That’s awful, Y/N.” Laure’s voice is laced with stress, and Y/N can only imagine how much anxiety this information is adding to her already full plate. “They won’t tell you when flights will be leaving again?”
“Nope.” Y/N pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her free arm around them, leaning her head against the back of her couch.
“Okay, well, planes aren’t the only way to get here.” Laure says, always the more rational out of the two. “Maybe a car—?”
“Y/N doesn’t have one.” Jo chimes in, a hint of teasing in her voice, despite the serious problem that’s in discussion. “She’s scared of driving—”
Y/N sits up, an indignant look on her face. “I’m not scared of driving!” She says hotly, setting her empty coffee mug on the table with a thud. “I just hate L.A. traffic, and honestly, there’s no point! I can walk to work, and Uber anywhere else I need to go! A car would be completely useless to me!”
“Except now, when you’re about to miss your best friend’s wedding.” Jo points out. “What about renting one?”
Y/N sighs, her moment of indignation already fizzled out. “I tried that already. There’s nothing available for a cross country trip.”
“And the drive is so long.” Laure murmurs, and Y/N knows it’s more for Jo’s benefit than hers. “It’s over forty hours. She can’t do that by herself; it’s not safe.”
“Look, Jo, don’t worry about this, alright?” Y/N cuts across her best friend’s anxious voice, assuming her usual role of protector. “I’ll figure this out. I promise you; I will make it to your wedding on time, looking pretty in my dress, and with your wedding bands. I promise.”
“We’ll keep thinking about it and see what we can come up with.” Laure promises through the phone, her voice sounding further and further away. “This is just—it’s a bump in the road, but it’s fine. We can work around this. We’ll find a way.”
The way that Laure finds for Y/N pounds on her door at 7:30 A.M. the next morning.
Y/N, like any exhausted and stressed out adult who has already begun her ten days of vacation time that she booked off for the wedding, is fast asleep in her bed when she hears the knocking. The loud noise pulls her out from her dreams abruptly, and she cracks one eye open, squinting through the sunlight that’s lighting up her room. When the knock echoes through her apartment again, she pulls herself from her sheets with a groan, grabbing her robe from the back of her door and tying it around herself as she makes her way to the front hallway to yell at whoever has the audacity to wake her up.
When she opens the door, Harry Styles is peering down at her with an irritated look on his face.
“Took you long enough, Y/N.” He rolls his eyes as he speaks, finally stepping back from the door that he had been pounding on a moment ago. “Are you ready to go?”
Y/N rubs her eyes, suppressing a yawn as she does so. “Styles, I have no idea what you’re talking about. What are you doing here?” She demands. She doesn’t have the energy to deal with him right now, she thinks, let alone the mental capacity to listen to anything he has to say.
Harry crosses his arms across his chest, and it’s then that Y/N notices the duffel bag strewn over his shoulder. “It’s a forty-two hour drive from L.A. to the Catskills.” Harry’s eyes scan over Y/N’s appearance, the very corner of his strawberry pink lips twitching, and Y/N tightens her robe around herself with a glare.
“A drive?” Y/N asks, uncertainty growing in her voice as she crosses her arm over her chest. “What are you talking about?”
“Your flight was cancelled, right?” Harry’s voice grows more impatient as Y/N’s half asleep brain struggles to piece together what’s happening. “So was mine, so I decided to drive to the wedding, and then Laure called me last night, begging me to take you with me.” He shrugs a bit, fixing his sunglasses on top of his head as his jade eyes scan over her appearance one more time. “Not my first choice of road trip partner, but I don’t think the best man can say no to bringing the maid of honour. And splitting the cost of gas will be nice.”
“Okay, wait, I…” Y/N’s finally coming out of her fog of exhaustion, and the newfound clarity of her mind is causing a newfound pit to develop in her stomach. “Laure and Jo didn’t tell me any of this.”
“Well, I expect they’re a bit busy, given that they’re getting married in a week.” Harry adjusts the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder with a sharp sigh. “Look, are you ready to go or not? It’s over a five day drive, so we need to leave as soon as possible.”
“I—yeah—” Y/N nods before taking a hesitant step back from the doorway, positioning herself to the side so that Harry can get by her. “I just have to get dressed and grab a couple last minute things, so…come in, I guess.”
Harry flashes an insincere smile to Y/N as he steps into her apartment, his eyes darting around at the furniture and home decor. Y/N watches as his gaze lingers on her library of books, her yellow bicycle leaning against the wall, and every other little touch of herself that she likes her home to have, and she can see the judgement that’s clearly apparent in his eyes.
“You can sit, if you want.” She mutters, turning on her heel to go back to her bedroom. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”
The first thing Y/N does when she shuts her bedroom door behind herself is assess the situation in the analytical way that usually calms her. Alright. So a road trip across the country isn’t exactly ideal, and a road trip across the country with Harry Styles is even less ideal. But, at the present moment, being stuck in a car with Harry seems to be the only sure way that she’ll be able to make it to Jo’s wedding on time. And for Jo, Y/N would put up with anything. Even Harry.
As she rummages through her drawers for some leggings and a tank top, Y/N wonders what she could have possibly done to bring this much bad karma into her life. While she gets dressed, her mind flickers back to Murphy’s Law, how everything that can go wrong will go wrong, in the worst possible way, and then she thinks about being in a confined space with Harry for five days, and—yeah. That seems to be the worst possible thing she can think of.
Y/N remembers the first moment she’d met Harry seven years ago, and the unfortunate circumstances under which that meeting had happened. Jo and Laure had just barely met back then, and Jo had begged Y/N to come out on a double date with her and “this really hot girl from my women studies class who I’m, like, 83% sure swings my way.”
Y/N had groaned at that comment, flopping back on her bed in the tiny dorm that she and Jo shared. “No! I have an essay due in three days that I haven’t even started!”
Jo rolled her eyes as she flopped down on Y/N’s bed as well, ignoring her own half-made bunk that was across the small room, favouring her best friend’s bed like she always did. “We both know you’re not starting that essay until the day before it’s due, and that it’s just an excuse because you don’t want to go!”
“I don’t want to go.” Y/N had agreed with a sharp and fervent nod. She shut her laptop and pushed it to the side of her bed, knowing from experience that she wasn’t going to be able to focus and argue at the same time. “Why would I want to hang out with a complete stranger while you make googly eyes at a girl from your class?”
“Okay, first, I don’t make googly eyes.” Jo made a face at that comment, nudging Y/N’s calf with her own foot. “And second, he’s her best friend from high school, and he’s coming to visit all the way from London!”
“So? He’s still a stranger!” Y/N pointed out, her eyes drifting to the sticky note covered novel beside her. She picks it up and begins to flip through the marked pages as she speaks. “Knowing where he’s from doesn’t change that!”
“It should, because he’s only going to be here for a week, and Laure almost cancelled the date because she doesn’t want to miss spending time with him—” Jo grabbed one of Y/N’s pillows and tossed it at her arm, knocking the book from her hands. “Focus! So I said that he could come, but she said that she didn’t want him to be left out, so I said that I happen to have an incredibly beautiful and witty best friend who would be able to entertain Harry while we all hang out together.”
Y/N inhaled deeply as she gave Jo a withering look. “Did you already tell her I’m going?”
Jo, in return, gave Y/N her most dazzling smile. “Yes. We’re meeting them for dinner at 7.”
Y/N shakes herself from her memories as she runs to her bathroom to toss her toiletries back into the bag she’d taken them out of the day before, working as quickly as she can. It does her no good to think of Harry in the past, she thinks, because the present Harry is currently sitting in her living room, probably snooping through her stuff, and the longer she takes to get ready to go, the more he’ll go through. Not that there’s anything incriminating in her apartment, really—or at least, nothing incriminating in her living room. When Y/N makes it back to her bedroom, however, to quickly zip up her suitcase, she does make sure she grabs her favourite vibrator from the box under her bed, tucking it between her half-folded underwear. If she’s going to be gone for a week, she’ll need something to help her relax.
Within a few more minutes, Y/N is repacked and ready to go. Her hunter green bridesmaid dress is carefully arranged on the very top of her clothes in her suitcase, all of her makeup and toiletries are packed inside, and Jo and Laure’s wedding rings are secured in little velvet boxes stashed between her socks. As far as physical preparedness goes, Y/N is ready to go on a coast to coast road trip. As far as mental preparedness goes, however…that’s the thing that Y/N’s not quite sure about.
“What are you doing?”
Y/N glances at Harry from the corner of her eye, her hand still half stretched out to the radio dials in his car. Although Harry’s green eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses, and his face is turned towards the long road in front of them, he still somehow manages to catch her motions, and it irritates her to no end.
“I’m changing the radio station?” Y/N answers after a moment, giving him a puzzled look. “I don’t know why you listen to this weird oldies station, but—”
“First of all—” Harry’s hands turn the steering wheel slightly to guide his car over the curve of the road, his jaw twitching as a smirk works its way onto his pink lips. “This isn’t a radio station, it’s my Spotify playlist. I put a Bluetooth connection in Stevie a year ago. Secondly—”
“Stevie?” Y/N repeats incredulously, twisting her whole body as best she can to look at Harry straight on. “You named your car? You’re one of those guys?”
Harry finally gives Y/N a flicker of a glance, the glare obvious in his eyes even behind his dark sunglasses. He turns his attention back to the road before replying. “Secondly—” He continues from before, ignoring her comment as his right hand readjusts the gear shift. “Driver picks the music.”
Y/N makes a face, the corners of her lips pulling down into a grimace as she settles back into the passenger seat with her arms crossed. “So we’re just going to listen to ‘Tiny Dancer’ for the entire drive, are we?”
“Not the entire drive, no.” Harry flicks on his turn signal with a ringed hand before shoulder checking to change lanes. Y/N glances at him, her eyes training on the strained muscles in his neck as Harry continues. “We’ll listen to ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart,’ too.”
“Great.” Y/N exhales slowly and presses her head back into the seat’s headrest, closing her eyes as Elton John’s voice continues to float through the speakers. “Really looking forward to it.”
“You know, maybe you should try to sleep.” Harry says, his voice prickled with irritation as Elton John bleeds into The Zombies. “I think you’ll be in a better mood after you take a nap.”
Y/N readjusts her crossed arms as she mutters a short reply. “Don’t tell me what to do.” Still, she shuts her eyes again, twisting her body towards the window in an attempt to get comfortable enough to sleep. Being in the car with Harry is already giving her a throbbing migraine, and they’ve only been on the road for less than two hours. Sleeping through most of the trip will probably be the only way she’ll be able to survive it.
Despite that realization, however, her phone vibrates in her lap three minutes later, pulling her away from her thoughts. Y/N glances down at the now lit screen, catching her bottom lip between her teeth when she registers the name on the message. Opening her phone quickly, she reads over the reply as a guilty feeling begins to build in her stomach.
BRANT: Hey, what are you doing tonight? Want to grab some dinner?
“Hm?” Y/N’s head snaps back up, her eyes jerking in Harry’s direction. Like before, he’s watching her from the corner of his eye, catching every one of her movements, and the constant surveillance is annoying to no end.
Harry, it seems, is either oblivious to her annoyance, or is choosing to ignore it. “I asked what’s wrong. You have a weird look on your face.” Harry’s blunt words are accompanied by the sound of him tapping his ring covered fingers against the gear shift. “Everything alright? Is it Laure and Jo?”
“No, it’s just—” Y/N glances down at her phone again, fingers poised over her keyboard as she crafts a reply in her head. “It’s no one.”
Harry snorts once, a short and harsh sound that grates against Y/N’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “I don’t buy that for a second.”
“It’s no one to you.” Y/N updates her retort, turning her full attention back to her phone. “My personal life is none of your business.”
Y/N: I’m sorry, I can’t!! Caught a last minute ride to New York with somebody. Maybe once I’m back?
“Personal life, huh?” Harry clicks his tongue once, and the childish noise is even more irritating than his snort. “What, you can’t talk to me about whoever you’re shagging?”
The blunt remark hits Y/N like a shot to the chest, and she sputters for a moment as she struggles to form a response. “I—we’re not—” Taking a moment to gather herself and clear her throat quickly, Y/N avoids Harry’s gaze as her cheeks begin to burn. “We’re not like that. We’ve just…had a few dates, that’s all. There’s nothing…official.”
“You don’t need to be official to have a shag, now, do you?” Harry lifts his hand from the gear shift to fix his sunglasses, settling it back down on his jean covered thigh once he’s done. “If you don’t want to date the bloke—”
“I didn’t say that.” Y/N cuts over him, pulling herself from her embarrassment enough to give him a cold glare. “He’s very nice—”
“Boring, you mean—”
“And I—this is none of your business!” Feeling the flush of embarrassment rise back to her cheeks, Y/N once again turns her attention to her passenger seat window, avoiding Harry’s pressing gaze. “I’m done talking about this.”
Harry gives an indifferent shrug. “Whatever.” He says casually, tapping his finger against his thigh as his shoulders once again lift slightly beneath his fitted black t-shirt. “I just feel bad for the guy, that’s all.”
The comment is bait. And the thing is, Y/N knows it’s bait. She knows that the only reason Harry is saying it is to get under her skin and keep her talking about Brant, further embarrassing herself in the process. She’s been around Harry enough to know how he works, and she knows that the only reason he would say that is to bait her. She knows she shouldn’t take it. And yet—
“There’s no reason to feel bad for him.” Y/N scoffs as she fidgets with the position of her seatbelt, trying to stop the strap from cutting into her chest. “We’ve been talking for a month, and there’s nothing official happening. Just because you can’t go that long without trying to stick your dick in someone—”
“You have no idea what I can do, Y/N. Don’t pretend that you do.” Harry’s tone of voice is just as scoffing as hers, his eyes still set on the road in front of them intently as he gives his sharp response. Y/N watches as he shifts the gears of the car and speeds up, just enough to make the engine roar, but not enough to lose control of the car. Part of Y/N wistfully wishes that he would just slip up and crash the car, just so she wouldn’t have to continue this conversation.
“All I meant,” Harry continues, unaware of the dark daydreams running through Y/N’s head. “Is that I feel bad that you’re clearly not interested in him, which is proven by the fact that you haven’t wanted him in your bed.”
Irritation flares through Y/N’s body again, stronger than the embarrassment of discussing her sex life (or lack thereof) with Harry, and she half considers just grabbing the steering wheel and yanking it into a passing cliff so she can finish them off herself. “For Christ’s sake, Harry, sex isn’t the only way to—”
“I don’t mean actually having it, that’s not a given.” Harry rolls his eyes from behind his sunglasses as he slows down for a curve in the road, his practiced hands once again changing gears with ease. “You don’t have to fuck him. But you should want to, especially if you’ve had a month of dates, and you clearly don’t want to.”
Y/N doesn’t hide the incredulous stare of disbelief on her face as she turns to look at him. Harry’s face, though turned towards the road still, has a look of amusement mixed with contemplation on it, and it takes all of Y/N’s self control not to smack the expression off of him. Although there’s the ghost of a smirk on his strawberry coloured lips, his brow is furrowed behind his sunglasses, as if he’s thinking hard about the conversation between them. Normally, Y/N would be amazed that Harry is thinking hard about anything. However, given that their conversation is apparently turning into whether or not she wants to have sex with someone, Y/N’s not too thrilled about his sudden investment and serious contemplation of the topic.
Shaking her head decidedly, Y/N finally spits out a finishing phrase. “You don’t know what I want.” She says decidedly, reaching into the backseat to grab the sweater she stashed back there. She clumsily pulls it over her body without taking off her seatbelt. Harry keeps the AC cranked as high as he can, and she knows that he’ll kill her if she tries to change it. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know more than you think.” Harry counters, the tip of his tongue running along his bottom lip. “And I’m pretty good at reading body language. You don’t really want him. He—what’s his name?”
Despite her better judgement, Y/N answers in a flat voice. “Brant.”
The corners of Harry’s cherry lip twitches. “Brant. Yeah. It’s clear you don’t really want him, and you’re wasting your time. You’re wasting his time, too. Poor Brant.”
“Poor—you’re such an ass, you know that?” Y/N’s irritation bubbles over as she gives Harry a nasty look, her hand squeezing her thigh hard in an attempt to ground herself in their conversation. “You can try to pretend otherwise, but you don’t know anything about me, or him, so—”
“You think I’ve been friends with Laure and Jo this long and haven’t learned anything about you?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, risking a glance at her as he presses a heavier foot onto the gas. “I told you, I know more than you think, and that includes your type.”
An incredulous scoff leaves Y/N’s mouth, and she shakes her head in obvious disbelief before responding. “My type. Right. What is my type, then? What’s Brant like, exactly, since you seem to know everything?”
Harry goes quiet then, his brow furrowing again as he returns his full attention to the road. With his incessant chatter gone, the only sounds in the car being “Maps” playing quietly in the background and Harry’s ringed index and forefinger tap on the steering wheel. Y/N breathes out a long sigh of satisfaction as she relaxes back in her seat, her attention turned back to the blurred landscapes speeding by her window. Finally, she’s managed to get Harry to stop with his ridiculous assumptions—
“You like someone that’s stable and secure, so he probably works in some corporation, or an office job. Majored in business, I’d think, but has a minor in something like mathematics.” The side profile of Harry’s nose wrinkles in disgust at the thought. “He wants to work his way up in the company, but never wants to actually start anything on his own. He likes the stability of a blueprint. You’re obsessed with punctuality, so he’s probably always on time to pick you up for dates—and he has to pick you up, because you don’t drive—and your dates are never really dates. Dinners, or movies, or something like that, but they never really have that spark.” Harry’s shoulder lift slightly as he continues to make his conclusions. “Which, honestly, is probably a big reason in why you don’t want to fuck him, because as much as you like stability and safety, you also like the idea of a grand gesture, or something like that. And you probably split the bill a lot at dinner, right? Because it just seems fair, but really it’s because you know it’s not a real date. But it passes the time, and he’s nice, so it’s fine. But it’s only fine.” Harry licks his lips once more as he collects his next thoughts, his teeth catching his bottom lip just barely as his tongue retreats back into his mouth. “And he’s probably already talking about you coming to meet his family for some holiday. Not in a romantic way, but just because he likes to plan everything in advance to every minute detail. Just like you.”
Halfway through Harry’s speech, a flush had begun to creep up Y/N’s neck, continuing to warm her jaw and ears before settling on the apples of her cheeks. She keeps her eyes trained on her window and her mouth pressed into a tight line, refusing to look at Harry and give him any hint of just how shocked she is that he’s guessed so much.
Harry, however, doesn’t plan on letting her get away from his inquisition. “Well?” He impatiently prompts after a moment, and even though she’s not looking at him, she can feel him looking at her, his emerald irises burning into the back of her head. “Am I right?”
“I—” Y/N clears her throat quickly, but her voice is still strained and tight when she replies. “No.”
Harry hums low in his throat, and his voice is laced with curiosity with he replies. “Really?” The irritating tap of his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music continues. “What did I get wrong?”
“He—” Y/N hates the way her skin is burning from his interrogation, how her voice shrinks smaller and smaller the more she speaks. If Harry knows her so well, then he knows how much she loves being in control, and in this situation, with Harry managing to pull every one of her most secret inner thoughts and feelings out of her without trouble, she feels anything but in control. “He has a minor in accounting, not mathematics.”
The laugh that leaves Harry’s mouth is loud and bombastic, and his whole body curves over the steering wheel as the sound rolls out of him, his eyes just barely managing to stay on the road while his sunglasses slide down his nose. “Right.” Harry says between belly laughs, his voice stretched out in amusement. “But everything else was spot on?”
Y/N keeps her stiff body turned towards the window, refusing to engage in the conversation any further. That doesn’t stop Harry, however, who fixes his sunglasses as chuckles continue to roll out of him.
“I take it back. Maybe he’s the one wasting your time.” His hand runs through his hair lazily, fixing the curled strands that had fallen into his eyes as he laughed. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to sleep with your bore of a boyfriend—”
“He’s stable!” Y/N breaks her silence to protest Harry’s words, her voice heated. “And he’s not my boyfriend. We’ve been seeing each other, but we’re not—it’s not exclusive, or—nothing serious—”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. It’s fine.” Harry waves off her arguments with a flick of his tattooed hand. “Besides, like you said, it’s none of my business, right?”
Y/N can practically picture what Harry looks like in this moment. His chestnut curls are probably a mess from fidgeting with them, and his cheeks are most likely rosy beneath his stubble from the peels of laughter that left his equally red lips a moment ago. Most infuriatingly of all, his dimples are probably present, making little indentations in his cheeks to show how entertaining he’s found embarrassing her. Bastard, she thinks, clenching her fists so hard that her nails dig into her palms, pressing them into her sides beneath her makeshift blanket.
She refuses to let herself confirm if her suspicions about Harry’s appearance are correct, and instead keeps her gaze on the blurred trees whipping by outside her window. “Right.” She mutters, leaning her head against the headrest as she closes her eyes. “It’s none of your business.”
As soon as the paint-peeled door to the motel room swings open, Y/N knows that she’s not going to be sleeping soundly tonight.
She’s not sure what her first hint should have been. Perhaps it was the half-flickering blue and red light of the Motel 6 sign that should have tipped her off, or the front-desk attendant who looked as though he was hiding a few secrets himself. When Y/N and Harry had first approached the front desk of the tiny, vaguely mildew-smelling lobby, their clothes rumpled from the drive and their attitudes just as bothered, the employee in the Motel 6 uniform had barely raised an eye at them, not bothering to look up from his computer until Y/N and Harry were directly in front of him.
“Hi.” Harry had said, his voice taking on a cautious but polite tone that, Y/N remembers thinking, she would have appreciated hearing throughout their eight hour drive that day. “We’d like two rooms, please—”
“Here.” The attendant’s gum snapped in his mouth as he reached behind himself and grabbed an old key with a flimsy blue plastic tag from a wall of empty pegs. “Queen sized bed, the first door on the left. It’ll do you two nicely.”
“Um, no.” Harry cleared his throat loudly as he gave a slight shake of his head. “We need two rooms.”
Finally, the attendant looked towards them, his eyes scanning Harry before Y/N. The latter had self consciously pulled her sweater around her, as there was something in the attendant’s eyes that had bothered her. “Don’t have two rooms. I got one room left. Everything else is booked.”
Harry had glanced at Y/N then, and she knew that his thoughts mirrored hers: there was no way that they’d share a queen bed together. No way in hell. They’d barely survived eight hours in the same cramped car without one of them driving them off a cliff. If Y/N had to share a bed with Harry, even for just one night, she’d probably end up smothering him in his sleep before the first snore left his obnoxious mouth.
“That’s really not an option.” Y/N had stepped forward then, crossing her arms around herself as the attendant’s eyes canvassed her again. “Isn’t there something—”
“Look, lady, I’m telling you what’s available.” The attendant’s eyes continued to flicker between her face and her chest, making Y/N’s skin crawl more and more with every word that fell from his gum-filled mouth. “The room might have a pull out chair—some do, but I couldn’t tell you which. Now do you want to share the room with him or not? If you don’t want to share, then I could try to find something else for just you—”
Before Y/N had the opportunity to respond to the lewd suggestion, Harry was already stepping forward, his body angling protectively in front of her own. She watched from behind as his broad shoulders squared beneath his black t-shirt, his shoulder blades flexing as he straightened up to his full height. When Harry answered, his voice was just as firm as it was dark, lacking its previous polite tone.
“We’ll take the room.” He had said coldly, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet before tossing a few bills on the front desk. “Thanks for the help.”
Yes, Y/N thinks, all of that should have been a sign for the state of the motel room that they now find themselves standing inside.
The same mildew smell from the lobby surrounds them, permeating through every inch of air that Y/N breathes in. Dust seems to coat every surface as well, with thick layers of it covering the decades old TV and stand, the small coffee table, and the ledge of the window to her right. To her relief, there is a small arm chair in the corner, which must be the pull out that the attendant had mentioned. However, her relief is short lived when she sees the ratty beige comforter on the bed, and wonders if maybe sleeping in Harry’s car, which she had sworn to him that she didn’t want to do, might have been the better choice.
Harry shuts the door behind them with a firm thud, turning the deadbolt lock before attaching the chain from the door to the door frame. “Let’s keep that locked, yeah?” He mutters, walking to the window and making sure the beige curtains—everything in the room is a sea of beige, like some sort of khaki coloured nightmare—are pulled closed tightly. “I don’t trust that front-desk prick not to sneak in here.”
Y/N nods, fixing the strap of her duffel bag with her overnight clothes on her shoulder. She’s not quite sure where to set it down, as everything around them seems to have been sitting stagnant and uncleaned for a while. “Yeah. Thanks, by the way. For that.”
Harry acknowledges her thanks with a small grunt, barely lifting his head to look at her. “You don’t need to thank me.”
Despite her gratitude for his actions, Y/N can’t stop herself from rolling her eyes at his gruff response. “Jesus, can you not just say you’re welcome?”
Harry chooses to ignore her comment, and instead sets his bag down on the arm chair, unzipping it roughly. “You can take the bed.” He says simply, tossing his sunglasses into his bag before pulling out a small bag filled with what Y/N assumes are toiletries. “I’ll take the pullout.”
“Fine.” Y/N reluctantly sets her own bag down on the creaking bed, pulling back the covers to check for anything unsightly. To her relief, the interior of the bed looks cleaner than the exterior, and she returns the covers to their previous position before grabbing her phone charger from her duffel.
Harry glances at her as she gingerly sits on the bed and plugs her phone into the wall. “I’m going to shower.” He says slowly, as if gauging her reaction to the simple phrase. “Do you, um, need in there, or—?”
“Nope.” Y/N shakes her head, her cheeks flushing slightly as she checks her messages. “You’re good.” She keeps her eyes glued to her phone until she hears the click of the bathroom door behind Harry, signalling that she’s alone.
Taking advantage of what she knows will be a rare moment of solitude over the next week, Y/N changes from her tank top and leggings into her pajamas, wishing that her past self had realized how likely it would be that she’d be sharing a room with Harry. She’d brought exactly two pairs of pajamas with her on the trip, and neither pairs were something she wanted Harry to see her in. The first pair, a baby pink silk set she’d bought on a whim from her favourite lingerie shop, is eliminated before Y/N even considers them, leaving her with just her usual casual pajamas. Unfortunately, Y/N’s usual casual pajamas consist of an old sports bra that she’d had since moving to L.A., and a pair of men’s boxers that she stole from an ex in college. Still, despite her hesitancy, she knows that plaid boxers and a faded grey sports bra are better than pink silk and lace, and she changes into them quickly before sitting cross-legged on the bed and dialing Jo’s number.
Jo, like she usually does, answers on the third ring, her voice extra chipper to compensate for the verbal lecture that she knows is coming. “Hey, Y/N! How was driving today?”
“It would have been better if I’d known Harry was driving.” Y/N sighs, rubbing her palm over the cold skin of her exposed thigh. “Shouldn’t I have been informed of that decision?”
“It completely slipped my mind, actually.” Jo says casually, and Y/N can just picture her leaning her chin into her palm. “How was the first day? Are you calling to ask me to help bury his body in the desert? Because, like, you know I would in a heart beat, but I think it may put a damper on mine and Laure’s nuptials if my best friend murders her best friend.”
“No one’s been murdered. Yet.” Y/N glances at the bathroom door, the sound of the shower echoing through the vents and into the bedroom. “Although a ‘help me hide the body’ phone call may be coming soon.”
“Uh oh.” Y/N hears something crackling against the speaker, and pictures Jo shifting the phone from one ear to the other. “Is it that bad?”
Y/N pinches the bridge of her nose as she contemplates the easiest way to answer Jo’s question. “He’s such an irritating ass. He really is.” She lowers her voice, but only slightly. If Harry’s eavesdropping, she thinks, then let him hear. It would serve him right. “He wanted to pick a fight over every little thing, and he’s so particular about his car—did you know he named it? He named it, Jo. He talks about it like it’s a person!”
A loud sigh echoes through the speaker. “That’s really not that weird, you know.” Jo replies in her best peace keeping voice. “And, by the way, did you know that you’re really the only person who finds Harry irritating? Laure adores him, and I really like him, and everyone who meets him thinks he’s very thoughtful!”
“Then they haven’t been trapped in a car with him and his playlists for eight hours.” Y/N begins to tap her fingers against her knee in a quick staccato pattern. “He practically interrogated me about Brant today, as if he has any clue about the people I date.”
“Did he?” There’s a trace of curiosity in Jo’s voice now, and Y/N can imagine her leaning forward in interest. “What did he say?”
“He said he thinks he’s boring.” Twisting a lock of her hair behind her ear as she speaks, Y/N leaves her hand resting against her cheek. “He was rude about it, too. I didn’t ask for his opinion.”
“Well, honestly, Y/N…” Jo’s curiosity twists into hesitation. “Brant isn’t exactly the most thrilling person. You know that.”
Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, her cheeks flushing for what seems to be the millionth time that day. “I’m aware of that. But he didn’t need to be so smug about it!”
“Okay, well, what’s done is done.” Jo says as she takes on her mediator persona once again. “So there’s nothing else to do now except go to sleep, get back in the car tomorrow, and continue driving.”
The sound of the shower stream cuts off, leaving just the pitter patter of rain beginning to hit the roof of the motel as ambiant noise. “I guess.” Y/N mumbles, fidgeting with the waistband of her bra. “I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
After the line clicks dead, Y/N flops back on the squeaking mattress and begins to scroll through her phone, opening her work email to check if everything is running okay back home while she’s gone. On top of all this, the last thing she needs is for her work to completely blow up in her absence. Within minutes, Y/N becomes so engrossed in her phone that she doesn’t even notice the bathroom door creaking open and Harry walking out with just a towel around his waist.
Until she looks up, and then her mind goes completely blank.
Immediately, Y/N feels overstimulated. There’s just…so much going on that she doesn’t even know where to look first, let alone have the ability to remind herself that she shouldn’t even be looking at Harry like this in the first place.
Harry’s curls are soaking wet, curling down around his flushed cheeks in a way that, if it were anyone else, she’d immediately describe as attractive. Droplets of water are clinging to every inch of his skin, his toned and tanned and tattooed skin, that seems to continue forever as her eyes travel down his bare chest, noticing every curve of his muscle. His jade cross, which is almost the exact shade of his eyes, sits between his pronounced pectoral muscles, moving ever so slightly with each step he takes. Y/N notices tattoos she’s never seen before, like the giant butterfly across his toned stomach, and—her mind goes blank for just a moment—two vines that are tattooed over his prominent pelvic muscles, which just barely dip beneath the white towel that’s wrapped loosely around his hips.
As Y/N’s eyes glue themselves to the way Harry’s towel is moving as he walks, arousal begins to pool in her stomach, travelling all the way down to her core and back again. For a split second, she thinks that maybe Harry is right. Maybe she doesn’t want to fuck Brant, because she knows for certain that she’s never thought about him the way she’s thinking about Harry in this moment.
But it’s Harry, she reminds herself, as she tries to force herself to snap her gaping mouth closed. Underneath all those muscles and tattoos—and there are a lot of muscles and tattoos—it’s Harry, who annoys her to no end, who is one of the most self-absorbed individuals she’s ever met, and who has had it out for her since the day they met.
“Sorry.” Harry’s low accent snaps Y/N from her thoughts and pulls her wandering eyes back to his face. “Forgot my clothes out here.”
“It’s—” Y/N’s voice cracks in the middle of the word, still hyper-focused on just how it’s possible for one person to be as attractive as they are irritating, and she clears her throat before trying to speak again. “It’s fine.”
If Harry notices the slip in Y/N’s voice, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just walks to his open bag, locking one hand firmly over his towel as the other searches through his clothes. He pulls out a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, examining them for just a moment before nodding in satisfaction and heading back to the bathroom. Y/N almost swears that she sees him glance at her one last time before he shuts the door, but then she gets lost in the taut muscles of his back, and forgets what she’s thinking entirely.
She’s only just begun to contemplate that maybe she should pull herself together when the door opens again, and Harry exits the bathroom in a way that’s a little more presentable. His hair is still damp, but his body is dry, proven by the faded Rolling Stones t-shirt that’s now clinging to his arms and the boxers that are hanging low on his hips. His tattooed hips. His incredibly sexy tattooed hips that could probably—
“What are you wearing?” Harry asks, raising an eyebrow at her as he moves his bag from the chair to the ground. He begins to unfold the bed from the armchair cushions to reveal a creaking twin bed, carefully stretching it out as he waits for an answer.
“I—pajamas.” Y/N glances down at herself self consciously, fixing the strap of her sports bra as she does so. “I just—I didn’t think we’d be sharing a room, so…”
Harry nods tersely as he finishes setting up the bed, his expression unreadable while he walks to the closet and grabs a set of sheets and a blanket. “Cute boxers.” He says casually. “Are they Brant’s?”
Within a flash, the intense rush of attraction and desire Y/N had been feeling is gone, and is instead replaced by the familiar irritation as she watches a smirk grow in the very corner of Harry’s mouth. “No.” She says flatly, turning her attention back to her phone.
“Interesting.” Harry says slowly, laying the sheets and blanket on the bed in a haphazard manner. “Whose are they, then?”
Y/N gets up from the bed and grabs her toiletry bag from her duffel before answering. “An ex.” She says shortly, tucking the patterned bag under her arm. “And why does it matter to you?”
The sound of the rain against the roof and windows gets louder and louder as they speak, and Harry raises his voice to be heard over the precipitation. “It doesn’t.” He shrugs as he maneuvers his lanky body under the blanket without causing the bed to fold in on itself. “Just curious, that’s all.”
“Well, you don’t need to be curious.” Y/N opens the bathroom door, sparing one last withering glance at Harry over her shoulder. He’s sitting up on the bed with one leg hanging out from beneath the covers as one hand plays with his hair, the other fiddles with a ring on his finger, and the way he looks at her from the corner of his eye lights a fire in Y/N’s chest. Except she can’t tell if it’s a fire of anger or arousal.
When she slams the door behind her, it’s her own confusion over that distinction that frustrates her more than anything else.
“Took you long enough.” Harry scoffs while leaning against the side of his car, his white t-shirt a contrast to the dust covered body of the black Chevy Impala. His dark sunglasses are perched on top of his head, keeping his unruly curls out of his eyes, while his arms are crossed over his chest impatiently as he waits for an answer. “I dropped off the keys ten minutes ago.”
By way of explanation, Y/N holds up the cardboard drink tray in her hands, a brown bag balancing in between the two coffee cups. “I was getting us breakfast, Styles. Calm down.” She walks to the passenger side of the car, opening the door and climbing in one handed. “I figured you’d be even crabbier hungry.”
“You mean you’d be crabbier without caffeine.” Harry retorts, climbing into the driver’s side in one smooth motion. “Here—” He takes the tray from her so she can buckle her seatbelt, carefully removing the two coffees and setting them in the cup holders between them. “Just be careful not to spill anything.”
Y/N rolls her eyes as she picks up the coffee closest to her (she’d gotten them both black). “Why? Worried about me ruining Stevie?”
Harry reaches into his pocket, pulling out his keys as he gives her an irritated look. “Yes, actually. I’ve put a lot of work into her.” The car roars to life as Harry turns the key in the ignition, buckling his own seat as the motor warms up. “Adding on two thousand miles to her in five days is already worrisome enough, and that’s not even counting the other two thousand she’ll get on the way back.”
Y/N doesn’t respond to the comment, and instead lets the sound of Harry’s playlist fill the silence of the car as Harry peels out of the Motel 6 parking lot. She’ll be glad to leave that place behind, she thinks, and focus on finding something better—and more private—for tonight, wherever they end up.
Harry, however, doesn’t seem content with letting silence fall between them. “How did you sleep last night?” He asks after a few moments, one hand on the steering wheel as he takes a sip of his coffee.
Glancing at him from the corner of her eye suspiciously, Y/N reaches into the paper bag and grabs her Danish, taking a small bite before answering. “Not great.”
“Was the bed bad?” Harry asks curiously, his brow furrowing while his eyes stay glued to the road, moving only to glance at the occasion sign directing him back to the highway. “The pull out wasn’t great, but I’ve slept on worse. I would’ve thought the bed would be better than that.”
“No, it—I mean, the bed wasn’t amazing, but it—” Y/N clears her throat and swallows the bite of pastry in her mouth. “I, uh, I don’t sleep well when it’s raining.”
At this new information, Harry’s eyebrow quirks up, and he risks a look in her direction to attempt to read her face. Y/N’s own eyes are focused on the Danish in her hands, refusing to meet his gaze as she lifts the pastry to her mouth to take another bite.
“You don’t?” Harry asks after a moment, the confusion in his voice almost visible within the space between them. “But it’s like white noise, isn’t it? Supposed to be relaxing, and all that.”
Y/N gives a half shrug of her shoulders. “It’s—well, it’s not the rain, exactly, just—what it’s usually paired with.” Y/N hopes that her clear hesitancy to answer will be enough of a signal to Harry for him to drop the subject. Harry, however, doesn’t seem to pick up on the reluctance in Y/N’s voice; or, at least, he doesn’t care enough to acknowledge it.
“What do you mean, what it’s paired with?” Harry takes a small sip of his own coffee, careful of the temperature of the liquid. “Like…wind, or—?”
Y/N debates back and forth with herself internally, but she knows that Harry won’t drop the subject without getting a satisfying answer. “Thunder.” She answers finally, setting her coffee down in her cup holder before turning her gaze towards her window. “I don’t like thunderstorms, ever since I was a little kid, and when it’s raining, it always feels like thunder is around the corner. Puts me on edge, like I’m waiting for it. And I can’t sleep.”
“So you never sleep when it rains?” Harry asks slowly, and the tone of incredulous disbelief in Harry’s voice is enough for Y/N to be able to imagine the expression on his face. His forest green eyes wide, strawberry pink lips agape, brow furrowed in confusion, his jaw slack as he contemplates a response to a grown woman admitting that she’s afraid of thunder. The image in her head is enough to make the back of her neck flush.
There’s a tightness in the back of her throat, and Y/N attempts to clear it again before answering. “Never.”
“Huh.” Harry taps his fingers against the gear shift in succession three times. “You’d hate London, then.”
The casual comment catches Y/N by surprise, but she doesn’t allow herself to lower her guard. “That’s why I don’t live in London.” She mumbles the words as her fingers pick at the napkin wrapped around her Danish. “I picked L.A. for a reason. It has lots of heat, barely any rain, and I’m reasonably close to Disneyland whenever I feel like I need something magical.” The last part slips out without Y/N thinking, and the flush creeps further up her neck as a surprised laugh leaves Harry’s mouth.
“Something magical?” Harry repeats, new crinkles appearing next to his eyes as he laughs, as if the dimples that crease his cheeks aren’t proof of his amusement enough. “Do you frequently feel like you need something magical?”
It’s Y/N’s turn to give an incredulous look now, her body half twisting towards Harry to observe his confusing reactions. “How did I just admit that I’m afraid of thunder, and the thing you’re focusing on is that I like Disney?”
Harry shrugs at her words, flicking on his turn signal to exit towards the highway. “I don’t know.” He says as he peers over his shoulder to check for oncoming cars. “I mean, everyone has fears. Not liking thunder isn’t exactly uncommon, you know. However, hearing that Ms. Serious Type A Perfectionist likes magic—” His grin grows bigger by the second. “Now that’s surprising.”
“Oh, shut up.” Y/N mutters, finishing her Danish in a few more bites. She waits until she’s entirely finished chewing before continuing the conversation over the voice of Billy Joel coming through the speakers. “Since I’ve admitted something I’m afraid of…” She starts, glancing at Harry from the corner of her eye. “I think it’s only fair that you admit something, too.”
Harry snorts in response, his hand freezing its movement with his coffee cup still half lifted to his lips. “Is that so?”
“Mhmm.” Y/N hums as she slips off her shoes in order to pull her legs beneath her to fold into a cross-legged position on the car seat. “Not so much fun when it’s your turn, huh? C’mon, what’s the Brit scared of? Not enough biscuits for afternoon tea?”
A short and harsh breath of air leaves Harry’s nose, half a snort as he sets his coffee down in his cupholder. “No, actually, diminishing biscuit levels are a low level fear for me.”
“Then what’s a higher one?” Y/N prods, watching as Harry’s neck muscles tense as he shoulder checks to change lanes. There’s something about the movement that catches her eye, but she can’t quite figure out why—or rather, she can, but she’d rather pretend that she’s unaware.
“Uh…” Harry’s fingers nimbly switch on his turn signal before he transitions to the left lane, his right hand moving the gear shift to its desired place. “Crowds. I’m not a fan of big crowds, really. Like when everyone’s pressed together, so tight that you can’t breathe, and you can’t hear yourself think because it’s so loud…yeah. I don’t like that.”
The simple answer surprises Y/N as much as she imagines her answer surprised Harry. “Crowds?” She repeats back to him, a forgotten memory of long gone conversations coming to the forefront of her mind. “But what about, like, concerts and stuff? Laure always told me when she’d go to shows with you…”
“That’s different.” Harry shrugs as one of his ringed hands comes to his lips, rubbing over them slowly as he contemplates his next words. “I…When I’m at concerts, I always go with someone, and if we’re in the general seating area, where there’s a lot of people, I always stick with them. Like, sometimes, if it’s getting crowded, or people are pushing, Laure will hold my hand, so…” Redness begins to creep up Harry’s pale neck, staining the tops of his ears a deep berry colour as he trails off.
Not for the first time since their conversation began, Y/N is surprised at how candid they’re being with each other. As she watches Harry’s blush grow, she feels her own diminish, a physical representation of her trading her embarrassment for something more empathetic.
“I get it.” Y/N says after a moment, once it’s clear that Harry isn’t going to continue. “When there’s thunderstorms, um, I feel better when I’m with someone, or talking to someone. It makes me feel less…”
“Alone?” Harry finishes for her, his eyes flickering from the road to her profile. His green irises capture hers for longer than they should, his focus completely gone from the stretch of highway for at least five seconds before Harry’s attention turns back to driving. “Yeah.” He says slowly, pulling his sunglasses down from his hair to hide his eyes. “Yeah, less alone. It helps.”
Y/N nods slowly, unable to look away from Harry’s side profile. It’s apparent that he’s on edge after their conversation, and she knows her body language is the same. Tight in the shoulders, hands clenched, back rigidly straight. And yet, seeing her own body language reflected in front of her bothers her. Part of her wants to reach out and take Harry’s hand, soothe him like Laure does in the crowd of a concert, but she knows that’s ridiculous. It’s ridiculous, and it’s Harry, and Harry, of all people, does not need her comfort. Not in the slightest.
She watches as Harry clenches his fist on top of his thigh.
“Is this really necessary?” Y/N asks, slamming her car door shut as Harry does the same on the other side of the vehicle. She leans over the roof of the car, crossing her arms on the cool metal as she tilts her head to the side in an inquisitive manner. The clouds in the sky are getting darker by the minute, signalling the beginning of the storm that canceled her flight, and the angry black colour above their heads is making Y/N anxious.
Harry, however, seems unbothered by the gathering storm, and nods tersely as he pushes his sunglasses up onto his head before opening the door to the backseat and grabbing his army green jacket. “Of course it’s necessary.” He says, slipping the jacket over his broad shoulders before slamming the door shut and locking the car. “I’ve never been to Utah before. I want a souvenir.”
“Okay, but—” Y/N follows Harry as he walks towards the dilapidated building in front of them. “Here? Really? Does this seem like the best place?”
Harry glances at her over his shoulder at her, pausing his long strides to look up at the building he spotted from the highway. If the chipped grey paint that was once pastel blue and dust-coated windows are any sign, the structure is probably older than Harry and Y/N combined, with a splintered front porch wrapping around its small perimeter. The building has one faded sign above the door that reads “SOUVENIRS/SNACKS” in hand-painted capital letters, and seems to be hanging onto the outside façade by three small bolts and sheer willpower. Y/N’s almost certain that she’s seen this exact building in a horror movie before someone gets murdered, and while getting back into the car with Harry isn’t at the top of her list of wants, it’s certainly preferable to getting stabbed to death by a serial killer.
“It’s fine, Y/N.” Harry waves off her concern without a second thought about the appearance of the shop. “If you’re really bothered, you can wait in the car.”
Y/N considers it for a moment, but decides against it. She needs to stretch her legs, and honestly, Harry seems too trusting. He probably wouldn’t be able to tell if someone was sketchy until their knife was in his back. And, seeing as how he has the keys to the only getaway car available, Y/N kind of needs him around without a stab wound carved into his flesh.
“Let’s just get this over with.” She sighs, pulling her own jacket around her tighter as she steps over the worn wooden steps to the door. “We’re on a schedule.”
When Harry pushes open the door, the smell of stale air hits Y/N before anything else. Despite one open window and a fan in the corner of the shop that’s being used in a weak attempt to circulate the air, it feels like nothing fresh has been in the shop for a while. Y/N shoots a glance at Harry, caution and warning written all over her face.
While Harry sees her glance, he waves off her concern, turning his attention to the few shelves and wire racks around the small shop that are lined with inventory. Within a few moments, he’s entertaining himself in the post card section, comparing different photos of the Utah landscape to each other with great care and concern. Y/N observes him for a few moments before wandering off on her own towards the snack section of the shop. Although there are a few items that she thinks about picking up, the thick layer of dust over the packaging puts her off from purchasing them. She grimaces as she continues walking, stopping in front of a tower of silver key chains in the back corner of the shop. Most of them, she finds, are crosses and bible verses, and all of them give her an ominous feeling in her stomach. Y/N runs her finger over a miniature silver version of the Ten Commandments, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she does so.
“I think we should go, Harry.” She calls to him without turning around, setting the key chain back down on the rack carefully. “Just pick your post card and—Harry?”
When Y/N turns around, Harry’s broad figure is nowhere to be seen. She walks back over to the post card section slowly, her brow furrowed with confusion as a knot tightens in her stomach. Where could he be? She wonders, running her hand along the dusty wire rack in front of her. It’s not like there’s anywhere for him to go in the small shop, and she would have heard if he left, or if he drove away.
“Harry?” She calls again, her steps slower now as worry fills her voice. “Where did you—fuck—!” Y/N screams as something grabs her from behind, its fingers digging into her sides harshly. She whips around to find Harry standing over her, loud outbursts of laughter spilling from his strawberry pink mouth at the look on her face.
An indignant flush rushes over Y/N’s face. “You’re such an ass!” She hisses, gripping his shoulders and shoving his laughing frame away from her. “I swear, you’re like a five year old—”
“Did I worry you?” Harry snickers between his words, a wicked look of mischief alight in his dark green eyes. “Were you afraid something happened to me?”
Y/N’s cheeks burn with anger as she turns away from him, crossing her arms defiantly. “No. I wish something had happened to you. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with your immature antics.”
Harry’s lips stay quirked up in a smirk as he follows her, his voice falling into a singsong tone. “You were worried.” He insists, chuckles still rolling out of him every few moments. “I could tell.”
“Oh, fuck off.” Y/N snaps at him in an irritated voice. “Just pay for your stupid post card and let’s go.”
“I already did. There’s a sign on the desk saying the clerk is out for lunch, so I left some money.” Harry nods to the small desk in the corner with a few dollars left tucked under the dusty service bell. “I think that’ll cover it, yeah?”
“Whatever.” Y/N can’t resist shoving Harry one last time before walking towards the shop door. “That’s enough. Let’s go. I want to make it to the motel before the storm hits.”
The nice thing about Grand Junction, Colorado, Y/N realizes, is that their motels have multiple single rooms available on short notice. While she didn’t realize the importance of this fact before this trip started, having an evening of solitude and her own stable space away from Harry for the first time in two days is nothing short of a blessing.
When she gets inside her private motel room, which, while still shabby, is leagues above their previous motel, Y/N locks the door before breathing a sigh of relief. Just the silence in the room is wonderful, and even though she knows Harry is right next door, having a wall between them is a luxury that she doesn’t take for granted. When she showers, she doesn’t have to worry about being quick, or toweling off as fast as she can so she can get dressed inside the bathroom without Harry seeing. There’s no need to worry about anyone hearing Y/N sing quietly to herself under the (albeit weak) stream of the shower, nor is there an uncomfortable stick of her sports bra to her back caused by water droplets that she couldn’t reach in her hurry to dry off. And after her shower, with some of the knots from her back finally worked out, Y/N is able to stretch out on the double bed in the center of the room, her phone in her hand as she reaches for the takeout menus stacked on the bedside table. She peruses the menus available before settling on Chinese takeout, and within five minutes, her order of a two entrée plate and fried rice is on its way.
Y/N sighs gently as she leans back on the pillows, wishing that she and Harry had stopped at a liquor store before coming to the motel. She knows she could probably walk to one, but now that she’s showered and comfortable, the last thing she wants to do is wander around Grand Junction until she finds a bottle of Moscato. Instead, Y/N flicks on the TV with a click of the ancient remote, and begins scrolling through the channels until she finds a rerun of Dirty Dancing that’s just starting.
An amused yet wry smile appears on Y/N’s lips. It’s this movie’s fault that she and Harry are on an impromptu road trip, really. Jo and Laure both loved it, and were insistent that they had to get married at a resort in the Catskills similar to one from the film. As her two friends cross her mind, Y/N settles into the sheets as Baby begins her narration, contemplating whether or not she should call Jo to check in. Just as the thought pops into her head, however, the phone rings.
Y/N answers within a moment, not bothering to check the caller ID. She and Jo had a strange habit of calling each other the moment the other thought of it, and when she raises her phone to her ear, she expects to hear her best friend’s familiar voice reply. “Hello?”
What voice she actually hears, however, surprises her. “Hey, Y/N. I’m glad I got through.” Brant says easily, his voice crackling slightly through the speaker. “How are you?”
“Brant!” Y/N jerks up in bed in surprise, the remote falling from its perch on her stomach onto the sheets. “I—I’m fine. How are you?”
“Oh, alright. Just busy with work, but that’s the usual.” Y/N can practically picture the neutral expression on his face, and how he’d shrug his shoulders as he speaks. “How’s the road trip? I can’t imagine driving for as long as you have to drive.”
“It’s…it’s alright, yeah.” Y/N speaks slowly as she puts her phone on speaker, balancing it on her knee while her hands begin to fidget with her rings. “Long, but not too bad.”
“Well, that’s good.” Brant clears his throat thickly, as if what he’s about to say makes him uncomfortable. “I miss you, though. And our weekly dinners.”
A feeling of guilt washes over Y/N. Truthfully, besides Harry’s inquisition on the first day of driving, Brant has barely crossed her mind. Granted, he isn’t usually at the forefront of her mind while she’s in L.A., either, but for the last few days, her thoughts have been constantly consumed by the stress of making it to the wedding and her annoyance and frustration with Harry.
“Y/N?” Brant’s voice crackles through her speaker again. “Are you there?
“I—yeah.” She says quickly, pulling herself from her thoughts. “Sorry, just—long day. I’m tired.”
“I can imagine.” Brant says sympathetically, but there’s something in his tone that almost sounds patronizing. “Who are you driving with? Have you been taking turns?”
Y/N pauses the fidgeting of her rings before snatching her phone from its balanced place on her knee. She quickly opens her messages and scrolls to her thread with Brant, searching through the text bubbles for a reminder of what she’d said to him. Had she not told him that she was traveling with Harry?
Within a moment, Y/N confirms that she hadn’t. All she had said was that she was getting a ride with someone. Why had she done that, she wonders? She’s sure she’s mentioned Harry in passing to Brant at least once. When she talked about the wedding, probably. As she thinks about it more, however…what had she told Brant about the wedding? About Jo? How much does he actually know about her personal life? Most of their dinner conversations revolve around work, or some book both of them have read. Had the topic ever come up in detail?
“I’m, um, I’m driving with one of Laure’s friends.” Y/N brings the phone closer to her mouth as her other hand works its way to her mouth. She begins to chew on a hangnail absentmindedly between her words, something she always does when her nerves begin to get to her. She can’t count the number of times Jo has grasped her wrist and pulled her hand from her mouth to chastise her about the habit. “We’re…we’re in Colorado now.”
“Oh, Colorado. That’s nice.” Brant says over the rustling of papers. “Listen, Y/N, I’ve got some work to get back to, but I’m glad we had this talk. I’ll call you again soon.”
“Uh, yeah. Sure. I’ll talk to you later.” Y/N nods, and then the line goes dead. Out of curiosity, Y/N checks the length of the call. The time 3:09 blinks back at her.
Tossing her phone back down on the covers, Y/N resumes her relaxed position in bed, despite being anything but relaxed after that phone call. She should feel guilty, she thinks, for not telling Brant about Harry. But then again, what’s there to tell? She said she was getting a ride with one of Laure’s friends, and that’s true. She hadn’t lied. And even if Brant did know that the friend is Harry, why would he care? It’s just Harry. There’s no reason for Brant to be alarmed, because there’s nothing going on. And she and Brant…Y/N glances down at the call time again. Things are different between them. There’s…they’re comfortable as they are, she thinks. They’re not dating, and they’re comfortable like that. So there’s no reason to tell him about Harry, because there’s nothing to tell. Nothing at all.
Y/N refocuses on the TV screen, where Patrick Swayze is dancing in a tight black tank top. Right. Nothing to tell.
When Y/N leaves her motel room the next morning with her bag over her shoulder, Harry is already waiting by his car, leaning against the dusty black body with two coffee cups in his hands. He’s dressed in another black t-shirt (Y/N wonders just how many identical copies of the same shirt Harry has) with usual jeans covering his long legs. His curls are tied out of his face with a dark green bandana, and Y/N knows that if his eyes weren’t covered with his black sunglasses, the bandana would make them even brighter than they usually are.
“Hey.” Harry calls to her, extending a ringed hand that holds a coffee cup towards her as she walks over. “I got the coffee this morning. You drink it black, right?”
Y/N nods as she takes the cup from him, careful not to brush over his fingers with her own. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“No problem.” Harry crosses around to the back of the car, opening the trunk with a turn of his key. “Here.” Harry holds out his free hand for Y/N’s bag, taking it from her and setting it down on top of the suitcases in the back. “I got it.”
Y/N regards Harry with a bemused look as she wraps both hands around her coffee cup. “Thanks?” She says again, more questioning this time as she looks at him strangely. “I can do that myself, you know.”
“I know. I’m just trying to be polite.” Harry’s voice takes on its usual bite like he’s flipping a switch. “Is that alright with you, princess?”
Within a second, the familiar irritation with Harry returns to Y/N, and it’s almost comforting to snap back at him in a testy voice. “Don’t call me that.”
Harry snickers under his breath, and although the sound makes Y/N’s annoyance grow, she detects a different tone in it than a few days before. Before she can place a finger on why it sounds different, however, Harry is climbing into the driver’s side of the car and starting the engine.
The two of them are silent as Harry finds his way back to the highway, and they stay in that silence for the first few hours of that day’s leg of the trip. As the third hour begins to pass, Y/N is content listening to the throaty and captivating voice of Stevie Nicks fill the cab of the car. By the second chorus of the song, Y/N is humming along quietly, her foot tapping to the same beat that Harry’s fingers are spelling out against the steering wheel. It’s comfortable, she thinks after a moment. The silence between them. It feels different than it did on their first day, when Y/N was questioning her choice to get into a car with Harry and commit to a 42 hour drive. The silence seems to be fueled more by comfort than tension. It’s…refreshing.
A memory from the first day ignites in the back of her mind, a spark so bright and obvious that she can’t believe it took her so long to see it. “Stevie.” Y/N says suddenly, turning to Harry as a smile spreads over her face. “You named your car Stevie, as in Stevie Nicks?”
Harry laughs, his shoulders moving up and down beneath his black t-shirt from the motion. One hand lifts from the steering wheel and points a finger gun at her. “Took you long enough. I was wondering how many days you’d have to listen to my music to get it.”
Y/N gives his hand a light shove. “I was too distracted by the fact that you named your car.” She rolls her eyes, bringing her bottle of water to her lips for a short sip. “I still think it’s weird.”
“It gives her character.” Harry defends himself as he rubs a hand over the steering wheel absentmindedly. Y/N can see the mirth swirling around in his light irises. “A bit of personality. Just because you don’t value personalities doesn’t mean anyone else doesn’t.”
“I don’t value personalities?” Turning in her seat to stare at Harry head on, Y/N raises an eyebrow in question. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just your taste in men, that’s all.” Harry says it casually, like it really can just be a “that’s all” type of sentence.
Within a heart beat, the comfortable atmosphere in the car turns to ice as Y/N straightens in her seat, her spine tense, tightening every nerve in her body along with it. “What the fuck does that mean?”
When Harry glances at her again, his eyes darken, his guard going up as he senses the shift in Y/N’s tone. “Nothing, just…motel rooms have thin walls.” Harry mumbles, having the decency to keep his eyes on the road as his ears redden slightly. “And from what I overheard, Brant doesn’t exactly seem…stimulating.”
Y/N sputters indignantly for a moment, unable to form a coherent response as anger rises in her chest. “You—” She sucks in a quick breath that hits the back of her throat harshly. “You eavesdropped on me?”
Harry licks his lips once, clearing his throat once before answering. The tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel has resumed, his nervousness apparent in his movements as well as his facial expressions. “Not on purpose. I told you, the walls were thin.”
“So put in head phones!” Y/N exclaims, gripping her water bottle so tight that her fingers begin to strain in protest against the metal exterior. She has half a mind to throw the bottle at Harry in her anger, barely able to talk herself down from the ledge of the idea.
Harry’s posture shifts in his seat as his shoulders square, and Y/N can practically see his defensive side emerge from within his chest. “It’s not like you two were having phone sex.” He rolls his eyes at the idea. “It was the most boring conversation in the world, and lasted, what, three minutes? Makes you wonder how long he lasts in other ways, doesn’t it?”
“Stop the car.” Y/N’s voice is low and void of emotion as she replies, her body turned back forward in her seat.
“Am I wrong? It’s not like you know for sure—”
Anger bubbles over in Y/N’s chest, cancelling out any rational thought she has inside her and leaving pure, unadulterated fury. “Stop the car, Harry! Now!”
Harry half jumps in his seat when Y/N yells, and he quickly jerks the car to the side of the highway without so much as a turn signal. Pulling her seatbelt off as he pulls over, Y/N is out the door before Harry can so much as put the car into neutral. While her more rational mind would tell her that she has nowhere to walk to along a highway in Colorado as the sky darkens to an angry black above them, the only thing she’s thinking of is getting away from Harry. Stupid, self-absorbed, ignorant, and rude Harry.
“Y/N—” The sound of Harry scrambling out of the car and slamming the door behind him pushes her to walk faster. “Y/N, come back—”
Y/N turns around on her heel fast and hard, heart pounding so fast that she thinks it might break through her ribs. “What is your problem?” She hisses, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Why do you insist on being so—so nasty about him? You don’t even know him!”
Harry freezes where he is as the wind whips his hair around his face, his bandana barely keeping the messy curls in place. “I don’t—” His speech falters, and he sucks in a sharp breath before continuing. “I don’t think I’m being…nasty.”
“Well, you are!” Y/N takes a deep breath in, placing her hands over her stomach as it expands with air. It’s a trick that Jo taught her back in high school, as a way to ground herself to her body. Feeling the movement of air in and out of her lungs helps calm her, even if by just a fraction. “Brant is just—he’s someone I’m talking to. We’ve gone on dates, but we’re not dating, and even though we’re not dating, that doesn’t mean that you can insinuate things about him, or eavesdrop on our private conversations!”
Harry’s jaw tenses as he listens to Y/N speak, waiting until she’s finished her speech to respond in a harsh and clipped tone. “I already told you, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. And I’m teasing you. It’s supposed to be a joke. Isn’t that what friends do?”
“But we’re not friends, Harry.” Y/N’s voice is flat, the fury in her tone replaced with a hollow emptiness. “We’re not friends. I don’t need you teasing me about a boy like we’re buddies, or whatever, because we’re not.”
Although Harry opens his mouth to respond, no words cross over the edges of his pink lips. His jaw tightens even more as he closes his mouth again, and Y/N can see a million things flitting through his green irises, which are getting darker by the moment. Y/N’s not certain if the darkness is from her words, or the black sky rolling above them that’s sapping the light of day from the atmosphere, and she’s not sure if she can take the answer either way. Part of her knows that maybe—just maybe—she’s blown this whole thing out of proportion, and maybe she should examine why Harry making fun of Brant bothers her like it does. It’s not like she’s unaware of his shortcomings, she thinks, but then she wonders why she’s now seeing them as shortcomings, when a week ago, she saw them as positives. Y/N never has to worry about Brant being too much for her, or forgetful, or scatterbrained—he’s organized, and secure, and stable, and that’s what she likes. It’s always been what she likes.
Harry’s delayed response tears Y/N from her thoughts. “Not friends. Got it.” He mutters, rubbing his hand over his stubbled and taut cheeks. “Just get back in the car, then. Let’s go.”
“Hello! My name is Gracie, I’ll be your server today.” The waitress in the tiny diner smiles at Harry and Y/N, a notepad in one hand and a half filled coffee pot in the other. “Can I get you guys anything to start?”
“Coffee.” Harry and Y/N speak at the same time, each person’s eyes flickering to the other before looking away. Y/N keeps her eyes focused on her off-white ceramic coffee cup as Gracie fills it, refusing to make eye contact with Harry again.
The last hour has been almost unbearable. After they got back in the car, Harry had turned off his playlist, and for the first time since the road trip had begun, true silence had fallen between them. Y/N had thought she would like it, but truthfully, it had been the worst thing she’d ever heard. Every few minutes, she’d hear Harry shift, or sigh, or tap a tense finger against the gear shift, and she wished that she could say something, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. She’d been grateful when he wordlessly exited the highway and parked in front of a diner, as the conversations of stopped truck drivers and the clatter of a kitchen was a good distraction from their argument.
A movement in the corner of her eye catches her attention, and Y/N glances up just enough to watch Harry slip a pat of butter into his coffee, stirring the contents of the cup with his spoon until it’s melted together. She wrinkles her nose in disgust, and almost opens her mouth to make a comment (“Really, Harry? Just add milk like a regular person, instead of drinking a cup of grease.”), but bites it back before it can fall off her tongue. They’re not exactly in the position to make quips to each other, she thinks, especially after she told him that they weren’t friends.
Which they’re not. They’ve never been friends; that fact isn’t exactly news. Not getting along has been Harry and Y/N’s signature since the day they first met. So why is there a pit in Y/N’s stomach that gets deeper every time Harry looks away from her?
The click of heels alerts Y/N of Gracie’s returned presence before her voice does. “Have you two decided what you’d like to eat?”
“I’ll have a turkey club, please, on whole wheat bread.” Harry folds up his plastic menu carefully. “And a glass of water on the side.”
Gracie nods, taking the menu from him before turning her eyes to Y/N. “And for yourself?”
“Um—” Y/N had barely glanced at the menu, too lost in her thoughts to think about it. “I’ll just have a burger, please. And a water, as well.”
Gracie nods as she writes down the order, taking Y/N’s menu and giving the pair one last smile before disappearing to the kitchen. A fresh wave of silence falls between Harry and Y/N as each of them sips their coffee, both of them doing their best not to look at the person sitting across from them.
Y/N’s best, however, is not up to her usual standard, as she can’t stop herself from stealing a few quick glances while Harry looks out the window. He hasn’t shaved in a couple days, she notices, as the stubble on his cheeks and chin is even darker than it was the day before. There’s a permanent crease between his eyebrows, his face as tense as she’s ever seen it, and a darkness over his whole expression overall. It’s like there’s a new wall up between the two of them, and Y/N’s never felt more detached from him. Which, honestly, is saying something.
She’s looking back down at her own half empty coffee when Harry finally speaks a few minutes later, his voice just as tense as his expression.
“Shit.” He says in a low voice, and then the next sound Y/N hears is that of someone ruffling through pockets.
She looks up to see Harry doing just that, his hands digging through the outer pockets of his army green jacket. “What?” She asks, her curiosity outweighing her need to continue the silent treatment. “What is it?”
“I had the vows in my—my pocket, but they’re—” Harry jams his hands inside a pocket sewn into the lining of his jacket, and Y/N watches as his face visibly relaxes. “Oh, thank God. I thought they fell out.”
Harry removes his hand from his pocket, two folded up notes clutched within his hand. Each one is labeled carefully, one with Jo written in Laure’s neat penmanship, and the other with Laure scribbled in Jo’s quick writing.
Y/N recognizes the papers immediately. It’s easy, really, considering the amount of time she spent helping Jo rewrite draft after draft of the same sentiments. “You have Jo and Laure’s vows?” She questions, her eyebrows raising in surprise. “Why?”
“The same reason you have their wedding bands.” Harry shrugs as he turns the papers over in his careful fingers, making sure not to crease them. “They forgot them.”
A small smile plays on the edge of Y/N’s lips at the memory of her forgetful friends. “Right. Of course.”
Harry’s eyes flicker to Y/N’s mouth at the sign of movement, and he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth before responding. “Want to take a look?”
“At their vows?” Y/N looks around, as if someone could be watching and monitoring them. “I—that doesn’t seem right.”
“Fine. Then don’t look at them.” Harry says easily, setting the note labeled Laure on the table between them. His nimble fingers unfold the paper labeled with Jo’s name as his green irises begin to scan across the sheet. “I’ll read them.”
It only takes a few seconds of watching Harry read over the words for Y/N to crack. “Wait.” She brings her thumb to her mouth, chewing anxiously on her cuticle as Harry quirks an eyebrow at her. “Will you read them to me?”
When she asks, Harry spends so long staring at her that Y/N thinks he’ll refuse. His jade eyes meet hers with an intensity that almost makes her flinch, but Y/N holds his stare, refusing to be the first to back down. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Harry gives a sharp nod, looking down at the note before he starts to read from the beginning.
“‘My darling Jo’,” He begins, his voice soft and low, his accent thick. “‘It seems so strange that this day is finally here. I feel like we’ve been building up to it ever since the day we first met, and yet it’s always seemed so far away. When I was a little girl, I always’…” Harry trails off as his eyes continue to move across the words, and he clears his throat before attempting to continue to read aloud. “‘I always thought that there was something wrong with me. I thought that the things that I felt, and the way that I loved, was dirty. I thought it was wrong. I thought that—that I was going against God, and against nature, and that I was going to be punished for it. And then I met you’.”
Harry pauses to take a sip of his coffee, and Y/N does the same. There’s a shine beginning to appear in his eyes, and Y/N recognizes it as the beginning of tears because she feels the same thing brimming in her own eyes. She feels a bit guilty for reading the vows, but reasons that it’s for the best. If she were to hear them for the first time at the wedding, she doesn’t think she’d be able to keep it together.
“‘The moment I met you, I knew that the way I loved could never be wrong, or be dirty, because I was loving you’.” Harry’s accent grows thicker the more he reads, and although Y/N hasn’t seem Harry in many different emotional states, she can tell that this is a sign of how the vows are affecting him. “‘Being with you could never be wrong, and God could never get mad at me for it, because only God could create someone as perfect as you. I promise to love you when you wake me up at 3 A.M. because you’ve stolen all the blankets, and I promise to love you at 6 P.M. when you almost burn down our apartment while trying to cook for me. I promise to support you through everything, listen to your stories, and watch in wonder as you make a difference in this world. I promise to never let my anger get the best of me, and to always give you the benefit of the doubt. I promise to love every version of yourself that you grow into, just as I’ve loved all the versions you once were. I promise to love you in every way humanly possible, and even in ways that aren’t humanly possible. I promise to love, period. I’—” Harry’s voice cracks, and he glances up at Y/N as he clears his throat to continue. “‘I love you’.”
Y/N doesn’t realize just how emotional listening to Harry read Laure’s vows has made her until the first tear wells over the corner of her eye. She turns her head towards the window to wipe it away as quickly and inconspicuously as possible, but from the way Harry is looking at her when she turns back around, she knows that he caught what she was doing.
“That, um—” Now it’s Y/N’s turn to attempt to clear the emotion from her throat. “Wow.”
Harry carefully folds Laure’s vows back up, taking extra care to re-crease the paper exactly how it had been folded. “I didn’t know she…felt like that.” Harry says after a moment, his voice quiet. “Like she was…wrong.”
Y/N, unsure of what to say, just nods while reaching for Jo’s vows in front of her. Like Harry, she takes great care when unfolding the paper, smoothing it gently between her hands. “I’ll read Jo’s, then?”
Harry nods as he takes a sip of his water. “Sure.”
Y/N licks her lips once, wetting them with what little saliva she has in her mouth before beginning. “‘Laure’,” She starts, emotion already rising up to form a lump in her throat. “‘I don’t even know where to begin. I’ve tried to write down all the ways I love you a million different times, but I can never seem to find the right words. The problem is, I don’t think that there is a big enough word to describe what I feel for you. ‘Love’ is only four letters, and four letters is just not enough to contain everything I feel. ‘Adoration’ is nine letters, but even that doesn’t come close. I think the best way I can describe it is ‘permanent’.” Y/N pauses her reading to take a long gulp of water, the coolness soothing the dry and parched feeling in her mouth and throat. “‘Anyone who knows me knows that I have trouble committing. The idea of having something forever, of being in one place, normally terrifies me. But the idea of having you forever, and being in one place with you forever…that’s all I want. I want us to be permanent to each other. Even when we struggle, and we will struggle, I know that we won’t fall apart. Committing to you isn’t any trouble. It’s as easy as breathing. I’m sure of you, and I’m sure of us. I love you, permanently. I’ll love you when you’re sick and gross, and I’ll love you when you’re old with a bad hip.” A small laugh falls out of Y/N’s mouth before she continues. “I’ll love you when you haggle at flea markets for the best prices, and I’ll love you when you do something so stupid that it makes me want to tear my hair out. I love you permanently, and I want all of our family and friends to witness me saying that. I’ll never back out, or bail, or run away from you. You’re the one thing in my life that’s never felt hard. You’re my home base, and my north star, and you bring me back down to Earth whenever I need it. I love you permanently, Laure. I’ll never stop’.”
As she finishes reading, Y/N folds the paper back up, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand before grabbing the other note sitting on the table. She pushes them towards Harry, her misty eyes unable to meet his. “Here. Put these away again, somewhere safe.”
Harry takes the vows from her, slipping them back inside his inner jacket pocket for safekeeping. “It’s probably—” He clears his throat once more, and Y/N knows that the vows have caught him in his chest just as they’ve caught her. “It’s probably good that we read them now, so that we’re…prepared for the ceremony.”
“Yeah.” Y/N wraps her hands around her coffee mug, the warm ceramic surface heating her cold fingers. “You’re right. They really…love each other.”
Harry taps his fingers against the table top, a concentrative and thoughtful expression on his face. His eyebrows are knit together above his stormy green eyes, and his pink tongue swipes over his pinker lips once before he speaks. “You know, Laure is my closest friend. I don’t want her to get hurt.”
Immediately registering the tone of Harry’s voice, Y/N’s head snaps up, her own eyes becoming stormy as they meet his own. “Jo would never hurt Laure.” Y/N says defensively, the hairs on the back of her neck pricking up at even the suggestion of her friend hurting someone. “Didn’t you hear her vows? I’ve never heard her sound so sure of something in her entire life.”
Harry’s jaw flexes at the cadence of Y/N’s voice, and his is just as agitated when he responds. “I’m just saying, if anything ever happened—”
“And I’m just saying, it won’t.” The tension between them doubles as Y/N shoots Harry an icy glare. “Do you just look for the worst in people? Is that all you do?”
“You think I look for the worst in people? Really?” Harry barks out a harsh laugh, pressing one hand flat against the table as the other fixes his bandana. “Christ, if that’s what you think of me—”
“Why would I think anything else?” Y/N asks incredulously, tilting her head to the side as she regards him. “All you’ve shown me is—”
“Alright, I have the turkey club on whole wheat, and the burger here.” Gracie appears suddenly to Y/N’s right, her tray loaded with food. “Here you guys are…” She sets the plates down in front of Harry and Y/N, her gaze darting between them nervously as she reads the tension in the booth. “Is…there anything else I can get you two?”
“No.” Harry’s voice is hard. “We don’t need anything else.”
By the time Harry pulls the car into a motel just off the highway in Lexington, Nebraska, all Y/N wants is a moment alone. The strained atmosphere during that day’s drive had been unbearable, and between the anxiety from her confrontation with Harry and the sound of thunder beginning in the distance, Y/N just needs some space to herself to relax and calm down.
Of course, just because that’s what she needs, doesn’t mean that she’s going to get it. When Harry returns back to the car with a single key in his hand and a sour look on his face, Y/N knows for sure that the universe is against her.
This room, at least, she’s pleased to find, has two actual beds, which are pushed up against the wall perpendicular to the door with a small night table between them. However, that’s where her pleasure stops, as the click of Harry turning the lock behind her just reminds her that she’s trapped in here, with no chance to get away from Harry, the oncoming storm, or any one of her problems that have developed over the last four days. The reality of the situation hits her all at once, and it takes all of Y/N’s self control to toss her bag on the bed and walk brusquely to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind her before she allows herself to show a sign of her emotions.
The rest of the evening passes in silence. She showers before changing into her sports bra and boxers, but the amount of exposed skin sends a vulnerable shiver down her spine. Y/N opts for pulling a sweatshirt over her body, and then sets herself the task of braiding her hair to distract herself. After that’s done, she busies herself with her skincare routine, taking up as much time as she can in the bathroom before she absolutely has to leave its private interior.
Harry, however, seems to want to see as little of Y/N as she wants to see of him, and pushes past her to enter the bathroom the moment that she steps out of it. His routine, it seems, is designed to take up just as much time as hers was, because by the time Harry exits the bathroom, the scent of his shampoo trailing behind him, Y/N is already tucked under the covers of her bed, although she’s far from asleep.
In the time it took for her to shower and get ready for bed, the storm had picked up, and the only thing audible in the room was the sound of rain pelting against the roof and window, the wind howling through the trees, and Y/N’s shallow, uneven breaths. She wraps the sheets tightly around herself, pulling them taut to her chin with clenched fists that tighten every time a clap of thunder echoes through the room. Although she’s turned to face the wall, away from Harry, she can hear his footsteps pause as he gets a glimpse of her shivering form beneath the blankets, and she does her best to will herself to appear asleep. Breathing in as deeply as her tight chest will allow her, Y/N attempts to even her breathing, forcing her shoulders rise and fall in a way that appears natural and normal. But all it takes is one clap of thunder for the controlled motion to go out the window.
“Y/N…” Harry’s voice is low, but despite its raspy cadence, it lacks the rough edge that it had earlier. The bed behind her squeaks, signalling that Harry’s taken a seat on the edge of it. “Are you—?”
“I-I’m fine.” Y/N says quickly, pulling the sheets tighter to her chin as another shiver rolls through her body. “Go to sleep.”
There’s another creak of Harry’s bed, and Y/N imagines him climbing under the starched linen covers, his damp curls flopping into his eyes as he lays back on the lumpy motel pillow. The image is almost enough to distract her until there’s another clap of thunder. The sound seems to shake the motel room, and Y/N can’t stop the small whimper that leaves her lips as her body jumps in response.
“When I was a little kid, my mum took my sister and I to the fair every year.”
Harry’s deep voice cuts over the rain, and Y/N shifts in her bed, turning over to face him. She keeps the covers pulled up to her chin, but readjusts herself so that she can keep her head on her pillow while looking Harry in the eye. “What?” She asks, confusion audible in her quiet tone.
Harry shifts himself as she does, continuing to move down until he’s completely horizontal, with one hand tucked under his pillow as he speaks. “My mum took my sister and I to the fair. It came to Holmes Chapel every spring, and there were always rides, and games to play, and so many things to see. It drew crowds from nearby villages every year, really big crowds, and my mum always held my hand tightly so I wouldn’t get lost.”
“I don’t understand, what—” Another clap of thunder shakes the room, making Y/N flinch halfway through her sentence.
“You’re okay.” Harry says immediately, his calm jade eyes focused on her as the reassurance slips from his mouth. He waits a moment, gauging Y/N’s body language and waiting for his examination to be positive before resuming his story. “So…my mum always told me not to wander off, but when I was six, I did. I saw some older kids playing games that I wanted to play, and Gemma was busy playing some sort of game with a ball—I can’t really remember what—and when my mum turned her back, I ran off.”
Y/N’s about to open her mouth to ask why he’s telling her the story when the answer clicks into place in her head. She thinks back to the conversation in the car the day before, how she told Harry that it helps when someone talks to her to distract her from the thunder. That’s what he’s doing, she realizes, as she forces herself to focus on his quiet and level voice. He’s trying to keep her calm, even after everything she said and did today.
“I don’t look like it now,” A small smile flits across Harry’s blushed lips. “But I was pretty scrawny back then. And all the people around me were so tall, my eyes were barely level with their hips. Everyone was rushing around, going in all directions, and I kept calling for my mum, but she couldn’t hear me. No one stopped to help me. I felt like I was…trapped. Like it was a huge forest of legs, running all around me, circling me, and I couldn’t get out. I was probably only gone for five minutes, but to a six year old, it felt like an eternity. And just something about it…I don’t know. It changed me. I still don’t like crowds because of that day.”
Y/N’s shoulders unclench the slightest bit as another gust of wind blows against the window. “That must have been scary.”
Harry’s own shoulders lift in a slight shrug as he shifts the sheet to cover him more. “It was. But I can’t change it. I just have to deal with the repercussions of it. That’s all a fear is, really. A side effect. We just have to deal with them as best we can.”
More thunder booms loudly outside, but Y/N manages to keep her flinch to a minimum, despite her hands curling into fists again under the covers. “Harry…” She whispers his name into the darkness between them, his outline barely visible save for his green eyes. “I’m—I’m sorry about today.”
Harry shakes his head, his damp hair rubbing against his pillow. “You don’t have to apologize.” He whispers back, his tone as gentle as she’s ever heard it. “I was an arse. I shouldn’t have pushed the topic.”
“I shouldn’t have been so uptight about it.” Rubbing her eyes with one fist, Y/N lets out a low sigh. “I felt so shitty all day because of our fight. I’ve never…none of our fights have ever made me feel like that.”
“Maybe it’s because…” Harry’s tentative voice trails off, his eyes flickering to the ground for a brief moment before staring back at Y/N nervously. “I don’t know. I thought we were getting along better. For a moment, at least.”
“We were.” Y/N’s teeth tug on her bottom lip, and she feels a sudden shyness overcome her at the admission. “I’m sorry I said that we…weren’t friends. I think…I don’t know. I’ve been stubborn for so long, but I can see now that you’re different than I thought you were.”
“Yeah. Me too. I was wrong, too.” Harry runs a hand through his damp curls, a soft laugh leaving his mouth. “How did we even end up like this? I barely remember what made us hate each other so much in the beginning.”
“Seriously?” Y/N raises an eyebrow, barely peaking out from beneath the sheets as another clap of thunder sounds. “You don’t remember?”
Harry mimics her expression. “Do you?”
“Yes! It was the very first night we met. We had that double date with Laure and Jo.” Shifting beneath her covers, Y/N moves herself into a better position on her side, so she can be more comfortable while still maintaining eye contact with Harry. “And you were rude, and made inappropriate jokes, and you left in the middle of the date to go chat up a sorority girl!”
“Wait a minute, no!” Harry protests the memory, half sitting up in his bed as he speaks. “That’s not what happened!”
“Yes, it is!” A small laugh falls off Y/N’s lips at his indignant reaction. “I remember it perfectly!”
“No, you remember it wrong!” Although a flush creeps up Harry’s neck, there’s an amused smile playing on his lips, a tiny hint of a dimple just barely appearing in his visible cheek. “I was making jokes to try and break the ice, which didn’t work on the Ice Queen, it seems—” Harry motions to Y/N teasingly. “And you’re the one who started talking to some bloke before I started talking to that girl!”
Another clap of thunder echoes through the room, but Y/N hardly notices as she thinks back to the night they met, and who Harry could possibly be referring to. “A bloke—? He was a classmate of mine! I had to talk to him!”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to enjoy it so much.” Harry grumbles, crossing his muscled arms over his sheets. “I had been so excited when Laure said she had an American girl for me, and then—”
“You were excited?” Y/N asks, her voice laced with surprise. “Really?”
The flush on Harry’s neck works its way to the apples of his cheeks. “Well, yeah.” He mumbles the words as his eyes drop from Y/N’s, slipping both hands beneath his head. “She said that you were funny, intelligent, witty, beautiful—”
“And then you met me, and realized that it was all a lie?” Y/N finishes for him, rolling her eyes in the darkness.
“No.” Harry gives a small shake of his head as his body shifts, the motel bed creaking under his weight. “No, she wasn’t wrong. You were all of those things. But I wasn’t, and it seemed like…I don’t know. Like you didn’t think I was good enough for you. I couldn’t keep your attention.”
The teasing smile slips from Y/N’s face as she registers Harry’s words. “You thought that I thought you weren’t…good enough?”
The nervousness is clear in Harry’s voice now, even over the pounding of rain against the window. “That’s what it seemed like, yeah.”
“I never—I didn’t think that.” Y/N says slowly, managing to relax her body beneath the sheets as she keeps her focus on the memory of meeting Harry. “I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be there, but that’s because Jo set the date up without telling me. I thought you were handsome, and I liked your accent, but then you started to act weird, and you started flirting with that girl, so I thought you were an ass.”
“You still think I’m an arse, princess, be honest.” The teasing tone replaces the nerves, and for once, Harry’s joke has the intended affect on Y/N. When she rolls her eyes again, it’s more playful, and the same tone is in her voice when she responds.
“I told you, don’t call me princess.” She replies, running her teeth over her lip gently. “So…I guess we both kind of fucked up that day.”
“Yeah.” Harry nods, a sheepish smile playing over his red lips. “I guess so.”
“Can we just restart?” Y/N’s voice is small when she asks the question, barely audible over the sounds of the storm raging outside. “Like, all the way from the beginning. No more grudges, no more yelling. Even if it’s just for this trip, for Jo and Laure—”
“It doesn’t have to be just for this trip.” Harry cuts in, his eyes catching Y/N’s again. “We’re going to have to be around each other for a long time. It’ll be a lot easer if we get along.”
Y/N nods in agreement, tugging down her covers to extend one arm towards Harry. She makes a fist, holding out just her pinkie finger to him with half a grin on her face. “Truce?”
The space between their beds is small, and Harry’s long arm easily makes it across the no man’s land to meet Y/N’s pinkie with his own. He loops it together with a smile that matches hers, tired and content and just at the edge of a humble new beginning. Harry’s response is almost inaudible as thunder booms loudly outside the room, but Y/N can still pick out the cadence of his accent under the noise.
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hii im so sorry to bother, i’m trying to find a fic where harry and reader are best friends and its about how he wrote fine line for her and they listen to it together for the first time?? sorry again it’s ok if u don’t want to answer!!
hi i’m really bad at finding fics for people but maybe ask like a fic rec account idk?? i decided to write my own for you, though, in case you never find the others again!! i’m not sure whether it’ll be as good as the others but i enjoyed writing it;
Harry was really fucking nervous.
You were currently setting yourself up on the couch, along with Mitch, Jeff, Tyler and Kid, about to listen to Harry’s album for the first time. You were tucked on an arm chair by yourself and had a blanket draped over your body to keep you warm. The rest of the guys were on the L-shaped sofa, passing out beers between them. This was such a big day for Harry, because he would get to see you listen to his heart and soul through Fine Line.
This past year had been really hard for him, what with losing a relationship with Camille Rowe. Despite what had gone down between the two of them you thought that she hadn’t been a good person for Harry to be around, but that might be your jealous-ego speaking a bit too loudly. Jealous, because he had given his heart to someone that wasn’t you when your heart was waiting for him. Jealous, because you loved him so much and yet you were his best friend. You knew exactly who and what this album was going to be about, and it pained you that you’d have to lie about whether you were okay listening to it.
You weren’t, but you were his best friend so you had to be.
“Corona or San Miguel H?” Mitch asked Harry, from where he was setting up the audio features in his house so he could bluetooth his phone to the ceiling speakers. He was going to put those bloomin’ speakers to use since he paid a legs worth to install them.
“Don’t mind, Mitchy.” He shouted back and you smiled at the simpleness of this whole situation.
You loved getting to see Harry in his real life. He was so soft and comfortable with the people around him and you were honoured that you got to be one of the people to see him like this. You were his best friend after-all, so he’d want no one else by his side but you. You calmed him and grounded him when he needed it most and he owed a lot of his success to you, that’s why he was letting you listen to the first run-through of the final product. That, and he wanted his inspiration to hear how’d you’d impacted him.
“Y/N?” Mitch held up both bottles of beer and was silently asking you to choose.
“I’ll just stick to my cuppa tea, thanks Itch.” Don’t ask why you called him ‘Itch’, but you just did and it had stuck. He liked that he’d been given a nickname though - one different from anyone else.
Harry came into the room, beaming with happiness. He was wearing cream coloured pants with a blue and white striped shirt, an added bandana around his neck for good measure. He wore bright pink socks on his feet and had his sunglasses tucked into his hair as always. He looked just like your Harry from 18 years ago, but just with a beard, a tan and tattoos. He was still yours, even if he didn’t quite see that.
He walked past Mitch to claim his beer and thanked him along the way. You thought he was going to sit with his buddies, but he came over to sit with his best buddy instead.
“Up.” He demanded of you, making a grabby hand as if that was miraculously going to make you get up. You didn’t question him and just did as you were told, gripping the blanket still around you. Harry tucked himself onto the chair that you’d just been sat on and then pulled at your waist for you to sit back down, on his lap this time.
This, right here in this moment, is the reason why people often mistook you for being a couple. Not that you complained or corrected when they did.
“I’m not squishing you am I?” You asked, tilting your head to the side to catch his pretty face.
“No, not at all love.” He smiled at you, before turning back to the rest of the room - no matter how hard that might’ve been for him. He’d pick looking at you all day, every day, over anything, but he was so oblivious to you feeling exactly the same way that he didn’t want to seem like a creep - you, likewise.
“Ready for this H?” Tyler asked, his long jesus-hair reminding you of what Mitch’s used to be - what Harry’s used to be.
“Wonder what the trumpets on Watermelon Sugar are gonna sound like?” Kid asked, knowing how badly Harry had wanted to add trumpets to the song but had never stayed around long enough to actually hear them be added. He was in for a treat.
“You named a song Watermelon Sugar?” You chuckled at him and Harry frowned at how you were so quick to tease him, before even listening to the song.
He poked your side with his free hand - you knew this was a bad idea sitting in his lap.
“Oi no more spoilers, otherwise this one is never gonna want to make me play it out loud.” He spoke to the wider group, still tickling his fingers into your side like the wanker that he was.
You huffed and grabbed his sunglasses off his head and placing them on your face, covering your eyes over. They had an orange tint to them and it was trippy to see the world a little more burnt. Harry was quick to whip them back off your face, nearly poking out your eye in the process, and putting them bad on his messy head of hair.
“Woah! I looked good in them too, dickhead.” You scoffed at him, bringing your mug of tea up to drink.
“Yeah, but I wanna see your face when you listen to m’songs.” He replied, the tea steaming up your face a bit - or was it him?
“God, that’s a lot of pressure.”
“Only 12 songs.”
“I don’t have enough facial expressions to get me through 12 songs.” You tried to joke, putting him at ease because you could tell that he was becoming very nervous over the fact that he was showing you his most treasured baby.
“Just promise me you’ll tell me if y’hate something.” Harry made it clear that your opinion was his most important from the start of this project, and he needed it now more than ever. You’d only been let in the studio to head clips of some of the melodies and Harry would sometimes ask you for words that rhymed with other words, but you hadn’t fully heard any songs and you certainly hadn’t heard the album in full. It was both exciting and terrifying.
“Could never hate anything you produce, sunshine.” You turned to smile at him, tuning out the conversations that the other lads were having in the room.
“Thank you, Y/N.” Harry spoke sincerely, looking deep into your eyes to convey that he really meant it.
“For just being here. For supporting me. I feel like I don’t thank you enough for everything you do for me and have done for me, so thank you.” You choked up a bit over his words, finding your heart tighten and expand at how precious he was. He always managed to find ways to make your heart take more of him.
“You don’t have to thank me for anything.” You shook your head at him like he was being silly.
“I do, so will you just humour me and take the gesture?”
You had to turn away from him, otherwise he would see your tears in your eyes and you didn’t want him to see them. At least not yet. You didn’t want him to think you were so overly emotional just because of some little words he said to you, however much they weren’t just little words to you.
“Ready?” Jeff asked, before he could press play on the phone that held the album on. A phone that had been purchased specifically for the album and had no trace to Harrys phone or anything, for the protection against it being hacked.
There were a few nods of heads and a couple of yes’, but you just focused on Harry’s words; “This is for you.”
You couldn’t get any words in before the introduction to the first started playing. It started off as some sort of piano and cymbal playing that made you almost want to get out of chair an start tapping your foot. You jolted back as the prime of the song started, making Harry chuckle at your reaction. The song made your feel so happy and all you’d heard was melodies.
“Oh I loved making this one!” Mitch exclaimed, shooting back a sip of his drink. Everyone looked really happy over this song and so you couldn’t help but smile too.
“Let me guess, Golden?” You asked.
“Mhm.” Harry nodded, proud of you for guessing right.
The lyrics were so well written and they fit the melody so well. It was such a happy and upbeat song, but you could hear the sadness behind the lyrics. His pitch was perfect and the way he complimented his own voice was beautiful. The bridge sounded like a little fairy dance and it made you dance a bit - it was just so catchy.
“Damn that guitar though Mitch!” Tyler shouted above the noise, praising Mitch’s skill on the guitar. He was a beast.
“Oh man this song is just so good!” Kid exclaimed, tapping his hands away on his leg to the song.
When you felt the song come to an end, the lyrics fading out and the tinkering of the cymbal continuing you felt so elated. That was such a go-happy song and if that was only the start of the album, you couldn’t wait to hear what else was to come. You felt Harry’s gaze on you and you just had to look at him. He was looking at you with nervous anticipation.
“Put me outta my misery already.” He said and bit his lip, waiting to hear what you had to say.
“I think that you’re so golden.” You smiled and he knew, no matter how cornily, that you had loved the song.
“No you don’t.”
No, he didn’t.
You looked at him again, knowing what he was thinking and feeling so engaged by his love in that moment. You wanted to learn the meaning behind the song and all the rest you’d get to hear. You were desperate to understand the way he felt whilst writing the songs and listen to the story that went along with the lyrics. He was a very private man, but for you he was so open. It made you think about the lyric in Golden; ‘I know that you’re scared because i’m so open’ and how it fitted perfectly to your relationship with him, which got you thinking more about the lyrics and what the song meant to him.
“Fuck, Harry, that was such a buzz!” Jeff shouted, breaking the moment between you and Harry. You looked away from him, after scrutinising every minute detail on his face, and coughed under your breath ready to listen to the next song.
“Yeah, thanks man.” Harry chuckled, only thinking about the last minute he’d spent looking into your eyes and your beauty and how much you truly meant to him. It was like he needed listening to his new music, which some was written about you, with you to make him understand the importance and significance of you in his life - to him.
He needed you more than a best friend. Want wasn’t a part of it anymore.
“Watermelon Sugar?” Jeff teased.
“Let’s have it!” Tyler replied.
“So excited to hear this trumpets, bro.” Kid spoke quieter now as the song began to play. It was so magical getting to see people so infatuated with music, like it was a passion within their soul. It made you want to learn and understand it all more. You wanted to under Harry’s world that bit more.
Another happy-feels kind of song.
“This is cute.” You told him.
“Cute, yet highly erotic.” He corrected you, making you shoot your head to watch him drink a sip of his beer.
“What?” You laughed.
“Just listen, y’pest.”
And you did. Fuck, he was right. This song was more than the strawberry picnic it sounded like it should be about. It wasn’t talking about the strawberries on the summer evening, it was about what pussy tasted like on a summer evening and how it tasted like strawberries. Watermelons too. It was about the euphoric pleasures of giving head and receiving it too. Harry’s lyrics sounded like he was starved for this kind of pleasure. He’d never wanted to taste something so badly.
It reminded you of the picnic you’d had with him. It had been around the end of june, beginning of July, and you were back in Holmes Chapel to see friends and family. He’d taken a picnic for you both and you’d gone to sit by a stream to eat it. It had been such a beautiful day. Full of laughter, watermelon and strawberries— My god. He was painting a picture of this exact evening through music. You wiggled in your posture, trying to ignore the feeling of your pussy heating up at the thought of Harry having such erotic thoughts over you. Had he really thought about what you tasted like? And wrote it in a fucking song to tell the whole world?
“Is this…” You couldn’t even finish the question. Hell, you didn’t even know what the question really was.
“You’re pretty darn good for inspiration Y/N.” He whispered in your ear, trying to make sure you didn’t run your arse over the stiffie he was now sporting in his trousers.
“Guess I can’t tease the song anymore.” You whispered back, earning a private low chuckle from the boy you were dying to make yours behind you. You were only two songs into listening to his album, yet you felt like the dynamic between the two of you was shifting - had shifted. You felt like he was becoming yours as he opened himself up through the art of his music.
“Keep teasing me though, sunflower. Get my inspiration from you, remember?” And there it was again - the butterflies in your stomach from your best friend. Should you really be thinking these things about your best friend? Then again, he was clearly thinking these things about you.
“Those trumpets, man!” Kid wolf-whistled and stomped his feet on the ground in love of the song.
“Oh shut up about y’bloody trumpets!” Harry laughed, making everyone else laugh.
“Sounded good H.” Mitch added, smiling at his best friend in pride.
“All you Mitchy.” Harry said, knowing Mitch had done a great deal of the melody writing on that particular track.
“Can’t take all the credit.” Mitch winked over in your direction and you thought he’d been winking at Harry, but when Harrys hand came and rested on your thigh - squeezing it slightly - you second guessed that maybe he had been winking at you. You cleared your throat and waited for the next song.
The next two songs were perfect; Adore You and Lights Up. Both were as good as each, which were equally as good as the two before that. Harry hadn’t written a bad song - not that you were expecting him to. It was clear that his musical talent had gotten better and he was a lot more open with this album than his previous. He was a lot more accepting in himself with this album and you didn’t miss the opportunity to tell him how you felt about all of this.
“Proud of you.” You told him, as the album had been paused so Mitch could go grab another crate of beers from his car. They’d been through enough beers for a family reunion of 108 between the 5 of them, leaving you to quietly sip on your tea. The other guys had gotten up to stretch and go for a wee, but Harry had said he was perfect with sitting rest with you.
“Means so much t’hear you say that, sunflower.” He smiled at you, you twisting yourself so you sat perpendicular to him - laying across the width of the chair and his lap. He placed his hands over your legs, cupping your kneecaps for extra warmth.
“Means so much that you trust me to listen to the album.” You cupped your hand over his and he twisted his fingers so your fingers intertwined with his. He loved the feeling of your soft and warm hands coat his, and he never wanted you to let go. Ever.
“You’re one of few people I trust, Y/N, so thanks for being one of them.” He was using every and any opportunity to say thanks to you and he was completely open about it. You appreciated his thanks, but he didn’t have to give it to you.
You squeezed his hand, suppressing a smile when he squeezed back. You didn’t want to look like a love-sick puppy today.
“Enjoying it so far Y/N?” Tyler asked you, the boys falling back into the room and back to the sofas. Mitch had a crate of beers and passed Harry another one, earning a thanks from him in response.
“So much, yeah. You’re all so talented.” You shared the praise, not being oblivious to the fact it didn’t take just Harry to create this album.
“Even me?” Jeff asked, making the guys chuckle.
“Yeah, even you Jeff. You’re the one who has to kick this ones backside half the time!” You laughed, Harry whining in response because he thought he was delightful - well he would!
“Pretty sure that’s your job, sunflower.” Harry added, earning a quick slap to his arm from you.
“Knobhead.” You argued.
“Oi big mouth, shut it.” Harry flicked your arm in return and earning an ouch from you to signal that that’d actually hurt.
“M’sorry.” He rubbed over your arm where he had caused you pain, hating to think that a bit of playful banter had actually ended up in him hurting you - that was the last thing he ever wanted to do.
“Know you are, y’knob.”
“Should write a song about all the lovely and colourful things y’call me.” Harry joked, wanting nothing more than to put a smile on your golden face again.
“Oh yeah? And call it what?” You asked, playing along.
“Probably something really crap like ‘Tainted Tongue’, or… oh I don’t know.” Harry rolled his eyes, but you had to gulp down the words that were on the tip of your tainted tongue. You wanted to tease him, but you just couldn’t because you could tell that he was genuinely considering his words.
Considering your tainted tongue, even.
“Sounds Grammy award-winning.” You told him, squeezing his hand again before returning your attention to the rest of the room. Everyones conversations were coming to a unified end and Jeff asked whether everyone was ready again. It was yes’ all around.
“Okay, here’s Cherry.” Jeff announced, making Harrys grip on your knee tighten for some reason.
The intro started with a woman’s voice cooing and then straight into some ethereal guitar playing. It was so pretty and you closed your eyes to picture yourself on a bike ride through some flower fields. Harry’s words were so mellow and soft, it ran chills through your body. You listened to the lyrics carefully and tried to match it up with his real life, piecing together his story.
As the song progresses you could start to understand what, or more who, it was about. It was the lyrics such as “I just miss your accent.” and “don’t you call him baby.” that gave it away. That and the expressive voicemail that perched on the end of the song so beautifully. It was about Camille, or more for Camille. It was amazing and you were so proud of Harry for being so open. Camille’s and Harry’s relationship had become very toxic, so for Harry to be open about how she still held a place in his heart was something you were very proud of him for. He was being true to himself and was being vulnerable.
“Take risks, Harry. Be vulnerable, that’s what people want.” You had told him before he started writing the album and he’d done just that.
You slowly opened your eyes as the song ended, tears in your eyes for some unbeknownst reason. Harry chuckled at you. “Oh you big softie!” He brought the blanket up to wipe the corners of your eyes. “Y’crying ‘cause you hate it or because it was just that awesome?” He asked.
“I’m crying, y’tool, because you actually listened to me.” Knowing he would know what you meant.
“‘Course I did. Take y’advice above anyone else’s.” He was clear about that, you thought.
“Camille will love it.” You spoke softly, knowing it was important to him that the person he wrote the song about was okay with a song being written about them.
“Thank you.” He replied, bringing your hand up he could leave a simple kiss to the back of it.
“What did you think of the guitar playing H?” Tyler asked, opening another beer with a poof.
“Loved it man. Sounds better toned down a bit.” He answered.
“Happy with the voicemail too?” Tyler asked again, wanting Harry to understand it was no big deal if he wanted it out.
“No. I want to be take risks and be vulnerable.” Harry admitted proudly, and you shuffled your body around to curl into him and rest your head upon his shoulder. You could smell the Tom Ford perfume he loved so much in its’ strength against his neck and you loved it just ad much. It smelt familiar and warm. It smelt like home.
The group of you continued to play the songs, running through Falling, To Be So Lonely and She fairly quickly. Falling had, obviously, brought you to more tears and it had nearly brought Harry to tears too. You knew it was about Camille again and were so proud of him for being so open about his wrong-doings. He’d cheated and painted himself as the bad guy, but people didn’t know that she had too. He was too good to write that part in though. His ‘wandering hands’ portrayed such a powerful image and you got choked up on the power of it all. To Be So Lonely had made you tell him off for calling his mum a bitch, to which he groaned for missing the genuine meaning behind the phrase.
She. Well what a fucking song she was.
You wanted to turn the lights red and slide down a pole and into Harry’s lap. You had to adjust yourself in Harry’s lap, feeling uncomfortable with the way you were becoming a bit too wet down there. The sonf brought out you inner-stripper-ego and you wanted to just put on a tight leather dress and work your way across a guys lap, until you had him writhing underneath you - specifically Harry’s lap.
“Well that was fucking hot.” You chuckled to the group, knowing that Harry would sense the tension between you two and know your words meant more than just the song. It meant how hot it would be to get fucked to that song. How slow and passionate getting fucked so deep would feel so euphoric whilst ‘She’ played in the background. How empowering for a woman it would be to listen to that fire of a song.
“Told you the album was for you.” Harry whispered against your ear and you had to bring your mind to think of old people dying alone, before you jumped Harry right here and right now whilst forcing She to play all over again.
“That was the only song that Harry wouldn’t tell us the meaning behind.” Mitch told you, making you inwardly smug at the thought that you already knew what it was about.
You felt like that song was yours and Harrys dirty little secret and you were about to get high off the thought of that.
“Next we have Sunflower. Vol, 6.” Jeff announced before pressing play.
That made you sit up.
“Did he say Sunflower?” You asked, smiling so brightly at Harry whom was smiling just as brightly back. He loved you at your happiest. He loved that it was him who had put that happiness there.
“I don’t know? Did he?” Harry teased you and you playfully punched his arm, but you looked off to find a nearby wall really interesting as you took in the first bit of the song.
Now this was a vibe.
You felt like you were in some alternate 70s universe, where everything was happy and yellow. The lyrics were so happy and reminded you of yourself. Every time he said the word sunflower, you couldn’t help but let your heart flutter at the thought of him talking about you. You were his sunflower. ‘My sunflower’ he repeated and you wanted to kiss him for it. You couldn’t sit here and listen to this without dancing, so you didn’t.
You stood up quickly, pushing the blanket off of you, and holding out your hands for Harry. “C’mon then.” You spoke urgently, not knowing how much was left of the song and wanting to feel the rhythm of this song with him before it ended.
“Things I bloody do for you, aye?” He laughed, but took your hands anyway to pull himself up. His old knees cracked as he did so and the others laughed at him - calling him ‘cripplez’, and yes with a ‘z’.
You took one of your hands in his, planting the other behind his neck whilst his order went on your waist. Your body was set alight by his touch. You began to dance like you were the only people in the room, getting lost in other’s presence and happiness. You swayed to the beat and Harry twisted you around a few times when it felt right to. He brought you close back to his chest, holding you close as you swayed together, for the end of the song. When the little boops played you were so confused.
“What the fuck is going on?” You laughed as everyone else laughed too. Mitch and Kid followed along with the boops and sang them too, whilst Harry’s head was tilted back in laughter over seeing your reaction to them. “Seriously?”
“He was high on shrooms Y/N, so fuck knows.” Tyler laughed and you shook your head at the silly man in front of you.
“What the fuck Harry?” You laughed, letting him sit back on the chair first before he assisted you in sitting back on top of him.
“So…” He waited for your response, feeling somewhat nervous about this one.
You kissed his cheek, letting your lips linger there for longer than one Mississippi. “My sunshine, I loved it.”
At the tip of Harry’s tongue he wanted to say ‘I love you’ back, but he didn’t want to ruin the happy high you were on. Little did he know that you thought that the moment would be complete if he spoke the three words that held you back from becoming completely his. You loved that song so much and would be playing every day of your life to remind you how lucky you were to have someone so special in your life.
“Think that one was a hit, H.” Jeff laughed, others following with their own chuckles.
“Too right.” You answered for Harry and breathed out a sigh of joy as you relaxed into Harry’s warmth again.
“Ready for the next one?” Harry asked you, not wanting to cut you shirt from the high you were feeling. You hadn’t even focused on the lyrics you were so caught up in dancing with your favourite person.
“Yeah, let’s do it.” And so you did.
First, came Canyon Moon. What a beauty she was. It reminded you of sunsets and ice cream and cacti and long-drives. It was a summer song and it was a forever-love song too. It sounded like a reminder that whatever happened, Harry would always be coming home to where he belonged. God, you only hoped that was you - but you’d be narcissistic to ask that aloud. Secondly, and penultimately to the whole album, came Treat People With Kindness. You thought it was a genius of a song and something the fans would really love. You pitched the idea of maybe even creating a dance routine to it, but Jeff joked how a piece of wood had more hip movement than Harry. Both songs were fabulous and really made the album into something fun and refreshing.
Tyler cleared his throat, making you stop laughing at something Harry had just said and focus your attention on him. When you did you noticed how Mitch and Kid were stood up, looking like they were ready to leave. Jeff was handing Harry the phone and Tyler then stood up to.
“Where… Wait, I thought you said there were 12 songs? We’ve only listened to 11.” You sat up more, wondering why the guys were leaving now.
“There are 12.” Harry stated, making your eyebrows furrow in even more confusion.
“We’ve just listened to this last one more times than we have fingers and toes so…” Kid explained, but not really. Why are they passing the opportunity to listen to this song again? For the final first time too?
“You can stay though, for one more time.” You offered, but kept still in Harry’s lap.
“We’re going to get some food and bring it back instead.” Mitch smiled, smirking when his eyes caught Harry like they were having some telepathic conversation. Were you missing something? You felt like there was a big red flag somewhere within all of this and yet you were too stupid blind to see it.
“Want anything in particular?” Jeff asked, rustling around in his pockets to find his keys.
“I’m fine with whatever.” Harry answered vaguely, bur you were more definitive.
“Um i’ll have a Subway please. Just build it however I don’t really care. I’ll eat anything.”
“H, Subway?” Mitch checked with Harry, incase he was fancying something else.
“Yeah, sounds good to me. I’ll have the same as Y/N.”
You didn’t miss the way Mitch mumbled ‘course y’will’ under his breathe, but they were all out of the door before you could say anything.
“Ready for this last one then, m’sunflower?” Harry asked, returning and devoting his entire attention to you.
“Why do I get the feeling that you sent them away so we could listen to this one alone together?” You knew Harry, for Gods sake. He couldn’t be this smooth with someone who was his best fucking friend. This song obviously meant a lot to him and would maybe mean a lot to you too, so that’s why, you think, he wanted you to be alone for it. You liked that, though. You liked that he’d written something so personal that he wanted to listen to it with solely you. It made you feel purposeful and special - like you were his.
“Just shut up.” He rolled his eyes and smiled, clearly catching him in the act of his plan.
“I’m going to cry, aren’t I?” You rhetorically asked already knowing the answer.
“Maybe, I don’t know. No pressure.”
“Ohh, so you’re going to cry, that’s it isn’t?”
“Y’such a wanker, you know that?” He teased you before bringing the phone to hold in his hand and switching it on.
“You and your Tainted Tongue.” You teased him back and he looked up at you, but did nothing. Just looked at you and held your gaze. You felt powerless under his gaze because for once, you didn’t know what he was thinking. You both loved and hated the feeling.
“The honours are all yours.” Harry passed the phone to you, the giant ‘play’ button waiting to be pressed. You looked at Harry again to see he was looking at you still - oh so this is how it’s going to be, huh? A good old staring match to see who’s emotions would crack through first. Game on, Harry.
“Okay. Let’s play.” Harry didn’t miss the double meaning behind your words.
If there was ever a turning point in your life it was the next 6:18 minutes of you life.
The song started off really quiet and you thought that it might turn into some bashful tune to exit the album with a bang. You did not expect the mellow guitar to start playing. Looking up from the phone you met Harry’s gaze and caught him looking back at you, smiling softly because he knew that you knew this song was going to change things. Change you. Change your heart. Change the relationship between you two, forever. If you’d let it - him.
The lyrics were so delicate and his voice was high pitched. Your eyes started watering when you listened to the lyrics, instantly being able to pinpoint the memory Harry attached to each line. It hurt to think that this was your, plural, song. The meanings behind the lyrics were memories where you and Harry had gotten into rows and fallen out so hard that you thought you might lose each other. Your tears were flowing down your face, Harry’s eyes matching yours with his own tears.
Harry reached his hand up to your cheek, pausing for a second but not stopping until he’d touched skin with skin. You flinched a little but your tears also became heavier.
“Love, don’t.” Harry spoke softly, leaving his hand on your cheek and pulling you forward so you’d come closer towards him.
“I’m so-sorry.” You chuckled, but Harry just shook his head.
“Stop. Nothing to be sorry for.” Harry’s tears ran silently whilst yours were a lot more laboured, your chest hiccuping under the touch of how close he was to you.
“No I do. I hear you Harry. I do.” Referring to all the shit that Harry was referencing in his beautiful ballad.
“Yeah and do you hear that i’m telling you we’ll be alright, hey?” He chuckled, making you sob.
“I… I..” You struggled to get out your words, keeping your face close to his and looking deep into the emotions behind his eyes. There was love and sadness, but there was hope. Hope for you. For you together.
“It’s okay. You’re alright, love. Can tell me anything, I swear.” He made clear, caressing your cheek like it was the easiest job in the universe - yet his trembling thumb made it clear it was hard for him.
You wanted him to know how you feel for him. You wanted him to know that your heart was completely and forever his. He could have it all. You loved him more than anyone else in this fucking universe and he would always be your person. You saw in his eyes that he was waiting for you to tell him all of this. For the longest time all you wanted to yell your strongest feelings for him, but now you were frozen. Paralysed by fear that was becoming so real. He could be yours, but it was so devastating to think that it could all be broken years down the line.
“Stop thinking and just talk to me sunflower.” He softly spoke and you dropped your head to his chest, resting your forehead on his heart.
“I love you!” You shouted and then repeated more quietly, “I love you, Harry. I love you.”
“I know, I know.” Harry kissed the back of your head. “I love you too.”
Your head moved up and you looked at him deep in his eyes. You were both crying and the song was coming to an end now. It felt like such a powerful moment and you never wanted it to end. You felt strong. You felt loved, safe and happy.
“You know i’m going to have to kiss you now?” Harry chuckled, moving his face closer to yours so you could taste his minty breathe on yours.
“At least wait until the song’s over.” You smiled at his eagerness, but not meaning a word of what you just spoke. Harry knew that too.
“Oh fuck the chuffing song, c’mere.”
His lips sealed upon yours and fit together as perfect as Cinderellas foot and her glass slipper. Your stomach felt like it had been set alight by a match and your heart beat faster than you thought possible. You cared for nothing but his lips and the man behind them. Your heart felt so full and your lungs so empty. Harry had stole the air right from you and given life to himself, and you were so okay with it. Harry, less so.
“Y/N baby, y’gotta breathe sunflower.” He mumbled against your lips, but you only whined and pressed yourself more against him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and one of his hands came to steady you at your waist. God, he couldn’t get enough of you. “Hey, no, no.” You pouted when he pulled away. “Don’t look at me like that.”
You took in a deep breathe, not realising how little air you had in your lungs. You were silently thanking him in your head, but would never actually say it to him out loud. He gave you a look though that told you he knew you knew he was right. Fucker.
“Enough with the pleasantries, you already have me under your spell woman.” He teased you as if your crude language was getting him off.
“Yes, keep them coming.”
“Baby, oh ye—”
“We brought subs… Okay yeah we’re going to come back later.” Mitch started and walked through the door at the same time you and Harry were doing whatever the fuck you were doing. You buried your head against Harrys chest to hide both your embarrassment and your tears from earlier. You did really want your sub, but Harry you wanted so much more.
“Thank you, bro!” Harry called back.
“Yeah, just keep whatever is happening between you and your girlfriend down. Some of want to eat their salad in peace.” And with the sound of the door shutting you knew you were alone again.
You looked up at Harry to see that he wanted to burst out laughing and as if by rehearsal you both started laughing at the same time. You were in hysterics, not understanding what was even so funny in the first place. All that was understandable was how much you loved this man and craved the thought of officially being his forever.
“Sounded pretty good didn’t it?” Harry asked, coming to a natural pause in his laughing fest causing you to stop too.
“The album? Yeah I told you it—”
“No not the album,” You looked at him in confusion, straightening the sunglasses on the top of his head, “Mitch calling you my girlfriend.” You pursed your lips and kept your eyes down, fiddling with the bandana around his neck now to keep you busy.
“Yeah.” You said shyly.
“Yeah? Did you like it?” Harry asked, pulling up your chin to meet your beautiful eyes - his favourite feature of yours.
“I did yeah.”
“Wanna be my girlfriend?”
“Are you asking nicely or?” You messed with him, but also feeling like you deserved a bit more of a proper ask - you’d not waited all this time for a little half-arsed question, but neither did you want the full shebang.
“Y/N L/N? My sunflower? The absolute biggest pain in my arse and most hugest tit on this planet?” You couldn’t help but belly laugh as he incorporated your longest running joke with each other, “Will you be my girlfriend?”
“Hmm…” You pretended to think on it and Harry’s eyes turned to worry for a second.
“Please?” He softly asked. “Say something.”
“I say yes to you and that Tainted Tongue.” You kissed him again and you felt his smile against your lips. He was happy. You were happy. You both knew this was the kind of happiness that would last forever.
You gasped against his lips as he picked you up and held you against his waist, carrying you like a koala bear clutching a tree. You felt his hands grasp your ass and they felt so good situated there.
“Let me show you exactly how tainted this tongue is baby.”
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★ . . . Love on Tour: Dallas
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In which Harry gifts Y/N with a heartfelt Christmas present & Y/N returns the favour in the most intimate way she knows how.
Or, the one where it’s basically 5k of smut.
A/N: Happy holidays! I was tempted to hold off on posting this one for a little longer, but I have no self control and so here we go. Fair warning, I wasn’t kidding about this being basically 5k of smut. It includes: handjobs, blowjobs, fingering, thigh riding, and, well, the main event of vaginal sex. As always, let me know what you think! I really hope you enjoy this one as much as I enjoyed writing it. It’s definitely the smut I am most proud of! So, enjoy! x
Moodboard // Inspiration // Wattpad // Send me your thoughts
You climb out of the bed and walk over to the window, looking out at the people in the street below and the falling snow around them. Christmas has never been one of your favourite times of the year, but you can't deny how pretty the Hallmark version of this holiday period is. Sometimes you wish it could be just like that, but you try not to think about it too much and just focus on getting through the season as quickly and seamlessly as possible.
“It's early,” Harry mumbles from the bed, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “Come back to bed, Y/N.”
You shake your head. “I'm fine over here,” you say, not taking your eyes away from the busy streets down below. It may only be very early in the morning, but the world doesn’t stop for anyone or any time. Sometimes you like to think about where the people have come from and where they will go.
“But the bed is lonely without you,” Harry says, patting the bed beside him.
“The bed or you?” You twist your body around as you ask.
Harry's cheeks flush pink. “Maybe a bit of both.”
You know that the second you’re back in the bed he'll wrap his arm around your body and pull you in close. Anyone else may find that enjoyable—hell, he has an entire fanbase you know would very much enjoy it—but the close proximity and emotional meaning behind it is the biggest catch. There's always something more behind Harry's words and actions, something that tells you your friends with benefits relationship may not be simply that anymore.
“C'mon, Y/N,” he says again, pulling the blanket back to show the space beside him just for you. “It's getting cold.”
A little chill down your spine is worth not having to be in cuddling proximity you want to tell him, but figure that's probably not a good idea. It's his last day in the country before he flies back to London to spend the holidays with his family, so you decide to give him just this once to feel whatever it is that he feels. You only nod an acknowledgement to Harry before making your way back over to the bed, sliding in beside him as he lets the blanket fall over your body.
Harry pauses on the spot, eyes on the body beside him that makes his heart beat rapidly. He brushes his fingers against your cheek, your skin soft and very kissable. “Morning,” he says, lips tugging into a small smile. “Planning on getting anymore sleep?”
You shrug. “If I feel the need to fall back asleep I will, but I'm not particularly tired right now,” you tell him, awkwardly trying to avoid his eyes on you.
“If that's the case,” Harry begins, sitting up and pulling the blanket off himself, “might give you your present, then.”
“Present?” you ask, raising a brow. You aren’t expecting this at all.
“Yeah,” Harry says, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and pausing a few seconds first before standing up. “Got you a Christmas present, hope that's okay.”
You pucker your lips. “Oh, didn't realise we were doing that,” you tell him, watching him move around the room towards his bag. “I didn't get you anything.”
“S'okay,” he replies, squatting down to dig through his luggage. “Was a bit last minute myself, but I saw it and couldn't help myself.”
A present is yet another emotional bond between you two, or so that's what you are choosing to believe. Harry was always just meant to be someone to keep your bed warm when in the country, but you’re not quite sure when you started to become something more—friendly or otherwise. Maybe you needs to have a word with Harry about the nature of your relationship, reminding him that all you want is sex, but you decide to hold off until after the holidays. It will be awfully rude to bring Harry down during Christmas.
“Ah, here we go,” Harry says, standing back up with a rectangular present in his hand. He walks back over to the bed, sits down beside you, and smiles as he holds it out. “Merry…early Christmas.”
You gulp at first, unsure how to approach the situation. Are you supposed to thank him? Give him a kiss? This is all too much and a little overwhelming for you. “Uh, thanks,” is all you say as you take the present from Harry, staring down at the perfectly wrapped gift in your hand.
It's wrapped in red wrapping paper with the words 'Merry Christmas' written in gold repeatedly across it, topped with a gold bow sitting in the corner. You only appreciate it for a few more seconds before you begin tearing at the paper, slowly revealing piece by piece of what your new present may be. Harry's eyes shine bright as he watches you, his lips tugging into a bigger smile as he gets antsy out of anticipation—he knows you’re going to love it.
You unwrap the final piece, already having noted it's a book of some sort, and turns it over to see the front cover. Your eyes widen in surprise, much like your lips do as they part. “Harry, how did you…” you try to ask, but stop yourself in disbelief as your fingers traipse over the front cover of a first edition copy of Alice in Wonderland.
“Late one night we were talking, and you said it was your favourite book but were awfully upset when the copy your grandmother used to read to you every night until it got thrown out,” he explains, biting down on his lip as he eagerly waits for your reaction. All he wants is to make you happy.
You really don't know how to react, though. You vaguely remember telling Harry the story, though you had assumed it was long forgotten with the rest of the nonsense you’ve spluttered out late at night or while drunk. It only makes you wonder what else he remembers and what he plans on doing with that information.
“This is... Harry, I—” You don't know what to say; you’re in shock. After the copy your grandmother gifted you was thrown out after an unfortunate incident, you remember crying and crying because it was one of the very few things you had left from her after she passed.
“Do you like it?” Harry asks, unable to wipe the grin spreading across his lips.
“Yes, oh my god, thank you so much!” You hug the book close to your chest, but it's your next reaction that takes you both by surprise. You launch yourself towards Harry, wrapping your arms around him in a hug, and press your lips up against his. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” you keep mumbling between kisses.
Harry's hands fall to your hips, grazing gently against your skin as your arms rest atop his shoulders and your fingers play with his hair. “Is this how we say thanks now?” he asks teasingly, his fingers brushing against your skin just under your shirt.
“I mean, yeah, but I also kinda feel bad I didn't get you anything, so...I wanna make you feel good,” you tell him, smirking as you roll your hips into his.
“Yeah?” Harry asks, though his voice gets caught in his throat at first.
You nod. “Yeah.”
“And how do you plan on doing that?” Harry's excitement of what's possibly about to happen is obvious with the corners of his lips tugging into something of a smile.
“Well, first of all, I've got to get you nice and hard,” you say.
Harry laughs. “I approve already.” His fingers brush against your bare skin still, though they're much lower this time. You are certain he's about to go for your ass, but you have other ideas. “What's the plan of action, then?”
“This.” You cross your arms at the hem of your shirt, then lift it up and over your head, revealing your bare chest. Harry bites down on his lip at the sight in front of him, but you’re not quite done yet.
“You're gonna have to do better than that,” Harry teases, though he's visibly struggling to keep his eyes away from your naked breasts.
You roll your eyes. “I've not finished yet,” you tell him, taking his hands in yours and taking him by surprise. You know this has confused him and can't help the small smirk, but it's no match for the tugging on your lips seconds later as you place his hands on your breasts instead. You massage yourself over Harry's hands until you know he's doing it himself and pulls your hands away. “What about that?”
“Could be better,” Harry replies, though he makes no effort to remove his hands any time soon. He's already flicking and twisting your left nipple, letting it harden under his touch. As he glances up at your face, though, his eyes drop to your lips for a second, and you know exactly what he's going to do next.
“Are you sure about that?” you ask, giving your hips a little wiggle and instantly feeling movement underneath you.
“You're such a fucking tease,” Harry manages to get out seconds before he crashes his lips against yours, unable to stop his temptation any further.
You giggle against his lips, but melt into the kiss soon after, continuing to grind your hips into Harry's. “Feeling nice and hard yet?” you ask the second Harry's lips drop to your jaw.
Harry pushes his hips up, and you feel his hardening cock against you. “You tell me, babe.”
“Only one way to find out,” you reply, your lips tugging into a smirk as you dip your hand between the two of you. The second you begin to palm him through his pants, Harry's breath hitches. “Seems all good from here,” you add, giving him a quick squeeze.
“Yeah?” he asks, placing a sloppy kiss against your lips.
You nod. “Yeah, but what happens if I do this?” you ask. Before Harry can ask what, you dip your hand into his pants and wrap your hand around him.
“Fuck,” Harry curses, his hot breath hitting your skin in a way that sends goosebumps down your arms. “You know I'm always super sensitive in the morning.”
“I haven't forgotten,” you reply, swiping your thumb across his slit before you instruct him to lift his hips so you can pump him properly.
Harry does as he's asked within two seconds flat, letting you take control; he's the one that usually does, but when the roles are reversed, Harry can barely control himself. He's not sure when the hand he has left on your breast stopped moving, just sitting there and cupping you without doing much else, but he couldn't care less in that moment. His cock springs up against his stomach the second his pants are off, and it takes you all of two seconds to take him in your hand again. “Oh, shit,” he curses as you swipe your thumb across his slit again, coating his tip with his already leaking pre-come.
You grin to yourself as you shuffle back on his lap slightly, getting a better angle to fasten the pace as you pump him up and down that little bit harder. Harry presses his lips against yours and sloppily kisses you, but pulls back not long after as his forehead falls against yours and he squeezes his eyes shut; the immense amount of pleasure begins to overtake him, already feeling as though he's not going to last for as long as he wants or for as long as you truly deserve.
Harry's heavy breaths are a sure sign of his enjoyment, but you’re not quite done with thanking him just yet. You let go of his hard length and throw your arms back around his neck, resulting in Harry's brows to furrow at the loss of your hand. “What happened to my thank you?” he asks, his lips swollen and stained pink, while his cheeks flush red.
“Calm down, I've saved the best for last,” you tell him, rolling your eyes.
“The best?” Harry asks. “What's the b—” He's cut off by your next move, which is sticking your finger in your mouth and sucking on it. Harry gulps. “Oh, fuck.”
You use the same finger seconds later to lift his chin as you pull him in for a quick kiss, nibbling on his bottom lip and leaving him wanting more. “Talk to me, Harry. Tell me what you want,” you instruct, rolling your hips into his. Your underwear is the only thing keeping you apart.
“I want you,” he moans, his hands wrapping around you and beginning to roam across your body again. Every inch of your body is covered, from your hair down to your thighs; your shoulders, your bare back, your hips, your ass.
“Yeah?” you ask, latching your lips to his jaw. “Tell me more. What do you want, Harry?”
“You,” he says, gripping onto your ass in a way that tells you you’ll be bruised tomorrow. “I want you, Y/N. I want you so fucking bad.”
You build more friction between you as you grind your hips together again, making use of still being on his lap. “What part of me do you want?” you ask, pressing your lips a little lower on his jaw this time before pulling back. “My fingers?” you question before he can reply, brushing your fingertips across Harry's. “Maybe my tits.” You sits his hand on your chest again, letting his fingertips brush lightly against your hard nipple. “Or what about my mouth?” You stick the tips of Harry's fingers in your mouth, nibbling on them playfully.
“Please, Y/N,” is all Harry manages to get out as his eyes are hard on your mouth, watching the way your lips move against his fingers and your tongue swirls around them.
You have him right where you want him, but you still want more. You want him to beg for it. “Please what, Harry?”
“Your mouth, I want it,” he says.
“My cock,” he exasperates as your lips meet his jaw again, latching on and suckling lightly as a mild taste of what's to come. “Want your mouth on my cock.”
You grin, happy you’ve finally gotten what you want. “Your wish is my command,” you say, pressing your lips against his in a long and languid, and incredibly agonising, kiss.
Harry's arms are back around your body, pulling you in impossibly close and feeling every inch of your body pressed up against his. And then, when he's nearly forgotten what he's just begged you for, you kiss the side of his mouth again, then his jaw and his neck, hands pressed to his chest as you gradually make your way down his body. His muscles tense under your touch, but it's no match for his still hardening nature out of just pure excitement from what's about to happen.
Your lips have always seemed soft against his lips, whether in a quick kiss or a nibble that drives him absolutely crazy, but in this moment, while your lips are grazing against his collarbone, Harry is certain your lips have never felt better. Your kisses continue to move down his body, down his chest and sternum, reaching his abdomen that clenches tight before you’ve even latched your lips to his skin. Seconds later, you’re a little bit lower on his V-line, ready to follow the path to your final destination.
Your name has left his lips before you’re even close, but that may have something to do with the agonising wait and the way your fingers brush against his length in a total surprise. “Fuck, Y/N,” he says lowly. “M'gonna come before you're sucking me off at this rate.”
A light chuckle is the only reply Harry gets from you, but you both know he's for sure not coming unless he's inside you in one way or another. But you’ve not got much time to think about it because you have finally reached where Harry so badly wants you, lips pressing light kisses right above his cock to tease him even more. Your lips twist into something devilish as you pull back, watching Harry writhe under your touch in front of you. Your lips are nearing his tip, your warm breath hitting it in a way that's sending Harry crazy. But to be fair, the thought of you going down on him is already making his mind run wild. You run your finger down his length first, his eyes unable to leave your every move, until you finally do what he's been waiting for.
Harry's hand is in your hair the second after you’ve licked the first stripe, pre-come dripping from your lips when you sit back up. He could almost come right there and then. “Oh, Y/N,” he breathes out when you dip your head again, your lips latching to the tip of his cock and swirling your tongue around. Your hand is around the base, squeezing tight as you lower yourself a bit further than the tip. Gradually, you continue to roll your tongue against his skin, sliding bit by bit into your mouth. It's not long until he practically hits the back of your throat, his fingers running through your hair, and he's certain life can't get any better. “Shit, just like that,” he says. “Don't stop, baby. Don't stop.”
Bobbing up and down, you don't plan on stopping any time soon. Hell, you even plan on going until he finishes. You glance up at him through your lashes, his eyes meeting yours instantly, noting how his bottom lip is nearly red raw from biting down on it. Harry tries to smile his appreciation at you, but instead squeezes his eyes shut and throws his head back, hitting his head on the wall, as you moan around him and send nearly insufferable vibrations up his cock. And just when he thinks it can't get any better, you begin to roll your hips against his thigh, finding your own enjoyment as pleasure begins to overtake you as well.
“Fuck,” Harry curses, opening his eyes and witnessing the better than porn visual in front of him. “Like sucking my cock, don't you, baby?”
You nod and mumble your answer as best you can, but the vibrations ripple through Harry again, sending another wave of pleasure that has him scrunching the bed sheets with his free hand. Your hips continue to grind against his thigh at a slow pace, matching the same rhythm with your mouth. Glancing up at him quickly, you swear Harry almost looks relieved, his release probably nearing quicker than he wants, but you wrap your fingers around the base and pump him while you give your mouth a quick rest. Your tongue, on the other hand, continues to swirl around his tip to keep him well and truly interested.
Your name sounds like magic coming from his lips, like it's made to be said during this moment and nothing more. Harry grips at the back of your head still, watching the sight in front of him with great detail, wanting to remember this exact moment forever. Just as he spots you open your mouth a little wider, sliding his length in once again, he knows he isn't going to last long. Not with this amount of build up and not at this time of the morning. And while that may be the case, something doesn't quite feel right—you may be about to suck an orgasm out of him, but that's not how he wants it to happen.
“Stop, stop, stop,” Harry says suddenly, trying to sit up a bit as he tugs on your hair.
You pull back from him, furrowing your brows. “What’s going on?” you ask, confused. “Did you want to come on my tits instead?”
“No, I—wait, you’d be into that?” Harry blinks as he considers it for a split second, then shakes his head as he guides you up from his lap, running his fingers through your hair and down your cheek. “No, baby. I’m—fuck, you’re so good, your mouth is literal magic, but I want to be inside you.” Harry bites down on his lip, thinking about how much he wants this. “Baby, please let me come inside you.”
“Oh!” You grin, pouncing forward instantly to take him on a whole new adventure.
Harry lets you plant kisses on his jaw again for a few seconds, forgetting about everything and just enjoying the moment as you still grind on his thigh, until he remembers that it’s time for him to take charge again. “Y/N, no, I—it’s my turn,” he says, his hands smoothing over your bare back.
“Your turn?” you ask, creasing your brows.
“Yeah,” Harry says with a nod. “My turn.” Before you can even say anything else, Harry flips you over so he’s the one on top now, biting down on his lip as his eyes cloud over.
You blink a few times. “But I wanted to make you feel good,” you say, pouting your bottom lip.
“And you’ve done that brilliantly already, but if you really want to thank me, you’ll let me do this,” he replies, pressing his lips to yours in a hungry kiss.
You want to tell him that you want to be on top, you want to be in charge, but Harry’s fingers are already traipsing over your body and flicking your nipple before you even get a chance—all thoughts on possibly riding Harry through his orgasm are saved for another day. Between grinding yourself against Harry and the general feeling you get yourself when pleasuring Harry, it’s safe to say there’s a fiery ball already building in the pit of your stomach as Harry continues to kiss you, but it’s when he dips his fingers into your underwear and circles your clit that you know you’re done for. You’ve forgotten how to kiss as your head is thrown back against the pillow, moans escaping your lips as the fire builds inside you, while Harry’s lips are latched to your jaw.
Harry dips his finger inside you next, moving on from your clit. “My my, someone’s been really enjoying themselves,” he teases, his finger moving easily as it bends and curves to find the spot you so desperately need.
“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna get you back for this,” you say, your hands falling to the sheet either side of you as you scrunch it between your fingers. Your back arches and your hips shift slightly, guiding his fingers, and you know for sure your end is near.
“Come for me, Y/N,” Harry muses, his hot breath hitting your neck in a way that would drive you crazy had you not already been mostly there already.
Your chest is flushed red and sweat sculpts your hair, making a right mess of it against the pillow, but you don't care—all you can think about is the pure ecstasy running through your veins, and then it finally hits you. Expletives fall from your lips as your orgasm pulses through you, hips rising from the bed and sheets still scrunched in your hand, and Harry’s finger continues to pump inside you as you ride out one of the best adrenaline pumping orgasms you’ve had in awhile. Maybe all the build up had something to do with, or maybe Harry just really fucking knows what he’s doing.
“Jesus, fuck me,” you breathe out as it’s over, your arm falling across your eyes as you take a moment to breathe. You feel like you’ve just run a marathon.
Harry chuckles. “Don’t know about Jesus, but I sure am about to,” he says, lifting you up as he pulls down your underwear and throws them off the bed. Harry presses a quick kiss to your lips, when you slide the arm from your face just enough to peek at him. “Ready for round two?”
“I was barely ready for round one.” Really, you weren't; it happened so fast now all you want to do is take a few minutes to both recover and prepare for what’s coming next, but Harry’s also been edged so much that you know all he wants is his final release. “Okay, but be gentle,” you add.
“Gentle?” Harry laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “When have you ever wanted gentle?”
You think about it for a second, then press your lips together. “Okay, never mind,” you reply, realising your mistake.
Harry has one hand beside you to hold himself up, while the other is rubbing up and down your side, before you even have a few seconds to blink or think about what’s happening next. “Still taking birth control?” he asks, lips pressing lightly against the corner of your mouth.
“Yeah,” you say, capturing his lips against yours. Your friends have tried to tell you in the past that birth control alone isn’t the greatest contraceptive, but in the moment, you don't care—and, quite frankly, neither does Harry. All he wants is to be inside you, your walls clenching against him in a way that drives him to the edge—all he wants is to feel you in a way he’s never felt closer.
You nibble Harry’s bottom lip playfully, your hands wrapping around his neck as you grind your completely naked bodies against one another, but Harry can’t take it anymore. He sits back a bit, wraps his hand around his cock as he pumps himself a few times to make sure he’s ready—you roll your eyes because of course he’s ready, he’s leaking pre-come again—and then lowers himself a bit as he lines himself up with your entrance.
“Ready?” he asks as he looks up at you, wanting to double check you want it.
Of course you want it, but you still appreciate the gesture. “Mhmm,” you hum.
Carefully, Harry steadies himself over you again as he slides himself into you, filling you in a way you’ve felt countless times but will never get tired of. He’s slow at first, finding his momentum and the right angle, but as you moan his name in pure pleasure he knows he’s on the right track. You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer so your mouth is on his once again, deepening the kiss as you continue to pull the two of you impossibly close. You sigh against his lips, while Harry’s lips tug into a smile—he can’t help being happy at knowing just what he’s doing to you. Maybe that’s why you like taking control as well.
“Good?” he asks against your lips as you pull back, his forehead resting on yours as he still rolls his hips into yours.
You nod. “Yeah, keep going,” you urges, breathing hard.
Harry picks up the rhythm a bit. “How’s that? Better?
“I’d be better if you stopped asking all these questions and just got on with it,” you tell him honestly, gripping hard onto his back as he finds a particular spot that overwhelms you to the point you can feel the fiery ball beginning to build inside you again.
Harry grins. “Your wish is my command,” he says, sliding out slightly before thrusting back into you.
“Shit,” you curse, your nails now digging into his skin. “Do that again.”
Like you requested, Harry thrusts into you again and again and again. “I’m not gonna last much longer,” he says after a while, his breaths shallow and forehead sticky with sweat.
You nod, knowing full well that he wouldn’t. “I’m surprised you’ve even made it this—” you try to tell him you’re surprised he’s made it this far, but you’ve stopped the second Harry’s thumb is brushing against your clit.
“You were saying?” Harry asks, his lips tugging into a smirk that you would practically smack off his face had you not been on the verge of a second orgasm.
“Shut up,” you settle with.
Harry’s free hand that’s everywhere on your body one second is on your thigh the next, sliding underneath as he hoists your leg around his hips to find a new angle as he deepens himself inside you. And that’s when he hits the right spot, his name spilling from your lips as your back arches again, your pleasure overwhelming you. Harry picks up the pace with both his thrusts and his thumb circling your clit, and that’s what finally does it as your second orgasm hits you. Your nails dig further into Harry’s skin as everything goes blurry, vision impaired momentarily and not a care in the world for anything other than Harry helping you through it.
You want to take a few moments once you’re done to let it consume you, to save this memory for whenever you’re alone, but you know Harry is on the verge of finishing himself. His thrusts are becoming messier and his lips crash against yours sloppily, you clenching against him during your orgasm enough to send him over the edge.
“I’m gonna—Y/N, I’m—fuck,” he tries to say, but he’s coming before another word can be uttered. He breathes out against your lips at first, your name sounding breathless in that moment, but he drops his forehead to your collarbone seconds later as his hips stop jerking and everything stills.
It’s a few seconds of sweat and laboured breathing before either of you do anything, but Harry breaks your mildly stilled silence by capturing your bottom lip in his once more. “Best Christmas present ever,” he says, his lips tugging into the warmest smile. “Actually, might even be the best present of all time.”
“Don’t go buying me random presents now just so you can get that again,” you tell him, narrowing your eyes.
Harry chuckles as he rolls to his side, ignoring the fact that there’s quite the mess between you both. “And where’s the fun in that?”
In reality, there’s no way you could ever stop Harry from doing what he wants—if he wants to shower you with gifts, he’s going to do it and you’re going to get something new and shiny to add to your collection of other new and shiny things. But then again, if it does end in more orgasms… Who's to deny Harry what he wants?
After a few beats of silence, Harry’s lips tug into something playful as he glances at you. “So, Y/N, I’ve heard Tiffany’s is around the corner…”
“I think I’d much rather breakfast,” you say, placing your hand on your stomach as it chooses that exact moment to rumble.
“Breakfast, huh?” Harry asks, pausing as he thinks for a second. “If I get you some waffles, maybe you can suck me off before I leave.”
You sigh very dramatically as soon as Harry says that, throwing your arms across your face as you wonder just what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into.
taglist: @harryswinterberries @niallgolden @callmebeautiful @tobefalling @kakaym
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‘Fine Line’ inspired tattoo ideas
(click images for better quality)
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Two years back, an era started anew
When H woke up and mumbled, “Hey, Lou,
I think that it’s time
To kick off Fine Line,”
Then zonked out after he tweeted “Do.”
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fav or reblog if u use/save.
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to be so lonely / illicit affairs
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HARRY STYLES LAYOUTS
hope u like it
like/reblog if you save or use!
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Hi please I'm new here so I'm begging you not to be mad at me for my question. I'm genuinely just trying to form an opinion. I just want to know how Harry's not benefiting from his closet. Louis is definitely being punished and there's nothing nice about his Mr I am in fact straight with a child image but w Harry he gets to play both sides and wear a dress and work in Hollywood. It also confuses me how Harry's songs seem to be him begging not to be left and I'm like??Something's not adding up
I’m not mad at you, but I’m not a research robot who can just spit out answers the second someone wants them. I just don’t have the time or energy to continually prove things to people. I’m sorry that that makes it harder for some new fans, but I’m exhausted. This line of questioning has been going in for well over a year and I just can’t do it every time a new fan discovers this band or has a question. .
All I can say is that someone accusing him of “benefitting” from being closeted, doesn’t understand what it’s like to be closeted. No one would choose to lie about such an enormous part of who they are unless they felt they had to. Feel free to search my blog for tags like
PR and Marketing
The only song I can think of on Fine Line that even comes close to Harry “begging not to be left” is Falling. I answered someone about Falling recently, here (including links to some other people’s analyses).
When he spoke with Zane Lowe, he said about Falling: “I kind of started to feel like threads of you know, where I could see myself becoming someone that I didn’t want to be.” Harry has spoken about how the sequencing of his songs is so important and how much time it took to get right, He also has said that this song, in particular, is “very centered in what the record is… centered in a time that a lot of the record was kind of built around”. So I think it’s important that Falling is in the middle of the album, smack between the first group of songs that are all about the euphoria of first falling in love, and the second group of songs that seem to be about rediscovering and deepening love, and learning to understand yourself on a deeper level.
Just because someone has a period of deep unhappiness, feeling abandoned, feeling like all is lost, doesn’t mean it’s the overall theme of their life (or album). And there’s a huge assumption (based on the way the narrative of this album was pushed) that what Harry is talking about in a song like this is the end of a romantic relationship. But I honestly believe so much of Fine Line (the album) is actually about Harry’s relationship with himself and with gender. And I think Falling can be looked at through that lens, as well. Especially if we think about what he said about Falling being centered in a time that much of the record was built around. Being afraid of losing themselves and/or their parter because of gender confusion is not exactly uncommon (this analysis discusses the concept from Louis’ POV)
I’m not saying there aren’t songs about romantic struggles, but I think people are trying too hard to look at their albums and say aha! They’re together. Or aha! They broke up. And I just think it’s a lot more complex.
For many of us, Harry and Louis’ relationship is the primary reason we’re here. But when you’re settled in a long term relationship, it’s unlikely that everything you want to express as an artist is about your love life. Harry grappling with his gender identity seems to have been of much greater importance to him while making FL. Here’s a tag for posts on Harry’s Gender.
As for the rest of the album, please just search my song analysis tag. There’s lots there.
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Watermelon sugar - Harry Styles
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changes (best friend!harry)
Warnings: language, nsfw content, drugs (marijuana) and alcohol
Pairing: best friend!Harry x reader
Word Count: 17k (holy shit)
A/N: So this started as two requests I had in my inbox that I got way too into and then it became this. this may be the longest stand-alone fic I’ve ever written, and it, like watermelon sugar, is dedicated to touching!!!! I spent so long on this so as always. feedback is appreciated. and if you like it, please reblog it!!! reblogging is the best way to show fic writers your appreciation <3
Unless she’s reminded otherwise, Y/N always thinks of herself as a teenager.
This, of course, isn’t true. She turned twenty-six a month ago, works as a media producer for an online clothing company, and lives alone in a one bedroom apartment in London. However, unless she physically has something in front of her to remind her of her real age and the passing of time, Y/N disregards this information.
Usually, the reminder is a bill in the mail, or a phone call to remind her that she needs to book an appointment with her doctor. Usually, the reminder is an ache in her back, her glasses prescription getting worse, or realizing that she has no idea what her teenage cousins are talking about when she sees them at Christmas. Usually, the reminder is enough to give her pause, but not enough to throw her for a loop.
This time, however, the reminder is her childhood best friend naked in her bathroom.
Y/N and Harry had been friends since they were in primary school, after Y/N had moved to London with her mother. Their new house just happened to be next to Harry’s, and Anne and Y/N’s mother had quickly hit it off. Anne had been quick to volunteer her son to be Y/N’s tour guide at school, and despite not being enthusiastic about each other in the beginning, the two began to grow closer by the end of Y/N’s first week there. Within a month, the two were inseparable, and that didn’t change as they entered their teen years, started secondary school, and Harry left London to become a member of the most famous boyband in the world. Just typical teen things.
However, despite their distance, Y/N and Harry had remained as close as ever. They constantly texted, called, and video chatted with each other, and Y/N even joined Harry on tour a few times (with permission from her mother). Although both of them had been worried when Harry left, their worries and fears never came to fruition. Just as they balanced each other in personality, they balanced each other in lifestyle—when Y/N needed a break from high school and university, Harry brought her to shows, award ceremonies, and parties, and when Harry felt like his fame was overwhelming, Y/N sent him reminders of home, hosted countless movie nights for him, and told him story after story of university life.
They were so perfectly matched that, when they were younger, many people—and tabloids—suspected that they were dating. Even their mothers had asked them, on occasion, if one of them had any interest in the other. However, their answers were always the same. Y/N and Harry were best friends, and nothing more. Sure, they were touchy, affectionate, called each other pet names, and had even kissed on a few occasions during truth or dare at parties, but none of it actually meant anything. Y/N had watched Harry grow from a cute kid to an awkward teen to a self-assured man, and her feelings for him had never changed, and an attraction to him had never developed.
Harry’s facing away from her, his towel in his hand as he dries his chest. His entire body glistens with water from the shower. Y/N can’t stop herself from letting her eyes canvas over every inch of his smooth arms, toned back, down lower to his—
Her breath catches in her throat. Yeah. His ass is toned, too, she thinks to herself, and only has another moment to think that she shouldn’t be looking before Harry glances over his shoulder, alarmed by the small sound she had made.
“Y/N—” His eyes widen a bit, but he doesn’t make an effort to cover himself with his towel very quickly.
Her eyes automatically follow his movement for a moment before she realizes what she’s about to see. “Sorry!” Y/N turns around quickly, her face heated. “Sorry, I—the door was unlocked, I didn’t realize you were—”
“It’s fine.” Harry fixes his towel around his waist. “Don’t worry about—”
Y/N leaves the bathroom before he can finish his sentence, walking to her bedroom quickly and shutting the door tightly behind her.
Harry, it seems, is today’s reminder that she’s no longer a teenager, because his body is that of a man.
It’s not like you haven’t seen him shirtless before, she tells herself, walking to her dresser to pick out a change of clothes. Y/N’s seen him half naked countless times. The whole world has seen Harry half naked countless times. But she’s never seen him like that.
When did Harry grow up? Somehow, between movie nights and pool parties and going away to school, Y/N had failed to notice that her childhood best friend is no longer a child. Harry had grown into his features, developed muscles in his arms and chest, tattooed designs all over his skin, and had become an incredibly attractive adult without her noticing.
Y/N pulls her pajamas off quickly, stopping to glance at herself in her full length mirror. She, like Harry, is also no longer a child. She had grown into her features like he had, had gotten a few tattoos, made her share of mistakes, and became an adult the same way he did. Neither her nor Harry’s growth had happened overnight.
As she runs her hand between her chest, down her stomach, brushing her hip, Y/N can’t help but wonder: has Harry noticed that they’ve grown up? Does he still look at her and see the shy little girl, the developing teenager, or does he look at her and see a grown woman? Is she the only one who’s been late to the party?
Y/N feels a flutter in the pit of her stomach. Is it possible that, at some point, Harry looked at her and had the same realization that she had a moment ago? That not only had she grown into a woman, but that she had grown into an attractive woman?
The sound of the bathroom door opening distracts Y/N from her thoughts, and she hurries to finish getting dressed. Her shirt, she finds when she pulls it on, smells a bit like Harry’s cologne, as she had set it on the side of the bed that he slept on the night before. She likes it more than she should.
After she’s dressed, she debates just staying in her bedroom to avoid facing Harry again for a bit longer. However, she can hear him working her coffee maker in the kitchen, and knows she can’t hide in her bedroom like a child. She isn’t a child.
Neither is he, she thinks to herself as she touches her bedroom doorknob. Which is the problem.
Still, Y/N shakes herself from her thoughts and walks out to her kitchen.
Harry, now dressed in wide leg jeans and a plain white t-shirt, is leaning against her kitchen counter, a cup of coffee in his hand. His hair is still wet from his shower, but other than that, he looks normal. Completely normal.
And yet, Y/N can’t manage to meet his eyes.
“Good morning.” Harry’s voice is low, a bit of amusement in it as he notices her demeanor. “How did you sleep?”
“Fine.” Y/N hates how tight her voice is as she grabs a mug from the kitchen cabinet. “I slept fine. Did you?”
Harry nods, his eyes still tracing her every move as her own eyes avoid him. “I did. Woke up a bit early, though. Thought I’d shower before brunch.”
Right. Brunch. They’re having brunch that day with a few old friends, at a place just down the street from Y/N’s apartment, which is why Harry had stayed over the night before. Y/N was going to have to act normal around their other friends, which means she can’t avoid looking at him for much longer.
“I’m sorry.” She says as she pours a cup of coffee. “I am, I—I should’ve knocked. I forgot you slept over, and—”
“It’s fine, Y/N. I should’ve locked the door.” Harry says easily, the corner of his lips tugging up. “It’s not a big deal. Besides, it’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”
At that comment, Y/N pauses. “Except…I haven’t seen you naked before?”
Harry shakes his head adamantly. “No. You have. There’s no way we’ve been friends for almost twenty years, and you haven’t.”
“Harry, believe me. I’ve seen you in a lot of weird positions over the years, but I’ve never seen you completely nude.” Y/N feels her regular ease with him begin to return, just a little bit. “I would remember that.”
“Would you?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, his coffee cup half raised to his lips.
The bit of ease that returned disappears immediately. “I—” Y/N’s cheeks heat up again. “Shut up, you know what I meant.”
Harry tries to hide his laugh behind his coffee, but fails. “I’m just teasing you, love. It’s fine, promise. I don’t mind that you saw. I’m very comfortable in my body.”
Y/N rolls her eyes. “Too comfortable, I think.”
“Is there such a thing as being too comfortable in your body?” Harry asks in a teasing voice, crossing his arms.
“When your best friend walks in on you naked and you don’t bother to cover yourself?” Despite the blush on her cheeks, Y/N manages to laugh. “Yes. There is.”
“I don’t know…” Harry finishes his coffee and sets the mug in the kitchen sink. “It sounds like there’s issues with your comfort, not mine.”
Before Y/N can form a reply, Harry shoots her a smirk and walks out of the kitchen.
For the rest of the day, Y/N does her best not to think about that morning’s awkward encounter. Brunch with her friends is normal, and she just lets herself enjoy having Harry home, and catching up with everyone. The afternoon also passes in an unremarkable way, as does that night. Over the next few days, however, things begin to change.
Within two weeks, the atmosphere of the country has shifted. There’s a virus that’s highly contagious and can be fatal, Y/N’s work tells her to work from home, and soon the entire country is being told to stay home to avoid catching Coronavirus.
And then Harry texts her two days later, without any warning or leeway for her to disagree.
I’m on the last flight back to London. Pack a bag and bring some groceries to my place, so we can isolate together. You’ll go crazy alone in your flat.
Y/N tries to reply that it’s not necessary, but her message doesn’t go through. Harry’s already on the plane. So she does what he says, and packs a bag of clothes, her work bag, some alcohol, and her favourite snacks, and drives over to his house.
Letting herself in with her key, Y/N begins to bring the house back to life. She lights Harry’s candles and orders some dinner, as well as groceries for the next couple weeks. She makes sure she gets his favourite foods, and the weird snacks that only he likes. She calls her mum to tell her she’ll be with Harry, and Anne, to tell her the same thing. And then she waits.
When Harry finally walks through the front door, he looks more like the tired seventeen year old on his first tour than the grown man she had seen a few weeks ago. The bags under his eyes are evidence of his jetlag and stress, his jacket is rumpled from the plane, his hair just as messy, and he looks like he could collapse the second the door closes behind him.
“H.” Y/N walks towards him and gives him a tight hug. One hand goes to his back and the other to his hair, playing with it as she always does. “Are you alright?”
“Long flight.” Harry mutters in reply, eyes closed as he holds her tight. “Everyone’s going insane in the States. I’m lucky I got a flight back to London.”
“Why did you?” Y/N pulls back, brushing his messy hair from his eyes. “You could’ve stayed in LA.”
“Yeah, but…” Harry shrugs a bit. “I knew you’d be alone. And I wanted to be with you.”
Y/N can’t help the soft smile that creeps onto her face. “C’mon. I have dinner ready.”
Harry barely makes it through dinner with his eyes open, but still insists on watching a movie after. Y/N tries to tell him that he should just go to sleep, but he won’t hear it.
“We can watch it in my bed, like we used to when we were little.” Harry gives her his best puppy dog eyes. “Please?”
Y/N shoves his shoulder. “You’re twenty-six. Stop pouting to get what you want.”
“I’ll stop pouting when it stops working.”
Y/N laughs in spite of herself. “Fine, but shower first. You smell like a plane.”
Of course, as predicted, Harry starts to drift to sleep within the first half hour of the movie. He slips down in the bed more and more, until his head is in Y/N’s lap completely. Out of habit, Y/N begins to play with his damp curls, running her fingers through them at a steady pace as she watches the movie.
Harry’s breathing begins to even out as she does, and Y/N begins to pay more attention to him than the TV. When they spend the night with each other, Y/N always falls asleep first. It’s rare she gets to see him completely relaxed.
As much as she loves his green eyes, his eyelashes may be a close second. They’re so long and dark that they almost make Y/N jealous. And his cheeks…she brings one hand up to gently touch them. They’re stubbled from his long day of travel, but the skin underneath feels soft. Despite having lost his baby fat years ago, there’s still a layer of tenderness in his body.
Y/N is so distracted by him that she doesn’t realize that she’s stopped playing with his hair, not until Harry speaks up.
“Why’d you stop?” His voice is groggy with exhaustion, lower, with a thicker accent. His words slur together as well
“Hm?” Y/N hums in her throat in response. “I thought you were asleep.”
“Not really.” Harry’s eyes stay closed as he shifts his position a bit. “Will you play with my hair a bit longer? Feels nice.”
The movie credits roll in the background as Y/N does what he says. Harry sighs contently, relaxing back into her again.
Y/N turns the TV off, so the only light in the room comes from the moon through the open curtains. It shines over half of Harry’s face, catching the ends of his eyelashes. Somehow, the moonlight makes his cheeks and lips even more pink.
“You’re really pretty, y’know that?” Y/N says it absentmindedly, her fingers still combing through Harry’s curls.
“Thanks.” He has just enough energy to mumble a response. “’M, not as pretty as you, though.”
Y/N’s stomach flutters when he says it, so quiet that she’s not even certain she heard him correctly. “Liar.”
“’S true.” Harry’s reply is even less audible than before. “So pretty.”
If Harry was awake and more present in the conversation, Y/N might tease him. She might try to make him blush, or roll his eyes, or laugh. Maybe, just maybe, she’d even ask him to elaborate, just enough that she could figure out what the fluttering in her stomach means.
But Harry is hardly awake right now. And it wouldn’t be fair.
“Go to sleep, H,” is all Y/N says, shifting to lay down a bit more without pausing the movement of her fingers.
It takes Harry a few days to readjust to London time. While Y/N spends her weekdays working from the kitchen table, Harry naps and fiddles with his guitar and journal. While she can tell he’s working on something, Y/N can also tell that he’s not making much process.
A week after coming back from LA, Harry half stomps into the kitchen during the afternoon, frustration clear on his face as he opens the fridge and grabs an apple. He bites into it angrily and leans against the counter, the irritation still on his face.
Y/N glances at him from behind her laptop. “Everything alright?”
Harry gives half a shrug. “Trying to write.”
“And how’s that going?”
“Fucking sucks.” Harry takes another bite of the apple. “I thought I’d feel more inspired, being at home and not having deadlines, but I can’t get anything out. Not anything good, anyways.”
“I know the feeling.” Y/N sighs as she closes her laptop. “There’s been a huge surge in online orders, and my boss wants me to create more promo material, but it’s hard to focus on anything right now.”
Harry nods and glances out the window. “Doesn’t help that it’s a beautiful day, but we can’t go out.”
“We can go out. We just can’t leave the property.” Y/N replies. “You have a giant backyard. Why don’t you use it?”
“Yeah. Maybe I’ll go for a swim.” Harry takes another bite of his apple. “You want to come?”
Y/N laughs a bit. “Unlike you, H, I have a real nine to five job. I’m on the clock for another two hours.”
“After, then.” Harry tosses his apple core in the compost and gives her a grin. “I hope you packed that yellow bikini.”
Y/N crumples a piece of scrap paper in her hand and throws it at him. “Piss off.”
Y/N did, in fact, pack her yellow bikini. However, when she’s changing from her clothes into a swimsuit, she chooses her blue bikini instead, just to have a bit of agency. Every instinct in her is telling her to wear what Harry said to, and it’s a little concerning. She’s never cared about dressing for him before, and she isn’t prepared to start.
Despite the different colour, Harry still grins from the edge of the pool when he sees her walk out. “Look at you. Should’ve put you in the Watermelon Sugar music video.”
“Shut up.” Y/N sits on the edge of the pool, dangling her lets in the water. Harry rests his head on his arms, his cheeky grin still on his face as he looks up at her.
“I’m serious.” He says innocently. “It was a fun day. You really would’ve liked it.”
“Of course you thought it was fun; you had a bunch of beautiful girls fawning over you and feeding you fruit.” Y/N rolls her eyes from behind her sunglasses. “You’re such a narcissist.”
“All musicians are narcissists, love. At least, the best ones are.” Harry’s grin grows as he pushes away from the ledge. “Are you going to just sit there and look pretty, or are you actually going to swim?”
“I’m going to tan.” Y/N leans her head back, enjoying the feeling of the warm sun.
Harry shakes his head. “No, sorry. The pool is for swimming only.”
In hindsight, Y/N should’ve known what Harry was about to do. She’s been friends with him long enough that she knows how his brain works. However, Y/N is enjoying the sun so much that she lets her guard down for one moment, and that one moment is all Harry needs.
She feels his hands grip her legs, and before she can stop him, he pulls her into the pool. Her entire body submerges, and when she finally rises, gasping for air, the only thing she can hear is Harry’s snickering.
“You’re such an ass!” Y/N hits his shoulder hard, not caring about leaving a mark on him. “That’s not funny!”
“The pool is for swimming only. I told you.” Harry can’t stop laughing long enough to make it through his sentence clearly. “Them’s the rules.”
“Them’s the rules.” Y/N repeats in a mocking voice, hitting him one more time. “You’re the worst.”
“Maybe, but you’re stuck with me.” Harry runs a hand through his wet hair. “At least until quarantine is done.”
“I should’ve stayed alone in my apartment.” Y/N mutters, tossing her wet sunglasses on the pool ledge. “Would’ve been so much more peaceful.”
“And boring.” Harry points out. “And you wouldn’t get to take relaxing swims like this!”
“Right. Relaxing.” Y/N splashes him playfully. “Jerk.”
Harry just grins at you.
Y/N glances at Harry as he packs loose marijuana into a wrapper, concentration clear on his face as he rolls it.
“You learn how to roll those in LA?” Y/N asks, taking a sip of her wine.
Harry chuckles lightly, his skin illuminated by the fire burning in front of them and the moon above them. “Yeah. I’m not very good, though. Usually I have somebody else to roll them for me.”
“So high maintenance.”
Another low laugh rolls out of Harry’s mouth. “Ha. High maintenance.”
Y/N rolls her eyes, but an endearing smile is on her face. “It’s still illegal in the U.K., you know.”
“I doubt the police are going to break social distancing rules to arrest me for it.” Harry’s tongue pokes out of his mouth as he tries his best to roll the joint tightly.
Y/N watches as Harry brings the wrapper to his mouth, licking it lightly. To her dismay, her attraction to Harry had yet to fade, and spending every moment of the day together wasn’t helping.
“I’m not an eighteen year old girl on your tour bus anymore, Harry.” Y/N raises her wine glass. “I drink red wine now. I’m sophisticated.”
Harry snorts, his eyes flickering to her before looking back down at the joint. “Sophisticated, right. Like you didn’t do body shots off the bartender at your birthday party this year.”
Y/N’s cheeks burn. “Birthdays don’t count.”
“Neither did tour buses, and neither does my backyard in the middle of a pandemic.” Harry seals the joint as best he can. “You may have a fancy job now, but you’re still my Y/N.”
His Y/N. That phrase ignites the now familiar flutter in her stomach and, over the last few days, her core. Something about Harry identifying her as his drives Y/N insane, even if it’s nothing new.
“And what exactly does your Y/N do?” She manages to say after a moment.
“She doesn’t take shit from anyone. She gets drunk fast and high faster. She’s always down for a laugh. And, although she won’t admit it, she has a tendency to make bad decisions that she tries to suppress, but can’t always manage to do so.” Harry sparks his lighter and sticks the joint between his lips, lighting it and puffing it quickly.
“Then you should know that your Y/N can’t have a joint of her own.” Y/N steals the joint from Harry’s lips, taking a few puffs of her own from it before handing it back.
The smoke curls in her lungs, forcing a few coughs from her.
“Alright?” Harry asks, concern in his eyes.
Y/N nods, her hand pressed to her chest like she can stop the burn. “Yeah. Just haven’t done that in a while.”
“You always cough so much. It would be cute if it wasn’t so bloody concerning.” Harry says casually, lifting the joint to his lips and inhaling.
Y/N watches as he exhales smoke slowly. She wonders if she looks as attractive as he does when she blows out smoke.
Harry grins at her with just the corner of his mouth, like there’s a secret tugging at the edge of his lips.
Y/N really doubts it.
“Here.” Harry places the joint between her lips. “Inhale slowly.”
Y/N does as he says, doing her best to keep from coughing until the joint and his hand is away from her face. Her eyes burn a bit, both from the smoke and the oncoming high that’s starting to twist through her body.
“That’s a good girl.” Harry praises her before leaning back, placing the joint back between his own lips. “You’ve gotten better at that. Thought you were going to pass out the first time we smoked, remember?”
“I remember I almost did.” Y/N giggles to herself as she settles down into the couch more. “I coughed so much that I thought I was going to die on that tour bus.”
“Niall was certain you had.” Harry laughs too, and Y/N known they’re both playing back the same memory. “Wasn’t quite sure how we were going to explain that one to Paul. Neither was I, honestly.”
“You don’t give me enough credit.” Despite the feeling coming over her, YN still takes another sip of her wine. “I was fine.”
Harry nods as he finishes the joint, setting the butt down into his ash tray. “Still…we had some fun nights on the bus when you were there.”
“That was a fun summer.” Y/N agrees, her eyes fixed on the fire before them. “Lots of good memories.”
As Y/N watches the fire, Harry watches her. He lets another moment or two pass before speaking again.
“When you were on tour with us that summer…” He rubs his lips absentmindedly. “You and Niall. Did you two ever…?”
“What? Fuck?” The weed and the alcohol take away the careful tone of Y/N’s regular speech, leaving honesty and bluntness behind.
Harry laughs once. “I was going to say date, but yeah. I guess so.”
“We didn’t date. We fooled around a few times.” Y/N shrugs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “He was fun. But we both knew it wasn’t anything serious, just something to do while I was on tour with you.”
Harry nods a bit, reaching for his own drink and taking a sip. Y/N watches the movement with heavy lidded eyes. His arm muscles flex underneath his tattooed skin when he moves, and the way his fingers wrap around his glass is fascinating to her.
“I figured he would have told you.” Y/N pulls her sweater around her tighter. Now that the sun has set completely, a chill has appeared. “You guys always talked about girls together.”
“No, he didn’t tell me. And I didn’t ask.” Harry keeps his glass in his hand, looking down at it with an unreadable expression. “I thought you might tell me, but you didn’t, either.”
The substances in Y/N’s system are clouding her mind, but she does her best to focus on Harry’s words. As a way to ground herself, she pulls her sweater away from her body, hoping that the cold air will help.
“I’m sorry.” She says slowly, like it takes all her effort to get the words out. “I didn’t mean to…hurt your feelings.”
“Oh.” Confusion fogs Y/N’s mind. “Then…why is it bothering you?”
“It’s not bothering me.” Harry denies, finishing off his drink. “I was just wondering why. You usually tell me everything. You always have.”
Y/N bites her lip. “I don’t tell you about every person I sleep with.”
Harry hums low in the back of his throat, but offers no other response.
After a few minutes, Y/N stands up. “I think I’m going to head to bed.”
Twisting his empty glass around in his hands, Harry nods. “Alright. I’ll be up in a little bit.”
“You know, you have a guest room.” Y/N pauses, fiddling with the bottom of her sweater. Her skin feels unsettled, and the fabric against it isn’t helping. “I should probably start using it. Social distancing, and all that.”
Harry looks up at her, a stubborn look reflecting in his eyes. “No. I sleep better with you beside me.”
When Harry finally comes up to bed an hour later, Y/N is still awake, eyes closed, with her back away from the door and head toward the wall. She doesn’t turn over when she hears the door creak open, and instead just listens to the rustling sounds of Harry changing, going to the bathroom, washing his hands, and returning to the bedroom.
Y/N feels his weight on the bed, but doesn’t hear him slide in next to her. Instead, she does her best to stay completely relaxed when she feels his fingers brush against her hairline, pushing back a few loose strands.
Staying completely relaxed, it turns out, is easier thought than done. The moment Harry touches her, Y/N feels the nerves in her face burst to life. It’s like electricity, like nothing she’s ever felt before from any previous touches from Harry. Behind her closed eyes, Y/N feels her head spinning, but she’s certain it must be the weed and the alcohol in her system.
Finally, the sheets are pulled back, and Harry gets under the covers. He pulls Y/N back against him, and Y/N can feel the hot skin of his chest pressed against her shoulders. Harry takes a moment to adjust before sighing, almost in content, and then he presses a gentle kiss to the back of her shoulder.
The tender action leaves Y/N speechless. The action itself isn’t new; they had always been very physically affectionate with each other. But there’s something about the moment that Y/N can’t quite place a finger on. Perhaps she would be able to if she was sober, or less tired, but with her brain in its current state, the words she needs are lost, and she’s certain she won’t remember the feeling in the morning.
Harry inhales deeply, his nose buried in her hair, and sighs again. Y/N can feel him relaxing back against her, but his arms stay wrapped around her tightly. It’s a comforting embrace, and makes it easy for Y/N’s mind to finally quiet and drift off.
“You’re still working?”
Y/N looks up from her laptop to see Harry standing above her, sweaty from his workout. His hair is tied up in a little ponytail on top of his head, and he has a towel wrapped around his shoulders that he uses to wipe sweat from his face. His body is literally glistening in the sunlight, and Y/N suddenly finds it very hard to focus on her work.
“I am.” She says finally, closing the lid of her laptop and stretching out on the beach chair. “Or I was. I’m done for today.”
“Good.” Harry sits down on the chair next to her. “I’m going to have a shower, but I was thinking we should try baking something later.”
Y/N raises an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because I want cupcakes, and homemade are way better than store bought.” Harry says easily, stealing Y/N’s water and taking a gulp from it.
Y/N watches his throat move as he swallows the water, how his Adam’s apple bobs, how he licks his lips when he finally pulls the glass away from his mouth.
Y/N’s own mouth suddenly feels very dry.
“Alright, yeah.” Y/N nods weakly. “We can bake something later. It’ll be fun.”
“It’ll be fun.” Y/N shakes her head in disbelief. “God, I can’t believe I said that.”
“It was fun!” Harry argues, holding up a red velvet cupcake. “And we did it!”
“And we made a mess.” Y/N gestures to the kitchen around them, which looks like a warzone. Flour, powdered sugar, and cocoa powder cover every counter surface. There are broken eggshells on the counter, splatters of batter everywhere, and both Y/N and Harry have dyed red hands from food colouring.
“It could be worse.” Harry shrugs, clearly untroubled. “C’mon. Try a cupcake.”
Y/N reaches for one, but Harry simply lifts the one in his hand to her mouth. She locks eyes with him as she takes a bite, the icing smearing across her top lip.
Y/N chews slowly and swallows hard. “Yeah. They’re good.”
Harry extends a hand, and his finger runs along her lip, collecting the icing. He pops it into his mouth, sucking for a moment before humming in agreement. “Yeah. Sweet.”
The cupcakes, it turns out, pair well with watermelon cocktails, and soon Y/N and Harry are sitting on the couch, takeout and cupcakes in front of them and drinks in their hands as they giggle and talk. They’re intoxicated, but not just from the alcohol in the strong drinks that Harry makes.
“Honestly, working from home isn’t ideal, but it’s not that bad.” Y/N pops a bite of food into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Definitely not the worst part of quarantine.”
“Yeah?” Harry leans back on the couch. “What’s the worst part?”
Y/N shrugs. “It sucks being away from people, cooped up inside.”
Harry nods, but his face looks wistful. “I miss sex.”
Y/N laughs, but she nods in agreement as well. “Fuck, I know. I miss sex so much.”
“It’s nice, you know? A good way to burn some energy…always sleep so well after…” Harry sighs, taking a sip of his drink between his phrases. “I feel like I’m back on a tour bus again, with no one around but my hand.”
A giggle escapes Y/N’s mouth. “How tragic.” She also takes a sip of her drink, and tries to stop herself from making a face. Harry really does make them strong. “I just miss touching. I haven’t been this touch starved since I was seventeen.”
Harry makes a scoffing noise in the back of his throat. “We touch.”
“That’s different.” Y/N finishes her drink. “That’s friendly touching. It’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean, then?” Harry challenges her, a glint in his eyes that Y/N’s come to recognize as a sign of trouble.
She refuses to take the bait. “You know what I meant.”
“I don’t.” Harry says it innocently, and he reaches forward to take her glass from her. “How about I get us some refills while you think of how to say it?”
Y/N lets him take the glass (she loves his drinks, despite how strong they are), but shakes her head. “Stop being an ass. You know exactly what I meant.”
A low laugh rolls out of Harry as he walks to the built-in bar he has in the lounge. He begins to recreate the drinks, muddling this, adding a splash of that. If Harry wasn’t already a rock star, she’d suggest he become a mixologist.
“Maybe I do know what you meant.” Harry shakes the cocktail shaker with ease before straining the liquid out over their glasses, which he’s filled with fresh ice. “But I want to hear you say it.”
Y/N runs a hand through her hair. She feels warm from the alcohol, and the lit candles around them aren’t helping. The food and cupcakes sit on the table, all but forgotten in their new conversation. “Say what?”
Harry’s lips pull up in a smirk, but his eyes show something else. He walks back over and hands her the drink before taking a seat next to her again. “The kind of touching you miss.”
Their fingers touch as Y/N takes the glass from him, and suddenly the warmth of the room feels ten times hotter. “You want me to say it?”
Harry lifts his glass to his lips, but keeps his eyes on her. “I do.”
“I…” Y/N takes a sip of the drink (which is stronger than the one before) and then presses the cold glass to her cheek. “I miss touching. Intimate touching. And…being touched intimately.”
Harry inhales deeply, stretching out his shoulders before responding. “Yeah. I miss that too. Holding hands, touching someone’s stomach, chest, legs…having them play with my hair…”
“I play with your hair.” Y/N says defensively, a crease appearing between her eyebrows.
Harry laughs once. “Right, but like you said…that’s different.”
Y/N clears her throat. “Right.”
Harry takes a long sip from his drink. “’S still nice, though.” Harry adds after a moment, licking his lips. “I love when you play with my hair. You know that.”
Nodding softly, Y/N begins to trail a finger over the rim of her glass. Whenever she begins to get tipsy, she begins to fidget more, and feel freer in her actions. And when Y/N glances back at Harry, she can tell he recognizes the sign as well.
“What about you?” He asks, bringing her back from her thoughts. “What do you miss having people do?”
Y/N drinks again, pulling her knees to her chest as she leans against the couch’s armrest. “I miss…having my hair played with, too. That’s always nice. I miss having my fingers played with…neck kisses…I like when people, like, rub my arms or thighs, just absentmindedly…” She leans her head against her arm. “Your turn.”
“My turn?” Harry rubs his nose lightly, and Y/N can tell he’s feeling the alcohol, too. “What’s my turn?”
“Tell me what else you like.” Y/N smiles softly, a small laugh just barely bubbling out from her. “We’ve never actually talked about it, H. Isn’t that strange?”
Harry turns to face her more, pausing to think for a moment. “I suppose we’ve never been specific before, yeah.” He taps his thumb against his H ring. “I like being in control, usually. Telling them what to do, where to touch me…” His eyes get a faraway look in them. “But sometimes it’s nice to give up control. Have someone else…”
“Decide.” Y/N finishes his sentence for him when he trails off. “Yeah. I’m more like that, I think. I usually let someone else decide. But I like the in-between, too. Like…both exploring each other.”
“What do you mean?” Harry cocks his head to the side curiously.
Y/N shrugs loosely, her finger still tracing her glass. “’S hard to explain.”
Harry’s voice is low when he replies, almost like he’s somewhere else. “Try.”
“Well…” Y/N takes a drink before setting her glass down. “It’s like…do you remember your first time?”
Harry blinks, surprised at the question, but nods. “Yeah. I do.”
“And remember how nervous you were?”
“And like…” Y/N plays with her fingers as she ponders her next words. “You were nervous, yeah, but there was also this excitement in you. Kind of like…a breathlessness. And you looked at the other person and knew they…”
Harry closes his eyes for a moment. “Felt the same.”
“Yeah.” Y/N tucks her hair behind her ears. “And just, like, being comfortable with them, and knowing you could both explore, and ask questions, and you were both together…” Y/N feels heat rise to her cheeks as she trails off. “I don’t know. I feel like that’s rare, but I—it’s nice. I like it.”
“Yeah.” Harry rubs his thumb over his lip as he shifts his position on the couch. “It’s nice, yeah. Rare, usually. But nice.”
“I think it’s rare, because, like—” The alcohol makes it harder for Y/N to gather her thoughts, but also harder to sensor them. “I don’t know, I feel like when I was younger, and hadn’t had sex yet, I took more time with, like, finding the right person? Like I wanted it to be with someone who loved me for the first time, and someone I was comfortable with, and it was. And then after, the love part didn’t matter so much for me.” Y/N glances at Harry, who seems to be hanging on her every word. “Which, like, was fine. What mattered to me the most was that whoever I had sex with respected me. And they did, so that was…good. But it’s different.” Y/N rubs her arms. “I don’t know if that makes sense…”
“It does.” Harry assures her, placing a light hand on her knee. He begins to rub small circles. “Keep going.”
“I just think that, like, that in-between, breathless, exploring each other kind of thing…the comfort…that’s rare because it only really happens with someone you love.” Y/N murmurs. “At least, that’s how it is for me. And I haven’t really been in love much in my life.”
“I’ve been in love probably too much.” Harry admits, his hand still on Y/N’s knee. “Too much to be good for me.”
Y/N shakes her head adamantly. “No, H. That’s good. That’s…brave. You’re not afraid of how you feel. Most people are.”
“Maybe.” Harry finishes his drink again with one long gulp.
Y/N watches as he does, seeing a little drip of liquid slip from the corner of his mouth. She can’t stop herself from leaning forward and wiping it away with her thumb, feeling the stubble of Harry’s chin scratch against her.
Harry watches her with hooded eyes as she leans back to her previous position. His hand slips a bit higher, from her knee to her lower thigh, but she doesn’t say anything.
“Who have you been in love with?” He asks. His words are slurred a bit, and his accent seems thicker.
“My first boyfriend, Parker. You remember him.” Y/N sighs, closing her eyes as she herself remembers. “And…Christian, from university. We were together for two years. That’s it, I think.”
Despite the alcohol, Harry’s face still shows some surprise. “Really? No one else? No one since Christian?”
Y/N shrugs. “I’ve dated, yeah, and had relationships, but…I don’t know. I didn’t love any of them. I was…infatuated. But I never…it was intense, but like—intense like a spark. Nothing prolonged.”
Harry hums in response. “Thought you were going to say Niall for a moment. He was pretty torn up when you went back to school after that summer.”
Y/N’s face mimics Harry’s surprise from a moment ago. “Was he?”
“Yeah. Moped around a bit, spent time by himself, on his phone every two minutes…” Harry’s expression shows the difficulty it’s taking him to think back eight years while drunk. “I knew it was because you left. Thought you two had an…agreement, or something.”
“An agreement?” A giggle escapes Y/N. “This isn’t a Jane Austen book, Harry. We didn’t have an agreement.” Once she gets her laughter out, she sighs. “He was that upset?”
“Yeah.” Harry scratches the back of his neck. “So I thought…he must be in love with you. And you were…”
“No, I wasn’t.” Y/N says softly. “He was so upset that you thought he was in love with me?”
Y/N bites her lip. “Was he more upset than you?”
Harry takes a moment to reply, looking at her with a serious expression. His lips are so red, and his eyes are so green, and both of them are so drunk that neither of them can sense the meaning behind what they’re saying.
“No.” Harry finally responds. “He wasn’t.”
“Shhh.” Y/N covers her eyes with her arm. “Don’t yell in my ear.”
“I whispered.” Harry counters, but his voice is a bit quieter this time. “Do you have a headache?”
“I didn’t know something flavoured with watermelon could make me feel so shitty.” Y/N groans a bit, shifting on the bed without opening her eyes. “What did you do to me?”
When Harry laughs, it’s not audible, but Y/N can feel it through his chest pressed against her side.
“How are you completely fine right now?” She asks, rubbing her eyes.
“I’m used to it. I’ve always been way better with hangovers than you.” Harry presses a small kiss to her shoulder before getting up. “How does breakfast in bed sound?”
“Normally amazing, but I can’t eat right now.” Y/N mutters. “How about coffee in bed?”
“Sure.” Harry smiles a bit. “You look cute like this.”
Harry returns ten minutes later with a tray of coffee, toast, and eggs, of which he manages to coax Y/N to take a few bites. She doesn’t really want it, but she knows it’s easier to do as he says instead of arguing.
“How about we have a movie day today?” Harry suggests after breakfast. “In bed, since it seems like you won’t be moving anytime soon.”
“And who’s fault is that?” Y/N glares at him from the top of her coffee cup.
Harry raises his hands in defense. “Hey, I didn’t make you drink. You chose to.”
“I know, but it’s easier to blame you.”
Harry rolls his eyes. “Is that why you’ve been doing it for twenty years?”
Harry carefully lifts the empty tray to the ground before holding up the remote. “You can pick the movies.”
Y/N bites her lip. “If we watch Titanic, will you make fun of me when I cry?”
“Of course not. I’ll even cry with you out of solidarity.”
“Alright.” Y/N settles back into the blankets. “Put it on, then.”
It’s easy for them to be like this, Y/N thinks, as Harry pulls her into his arms when the movie starts. It’s always been so natural for them to be physical and affectionate with each other. They’ve never acted any other way.
Except this doesn’t feel like any other way.
Yes, Y/N has watched countless movies while cuddling in bed with Harry. But has he ever whispered in her ear like that before? Has he ever rubbed her sides so carefully before? Has he ever let his lips rest on the bare skin of her shoulder, almost at the base of her neck?
Y/N can’t recall. However, she’s certain that if he had, it hasn’t felt so electric.
“Look at them. Look at how Jack watches her.” Harry murmurs his words directly in Y/N’s ear as they watch Jack draw Rose. Y/N can feel his lips brushing against her, and the heat of his breath and tone of his voice makes her shiver.
“She’s very pretty.” Y/N nods, shifting in Harry’s arms. She likes how warm he feels.
“I suppose, but that’s not what I meant.” Harry traces shapes on her arm. “I meant look at how he looks at her. Do you think they have the kind of love you talked about last night?”
Y/N glances over her shoulder at him, surprised he remembers their conversation. “I think so. Do you?”
“Yeah.” Harry says in a low voice. He says no more, so Y/N turns back to face the television.
They continue to watch in silence, gripping each other a bit tighter as the Titanic begins to sink. As they watch a mother reading to her two young children in bed, Y/N begins to lose her composure, like always. Tears well in her eyes, and she lets out a quiet hitched breath, a single sniffle.
“It’s alright, love.” Harry’s hands move to her stomach, holding her tighter to comfort her. “Don’t cry.”
Y/N can hear the tears in his voice, just as they’re in her own. “Can’t help it. This part and the band and the old couple in bed—they always get me.”
“I know.” Harry rubs his thumb along your side.
Y/N reaches behind her without turning around, threading her fingers through Harry’s messy curls. She plays with them absentmindedly as she watches, and tries to ignore how right it feels to be close to him like this. She wonders if he notices it, too.
Harry presses a chaste kiss to her shoulder.
The day they hit the one month mark of quarantine, Harry sits across from Y/N at breakfast with a determined look on his face.
“I have a proposition for you.”
Y/N glances up at him, her attention barely shifting from her book. “A proposition?”
“What kind of proposition?” Y/N tilts her head to the side. What she first thought was just determination on Harry’s face, she realizes, is actually determination and mischief, and she knows it won’t end well.
“I haven’t had a tattoo in a while.” Harry steals a strawberry from Y/N’s plate. “And I have a machine here, so I was thinking you could give me one.”
Y/N stares at Harry incredulously as he pops the strawberry in his mouth. “Are you out of your mind?”
“I’m a terrible artist, Harry. You know that.” Y/N shakes her head. “And even if I wasn’t, I have no idea how to tattoo someone!”
“You can watch a YouTube tutorial, or read a WikiHow.” Harry sighs loudly. “I’m so bored in isolation!”
“What do you even want tattooed?” Y/N eyes the intricate tattoos on his arms suspiciously. “I doubt I could do something like your ship.”
“Something simple.” He shrugs. “Probably lettering.”
“Probably?” Y/N says suspiciously.
“That’s why I want you to do it. I want it in your handwriting.”
Harry’s tone is easy, but it makes her breathing shallow.
“Yeah. I was thinking of something to remind me of this time, because of how weird it is.”
Despite her increased heartbeat, Y/N laughs. “What, do you want me to tattoo COVID-19 on you?”
“No. Be a little more creative than that.” Harry scoffs.
“Why do I have to be creative?”
“Because I want you to decide what I get.”
Y/N’s eyes widen. “You’re not serious.”
“I am! Why is that so hard to believe?” Harry asks. “I trust you. And you’re good with words.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Make sure my drink has two shots in it.” Y/N calls to Harry as she looks over the tattoo supplies on the living room table.
Harry laughs. “I’m not sure I want my tattoo artist to be drunk.”
“The only way I’ll even be your tattoo artist is if I’m drunk.” She counters. “I still think this is an awful idea.”
Harry hands Y/N a tall glass with a light pink liquid in it. “Drink this, and you’ll change your mind.”
Y/N takes the glass and takes a large gulp, not focusing on the taste of the mixers, but the liquid courage behind them.
Harry grins, lifting his own glass. “Cheers.”
“Shut up and sit down.” Y/N mutters. She ties her hair back before grabbing the disinfectant wipes. “Where do you want this?”
“My upper inner arm. I already shaved it for you.” Harry smirks as he points to the area, which is easily exposed in his loose tank top.
“And you’re sure I can write it with pen?” Y/N asks nervously as she disinfects the area.
“Mhmm.” Harry leans back comfortably in his chair. “What did you decide on?”
“It’s a secret.” Y/N uncaps the pen, getting closer to him.
“So I can’t know until after it’s on me permanently?”
“Is that a problem?” Y/N asks innocently. “I thought you trusted me?”
Harry chuckles. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
“Also that I’m good with words.” Y/N makes sure Harry’s head is turned away before she carefully writes the phrase she chose. Then she snaps on gloves and starts the machine like she watched in videos early that day.
“You’re fine, love.” Harry assures her, seeing the nervous look on her face. “It’s a small tattoo. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
“Quiet.” Y/N mutters. “I need to focus.”
True to Harry’s word, the small tattoo only takes a few minutes to finish. When it’s done, Y/N gives it one final wipe before setting the machine down and taking off her gloves.
“Alright.” She picks up her glass and drains it completely. “You can look.”
Harry peers at his arm, curiosity clear on his face. There, in Y/N’s loopy handwriting is the phrase “touch me.”
“It looks so fucking good, Y/N.” Harry grins at her. “You did amazing!”
“I didn’t fuck it up?” She asks, chewing on her lip anxiously. “Is it alright?”
“You did a lovely job.” Harry smiles. “Wrap it for me?”
Y/N does as he asks, carefully wrapping the fresh tattoo in plastic wrap and taping it to his arm. “I think I’ll accept my tip in the form of another drink.”
Harry snickers. “Coming right up.”
Two drinks later, they’re both back in the honest and loose headspace that they’ve grown familiar with. It’s not enough that they’re unaware of their actions, but both Y/N and Harry know that their lips are looser because of the liquor in their systems.
They’ve migrated to the bedroom to get comfier, but took a few items from the bar with them. It’s with these items that Harry tops up Y/N’s glass again as he speaks.
“So tell me…” He sets the cocktail shaker on his bedside table. “Why ‘touch me’?”
“You said you wanted something to remind you of isolation.” Y/N takes a long sip of her drink. “And that’s what we both miss the most, right? Being touched?”
Harry nods slowly, his rings clinking against his glass. “Yeah. I’m probably going to go straight to the bars after this is all done. Find someone there.”
He laughs lightly, showing that what he says it half a joke, but Y/N sighs wistfully and shakes her head in disagreement. “I won’t.”
“You won’t?” Harry is surprised, his laughter fading. “Why not?”
Her shrug almost causes her to spill her drink on the bed. “I don’t know.” Y/N sighs again. “I don’t really—I’m not a hookup fan. Not right now, at least. It’s not what I…want.”
“What do you want, then?” Harry finishes his drink, but sets the glass down instead of refilling it. “If not sex?”
“I want sex.” Y/N says defensively. “But I want—I don’t want it to be someone random. I want sex, but I want to be…intimate. Like, I want to know that person cares about me, and I care about them.”
Harry licks the last of his drink from his lips. “Like that breathless feeling?”
“No. It would be nice, but no. That takes time.” Y/N brushes her hair behind her ear. “Just…someone who cares. I don’t want a quick fuck, I just—”
“You want to be touched. Intimately touched.” Harry takes the empty glass from Y/N’s hand and sets it down on the table next to the bed.
Y/N nods gently, her limbs feeling loose. “Yeah. Intimately touched.”
“You know, I could…” Harry trails off, pursing his lips. “We could…do that.”
The alcohol makes Y/N slow to recognize the meaning of his words. “What?”
“I’ve noticed you…the way you look at me, it’s…different than it was.” Harry says carefully, his eyes gauging her reaction. “For the last few weeks. And I—I know that I’m…attracted to you, too.”
“We…” Y/N struggles to think of what to say as she finally registers what’s happening. “We’re friends.”
“I know, but that doesn’t mean I can’t see you as attractive.” Harry looks down at his hands. “Don’t you…? I mean…”
“I—yeah. I think you’re—” Y/N laughs a bit nervously. “You’re attractive, H, you know that. We’ve just never…discussed it.”
“I’m not saying we have to fuck, or—we don’t have to do anything.” Harry straightens his shoulders and looks you in the eye. “Just—when we touch, it’s mild. If you want to be touched intimately, we could…”
“Like, a hand job?” Y/N says slowly, her words blunt with confusion.
Harry goes a bit red, but he shakes his head quickly. “No, Christ, that’s not what I meant, I—just—can I show you?”
“Um,” Y/N swallows hard. “Sure.”
“Okay.” Harry nods slightly, taking carefully measured breaths. “If this feels weird, or anything seems wrong, just tell me to stop, alright?”
Y/N replies faintly. “Alright.”
Nodding again, Harry moves closer on the bed, sitting on his knees so he can get closer to Y/N, who sits cross-legged. His hands rest lightly on her bare thighs, and his rings are a cool contrast to his warm skin.
Harry begins to rub his hands up and down her thighs slowly. His movements are measured, and he watches Y/N’s reaction carefully for a sign of her disliking his actions. However, what he finds is a nervous but interested girl staring back at him.
“Like this. Like, what you like.” Harry says lowly. His hands move more to her inner thighs, but they don’t creep higher. “And…”
“And…?” Y/N asks, her heart rate increasing even more.
Harry moves one hand to the hem of Y/N’s tank top, pushing it up a bit so his hand can rest on her waist. He rubs over her warm skin, marvelling in how smooth and soft it is to his touch. His fingers graze the lace of her bra, but he goes no higher.
“How—how’s that?” Harry asks quietly.
“It’s, um, it’s good.” Y/N replies as she struggles to keep her voice normal. “Yeah. Good. But, um, can you…” Harry’s movements pause at her words, and Y/N feels her cheeks get even warmer. “Maybe touch my, uh, my neck. If you’d like.”
Harry nods, and the hand on her thigh moves to her neck. He traces his fingers across her shoulder and over her collarbone, delighting in feeling the curves of her body. Y/N’s breath hitches when his fingers travel up her neck, and Harry swears he can feel her pulse increase under his fingers.
Y/N’s not sure if it’s the fact that she’s touch starved from self isolating that makes Harry’s touches feel so good, or if it’s the fact that it’s Harry touching her, but she doesn’t dwell on it. Instead, she closes her eyes and tilts her head back, allowing him better access.
She feels Harry’s breath before she feels his lips, but she’s still surprised when she feels him begin to sponge light kisses across her neck.
“Is this alright?” He asks the question right below her ear, and yet she can barely hear him because he’s so quiet.
“Yes.” Y/N breathes. “Yeah.”
“Good.” Harry returns to pressing light kisses to her skin, his hands still rubbing over her sides and hips.
For the first time since seeing Harry naked in her bathroom, Y/N can’t deny or explain away her attraction to him. She can’t convince herself that she doesn’t want him to touch her, because she does, and she can’t tell herself that she doesn’t need him, because she does. Every fibre of her being is telling her that she needs Harry, and she needs him now. Her heart is pounding, her skin is on fire, and her core feels like she’d going to explode if he doesn’t do something. And yet, Y/N can’t tell him to touch her more. She’s frozen, mind blank, and she can only register what Harry is doing at the moment as what she wants.
Harry continues to kiss her neck, never lingering too long in one spot, never sucking too hard. Every kiss is gentle and chaste, except the few rare ones that include the tip of his tongue running over her skin.
After what feels like an eternity, Harry pulls away from her neck, face flushed. Despite his hands still on her body, Y/N makes an involuntary sound in the back of her throat.
“Is that better?” He asks lowly, rubbing his thumb against your hip.
“I—kind of.” Y/N says softly. If anything, she thinks, it’s worse. She needs to satisfy the burn inside her, but she doesn’t know how.
“Good.” Harry replies, but he doesn’t take his hands off her.
Y/N’s own hands have been sitting at her sides as his moved over her body, but she raises one now, as hesitant as Harry was. She extends it towards his arm, but pauses with her fingers right over his skin.
“Is it okay if I…?”
The corner of Harry’s lips lifts up, just barely. “Yeah, love. Go ahead.”
Harry’s skin is warm beneath her touch. Y/N traces the outline of his mermaid tattoo carefully before moving onto others. She loves how his arm curves under her touch, how he stays still and lets her explore. She appreciates it, thinking that if Harry made any sudden movements, she’d force herself to pull away.
Soon, her fingers move from tracing his tattoos to tracing the lines of his muscles. She moves down his forearm to his hand, running her fingers over the veins that show through his tan skin, over his knuckles, down the tips of his calloused fingers and back.
Harry sucks in a breath, and Y/N’s trance flickers for a moment as her eyes move to his face to see what’s wrong.
“Sorry, just—surprised me.” Harry says, voice low yet sheepish. He nods down to his thigh, where Y/N realizes her own hand is resting.
“Oh—” She moves to pull her hand away, but Harry places his own on top.
“It’s fine.” He says quickly. “Keep going.”
Y/N bites her lip as she turns her attention back to his arm. Her fingers move slowly and carefully back up his forearm to his upper arm. She traces over his tattoos while she rubs her thumb gently against the muscle, and stops her fingers at the edge of his t-shirt sleeve. With a quick glance at Harry, she pushes the sleeve up, tucking it up on his shoulder so she can run her fingers over his ship tattoo, which is one of her favourites.
“Feels nice.” Harry murmurs, his eyes following her movements.
Y/N glances back at his face, taking in his appearance. His lips are red from the time he spent kissing her neck, and his cheeks are still flushed. His eyes are darker than usual, and she’s not certain if it’s the candlelight or something else causing it. There’s a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, with a few loose curls hanging down. Out of reflex, Y/N reaches up and pushes his hair back out of his eyes.
Before she can return her hand to his arm, Harry captures it in his own. Y/N watches as he brings it to his lips, inhaling as her wrist passes underneath his nose. Although she’s not sure why, there’s something about seeing how much smaller her hand is in Harry’s that delights her.
Harry presses a soft kiss to her wrist, following it up with another on her palm. Y/N’s eyelids flutter at the tender sensation.
“It’s my turn to touch you.” She says softly, her voice strained.
Harry hums in reply. “I know.” He kisses your wrist once more before looking at you. “I’ll help.”
Lifting his hand from his thigh (your hand, which was underneath, stays where it is), he pulls up his shirt just enough that he can sneak your hand underneath. He rests it on his lower chest, and even though his shirt is still partially covering him, Y/N knows she’s touching his butterfly tattoo.
“I like to be touched here.” Harry says in the same low voice.
“Okay.” Y/N bites her lip, her head swimming with alcohol and the smell of the candles and Harry’s cologne and Harry. “It…would be easier without your shirt.”
Without breaking eye contact, save for the moment fabric covers him, Harry pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side. “Better?”
Y/N’s eyes drift down to his tanned stomach. His body is familiar and a stranger to her all at once. She knows his tattoos, scars, every mark on his skin from a distance, but seeing it like this—touching it like this—makes her feel like she’s never truly seen him before.
“Better.” She manages to say, her hand brushing across his ribs.
Y/N spends a while exploring the planes of his stomach, the contours of his body. When she gets to his v-lines, and runs her fingers over the ferns tattooed there, Harry shivers a bit, his hand gripping her knee tighter.
Y/N massages his thigh gently. “Alright?”
“Yeah.” Harry clears his throat. “I’m good.”
“Okay.” Y/N nods, but moves her hand further up again, over his chest and over his collar bones. She takes a moment to trace the lines of his neck, feel the beat if his pulse underneath her fingers, and then tangles her fingers in his hair. She uses the leverage to tilt his head back a bit, and presses her lips to the base of his neck.
Harry’s cologne smells better up close, and Y/N adores the heat of his skin on her sensitive lips. She presses small kisses over the curve of his neck, pausing over his jugular. Her tongue darts out and she carefully licks along it before ending the motion with a kiss.
“Christ…” Harry exhales slowly, the tips of his fingers digging into her knee slightly.
Y/N knows they’re crossing the threshold of just touching each other for the sake of touching. She can feel herself dripping in her panties, and when her eyes flicker down, she can see the outline of Harry’s half hard cock in his shorts. Together, they’ve reached the border of friends helping each other out, and she’s certain that she wants to cross it with him. However, she’s not sure if they should.
Pulling back enough to look Harry in the eyes, Y/N clears her throat. “H, we—what are we doing?”
Harry waits a moment to answer. “I…I don’t know. I have no fucking clue.”
“This isn’t friendly anymore.” Y/N’s voice drops to a whisper. “It’s not just—it’s intimate, yeah, but it’s more…” Her eyes move to the outline of his hardening cock once more before looking back up at his face. “It’s more.”
“Yeah. It’s more.” Harry moves his hand further up her thigh again, rubbing slow circles. “But I don’t want to stop.”
Y/N sucks in a breath. “You don’t?”
“It’s been so long since…” Harry trails off, his gaze drifting down to your lips before returning to your eyes. “And it’s you. I’ve always wondered if—we—”
“I’ve wondered, too.” Y/N admits, her voice filled with nerves. Are they really discussing this? “Especially since that day, in the bathroom—”
“I wondered if you looked then.” Harry’s voice drops lower (which Y/N didn’t think was possible). “I thought about it later that day. I—fuck, I wanted you to look.”
A small noise escapes the back of Y/N’s throat. “This—we’ve been drinking, and—it’s the alcohol, H. Neither of us is thinking straight.”
“This isn’t the alcohol talking. I’ve thought about—when we’re in the pool, when we cuddle, when we flirt, I—I can’t help it.” Harry closes his eyes for a brief moment, like he’s collecting himself. “I need you. And I think…I think you need me too.”
“I do. I need you.” Y/N touches his stubbled jaw with careful fingers. “But we’re friends. This is going to change that.”
“We don’t know that.” Harry leans into her touch. “You said before that you wanted someone you’re comfortable with, something intimate, something breathless. You and I are comfortable, and intimate, and—I don’t know. All I know for sure is that I want you.”
Y/N isn’t sure if he means he wants her in a purely physical way or something more, and while she knows she should clarify that, all she can focus on is his voice and the way it’s going straight to her core.
“I want you, too.” She says simply.
Harry brings his hand to Y/N’s hip. “Can I kiss you?”
Y/N nods. She’s not sure she’s capable of giving a verbal response.
Harry takes it upon himself to lean closer, his fingertips digging into Y/N’s skin in a way she adores. He pauses, hovering just above her lips for a moment, as if to give her time to pull away. Instead, Y/N just waits in anticipation, delighting in the feeling of his breath running over her skin.
When he kisses her, Y/N tastes alcohol, mint, and what she swears is her own heart in the back of her throat.
Any previous kisses she’s shared with Harry have been half kisses, given in teenage games of truth or dare and in a friend’s parent’s basement. Those kisses were safe, guarded, and an obligation. This kiss is the exact opposite.
Although it starts chaste, it quickly grows more passionate. Y/N can’t stop herself from tugging on Harry’s hair more than she imagines Harry can stop himself from rucking up the hem of her tank top. His fingers dip under the band of her lace bralette as she nips at his lip, tugging slightly, delighted when a strangled sound echoes from the back of his throat.
Within minutes, Y/N’s allowed Harry to pull her to straddle his lap, his hands grabbing at her hips with a neediness she’s never seen him exhibit before. Of course, she feels the same way, and she lets her hand run down his chest over and over, using her nails a little more each time. Although there’s no one around to see, no party to return to, nowhere to go, Y/N wants to leave a mark. She wants anyone who sees his chest to know that he belongs to her.
Harry breaks away from her, lips red, eyes frenzied, and breathing heavy. “Can I—?” His hands tug on the hem of her top, tugging in question.
Y/N lifts her arms in response, letting him pull it off and toss it to the side. Harry moves back in to kiss her again, but she keeps her arms up, giving him a long look.
“You’re not done.” She says simply.
He understands right away, and his fingers find the band of her bralette again. This time, however, he removes it slower, almost as if the removal is ritual itself, and his hands are less frantic when they return to your skin.
Harry looks at Y/Nu with wide eyes, and she understands the meaning in them: this is so much more than just touching, and so much more than two friends using each other for mutual pleasure. With every touch, they further cross a line, and neither of them can stop.
With this realization, Harry’s movements become more cautious. His hands come to rest on her sides, his thumbs just brushing the side of her breast.
“You’re fine.” Y/N assures him in a soothing voice. “Keep going.”
“Are you fine?” He counters, his voice an equal mix of concern and need.
“H.” Y/N takes his hands in her own and places them over her breasts. “Like that. Touch me like that.”
Harry sucks in a short breath as she manipulates his hands, showing him how to rub her and touch her. After a few moments, she lets her hands move to his neck, pulling him in for another kiss.
Y/N begins to grind against him, desperate for a bit of friction. Their kisses are soon accented with their moans as they each pull the other closer in lust and need.
Still, underneath the physical desires, there’s a current running between them. Y/N knows it’s been there for the last few weeks, humming quietly in the back of her mind, but being here, now, with Harry touching her, it’s come alive like an electric fence. She can’t turn it off, and she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want to in the slightest.
Harry begins to kiss down her neck like before, but this time his kisses are anything but chaste. When he reaches her breast, he kisses around them before taking one of her nipples into his mouth.
“Oh fuck—” Y/N arches her back, fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer. “Harry…”
He hums against her, and his spare hand rubs her back like he does when they get ready to sleep. Usually, the motion is calming, but right now, Y/N feels anything but calm.
Harry continues until he’s satisfied with his work, and then he kisses his way to her other breast, wrapping his lips against her other nipple. He spends just as much time on that one, letting his teeth graze it ever so slightly before soothing the action with his tongue.
When he pulls back, there’s a little line of spit connecting Harry’s mouth to her nipple, and Y/N whimpers at the sight.
“H…” She runs her finger through the line before gripping his chin with her thumb and forefinger. The need inside her builds, as does her fondness for the man in front of her. “God…”
Harry tweaks her hard nipple with his finger, gentle enough so as not to hurt her, but enough to make a gasp fall from her mouth. He offers no response in the form of words, but the hungry look in his eyes has only increased.
“Let me…” Y/N climbs off of his lap, gently pushing him to lay back on the bed. “Yeah?”
Harry runs a hand through his messy curls, nodding quickly. “You want that?”
“Yeah.” Y/N nods too, pressing a wet kiss to his swollen lips. “So bad. Yeah.”
Her hands move to the waistband of his shorts, and Harry lifts his hips off the bed. Y/N tugs down his boxers in the same movement, and tosses both articles of clothing to the side before looking back at him.
Harry’s cock is just as beautiful as she remembers it being the morning she accidentally walked in on him. Even more so, she thinks, because now he’s hard, and the head is the most appetizing shade of pink, with drops of precum pearling at the top. When Y/N wraps her hand around his girth, she adores the heat that she feels.
“So pretty…” She says the words almost to herself, and strokes him lightly to get used to the feeling of him in her hand. “I just want to…”
Y/N leans down and flicks her tongue over his tip, collecting the precum gathered there. In return, a strangled moan leaves Harry’s throat as his arm moves to cover his eyes for a moment.
Y/N presses a kiss to the head of his cock before she continues licking, reveling in the sounds Harry makes. She had no doubt, with a voice as angelic as his, that his moans and whines and whimpers would be just as beautiful.
When she wraps her lips around the head and sucks, she feels Harry’s hand move to her hair. She looks up at him without lifting off of his cock, staring him in the eye as she takes more and more of him into her mouth.
“Fuck—” Another moan leaves Harry’s lips, more strained than the last. “That’s it…” He tugs on her hair, but doesn’t push her down. Even when lost in pleasure, he’s careful with her.
Y/N loves him for it.
Pacing herself, she takes more and more of him into her mouth until her nose is pressed to the base of his stomach, brushing against his (neatly trimmed) pubic hair. She stays down for just a moment before pulling up completely to breathe, but keeps her hand on him, stroking him slowly.
“You look so good.” Harry mutters, running his hands over her hair in a soothing motion. “I imagined it, but didn’t think…so much better…”
Y/N moves to push her head back down, but Harry stops her, bringing her up for a kiss instead.
“I want to taste you, now.” He tells her, laying her down on the pillows. “Is that alright?”
Y/N nods desperately, feeling even more heat rush to her core and pool there. “Mhmm.”
Harry kisses his way down her body again, slipping his fingers into the waistband of her shorts. He leaves her panties on as he pulls the shorts down, and lets out a low groan at the sight of her pink Calvin Klein panties, and more specifically, the dark pink spot that’s apparent on them.
“You’re soaked…” He presses a kiss to her sensitive inner thigh before brushing a finger over the wet spot.
Y/N jumps a bit, making a sound in the back of her throat. “Harry!”
“Sorry.” He kisses her thigh again. “I’m sorry. Just relax, yeah? It’s just me. I got you.”
Harry continues to kiss along her inner thighs, moving closer and closer to the thin cloth covering her center. When he presses his first kiss to the fabric, Y/N grasps the sheets in her hands.
“God…” She whispers, fists clenched.
Harry reaches up and takes one of her hands, placing it in his hair wordlessly before kissing over her again, his tongue peaking out just a bit.
The torture continues for what feels like forever, with Harry teasing her over the soaked fabric of her panties. Finally, Y/N sighs in relief as she feels his hands grip the fabric, and she lifts her hips eagerly as he tugs the article of clothing down.
The first thing she feels is his hot breath hitting her core, which is enough to make her legs reflexively close with pleasure. Harry’s hand grips her leg, pushing them back open as he takes in the sight of her dripping cunt before him.
“Fuck…” He inhales deeply, committing her scent to memory. “Your pussy is so gorgeous.”
Y/N whimpers at his words and tugs on his curls. “Please, H…I need you.”
“Need me?” Harry asks in a husky voice, his finger touching her outer lips just barely.
“Yes!” Y/N whines, not caring how she sounds. “Never needed anything more…”
Harry runs his finger over her slit, collecting the wetness dripping from her. YN moans loudly at the contact, not fully relieved but grateful for the light touch.
“So fucking wet.” Harry’s voice sounds not completely his own. “Fuck, Y/N, how are you so wet?”
Y/N feels heat rush to her cheeks, and she mumbles her reply in what’s almost an embarrassed voice. “You know exactly how.”
“Don’t even know what to do first.” Harry ignores her reply, lost in his own world as he continues stroking her slit. “Just want…”
He presses into her without warning, and Y/N arches her back off the bed as Harry’s finger slips into her cunt. His cold rings touch the top of her entrance as Harry pauses inside her, his eyes heavy with lust.
“And so tight.” He moans, biting his lip hard enough to leave a mark. “Oh my God…”
He curves his finger inside her, wanting to feel every inch of her that he can. Y/N continues to whimper above him.
“More.” She begs him, pushing back against his finger. “I can take more, Harry, please.”
Harry easily slips enough finger in, repeating his motion as she pushes back on him. However, the pressure building inside Y/N disappears abruptly as his fingers do, and she’s just about to get angry at him when she feels his tongue replace his fingers.
“Fuck!” She exclaims loudly, her eyes closing as she throws her head back. “Harry—!”
Harry moves his tongue in and out of her, loving the taste of her juices in his mouth. He moves further up to her clit, licking and sucking over the sensitive bundle of nerves as Y/N writhes above him.
“Taste so good.” He growls from between her thighs. “Fuck, Y/N…you’re going to cum for me, yeah?” He asks as he reaches up and grips her hands in his, interlocking their fingers. “Tell me you’re going to cum for me.”
Another strangled moan leaves Y/N’s mouth as he speaks. “I-I’m so close, Harry. Keep going, please.”
“Tell me.” He demands, licking over her clit again. “Tell me you’re going to cum for me.”
Y/N grinds against his tongue as she grips his hands tighter. “I’m going—fuck—I’m going to cum for you, H. I’m going—”
Harry sucks hard on her clit, and Y/N throws her head back as an orgasm hits her harder than ever before. Her thighs clench shut, trapping Harry’s head between them, but he just continues to lap at the juices flowing from her cunt while making the most obscene sounds Y/N has ever heard.
Harry doesn’t pull back until Y/N unclenches her thighs, and before he does, he presses one last kiss to her clit, making her flinch.
Y/N is so exhausted she can barely open her eyes. Once she does, however, and sees Harry, she feels all the exhaustion fade.
Harry’s lips are, somehow, even more red than before, and his whole chin is slick with her wetness. He keeps licking his lips, like he can’t get enough of the taste, and Y/N feels like her whole body is on fire.
“Harry…” She whispers, squeezing his hand again. She doesn’t know what else to say.
Harry lifts himself over her body, which is still shaking from her orgasm, and kisses her gently. She can taste herself on his mouth, and she adores it.
“You taste so fucking good.” He murmurs, pressing his sweaty forehead against hers. “Like candy.”
Y/N swallows hard. “I haven’t—no one’s done that in a long time.”
“I’ll be glad to do it again.” Harry replies, brushing her hair back. “But right now…all I want to do is make love to you.” He looks at her with sincere eyes. “Will you let me?”
The tenderness of him asking almost brings tears to her eyes, and Y/N nods, her hands coming up to cup his rosy cheeks. “Yeah, H. I’m…” She bites her lip as she realizes the truth of her words. “I’m yours. Always.”
Harry inhales sharply before kissing her softly, his hands stroking her hair in a comforting fashion again. “How do you want to…?”
“I want you on top.” Y/N replies, touching his swallow tattoos. “I-I want to feel you. Feel your weight. Feel you close.”
With a nod, Harry positions himself over her, spreading her legs wide enough that his body can fit between. He holds himself up with one hand and uses the other to guide his cock to Y/N’s folds, just brushing the head over them. He’s teasing himself just as much as her.
“Harry…” Y/N leans her head back at the sensation. “Please, H…”
“I don’t—wait—” Harry pauses his movements, and Y/N can see on his face the strength and discipline it takes for him to do so. “I—a condom—”
“I’m clean, and I have an IUD.” Y/N assures him, running her hand along his shoulders. “Are you?”
Harry nods. “Yeah, I am, but—are you sure?”
As Y/N looks into his eyes, the love and concern and want written all over them, she knows she’s never been more sure of anything in her life. “I want to feel you, without anything in between. I—” She takes a deep breath and presses a kiss to his jaw. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
Harry presses a kiss to her forehead, and the tender action makes Y/N close her eyes as she revels in the feeling. A moment later, Harry moves down again and puts his forehead against hers as he pushes into her.
The moment he enters her, Y/N feels a fullness she’s never experienced before. Not only is Harry stretching her cunt in a way that feels euphoric, but she feels complete. He’s as close to her as he’s ever been, his breath is mingling with hers, his body weight is held over her carefully, and Y/N thinks she could die in the pleasure of this moment happily.
“Y/N…baby…” The pet name seems to fall easily from Harry’s lips as he bottoms out, holding himself still to adjust to the feeling. “Oh my God…”
Y/N digs her fingernails into Harry’s shoulders, pressing kisses to his lips between gasps for breath. “Move, H, please.”
Harry begins to thrust his hips, setting a slow but deep pace before gradually speeding up. While part of Y/N wishes he would thrust as fast as he can, a deeper part of her is grateful that Harry is taking his time with her. This feeling, now that she has it, is better than anything she’d ever felt before, and Y/N doesn’t want it to end anytime soon.
Harry kisses Y/N again as he moves inside her. Although they’re as close as they’ve ever been, each of them keeps pulling the other closer. As Harry thrusts deeper, Y/N pulls more of his weight down on her. As Y/N scratches her nails down his back, Harry kisses her jaw. Neither of them can process exactly what they’re doing, but neither of them can stop. Each touch is tender, each kiss is passionate, and each moment brings them closer together in so many more ways than just physical.
They don’t speak except for the occasional whisper from Y/N for Harry to move faster, or the occasional moan of Y/N’s name falling from Harry’s lips. The only constant sounds in the room are of the slickness between Y/N’s thighs as Harry moves between them, the sound of his skin meeting hers, both of them panting and moaning, and a few whispers of “please” that are barely audible. Despite the lack of speech, however, the two are in constant communication. Kissing, biting, scratching, and squeezing have become the vocabulary of their new language. When Harry looks into Y/N’s wet eyes, he knows that she feels something running through the very depths of her being. When Y/N feels Harry tuck his head between her neck and her shoulder as he whimpers, she knows that he trusts her to comfort him and hold him there.
Soon, Y/N feels the waves of pleasure begin to build, and she knows that when they finally break, they’ll pull her under. “H, I—fuck—I—” She can’t manage to form the sentence she needs to.
Harry, however, can tell exactly what she’s going to say. “Please.” He pants, adoring how she buries her head into his shoulder. “Please, love, cum for me…” He kisses over the shell of her ear as he thrusts deeper. “Need you.”
Y/N whimpers, biting down on Harry’s shoulder as her orgasm rolls over her. Harry feels her walls tighten around his cock, but he doesn’t slow down, and he works her through her climax until she whines in his ear.
“So good, H…” Y/N can barely find the strength to whisper the phrase.
Hearing her sound so fucked out, feeling her cunt squeezing him, and seeing the euphoria on her face is enough to bring Harry to the edge. He slows his thrusts, about to pull out, but Y/N presses on his back to keep him close.
Harry groans as a shiver rolls through his body. “I’m about to cum, Y/N—”
“Stay inside me.” She pleads, pressing the pads of her fingers between his shoulder blades. “I-I’m yours, Harry, I told you. Yours.”
Y/N looks up at him with such trusting and vulnerable eyes that Harry can’t make himself argue with her. He nods instead, his thrusts increasing in speed again until he feels himself reach the edge of pleasure.
As he freefalls into Y/N, his hips stutter, and he presses deep inside her while her name falls from his lips over and over again. He can’t think of anything else to say. He can’t think of anything else worth saying.
When Harry finally manages to pull himself together enough to pull out, Y/N instantly feels the emptiness inside her. She wishes he would stay, but knows that it’s not practical, and instead just relishes in the feeling of his cum dripping from her entrance. It’s like he’s claimed her as his, left a physical mark of himself, and Y/N doesn’t have the strength to stop herself from loving it.
They lay in silence for a few moments, trying to catch their breath and regain a sense of where they are. Both Harry and Y/N are sweaty, exhausted, and covered in each other in more ways than one. The wrap on Harry’s tattoo has slipped from his arm. Somewhere in their pleasure, Y/N has lost an earring. And yet, the only thing each of them cares about is looking at the other.
Out of instinct, Harry pulls Y/N’s shivering body into his, wrapping his arms around her tightly. He can’t imagine she’s cold, and Y/N can’t bring herself to tell him she’s shivering because of the feeling of being so close to him, but neither of them denies the other of the affectionate gesture.
Y/N loses track of how long they lay there until Harry breaks the silence.
“I—” His voice cracks, and he clears it quickly before trying again. “I’ll get you a cloth to—to clean you up.”
Y/N nods, and Harry gently untangles himself from her before going to the bathroom. Y/N can hear the running of water, and turns her head to see what he’s doing, but when she spots his naked silhouette, she closes her eyes. Despite what they just did, there’s a shyness in her still when she sees him completely stripped.
Her eyes stay closed, and she only detects his return from feeling his weight return to the bed. He places a gentle hand on her trembling knee, pulling her open ever so slightly.
“’M just cleaning you up.” Harry says in a quiet tone. “Is that okay?”
Y/N nods again. She’s not certain she has enough strength to say anything.
Harry wipes between her legs with a gentle touch, watching how she flinches at the slightest of pressure. “I’m sorry.” He says sincerely, kissing her knee tenderly before continuing. “You’re sensitive, I know. Almost done.”
Once he finishes wiping away the cum dripping out of her (his cum dripping out of her), Harry tosses the cloth onto his pile of clothes on the ground, deciding it can be dealt with later. His most pressing concern at the moment is Y/N.
He lays back down on his side so he can face her, and pushes a lock of hair away from her closed eyes.
“Y/N.” Harry murmurs, hand resting on her waist carefully. “Talk to me. Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Her voice is rough when she answers, and Harry can hear the echo of her moans in her words. “I-I’m fine, H. Just…tired.”
“Do you…” Harry bites his lip. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Y/N gives a slight shake of her head. “Maybe—maybe tomorrow, yeah?” She does her best to open one eye, but quickly shuts it again when she sees how Harry is looking at her. “Can’t right now.”
“Okay.” Harry lays his arm over her side as he moves closer. “Tomorrow.”
Y/N presses her head into his shoulder and commits the scent of his skin to memory.
The first thing Y/N registers when she wakes up is the feeling of someone touching her hair.
She doesn’t need to open her eyes to know it’s Harry. Of course it’s Harry. It’s always been Harry. In every way.
Y/N sighs and readjusts her position in bed, moving a bit closer to Harry. She shivers once from the cold, still naked from last night’s activities, and that’s the only hint Harry needs before he pulls the sheet up around her more.
“Are you awake?” He asks softly, careful in case she’s still lost deep in sleep.
Y/N moves her head in a passable nodding motion, and her voice is thick with sleep when she answers. “Mhmm. Barely.”
A low chuckle escapes from Harry’s mouth, and the next thing Y/N feels are his warm lips against her cheek. “How are you feeling?”
“A little hungover. A little sore.” Y/N finally opens her eyes as she speaks, and almost wishes she hadn’t.
Harry’s hair is a mess from both sex and sleep, messy and wild and haphazardly pushed out of his eyes. His cheeks are flushed, and his neck and chest are covered in marks from both Y/N’s lips and fingers. She knows that if he turned over, his back would be the same, and it embarrasses her and delights her at the same time. He looks completely fucked and content, and more relaxed than she’s seen him in ages.
Y/N wonders if she looks the same. If she looks as pretty.
“Sorry.” Harry says, his tone a bit sheepish.
“It’s not your fault.” Y/N replies, shrugging a bit.
“Well…it is, actually. I made your drinks. And I…” He trails off, brushing his fingers down her bare hip to her thigh.
“Yeah.” Y/N feels her face get warm. “I guess it is your fault.”
Harry laughs lightly, but it fades away as he looks into her eyes. “We, uh…we should probably talk about what happened.”
Y/N purses her lips. “Yeah. We should.”
“So…first question, I guess.” Harry props his head up on his arm, but keeps running his fingers over Y/N’s hip gently. “Do you regret it?”
Y/N sits up a bit more in bed, clutching the sheet to her bare chest. “No. I don’t. Do you?”
“No.” Harry replies instantly. “I don’t regret it.”
“Okay.” Y/N is so aware of Harry’s eyes on her as she thinks of her question. “Did…did you enjoy it?”
A snort falls from Harry’s mouth, and he shakes his head incredulously. “Christ, Y/N, of course I enjoyed it. It felt—you felt like heaven.”
Y/N flushes at the comment. “I’ve never…I’ve always made my partners wear condoms. So that was a first for me.”
Harry’s fingers pause over her hip, but only for a moment. It looks as though he’s deciding whether or not he should comment on that, but changes his mind at the last moment. “Did you enjoy it?” He asks instead, echoing your question.
“You said you were mine.”
Y/N swallows hard. This conversation is less incriminating than making love to him last night, but it seems infinitely more powerful. Probably because they’re both sober, she thinks.
“That—” She clears her throat. “That’s not a question.”
Harry sighs, but there’s an endeared smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You said you were mine. Did you mean that?”
Y/N can’t look him in the eyes, so she looks down instead. Harry’s hand lies between them, and she intertwines their fingers, playing with his rings as she carefully formulates her answer. “I’ve—I’ve always been yours, H. Ever since we were kids, I’ve belonged to you.” She runs a finger over his H ring. “Even when you were gone.”
Harry frowns a bit at the tone of her voice. “I’ve been yours too, Y/N. I belong to you just as much as you belong to me.”
“You’ve always been further out of reach.” Y/N pulls her hand from his, until their fingertips are just barely touching. “Always just…a little out of reach.”
Harry intertwines their fingers again. “I’m not out of reach. Not right now. And I’ve never—if you ever called me and said you needed me, I would’ve been on the first flight back home to you. I would’ve dropped everything for you, Y/N. I still would, and I always will.”
Tears prick Y/N’s eyes, and although she hurries to close them, one slips out. Harry catches it on his finger before it can run off her cheek, and when she looks at him again, there’s a concerned look on his face.
“C’mere.” Harry mumbles, pulling Y/N into a tight hug. He rubs her back like he always does, and the motion is so comforting that she almost forgets the vulnerable position they’re both in. “You’re my girl. You’re always going to be my girl.” He murmurs in her ear, voice low and soothing. “Always. Don’t you know that?”
Y/N nods, not trusting her voice at the moment.
“If this is too much for you…” Harry traces his fingers between her shoulder blades. Y/N thinks he’s tracing words, like they used to as children, but she can’t tell what words he may be tracing. “I understand. We can just—we can pretend it didn’t happen.”
“I—” Y/N shakes her head, looking up at Harry. “I don’t want to do that.”
“Then what do you want, Y/N?” Harry asks, his tone as pleading as it was last night. “All I’ve ever tried to do is give you what you want, and usually I’m pretty good at telling what that is, but right now, I’m lost. I don’t want things to go back to how they were, but I don’t—I can’t lose you, so just—if you just tell me what you want, I’ll do it. I’ll make it work. I promise that I won’t be mad, or hurt, or anything.”
Y/N sits up as best she can, her fingers combing through Harry’s messy curls on reflex, as she always does it when he gets upset. “I can’t pretend that I don’t want you, H. I do. I need you. I told you that last night.”
“But you’re crying.” Harry cups her wet cheek gently, rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone. “I hate that.”
Y/N leans into his touch. “It just feels…strange.” She says after a moment. “All of this. I spent so long trying to stop myself from thinking of you like this, and now that I am, I feel like—like it’s wrong.”
Harry tugs on his bottom lip with his teeth. “Does it feel wrong?”
His low voice makes her shiver. “No. It feels right. Really right.”
“I feel like…” Harry’s eyes flicker between Y/N’s own eyes and their intertwined hands. “I feel like we’re both dancing around saying it.”
Y/N sucks in a breath. “Saying what?”
“Saying…” Harry leans in and presses a soft kiss to her lips. “Saying that we’re in love with each other.”
Y/N feels breathless at the words coming from his mouth. “You’re in love with me?”
“Are you not in love with me?” He replies, moving so he’s leaning over her more. “We’ve said I love you so many times before.”
“That’s a different kind of love.” Y/N mumbles, touching the chain dangling from Harry’s neck.
“But we were both meaning something different when we were saying it. At least, I was.” Harry inhales deeply, like he’s centering himself. “I’ve known…for a while, but I’ve felt it for longer than I’ve known it. And I thought that you might…”
“I think I do.” Y/N whispers. “But saying it feels so—so permanent. Like we can’t go back to being friends if it blows up in our faces.”
Harry traces a finger down Y/N’s cheek, her neck, between her breasts, to her side, touching just below her ribs. “Maybe we can’t. But I don’t think we’ll want to, Y/N. I think we’re perfect for each other.”
Y/N’s heart pounds in her chest. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Harry nods. “This last month, it’s been like we’ve been…playing house, or something. I’ve loved it. I keep hearing from friends saying that they’re so sick of the person they’re living with, so tired of them, but I’ve never felt that way about you, and I don’t think I ever will. I’ll never get sick of you.”
Y/N laughs a bit. “That’s romantic.”
“Shut up.” Harry can’t help but smile slightly. “It is romantic.”
“Yeah. It is.” Y/N says softly, her hand rubbing over Harry’s tattooed arm. “You’re really in love with me?”
Harry nods. “I am.”
“Huh.” Y/N bites her lip. “So I guess we’ve been lying to our moms, haven’t we?”
Harry laughs loudly, collapsing on the bed next to Y/N. “Jesus, can you not mention our mums when we’re naked in bed?”
“I’m just saying! We’ve been saying for years that you’re not in love with me, and it’s all been a lie.”
“What about when they ask if you’re in love with me?” Harry’s tone is joking, but there’s a hint of nervousness in the back of his voice. “Has that been a lie, too?”
Y/N’s heart pounds as she nods. “Yeah. We’ll have to get them something really good for Mother’s Day this year to help make up for it.”
A grin spreads over Harry’s face, almost triumphant, as he leans down to kiss her. “Agreed.” He moves to cage himself over Y/N. “But I want to hear you say it.”
“I want to hear you say that you’re in love with me.” Harry’s grin turns into a smirk.
Y/N flushes as she shakes her head. “You say it first.”
“I’ve already admitted it!”
“So have I!”
“Not as well as I have!”
“Oh, so it’s a competition now?” Y/N scoffs. “What a wonderful start to our relationship.”
“I’m just saying, Y/N, admitting it is the first step to—”
“Are you seriously going to say that to get me to say that I love you?”
“You’re so irritating—”
“I’m irritating? You—”
“You’re the worst!”
“And yet you’re in my bed with no clothes on!”
“Okay. Nope. Relationship over.” Y/N pushes Harry off of her and wraps the sheet around herself as she gets out of bed. “You blew it, Styles.”
“Y/N.” Laughter falls from Harry’s lips as he leans over the edge of the bed. “Love. Come back to bed.”
“I think a minute and thirty-seven seconds may be the record for the world’s shortest relationship.” Y/N searches her bag for some clean clothes.
“Another world record for Harry Styles.” Y/N calls to him without turning around. “You must be so proud—”
Her words are cut off in a shriek as Harry picks her up, throwing her over his shoulder as he brings her back to his bed.
“Harry!” She yells, hitting his arm. “Put me down!”
Harry tosses her on the bed, gentle enough so as not to hurt her, and cages himself over her sheet-covered body. He’s still completely bare. “Take it back.”
Y/N rolls her eyes. “Fine. We’re still together. One less record for you.”
“Good. Now…” Harry brushes a finger over her lips. “Say you’re in love with me.”
Y/N’s laughter fades a bit as the nerves set back in. “I…”
“Please, Y/N?” Harry murmurs, leaning down to kiss her neck. “Please say it.”
“I’m—” Y/N sucks in a quick breath, and all of her protest leaves her body as she exhales. “I’m in love with you, Harry.”
She can feel Harry’s lips forming a grin against her neck. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Y/N tugs on his hair gently, just enough so she can pull his head back to look in his eyes. “Now you say it.”
“Y/N.” Harry says her name like it’s something precious. “I’m in love with you.”
A flush of pleasure crawls up Y/N’s spine at his words, but she does her best to keep her tone light-hearted. “So are you calling our moms, or am I?”
“I’ll do it.” Harry reaches for his phone on the bedside table. “And I’ll be sure to mention how it took us getting drunk and having sex to realize—”
“Don’t worry, I’ll tell your mum we used a condom—”
“I’ll kill you, Styles, and I’ll make it look like an accident.” Y/N shoves his shoulder hard.
Harry grins at her. “Now that’s romantic.”
8K notes · View notes
★ . . . Love on Tour: Denver
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heyyy, any louis/harry header for this one, please?
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Fine Line Posters
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munich nights • harry styles
summary: touring inseparably as best friends and musicians, yours and harry’s relationship takes a cruel turn in munich.
warnings: smut (oral m recieving)
genre: bestfriend!harry, friends to lovers(?), angst, smut
pt 1/? (two is here) word count: 4k
a/n: this is my first time writing in like a year so some feedback would be amazing, pls be kind and show some love to my crumby attempt lol
chapter playlist :D
he was sort of your anchor. unspoken, of course, that he had taken such a high profile role in your life. he didn’t need to know, to know. you were certain it worked in reverse, that you grounded him just like he did for you.
you’re not sure of the timestamp on the beginning of your friendship, sometime 3 years ago after mindlessly chatting in a shoreditch bar, at the sort of venue you were both cackling over after a couple of overpriced gin and tonics.
“i’m not sure why i came here, it really isn’t my scene,” you said after calming your laughter down.
“me neither. i’m not all that into £18 cocktails made with organic fruit juice,” he jested back, although you felt a hint of sadness in the next, “it makes me miss home.”
after that you clicked instantly.
you both bonded over being musicians; your styles contrasted entirely though. his band, who you met a few occasions later, were the antithesis to yours. mitch and sarah looked and sounded like they were fresh from a 70’s pop rock band, whilst your bassist and drummer, both twins, had buzzed heads and black dr martens on 24/7. the differences between you and him didn’t matter in the slightest. which is why, after 18 months of building the strongest friendship you’d had in your life, he asked you and your band to come on tour with him.
touring with your best friend and now biggest fan was the single greatest experience of your life. you would admit to the apprehension you first felt about opening for harry as your music wasn’t exactly in keeping with his genre- you were a little grungier then his soft style. i suppose the opposites between you is what enhanced everything about your relationship, musically and personally. in articles harry was always praised for his effeminate fashion choices, and since gaining some recognition as his opener, the articles were now mentioning how you dressed too, hyping up your more boyish, ‘can’t be bothered’ clothing taste you’d developed over your years in the band. your shoes were always chunky and platform, your top or bottoms usually oversized and always with the same thick chain around your neck. to some, your style seemed intimidating but it couldn’t be further from the truth. harry knew that best of all.
3 months into the tour now, you had made it to munich for the 1st night of your european portion of the tour. you and harry were sat next to one another on the plane, sharing an earpod each, playing music from your playlist titled “h”. you hadn’t been able to sleep on the overnight flight, after reading a particularly disturbing article about harry’s recent paparazzi shots. “harry styles’ player ways making a comeback?” it read, and pictured him with a couple models you’d met in new york together after going out for the night. you couldn’t place why but the article made you feel sick. you put it down to seeing such a close friend’s name slandered in the press, and you hoped he hadn’t read it yet. harry was often disheartened after reading the gossip people like to spread about him, occasionally involving you as well.
“you seem very deep in thought.” harry’s morning voice could be heard over the sound of steely dan in your ears. turning to him, one of his eye’s peering at you, you reply, “not really- just thinking about the set list.”
“you need to switch off your work brain sometimes,” he grins up at you, “have a little more fun! munich will be great, lots of beer to try.”
“of course that’s what you look forward to most. you know munich is filled with some beautiful architecture and history right?”
“that’s great and all, but you know what else they have?” harry questions you and you shake your head.
you arrived at your airbnb not long after- harry’s band and yours all preferred staying in a large house or apartment then some posh hotel that didn’t feel quite as welcoming. harry’s manager picked the place out, opting for a villa that sleeps 10 people, filled to the brim with oak panelling and a big fire place in the centre of the room. there was a hot tub outside that would probably never be used in your short stay there. the kitchen had a large island in the middle and a big aga keeping the place warm in the late september weather. his manager really outdid herself this time.
“this is place is so beautiful,” you still weren’t over all of the beautiful places this tour had taken you, the short time you’d been travelling had been a sensory overload.
“you’ll really like munich, y/n,” harry said yawning, grabbing both your shoulders from behind. his touch took your mind back to the article.
“harry,” you started, reluctantly turning to face him, “i know it’s none of my business who you, you know- fuck, but i was just wondering what happened with those models after i left?” harry’s calm expression never faltered as he answered, “me and camila kissed in the taxi but then i went back to the hotel. why?” you didn’t have the strength to answer honestly, and tell him it was because the thought of him having a threesome with two supermodels made you physically wretch, but you felt an obligation to give him a somewhat truthful answer.
“i saw an article about it, the paps caught a glimpse of it,” you white-lied. if you were going to be honest with yourself, the reason him with people like camila and gina bothered you so much is because of the way you compared yourself to them. you were overall confident, you were proud of your style and “gives no fucks” attitude you’d built up over the years, but these were literal models. women who were paid, like paid a lot, because they were beautiful. harry’s dating history has had a lot of women you could never measure up to be as good as and that was a real confidence breaker.
“well anyway, are you ready for tonight’s show? we were thinking it would be cool if you guys came on with us and...”
harry, as per usual, performed with all of his heart and soul and yet again amazed you. he had been doing this for three months, playing at least three shows a week and his energy levels were still unmatchable. you were back in your dressing room, taking off your stage clothes and putting on an almost identical outfit, wiping the sweat off your brow and upper lip. the monitor in your room played harry’s set, and you had to find any way you could to distract yourself from his performance before you ended up fantasising about the way his sweaty curls cling to his neck and how you wished he was sweating like that just for you, for an entirely different reason.
“thank you so much munich!” you hear harry’s accent through the small tv, and look up to see him panting and grinning, before running off stage. you had no idea why, but tonight there was a small amount of nervousness about you. since reading the article, you’ve had to address the gnawing idea that you could possibly have feelings for harry that were more than just your deep set friendship. would you act differently about the man you loved more than anyone in this world? you didn’t want things to change- they were perfect with him. he’d jest with you when you became too much of a perfectionist about your latest song, telling you to stop thinking so hard or you’ll have an aneurysm. if people commented on his style or yours, he’d laugh it off and tell everyone he’s “the woman in the relationship” sarcastically, and you’d be in awe at how he essentially said a huge “fuck you” to gender norms. he made you comfortable being you and you coveted his ability to be so happy being him. the thought of this bond being broken frightened you to your core. the knock at your door was a good signal for your thoughts to end.
“you coming y/n?” the group of you were all headed to a german beer bar, since harry was so eager to try the world famous pilsner. finding a large lounge space with sofas inside the bar, you all sat and ordered a round, celebrating a good night’s work.
“to the first night in europe,” you toasted, “cheers!” all your glasses clinked together and the nervous feeling started to fade finally. sat next to harry, you discussed the tour so far, he told a story about being in one direction and it reminded you of a hilarious story from when you were 15, when you used to listen to emo music and swore how much you hated one direction, and they all laughed at the irony. if you had told your 15 year old self this was where you’d be at 21, you’d have snorted and laughed till you cried. but life works out in strange ways and you wouldn’t change it for a second. a few drinks in and any of those nervous feelings about what harry was to you had evaporated like alcohol till you eventually had to remind yourself that whilst your hand was on harry’s knee, it meant nothing. and the way he leans forward to you as he laughed at your not-so-funny joke. but those reminders were getting weaker the more his touch started to linger after he went to go and grab his pint the same time you did.
“we really must stop meeting like this,” he jokes as your hand rubs against his for the 50th time that might and you laugh at him because your afraid if you don’t play it off as a joke you’ll lean over and kiss him. you find yourself in need of a distraction from his low buttoned shirt and endless black ink drawn across his chest that you can see in high definition when your this close to him.
“i’m going to get another round,” you exclaim dramatically, telling yourself more than the rest of the group. making your way over to the bar, you can feel harry’s vision bearing into your back as you lean against the counter to get service.
“another round of pilsners on the table’s tab please,” you ask as soberly as you can. you’re not off your face yet, but the alcohol is definitely present, surrounding the corners of your vision.
“i’d rather by you a drink.” a slightly german accent crowds your ears and you look over to see a man, not all that different to some of the guys in harry’s band, smirking at you.
nervous, you reply, “no you don’t need to do that we have a tab here.”
“i insist.” afraid to be impolite you quietly thank him, and turn back to the bar. you can’t even think of chatting to guy at a bar whilst the man you love is sat so close by. even though it’s not returned, the pain of giving him up to flirt with a stranger is too much to bare.
“so what brings you to a local’s bar like this one?”
“me and my friends are working here for the night.”
“just here for the night? such a shame,” his smile, although attempting to seem unthreatening, is making you uncomfortable. the bartender seems to be taking forever with your order.
“i’m staying in a hotel a few minutes away, come and join me and their bar for a real drink?” your heart was pounding. you rarely got hit on so you were a little out of practice on how to deal with persistent assholes like these ones.
“i can show you how the germans like to do it.” that was it- he’d gone too far and you were so embarrassed by this point you were too humiliated to even reply to him. your neck was getting hotter and you could feel your cheeks reddening.
“you okay?” harry’s voice took you out of your panic-stricken state, “you were taking a while.”
turning to harry and preparing to tell him how this man won’t get the message, the german creep pipes up, “she’s fine mate. we were just discussing a date.”
“listen mate, i suggest you back off. alright?” harry grabbed your hand, tightly, and guided you out of the bar.
“harry where are we going?” you could barely comprehend what had happened in the last five minutes to even realise he was hailing a taxi.
“back to the house. i’ll text the others.”
“harry i’m fine honestly it’s no-“
“who said i was fine? i wanted to leave and i thought maybe you did too.” he was angry, which wasn’t something you saw in harry often. he was a happy guy, and optimistic about most things in life.
“is this because of that guy?”
“of course it is y/n.”
“i’m sorry i didn’t realise he’d be an assho-“
“why’re you apologising?”
this shut you up. you didn’t know why. this wasn’t the first time a guy had been slightly predatory towards you and you doubted it would be the last. after the first couple times your in situations like this you tend to see yourself as the problem and not the guys doing it.
“i don’t know, harry.” you climbed into the cab together and harry gave them the address, seeming somewhat cooled off from earlier. your head was buzzing from the alcohol and the fact that harry had essentially rescued you from what could have been a scary situation.
“why did you kiss camila?” alcohol had made you more outspoken and you asked the question that had been driving your nervous energy all night.
“why are you asking?”
a little more honestly then last time, you answered, “i’m just curious.” harry shifted in his chair, slightly unnerved by the question. his whole demeanour had shifted entirely from earlier. he was close and warm with you, the friend you’d become addicted to being with. now he was closed off and moody- a rare sight for anyone who knew him well. you could have picked a better time to ask the question, of course, but you had to know. you had other questions too, like why he was so angry right now, and why did he care that i was chatting with a guy at the bar, even if he was a creep.
“because she wanted to kiss me and i wanted to kiss her. the same reason most humans kiss,” there was a slight element of humour back in his voice now.
“and that was it?”
“hmm.” you tried to ponder this, but your attention span was limited when you were this inebriated. your thought process had quickly moved from harry’s sex life to harry in general and his outfit of the evening- a personal favourite. he’d worn white cream trousers with a vest top and an unbuttoned short sleeve shirt, along with the necklace you’d given him last christmas. you could see his two swallows peaking from the straps of his wife beater and your mind wandered to the thought of having your mouth against them. against all his tattoos, individually placing a kiss on each and everyone that you had grown to fall in love with.
you remembered the memory of harry coming with you to get your largest tattoo, a greek statue on your upper arm.
“harry you know this isn’t the first one i’ve gotten?” you laugh at how hard he was clutching your hand in the chair next to your seat.
“i know but i’m so excited for you. i want you to know i’ll be sat here the whole time to hold your hand,” he squeezes your hand to emphasise his point.
“harry i’m getting another tattoo not going into life-altering surgery.”
but inside, you were squealing at his words.
harry’s less chipper current voice took you out of your memory and back to the cab in munich.
“you’ve been staring at my chest for a couple minutes,” his brows were furrowed as he studied your face.
“i want to lick it.” if someone had asked you why you answered with that, you genuinely couldn’t give them a good answer. alcohol didn’t do much to you, except allow you to have fun, and lose any sense of a filter. now was a perfect example of the effects. harry’s eyes widened at your candour- and so did yours. his calm expression only faltered for a few seconds though, before it returned to his neutral, warm face.
“what else were you thinking about?” your heart was beating so loudly you were sure harry could feel it across in his seat. why was harry asking this? you didn’t want him to know about your thoughts- they were far too embarrassing and far too private.
“i was thinking about all your tattoos,” you confessed.
“i was thinking about yours too.” you thought about all of your tattoos and remembered the dog rose you had on the back of your thigh, as well as the koi carp on your hip bone.
“the flowers and the fish.” you gulped, knowing he was thinking of your most risqué tattoos.
harry, unusually, was completely serious as he said, “i thought about licking yours too.” you didn’t know where you stood with harry now. you were sat in a taxi, having the conversation with him that you thought would never happen. he wants you the same way you want him. he may not want you the same way a nagging voice told you. he could just be looking for an easy fuck, and you thought to yourself that even if that was all he wanted, you’d still give yourself to him.
“maybe we shouldn’t talk anymore, yeah?” you felt like you could cry- how could he not want to talk, and you were on tour together? this was the most gut wrenching feeling to have him tell you not to talk anymore. harry studied your face as you lip began to quiver, “jesus y/n i meant about the current conversation. of course i want to keep talking to you, i love you- you know, like a friend.”
“like a friend?” you couldn’t ever begin to describe how your heart felt like it fell to the pit of your stomach whilst the acid slowly burnt it away. friends is it. harry isn’t yours to have and he never will be, he just had to remind you in words of this.
“well we’re both a little drunk and clearly turned on- maybe just this once it could be more than friends? just for tonight, i mean?” harry’s clear green eyes didn’t stop looking into yours, and he seemed, i’m not sure, hopeful? as if on cue, the taxi took you back to your villa which was warmly lit from inside and you felt a nervous excitement crawl up your arms and legs at what could possibly come next. harry gave the driver the cash and you dashed quickly to the door of the house, the cool september air cutting through you both dressed inappropriately for the time of year. it dawned on you that your outfit- a big vintage men’s shirt with your oldest and favourite pair of dr martens with sheer tights- wasn’t the wisest choice. harry fumbled with unlocking the door and opened it to find the fire lit and the lights dimmed. it was more romantic than either of you would ever mention out loud but it felt like the house was routing for you. you weren’t sure where harry wanted this to go next, the air beginning to stiffen and feel awkward.
turning to face him, you started, “harry i-“ his lips met yours in an instance and any of the awkwardness left in the room had been dissolved by harry’s soft kiss. he tasted good, despite the beer you’d both been drinking and had you not been intoxicated by the pilsner and harry’s gentle touch, you’d probably care about things like breath. harry grabbed you by the shoulders, much like he did earlier that same day, and guided you into the room further, finding the large sofa and pushing you onto it. falling back, you glanced up at his towering figure. harry was already tall, but his powerful presence added a less literal height to him, and his shadow looked over you. you couldn’t help but stare at him as he shrugged his shirt off his shoulders, exposing some of your favourite tattoos of his. you got to your knees so that you were closer to his body and you finally relaxed in his presence, touching all the places you’d dreamed about. your hands raked up his torso to his chest and his head leant down to kiss you again. his lips were perfect and seemed made to be against yours so tightly, and made for the crook of your neck as well as they kissed and sucked there too. the fire in the corner of your eyes illuminated the small amount of gold in harry’s hair and he looked as angelic as he always did in your dreams.
“am i better than him?” harry murmured against your neck. the question caught you off guard. he’d only known one other person you’d had a sexual relationship with since you two became friends and that was a sound tech from one of his old touring groups that you had a small fling with. him and harry never got along and harry even accused him of purposely messing his sound up during a performance once. harry has walked in on you giving him head in your dressing room once and it was incredibly awkward but you both moved past it.
“who are you talking about?”
“you know, that arsehole sound tech from the american tour. do i kiss you better than him?” you could hear the layers to his voice- he was asking with a confidence that you felt straight in your core, but there was another layer to it- insecurity.
“god yes,” you gushed, he had to at least know how he physically made you feel even if you can’t admit your feelings, “you kiss far better then he ever could.”
an idea came into your head at this, “in fact, i bet you’ll feel better in my mouth then he did.” harry jaw slacks slightly and you give him a shy smile. talking like this wasn’t something you ever tried when you were having sex, but harry made you want to be honest. it was the closest you could get to confessing your love to him, and you’d take what you could get from harry right now. stunned into silence, you continue to undress harry, removing his vest to expose his lean stomach and small trail of hair from his belly button, that you kissed all the way down. he let out a sharp breath as soon as you got to the top of his pubic bone, and you finally noticed just how hard harry already was. with a little fascination, you dared to take it to the next level and cupped his length through his trousers, causing harry to groan at the contact. he felt big in your small hand, you couldn’t wait to reveal him, impatiently struggling with his zipper.
“woah, y/n, slow down,” harry puts a finger under your chin and you look up under your lash at him, knelt below him. his smile is a classic harry smile and for a brief second this feels like more than a casual fuck.
“you’re still wearing too much clothing.” harry bends slightly to get to the bottom of your shirt and speedily pulls it over your head, revealing your black cotton bralet and tights. harry’s mouth watered at the sight of you in nothing but your underwear and boots, your long hair falling in messy waves around your minimally tattooed arms. your sure your black eyeliner is smudged and your gloss practically jin existent but harry’s eyes make you feel like he wants nothing more then to fuck you.
“that’s much better,” he smiles again at you, and you take that as a good cue to continue on his member. eagerly, your hands go straight back to his flies, rapidly undoing them and letting his loose fit trousers fall from his hips, exposing his form fitted boxers and you get a much better idea of just how big harry’s cock really was. without realising you mumble, “i want you in my mouth so bad,” under your breath.
“fuck say that again.”
looking under your lashes again, you repeat, “i want your cock in my mouth so bad.” harry groans as his eyes roll back, his words almost being enough without your touch. but your hand still went back to his dick, pulling it out from the restraint of his boxers. it was thick and bigger then you had been with before. without missing a beat, your hand pumped him a few times, and his hips reacted instantly. as if beckoning for your lips to surround his cock, his hips thrust towards you again, and you obliged, licking and then parting your wetted lips for the head of his dick. the pre-cum touched your tongue and it urged you to take more of him further, swiping your tongue on the underside as you push more in. harry moans, gripping your scruffy hair in his large hand, and had to restrain from pushing your mouth around his whole length. as your mouth got acquainted with him, you started to move up and down the length, as harry’s moans got higher and louder.
“y/n your mouth is fucking magic.” the praise went straight to your clit and your underwear was dampening at the knowledge of the dirty things your mouth was doing.
“can you- fuck- can you grab my balls?” you responded immediately and cupped them lightly whilst continuing to bob your head on his cock.
“didn’t know you could you use your mouth for such dirty things, y/n. do i fill you better then he did?”his jealousy fuelled you to go even quicker, this time switching up to concentrating on his swollen head, your tongue lapping against it feverishly, whilst your hand pumped the rest of him. the combination of your hand and mouth was enough to drive harry insane.
“you do so good y/n, i’m gonna cum soon okay?” you release him from your mouth, and keep stroking him, eager for him to orgasm. you couldn’t describe the desperation you had to see the way he looked as he climaxed. if you were to die after this, you knew you would die happy, if only to have seen harry in that state of euphoria that only you could bring him to.
“fuck y/n i’m gonna cum,” harry pants, his thighs tensing and his eyes glazing over. you aim him over your chest and feel his load fall all over your breasts, soaking your bralet as he lets out a breathy moan. his breathes are loud and aside from the fire crackling are the only noise filling the space of the living room. you let his now soft cock go and fall back onto the sofa, too tired to think about all of what just happened, the only thought on your mind is of harry’s moans on repeat. your chest is sticky but you’re too exhausted to care. harry has slowly crept over to sit next to you on the sofa, and you’re unspokenly thankful he hasn’t distanced himself afterwards.
“i need to clean you up.” harry disappears as quickly as he arrived and comes back with a warm flannel. wiping your chest, you watch his face as his brows furrow delicately on his forehead and his mouth is slightly crooked in concentration. you loved every single portion of his face, and suddenly it meant something different. you had seen his face at it’s most real and vulnerable and you had that memory forever.
unfortunately moments like the one you and harry had finally shared don’t last forever, and once harry’s done wiping your breasts off, he leaves a kiss on your forehead, grabs his clothes and leaves you on the sofa.
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Harry Styles wallpapers — 🌻 like or reblog if you save / credits to @neighbourmonkey on twitter 🌻
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