#harry’s nose highlight

[violetsandfluff]

Cough Drops and Extra Love

this took a hot minute whole ass month but I think it was worth it? prepare yourself for 4.2k of sick, clingy harry fluff <3 tw: sickness, mentions of throwing up, nudity, *brief* mention of sex, and loads of fluffffff so if that’s not your cup of tea, don’t read any further. I proofread this a billion times and it’s still not quite right, but it’s as good as I’ll get it.

“Hey, rockstar,” you beamed as Harry strode off the stage and into your arms. He flipped his water bottle and raised it to his lips to finish whatever was left in it before re-wrapping his arms around you. He lowered his head so it was resting on top of yours.

“I love you, baby, I’m so proud of you,” you went on. “How was it?”

Harry just shook his head. “Exhausting,” he muttered at last. “I love you, too, pumpkin.” Casting you a half-hearted smile, he straightened and picked up another water bottle, immediately opening it and downing half of it.

“Someone’s thirsty,” you joked.

Harry let out a dry laugh.

“You’re not very talkative tonight,” you mentioned bluntly. “Usually you’re talking a mile a minute after a show.”

“Tired. And my throat hurt,” was his raspy response before quickly adding, “but it’s better now.”

“Are you sure?” you asked skeptically. “A few sips of water fixed it just like that?”

Harry nodded before throwing his arms around your neck from behind and letting his cheek rest atop your head. “I’m tired, ‘s all,” he said finally. “And thirsty.”

~~~

Once you were home, the first thing Harry did was sink onto the couch and emit a prolonged sigh.

“Oh, baby. What’s wrong?” you asked, plopping onto the cushion next to him.

“Tired,” he sniffed. “Will you take a shower with me?”

“Why?” you asked cautiously.

“Not f’that reason,” he assured you with a soft but priceless smile.

“You want me to help you wash your hair?” you guessed and he nodded, letting out a soft chuckle.

“Only f’you want to, lovie.” His words were followed closely by a poorly stifled sneeze that you chose to ignore. Instead, you made your way to the bathroom and turned on the shower to ensure that it would be nice and warm once Harry stepped in.

When at last he entered the shower in all his naked glory, he stepped towards you and enfolded your waist in his strong arms. He kissed your forehead a few times before resting his head on it once more.

“‘S so warm,” he mused, planting a few more kisses on your head. “Feels nice.”

“I’m glad,” you cooed, reaching up to ruffle his hair, which was now damp and matted down thanks to the water. You wriggled out of his grasp and reached for your shampoo, squeezing a generous amount onto your hands.

“Bend down,” you instructed, and he obeyed, lowering his head so you could reach all of his hair.

You worked the suds into his hair, using your fingertips to massage his scalp as you went.

His eyes fell shut in pleasure as he enjoyed the sensation.

“Don’t fall asleep standing up,” you warned jokingly.

He shook his head and let out a gentle laugh. “It feels so good when you wash my hair.”

“Does your head hurt?”

“A little,” he admitted reluctantly. “Not too bad, though.”

A soft smile spread across your face as you continued working the excessive amount of bubbles into his hair. The shampoo allowed it to stick up in all directions, making it resemble a clown.

“You’re so cute, Harry,” you giggled. “You can rinse your hair now.”

“Already?” he whined, leaning his head back into the warm stream of water, running his hands through his sudsy hair to get every last bit of shampoo out. A few coughs and sneezes escaped him as he emerged from the waterfall, shaking any remaining water droplets from his hair.

You repeated the washing process with a more reasonable amount of conditioner, working it into his hair while she massaged his scalp.

When you finished helping him rinse it out, he wrapped you in another warm embrace, holding you tightly against his chest.

“You’re so clingy tonight,” you noticed.

“S’cuz I love you,” he replied, his voice muffled in your wet hair.

“Are you feeling okay?”

He nodded once before ultimately deciding to shake his head, pulling you closer to his chest.

“Does Jeff know you don’t feel well?”

Harry tensed slightly. “He knew I had a headache before going on, and that my throat was sore afterward,” he said slowly.

“Do you want to tell him or should I?” you asked as you turned off the water.

Harry immediately began to shiver, deprived of the warmth the water had been providing. He wrapped his arms around himself before sidling up next to you again. “Tell who what?”

“Tell Jeff that you’re sick. Do you want to tell him or should I?”

“No.” Harry shook his head, clearing his throat to ward off the persistent tickle that tormented it.

“No what?”

“I just need sleep, Y/N. ‘S all it is. Jeff doesn’t need to know.”

You just shook your head. “I’ll worry about Jeff later. For now,” you trailed off, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead. “You’re pretty warm.”

His eyes fell to the ground. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” you assured him quickly. “Come here.”

Harry stepped reluctantly out of the shower, stumbling backward upon moving his head too quickly.

“Careful!” you exclaimed instinctively, reaching out to steady him. “You okay?”

He nodded bashfully as his face reddened in embarrassment. “Sorry, lovie.” He spoke in a lighter tone than usual so as not to strain his fatigued voice further.

“Don’t be sorry,” you insisted. “Dry yourself off and I’ll help blow dry your hair.”

Satisfied, he grabbed his towel and began drying off. Any reason for you to play with his hair comforted him.

You rung your hair out in the sink and slipped into a pair of comfortable, loose-fitting sweats before removing your hair dryer from its place in the drawer.

Harry, still wrapped in his towel, sat down on the closed toilet seat to give you better a better view of the top of his head. You dried his hair as quickly as you could, not worrying about what it looked like. After all, it would inevitably get worse as he slept.

Once his hair was thoroughly dried, you led him into the bedroom, instructing him to lie down on top of the duvet.

He did as he was told, and you worked briskly to cover his body in lotion. The lotion was uncomfortably cold on his abnormally warm skin, causing goosebumps to form up and down his limbs. Despite your haste, you made an effort to massage his sore muscles, causing soft groans to escape his rosy lips.

“I’m cold,” he whined desperately, his voice weak and broken. “I just want to go to bed.”

Your heart flooded with compassion at his words. You passed him his pajamas, which he donned immediately. As he did so, you busied yourself pulling back the duvet and comforter.

Harry wasted no time lying down, curling up into a shivering ball against the cool, white sheets.

Presently, you joined him, positioning your body beside his in an attempt to warm him. Instead, he turned away, curling up in the opposite direction.

“I’d feel awful if I got y’sick,” he explained hoarsely. “I don’t feel sexy anymore.”

“Oh, Harry,” you sighed, enveloping him in a warm embrace against his protests. “How do you expect to get better without snuggles?”

He all but melted into you, embracing you and leaning his forehead into your shoulder as his eyelids fell shut.

“Are you comfortable?” you inquired sweetly, to which he responded with a nod as vigorous as his dizzy body would allow.

Once he was comfortable, it didn’t take long for him to start drifting off. You took the opportunity to text Jeff, who agreed that if Harry was sick enough to admit it, there was definitely something wrong. He agreed to drop off some medicine, as well as other items that would benefit Harry, but until then, you were instructed to give him Tylenol to help ward off some of his discomforts.

You shook his already-sleeping body reluctantly, sighing sympathetically when he let out a disgruntled whimper. His exhausted eyes found yours as he stuffed his hands with handfuls of your sweatshirt.

You apologized profusely for rousing him so suddenly before handing him the pills and a bottle of water, which he downed obediently before returning his head to its place on your chest.

“Jeff’s coming with actual medicine,” you informed him, “but hopefully this will take the edge off your headache.”

Harry gave you a weak smile and a grateful hug, mumbling one last apology before shutting his heavy eyes once more. “‘M sorry I’m sick.”

He had been asleep for less than five minutes when Jeff let himself in with supplies in tow. After one mere glance at Harry’s sleep-distraught figure, it was evident that he wasn’t well at all. Jeff set the bag down gingerly on the bed, whispering some generic instructions before leaving as quietly as possible.

You opened the bag painfully carefully, but the rustling of the plastic didn’t fail to stir Harry from his light sleep.

He looked up at you with glossy, dilated eyes, letting out a few sniffles and coughs.

“Jeff brought this for you,” you said, beckoning to the bag. “Sorry I woke you up again.”

“‘S fine,” he sighed softly.

“He brought some medicine as well as a thermometer, cough drops, and extra tissues. And he left some soup in the fridge for us to heat up when we want some.”

Harry attempted to smile as he tightened his grip around you, burying his face in your shoulder to escape the light of the lamp you switched on.

“I was told not to give you medicine until tomorrow to keep better track of doses, but you were also prescribed plenty of cough drops and extra love.”

Harry brightened immediately, eager for love and an extra something to soothe his irritated throat.

You ripped the package of cough drops open, inhaling their inherently intoxicating fragrance before popping one into his waiting mouth.

He thanked you by managing a weak smile before clacking it against his teeth a few times and lying back down.

“Don’t fall asleep with that,” you warned jokingly.

“I won’t,” he replied, his voice low and raspy. “My head hurts, Y/N.”

“Give the Tylenol some time to work,” you suggested gently, running your fingers through his freshly washed hair.

His eyes fell shut at the sensation as he leaned instinctively into your touch.

“Now I smell like you,” he sniffled, enjoying the attention despite himself.

It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, but it also didn’t take him long to wake up. He found himself unable to sleep for more than two hours at a time. He was hot and cold simultaneously and every muscle in his body seared with a dull ache. Every time he began to drift off, he awoke immediately, needing to cough or sneeze.

After waking up for the third time, he ultimately decided to move to your other side in hopes of finding a more comfortable position to lie in without straying too far from your comforting body heat.

You adjusted the blankets around him as he adjusted his grip around your waist. HJose tired, glassy eyes looked up at you, blinking profusely as a singular tear slid down his cheek.

You used your thumb to brush it from his cheek and his eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“You didn’t think I’d notice?” you asked in disbelief, feeling your heart sink.

He shrugged, trying to blink back the tears that welled up in his eyes, but his efforts were in vain.

“Oh, Harry,” you sighed, massaging his head gently as he leaned into you. “Why don’t you to go back to sleep?”

“I’m too tired,” he complained.

“Too tired to sleep?”

“I can’t get comfortable,” he explained miserably.

“We can watch a movie together if you want,” you suggested.

“That might wake me up enough to sleep,” he said softly, letting out a few coughs as he scrubbed at his eyes.

You couldn’t help but smile, though you knew he was only clingy because he didn’t feel well. You leaned past him to grab your laptop off of the ground, as well as the tissue box, knowing all too well that he would need it. The moment you opened your laptop, a wave of blue light illuminated the room.

Harry whimpered softly, burying his face in your neck as you rushed to turn the brightness down, blinking the dark spots out of your vision after the shock.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you cooed. “That didn’t help your headache any, did it?”

He shook his head, muffling a short set of sniffles into your shoulder.

“What do you want to watch?”

He shrugged. “Your choice,” he rasped sleepily, moving closer to your chest. “I’ll watch anything.”

Your eyes moved from the glowing computer screen to Harry’s sick body, clinging onto you desperately.

You let out a low hum as you shut your computer and carded your fingers through his messy, blow-dried hair “You just want to be held, huh?”

He nodded solemnly, forgetting his signature cheekiness amid his fevered state as unpreventable tears sprang to his eyes for a second time that night.

Wordlessly, your arms enveloped his middle as you held him to your chest.

A shiver wracked his body as he allowed himself to be held, growing warm and tired in your arms. “I love when you hold me,” he muttered sleepily. Had his face not been buried in your chest, you would have noticed a rosy tint creeping into his cheeks.

In the comfort of your arms, he drifted off immediately, finally succumbing to the sound sleep his body craved.

You fell asleep shortly thereafter, waking up what seemed like minutes later to the sun streaming in through the closed curtains. You were sore from lying in the same position for so long, and your right arm was asleep from being under Harry’s weight. On top of that, you were almost sweating from the heat he had generated onto you throughout the night

A brief glance at him, however, told you he hadn’t moved all night. I’m

Based on the light coming in from outside, it was morning, meaning you could administer his first dose of medicine. Moving slowly so as not to wake him, you tiptoed from the room to use the bathroom and freshen up. You took the time to wash your face, brush your teeth, and get your hair out of your face, feeling miraculously put together as you exited the bathroom and headed for the kitchen to fetch him a bottle of water.

In the short time you were gone, Harry had woken up and repositioned himself to be curled up around a pillow, sniffling and coughing into it.

Climbing back into bed, you ruffled his hair affectionately as he let out a disgruntled sigh, rubbing the sleep from his puffy eyes.

“How do you feel, bubs?”

Harry wrinkled his nose in distaste at the pet name. “‘M okay,” he began before clearing his throat and trying again. “I feel like shit.” The throat-clearing irritated his already-sore throat, causing him to cough.

You rubbed his back sympathetically as he sniffled before continuing to rub his eyes.

“I can give you medicine now,” you said brightly. “Hopefully, it will help perk you up and bring your fever down. You’re like a little heating pad right now.”

“A little heating pad,” he repeated, smiling slightly despite himself.

“A little bed-headed, cough drop-scented heating pad.”

He sighed contentedly as your hands found their way to his hair once again. “My head hurts,” he commented.

“I’ll get you your medicine and water. Does oatmeal sound good or would you rather eat something else?”

“Do I have to?” he grimaced before muffling a stuffy sneeze into his pillow.

“You can’t take the medicine on an empty stomach.” you reasoned. “Plus, when was the last time you ate?”

He sneezed one more time before agreeing begrudgingly. “Anything to make me feel better,” he sighed before coughing again into the crook of his arm.

“I’ll be right back. In the meantime, rest your voice.”

Harry nodded, zipping his lips obediently. He leaned back against the cool pillows, pulling the comforter up to his chin. His whole body was tired and achy, and his head was foggy and throbbing. His nose was alternating between stuffed up and runny, and his chest felt tight and heavy. He could barely sit up without his head spinning and almost everything made his feverish, irritable body threaten to burst into tears. He knew he was being clingy, but he could scarcely keep his hands off of you. He needed your warm, comforting body near his more than anything else in the world. Because of that, a sigh of relief escaped his chapped lips when you finally returned to the bedroom.

After setting down the oatmeal and water on the nightstand nearest your side of the bed, which he had inhabited as of late, you couldn’t resist his outstretched arms.

He buried his fever-warmed face in your neck as you ran your fingers up and down his back.

“‘M sorry I’m being such a baby,” he mumbled. “‘S just, I haven’t felt this sick in forever.”

“It’s okay,” you assured him, squishing his dimpled cheeks. “You baby me all the time. Now it’s your turn to be babied.” You looked over his sick body with sad eyes before passing him the bowl of oatmeal from your nightstand.

He stared blankly at it for a moment before raising a spoonful to his lips. He swallowed a few bites wordlessly before lowering the bowl back down to his lap. “Is that enough?”

You shook your head sadly. “A few more bites, baby. Then we can give you your medicine.”

Harry choked down four more bites of the gormless oatmeal before pushing his bowl back in defiance.

You handed him his pills and a glass of water, both of which he downed readily.

Leaning back against the pillows once more, he cast you a forlorn, heart-melting gaze. His eyes were puffy and watery from fatigue, and his lips were chapped from excess licking. His nose was on fire from the number of times it had been wiped and coddled, but somehow, he was still unfairly cute.

“‘F I can’t sing, can we at least have sex or something?” He looked at you with inquisitive green eyes as he awaited your response.

“Oh, baby,” you sighed. “You’re too tired to sit up fully. How do you expect to have sex?”

He shrugged as a look of defeat crossed his face. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “I’m sorry. Just bored.”

“I know,” you pouted. “Is there anything you want to do?”

“We could watch a movie,” he suggested, beckoning toward the brand-new bedroom tv that had yet to be turned on. Harry never failed to cheer you up when you were under the weather, but you weren’t used to being the caretaker. He fell ill so seldom, and when he did, it was almost always mild and gone in a day or two, tops. Now, glancing over his long body, bundled up in blankets, you hoped you could give him a similar assurance.

“Find a movie while I make us some tea.” You passed him the remote from atop the stout dresser beneath the tv before exiting the room. You made the tea hastily, not wanting to leave Harry alone for too long. Because being sick made him especially clingy, leaving for more than a few minutes at a time would cause inevitable whining from him. When you re-entered the room, mugs of tea in hand, Harry wasn’t there.

Your brow knitted in confusion. Poking your head into the ensuite bathroom, you saw him curled up in a heap on the cold tile before the toilet.

A sound of concern similar to a cat’s meow brewed at the back of your throat. You padded over to where he lay and crouched beside him.

He rolled to his side, brushing the hair from his face to make better eye contact with you.

“What’s the matter, baby?” you inquired, concern evident in your voice. “Did you throw up?”

“Not yet,” he stammered nervously. You noticed how his body trembled when he forced himself to sit up. “I thought I ate enough.”

“It could be completely unrelated,” you suggested, rubbing consoling circles on his broad back. You could see the embarrassment and discomfort on his face as he glanced warily from the toilet to you and down to his hands.

“Maybe,” he sniffled in agreement, barely daring to move for fear of getting sick.

“It’ll make you feel better,” you promised. “It might seem gross, but it’s all in your head. I guarantee you’ll feel a thousand times better when it’s over.”

Harry leaned back on his elbows, staring expressionlessly at the wall as his face grew pale. His breathing became rapid and shallow. In one swift burst of strength, he repositioned himself so he was hunched over the toilet, his forearms resting on the rim.

You rubbed his back comfortingly for a painfully long couple of seconds until he finished, shrinking back against the blank, white wall. When you joined him, he wasted no time placing his head in your lap and wrapping his arms around your waist.

You played with his hair in silence, twisting the frizzy strands around your finger and unraveling them again.

“Do you feel better?” you asked lovingly as you continued to twist his hair and stroke his cheeks.

He nodded, his eyes fluttering closed as they welled up with tears.

“Are you ready to brush your teeth or do you want to stay here for a moment longer?”

“Stay here,” he mumbled. “You stay here, too.” He looked at you with tearful puppy eyes before muffling his sniffles into your shirt.

“Oh, Harry,” you cooed gently. “What’s wrong? Don’t be embarrassed.”

“‘S just disgusting,” he spat. “I’m disgusting.”

“Why don’t you brush your teeth?”

“What if I get sick again?”

“Do you still feel nauseous?” you tried to respond calmly to his panic.

He shook his head slowly. “I just don’t want it to happen again.”

“It’s okay if it does. You’ll get better.”

Harry peeled his weak body off the floor, steadying himself on the counter as he reached for his toothbrush and toothpaste.

After a thorough cleaning of his teeth, he retreated to his bed, where he burrowed into the covers in an attempt to soothe his shivering body. He poked his head out from the covers just long enough to unpause The Notebook, his comfort movie, before returning to his cocoon.

A few minutes later, after disinfecting the bathroom, you joined him beneath the mountains of covers.

Instinctively, he cuddled up beside you, burying his face in the crook of your neck and embracing you profusely. He gradually began tracing imaginary patterns on your chest with his fingers, tired eyes half-lidded with sleep.

“You still don’t have any energy, do you?” You frowned slightly as he managed to shake his head.

He muffled a series of three consecutive sneezes into your shirt before sniffling a few times and returning to the patterns he was creating.

“I have your tea if you’re ready for it.”

He shook his head and let one final sneeze shiver out of his clammy body.

“Why don’t you go to sleep while you wait for the medicine to kick in?”

He nodded gratefully, seizing the opportunity to let his heavy eyelids fall shut.

“Baby.” You let out a prolonged sigh. “You don’t need my permission to sleep. You know that, right?”

“I know,” he sniffled hoarsely. “Can you spoon me?”

“Of course, lovie,” you mused sadly. “If only you were smaller, I could hold you on my lap and rock you to sleep like a baby.”

Harry whimpered softly as you removed one of your hands from his grasp to ruffle his hair.

“It’s not my fault I’m bigger than you,” he whined.

You had to laugh at his comment. You placed a cool hand on each of his cheeks, causing his eyes to flutter shut in contentment.

A delicate kiss was pressed to his forehead before he rolled over, finding his way into your eager arms.

He mumbled a word of appreciation as his eyelids fluttered closed for long-awaited sleep.

The next few days were a rollercoaster. You had to deal with Harry being extra clingy and emotional due to having to cancel shows for the first time ever. You spent countless hours curled up beside him as he slept, and you spent many evenings with him either relaxing in the tub or shampooing his hair in the shower. You dealt him tissues and cough drops as needed, as well as heated up the soup Jeff had delivered (which proved to be more than plentiful).

You watched in relief as Harry’s energy and cheekiness returned day by day. Soon, he grew more talkative, and not long after that, he returned to the state of despair he had been in earlier that week due to cancelling shows.

Even while sick, though, he never stopped asking for kisses.

Taglist: @madybeth21 @groovychaosavenue @fishingirl12 @sortingharryshairclip @tenaciousperfectionunknown @mrspeacem1nusone @cayleyhannha-blog @whitemancumslut @sunshinemoonsposts

#anon concepts #harry styles concept #🦢💌 #Harry styles #Harry styles blurb #Harry styles fic #Harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #Harry styles sickfic #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x plus size reader #harry styles one shot #Harry styles imagine #sick!harry #flutterfly alley #yellow 💛 heart #harry’s nose highlight

[cherryjuiceblues]

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐊 𝐀𝐓

➯ HARRY’S GROWN IN SOME PLACES AND Y/N IS MORE THAN OBSESSED. ✰ sexual content. size kink. daddy kink. degradation. creampie. minors dni. 𝑤𝑐 5k

Harry was changing.

And he had been for a while. Slowly but surely—bit by bit—and all Y/N could do was sit back and watch.

Y/N thinks (and she knows she’s biased because, well, she loves him more than life itself, but still thinks) that Harry will always be the most beautiful man in any room. No matter his age, or the clothes he wears, or the facial expressions his features are presenting, he will be pretty personified to her.

And she never thought he could look better. Because he always looked like he’d been handcrafted, slaved away at for hours to achieve the sharp line of his jaw or the divine slope of his nose.

But now he was changing.

And Y/N was wrong.

Another thing she believes (or had believed) is that being with Harry removed any and all of her preferences when it comes to attraction. No matter the way he looked, Y/N loved it—would never change a thing—would never think that maybe that shirt would look better if his chest hair was thicker or that those trousers would be sexier if his thighs were bigger, or that that suit would be more impressive if he was taller. 

Because Harry was visually stunning, always. And even if in the past, Y/N might have been more attracted to a rugged beard, or a different hairstyle, or a specific type of dress sense, then all of that went out of the window when she met Harry.

But now, Y/N was being proven wrong.

She supposes it was a small change at first, so subtle that she didn’t even notice—because Harry had always been strong, even if it didn’t necessarily show and he’d never hesitated to throw Y/N about whichever way he pleased (which could tend to be an insecurity of hers at times).

When she did start to notice though… Nothing else could catch her attention. Whenever he walked into the room her eyes would drift, and whenever she was looking at him whilst he spoke, she’d be itching to lower her gaze and feel her pupils dilate.

Harry didn’t understand at first. He had picked up on her recent lack of concentration, and of course he had, he was attentive—but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what was distracting her so much.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ

It’s when the weather starts to warm up enough to get his arms out that it clicks.

And that’s what he’s smiling about now, as he hauls patio furniture about and potters around—in a black tank and highlighter yellow short shorts—doing all the garden jobs that had been ignored during the winter and spring. Admittedly with much more flexing than is necessary—after his minx of a girlfriend reacts far too excitedly at the delivery of a new pod chair, and squeezes her thighs together in anticipation, before proceeding to lounge around in her shortest of sundresses with the horniest of gazes as she watches him work.

Harry’s trying to be subtle about his amusement, wanting to play with her for as long as he can now that he knows why she’s been drooling for him more than usual. But his tummy is fluttering with excitement as he schemes the best way to rile her up.

He thinks she’s probably already wet, if the clenching of her thighs is anything to go by as she sits in the pod chair she watched him assemble; her naked legs swinging gently. And he’s worked up quite the sweat, out in the sun for a while already—droplets starting to trickle down his back.

So he thinks it only natural to remove his shirt, biceps straining as he reaches behind him to tug the material over his head. 

Y/N’s breath hitches. No matter how many times she sees Harry’s body, it makes her go all silly without fail. And the same happens now as his glistening, tanned, ink-covered torso is revealed and her eyes start to fight over which part of him to gawk at first.

He’s big. Bigger than he’s ever been—and Y/N must send his PT some flowers or something because she’s sure she’s never been so turned on in her life and that deserves a thank you, doesn’t it? 

Harry’s chest rises and falls gently, pecs dusted in sweat-soaked hair that Y/N has never wanted to lick more. She knows she can stare; is well past the point in their relationship to care about being caught—wants to get caught even, to aid his teasing that does so much to her insides. A drop of sweat trickles in between his abs and Y/N always swore she didn’t care for the definition of those muscles, but on Harry… he looks like the posterboy for all pornstars. Everyone’s wet dream, everyone’s type, everyone’s secret fantasy.

Yet, it’s still his arms that stun her the most. She’s not sure why—if it’s solely because of some undiscovered size kink or how obviously he could overpower her—there might not be any deeper meaning other than looking sexy and strong. Maybe it’s because they’re so big that they bulge with every movement, muscles contracting and golden, tattooed skin stretching. Maybe it’s the fine hair that covers his forearms—that have also become considerably thick and meaty. Y/N has lost count of the amount of times she’s wished to sink her teeth into them. Especially when a particular vein or tendon makes itself prominent. Paired with the fact that she has always been undeniably turned on by his hands and Y/N doesn’t stand a chance.

It’s like the man she’s known, who was already completely and utterly everything she could ever want, has been multiplied by ten. And now Y/N is left to try and function as a normal human being with this Greek god of a man who has arms bigger than her head.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“—I don’t think I love you anymore.”

Y/N flinches, eyes shooting up to Harry’s and away from his body.

“Oh, so now you listen to me,” he rolls his eyes, smirk obvious.

“That’s not funny, Harry.” Y/N frowns, heart going a million beats a second. “Why would you say that, you dick.” She hoists herself out of the chair and storms towards the patio doors. With no way she’d ever make it very far, as Harry drops the tools he was using to assemble a coffee table and hastily swoops in behind Y/N—wrapping her up in the things that got her into this position in the first place.

Her back meets his chest. His bare chest. And his face meets her neck, stubble tickling her skin. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean it.” He’s smiling. Y/N feels his arms tighten around her waist. “You weren’t listening t’me, were you?”

She huffs and says, “No,” in a tone that Harry never appreciates.

“You know I don’t like it when you ignore me. I’m far too needy, aren’t I?”

Y/N hums something incomprehensible, ashamed by her pathetic reaction to such a basic body part.

“C’mon, come back. Y’givin’ me something pretty to look at whilst I work.” Harry pinches her waist and she can’t help but shriek a laugh, body betraying her when his fingers dig in.

“You weren’t even looking at me,” Y/N scoffs, reluctantly making her way back to her chair as Harry finishes up on the floor.

“How would you know?” His arms bulge as he screws the table together. “Weren’t exactly staring at m’face, were you, love?”

Y/N rolls her eyes, fluffing up her dress around her thighs.

“I’ve noticed something recently,” Harry starts, admiring his handiwork before getting to his feet and making his way over to Y/N. He picks up a previously ignored bottle of sun tan lotion on his way. “Or, you’ve noticed something, I suppose.”

He kneels before her, hands steadying the gentle swaying of the chair before he smooths them down her legs and props her foot up on his thigh. Y/N pretends to not have a clue. It makes her belly tingle with juvenile excitement.

“What do you mean?”

Harry pops the bottle open and generously squeezes the lotion into his palm. It’s cold as it meets Y/N’s calf, and she twitches a little. But Harry’s hands are warm; he already knows that thirty seconds of this will have her melting into him. 

“You think I don’t see the way you’ve been looking at me lately?” He massages the muscle in his palms and Y/N sighs blissfully.

“I always look at you the same, my love,” she exhales.

“Hm? And how’s that?”

“Like you’re the only man in the world.”

Harry pinches her thigh and Y/N yelps. “Don’t get all soppy on me now. You know exactly what I’m talking about,” and like the sadist that he is, Harry subtly flexes his arms—covertly enough that it looks like a completely involuntary twitch of the muscles. But Y/N’s eyes snap there regardless, and Harry smiles, vast palms moving up higher on her leg as he applies more lotion and starts on her thigh.

“I don’t know, Harry. Why would I look at you different? What’s different about you?” Her voice holds the tiniest of inflections that only Harry would notice means she’s being playful. And it riles him up some.

“Okay, baby. If that’s how you wanna play.” Harry switches legs. He’s much less slow and tender, digging his fingers into her calf and holding firmly when she tries to pull away. The strength he exhibits only has Y/N’s eyes even more trained to his body. When he gets to her thigh he pushes her dress up until her underwear peeks out and delivers a harsh, unexpected slap to the inside—purposely where it hurts a little. Y/N gasps and her hips push up. Harry pays her no mind, applying more lotion before rubbing it in—far too high under her dress where no sun is reaching—and Y/N can see where this is going. Which Harry is coming out.

It all happens so quickly; Harry’s hand pushing against her collarbones to angle her awkwardly against the deep back of the chair, slumping her body surely unattractively, before flipping her dress up higher and tugging her to the edge. His breath fans against her warmth, cruel eyes looking up at Y/N in her stunned state. He leans down and his arms curl under her thighs, hands resting atop and squeezing them tauntingly. God, she can feel his biceps tensing against her.

He’s right there. Lips ghosting across where she needs him. Close enough to barely peek his tongue out and have it meet. Right there. And then he’s gone. Shrugging her legs off his arms and standing up, making some comment about how they need to buy some more sun tan lotion as he goes to walk inside.

Y/N is scrambling off the chair. “Fuck you!” Her hand shoots out and grabs Harry’s wrist. Immediately he spins and flinches away from her, replacing her grip with his own and twisting her arm behind her back. Her chest pushes into him as he leans down.

“You think I haven’t noticed how much of a brat you’ve become?” His voice slicks down her thighs. Oh. “Never fucking listen to me anymore,” she tries to reach for his waist but he twists that arm behind her as well until he’s holding both of her wrists in one of his hands. He leans down further so it’s even harder for her to balance as she bends back. “Just drool over me like a needy slut, don’t you?” Y/N whimpers, the only thing she can do is look up at him. “You’ve been treating me like a piece of meat—staring until your pretty cunt is dripping, right? I can treat you like a piece of meat too, sweetheart.”

“Shut up,” she pouts, before whining, “want—you,” neck aching from the angle she’s bent at. Harry laughs, pulling her hair a little for being a brat, before ghosting his mouth across hers.

“I know. Made that pretty fucking obvious, you silly girl.” He plucks at her bottom lip with his thumb. “You don’t need my cock to be fucked dumb, do you, baby? That little head of yours is always empty.” He squeezes her cheeks together with his fingers. Harry smiles down at his girl’s wide doe eyes staring up at him, completely at his disposal. “Speak.”

“I’m empty,” Y/N nods, giving up her attitude, “need you.” And that’s not what Harry meant but it’s close enough.

“I don’t think you deserve it,” he whispers into her mouth—and then he’s standing behind her, wrists still firmly in his grasp as he shuffles them closer to the windows. The sun glares down, casting a clear reflection of the both of them. Of Harry wrapping his forearm around Y/N’s collarbones, forcing her back to arch. “You haven’t been honest with me,” the entirety of his body is pressed against the back of her. It has her mind scrambling. “You’re not good.”

It’s a low blow. One assured to have Y/N begging and pleading in no time; desperate to make him happy, and desperate to be pleasured.

“I’m…sorry,” she frowns, eyes fixated on the reflection of their bodies. “Wanna be good f’you.” Harry squeezes her wrists as a warning to keep them behind her back before letting go to wrap his other arm around her waist—excited himself by the way he engulfs her. He bends down, causing Y/N to go with him, and the weight in his shorts is growing heavier by the second as they just look at themselves.

Y/N stops herself from wiggling back; doesn’t want to misbehave for a second—not anymore. “Please. All I think about is you, Harry. A-all the time,” her breathing is laboured and her underwear is suffocating. 

And this is how he gets her. “What do you think about?” He turns his face into her shoulder, nudging her sleeve off with his nose before dotting distracting kisses along her skin.

Y/N hesitates. This is what the game was all about. Pretending there was no reason for her gawking. She’s stubborn. But so is Harry. The arm around her collarbones shifts until his large hand is cupping her throat. Y/N’s knees nearly buckle right then and there. Her head tips back a little against him but he squeezes the sides of her neck, right where the blood is fighting to flow, and forces her to look back at the reflection.

“Tell me.” His voice is so deep, so low; the vibrations spread through her like treacle. “Look at me,” he squeezes again, “and tell me.”

He doesn’t ease up around her throat so her words are tight. His arm moves down to her hips. “You’ve got…so…big,” she whimpers. “Everywhere.” Harry’s hips twitch, dying to rut against her ass. But instead, with teasing fingers he lifts the hem of her dress. Up and up until he can stuff it between his hand and her throat, obsessed with the way her bare stomach rises and falls at a rapid pace.

Y/N’s flimsy panties don’t stand a chance—the once pale pink now a much darker hue in the place she needs him most. But Harry wouldn’t be so kind. He makes her think he’s going to rub on her like she wants, middle finger trailing over her clit with a feather-light touch. Barely there but still enough to make her twitch. He does it again—a small circle—before dipping lower, pushing in her underwear and feeling it slick against her.

And then he rears his hand back, too quickly for Y/N to realise, and brings it back down to her clit in a harsh, tight slap. She buckles and writhes, held up solely by the hand around her throat as Harry trails his fingers along the inside of her thigh. His smirk tickles against her shoulder.

“Har—Harry!” she gasps, unable to stop her body from moving against him now, not whilst she’s thrumming.

“I’m big, yeah? Too big for you, surely. Look at the way I swallow you up.” Oh, and she is. With half-lidded eyes and shallow breaths.

“Yes, I love it, Harry. I love it,” her hips search for his hand and he pushes her against him, spanning across her mound.

“That’s not everything though, is it?” Another squeeze around her throat. “Be good.”

She tries—so hard—as Harry starts to suck and bite marks into her skin. “Arms, it’s your arms,” she breathes, head foggier and foggier by the second. He eases up a little when she starts to slump, tracing his thumb across her lips.

“What about them?” Fingers slip inside her underwear; a reward for using her words. Even as he starts rubbing small circles, he knows she’ll cum quickly.

“So hot, Harry. And big.”

He laughs, “Y’already said that. Just so hot and big, aren’t I?” The narcissist in him goes wild, cock twitching in his shorts. And he allows himself one rut against her, just to take the edge off. But Y/N wants more—of course she does—and she’s starting to make all sorts of pretty noises as he rubs her clit. So Harry keeps moving, sure that the feel of him against her is propelling her towards her orgasm whilst he’s barely teasing himself.

“You’ve got a slutty pussy, Y/N,” he tightens his hand around her throat once more, lips brushing her ear. “Drenched because your boyfriend can manhandle you, yeah? I could do anything to you ‘n’ you’d let me, wouldn’t you? Because you’re so desperate for it.”

“Uh-huh,” Y/N nods shakily. She’s trying to keep her eyes on their reflection, to see Harry’s muscles work as his fingers hide in her underwear, and the way his hips push into her ass. 

“Tell me.”

“Want you to—manhandle me…use me—need t’cum.” She’s building up, can feel as Harry smears her arousal around in a mess before rubbing harder on her clit. And faster.

“You g’na cum?” Faster.

“Yes! Yes, yes, please.” He lets her throw her head back, lets her reach the edge, whimpering and whining just as she starts to let go.

And then he’s gone. Harry rips his hand from her pussy and shoves his glistening fingers in her mouth before she can talk. Y/N cries around them, shaking her head in a desperate plea.

“Mmph—no!—Please,” she tries, but how could Harry ever understand what she wants?

He takes hold of her wrists again and bends her forward by her waist, kicking her legs open wider. She’s completely held up by him; if he were to let go, she would topple straight over, no doubt about it.

With a heavy hand, Harry pushes her dress up and over her ass and delivers a well-connecting smack to the rounded flesh. Y/N mewls, legs shaking in surprise. It’s harder to maintain her eye contact with the window at this angle, especially when all she wants is to lull her head like she’s weightless. Harry wastes no time in tugging her underwear halfway down her thighs. Finds it satisfying to keep her somewhat immobilised.

And Y/N couldn’t care less, as soon as she feels Harry pulling himself out and sinking into her—she’s sure she wouldn’t notice if their house was burning.

He barely lets her adjust, and no matter how wet she is Harry’s always a stretch. A deep inhale, body stilling kind of stretch. And once she’s full and his pelvis pushes against her bum and they both allow for a second of joint ecstasy at being as close as possible once again, Harry is quick to treat her the way she so desperately wants.

His other hand comes up to her hair, pulling it sharply so Y/N’s neck bends back. “Look. Watch as I fuck you.” Incomprehensible noises are forced from her throat, jaw hanging looser with each inch that Harry invades. She’s never been more grateful to have a secluded garden. 

The sight before her rivals one from a porn film—fitting for her sex god of a boyfriend; she could only hope to look pretty enough next to him. Her body bent forward, neck stretched and inviting, back arching with the force of her arms behind her back. Thighs open just enough to fit Harry’s cock into her weepy hole, flesh threatening to rip the underwear that controls their freedom. 

Occasionally the sun will reflect just right and Y/N will notice the glistening of her wetness spread across her mound. Though her eyes soon fall shut with the strength of Harry’s thrusts, unrelenting and point-proving.

“Fuck. Can feel you squeezin’ already.” His words shoot straight to her clit, tingling and buzzing. “So easy, aren’t you, pet?” Y/N nods fruitlessly. “I shouldn’t let you finish,” he threatens against her ear. “Should fill you up with my cum, have you serve your purpose and then thank me for it.”

She pulsates at the thought, at the warmth of feeling him drip down her thighs. Sometimes dripping around the sides of his prick if Harry’s particularly wound up and has a few rounds in him.

“Please,” Y/N cries, sweat beading at her hairline.

Harry groans into her jaw, hips meeting her ass bruisingly. “Yeah? Filthy girl, jus’ my hole, aren’t you?”

“Mhm! Please cum in me, please,” Y/N tries to turn her head, nose bumping into his cheek. She wants a kiss but her brain cannot possibly communicate that to her mouth as it hangs open.

The sounds of skin meeting skin ring in her ears and her throat threatens to cry perfectly timed noises with each thrust. And she’s not sure when it happened but her tits are out of her dress and Harry’s letting go of her hair to palm one roughly as he starts to breathe heavier and heavier.

Body leaden, Y/N’s head falls back to his shoulder and her eyes peel open slightly, watching Harry’s face contort beautifully from above her. She wants it so bad—knows that he’ll always make her finish regardless—needs to walk around in her summer dress and cum-soaked panties. “Please, Daddy. Cum in me.”

The name has Harry groaning, hips stuttering and stilling against her as he paints long, thick stripes inside Y/N. “Thank you!” She cries, his release stimulating her like nothing else. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Despite Harry being the one with orgasm heavy bones, Y/N crumbles, knees buckling as she takes them both to the floor. He braces her fall, arm strong around her waist. His cock stays twitching inside of her, still hard, and he angles her ass into the air as he stands on his knees astride her legs.

“You good, baby?” Harry smooths a hand up her back, pushing her dress out of the way.

Y/N’s arms stretch above her, content to be lying on the hard floor. “Yeah, really good. Thank you, Daddy.”

Harry smiles softly to himself, she’s under. “You wanna cum?”

“Am I allowed? I said some bad things to you.”

“That’s okay. I want you to squeeze on my cock ‘n’ let me fuck my cum into you. Can you do that for me?”

“Uh-huh,” she nods nastily, head turned to the side on the concrete. He’d take care of her later.

“Good girl, nice ‘n’ tight, f’me.”

The noise of their arousal mixing together, probed by Harry’s cock is one he’ll replay in desperate moments alone. Squelching and slicking as he starts up his rough pace once again. Y/N contracts around him in quick, spasming motions—hips attempting to push back from her awkward position. Her tummy is hot and her clit is painfully untouched; she’s sure she’d grind it on the floor if she could reach but Harry’s hands are firm on her hips, angling her just the way he likes as he pounds into her tight hole.

Harry wishes he had his phone to hand—would take enough pictures of the sight before him to last forever. His cum is starting to leak out the sides, dripping down to Y/N’s clit and slicking up his cock. The mess of it all has his eyes rolling back.

“God, y’just perfect. Wanna keep you like this forever. Make you sticky with my cum, then maybe take you out and watch you try to ignore the feeling of it dripping out of you.” Harry slaps her ass and moans as she spasms around him, hands pulling her cheeks apart to reveal her other hole. “Wanna mark you everywhere. Especially here.” He thumbs over the puckered skin. “Fill you up and push in every drop, then give you a pretty plug so it stays inside all day.” Y/N’s shaking, eyes clenched shut and pussy quivering. All Harry has to do is reach around and start rubbing tight circles into her clit and she’s gone.

“Harry! I’m cumming, I’m cumming—D-daddy, thank you.” Harry leans over her back, kissing the side of her face and not slowing down for a second.

“Gimme another,” he whispers, speeding up his thrusts and slapping her clit one, two, three times, vibrations elongating her orgasm and sending her straight into her second one. Harry pulls back, regretfully pulling out for a moment to flip Y/N over and tug her flush against him. He wraps her thighs around his waist and guides her arms around his neck, endeared by her fucked out expression. “Doing so good, honey.” She smiles, eyes closing and nuzzling her face into his neck. Harry thinks if he wasn’t already hard, that smile alone would’ve given him a love boner.

“Jus’ sit all pretty, Daddy’s got you.”

He holds her hips securely, palms encompassing miles of skin, and lifts her just enough to start fucking up into her cunt. Their cum will surely make a mess in their laps but he minds none—goes faster at the very thought, even. Thinks about scooping it up with his fingers and feeding it to Y/N, and then leaning in to get a taste of them together, moaning into her mouth and suckling at her lips like a starved man.

As if she can read his mind, Y/N starts nibbling at his skin, laving her tongue over the drops of sweat that trickle down his neck. Then she pulls back just enough to wilt against his mouth, lips barely responsive but Harry kisses her with all he’s got. And she’s close again, when her heavy hand trails down to start rubbing at her swollen, cum-drenched clit much daintier than Harry had.

“F-feels so good,” she whines against his mouth, happy to let Harry lick against her tongue, “love you.”

Harry whimpers, ���G-god, I love you too. So much, you’re so good, I love you.” Y/N rubs harder, pussy tightening—and Harry fucks harder as they both rest their foreheads on eachother’s shoulders. With her other hand, Y/N holds his bicep, squeezing and scratching as much as she pleases. She barely covers the muscle and Harry can’t help but smile as his orgasm rushes closer.

It’s when she whispers, words garbled and strained, that Harry tips over the edge. “F-fuck me so good, s-so good. G’na make me pregnant—‘n’ full of you.” And it’s his warm spurts that have Y/N cumming as well, pulsating around Harry as she milks him dry. He cums a lot, and the more he does, the longer Y/N’s orgasm lasts—they melt against one another in a mess of moans and gentle rutting, sweaty skin sticking them together. 

Y/N peels her hand from Harry’s arm, seeing the crescent moons she’s left behind and looking up at him guiltily. He smiles, pushing her hair away from her face and leaning down to kiss her nose.

“Felt good,” he promises. “Now I know how much you like them, you can do whatever you want.”

Y/N whines, biting his shoulder playfully. “Shower now, please. We’re gross.”

Harry hums, staying tucked inside and holding her tight to him as he stands on nearly wobbly legs. “Just so you know, if we shower together, I will be naked. Will you be able to contain yourself at the sight of my big, sexy arms?”

She sinks her fingers into the hair on the back of his head and tugs. “Shut up. They’re not even that big.”

“Okay, my love. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles one shots #harry styles blurbs #harry styles imagines #dom!harry #domrry #daddy!harry #harry styles x reader #writing

[stylesharrys]

knight in skinny jeans

summary: y/n gets stood up and harry is her knight in skinny jeans and a fleetwood mac t-shirt.

word count: 2,008

a/n: this is an old patron exclusive fic guys, it is more of a little lengthy blurb but it's something for just you guys! this also has zayn in it i miss him :(

//

In all her years of life, Y/N’s only ever been hauntingly afraid of one thing. Spiders and bugs have never bothered her, and even as a child, she didn’t mind the dark. She seeks comfort in thunderstorms and welcomes the rush of adrenaline when she stands at great heights. She’s not afraid of much, but there’s one thing that makes her wish the ground would swallow her whole.

In retro respect, she supposes it wasn’t the best idea to agree to meet him at the restaurant. And looking back now, she guesses making as much as an effort would only get her hurt.

It doesn’t change where she is now, though—tucked away in the booth with a half-empty glass of water and a grumbling belly. And let’s not forget the overwhelming sense of nausea in the pit of her stomach.

Embarrassment. That’s Y/N’s biggest fear.

Y/N supposes it stems somewhere deep in her childhood, where a traumatising memory takes place that her mind has blocked from remembering.

She’s been stood up. Plain and simple.

He’s over an hour late and not replying to her texts, so she thinks she gets the message.

Y/N feels a little sick. Her hands are clammy, and she can’t seem to stop her knee from bouncing under the table. She gnaws her bottom lip raw, and her eyes are scatty as she gazes over other guests in hopes they’re not all looking at her and realise what’s going on.

She’s never been stood up before, and in a classy restaurant such as she’s in now, dressed to the nines, it only makes matters worse. If she stands up and walks out, everyone will know she’s been stood up. But she can’t sit and wait around, either.

Y/N feels like they already know—like they’re snickering under their breaths and all eyes are on her.

She’s wrong. No one has noticed yet, and she needs to get out of the damn booth before another waiter comes over with a pitty-filled smile and asks if she’d like to order or not.

Maybe she’s lucky her tea dress can be considered a little casual, and perhaps if she plays her cards right and leaves smiling, people may think she’s left early from dinner with a group of friends.

Y/N knows she shouldn’t be overthinking it this much, but she is. Her chest and neck feel hot with heat, and her eyes are prickling with tears as her nose starts to tingle. She needs to get out of here.

Y/N clears her throat and reaches for her little purse, standing and evening out her outfit. She’s put the bag over her shoulder as she manoeuvres through dim, candle-lit tables to make for the restroom.

She tries to keep a light smile on her face when she brushes past a brisk waiter before pushing into the toilets. It’s empty inside, the harsh lights reflecting over her and highlighting her most unattractive features. She closes the door and makes for the line of sinks, a long mirror coating the wall behind them.

Y/N lets out a shaky breath and braces herself against the counter. She can feel her eyes starting to water, the way she loses control, and her lower lip begins to tremble. She can feel the way her knees start to buckle, how her head grows fuzzy, and everything becomes too much.

She feels stupid. How could she believe she had a chance with someone like Daniel fucking Morell? The idea of seeing him again in class next week is disgusting to her. So much so that she starts to wonder if it’s too late to change her major completely.

Boys are horrible.

Y/N takes another deep breath and stands taller. She straightens her back and plasters on her most believable smile. Her theory is: if nobody sees her sad, how can they have pity?

With her shoulders held high, Y/N pushes her way out of the bathroom and through the restaurant. She walks with ease, lets people believe the glimmer in her eyes is pure happiness and confidence. She doesn’t let them look long enough to realise they’re tears of overwhelming sadness and embarrassment.

She knows she’ll cry the night out when she gets back to the safety of her dorm room.

Y/N doesn’t spare anyone another glance before she pushes out the glass doors of the expensive restaurant and it’s when the cold air of the splintering night hits her, that she feels the heaviness of the situation sit heavy on her shoulders.

She was finally asked on a date by one of the most popular boys on campus -- the boy she’s been crushing on for the longest time -- the boy that they all know is well out of her league. And he stood her up, plain and simple. He told her he’d meet her at the restaurant, and then he ignored her texts.

She wouldn’t be surprised if she rounded the corner and found him and his friends waiting for her just to sit and point and laugh.

Stupid, Y/N. Stupid!

It’s pretty quiet outside (save for a few girls to her left that she briefly recognises from school, and a couple is waiting for a taxi to her right).

She reaches into her purse for her phone, reckons she’ll just call a taxi rather than walking a mile and a half home. The cold air bites at Y/N’s skin, and she’s a shivering mess of nerves and anxiety. She feels naked; like everyone knows she was just stood up.

She needs to stop caring so much what people think.

But it’s when she’s typing away at the Uber app that the girls from moments ago approach her. Y/N looks up from her phone, brows raised slightly and while they all seem vaguely familiar, she doesn’t recall any of their names.

“Y/N, right? We share Mr Harris’ class on Thursdays.”

She’s pretty, Y/N acknowledges. Soft brown hair and gorgeous tan skin. She’s got lean legs and a cute button nose -- captivating brown eyes and if it wasn’t for the fact that she’s incredibly intimidating, Y/N thinks she could quickly develop a bit of a crush on the unnamed girl.

Y/N nods. “Yeah. I don’t know your names, though…” she eases off with a gentle chuckle -- one that suggests discomfort but neither of the other three girls say anything.

They shrug her off, waving their hands with a dismissive headshake. “Doesn’t matter. What are you doing here?” The same girl from before speaks again, and Y/N can feel that lump bubbling up her throat.

Her voice has grown louder as she asks the question and Y/N knows she’s about to be outed for being stood up. She doesn’t look around her; she can’t bring herself to. Instead, she pretends her face and neck aren’t scorched burnt and keeps that unconvincing smile on her face.

She doesn’t realise that the loudness of their tone catches the attention of a certain boy that also happens to attend the same college and share a fair few classes with all four girls.

Harry’s brows knit together as he passes off the lit cigarette to another of his friends. They’ve just left the pub, and he’s a few beers under, but if anything, he only feels more aware of his surroundings. He strains his ears to listen in, can already gather something’s going on.

Y/N’s back is toward the group of them, and all Harry can see is the smug grin on Chelsey’s face. He grimaces. She’s always been a cunt. But then he sees her lips move.

“Where’s your date? You’re not here alone… are you?”

Harry doesn’t bother to tell his friends he’ll be right back. Instead, he palms off his drink to Zayn and exhales the last puff of smoke he didn’t realise he was holding in. There was no way in hell he was about to let Chelsey and her two minions gang up on some (no doubt) innocent and nice enough girl.

His feet kick over to them. He sees the back of Y/N’s head, but he doesn’t recognise her from the position. Her hair is down, she’s got on a pretty tea dress with black tights and some little black booties. Even from a few feet away, Harry can see she’s shivering and cowering into herself.

He takes a deep breath and shrugs off his jacket, leaving him bare to the cold air in just a pair of skinny jeans and his old Fleetwood Mac t-shirt. He approaches the four of them, and Chelsey clocks him first, but he takes no notice.

“Sorry babe, boys were taking ages.” His raspy voice is what has Y/N turning around and Harry’s setting his jacket across her shoulders and pulling her into him.

She looks up, completely bewildered but when she recognises him, she relaxes just a little. She knows Harry from classes, and she’s worked a project or two with him before. They’re friendly, sure, but she’s confused as to why he’d willingly save her off his own back.

She feigns a warm smile, though it’s half genuine. She thinks he’s her knight in skinny jeans.

Harry smiles down at her just the same, and he finally recognises who it is he’s saved and he’s a little surprised. He didn’t peg Y/N to be the type of girl to be stood up. Harry reckons she’s a pretty cool girl; kind and funny, super-smart, too. And she looks extra pretty, now he’s really looking at her.

He can tell she’s made an effort for her date tonight and the fact that she’s been stood up makes him a little agitated.

“S’okay. Know how they can be.”

Y/N plays into it leisurely, coddling into his side. She sets a hand on his chest as she rubs over his left peck and Harry chances it to reach down to give her a tender kiss to the top of her head.

He finally addresses the girls.

“What we chattin’ about?” He stuffs a hand in his pocket and bites back a laugh at the look of pure disgust on Chelsey’s face.

She scoffs to herself, but Y/N doesn’t give her a chance to say anything. “They were just making sure I had a lift home. Girls looking out for girls, just like we should.”

Harry knows Y/N’s lying through her teeth, but he doesn’t say anything -- decides to nod and play along. He hums. “Hate to cut it short then, but the boys are gonna go to The Napier. D’ya fancy goin’ or d’ya jus’ wanna go home? S’whatever you want, love.”

She stares at him for a moment, ponders what he’s offering. Harry hopes she gets the hint that he’s actually offering, that if she doesn’t want to come, he’ll get her an Uber home. Y/N hopes that’s exactly what he’s doing, and she can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s actually offering.

“The Napier sounds good to me.” Y/N grins wide, snuggling into his side and Harry says nothing about how fast her heart is pounding against the side of his ribs.

She’s thankful, knees nearly buckling that he came and saved her, and she reckons she could actually cry. She turns back to the girls, ignores the tingly of her nose. “Thanks for checking in girls. I’ll see you Thursday?”

They don’t have the chance to reply because Harry is pulling Y/N away and toward his small group of friends, and Zayn has been watching the whole thing with a teasing smirk and a raised brow.

“Thank you so much.” Y/N finally breathes out in relief. Harry’s arm is still thrown over her shoulder, so he gives her a reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t mention it. Have a few drinks wi’ us and forget ’bout whoever stood ya up. He’s a knob anyway, doesn’t deserve a good girl like you.” Harry kisses the top of her head again, and Y/N all but melts into his touch.

“I’ll be your date tonight instead.”

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #imagine harry styles #harry styles x you #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagines

[1800titz]

Hi friends! I’ve been sitting on this for about 3 months now and had the spontaneous urge to share. More lengthy authors note is over on wattpad. ٩(◕‿◕)۶

This one is going to be a long, chaptered fic, and here's the first chapter!

Also, big thank you to Miss @freedomfireflies for her help brainstorming <3

WC: 6.5K

Harry thinks that prissy, pretty little princesses stowed away in his cabin, tied up with ropes like haphazard, shibari interpretations, outweigh all chests, upon chests, of dainty sapphire emblems and chunky pendants of gold. This particular …treasure, in fact, is worth far beyond her weight in pure gold. A sight for sore eyes, too. Still sopping from the sea, her low-cut neckline clinging to her flesh and her skirt sheerly draped over her parted thighs. 

It’s a nice view. 

Seren doesn’t know how she’s ended up strapped to some horribly uncomfortable stool in a rocking room that’s wood, ceiling to floor. 

Well. 

She knows that the boat she was on was a victim of piracy. She knows that the ship, aimed for Holland, met an unsightly demise at some point, in open ocean, between Rotterdam and Harwich. She knows she’d been in a cabin of the Mary when the first strike landed, when flames erupted over the forecastle, when the deck turned to screams and a beautiful morning of calm skies, wisps of white she’d admired minutes prior, meant virtually nothing to the tightening in her chest. 

The pirate leans back against the wall. His eyes, like emeralds, wind over her shape. She grits at the balled fabric between her teeth, chest heaving. He’s a man — a man’s man, unlike in appearance to the men she’s used to spending her pastime around, back home. The kinds who wither at the sight of the wrong fork at the dinner table or something, and turn their noses up at the thought of carrying something heavier than forty pounds. The kind whose hair coils pristinely, seemingly solidified rock in place. The kind who carry umbrellas to ward off the glaring rays of the sunlight as they stroll through the courtyard of shrubbery in their fancy shoes and fancy garments. This man is not that type of man. 

He’s different, she can see it just in the way he carries himself. He’s not scared to get his hands dirty, he’s not scared to do the work. The crest of his left cheekbone wears a scar, a nick, so small she wouldn’t see it had he not stepped into the buttery beam of the daylight cast through the little window on the precipice of wall and ceiling, particles of dust dancing in the makeshift spotlight. His fingers, adorned with chunky rings, his hands — they’re calloused, like a laborer. She can see it from her view. His garb is simple, clad over his skin for purpose and comfort, solely. 

But simple isn’t the term she’d deem best to describe him, not with his myriad of accessories, from the trinkets glinting from his holster, to his plethora of rings, to the mysterious, rusted key that dangled in the glen between his pecs. That one’s highlighted against bare skin in the vale of his haphazardly unbuttoned shirt. From there, she can see ink over his torso, carved in shapes over swarthy flesh. All sorts of pictures; beaks, and wings, lines of careful shading and others of jet emphasis; thicker, deeper sketches in contrast.  

He’s clean shaven, which is unlike any pirate Seren’s ever heard tall tales of. His mouth is pink, cushiony in shape, and when the corners of his mouth turn up, dimples wink awake beside the curl. An even slope of a nose, and jade irises that brew with mischief. Seren can almost see the way that the flinty shade would brew with a storm, like the sea. If he wasn't a pirate of the boat that’d throttled her own, sent it spiraling into the ocean as nothing but husks of chipped wood and dying ember, maybe she’d find an alluring quality to him. But it’s not food for thought. 

“Should we try again?” he prompts, in his tantalizing cadence. 

When she’d heard him speak, for the first time, she was floored. An Englishman. An Englishman, youthful and spry,  sailing a pirate ship, and pillaging when so much more could be in the books for such a man. So much potential, wasted. What a crying shame. She’d heard of pirates, of brutish criminals from her homeland, but they were always, for some reason or another, older, unprepossessing, scarred and crude with unkempt beards and a lack of morals, too far gone to redeem. They had eyes much too hungry for riches, and lewd, groping hands that were much too focused on flesh. Seren eyes his hands. They’re colossal. He hasn’t touched her in that way, not like that, but the lazy smirk over his plush mouth, the way his irises rake over her neckline, down the meshified front of her dress — that practically urges her not to count her blessings too soon. 

When he squats just ahead of her, watching her in pause, his eyes glinting with this sort of condescension, because she’s indisposed and at his whim, Seren wishes her legs weren’t bound to the legs of the chair. She’d kick him, if she could. She’d scream, and kick, and claw, and—

“Are you going to start shouting again? Is that what you’re thinking about?” he murmurs, the corners of his mouth buckling. When she’s unable to respond, for obvious reasons, the man cups his palm over the shell of his right ear and twists his head a tad, leaning towards her a smidge. 

“M’gonna need an answer, if you’d like to me to un-gag you. M’specifically gonna need a no,” the pirate prompts, a jesting air to his tone that Seren would love to crush. Her chest is still heaving from the last screaming fit, from the first time he’d tugged at the rope pressing to her cheeks and pulled the smushed fabric off of her tongue. His mouth twitches wryly. 

He plants his forearms onto his thighs, casting his gaze to her as he weighs out the options, lips crooked, but eyes narrowed, just a bit, in a way that wordlessly suggests she comply. 

“Let’s give this another go.” 

When the man digs his forefinger under the abrasive rope and yanks it down, over her chin, and then plucks at the outside of the makeshift gag, Seren doesn’t nip at his fingertips. She’d tried that, the first time, but he’d retracted before her teeth could come into contact, his mouth jolting at the fire within her he’d underestimated. She expected a smack, she’d expected her neck to twist as her cheek bruised in response to the attempt, but he’d just stuck his tongue against his cheek, all mirthy, until she’d started to scream. Then he’d gagged her again. 

So. 

That was a failure. 

The second the back of her throat meets the air, rather than the garbling cloth, the young woman starts screaming. Again. He’d kind of expected it. It’s a very lovely attempt, she’s quite loud, and all, but unfortunately, her efforts are sort of moot. That kind of thing tends to happen when you’re miles, and miles, and miles out in the open sea aboard a ship of men who work for the opposing team. Harry would clap if he wasn’t putting on a show of tucking a finger into his ear at her shrill cries. Eventually, he just watches her, letting her scream for a bit, and she holds seething eye contact as her help rises in pitch. 

“Okay— alright,” Harry shakes his head, balling the cloth, daubed with her saliva, and shoving it past her lips haphazardly. She attempts to spit, but can only wriggle as he presses the rope back over her mouth like the task is effortless. 

For a moment, neither of them say anything. The princess can’t. Harry tuts. 

His tone carries notes of amusement when he tells her, “You’re quite pitchy. D’you know that?” 

Seren stares him down. 

“Have you got rocks in your head?” his lips nearly jolt up at the blunt nature of his own inquiry. They don’t. “I tell you not to scream,” he waves with an arm, “you scream anyways. I say, let’s try one more time, because— you know. Maybe you didn’t get the memo, the first time.”

The princess watches him talk, bemused. He gestures with his arm like a tired parent, stressed and lecturing a menacing, little child. 

“And you yell again. So I’m wondering, have you got rocks in your head?” 

Seren says nothing. She does wriggle in the restraints, like his question has insulted her enough to launch at him. But she stills when he squats ahead of her, once more, her heart hammering behind her ribcage. 

“Who’s going to rescue you?” the pirate asks. It’s obviously rhetorical, and he knows she can comprehend that much. When the roll of her chest slows and she settles back, he can see it in her eyes that his point has left her crestfallen. His mouth quirks, and Harry presses again. “Who?” 

When he knows that the message has sunk in, when she stares at the wall behind him, blankly, the only evidence of her consciousness being her glazed over gaze and the flare of her nostrils on every inhale, Harry sighs down at his palms and shakes his head. 

“I’d just like a chat.” 

Seren twists her head away. As much as the binding over her neck and face allows for, anyways. Harry tuts. 

“So glum. You’re alive, aren’t you?” he cocks his head, voice low, “You’re not at the bottom of the sea. Not like your little boat.” 

Those words hit a nerve, he can see it in the way she side-eyes him, the flame reignited, kindling in her scorching gaze. The pirate nods down at his hands, twisting a ring with a ruby red gem, like a shitty mockery of a moment of silence. 

“It can’t possibly be comfortable, sitting with your mouth full, like that. And you must be thirsty, what with all that saltwater you were gargling,” he raises a shoulder, a coy reasoning to his speech. 

Seren doesn’t want his stupid water. He’d probably poison her, have his way, and roll her off the ship, back into the raging waters he’d pulled her from. Harry blinks. She doesn’t offer an inkling to show that she’s willing to comply, but he stands and reaches for the rope, digging the pads of his fingers under the binding, over her cheek. His forefinger brushes the corner of her parted lips. 

“Third time’s the charm.” 

Though, he doesn’t sound the least bit convincing, not even to his own ears. He cradles the square of cloth between his fingertips and listens to her screams for a moment. 

And then he startles her when he starts to harmonize with her screeching pleas. The first one is enough for her vocal chords to stutter, for her to jolt back in her seat, alarmed. 

“HELP!” Harry calls, stretching the vowel outweighing her own scream in volume as the young woman’s own dies off, and the princess balks, startling in the ropes at the sound. He takes a pause for a deep breath, and screams again, “HELP!” banging on the wooden beams over the ceiling, bumping with his palm loudly, in an outrageous display that’s clearly meant to taunt. The sound of him striking it, alone, causes her to jump in her restraints.

He’s unhinged. Seren is convinced. Her spine straightens out like an arrow, and her shoulders square as she ogles the bizarre display, watching him strike over the ceiling, the walls, stamp the soles of his boots against the floorboards. After a second, he settles down. His hand is crooked against one of the beams overhead, and his gaze roves over her slowly. Purposefully. The corners of his mouth curl up sardonically. 

“It’s not a very nice sound, is it?” 

He’s deranged. His screws are loose, Seren decides, her eyes still wide as the racing pace of her heart settles in her chest — but any man who sinks ships for fun, in the open sea, who sails and pillages, and murders innocents with a hunger for riches, has screws loose. These aren’t insightful revelations. Maybe she’d just expected him to be less …bizarre, in their interrogation. He was going to get his answers out of her — they were his, they were going to be, and there’s no kidding about it — but the young woman is unsure of what answers he’s looking for or why. Why, why, why. Why did these pirates sink her boat? It was nothing but a small ferry in comparison to the opposing monster of a galleon. It wasn’t even a merchant ship, there were no riches to be stolen. Ironically, the pirate reaches a hand out, and Seren fidgets until his fingers clasp over her ruby pendant. He lifts it from her skin with prodding fingertips and a gaze of scrutiny. 

She won’t give him answers, the princess decides. Whatever dialogue he may want from her, she won’t comply. She doesn’t know what he has in store for her lack of subservience, but she doesn’t care. She will not bend her will for this mangy brute. 

“This is a pretty piece.” 

Loose tendrils, clumped wetly, sway as she jerks her neck to tug the pendant from his grasp. She fails. His digits twitch and flex over the pendant, and the chain digs into the skin at the back of her neck with the faulty motion. The corners of his mouth quirk up as the princess makes an mmph. 

That’s a pretty sound. 

“M’not going to steal it. What kind of a man do you take me for? We’re good men here, on this ship,” the pirate declares, a sort of vehement passion to his statement, but the crook of his mouth says it’s an unlikely story. 

So do the remnants of her boat, somewhere at the bottom of the sea, Seren thinks dryly. Maintaining eye contact, he lets the pendant settle back between her collarbones. It is a pretty piece, Harry wasn’t lying. Real gold, too — no princess would wear something less. But he’s got no need to pilfer it from her. Every molecule of her being, every cell, will pay out tenfold the cost of the necklace. It’s with that thought that he fixes the gag back into place and leaves her, trussed to that chair in the cabin. 

“Ta,” the pirate bids in his slow roam towards the door, a glance aimed over his as he tucks his fingertips into the belt holstering his array of daggers, one handle bejeweled. The look he fixes her is sure, the kind that’s relaxed, but showcases that his word is final and will be the outcome. “Chat soon.” 

Fun fact; being tied to a shoddy, little wooden chair for hours on end fucking blows. Especially when your hands are bound, in such a way where the rope weaves through the pegs of the back of the chair, keeping your joints wrung together tightly. It’s really aggravating to have a coarse rope, its weaving splintered with pinprick-y tufts, stuck up over your cheeks to hold some sordid rag in place between your teeth. 

It’s safe to say that the experience is not one of Seren’s most favorite past-times. She’s not sure how much time has passed before that heavy wooden door creaks open on its hinges, again. Only a few hours, it must be. The crack of a window behind her hasn’t broken with nightfall, though the light cast through its opening has dimmed, if only a little. 

It’s the same pirate as before. All glimmery jade and the bare vale of tanned skin from the unbuttoned sector of his shirt, where she makes out a faint dusting of chest hair, between his pecs. 

The princess is still a gorgeous view, in Harry’s opinion. Her thighs are still splayed, but her cream dress has dried some, now, and so has her hair. It’s wild, mussed and frizzy. A half-soaked clump rests over one of her eyes. 

“Hello to you, too, darling,” he says in response to the glare she fastens him with through the one that’s visible, like instant daggers. The corners of his mouth crook. He ambles toward her with a steel cup of …something. Something mysterious, something unknown, something she eyes warily up until the point where he’s towering over her. The young woman tears her gaze away, casting it up to his handsome face, instead. 

He pries and tucks his digits up under the rope that’s settled over her cheeks and drawn ruddy hues, but he pauses before he pulls it down. 

“Y’gonna get loud?” 

Seren doesn’t say anything. In fact, she sort of can’t, which is quite nice, Harry thinks, but she doesn’t even make a garbled sound to appease or amuse him. The captain is thankful for what little fragments of peace he’s been granted before he’s forced to endure her ludicrously grating screeching. He weighs his options for a moment, but ultimately, tugs. 

Of course, the second he’s pulled the cloth out, the young woman is screaming, of-fucking-course she’s screaming. And at this point, it’s so obviously a ploy to irritate him, and Harry would laugh if the whole display wasn’t so vexing. There’s a tick in his jaw when he sets the lip of the tin cup to her parted, strawberry mouth, roughly — and he wouldn’t be so rough if she wasn’t so fucking loud — and tips. Instantly, that shout is garbled by liquid. It morphs into a cough and a much more tolerable string of sputters, as water leaks over and drenches down her chin, her chest, the front of her dress. 

“There we go,” the pirate says, the smooth baritone of his cadence louder over the fit of her coughing, “Attagirl. That’s much better.” 

He doesn’t tip more of the beverage into her mouth — a ransom on a princess who’s drowned in her own lungs is worth virtually nothing — and lets her cough and sputter a little longer. She strings together a sequence of breaths he deems good enough, before he smushes the rim of the metal cup back against her bottom lip. 

“Drink,” Harry advises and nudges the tin back in a way, again, so that the liquid sloshes and spills out into her open mouth. 

This time, she doesn’t cough. She expects it, the water. The princess affixes her top lip lower to siphon the beverage and takes a few swallows. Harry watches her throat bob, and he watches a little rivulet escape, too, dribbling down the corner of her mouth in a little streak. It drips down her chin, down her neck. His pupils follow the trail. He gives her a little break part-way, once the tin is close to empty and her neck is craned back with the swallows. He draws it away. Good. That was good, nice and easy. As easy as it could be, given the circumstances. 

Except she fixes him with this horrible glare, again, as he pulls the cup away. This glare that speaks volumes, this glower that should warn him of his error before he lets it happen. Harry doesn’t catch the drift. Only a glimpse of her cheeks puffing before she puckers her lips and spits the remnants at him, coating the bottom-most half of his linen with a mist of the water. His belt too, and a bit of his trousers. 

And then her mouth is empty and she’s just scowling at him, head tipped down in a way so that the chunk of her frizzy tendrils settles back over an eye. Harry doesn’t waste a second before angling the cup, miffed, and flinging what little water is left in the cup right back in her face. 

And the way her eyes screw shut, the way her lips fall open in silent appall the second he returns the energy, (except, he’s far more polite, in his humble opinion. He doesn’t spit at her like an improper animal), when she’s doused in the chilled liquid, and it coats the face-framing layers of her hair, her lashes, and drips down her chin — that’s the highlight of his day. 

He doesn’t instantly fix the gag back into her mouth, or slip the rope back over her irritated skin. He watches her, his jaw set, and when the young woman opens her eyes, she sees that storm brewing, manifesting — the kind she’d only imagined prior, in the flinty green of his irises. Like he’s harnessing his own composure. But then he takes a step back, and just. Leans against the closed door. Like he’s scoping her with his gaze. Like she’s just this shiny thing for his sight to pore over. 

And Seren thinks that feels worse than if she were to face the bite of his skin against her own, the swat of his palm against her cheek. She’d rather that, honestly. 

Her skin is cold from the water. She’s still sort of reeling that he’d done that, to begin with. He’s drumming the pads of his fingers against his bicep, over the nearly-sheer, cream sleeve of his shirt when he asks, a serious note of authority to the molasses of his speech, “Do you know who I am?” 

Seren curbs parroting the question wryly. As much as she’d love to tell him her father will torch the ship he rides upon and hang every member of his crew, him and his stupid fucking dimples included, she’s sure that all she’ll receive in response is a grating twitch of his pink mouth. 

“Hm?” he prods, making a show of cupping a palm behind his ear and steering his torso forward a smidge, half-expecting her response to be a series of shrill cries, for the hell of it.

Her answer is not one he expects. Frankly, the man doesn’t expect an intelligible response, the history of her opting for incoherent shouts, considered. But she speaks, afterall. It’s soft in decibel, feminine, and pleasant — her voice, unlike the aimless yelling he’d become accustomed to. Even still, it carries that undeniable note of derision. 

Seren tells him, “Someone …terribly disturbed.” 

Harry almost can’t help the way his cushiony mouth quirks. 

Almost. 

“Disturbed?” he scoffs, sardonically mirthy, “She spits at me like a fucking …filthy animal, and I’m disturbed. Aye, I’m disturbed.” 

The princess makes daggers with the gaze she sends in his direction. He lets her simmer in the wake of the light insult, for a moment, just drumming over his bicep, his mouth twitching in a kind of way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“I’m the captain of this ship,” Harry supplies softly, jade narrowed. 

There’s a twitch to her face then, something that slots by and withers in the blink of an eye. Something like recognition. And, fucking finally, Harry thinks — he can practically hear the angels croon at the crumbs of reception, from her, to his authority. 

“That means,” he motions out with the cup, his other arm still crossed, fingers wrapped about his waist now, “I’m in charge.” 

His voice is soft-spoken, a croon that spells it out for her, if she hasn’t already caught the drift. 

“I’m in charge of this ship. This crew,” he takes a step forward, ducking his chin as his eyebrows tip up a bit, “And you. And that means I’m in charge of what happens to you. So don’t you think it’s in your best interest to behave?” 

If he expects her to bow down and kiss the toes of his scuffed boots, the young woman doesn’t bite the bait. 

“You’re nothing but a mangy sea brute,” Seren declares, then, her chin held audaciously high, despite the ropes binding over her breasts and the foreboding ocean that sways beyond, with ravenous threat. He could lug her off onto the deck and chuck her off the plank, tied just like this. 

He doesn’t.  

He just stays leant against the wall, arms crossed over his bare chest. 

“Mangy sea brutes,” the pirate weighs her words, nodding slowly as he purses his lips in deliberation. And then his brows pinch together, “that’s quite insulting, actually. I take pride in my appearance, I’ll have you know.” 

“Mangy,” the young woman confirms, venom in her tone. 

The pirate props himself up and off, taking a languid step, each syllable of his cadence laced with condescension, “Now, rugged—“ and open mouthed smirk, a nudge with his chin, “I’ll accept. You don’t think I spend time in front of the mirror, darling? Mangy. What a rude word. I wasn’t aware that Siren, Princess of Essex was so abrasive.” 

There’s a flicker of something in her eyes when they flash to him — something like sharp surprise, mottled with pique. Like she didn’t expect him to know who exactly he was harboring upon his ship. The corners of his mouth crook. She’s seemingly appalled that he’s done his research. The glint of shock is gone, as soon as it shows itself. 

“Oh,” the captain takes a slow step forward in this sort of way, as if his body language is entirely meant to taunt her, hand in hand with his tongue, “I see. You thought I didn’t know who you were. Just some nameless, pretty little thing on my ship.” 

It’s a purposeful dig — the mispronunciation of her name. It’s only a vowel off, it could be chalked up to simple error, but it’s blatantly to mock her. Really, it’s a funny little dub since she enjoys spending so much screeching like the nuisance of a blaring alarm that just won’t shut off. It’s meant to demean her, to belittle her, because not even her name, blue-blooded and all, is worth correct pronunciation. That’s what she seems to hone on from the whole revelation, Harry finds. 

“Seren,” she corrects with bite, that same glower she’d worn prior reincarnated. 

The man takes another step. He cups behind his ear, and Seren promises herself that the moment she’s freed, she’ll personally chop off his stupid fucking ear for all the times he’d cupped behind that shell of it that way, so condescending. “What was that?” 

“Seren,” the young woman scowls, “Seren, Princess of Essex.”

He pauses, a cinch in his brows with this patronizing nod, like he’s weighing her correction, and then he tells her, motioning with an arm as the cinch relaxes, “Siren, Seren. Tomato, tomato.”

He motions with his palm nonchalantly. She wants to bite at his fingers. She doesn’t. 

“How dare you?” the young woman says instead. 

Harry’s mouth quirks. How dare he? What a pompous inquiry, molded by prissy lips. 

“How dare I?” the pirate repeats, and then just lifts his shoulder in a casually apathetic shrug. He takes a third step forward, raspberry lips smug and curled, “I just… dare.” 

And before the princess can voice her obnoxious protest, he shoves the cloth into her mouth and tugs up the rope, plucking a garbled sound of anger from her in the process. 

The silence is wonderful. 

By the time Harry returns to her for the third time, it’s well past nightfall. Light stops leaking from the crack of the window. Seren watches the shift, the way it rolls as the hours tick by, in the room. It morphs from behind her, its bright gold slipping into a darker orange, mottled with pink, and then dimmer, and dimmer, and dimmer, as minutes leak away, until all that’s left is dusk and the glow of the moonlight. 

The door creaks. She almost doesn’t see it, but she hears the pad of his boots over the wood and twists her neck to catch the sight of his legs as he steps through the threshold. 

“Honey, I’m home,” the pirate calls. 

Her eyes strain their sockets to catch the moonlight cresting off his cheekbones as his head dips, the dimpling that rises awake beside the corners of his mouth as they turn up at his own jest. He’s holding something. The captain winds around her, through the coat of darkness, and settles somewhere she can’t see. A thump, like something being set onto a table. Then, soft breaths fill the void of the silence. A strike of a match. Her eyes are forced to adjust to a warm, buttery glow as the little beam of fire, merged to a lantern, and then another, sends gold bouncing wall to wall. 

That’s when Harry sees that she's managed to make a home for herself on the floor, the chair she’s been restrained to tipped on its side. He almost doesn’t think anything of it, for a split second, but then, as the pads of his digits work buttons through their slits to disrobe, the pirate casts his gaze up for a double take. A twisted coil of satisfaction blooms in his chest as he observes her, the thought that whatever faulty maneuver she’d made to escape had resulted in this, and, well. That makes something joyful and mean bud. 

Seren listens to his boots, the step of them slow against the floorboards, until she sees him towering over her, in her peripherals. Her pupils shift. 

“Comfortable?” his brows climb with emphasis. The work of his fingertips over the buttons on his shirt are sluggish. Tired. She notes that motion, too — that fact that he’s actively shedding clothes. Nonchalantly. And it must show in her eyes, then. Something vulnerable, something uncomfortable, something raw, and petrified, because, yeah, she’s a petulant, little princess strapped to a chair in his cabin, against her will, and she fights him tooth and nail in every instance that he comes to visit her. But she’s a princess strapped to a chair, against her will, and it’s nightfall, and his skin is growing more bare, square inch by square inch, as the seconds pass. 

He must note that — whatever that shows, because the quirk of his priorly mirthy, strawberry mouth slips a tad. And then his features shape something relaxed. Something tired, again. Like he’s too worn. 

The sarky comment has those same traces of exhaustion seeping into it as his dismissive gaze disengages, honing on the work of his digits as he loops the final button through, “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. You’re not my type.”

The cloth slips apart, showcasing more skin. A line of hair from below his belly button, in soft, dark wisps that melts off behind his belt. Sturdy muscles of his abdomen that ripple as he moves, chin ducked—

His palms cup over the belt of holsters, and that clinks as he discards it, too, winding around to, she assumes, set it somewhere. And then, more skin to pore over when he returns, the sharp cut of a V, decorated with laurels, emphasized by the low hang of his trousers. He cocks his head down at her, like he’s contemplating. Contemplating what, Seren’s unsure. He moves out of her line of sight again. 

Her arm aches. She’d tipped over onto it what felt like hours ago, and it’d taken the brunt of the fall, lodged against the side of the chair with the situation of her joints being married in the bindings, behind her. She’d managed to roll forward on her shoulder, just a tad, so that the press against it wasn’t constant, but it still fucking hurt. Her palms, down to the tips of her digits, were numb, she had this heinous crick in her neck, and she’s sure that the moment she’s able to stand her tailbone will hurt like hell. If she’s ever allowed to stand again. Maybe he’ll hurl her into the open ocean, strapped to this godforsaken chair, afterall. 

For now, he just hauls her up. His touch — warm — skims the opposite arm before his palm wraps over the beam over the back of the chair and tugs, leveling her with ease. The young woman squeaks against the gag as she hovers, terrified to drop straight onto the limb again. She doesn’t. The pirate sets her straight with a tired grunt. His sight scales her arm, the one she’d toppled onto, and Seren can’t see, but she assumes it’s not in the most pristine condition. And then his touch smooths over the ache, a crease over his brow bone as his eyes pry, and she bristles. 

His mouth twitches, but it’s tired. Tired after having to deal with her, tired from whatever he’d spent his time doing beyond the cabin. Tired after sinking her ship and taking her hostage, Seren thinks bitterly. How exhausting. And Harry takes his hand away. 

From her new, upright view, she can see that little metal cup — the same one he’d brought her hours earlier. He’s set it onto the table, and she knows it wasn’t there before, which means he’s brought it with new water. Seren turns her head to face it. It’s the most she can manage given that she can’t tell him what she wants, what with the gag and all. 

“Thirsty?” he notes, chin over his shoulder in her direction as he shimmies the sleeves of his shirt off. Seren eyes the expanse of naked skin as it expands, from cuts of muscle to ink sunk into the flesh of his arm. Certainly, if she wasn’t before. 

The princess doesn’t answer. She can’t, and she’s not going to resort to a string of pathetic hums to get his attention. The captain sets his shirt onto the table in a pile of disarray, beside his belt, and takes the cup. When he makes his way over to her, Seren’s eyes don’t follow his figure. And for a moment, there’s only a deliberative sort of silence. She doesn’t look until he talks, until his tone is far more serious than she’s heard thus far. 

“If you spit it at me again, I will personally make sure you lick it back up, off the floorboards.” 

And wisely, she doesn’t spit the liquid back up at him when he tugs the gag free and tips the rim of the cup against her mouth. Seren doesn’t doubt he’s the type of man to follow through on his words. But that’s not why she drinks — she drinks because she’s fucking thirsty. Her tongue’s gone dry, and the back of her throat pinpricks with an uncomfortable soreness, and because the lukewarm liquid feels good spilling down her throat. She cranes her neck back, throat bobbing, and doesn’t stop until he’s pulled the cup away himself, and a little rivulet of water dribbles down the corner of her mouth. She takes a big gulp of air and expels it. 

And then, with angry sorts of eyes, the princess declares, “I’m hungry.” 

“You’re hungry,” the pirate mirrors, but it’s only wryly amused — his tired, sardonic smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and he sets the cup back onto the table with little urgency to get her food. “We don’t offer room service.” 

“You haven’t fed me once today,” Seren declares indignantly when he winds behind her, out of sight. And then there’s a sigh and a creak, the kind that seeps from mattress springs compressing. “This is— this is cruel, I’ll have you know. This is torture, this is—“ 

“Thank you for your honest review, we’ll make sure to take your feedback into account,” Harry chimes at her in true, facetious fashion, scrubbing over his eyes with a palm as he knees his way onto the bed. And then the pirate tells her, with a more serious note to his drawl, before she has a chance to interject with another complaint, “If you’re going to talk all night, I’m going to put your gag back in until the morning.” 

Seren doesn’t say anything. Finally, she doesn’t say anything at all, and it’s splendid. It’s peace and quiet, and all he hears, for a perfect moment, is the creak of the wood and the subdued roar of the waves. 

“I don’t want to stare at the wall,” the princess speaks, eventually, like a petulant child. “Why am I staring at the wall?”

“Because …that’s the way the chair’s facing,” Harry responds, matter-of-factly and almost instantly, sure that a note of irritation has managed to teem into the words despite his best efforts. He will not let her know that her efforts of poking are chipping at his composure, he won’t. 

And for another moment, Seren doesn’t say anything. He lets his eyes drift shut. 

“I want to face you,” the princess says, eventually, and her tone implies she’s taken the bridge of silence to build the phrase up into something more demanding, something royal and authoritative. If he wasn’t so fucking tired he’d laugh. 

“You want to watch me sleeping?” she hears the pirate from behind her, his honey-smooth drawl grown raspy and lower from, seemingly, exhaustion, “That’s an odd request.” 

Her brows furrow as a scowl paints her mouth. The bed creaks in the gap of quiet. Every hair stands on end when, suddenly, he’s inches from her, his presence looming and warm from behind, with calloused fingertips brushing the side of her neck in their venture towards that godforsaken gag. 

“Just turn me!” Seren shrieks, “Just turn me, and I’ll be quiet!” 

He doesn’t put the gag in. He winds around her, hand still on the rope, his features shaped with apathetic seriousness, “If I turn you because you want me to turn you, what good am I at putting my foot down? Hm?”

Seren blinks up at him.

“Please,” the princess tells him, hushed and earnest, “I don’t feel …safe.” 

His brows twitch. There’s something that blooms in the jade at her admission, but it flits by, gone as quickly as it’d appeared. And then his brows furrow, and he looks absolutely exasperated, the subtle downturn at the edges of his mouth emphasized with the roll of that same jade. The pirate scoffs, and his boots stomp over the wood, each step an inclination that his frustration has leaked into his body language. 

“I told you—“ the legs of the chair screech against the floorboards — he doesn’t even grunt as he maneuvers her with ease, the motion rough like it’s a chore, “—that you’re not my type. Not everybody wants to fuck you, your highness.” 

Seren blinks, pupils poring over the priorly unseen sight of the opposite end of the room. A slit of a window, brushing the edge of the wall that merges into the ceiling. A bookshelf of literature and knickknacks. A dresser, a queen-sized mattress on the floor. The pirate still looks absolutely miffed when he walks toward the table with the lantern, bare shoulders squared and the muscles in his back rippling. He sets the light out, kicks off his boots, and falls into the bed unceremoniously. 

It’s a victory. 

And for a moment, Seren thinks he’s just going to wordlessly roll over to avoid her prying gaze. He doesn’t do that. They bask in the crash of the waves outside, the darkness, and their quiet breaths. He’s got this knack — Seren’s learned. This skill of morphing from sarcastic and teasing to broodingly serious, and it’s mercurial, sort of. She wonders if this brooding side’s what’s brought him to lead an entire ship. 

“Be quiet now,” the pirate drawls from the sheets, in that broodingly serious cadence, “If I hear another word, I’ll personally carry you out onto the deck, and you can sleep in the chair out there.” 

The man rolls over to face the wall. Seren doesn’t say another word for the rest of the night.

#pirate!harry #pirate au #piraterry #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles x oc #dom harry styles #harry styles #harry styles dirty fanfiction #enemies to lovers #harry styles enemies to lovers

[moonchildstyles]

thyme

rosemary part five: harry's tired of hiding. y/n is there to listen

wordcount: 11.4k+

—————

The next time Harry saw morning light, he knew it was real with the way he could actually breathe under the rays. His eyes ached from the amount he had cried the night before, the memory of his nightmare having drained out along with every tear. 

Only a slice of light made it through the tightly drawn shades over the window, the sun bright enough Harry could only begin to assume how long they'd slept in. But, he wasn't going to argue with the hours; after his nightmare had cleared, that was the best sleep he'd had in years. With every blink of his heavy eyes, he gained more and more clarity. 

There was a part of him that wanted to be embarrassed about the way he had acted. The other night when she had tried to comfort him before was nothing compared to the way he had reacted last night. With her tucked carefully under his arm, her breathing even and eyes shuttered, he figured he could quell that awaiting shame for a little while longer. He didn't need to don his facade when she wasn't even awake to witness it. 

Moving cautiously, their shared pillow under his head shifted as he looked to her. That crack in the curtains allowed a splash of light to spill over his chest, leading the ray to fall over her eyes. The divine ribbon of light highlighted the curl of her lashes, the slope of her nose, and the delicate skin of her eyelids. The shadows he had seen under her eyes were now replaced with the reaching lengths of her lashes over her cheekbones. Baby hairs were wild around her face, messed from the way he had reached and grabbed for her the night before. Her hands were still tightly clutching his shirt in her palms, the fabric wrinkled and stretched in her direction.

Looking at her like this, Harry realized he hadn't ever stood a chance, had he? 

This whole thing—his facade, his over-nurtured walls, his control—all turned to dust the second she tapped his shoulder and asked about cookies. He should have known then that things were going to shift, even if he never thought it would turn out like this. 

All because of a gorgeous girl with a ribbon in her hair. 

Seeing her at peace for the first time in days, Harry knew that girl didn't deserve this—this dusty motel, this impromptu road trip, this much deception. 

He couldn't keep doing this to her. She had a life that he'd torn her from, all so he could drag her to different diners and gas stations, dank motels, and a cramped car for hours on end. She had friends who loved her, a job she woke up every morning happy to do, and a sweet little home that deserved to have someone like her live in it. 

It was Harry's mistakes that had caught up with them, and (Y/N) was the one being truly punished by them. She had to sleep in strange places, shower in less than five minutes if she wanted warm water, with questionable food waiting for her at every stop. Her nails even had chips in the paint, something he'd never seen before he tugged her into his mess. 

She didn't deserve this motel or his hands all over her when she didn't even know who she was sharing a bed with. 

He couldn't keep doing this to her. He was running out of money, and (Y/N) deserved to sleep in her own bed and be safe while she did. 

This all had to stop. Today. 

Yesterday's close call told him he wouldn't have to wait around very long for them to find him again. He didn't want (Y/N) to be in the middle of it when that happened. 

There was a plan to be made. Today was the day his past would have to catch his present if he wanted any kind of future. 

—————

"Are we leaving now?" 

(Y/N)'s tired eyes watched as Harry cleaned up the morning's breakfast (it was closer to lunch by the time she woke up, but it was still breakfast in his eyes). While she seemed to actually gain some real rest, her gaze was still tired and a little glassy as she followed him about the motel. 

She hadn't said a single word pertaining to what she had seen the night before, even though he could see those soft bits floating in her irises every time she matched his gaze. 

Looking over his shoulder, he saw her packing up her bag like she did every morning, ready and willing to follow him anywhere. Harry knew he was making the right decision. 

He couldn't be scared anymore. Not for her. 

"We're not leaving today." 

Her hands paused, buried in the bundle of clothes she had packed in her duffle, eyes wide as she looked at him. "What?" 

Taking in a deep breath, Harry sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. He dropped his chin into his hands, his elbows propped up on his knees. "We're not running anymore." 

(Y/N) stood to the full of her height, awkwardly fiddling with her fingers. A pinch creased the space between her brows. "I-I don't think I understand." 

That lance of guilt found its way to a soft spot inside him, stabbing through every layer. He had kept her so far in the dark, and she still trusted him as if he deserved it. 

She didn't look away when he matched her eye contact, his own gaze unwavering as he spoke, "I don't want to run anymore, (Y/N)." 

"Okay," she drawled, gaze darting down as she tried to process what he was saying, "Um, are we going home then?" 

Harry's throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly around his tongue. He had to tell her. He almost wanted to tell her, even. This was the first time the story had ever banged against his chest, fighting to be let out. 

She deserved to know who she slept beside last night. 

"Can I tell you something?" 

(Y/N) stepped towards him on cautious feet, as if she were approaching a wounded animal. She took the spot on the bed beside him, looking at him through furrowed brows and worried eyes. 

"You're scaring me," was her whispered response, hands a nervous knot in her lap. 

A tick appeared in his jaw then. That was what burned him the most; he dreaded the fact that he was more than likely going to hear that from her again soon. 

Nonetheless, he wet his lips before taking in a deep breath, the story unraveling from his tongue. 

"When I was twenty, m'sister started her master's program at a new university, so we moved to the city—me, my mum, and m'sister. My mum wanted to stay close to her, and I didn't really care. I was willing to go wherever they were. But, a few months into her classes, m'sister got this boyfriend." He tried his best not to spit out the title through gritted teeth. Keeping himself in check, Harry settled enough to sit with his eyes on his fisted hands with knitted brows.

"I...He wasn't a good guy, I knew that jus' from the couple of friends I'd made even before he and m'sister got together. It wasn't like I hadn't believed it, but when I saw how he treated m'sister and the way she tried to hide it, I knew it was all true—everything I'd heard." He steeled himself as he felt his throat grow thick. He'd never said any of these things out loud. He was hearing the story for the first time just like she was. "He was... hurting her. Me and my mum didn't know what to do; any time we brought it up to Gemma she'd get really angry, or ignore us. We didn't know how to help. It was really hard for a while.

"But, she had stayed the weekend at his one time, and she came home with these bruises all over her neck. She tried to cover them and hide them with her sweater, but I saw them. I lost it." His hands pulsed in his lap, remembering the way the rage had bubbled in him like it was yesterday. "I had never been so angry in m'life, and Gemma was trying to calm me down but I was too far past any of that. I ended up going to her boyfriend's house that night, telling her and my mum I was seeing a friend. I don't think Gemma believed me but she didn't stop me.

"I don't even know what I thought I was going to do when I got there, honestly. I just wanted him to stop hurting my sister. He answered the door when I got there, and I jus' barged in and started yelling at him. I was telling him that he was going to stop hurting my sister or I was going to do something about it." He shook his head with a humorless laugh spilling from his lips, curls spilling across his forehead. How silly he had been; if only he'd known then what he knew now. "This guy—Trevor—, he laughed at me. I don't blame him now—I was some random kid running into his house threatening him as if I could actually follow through with any of it. But back then, I remember just getting so pissed. I couldn't believe he was going to laugh at me when I was telling him to stop beating m'sister. So, I tried to hit him." 

(Y/N), who had sat silently with her gaze stitched to Harry's face, had let out a soft gasp at his words. Harry's knee began to bounce, his sightless eyes never straying from the outlet in the wall he'd chosen as his focal point. "'S almost funny to think about how quickly he'd knocked me on my ass after that. It was then that I saw that there were a few other guys in the room with us, jus' watching the whole thing. I'd been too mad to see anything other than him when I got there, but now they were all sitting around laughing at me like this whole thing was a joke. I was so embarrassed, I didn't know what to do. I just sat there. 

"I remember he got in my face after that. He told me that if I ever tried to have a problem with him again, it would be very easy for something to happen to m'sister and my mum. I don't even know what I said back, but apparently it was funny enough to get everyone laughing again. I remember him looking around at all his friends, he said he liked me—even if I was a little stupid. The next time he looked at me, he told me that he did have something I could do for him if I really wanted him to leave Gemma alone. 

"I had jumped at the idea. I thought whatever it took, right? I jus' wanted to have m'sister back and my mum to have her daughter. I'd do anything. I must have been especially funny that day, because when I told them that, they all laughed again. He started walking around then, like he was looking for something but didn't really care if he found it or not. He was telling me that he liked me; I had to be brave if I jus' walked into his house and started yelling at him and tried to punch him. Trevor said he had the perfect job for me—if I really wanted to help m'sister anyway."

Harry's mind lingered on the next images the story conjured up. This was the moment everything changed for him. "I don't even know if I said anything to him after that, but I remember him pulling out a gun then, and handing it to me," Harry's throat felt too thick as he tried to swallow, "There was someone that needed to be dealt with, and if I did it for him, he'd stop calling m'sister. I don't think I said anything, but I remember I didn't take it from him right away, just sitting there staring at his hand. I guess I wasn't fast enough because he said if I didn't want to kill for him, he'd jus' get Gemma instead. It didn't make any difference to him." 

From the corner of his eye, he saw (Y/N) go still. "Harry," she whispered, her voice thin and wavering. 

Keeping his eyes forward, Harry shook his head. He couldn't look at her if he wanted to finish this story. He'd crumble if he saw her. 

"I don't really remember what happened after all that well. I think I told him okay, and he showed me how to use the gun, but that was it. They gave me an address and told me to get everything cleaned up by tomorrow morning." Harry's lungs felt heavy as he tried to find enough breath for the words he knew were coming next. That night turned into the first nightmare that followed him for years. He closed his eyes, squeezing his lids shut. "I waited until my mum and Gemma were asleep before I went to the address with the gun. This... The guy, he—uh—he owed m'sister's boyfriend a lot of money, apparently, and he wasn't planning on paying it back anytime soon. They wanted me to kill him because of that. And, I did." 

Behind his closed eyes, Harry saw in too great detail every moment in that dark apartment. His hands shook now just as badly as they did then. His stomach turned at the memory of blood splattering back on his face from the force of the bullet through his skull. He had been standing too close, he knew that now, but he wasn't as good of a shot back then to be much farther away. He forced himself out of that memory, his reality shifting the longer he lingered there. 

"The whole thing was a mess. I don't know how I didn't get caught. The whole time I was jus' thinking about my mum and m'sister, and how I wanted to keep them safe. That was all I was doing; I wasn't brave like Trevor had said. I was jus' stupid, but I didn't have a choice, right?" Shaking his head, Harry moved on. "I went back to Trevor's right after, and I threw up on his lawn twice before anyone realized I was there. When they did, I remember them laughing and asking me if I really did it. I jus' threw up again. By the time I had it together, I remember him telling me that I did a good job—that he was proud of me. He had sent someone after me to make sure everything was taken care of and I didn't tell anyone I shouldn't, and he said I couldn't have done a better job. I think I stopped listening then; I didn't want to be there when he said things like that after I knew what I'd done. 

"I had thought then that that was it. That I would always remember that night and would have to learn to be okay with it, but it was done and now my family was safe. I started thinking about whether or not I could convince them to move away, and that I'd probably need to start looking for a therapist. But," he choked out, feeling far away as he remembered those early plans, "I couldn't leave after that. He said he liked me." 

The heat of (Y/N)'s gaze never wavered from where it was stuck to his profile. He felt sick thinking about what could be hiding in her pupils as she listened to him. He feared to think she saw him for who he really was now: a rotten, disgusting, awful murderer. 

Forging on, Harry swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat. "He wanted me to keep working for him. He said that no one would suspect someone like me to be working those nights like that. He wanted to take advantage of that—even if I was messy and still a little stupid, he said. I couldn't leave even if I wanted to, anyway; they had too much on me. Jus' the one job would get me locked up if they wanted—or worse if they didn't want to wait that long to deal with me trying to get away. 

"It wasn't until the second job was done that m'sister stopped coming home with bruises. She started smiling more and talking to my mum again. She said that she broke up with her boyfriend and wanted to be serious about school again. It was like everything was almost normal, again." These were easy times for Harry to recall. He liked to remember his family like that. "There were times I had to get... closer to m'jobs than jus' with a gun. Those days were hard, but I'd come home and they'd be watching a movie or drinking wine together, and I'd tell myself it was worth it. It had to be. That's why I kept doing what Trevor wanted. 

"They had to know there was something going on, but they never asked any questions. Even if they did, it wasn't like I ever gave them anything clear. I jus' told them I was tired and working too much. It was like that for a really long time. I blocked a lot of it out, but it wasn't anything I ever saw a way out of; every plan ended with m'family or me dying, or otherwise getting really hurt. I did what I had to do and... got over it as best I could." 

Looking down at his hands, he flexed the stiff joints. Thin scars marred his skin, creases from years of work that took a toll on him. The inked cross in the pocket between his thumb and forefinger was fading. Harry cataloged every detail of his own hands as he fought to stay focused amid the sickening pit forming in his stomach. 

"A few years ago, there had been a rumor going around that someone had plans to take out the head—Trevor's dad. I had heard that it was a rival, but a few of the guys had said it was coming from someone on the inside—someone who thought they could run the whole thing better. I didn't really believe it, but it was the first time anything like that had gotten any of them talking. There'd been threats before, but this one felt more real than any of them with the way a couple of the guys were even planning on what to do if something changed. 

"It gave me hope, honestly. If it really was true, then there was going to be a night that was so chaotic and everyone's attention would be focused elsewhere enough that no one would notice if I disappeared. So, I started making plans. I saved any kind of money I made, and made arrangements for my mum and sister and tried to get everything taken care of that I could get away with. By the time I heard something was actually happening, I had everything in place for us. Trevor's dad was in the hospital, and probably wasn't going to make it out. 

"It was all chaos after that. Everyone was either trying to find whoever did it—planned it—and everyone else was with Trevor and his dad. No one was keeping track of anything or anyone. It was exactly what I'd hoped for. I went home that day and told my mum and sister that we needed to leave. Something bad had happened and to keep them safe we all needed to leave right then. I didn't have time to tell them what was going on, but I remember I told Gemma it had something to do with Trevor and I knew she knew. She helped me get my mum out after that; packing as much as they could carry and grabbing the essentials. I gave them the cash I'd saved, and they left." 

This was a night Harry had never revisited. Previous jobs of his always showed up in nightmares or ran on a loop when he couldn't sleep, but the last time he saw his family was a place he never allowed his brain to go. He didn't even realized he was tearing up until he felt the pressure behind his eyes and the knot in his throat.

"My mum asked me if I was coming with them, and I had to tell her no," he murmured, "Her and m'sister would be going together, but I had to go somewhere else. It was the only way they'd be safe. I would be the one that Trevor would go after, so if I stayed away then they wouldn't get dragged into it if I was found. I had everything planned out for them: a different car, a place for them to stay, and enough money to last until they figured something else out. It was all taken care of. I—" Harry choked on the lump in his throat. "That was the last time I saw them. I don't know where they are. 

"That was years ago, though. I've been going through different towns since then, jus' hiding. This is the first time I've ever been found." 

Silence fell over the motel room as Harry took in a deep breath, his shoulders squaring as he tried to center himself. He felt distant from where he sat on the edge of the bed. It was surreal hearing his story in his own voice instead of living the worst parts of it in dreams every night. It was even worse this way.

A lull passed, the weight of his words a heavy third entity between them. The static of (Y/N)'s presence prickled at his side. His knee kept bouncing, his body restless the longer his story hung in the air. He hadn't considered the aftermath being so quiet; he had imagined shouting, screaming, (Y/N) running away from him. He didn't know what to do with this.

"Harry?" 

He didn't make any move to acknowledge her. 

"Harry? Will you please look at me?" 

Her voice wavered as she pleaded with him. He couldn't ignore her like that, not when he could already picture the tears sparkling in her eyes.

His movements were stiff as he turned to look at her. He wasn't sure what he was going to find when he saw her (his predictions ranged from mortified, to terrified, to a punch to the face in hopes of incapacitating him long enough for her to run), but what he found wasn't on his list of ideas at all. She was looking at him with big, watery eyes, the irises glittering with softened edges. Her features were melted into sympathy-drawn lines, curving and gentle with a wobbly bottom lip and downturned brows. 

"I'm so sorry, Harry," she whispered to him, matching his eye contact just as earnestly as he. 

Listening to her, his brows pinched in the middle. "I-I don't—" His voice cut off, shaking his head as he floundered over his words. 

With a soft touch of her hand grazing over his shoulder, (Y/N) didn't pay his half-hearted denial any mind. "I-I'm so sorry that happened to you," she murmured, her voice as soft and thin as the tears in her eyes, "I can't even imagine, I don't—" 

Tears spilled over the rim of her eyes then, her voice breaking off. Her breathing came in shaky puffs, her hand on his arm tightening until her fingers were curled around his forearm. Sincerity filled her gaze as she looked at him, words failing her despite every soft sorrow in her eyes for him. 

This wasn't the kind of reaction he had been anticipating, not even a little. This worried him more than any other bout of anger or fear he had initially expected. 

"(Y/N)," he started, his voice low to match her own secretive tone despite the lack of others in their room, "I don't think I understand... I did really bad things, (Y/N), don't—I... Don't feel bad for me, yeah?" 

He could see her retaliation form on her cry-swollen lips, but before a single word could broach the air between them, she was cut off by her own whimpering cry. In a moment she had crumpled into him, dismissing the boundaries between their bodies as he was wrapped in a hug with her arms around his neck. 

Harry hesitated, his hands hovering over her back as his breathing stilled. She must really not understand the full breadth of the horrors he committed if she was still willing to touch him after learning his story. It was overwhelming in a lot of ways; this wasn't at all the kind of reaction he had ever thought anyone could have after finding out the kind of man he is, let alone someone like (Y/N). It was confusing. 

After a moment, he settled, reciprocating her hug and being that anchor for her if only for a few more moments until realization dawned. She buried her face in the brunt of his chest, his shirt growing damp from her tears and the heavy puffs of air that fanned out from her lips. Harry held her, petting his hands down her back and brushing her hair from her face the longer she melted against him. 

Soon enough, she pulled away from him, wet eyes glistening with a sniffly nose as she gazed up at him. 

With gentle graze of a hand he hadn't trusted in years, Harry brushed baby hairs out of (Y/N)'s face. She looked at him like she really believed that she should feel sorry for him, console him as if he were one of the many families he tore apart through the many jobs he worked. 

"(Y/N)," he started, voice more gentle than he thought he could manage with a lump in the back of his throat, "I don't think y'understand what I did." 

A fresh batch of tears welled up in her eyes as she shook her head, the hairs he'd just brushed out of her face now returning. "N-No, Harry, I do," she insisted, gaze genuine between the fluttering of her lashes as she blinked the tears away, "I know you wouldn't have d-done any of that if you'd had a choice—I know that. I-I'm so sorry that they took ad-advantage of you, and that you've been so a-alone." Her voice cut off then, a harsh breath just a hair away from a sob exhaling from her in a shudder. She could only manage a whisper when she recovered, "You don't deserve that." 

She broke down once more, falling into Harry's chest again. He was prepared this time, ready to hold her steady and snuggle her against him. He just hoped the hammering of his heart behind his ribs wouldn't disturb her. 

Harry's breathing came in stiff pulls as he tried to process what she was telling him. While he knew he wouldn't have done the things he did had there been another option for him—had he had the knowledge he has now, he would have done many things differently back then. He knew that, but that wasn't something he ever expected another to understand. He never thought he would have the courage to share his story aloud, let alone earn this kind of response from a listener. 

(Y/N) treated him as if he were the tragedy, not the villain. 

His own eyes began to burn, gaze going watery with the walls of the motel going mushy and melting in with the carpet. He couldn't remember the last time he cried for himself; he'd cried from fear from his nightmares and missing his family, but nothing to mourn the kind of life he could have lead had he known himself better. 

"I—" he started, the lump in his throat blocking his words before they had a chance. Harry's throat bobbed as he tried to swallow around the bundle, voice thick, "I hurt people, (Y/N). I killed them." His breathing caught around the harsh word. He just wanted (Y/N) to know, be clear with the kind of person she was snuggling against. "I ruined families jus' because I wanted to save mine." 

(Y/N) only held him tighter. "I can't blame you," she whispered against his throat, the words melting into his skin, "You were in an impossible situation. It was either you or someone else, and there was never going to be a right choice. I-I can't imagine..." 

Harry didn't say anything back, instead just holding her as she did the same for him. He wanted to listen to the things she was saying, make sense of them in the reality he had accepted as his for years now. But, it felt... unsettling. 

In his own head, in his heart, Harry knew he was put in a situation that no one should ever be in—make a decision that was more than just unfair. But, the longer he sat with himself, especially after finishing those jobs, he couldn't imagine that anyone would ever see it that way. It was easier to believe he was a monster when he figured the rest of the world would agree. He never saw himself as the one to be consoled, that he was too selfish a creature to have earned that kind of experience. 

"I'm a monster, (Y/N)," he murmured into the crown of her head, strands of hair muffling his words. 

"No, you're not," she immediately argued, "You're Harry." 

All those tears that had been funneling into his eyes from deep in his chest somewhere he never allowed to be free finally spilled over. Tracks were made down his cheeks, heating his skin and leaving sticky trails of salt. His breaths came out heavy and warm, uneven with he pulls through his nose. Squeezing his eyes shut, he cried silently into (Y/N)'s hair, allowing her to hold him while he took his turn crumbling.

There were still pounds of guilt and trauma sitting in the bars around his heart, but this was the first time those burdens hadn't felt so heavy. 

Sunshine through the windows could be felt on his back, bleeding through the t-shirt (Y/N) had latched within her grip the longer she held him. 

"Thank you," he sniffled into her hair. 

(Y/N) planted a delicate kiss to the column of his throat in response. 

The shadows in the motel room shifted the longer they sat bundled on the end of the bed, the sun journeying through the sky through the window. Harry didn't know how long they sat together with tangled limbs, leaking eyes, and sniffling noses, but he could have stayed there a lot longer had he been given the chance. He could barely remember the last time he'd had an actual hug before (Y/N) let alone a cuddle for at least an hour. 

But, he couldn't stay there forever. He told her that story for a reason. He couldn't abandon his plan now. 

Harry peeled away from her fist, her embrace around his neck staying firm enough to keep him from going too far as she gazed up at him. His eyes felt raw as he matched her contact. 

"I have to go, (Y/N)," he crooned, voice crackling. 

Her arms looped around his neck shifted with her hands settling firmly on the back of his shoulders. "What? Why?" she panicked some, clinging to him, "No, I don't want you to go, Harry." 

Petting her hair back, he tried to soothe her as best he could despite his clumsy movements. "But, we're not running anymore, remember? I need to deal with this." 

(Y/N)'s eyes rounded out as she gazed up at him. "I thought you meant we were going home." 

Shaking his head, Harry stayed gentle with her, "We can't yet—not while they're still looking for us. They all know about home now, and we can't go back when I know they'd follow us. I have to take care of them here. Before we do anything else." 

She looked uneasy now, gaze dropping down the planes of his face. "What do they want from you?" 

"I don't know," he shrugged as much as he could with her still wrapped in his arms, "They might want me to come back, or"—Harry steeled himself at the second prospect—"I might know too much to be left running around everywhere." 

Color drained from (Y/N)'s face as she listened to him. "Y-You think they might kill you?" 

Harry only shushed her, a tender hand on the back of her head guiding her back to her hiding space in the cubby of his neck when he saw fresh tears glimmering in her eyes. He didn't know what to say to something like that; confirming the horror didn't seem like a good idea, but he didn't have it in him to start lying right after coming clean like he has. His fingers threaded through her hair, blunt nails scratching at her scalp in soothing runs as she whimpered in his neck. 

As much as he might have wanted to stay just where he was, cuddling and hushing her as if her tears were the worst of his problems, but he couldn't push off the inevitable for much longer. 

Using his grip on the back of her neck, Harry pulled her away from her hiding place. He was greeted with swollen lips and red eyes he worried he wouldn't ever see normal again. He hoped against it all that he'd get to see her smile at least once more. 

"I need you to listen really well, okay, (Y/N)?" he asked her, thumb running a circuit of comforting circles on the side of her neck. 

She hesitated before she nodded. "But, I don't want you to leave." 

Despite it all, a genuine smile wriggled its way onto Harry's features. What a sweet thing she was, even in the face of everything he'd laid out for her. The first smile he'd made in days being offered to her. 

Harry kept silent to her protest, instead untangling himself from her hold. He stood to the full of his height, offering her his hand. With her palm pressed against his, she followed suit to stand beside him, their fingers laced together. 

He led them around the bed, inching towards the bedside table. With his free hand and (Y/N) behind him in the narrow channel between the bed and the wall, Harry pulled the drawer open. Inside, the black handgun he had stowed away rattling against the laminate. 

Swallowing, he took the firearm and turned to face her. He schooled his features into something stern and stoic. He wanted to be strong like he knew she needed him to be, especially when she saw what he was offering. 

"I need you to use this if someone comes looking for us," he told her, his voice even and low. 

(Y/N)'s eyes widened when she realized what she was looking at, her immediate. reaction coming in the form of her shaking head. "I-I don't—I'm not—" 

"I know," he cut her off, squeezing her hand in his, "I want this to be a last resort." Walking her back away from the side table, her brought her to the end of the bed, his back facing the window in case anyone decided to peek through the sliver between the curtains. "Hide first," he explained, "And, I don't want y'answering the door for anyone after I leave. Even if it's me, I have a key. Don't let me in even if I ask, I should be able to let myself in. Don't answer the door for anyone, especially if y'don't recognize the who's on the other side. Jus' hide, okay? Y'can hide in the bathroom if y'want, but if anyone gets in and tries to do anything to you, I need y'to use this and protect yourself." 

(Y/N) could have gone cold the way she was frozen still in front of him; if not for the heat of her hand in his, he would have assumed as much. She stared at the gun he was offering towards her as if a gift, the weapon sitting in his hand between them. 

"Can I show y'how to use it?" he asked her, gently trying to ease her into the non-option she had of protecting herself.

"Harry..." 

"I know," he said, "Please, (Y/N). I jus' need to be able to know that I won't be leaving y'to get hurt without a chance to protect yourself." 

Looking up at him through the fan of her lashes, he could see her resolve crumble away piece by piece. He hated to think about her having to use something like this as much as he was sure she did, but that didn't change the fact that someone was looking for her and wouldn't hesitate to hurt her if given the chance. 

"Okay," she peeped out, her hand in his slowly loosening as she grabbed for the gun. 

Her grip was loose and shaky as Harry tried to show her the basics. With the barrel aimed at the ground, he showed her how to switch the safety, something he only mimed as he didn't want to scare her more. He encouraged her to wrap both hands around the grip, finger curling around the trigger. 

"It's heavy," she said, her voice a quiet whimper as her hands continued to shake. 

"I know," he told her, adjusting her hold to ensure the recoil didn't harm her any more than a bone's rattle. If she had to use it, anyway. 

Silence settled over them as he ensured she would be as safe as she could be while he was gone.

"Both hands, okay?" he told her once more, her grip steadying the longer he allowed her to get used to the weight. "Every time y'pick it up, the barrel needs to be facing away from you. Even if the safety's on, I don't want y'aiming it anywhere near yourself."

"Okay," she said, another repetition of the small word through his instructions. She swallowed, her features twisted into something too scared for Harry's heart to not break over. "This is a last resort right? I-In case of an emergency." 

Harry's jaw ticked, hearing the waver in her voice. He hated knowing he was the reason she was preparing for an emergency like this. "Only in case of emergency, yeah." 

Taking the firearm out of her hands, he left it on the bed to (Y/N)'s relief. She wiped her hands off on her pants as he rifled through his duffle bag, finding the wad of cash he'd been using to fund their run. Taking the bundle to her, he pushed it into her empty hands. 

Before she could have a chance to shoot off a round of questions, Harry steeled himself. "(Y/N) look at me for a second." 

That tremor of fear she'd gained after dealing with the gun remained as she looked up at him with watery eyes. 

Shoving the cash into her hand, Harry ensured she was listening before he spoke. "If 'm not back by the morning, I need y'to leave. 'M going to leave the car for you, and you're going to take all of the money I have left, okay? Jus' get home. Don't wait for me or try to look for me, only worry about getting back home." 

Before he could even finish speaking, (Y/N) was shaking her head, protests on the tip of her tongue. "I'm not—" 

"Yes, you are," he insisted, unwilling to hear her argument, "I promised y'when we left that y'would make it home and be safe. This is the only way I can make sure I can keep that promise, even if 'm not the one taking y'home." When (Y/N) began to push against his hand with the money, he stayed solid where he stood, matching her eyes with unwavering contact. "I don't want to argue with you on this, (Y/N). This is final." 

Her gaze softened, matching the refractions in the tears pearling on her waterline. "Okay," she peeped after a pause, her voice barely above a whisper. 

With the bills wadded in her hand, Harry disregarded the space between them as he pulled her into a hug. She melted into his hold that was becoming familiar, burrowing her face into his neck with her hands around his middle. He curled himself around her, the tip of his nose buried in the hair on the top of her head, his eyes falling closed as he pulled in a deep breath. His arms around her pulsed, his heartbeat rattling in his chest. 

"'M sorry, (Y/N)," he murmured, lips brushing the crown of her head, "'M sorry I got y'involved in this." 

(Y/N) shook her head, "It's not your fault." 

While Harry couldn't accept that answer, he gave his own in the form of a kiss pressed to the top of her head. "I need to go now, okay?" he told her, voice muffled in her hair. 

"Where are you going?" she asked, voice small to match his. 

"Not too far, I don't think, since I want to leave y'the car," he said, trying to stitch together the details of his plan after such a vulnerable start to his day. 

Drawing away, she looked up at him with questioning eyes. "You think they'll find you? How?" 

Taking a deep breath, he shook his head. "'M sure they already have an idea of where 'm hiding." 

It was clear (Y/N) didn't enjoy his answer, but she didn't ask any more questions. Instead, she followed him quietly as he readied himself to meet his fate. While it wasn't a new feeling for him—accepting the fact that this outing might be his last—it was different knowing that someone would be waiting for him, knowing exactly what happened if he didn't make it back. It felt a lot more final this way. An omen—one he couldn't decide was good or bad. 

With everything ready, and a plan to grab the gun he had packed in the car, Harry moved towards the door. (Y/N) stopped him with a soft hand on his biceps.

"I'll see you tonight, right?" Her eyes were pleading as she looked up at him. 

"I'll try m'best." His gaze lingered on her. She still looked at him with softened eyes and wonderous gaze despite all the ugly secrets she now knew about him. His heart ached in his chest. "Thank you, (Y/N)." 

He placed his hand on her's where it was resting on his arm. He curled his fingers around her own, giving her a small squeeze before he peeled her touch away. 

All the way out the door, he could feel her eyes on him. He couldn't look back.

—————

(Y/N)'s legs felt cramped, the last six hours of having been curled up in the bathtub now showing in her aching muscles. Despite that, she didn't even think about stretching out, keeping herself bundled with her legs against her chest and arms looped around her shins. 

The sun had gone down hours ago, wiping away the final slice of light that was draped through the main room. The gun Harry had given her laid untouched, safety clicked, at her feet. Her breathing was the only sound in the silent room. 

Every time she could hear a set of feet trudging past the front door, her ears perked, trying to find any evidence that it might be Harry. Every time she came up with the opposite answer, her heart dropped an inch more. 

As much as she wanted to hear someone familiar, for a pair of those heavy footsteps to stop in front of her door, a sense of panic filled her whenever they drew too close. But, she still felt hopeless every time they moved on without a lingering second. She didn't want to be alone, but she feared what having the opposite would mean if she wished a little too hard. 

The otherwise silent room left her too much room to think about what Harry had told her today. 

She knew he didn't think of his story as much of a tragedy as it was. She didn't think he even realized just how terribly he was taken advantage of and convinced he had no choice but the most evil one. 

He was a victim, too. 

(Y/N) knew Harry. Despite all the walls he presented and maintained, she'd gotten glimpses as to who he was at his core through these last months and especially this past week. There was always an assumption that he had a few secrets hiding behind his barricades, but she never would have guessed them to be something of this nature. She couldn't even imagine what it would feel like to carry something like that around, no one there to support him.

There was no way to comprehend what it would feel like to be in Harry's shoes. Doing everything on his own for so long before running into her, allowing a small smidge of himself to show to her, only for them to land in dirty motels with tear-stains on a floral bedspread. 

Harry thought he was a monster, but (Y/N) could only consider him brave. He was the strongest person she knew.

There would be no way he wouldn't return to her, then, right? He was the strongest, smartest, most capable person she knew. Their teary cuddling couldn't be the last time she saw him. Right? 

Another set of voices—three different ones, this time—interrupted (Y/N)'s spiraling. Her hands clenched around her knees, her breathing pausing as she tried to listen as best she could through both the cracked bathroom door and the bolted room door. 

Soon enough, the volume peaks. They were right outside the door. (Y/N) could almost clearly make out the words through the thin walls. 

A beat later, not a second of lag, the voices began to retreat, the volume lowering until nothing but muffles were heard. They'd walked past. It wasn't Harry, none of them. 

Closing her eyes, (Y/N) knew she had to believe that Harry would come back. She couldn't see herself leaving here without him, even if time was something they were running out of. 

But, he promised her. He promised her he'd make sure she was safe. 

She knew Harry, and he wouldn't break his promises.

That was how she knew he would come back to her. 

—————

Despite the sore in her muscles and the exhaustion tugging at her eyelids, (Y/N) went stiff when she heard the doorknob jiggle. Not once in the hours since Harry left had anyone even lingered outside the door, let alone try to breach the lock. Her breathing stuck in her throat when the incessant noise continued. In lethargic movements, her hands held a tremor as she reached for the gun at her feet. 

She swore her heart stopped when the jiggling stopped, a muffled curse being heard from the other side of the door. The voice sounded familiar—the timbre, the tone, everything sounding like the one person she'd been waiting for. (Y/N) wanted to run to the door and let him in, her instincts pushing her to abandon post. But, she had to remember: Harry had a key, he'd let himself in. 

Though, a creeping argument in the back of her mind started, what if he lost his key? What if he was hurt, bleeding and aching for her help? What if he couldn't use his key and she was going to leave him to die out there all because of a flimsy rule he'd made before walking into battle? 

Her hands shook that much harder, her loose grip on the gun wavering. 

Over the roar of her heartbeat in her ears, (Y/N) heard the jamb give away, the sticky lock finally opening. The door was pushed open, whiny hinges creaking. She heard the door be closed after a set of heavy footsteps made their way into the motel, the lock being bolted into place once more. Only the sound of labored breathing replaced the sudden racket in the silent room. 

Please be Harry, please be Harry, please be Harry.

She tried to steady her hand on the firearm the longer the silence dragged on. 

"(Y/N)? Are you still here, love?" 

Tears sprung into (Y/N)'s eyes at that voice, relief flooding her system. She let go of the gun at her feet though her hands still shook as she stayed stuck in her pose in the bathtub. 

"Harry?" 

Those heavy footsteps that introduced him to the motel started again, the pace much faster as he crossed the room to her hiding spot. 

The second he appeared in the doorway, (Y/N) knew she was supposed to be scared of him. She was supposed to be at least wary of the swelling bruises beginning to form on his face, fingerprints denting the skin of his neck. Stray scratches littered his arms, specks of blood marring his skin. His hair was a mess, strands sticking at odd angles. The worst of it was blood that was clearly not his, staining his shirt, splatters reaching as far as his cheeks. The red looked especially vivid beside the green of his wild eyes and the creamy tone of his skin. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, his shoulders seeming wider in the doorway with his fists clenched at his sides. 

But, even with every cue telling her she should keep cowering away from him, her heart still lurched in her chest at the sight. Under all the mess and core, that was her Harry. She knew him, she trusted him, and he came back to her. How could she be scared of that?

Following the bruising beats of her heart, (Y/N) didn't hesitate before she was leaping out of her hiding place. Disregarding the stiff set of her muscles and the weapon left in the tub, she jumped through the bathroom before landing in his arms. 

"Harry!" she bubbled, clinging to him in a tight hug. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, with her arms around his neck with her cheek pressed to his. "Oh my god, you're okay, you're okay, Harry." 

Her tongue felt like mush in her mouth the way she could barely form a coherent thought before she was dissolving to babbles. She didn't even realize she was crying until she could taste the salt of her tears. At least that explained the sticky lump in the back of her throat, too heavy to talk around. 

Harry held her just as tightly, a strong arm supporting her underneath her thighs while the other roped around her waist. She could feel every breath he made, every ripple of his muscles; she even thought she could feel the thump of his heart. 

Pulling away from his neck, (Y/N) reared back just enough to see his face though she didn't go too far. Shifting her hold on him, she pushed his hair out of his face, his features watery and distorted through her tears. Smears of blood stained her palms, but (Y/N) didn't care; she could be grossed over the blood later, right now all she could see was Harry. Everything she had hoped for, for the last handful of hours had actually come true, how could she focus on anything else?

Eyes shining in the dim light of the bathroom, Harry looked up at her reverently. "'M here, (Y/N)," he murmured to her, voice broken. The longer he looked at her, that glimmer in his eyes rose until it was a shimmer of overfilled tears. "God, (Y/N)." 

Holding his cheeks in her palm, she nodded her head, understanding the overwhelming feeling she was sure he felt bloom in his chest. "What happened?" she whispered, voice thin.

Shaking his head, those same curls she had brushed out of his face fell over his forehead once more. Some strands were darkened with blood. "'S over," he told her, his own tone small to match her own, "'M out. They aren't going to bother me anymore. 'S really over." 

(Y/N) swallowed. "H-How?" 

His jaw tensed under her hands. Another shake of his head was granted. "I-I don't want to—I can't talk about that." With the way his eyes darted from her own, falling down her features in a glazed trail, she knew this wasn't something to push him on. "B-But 's done—(Y/N), 's over." 

Something in him snapped then, as if he heard himself for the first time. Harry crumbled then, his features twisting and flushing as rivers of tears fell from his eyes. He cried the way he did after his nightmares—heavy and nonstop. 

Harry clutched her to his body as he sobbed into her neck, having shielded himself in her hair once his breath started shuddering in his lungs. He murmured over and over It's over, it's over, it's over, into her skin, the mantra slicking her skin like the tears that ran down his cheeks. (Y/N) held him even as his grip gave out, sliding down his body until she was planted flat on her feet, her fingers running a soothing circuit through his dirty hair. 

Pressing her lips to the side of his head, (Y/N) felt her own voice thin as she spoke, "You did it, Harry. You're done." 

His arms around her pulsed, her body flush against his with his fingertips denting into her back from how tightly he held her. Hesitantly peeling himself away from where he was cuddled into her neck, he gazed at her with bright green eyes, bloodshot and tired. 

"I-I want to shower," he murmured to her, the first thing he managed to utter other than his disbelieved mantra. 

A gentle smile touched at (Y/N)'s cheeks, a breathless laugh exhaling through her nose, "Yeah?" When Harry nodded his head, his tears slowing though he didn't share in her amusement, she brushed her hand through his curls once more before beginning to separate from his hold. "Okay, just let me... I left your gun in the tub, then I lea—" 

The second she tried to shake off his grip and take her own touch away, Harry resisted with a shake of his head and his hold tightening. His arms were a rope around her waist, tying her to him. "No, no, no," he bubbled, desperation sinking into his eyes, "I-I don't want to be alone. Don't leave." 

(Y/N) paused where she stood, her eyes matching his watery gaze. His irises swam, softened and scarred as if she left the room, he would never see her again. She couldn't say no to him. 

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. "I-I can stay, it's okay," she soothed him, "Did you—You want me to get in with you or stay in the bathroom?" 

As much as it felt odd to ask if he wanted her to shower with him despite the fact they'd never been more intimate than a few kisses over a week ago, (Y/N) felt like there were no longer lines between them given their circumstances. The things Harry shared with her and the time she spent adhered to his side were more intimate than sex. 

Nodding his head sent a few curls she had pushed back back over his forehead, some strands sticky and darker than the rest. "Get in with me," he rushed out, looking entirely too fragile for someone who just defended himself against any number of people out to get him, "Y'can say no, I-I jus' need you. Y-You make me feel okay, and-and—" 

She cut him off with a nod of her own head, her hand landing on his shoulder with a light squeeze to the cuff. It hurt seeing him try to explain himself when he didn't even seem to have fully processed the last day. "Okay, okay, I'll get in with you," she told him, eyes wide and matching his so he stayed with her, "I just... I don't want anything else happening." 

It was almost frantic the way he was quick to reject her thinking. His hands on her back pressed her closer to him. "Of course not. I jus'... I need you." 

After Harry let her break away from him, he still stayed close to her as clothing began to be dropped on the floor. Despite the static of his presence behind her and spying his bloody clothing from the corner of her eye, she didn't feel the warmth of his gaze on her skin as more and more was revealed. Even in the small space, he kept his back to her, eyes kept to himself even as his hands shook, aching to have the comfort of her touch. 

Down to her underwear, she saw Harry step into the bathtub first, the gun being plucked out of the basin and left on the countertop. From her peripheral, she saw him hesitate, as if he were afraid to both touch and let go of the firearm. Moments later, he stepped into the tub, twisting the temperature knobs with the kitschy mermaid curtain pulled closed. 

Letting out a breath, (Y/N) dropped the remainder of her clothing to the floor. While she was sure Harry had too much on his mind to be worrying about the appearance of her body, there was still something that felt unsettled knowing that this would be the first time he saw her naked. Before they'd even shared a handful of kisses, he was going to see her bare. If not for the fragile air around them, (Y/N) would have thought it was funny. 

Tugging back the curtain just enough, she stepped into the tub behind Harry. His back faced her as he wet his hair under the cold water, neither having the patience to wait for the stream to heat up like normal. More tattoos were revealed to her now that his arms were covered, along with scars that dotted his back she wished she didn't have to know about. 

At the sound of her joining him, Harry looked over his shoulder at her, hair dripping wet with pink tinted drops hitting the tub. His gaze didn't stray from her face as his eyes softened that much more just before he turned around to reach for her. He didn't pay any attention to her bare skin, every curve and dip being forgotten in favor of the comfort her touch could offer. 

His hands cupped the soft of her hips as he tugged her to his chest, fingertips denting the soft flesh. His skin was cold as he rested his forehead on hers, her body flush against his while the water showered from overhead. (Y/N)'s eyes fell to his chest, watching the way the water swirled the rusty drain in a cyclone of blood-stained water. Spots across his body showed more injuries than she previously noticed in the form of bruises and angry slashes. 

Harry didn't pay any of the pain he may have felt any mind, instead letting his eyes fall closed as he breathed her in. His hands on her hips shifted to loop around her waist just the way they had been before they stepped into the shower. His muscles relaxed further when the water began to warm, the spray beginning to fill the bathroom with steam. 

This felt more intimate than sex even to (Y/N). She had never just been held like this, with no implication of something more coming. 

He held her under the warm water as his breathing evened into steady paces, (Y/N) running her hands through his hair and his shoulders. She couldn't reach much of him with the way Harry held her, but she washed him as gently as she could with the places she could reach, allowing him to calm in her hold. Every now and then, his features twisted into something painful, silent tears falling from his eyes. She worried that she might be hurting him, but when he only held her tighter, she figured he had other things on his mind in those moments. 

Despite those moments when his fragility peeked out higher, this was the most calm she had ever seen him. Water ran down his body in cleaning rivers, taking away every bit of armor he had donned for the last however many years, leaving all of the soft bits behind. (Y/N) was used to see him stoic, clean from any kind of messy feeling or interaction, but that didn't mean she didn't still pick up on his restless hands, anxious gaze, or the constant need he seemed to have to be aware of everything at all times. She'd never seen him allow his brain to turn off like he was now. She hoped the only thing he felt now was relief. 

She was sure he was going to find a way to make this all his fault, that he should never be forgiven for the things he was forced to do today, but, if even for the next twenty minutes, she hoped he'd take this relief and comfort; she hoped he'd realized just how much he deserved to be treated gently. 

After the bathroom had sufficiently been filled with steam, the humidity clinging to every surface despite the still open bathroom door, (Y/N) asked, "Is it alright if I wash your hair?" Her fingers glided over his shoulders, touch as tender as her whispered voice. 

Harry hummed a cracked confirmation, his features giving that tell-tale twist as a slew of tears dripped down his cheeks. "Thank you," he breathed. 

Blinking his eyes open, Harry watched as she reached for one of the bottles he'd left on the ledge from his morning shower. It was an odd angle she had to work with, seeing as he didn't let her move very far away, out she'd work with it if this was all he wanted to feel more at ease. 

Ducking his head, he allowed her to lather his strands in the off-brand apple scented shampoo he'd purchased on sale a month prior. Suds formed between the waves, bright and sparkling against the dark color. Some bubbles popped up a pink hue, but (Y/N) didn't try to focus on what tinted them. 

Instead, she scratched her nails soothingly along his scalp, letting him sink into her that much more. "I love your hair, Harry," she murmured to him, words a secret only for him to hear. 

A watery voice piped up over the beating of the shower, "Yeah?" 

With a small smile touching the corner of her lips. He was cute like these, even if the circumstances were devastating. "Mhm," she hummed, "Your curls are perfect, especially since they've gotten longer. And, the color's very pretty with your eyes." 

His breathing labored just that much more as he listened to her, his grip on her tightening with her chest flush against his. "Me and my mum have the same eyes," is all he shared with her, his voice delicate enough to be blown away with the steam. 

"Really?" (Y/N) pushed, hoping he'd talk more about his family. She hoped the memory of them would comfort him. 

"Mhm," his hum came out on the whinier side, "Me, her, and m'sister." 

"I remember that picture you had" she told him, rinsing her hands of the suds before urging him towards the spray, "You're all very beautiful." 

Harry fell silent, allowing the water to wash away the blood that had stuck in his strands. The hot water had pushed a deeper flush onto his cheeks, making his eyes that much more green even if they did look a bit broken. 

(Y/N) didn't push him for more as she reached for his conditioner in a matching scent. He kept his grip tight on her as she massaged the cream through his curls, using this as more of an excuse to give him tender care as opposed to clean him. 

"What did your sister get her degrees in?" (Y/N) asked, thinking of the graduation picture he had displayed in his home. The only piece of decor he had. 

His gaze softened some as he thought about his family. "She did a lot with English and psychology," he started, "She wanted to be a writer at first, but before we left, I remember she had talked about wanting to do something to help people. She started looking into things for—um—mental health and people who had gone through trauma. I-I don't know what she's doing now, though." 

Listening, (Y/N)'s lips thinned. She didn't bother trying to push anymore after his last statement. She didn't want him focusing on the fact he didn't know what his family was doing, or even where in the world they were. 

Pushing him to rinse once more, Harry stepped out of the spray free of any blood on his body with his injuries clean and muscles softened under the warm water. His body didn't seem so heavy now, only tired. 

"Feel clean?" she asked, her own hair dripping wet against her back though she had no plans to wash the locks. 

He gave her a quiet nod, a sniffle scrunching his nose. 

For the first time since stepping into the shower, Harry's gaze strayed from the decent area of her face and the wall behind her, dropping down her body. She wasn't sure what he saw that had him scrunching his brows and his eyes turning sad once more. 

Before she could say much to distract him, Harry's hands began to shake on her back. "I don't deserve to touch you," he whispered, voice just small enough so it wouldn't break under the weight of his feelings, "Not after what I've done." 

His expression shifted with watery eyes and downturned lips. A cinch appeared between his brows. His lungs rattled in his chest though he didn't make any move to keep his hands off of her. 

Evening her breathing, (Y/N) did her best to keep a cap on her own feelings. She wanted Harry to feel like he could break down, be honest about his feelings, without worrying about her. She knew that if he cried any, he would take it as validation to his words, or push whatever he felt to the side in favor of doting over her. 

"Don't say that, Harry," she argued gently, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. She used the leverage of her hold to pull him down, their gazes matching. "You did what you had to do to protect yourself. Today, and every other day." 

Shaking his head, Harry's bottom lip wobbled with his tears mixing in with the water dripping down his face. "I-I—Don't—I...," he cut himself off with a deep breath being sucked in, his eyes squeezing closed as he continued, "'M disgusting—I don't deserve to touch you." 

Sweeping in a deep breath (Y/N) did her best to stay composed as she pulled his arms from the loop they made around her body. Blinking his eyes open, he looked defeated as if he really believed he had convinced her of his delusion and this was the punishment. Instead, (Y/N) pulled his palms to her face, her own hands guiding him. She held him steady as she puckered her lips and pressed kisses to his palms, the tip of her nose skimming his fingers as she spied him through the gaps. Finishing, she pressed them flat against her cheeks, her guiding hands staying atop to keep him from leaving her. 

"I love your hands," she told him, allowing him to catch the view of her willingly holding them to her skin, "They took care of me and kept me safe as much as you did. Be nice." 

A fresh batch of tears began to flood out of his eyes. Harry didn't say anything as he rested his forehead on hers. His hands on her skin turned solid on their own accord as he clung to her.

They stayed under the spray long enough for the water to run cold, clinging to one another.

—————

thyme represents courage; facing the past

eeeeep only one part left and now you know all the things about him!!! thank you so much for sticking w me for this! so sorry fi theres any mistakes and if you have any ideas or requests or anything please send them in!

#writing #harry #harry styles #harry one shot #harry imagine #harry blurb #harry angst #harry x reader #harry au #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles angst #harry styles x reader #love on tour #harrys house #pleasing #as it was #satellite

[grapejuicestyless]

Sunflower! Sunflower!

Harry Styles x Fem!Reader

Summery: You love being normal people with your irregular boyfriend.

Pure fluff

I woke up to the warmest heat spreading across my face through the cracks of the sheer curtains. The sun tickling my face so softly, it allowed my sleepy eyes to crack open, and my nose to scrunch up in a sleepy daze.

Behind the sun beams, my half conscious eyes met the closed ones of my love. The swirling greens hidden behind his thick lashes, the morning highlighted his chocolate mop and tanned skin. He had freckles coming in, I noticed, the closer I inched to him. Usually being the last one awake, I lived for these mundane moments that came periodically. The ones where I miraculously wake up first and get to soak in the peacefulness of everything.

I watched his chest rise and fall, his arm squished beneath his head, the other slung lazily over my waist. I listened to his little puffs of air leaving his parted lips. I held my breath, waiting to line up his inhale with mine to match my breathing to his. Something I found myself doing on instinct at this point, something that made me feel closer to him even if we couldn't grow any closer.

I let my hand draw closer to his face, picking it off the fluffy duvet on hovering it over the bridge of his nose. I trailed my thumb pad down his bridge and over the tip, sliding my finger off to the side to smooth out his cheek.

I watched his face scrunch at my subtle touch, his lips contorting and moving to the side to itch at his nose in his sleep. Sucking in a breath, I held it, waiting for him to settle back into a sleep. When he did, I let my thumb smooth the creases between his brows and watched them disappear under my touch. I released my breath, holding my thumb light on his skin, twirling a strand of fallen hair around my pinky.

"I love you so much, I couldn't love you anymore." I caught his subtle smile.

"I love you more." He mumbled, groggy with tiredness from the early morning. I removed my hand from his face, allowing him to stretch out and cuddle in closer. I let his heat radiate through my body and let a warmth that wasn't there before fill my lungs.

And we sat there, not talking, but knowing what we wanted to say. We'd sit there and cuddle for merely a moment before he broke the silence again.

"Why'd you stop?" He asked innocently, flashing his green eyes at me. He wore a Cheshire smile, knowing he'd get what he wanted as I adored doting on his every want and need, even if I'd never admit it out loud, he would know.

"Sorry, m'love. Got distracted by you, just so pretty." It was mornings like these that made me fall in love with my best friend all over again.

#harry styles fluff #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #fine line harry styles

[bunnyteetharry]

Smart Girl

summary: harry comes and helps you during exam week at college with a happy twist

warnings: none?

pairing: fwb to lovers! + hockey player!arry (college based)

————⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆ —————⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆ —————⋆ ˚｡⋆

“No”

“I didn’t even say anything yet”

“Harry….”

The person who you were trying to avoid this whole week was leaning against your dorm room door frame with a huge smirk across his face

and his pretty dimples out in the open

You groaned and rolled your eyes “I already know what you want, and it’s not gonna be with me tonight. Go find some other girl to fuck, i on the other hand am busy”. He hummed crossing his arms giving you that oh so deceiving look with his eyes. “Busy with what exactly” you opened your door more widely to point across the room to your bed that is littered with text books and flash cards, highlights scattered on the floor from you stress throwing and your trash can filled to the brim with paper balls.

“I can help” he smiled widely “And what’s your idea of helping? Sitting there and looking pretty?” His eyebrow rose “You think I’m pretty?” his smirk was bigger than ever “Are you gonna help or not because I have a big exam this week and I’m not gonna let anything distract me from it, especially you” his smirk faded into a more serious expression and walked into your room, setting his bag on the floor and flopping onto your bed, patting the spot next to him “Well, aren’t you going to study” rolling your eyes you shut the door behind you

this was going to be an eventful night

As surprising as it seems, Harry was actually the most helpful, didn’t even crack a sex joke in the past hour, which would immediately earn him a gold star in your book. “Another correct! see, you’re going to ace this” you gripped your hair roughly “But what if I don’t, what if all of this becomes pointless by the end of the day, what if I choke and waste time, and what if-“ the feeling of soft lips hits your quickly, with Harry’s hand wrapped around your neck “Stop over thinking this….you’re gonna do great, you’re my smart girl” his voice was soft, Harry’s voice has different levels, in the matter of different situations yet he always was like this with you, never lying to get this end of the bargain, always bringing you snacks after the end of your classes to make sure your well nourished, filling up your water bottle up even when it’s halfway.

You didn’t understand what was going on between the two of you, neither did he. But ever since 5 months ago, he’s been following you around like a puppy dog at you beck and call, being named the campus play boy he’s quite the opposite once you get to know him

Smart girl. That’s what he’s been calling you since your first met in English class, at first you though he was just another jock who needed help with his work and you’d be paid off to get it done for him but once you were assigned as partners for a project, you met another side of him not many get to see, not even his hockey team mates.

You slowly started hooking up 3 months in, what became weird was the looks you’ve been getting

why would anyone like him be with someone like you, with the pressure of not being good enough and exam week beating your ass, you couldn’t face him anymore

“Why have you been dodging me like the plague” you lips parted them quickly shut, not willing to give him a full answer “I can’t Harry” you sighed not even daring to meet his eyes. His hands went up to your face, moving it to where you can face him “Talk to me” those eyes….always getting you every time.

“I don’t know how to live up to your level, you’re so close to going pro, you were raised up in the suburbs, never having to worry about the things where I’m-“ his thumb crossed over your lips “You’re perfect, that’s what you are. You’re enough, doesn’t matter what people say, you’re it for me. Once you’re my girl officially, you won’t have to worry about a thing, I’ll take care of you.” He brought you in closer, nudging your noses together “Harry” he hummed “What my love, hmm?” you peppered kisses softly all over his cheeks “Is this your way of telling me you like me?” He laughed lowly “Was bringing you snacks after class, checking up on you when you’re having a bad day, bringing you coffee every morning and dodging every girl on this campus to rush over here to fuck you not enough to tell you that I’m obsessed with you?” you shrugged and joke “Mm I don’t know, you probably say that to all your other hook ups” he hummed and nodded

“I haven’t been with anyone else but you since the day we met” you smiled looking down and messed with your cuticles “Not me, Me and Niall…damn does that guy know how to-ow!” Harry pinched you “That’s not funny” you smiled laughing almost out of breathe “Mm it was pretty funny, especially seeing you already planning in your head on how to murder Niall”

He kissed you deeply with a strong grip on your waist and neck “Mine, My smart girl” he grumbled between kisses, you giggled brushing his cheek with the pad of your thumb softly “M’yours Harry”

“Good, now that that’s settled let’s go get something to eat” he smacked your ass as you both got off the bed “I need to eat before I fuck you” you scoffed and laughed “And you just decided that on your own just now” you picked up your bag, putting it over your shoulder “Mhm” he grabbed his keys and motioned you out the door.

a/n: got a little sloppy towards the end cause I was running out of ideas but overall I’m happy with the outcome! hope you enjoyed as well <33

#harry styles x reader #harry styles #harrys house #harry styles fanfiction #fwb!harry #hockey player au #hshq #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb

[spilledkaleidoscope]

I really like your DE portraits artstyle! Do you have any tips on how to replicate it?

I THINK I've written about it before, but since I am too lazy to look for it...

There is some variation between how the portraits are done - I tend to refer to the Smoker, Glen, Titus and Trant in terms of style.

I think the most characteristic things about these is

Sketchy lines with bold shadows (think nose, neck, eyes). I usually have a brush that responds to pressure (size of brush) and velocity (faster: more transparent; combined with texture this allows me to add a bit of "crunch" if I want to)

noticable difference in detail between face and the rest of the figure

more painterly, often geometric background

color variation! Make your primary painting brush a flat one that has color jitter enabled. I change the settings around as I draw for more variety. It helps if you have a setup where you can make the tip of the brush rotate with your pen (I've had this since december and its very nice).

This also goes for your palette in general. The DE Portraits tend to use lots of different colors even in things that read as grey or white. For example, if you look at the Hanged Man Portrait, his grey skin is actually desaturated purple, yellow, green and blue. There is little to no mixing going on here, so what I do is make a little mixing palette and then just eyedropper colors from there. ALSO don't be afraid of saturated colors and color contrasts! Liz' portrait is done a bit differently than a bunch of others, but the green highlights are notable.

Finish up by coloring some of your lineart or painting over it in places to make it more lively. I feel like the less put together a character is, the more abstract the portrait becomes (I'm thinking of Idiot Doom Spiral or Cuno's Father) (Harry is the exception I guess) (Unless you are like me and refused to look into the mirror LOL)

Hope this is helpful! I learned this by doing some studies, including the Disco Sapphic portraits that are rather slight variations of existing portraits.

buuuut I feel like my "freehand" portraits have become competent too:

#askbox #art asks

[cupid-styles]

A frat boy alpha Harry and omega y/n blurb perhaps l👀 only if you have motivation bestie<3

based on this blurb (and this part two!)

word count: 866

content warnings: none!

. . .

Harry tries not to worry.

And really, he hasn't had to worry very much throughout his life. He's been fortunate in that way, but then he met Y/N, his mate, and things just... changed. Now, whenever they're apart, he feels like there's a string tied around his heart, tugging at whatever direction she's in. She's all he can think about, as if half of his brain is solely dedicated to thoughts about her.

He tries to keep it under control. The primal alpha part of him is always threatening to break out when it comes to her, and he has to double-down on his efforts to suppress it. But when he doesn't hear from her all day — something that rarely occurs; even given their busy schedules filled with classes and lectures and studying and homework, at the very least there's a few texts, something along the lines of hope you're having a good day ! :) — he can't help the anxiety that creeps into his stomach, spreading to his chest and throat.

At around 7 pm, he calls her, desperately hoping that maybe she's just had a busy day, but he's met with her voicemail. He continues laying in his bed, ignoring the sounds of his annoying housemates celebrating their weekly Thirsty Thursday downstairs, bottom lip wedged between his teeth. He doesn't want to overwhelm her; it's only been a few months since they decided they were really gonna do this, give into the whole backwards mate thing neither of them cared for until they met, but he's lying if he sometimes doesn't worry that he'll end up losing her somehow.

He decides he'll give it until 9 pm. By then, there's nothing school-related she could be working on, since he's learned that she tries to put her assignments away before she gets too tired. She has to text him or return his call by then.

. . .

At 9:02 pm, he's come to terms with the fact that he's probably insane, that Y/N will likely break up with him after this because he looks like an obsessive boyfriend.

He's using his spare key to gently unlock her front door, tip-toeing through the entryway and listening for any sign of her. All her lights are on, he notices, as he toes his shoes off.

"Y/N?" he calls out, tugging his jacket off and hanging it on the hook by the door, "Baby, are you here?"

When Harry doesn't receive an answer, his chest twists, sock-clad feet taking long strides as he passes the empty kitchen. His stomach drops when he finally finds her in the living room, her hunched over form wrapped up in her favorite fuzzy throw blanket. Study materials are strewn across the surface of the coffee table, papers, highlighters, and pens covering every inch of the wood. Her head is tucked into her arms as she sleeps, steady puffs of air leaving her nose.

He coos to himself, kneeling down next to her body and placing a soothing hand between her shoulder blades.

"Sweetheart," he murmurs in attempt to wake her up. She stirs, blinking her eyes open. They widen immediately when she realizes who's next to her, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"Hey," Harry greets with a soft smile, "You alright?"

Y/N groans, lifting her head from the coffee table and groaning out from the ache in her neck and back.

"Oh god— did I sleep all day?"

"'m not sure," he replies as he helps her sit up, "I didn't hear from you all day and I was worried. I, um, used my spare key to come check up on you. I hope that's okay."

"Shit, I'm so sorry, H," she sighs, rubbing her hand over her forehead. "You must have been so worried. I've been so stressed with midterms— I-I think I stayed up all night studying and I must've... I don't know, I must have slept all day somehow."

"It's okay, don't apologize," he hushes her comfortingly, an overwhelming feeling of relief washing over him. "You shouldn't pull all-nighters like that, though. 's not healthy, bub."

"I just have so much going on!" Y/N whines, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. He wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her close to his body. He won't say it right now, but he's so elated to have her here, knowing she's absolutely fine.

"I know, baby, it's a tough time in the semester. You gotta take care of yourself first though," he murmurs, tucking his hands under her thighs and lifting her to the couch. Her limbs readily wrap around his body, happy to allow him to move her however he wants. "Listen, how about this? I'll run you a nice warm bath, tuck you into bed, and tomorrow morning, we'll come up with a plan to make sure you get everything done."

She nods into his neck, pressing a light kiss to his skin. "Yes. Yes, please."

He smiles gently, "Alright, good."

"Will you stay?" she asks, backing away slightly to look up at him, "Stay with me tonight? I just... I missed you."

He swears his heart may burst at her soft and sleepy tone.

"I can't imagine spending my night any other way, baby."

#writing #abo harry

[xx-thedarklord-xx]

Malfoys' Darling

Drarry where Lucius and Narcissa have another child later in life, a little girl who absolutely adores Draco.

Harry didn't expect that his office straight out of Hogwarts would be next to Malfoy. An unfortunate circumstance that he was forced to get used to even if he hated it.

Until the laughter came.

It started out as baby babbling, little giggles that warmed even his jaded heart.

"Dddu!"

Harry laughed himself silly when he realized that was the baby's way of trying to say Malfoy's name.

Dddu turned into, "Drrr," and "Draaa."

"That's my sweet girl," Malfoy would say every time Narcissa brought her for a visit. "I'm your favorite, I know. Not everyone can be me."

Harry stopped dreading work, the highlight to each day was listening to little giggles and babbles that were slowly getting more coherent.

"Drayy," turned into "Co," sometimes, like she couldn't combine the words but could say them separately.

And when little feet ran into his office, a chubby hand covering a heart stopping smile, Harry knew that he'd never be the same.

"And just who might you be?" Harry asked as she stopped near the leg of his desk, needing the support as her tiny legs threatened to give out. He wondered how long ago she learned to walk.

Wide eyes that looked so much like her brothers stared back at him; mouth parted before she tugged on his pant leg.

"Up!"

Who was he deny such a demand from a little princess?

Harry settled her on his knee as he spun in his chair, grinning at the little shrieks of laughter as she clapped her hands together.

"You are adorable. I understand why Malfoy is besotted with you. Don't tell him I said this, but I used to think he was the prettiest person I'd ever seen. Even gangly and too much chin as a teenager I was fascinated. And definitely in denial.

"But," Harry continued, tickling her sides, lips stretching at her breathy giggle. "You are just as pretty. I think he has competition. And I know how he handles competition. Badly. What do you think he'd say about it, hmm?"

"I think he'd know a losing battle when he saw one."

The drawling tone caused two very different reactions. Harry startled, grasping his chest as his heart missed several beats. But the best reaction was a small happy shriek as a loud,

"Dwaco!!"

Malfoy's eyes softened; nose scrunched up as he smiled gently.

"Hello, Darling."

Wiggling limbs had Harry setting her gently on the ground, watching as she rushed to Malfoy who was already crouched, prepared to catch her as a small body launched forward.

"She wins hands down," Malfoy glanced at Harry, hand playing with her curls. "But I'll settle for top two as long as it comes with a date."

That was the day—a boring Monday—where Harry not only got himself a date but also had the pleasure of meeting Darling Malfoy. A sweet girl who filled his office with laughter and smiles.

#Drarry #Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #Idk where this came from #It's been a million years since i've written a drabble #of any kind #Malfoys' Darling

[jarofstyles]

Flame 6- Pop

Hello please don’t hurt me for the love of god 😀 sorry in advance I will fix it…

Check our our Patreon for early access and exclusive writings!

Series masterlist

WC- 2.4k

—-

Harry was pretty sure #1 on the list of best friend rules was not to fall in love with them.

He had failed. Failed massively and horrible and it was overtaking his brain. Watching Y/N as she sat across from him at the coffee shop, he felt his heart hammer in his chest as he observed her. Her back was facing the window, illuminating her from behind and giving her an angelic glow from behind. Her reading glasses kept falling and her annoyed huff made him smile, his own attempt at studying abandoned as he chose instead to sip his coffee, fold the wrapper of his straw as small as he could and stare at Y/N.

It was one of his new favorite pastimes. Watching her closely, observing her doing seemingly mundane tasks and becoming obsessed with the way she made them interesting. He had to admit he had never felt obsessive over a human before, really the opposite. Harry tended to run the other way as soon as he got too close to people because he liked to beat them to the punch. After some shit he had gone through he learned to leave first and didn’t want to see someone else walking away from him. Y/N, though? He was allowing himself to get closer and closer to her. Enough he had opened up his heart.

“Can feel you staring.” She smiled, a phrase all too familiar to her lips now. “What could possibly be so interesting about me studying? Or do I have something on my face?” Her eyes still didn’t leave her paper, though.

“You’re just a pretty girl.” He hummed, taking the coffee to his lips. “You do a cute thing with your nose when you don’t get something. A little scrunch. And then you rub your eyebrow and smooth the hair out of your face. Did you know that?” This was definitely showing his ass as being obsessive but he didn’t mind. Seeing her freeze and duck her head down so he couldn’t see her flustered was a reward.

“You’re a dork. I didn’t know that, no.” Her hand reached for her drink, taking a measured sip before placing it back down on the orange plate with a soft ‘clink’ of ceramic. “Then again, I study. I’m not watching myself stress over memorizing these definitions.” Her words were lighthearted but he could see the stress come back on her face as his eyes fell to the pastel highlighters uncapped next to her. Something Harry never understood doing because she was bound to dry this set out.

“M’sorry, love. Didn’t mean to distract you.” Harry wanted her to let him accompany her to study again. The last thing he wanted was another stretch of time without her and he had to prove himself today that he could keep his hands to himself- but she hasn’t said anything about eyes. That was impossible to keep away, so he wouldn’t even attempt that.

“It’s okay, it isn’t just you. I’m frustrated with it.” She sighed, pushing her glasses back up on her face. “You’re behaving for once.” The smile returned to the lips Harry loved so much, causing the cotton candy feeling to rise back in his stomach. He had done that. Gotten that smile from her. He wanted to do that more and more.

He went to say something back but he was rudely interrupted.

“Y/N?” A voice startled them both, Harry looking up to see a somewhat familiar face. He knew of the guy, someone on the lacrosse team and a bit obnoxious at parties, he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing coming up to them- let alone Y/N- but he didn’t have a good feeling about it.

“Hey, Tyler.” She greeted him with a polite smile.

It was one Harry knew to be reserved for casual friends, not the same ones he got, but he still felt a bit annoyed. The guy was interrupting the little time he got with her today. She was leaving after to go back to her place for another study group.

“Hey! I can’t wait for study group later. It’s really cool that you guys are nice enough to help out. Thanks for letting me join. I’ve never understood material so easily. You’re especially good at explaining things.” The guy hadn’t stopped staring at Y/N, not even taking a glance at Harry. It pissed him the fuck off.

Yeah, he knew she was good at explaining things. She was extremely smart. And funny. And beautiful. And Harry’s. He never did like sharing as a kid and he didn’t like sharing now. Especially not Y/N’s attention.

Fuck. He hated this feeling. This fucker was going to be studying with her today? When Harry was at home watching reruns of ‘Friends’ and pouting because he missed her? It was moments like these that made him irritated that he didn’t have the same courses as her, wishing he could join in and be of use. Be around her and actually make an impact studying. All he could do here was read her flash cards and help her organize her highlighters.

“Oh! I’m so glad it’s helping.” Y/N smiled, looking genuinely pleased. One thing about her? She was oblivious to the ways people looked at her sometimes. She could clock some flirting but the gazes, the schmoozing? It went over her head. It wasn’t that the compliments weren’t genuine either. Harry knew very well it was probably not a lie- but the way he said it, the way he stared. He knew what was going through his head.

“It’s so crazy you’re still studying. Do you ever stop?” The guy seemed impressed but it was like every word that came out of his mouth annoyed Harry more. He hadn’t even said hi or glanced at him which was rude, but he was openly gawking at the girl he was currently in love with. Even if she didn’t know- it was guy code. Don’t do that shit.

“I do! I was taking a break last night but we decided to come out this morning and see some light.” She motioned to the windows of the coffee shop. “This is Harry, by the way.” Y/N motioned over to him. “He’s not in the study group obviously but we make a good studying team.”

It was then that Tyler looked over to Harry, a flash of irritation on his face as he realized Harry was not liking this. As if the moron couldn’t feel the daggers being flared into his back before. “Ah, yeah. I know of him. Don’t think we met before.” He nodded before turning over to Y/N. “I’ll see you tonight. Make sure you bring snacks, I’m sure we’ll be going late tonight.”

The last words were said looking at Harry. As if it was a threat. A taunt. Idiot.

It was stupid because he had her. He knew it. Y/N was only talking to him this way. She wasn’t a liar; she wasn’t someone who was purposely flirting with this guy. He was testing his luck. But Harry had a jealous streak a mile long and it kind of made him pathetic.

“Yeah, we tend to go all night when it’s just Y/N and I.” Harry smirked. “She’s got plenty of good snacks in her pantry. I’m sure she’ll bring something good. Or we can stop at the shop on our way to her place.” He shrugged. “Whatever she wants. She’s generous that way.”

Y/N nudged his foot but Harry’s stare didn’t break from Tyler’s, the easily smug look not melting from his face before Tyler made a half ass excuse saying his order was ready and moving out of there.

“What was that?” She whispered at him, kicking him harder now.

“Ouch! Fuck. Watch the legs.” He hissed, reaching down to rub his sore spot.

“No! Why did you get all weird?” She demanded, narrowing her eyes at him. “He was just saying hi. Don’t make it weird when it doesn’t have to be.”

Harry stared at her for a few seconds before sighing, shaking his head as he reached over to grab one of the cookie bites on her plate she had abandoned. “Y/N… he has a thing for you.” He knew she was going to try and deny it so he shook his head, swallowing the bite he had taken. “I know you don’t see it sometimes, but I do. He had the look, the tone. I’m telling you, the dude likes you. And it’s annoying to come over here and try and flirt with you when m’sitting literally right here.”

“So?” Y/N scoffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she adjusted her cardigan. She had been irritated with his “It isn’t like I was gonna entertain anything with him, Harry. And besides…” she pursed her lips. “It isn’t like we’re together anyways. You never got like this before.”

‘It isn’t like we’re together anyways.’

Harry felt like he had been kicked in the stomach.

Immediately his appetite vanished, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to come up with a reply, but he couldn’t. The sick feeling spread to his throat and made it feel like he had a rock in the back of it.

She wasn’t wrong. They weren’t together, actually. But he had thought at the very least they were… something. That what they’d been doing and saying the last few weeks had meant something more than just fucking around. Harry knows that any other hook ups he had were nothing at all like this. There was no yearning or wanting. The moment they’d seriously kissed had changed everything for him. But apparently, it was only him.

He had read it wrong and now he was fucked. Fucked and hurt and embarassed.

“I… yeah. You’re right.” He said quietly, clearing his throat before closing his book. “I wasn’t like this before. M’sorry. We aren’t together so… I shouldn’t act like that.” Grabbing his bag, he pulled it into his lap. He needed to get out of here. To.. hit something, scream, cry, figure out what he was going to do to lose the shit he felt so he could be un-in love with his best friend.

“What? Why are you packing your bag?” Y/N asked confused. “I’m not done. We still have an hour left.” Her glasses were pulled off her nose now as she watched him place his things inside the book bag, zipping it up. They had an hour and 15 minutes left, actually. He had been the one needy for her attention- and now he felt like an idiot.

“Yeah- I just, I forgot I told Niall we would head to the gym. Planned it before.” He gave a weak smile, standing up and pushing his chair in. A five dollar bill was placed on the table. “Get another coffee and study, yeah? I’ll see you later. Have fun at your study group and let me know you got home safe.”

Harry heard her call for him as he left, shooting her a smile that didn’t meet his eyes as he rushed out of the shop. He felt like he couldn’t fucking breathe, his eyes burning a little bit at how stupid he must seem. At least in his own hand.

Of course she hadn’t missed him as much. She didn’t have a problem spending nights apart and studying because she didn’t care as much about it. She didn’t miss the smell of him on her sheets and she didn’t sit and stare at him the same way he did. And he couldn’t even be angry at her.

He had to be the one to go and fall in love with her. She had never asked for it, had never said that. He had let his feelings get in the way, he had been the one confident it wouldn’t change anything and now he had to clean up the mess he made.

—-

🍑: H are you okay?

H: yeah I’m fine

🍑: okay… don’t bullshit me though. Was it the coffee?

H: nah. I met up with Niall and went to the gym. It’s on my insta story.

🍑: yeah I saw that but… idk

🍑: did I hurt your feelings or something? Because of the study group? :/

H: no, no. It wasn’t that. I’m okay.

🍑: are you sure? I realized maybe you feel excluded. You can come with me tonight if you want!!

🍑: we can go and get snacks before :)

H: I’m okay, love. I’m not feeling so good, I’ve got a bit of a headache. Think I’m dehydrated so I’m gonna just relax at him tonight.

H: please be safe on your way home. Text me if you need a ride.

🍑: oh… okay :( feel better.

He was dehydrated, probably. Working out, the sauna and then crying did that to a person. He felt wound up tight, even after the workout. Niall had been a real one for not asking what happened after the initial one, merely patting his back. He understood that sometimes the best medicine was beating the fuck out of a punching bag.

Curled on his couch, he let the tv play as he replayed his own moments in his head. It was the first time he had rejected Y/N to hang out. He went to see her when unknowingly had the beginnings of the flu and ended up giving it to her by accident. But he couldn’t stomach it right now.

It wasn’t that he blamed her. He didn’t. He blamed himself for misreading signs. For making things into a bigger deal than they should have been. Y/N had never been anything but authentic and kind and honestly, he couldn’t blame himself for falling in love with her because it was so fucking easy to do. Though sometimes a bit abrasive, she was sweet under it all. Kind. Helpful. Fucking intelligent too. She had sparkly eyes and soft lips and having her attention made you feel like the most important person in the world. Harry had just gotten lost in the high of it.

#jarofstyles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #flame #Bffrry #bff Harry #best friend!harry #best friend Harry styles #best friend Harry #best friends to lovers #friends to lovers #bff Harry styles #flamerry #harry styles fanfics #harry styles one shots #Harry styles fic

[violetsandfluff]

he sneezes so cute 🥰

#damn 🤤 #Harry’s nose highlight #snz fet #that cute little nose scrunch 🤧 #*dies internally*

[foolforharrry]

H. S.

Word Count: 1.5k words

Summary: Fluff and Harry personalizing his new robe

Basically. I miss Harry and Amber. If you haven't read it, they're the characters from my oneshot called Off The Deep End. And I felt like using them for this. I got the idea from the photos of Harry we got where he was wearing the robe with the H.S on.

I am very weak for Harry in a robe.

This isn't carefully written at all but I hope you still like it!

if you wanna read more of my work, I have it all linked on my masterlist.

Any feedback would be greatly appreciated and if you have any requests please feel free to give them to me and I will do my absolute best to do it.

Descending the staircase and rounding the corner that leads into the cluttered living room, I'm met with the sight of Harry sitting hunched down on the floor with his back to me. Humming a song I can't recognise to himself with his head bopping along to it.

He'd already left the house when I woke up today, a note stuck to his pillow informing me that he went out for a run and would be back by lunchtime. That was just before 9 am.

Pulling my phone out, I turn it on. 12:17 pm. Maybe I spent a bit longer laying in bed before I headed to the shower than I thought I did.

The room smells faintly of the mixture of his fruity body wash and expensive shampoo I've gotten so familiar with and it makes me feel at ease the second I register it.

Before stuffing my phone in the pocket of my sweatpants, I snap a quick picture of Harry like this. His brown hair looks damp, curling at the back of his neck. The warm lights from the ceiling reflect the muscles in his bare back and shoulders. Highlighting the way they twitch every time he slightly moves his arms.

Padding across the wooden floor and onto the soft carpet, I stand behind him so close my knees nearly brush against the back of his shoulders.

With a slight smile on my face, I twirl a lock of his hair around my pointer finger, "Hi, baby."

Harry tilts his head back and the grin that instantly replaces the concentrated pout on his face when his eyes meet mine damn near takes my breath away.

"Hi sleepyhead. Gimme a kiss." He takes out his AirPods, leaving them on the floor as he pouts out his lips for a kiss.

My stomach is tight with butterflies as I take a small step backwards, giving myself enough room to sit down on my knees behind him and press my lips against his, giggling when he cups the back of my head to keep it in place and pecks my chin. Then my cheek before he smears a final kiss to my lips, a bright smile on his face when he lets me go. "Just so pretty darling."

"Stop it." Blushing profusely at his compliment, I wrap my arms around him. Hands folded against his stomach as I prop my chin on his shoulder. "Why didn't you shower in our bathroom?" I change the topic before he gets the chance to protest.

Harry places his warm hands on top of mine and I can feel the heat radiating from his skin through the thin material of my t-shirt as he deadpans; "They're all our bathrooms, Ambs."

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep in the laugh that would only encourage him further. However, when he opens his mouth, I wish I hadn't. "Could hear you having a karaoke session when I got home and didn't wanna interrupt your fun."

Hiding my burning cheeks in his neck, I groan. "No, I didn't."

"It was really quite wonderful," Harry tries to assure me through his snickering even though we both know he's full of shit. I only shake my head and press my nose further into his skin. "If I ever get sick, you can just fill in for me on stage."

"That would be a bad idea," I tell him, dragging my head out of his neck. For oxygen, but also so my words would be intelligible. "How come?"

"By the time they left, all your fans would love me more than they love you."

Harry hums as if he's in deep thought, his thumb mindlessly running over my knuckles. "That would be bad for business," he muses.

"What are you doing, anyway?" I ask, at last taking in the mess in front of us.

There's a pair of scissors and the packaging to what looks to be about 10 different coloured threads scattered on the carpet, a set of graphite pencils and a pack of needles. His bag is by the foot of the coffee table. I also recognise the beige robe I got him for his birthday in his lap.

The purple bathrobe he loved so dearly was starting to tear at the seams after years of avid use. He had been sad to part ways with it, but he eventually recognised that it was time to switch it out with a robe that doesn't have a split in the seam that goes all the way from the bottom to his hips.

Taking the shoulders of his new robe between his fingers, his shoulders shifting against my chest when Harry lifts it off his lap to proudly show off his work. "Art, honey. I'm doing art."

I wouldn't be able to keep the admiration out of my mouth if I wanted to when I take in the red tread that's stitched through the beige material of his robe. A tall H with a nearly finished S next to it. The S is slightly longer than the H and the difference in size has my smile growing tenfold as I take in his handy work.

"It's amazing, baby," I praise him, planting a kiss on his shoulder. "Now you have a backup plan for when I steal your career."

Harry laughs, his shoulders shaking with it. "Is that right? Give up singing and become a seamstress?" he questions as he picks up where he left off, pushing the tiny needle with the red thread tied to the back through the fabric.

"Mhm," I hum, detangling myself and getting off my now sore knees despite Harry's whiny protest. "You could start an Etsy shop and sell personalised clothes and stuff. Would be a huge hit, I'm sure."

My body bounces from how I practically throw myself onto the couch before I rearrange myself so I'm laid on my stomach, my head propped on a throw pillow and my arms around it.

"Especially because you would promote it, right?" Harry raises one eyebrow while keeping his eyes trained on the task in his lap. "You know, since you'll have stolen all of my fans. I think you'd owe me at least that."

"If you do all your work like this, you bet your little ass I would," I gesture to where he's sat on the floor of our living room in only his grey sweatpants. The muscles in his torso look delicious as ever with his sun-kissed skin. His soft hair falls messily across his forehead, free of gel and hair clips.

The left corner of his mouth quirks into a crooked smile as he tilts his head at me. "You're only with me for my body aren't you?" he teases without missing a beat.

"That and your pancakes. Sorry to break it to you, babe." I end my sentence with an exasperated sigh.

"I guess it's better to know now." Faking a sniffle, Harry pauses his work to wipe a non-existent tear with a smile threatening to break out on his face. "Before we're married, you know."

"Since when are we getting married?" I ask in a higher pitch than usual. Sitting up straight, my cheeks burn as he acts like he didn't just mention marriage as casually as one would talk about apples. When he pretends like he didn't hear my question, I take the pillow I was just using and chuck it at him, watching the way it bounces from his shoulder and to the side. Out of sight.

"Don't act like you're shocked I'm planning on putting a ring on that pretty finger of yours, Amber," Harry says matter-of-factly as he seals his masterpiece with a knot before chopping off the excess thread with green scissors. "Gonna have to make you one of these with AS."

Getting up on his feet, Harry shrugs the robe on, tying the string around his waist. The HS is on the left side of his chest and I can't lie and say I don't love it.

"Cat got your tongue?" Harry closes the distance between us in two steps, towering over me so I have to crane my neck to see his face. His handsome, smug face.

Swallowing hard, I say comment on the less heavy thing he said, "I want it on my ass, then."

"Whatever you want, my love."

Harry tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, a soft smile on his face when he brushes the pad of his thumb across my cheekbone so softly I almost can't feel it. "You're so pretty," he says in a whisper so quiet I almost can't feel it.

"It looks pretty," I thumb over the embroidered letters, my cheeks burning crimson from the compliment. Only Harry can have me blushing like a schoolgirl over a compliment.

Bashful, Harry thanks me and gently takes my wrist in his hand before he places a soft kiss on each of my knuckles.

His lips linger on my ringer finger for a few seconds longer than the rest.

-

I missed Harry and Amber and just wanted to write fluff but I still hope you liked it.

#harry #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles masterlist #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles #one direction #fanfiction #masterlist #fluff

[mercurygray]

is it too on the nose to suggest john egan + eileen hammond with "film"? if so may i also suggest "rest" or "risk"? i get nervous sending requests aljdfghkj

This request was perfect, Kind Anonymous Friend!

They were nearly at the end of the pile of mail when a surprise appeared.

"What's this?" Solly gave a second look. "A package for John Egan?"

Everyone in the room stared. Small lives called for small joys, and the distribution of mail was the highlight of everyone's week - if you were allowed to enjoy it, that was. Everyone in the 100th's officer's quarters had quietly resigned themselves to the tempest in a teacup that was John Egan during the mail - arms folded, scuffling his shoes, and complaining, in case anyone dared to appreciate too loudly, about wives and girlfriends and friends back home.

"I thought you said no one was writing to you," Frank said, looking up from yet another letter from his mother.

"No one was," Bucky said, swinging out of his bunk and jumping down to take the package, just as surprised as anyone else that the thing had his name on it.

"Does that address say London?" Crank asked, reading over Bucky's shoulder as he turned the package over and ripped through the already-opened paper to get to what was inside - a letter and a single phonograph record in a paper sleeve.

For once in his life, Egan was speechless.

"Who's sending you records?" Frank wanted to know.

"Eileen Hammond," Bucky managed, his voice almost a croak.

"Eileen Hammond!" Crank scoffed. "When I said you should write her that was a joke."

They could all remember that first month, Bucky moping around that once more there had been a mail call and once more he was without mail, and Crank, just as fed up as anyone else that he was being made to feel bad about a letter from home, had exploded. "I don't know, Bucky. Write - Write an actress! One of those USO broads! They got people who answer those - maybe she'll write you back."

"Maybe she won't," Brady had added, practical as ever, himself lording over a letter from his girlfriend. "Those girls get hundreds of letters. Lovesick soldiers are a dime a dozen."

"I," said Bucky, reaching into the cup on the table and pulling out a pencil so he could begin addressing his message blank, "Will take that bet, Crank. I'm a gambler. This is a gamble. Feels worth the risk, wouldn't you say?"

And here, it seemed, the risk had paid off. She'd actually written back.

"He's pulling your leg, Crank," Benny said sagely, hardly looking up from his book. "It's probably from his ma."

Bucky's face was long and dark, and without any warning, he'd stormed off down the hall, probably in pursuit of the rec room and its much abused phonograph, and the rest of the room, curious as anything, followed, wondering just what it was they were going to hear when he turned the record on.

There was a scratch as Harry James was unceremoniously yanked down, and several angry yelps as the rec room's occupants groused about being interrupted. "Put it - put it on!"

Brady and Crank both tried hard to read the label as Egan started up the record player, carefully setting the needle as the whole room listened, expectantly, for the crackle as the machine picked up the sound and a woman's voice bloomed into the air.

"Is this - is it recording? Okay, it's recording, good." A pause - the performer collecting herself before she officially stepped up to the microphone. "This message goes out to Major John Egan, and all the fine fellows of the United States Army and Army Air Forces currently overseas as guests of the German Army. This is Eileen Hammond with a special Command Performance for you all." Crank's eyebrows were in his hair, and even Benny was staring in disbelief that Eileen Hammond - the Eileen Hammond, stuff of painted plane pin-ups and kriegie wet dreams - was just as good as right there in the room with them, taking low and smelling of perfume.

Egan sat down heavily in a nearby chair, still holding the letter and the paper sleeve, and Hammond's voice went on. "Please know that all of you are in our thoughts, and our prayers, and that all the people at home who are waiting for you love you more than words can say. If they'd let me I'd come and sing this to you all in person, as I've done for so many of your fellow soldiers at home and abroad, but for now this recording will have to do. Please hear it and think of better days. We ready, Bob?"

Crank turned up the volume, and everyone in the room could hear a single guitar and a woman's low, sultry voice, all velvet and moonlight, singing the slower, sedater version of a song that everyone from Thorpe Abbotts knew all too well, whether he liked it or not.

Blue skies smiling at me Nothing but blue skies do I see Bluebirds singing a song Nothing but bluebirds all day long.

But the most surprising thing was that Bucky, for once, wasn't singing along. He was too busy reading, holding his letter as if it were made of gold, a small, pleased smile on his broad, sunny face.

#i have written a thing #mercurygraypresents #eileen hammond #Nix better watch out #masters of the air x oc #tds cinematic universe #asked and answered #kind anonymous friend

[watermelonsugacry]

wait wait wait omg where was 1dbandmate!yn in the carpool karaoke??

Carpool Karaoke

SINCE 2010 MASTERLIST

Here are some of the highlights! :

"Hey man, eh do you think you can help me get to work? Ugh, thanks man you're the best." James hangs up the phone with a sigh of relief.

It's not long before Niall slides into the passenger side only for Louis to open the back door. YN follows in and scoots her way in with Harry on her trail. And finally Liam comes in and closes the door by his side.

"Hey James." YN smiles as she adjusts herself in her squished seat.

After some initial greetings, James is slowly 'driving' their way out of the parking lot. It was like a mum picking up her kids from school.

"Seat belts on everyone. Anyone need to wee?"

Harry raises his hand, "I need to wee."

"Hold it." James says dismissively.

"Can we get some food on the way?" YN asks, leaning over the best she can in between the center console, one hand on the driver's head rest and the other on Harry's knee.

"Of course we can, golden child." James says causally, 'focusing' on the road ahead on him. YN sits back in her seat with a satisfied smile as if she's silently boasting about how she's the favorite one out of the bunch.

...

When Best Song Ever comes on, YN falls right back into her usual harmony. Her and Harry look to each other, moving their fists in up and down as they sing, "We danced, we danced, it goes something like this!"

When James when he hits Zayn's high note, the band stops with wide eyes and surprised smiles as they look to the tv host.

...

James and Niall hands everyone a jean jacket. It was pretty difficult for the band in the back seat to put one since everyone was so tightly squished together.

"Louis! Yeh nearly clocked me eye out!" YN moves her head out of the way just in time to miss Louis's fist.

"Move yeh head then!"

Harry beckons his fingers so she can lean more over to his side behind him as he leans forwards.

Then James goes on to teach the band choreography for No Control.

"I'm a loaded gun," James makes a motion for everyone to point down to their crotches, making the band let out a chuckle. "YN if you don't wanna do that p--"

"No, no. I'll point to me own **** too. That's cool." Her cuss word is beeped out from the video and it makes James let out one of his high pitched laughs.

And when they're performing, everyone acts very suave as if they were actually doing a music video.

"Taste," YN sings to front view camera, lifting her shoulder to her cheek in a sultry way.

"Where is it Niall?" James asks, turning to the blonde lad as he sticks out his toungue.

"On my tongue." She slides the backs of her hands under her chin and jawline while fluttering her eyelashes. "I don't want to wash away the night before. Before!" She riffs her last word.

...

While James has Niall playing Sleep With, Marry, Cruise, it can be seen in the background that YN is mindlessly playing with the threads coming off of the rips in Harry's jeans at his knees. Although their conversation isn't picked up on camera, fans can clearly see them talking quietly amongst themselves.

Harry leans his head a little bit over to her ear, not so much given how squished together they are from their seating arrangements (which he's certainly not complaining about), "Dunno why we always gotta be playing games like this."

"Oh? So you're tellin' me you've got better things to do?" YN teases with a soft smile.

He's sitting right next to his crush for the past 5 and a half years, their sides and faces so incredibly close to one another than he can breathe in the minty gum she's chewing, her fingers grazing his bare knee as she braids the tiny threads peaking out from rips there--he wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

"Clearly." He playfully widens his eyes and is gifted when she huffs out a laugh through her nose.

"Who would you choose?"

You.

He gives his shoulder a shrug, "Eh, dunno. Like I said I don't fancy these games. You?"

"Can't tell you tha'." YN discreetly turns up heat setting on Liam's seat warmer on the middle console in front of her while he's looking out the window. "You'll hold it against me one day."

"Whot? Is it me for all three of them?" Harry teases. He only said that just to see her give him one of her infamous eye rolls, maybe even a playful shove. But his heart begins to race when she sees her eyes still focused on where her hands mess with the threads, her lips tucking inward to keep her smile from growing.

"S'bit narcissistic of you, innit?"

Harry's thoughts begin to go a mile a minute. She explicitly didn't agree to that being her answer, but she also technically didn't deny it either. Before he can think to say another word, James suggests for everyone to sing along to their next track.

...

And the part where James does a rap for bridge of Drag Me Down and everyone chips in with their own flare, YN sings the consist melody of the pre-chorus.

Together, Harry and YN harmonize their first high note riffs together.

"Nobody can drag me down!"

The volume of their singing can be annoying to the boys next to them but they could honestly care less. It's when they get to their second set of high notes that the two end up bursting out in laughter at the fact that both of their voices crack at the same time.

YN puts a hand over her smile and the other to Harry's knee as she leans forward in laughter.

Taglist:

@wobblymug @be-with-me-so-happily @ashtongivesmebutterflies @kiwiskiwiskiwi @darlingdesire @obsesseddd @hopefulwastelandcreation @cacapeepee @breezie-b00 @harrysfolklore @theekyliepage @sunshinemoonsposts @nervousspiderling @tbslonelyhes @tenaciousperfectionunknown @harrystylesrecs @certified-nalayak @itsjustsel @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @gviosca @behindmygreyeyes @twobluejeans @allisonxmcu @theemeraldbutterfly @jean-love @marvellover-sam @b-reads-things @reveriehs @rach2602 @thurhomish 

#harry x 1dbandmember!reader #since 2010 series #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles blurb #harry styles x you #harry styles #one direction #one direction fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles au #harry styles album #harry styles concept #harry styles cute #harry styles and y/n #harry styles angst #harry styles and reader #harry styles masterlist

[rewritingcanon]

ok here are some of the one part melbourne hpcc play highlights (part one only because i need to make two seperate posts… they’re too long together) in an attempted chronological order:

part one

first off, why so many dilfs? like not to be like this person about a family friendly play but seriously harry? draco? RON? RON RON RON OH MY GOD 🧎‍♀️ michael whalley please one chance

ron’s voice was very… mhmm. it was good.

harry got more attractive as he got more depressed too..

and also draco’s buttons and cuffs were sparkling and he had many silver rings on his fingers. ill leave it at that

anyways if we were to talk about actual content: the first train carriage scene was so gold omg. right before it started - karl sat down in scorpius’s carriage, seemed to realise who he was sitting with and then immediately this look of horror crossed over his face and he BOLTED away 😭😭 he ended up sitting with james sirius and craig loll

yann and polly were in a carriage together the cuties

also polly was in bicycle shorts the whole time. it was like a cloak and then just black bicycle shorts fr. idk if the actress just didnt have her pants or sum because i found out later that she was a cover (which is CRAZY because she played myrtle and polly so extremely well, she literally sounded exactly like myrtle im not kidding, aisha aidara has so much talent fr)

rose hostile side eye at scorpius when him and albus are talking for the first time i swearrrr shes so funny she was literally like this the entire time

rose looked so pleased with herself when she said “the rumour is that hes voldemort’s son! ☺️☺️” then she realises that both scorp and al are extremely uncomfortable and goes “😧😧😧well its not like its true! 😰 you clearly have a nose 😝” shes so funny bro

when albus was sorted into slytherin craig seemed to be the only one (besides scorpius) excited about it but then composed himself when he saw everyone else’s reactions

in wand dance (which is still the funkiest song of the whole score)— albus’s movement with his cloak wasnt as graceful as everyone else’s transitions in the dance, like he was messing up even that. he was more flinging it then twirling it around and his expression was one of a constant state of annoyance, like he’s aware he’s always messing up but he can’t change it because he doesn’t know how to. its why im grateful for sitting so close to the stage because i don’t think i would’ve recognised this (and other later acting i’ll talk about)

in between the first and second year with draco and harry mirroring each other was not gone unnoticed but was funny asf still.

like here’s harry trying to talk to his kid when karl runs up with his whole belly out wanting an autograph

and then you have draco who yann walks by once and he’s immediately glaring this boy down. like yann literally started ZOOMING AWAY 🏃‍♂️💨 bc draco’s intimidation tactics are so intense

scorpius sniffs rose twice whilst trying to flirt with her. w rizz.

the scene with amos, harry and albus was just ungh *chef’s kiss*

you can literally see the plan forming in albus’s head as he listens to them and his anger at his dad as he’s listening to them, harry’s discomfort at lying to amos whilst also being put to blame for cedric’s death yet again and amos’ bumbling confused pain. like idk george henare plays amos so well it was literally painful to watch

delphi’s eye makeup was so slay. tbh everything about her character was amazing

idk why i just noticed it but delphi literally acts like scorpius when her and albus first meet. awkward, unassuming, clumsy and nonthreatening and seemingly very sweet and funny. hmm.

if you take into account that she was in the background during the 9 3/4 scenes and have the opinion that she was planning on meeting albus for years, and observing him and his family the entire time, then she probably also purposefully tried to mimic the only person albus was known for getting along with, which was scorpius. HMMMM.

when delphi first meets harry she was smiling at him and looking at him with these wide eyes that can be mistaken for awe but as soon as she and amos were out of his line of sight and were leaving the stage she stopped smiling immediately but continued to look at him. the focus lights were off her and the scene was already changing but I NOTICED and it was fucking ominous

i could see how some of the effects worked when sitting up close. for instance i know that the incendio flames and the consequent fire were from tubes that were set into the pillars of st jeromes church. i could see some of the strings when things were flying around. bane’s two-body centaur was more noticeable and less smooth. when ron got kissed by the dementor i thought he was kissing back because he was discreetly holding the dementor by the waist 😭😭 then i realised he was hooking himself onto the dementor to be carried off

BUT there were some tricks that even i literally couldn’t explain and the one that comes to mind is when harry and ginny appeared in the bed during the post-nightmare bedroom scene. like how tf did that happen?? how????? i literally cannot think of anything besides the the actor and actress hiding in the mattress and then emerging BECAUSE LITERALLY HOW ELSE

ginny and harry slandering dumbledore in the bedroom scene 🫶🫶

draco looking at the audience like he’s ryan in the office every time harry says something. especially during the scene in the ministry meeting where harry says his scar is hurting. bro was so done with him.

when albus and scorpius were escaping the hogwarts express scorpius attempted to climb out onto the train’s roof first and he was sticking his leg out and pulling back in, and then sticking his leg out and pulling back in and then he turns to albus like 😧🫴 “i have never done this before bro” look on his face so albus pushes him away and just yanks himself out 💀

“my son is missing” “SO IS MINE” so good, the line delivery was perf

you know i’ve heard lots of people go on and on about how nyx calder plays the perfect scorpius and i totally get the hype now. even the way he stands is accurate to how i envision scorpius. and he’s always fidgeting with his hands, giving this impression of a cute little dorky german boy. his posture is always super straight and his hands are usually clasped which makes him look proper but awkward and very sweet, i love him, very superb acting through body language

speaking of which when amos was roasting the shit out of albus, scorpius looked so terrified. he was gripping albus’s robes and trying to pull him away 😭

“go to your room” being the first thing out of scorpius’s mouth to albus as soon as he’s polyjuiced as harry 💀

ron/albus tried to hide with scorp and delphi when hermione and harry were coming and they pushed him out of the office forcibly 😭😭

albus/ron was the number one instigator that whole scene was fucking funny and it was the first time i could watch it without cringing

when ron blocked the door from hermione he squatted and started t-posing in front of the door and went “im 🕺not🕺blocking🕺anything.” this whole scene was probably the funniest part of the play especially the “I WANT ANOTHER BABY OR A HOLIDAY AND I WILL INSIST ON IT”

also the line where hermione is like “there better not be another stink pellet in there” to ron/albus is replaced by “there better not be another romantic firework display in there” i love them sm

when ron/albus said to hermione that she married ron because of his “puckish sense of fun,” he was saying it a little flatly with this big awkward smile on his face and he was double thumbs-upping her. it looked so fourteen year old core lmfaooo

scorpius started hyperventilating on the ground when delphi and albus got swallowed by the book case and literally started crawling on all fours like *pat pat pat* cmon scorpius *pat* think!! *pat pat*

scorpius standing in between both albus and delphi talking… farther off in the forbidden forest as they were laughing. he looked so defensive like his hands were clenched and his whole body was tense, and when delphi said “wizzo” it seemed to snap scorpius out of whatever he was thinking and he went up to them and said (very sharply, mind you) “what’s wizzo?” like that’s HIS catchphrase. bro was jealoussssss heheeehehe

and when albus quizzed delphi instead of scorpius like usual, scorpius looked like he had been slapped

then when delphi said “im flattered but do you honestly think i can pass as a student” to albus scorpius started shaking his head aggressively and not so inconspicuously doing the cut-it-out hand gesture to albus 😭😭

when delphi kissed albus, scorpius flinched… and then slowly put his own cheek out and delphi literally was like “mmm no” 😭

scorpius said “you look sweaty and red” to albus after the kiss, it didnt sound light-hearted like the other times it did when i saw the play, but accusatory. hmm. interesting.

scorpius also said “sweaty and red” instead of “pale and red” like the script and i might be biased and reading too much into it, but i was thinking about why they might change something so minuscule. maybe because “sweaty” gives a grosser connotation then “pale,” and i genuinely think in this revised version of the play albus isn’t supposed to have a crush on delphi

when scorpius and albus are alone together looking at the school, and talking about how beautiful it is and how they each view their lives at present, scorpius was looking out at the view the whole time but halfway through the scene albus stops looking at the view and starts looking at scorpius instead!!! um!!! with this very soft look on his face as well, until they’re interrupted by hearing their parents come. guys. im not kidding. its so gay usually but up close the play is even worse my jaw was dropping.

albus’s “ZORRY HERZMIONE I ZINK HE HAZ GOZZEN YOU MIZZED WIZZ ZUMUN ELZZZE” in bad german accents and scorpius’s very manly, very loud “YEZZZZ 👹💪” 

when albus and scorpius got caught by harry and co. albus went “hi dad 😙” and his voice was so high, bro was scared 😭😭

i have to think about whether i miss gryffindor albus or not. maybe. i think i kinda do bc it shows how albus being a loser isn’t dependent on his house (and neither is his connection to scorpius). but yeah that whole plotline was scrapped and albus just remained in slytherin in this timeline.

when harry told albus to stay away from scorpius, harry tried to leave it at that and leave but albus started to chase harry out of the hospital because bro was that desperate. his feet were literally bare (im pretty sure this is in the script too but seeing it live is so… god.)

the seperate scene where ron and hermione meet each other in private at the top of the staircase is merged with the scene where albus meets the new not-funny ron. and they both meet on top of the staircase with the light spotlighting them, and its very clear that they are in love with each other

hermione is about to walk off when ron calls her back and she immediately turns around and goes right back to him, her face is so happy 😭

and its so sad because this whole scene mirrors scorpius and albus so exactly in the staircase ballet. like if not in love, why mirroring ron and hermione throughout the play? (even in dark world, which i’ll get into later…)

anyways, staircase ballet: scorpius and albus stare at each other total of three times. and when i mean stare, i mean the light reflects off of them and they are frozen in prolonged silence (longing). once when the staircases meet, another when albus is on the ground and scorpius is at the top of the staircase, unreachable from him. last time is when the staircases stop at a cross section, and they’re standing, looking at each other. and from my angle i could see albus’s face the best, and i feel like it could be interpreted by either seeming apologetic or desperate, either way there was this very pleading look on his face.

they both froze when the saw each other and still look on the verge of moving to one another and then the staircases move off as soon as scorpius starts walking towards him.

albus looks so disappointed because HE WANTED SCORP TO MAKE THE FIRST MOVE because he’s too scared to do it himself. he ends up just sitting on the staircase and dropping his bag beside him in defeat, and looking away. scorpius still stands and watches albus go off. yah its as queer as i remember it. glad this wasnt cut.

draco was fixing and adjusting the furniture whilst duelling harry. idk if the furniture just wasnt on the mark on stage but it was fucking adorable. he kept fixing the chairs up and then patting it nervously ☹️ idc if it wasn’t intentional it seemed in character to me for him to just be a total busybody even in the midst of a duel

ginny’s micro-expressions at draco when he talks about how lonely he felt at school were amazing. harry looked a little uncomfortable when he was speaking but ginny looked really sympathetic to him, and draco notices this and thats why he speaks on “i know you must feel the same ginny” and shes like “i do” which immediately changes harry’s discomfort to shock, then i feel like he starts taking draco seriously

seen the play three times and during the fight scene with scorpius and albus, scorpius has acted differently each time. first time, scorpius was literally sobbing when talking to him, second time he was literally screaming at him in anger, third time he was just disappointed asf in him. i think this time was the best for his characterisation but god it hurt each time

mcgonagall’s “if i didn’t see you, then i didn’t see you” and she does this big over-exaggerated shrug and starts creeping away like a cartoon character to insinuate to albus and scorpius that shes leaving. i love her 😭

also when albus and scorpius were talking about their next plan i realised their bags are so different: albus has this raggedy big ass brown messenger bag and scorpius has this shiny, small, flashy, zesty little pouch. there are two types of gays.

myrtle was literally hitting on scorpius lmfao scorpius was just like 😨 the entire time

and of course myrtle’s “hello draco 😏 heloooooo harryyy 😻” nah because i get her

craig is such a fucking busy body he was trying to manage harry, ginny, draco AND mcgonagall and only stopped when draco pushed him away and death glared him 😭

erm why was umbridge hot asf. idfk the dark world looks really good on her guys

here’s part two

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