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watchmegetobsessed · 3 years

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Good girl - Harry Styles

a/n: alright so @dontworrysunflower and i agreed that there’s not enough sugardaddy!harry content on here so i took the courage to make a story myself, i hope i didn’t entirely butcher the concept but i had so much fun writing it! it’s hot and whitty, i just loved it. also, the beginning was based on this idea i saw somewhere and i just have no idea where i saved it, so rip to that, but im claiming that it wasn’t my idea though it was so fitting to the story so i took the liberty and used it haha!

PLEASE if you enjoyed the story, give it a like and reblog, it means so much to writers when you give them the feedback, I’m begging you to show a little something if you enjoyed it!

pairing: sugardaddy!Harry / CEO!Harry x Reader

warning: sexual content

word count: 16.8k

masterlist

You can’t stop yourself from growling when you walk into the auditorium and see Nick sitting next to the seat you always take. He knows that’s your spot, he knows you like sitting there because it’s not too much at the front or at the back, it’s close to the window so you have enough light but not close enough to make you shudder when someone opens them. That’s simply the best spot in the room and he knows you always sit there. And yet, even after all the rejection he has suffered from you, he still wants to sit next to you and shoot his millionth shot just to get dumped again and again.

You roll your eyes as you walk across the room and pay a lingering look at your professor behind his desk. There’s another man with him, leaning against the desk with his back showing to you, so you can’t tell who it is, but judging from the expensive suit, he is not a professor around here. The university definitely doesn’t pay enough to wear Gucci.

“Hi Y/N,” Nick greets you as you walk up the stairs next to the rows and plop your notebook and phone to the desk at your spot.

“Nick,” you mumble, already over his shit. At first you tried to be friendly and respectful, turning him down as nicely as possible, but he kept coming at you and now you can’t even bother to be decent towards him. He needs to learn how to take no as an answer.

“How was your weekend?”

“Fine,” you answer shortly, keeping your eyes down on your phone as you put it on silent. Nick then starts telling you about his weekend even though you did not ask him. You are plotting his murder when your eyes move to the front of the room, meeting a pair of intense green eyes standing next to Professor Robertson’s desk. The mystery man is now staring straight at you, his handsome face pulled into a hard expression as he takes his time watching you.

Who is he?

He is tall and definitely muscular, broad shoulders and curls to die for, a faint stubble on his chin and above his pink lips, not the kind that gives away the vibe that he doesn’t care about his looks. It gives him more of a manly sparkle, something no other guy in the room has, including Nick. This man, he is surely a handful and you can actually hear a few sighs around the room as other girls are noticing him. He is… the definition of a man. But who is he?

“So, are you free tonight?” Nick’s question brings you back from your stance and you growl in annoyance.

“I told you, I don’t want to go out with you. What is so hard to understand about that?”

“Why can’t you give me a chance?” he pouts, seemingly ignoring the seriousness you’ve been trying to beat into him when it comes to you.

“Because I don’t want to.”

You turn back towards the mystery man and you realize that he is still looking at you, a playful smirk tugging on his lips as he hides his hands in his pockets before turning towards your professor who finally starts the lecture, robbing Nick from bugging you any longer.

“Welcome everyone, happy Monday. Today we have a special guest.” Professor Robertson claps his hands together in excitement, glancing over at the mystery man. “Since this is a course about startup businesses, I asked an old friend of mine to talk about how he started his business off, built it from basically nothing. Harry Styles is the CEO of Styles Holdings, the parent company of some of the most successful businesses nowadays, working in many different fields. He was so kind to clear his schedule for us today so you can ask him questions following his brief presentation about his journey.”

Harry Styles, the name now rings a bell, you just never knew the face connected to it. You’ve heard about him already, the man is only thirty, yet one of the most influential businessmen in the States, holding so much power and, of course, money you can’t even imagine what he spends it on. For some reason, you imagined him to be some creepy looking guy who looks fifty at the age of thirty, but he is far from that. His chiseled jawline, charming smirk and piercing eyes make every female in the room swoon as he steps next to the professor.

“He looks like a real asshole,” Nick whispers to you and you slap his upper arm.

“Shut up,” you tell him, eyes glued to the man at the front.

“Thank you, it’s an honor to be here. I hope I’ll be able to give out some new information and motivate you all to start your own business.”

His voice! You need to take a deep breath as you lean back in your seat and cross your legs under the table, watching him at the front. He is doing things to you with just his existence and you’re sure you’re not the only one in the room feeling like this.

You drink every word that leaves his mouth as he talks about how he started his company with basically nothing. Started with smaller investments and then slowly moving to bigger businesses until he worked his way up to the top. You can’t seem to move your gaze away from his ring clad fingers every time he gestures with his hands and you notice some tattoos poking from under his expensive suit. You wonder what his dress shirt hides under it.

In addition, he is so fucking smart, you’re convinced there’s nothing in the world he doesn’t know about, it’s clear that he spends a lot of time broadening his knowledge and there’s something incredibly hot about that. Guys your age just want to be done with school already and never use their brain again. Harry Styles is the exact opposite of that.

“So, are you free tonight?” Nick tries again and you almost start screaming.

“Nick, leave me the fuck alone!” you whisper back.

“Come on! Just one date!”

“You know what? I’ll go on a date with you if you can ask him a question that he answers incorrectly,” you tell him pointing at Harry at the front. Nick’s eyebrows shoot up, his smirk is filled with satisfaction though you’re convinced he will lose this bet.

When Harry finishes his presentation he finally opens up the opportunity to ask him questions and Nick is quick to throw his hand in the air.

“Yes, you in the grey hoodie,” Harry points at him and you hold your breath as you wait for Nick to ask his question that will decide if you have to go on a date with him or not. You glance over at Harry and you catch him looking at you for a moment before he returns his attention to Nick.

“I have a very important question for you, Mr. Styles.” “Go for it,” he nods and your heart is beating in your throat when you see him twirl one of his thick rings around his finger in focus.

“Will Y/N who sits here next to me go out with me tonight?”

Right in that moment you want to strangle him to death. Everyone in the room starts chuckling, no one really expected this from him and it seemingly surprised Mr. Styles as well. His eyebrows rise as he looks over at you, eyes meeting with yours once again and you feel like you are about to faint. And then he answers.

“No,” he simply says before moving onto the next question. Nick then turns to you, a smug grin on his lips as he leans back in his seat.

“So, where should we go?” he asks, thinking how clever he was, thought he still didn’t nail it completely.

You just roll your eyes and ignore his existence for the rest of the lecture, still in shock this all just happened. He is lucky the room is filled because otherwise he would already be dead.

At the end of the lecture you give him a fake number so he can finally stop bothering you and he leaves the room so full of himself, it’s ridiculous.

When you are all packed you head down next to the rows until you are standing in front of Mr. Styles who is talking to Professor Robertson. He notices your presence and turns to you with a curious look in his beautiful green eyes.

“You seemed pretty sure about your answer to Nick’s question. Why?” you simply ask and you notice the amusement in his eyes at your courage for coming up to him. He cocks his head to the side, a tiny smirk playing on his pink lips as he answers you.

“Because you are having dinner with me tonight.”

Your breath catches in your throat, his answer throwing you off completely, you were not expecting that. It seems like he is rather entertained by your reaction, a smug smirk curling up the corners of his mouth.

“Unless you already have other pla—“

“I don’t,” you quickly say, sounding maybe a little too enthusiastic, but you couldn’t care less. This man, this fine as hell man just asked you out on a date, you’re not gonna turn him down.

Harry reaches into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and hands a business card over you that holds his name, his company’s name and his phone number in golden plated letters and numbers.

“Text me your address, I’ll send a car for you.”

It’s not an offer or a suggestion, it’s an order you are willing to obey to. You nod and slide the card into your back pocket before paying one last look to him, you walk out of the room, feeling his burning gaze on your frame as you walk away.

You’re a nerve-wreck, running around you tiny flat, trying to figure out what to wear. You’ve already put on your sexiest lingerie set, ready for anything the night might bring you, but you can’t decide on the dress. You’re pretty sure Mr. Styles is taking you somewhere fancy, he doesn’t fuck around with low budget places, you have to at least look like you belong to those places even if you’ll never feel like that.

At last, you decide on a skin tight, satin dress that leaves a great amount of your cleavage uncovered for the wandering eyes and also puts your legs on show with a cheeky slit on your right side. You check yourself one last time in the mirror, feeling pretty good about your appearance for tonight, though you also can’t help but feel nervous about meeting him.

Your phone vibrates with a text that says a car is waiting for you in front of your building and you grab your coat and purse, leaving in a rush. Walking out of the building you see a Tesla parked right in front of you, a driver already waiting for you to open the door for you.

“Good evening, Miss,” the man who seems to be in his forties nods in your way with a warm smile as he opens the door to the backseat.

“Thank you,” you nod, a little out of breath about the whole hustle. Mr. Styles is nowhere to be seen in the car and the driver notices your surprise when he sits behind the wheel.

“Mr. Styles told me to tell you that he is sorry he couldn’t come along, but he had some sudden business to take care of. He is meeting you there.”

“And where is it he is meeting me, exactly?” you curiously asks, but the driver just smiles and ignores your question. Mysterious.

You watch the city lights pass by you, no idea where you are heading, but you can tell tonight is going to be one you’ll surely never forget. The odds of Mr. Styles spotting you from all the other girls in the lecture hall was rather slim, kind of impossible. You never thought yourself to be the particularly pretty type, there are way more gorgeous girls in your lectures, but he still chose you. The way he so easily asked you out still makes your inside burn a little. It wasn’t even a question, but a command. You liked what his controlling manner did to you and you don’t want to fully admit it, but you are already on your knees for this man, ready to do whatever he tells you to.

When the car finally comes to a halt you can’t really tell where exactly you are, you’re just sure it’s a neighborhood that’s definitely not for your budget. The driver helps you out of the car and tells you to let the guy at the front desk know you are Mr. Styles’ guest, they will know where to take you.

The tall building appears to be some kind of boujie hotel, but it surely has a restaurant and a bar as well. You tell the man behind the front desk that you are here to meet Mr. Styles and he escorts you to the all glass elevator, pushing the button of the top level before sending you off to your way.

Arriving to the top, a man is already waiting for you.

“Mr. Styles is already waiting for you, let me show the way,” he tells you and you mumble a short thank you as you follow him.

The top floor of the building appears to be some kind of restaurant, but it’s different from the ones you’ve been to. Every table is in a secluded area that can easily be completely locked away from the rest of the place so no one can see inside the little bubbles. The external walls are completely covered in floor to ceiling windows, giving the most breathtaking view of the city you’ve ever seen.

You follow the man past a few of these private areas until he stops at one of them and as you step inside, you spot Mr. Styles standing at the window, staring out the window with his back to you. He is not wearing his suit jacket anymore and the sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up, putting his tattooed left arm on display. It’s such a sight, makes you wonder about what other inks he is hiding under his expensive outfit.

Hearing your heels clicking on the marble floor he turns around, eyes falling to take you in as a smirk pulls on his perfect lips you are dying to taste already.

“Y/N, you look gorgeous,” he compliments you as he walks closer and presses a soft, innocent kiss to your cheek before he ushers to the table.

“Thank you. And thank you for the invitation, Mr. Styles.”

“Please, just call me Harry. Mr. Styles is way too serious for this dinner, innit?” The boyish smirk on his lips makes you want to crawl across the table and kiss him hard, but you need to behave, you can only hope tonight will take a more intimate turn eventually.

“I hope you didn’t find me too forward earlier today.”

“I was just surprised, is all. Didn’t think I caught your attention at all.”

“Oh you did,” he nods smirking. “I couldn’t take my eyes off of you through my presentation, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Well, I did catch you sometimes,” you admit with a soft chuckle as you cross your legs under the table. “I’m sorry about the idiotic question from Nick though.”

“Don’t be. It sparkled just enough jealousy in me to make the first step later.”

“Jealousy?” you question with raised eyebrows.

“I saw him trying to chat you up through the lecture, I was close to calling him out on it and asking you out in front of your whole class, but thought I would do it in a classier way.”

“You succeeded in that,” you chuckle softly, finally taking the menu in your hands to choose. Seeing the prices your mouth dries, there are way too many zeros for your liking. Harry catches your discomfort right away.

“Don’t worry, Love. It’s all on me.”

“You know, I would have been fine with just a regular restaurant as well,” you tell him with a shy chuckle, suddenly feeling unworthy of all the hustle around tonight.

“I don’t settle for less than the best,” he simply states and it’s the most attractive thing you’ve ever heard from a man’s mouth.

“So, does that mean I’m the best as well?” you ask with a shy but seductive smile as you lean forward to your elbows, eyes locking with his.

“Yes, definitely,” he answers confidently.

“You don’t even know anything about me, how do you know that?”

He puts his menu aside as he keeps his eyes on you, his intense glare almost intoxicating. Your breathing fastens a little as you try to keep your cool, waiting for his answer.

“I can try and put it into prettier words, but I’m afraid that wouldn’t give off what I truly feel,” he starts with a serious expression. “I have a lot of self-control, Y/N. I didn’t get here with a hothead, jumping into everything without a second thought. I’m a man who likes to plan and be careful with anything he does.”

You shortly nod at his words, not entirely seeing where this is heading, but when he continues, you almost faint again.

“But when I first saw you roll your eyes at that boy in the lecture hall, I was this close,” he holds up his thumb and index finger barely touching, “to fuck you over the professor’s desk without any shame at all.”

Your lips part and cheeks heat up as you squeeze your thighs tightly. A moan almost slips from your mouth, hands gripping the edge of your chair. In just a blink of an eye, you feel your underwear getting soaking wet and he hasn’t even touched you.

“And now that you are sitting right in front of me, wearing this dress that leaves very little to my wild imagination, I need every bit of my previously mentioned self-control to stop myself from laying you across this table and make you scream my name.”

“Fuck,” you mumble under your breath, not able to control yourself any longer. Your arousal is raging, your whole body is in flames for this man.

“I was planning to bring this up later this evening, but now that we are at this point, I better just come clean,” he continues, laying his palms flat on the table. Your eyes wander to his rings and you imagine what they would feel against your bare skin. “I have an offer for you, Y/N. One that I hope you’ll find beneficial.”

“And what would that be?” you ask, a little out of breath, as if you just came back from your morning run.

“I’m way too busy to maintain a regular relationship, but I’m also not a fan of changing my partners often. I was thinking we could help each other out in a way that would be suitable for the both of us. I’m willing to support you financially with a generous amount every week if you agree to spend three or four nights at my place a week and I think I’ve made it clear that we wouldn’t be just watching movies. I’m clearly attracted to you and I would love to have you as my… lover, if you’d like to call it that way.”

His offer is quite forward, you weren’t expecting him to come up with this whole plan for this odd relationship he is talking about. You’re a little taken aback at his words, not sure what to say. You definitely share his attraction, you’d have to be blind not to feel the same way about him and it’s a fact that you could use some extra money, though you don’t know how much he is talking about just yet.

“That generous amount you are talking about…” you wonder shyly.

“Do you have a student loan?” he simply asks and you nod. You’ll probably pay that loan for the rest of your life, or that’s what you thought up until now. “I’m willing to pay it to the last cent as a starter. I also thought about taking responsibility for your rent every month and an additional amount we agree on that you get every week. It is completely up to you.”

“What?” you gasp in shock. “My loan and my rent alone are thousands of dollars.”

“Y/N,” he smiles at you warmly. “I make way more money than I could ever spend. And I do take my part in several charities, but if I’m being honest, I earned your student loan while we were just talking here. It’s not that big of a deal for me and I would love to help you wherever I can.”

It’s amusing how he didn’t sound cocky about his wealth at all, you can tell he didn’t say all those things to brag, he was just stating the facts.

“How much were you thinking for each week?”

“Two thousand seems like a fair amount to me.”

You almost choke on your breath. Two thousand every week? That’s almost ten thousand for a month!

“Two thousand? You are really trying to get rid of your money, aren’t you?” you ask with a shocked chuckle and it makes him smirk as well.

“Just when it comes to things that’s worth the amount,” he cheekily comments.

A waiter appears, interrupting the heated discussion and you realize you haven’t even decided on what you want. Luckily, Harry takes the lead and orders for the both of you and you trust his choice blindly.

“I hope I didn’t shock you too much with my offer,” he softly says once the waiter is gone again.

“It was definitely a lot, in every way.”

“But not too much, because you’re still here, I assume?”

“I have to admit it’s flattering and I could use the money as well. However my morals are telling me this could easily be mistaken for another kind of agreement, if you know what I mean.”

“In no way am I seeing this as an act of prostitution, if this is what you are referring to. It would be strictly exclusive and of course, you can end it anytime you want to. You won’t have to pay anything back.”

“I’m just still a little surprised it’s me you want to do this with. There are so many prettier girls even in my class as well. Why me?” you ask the question that’s been bugging you all evening.

Harry pushes his chair back and standing up he walks over to you, keeping his eyes locked on you the whole time, making your whole inside tremble for him. He stops in front of you, bringing a hand up to your face he runs his fingertips down the side of your face before he cups your jaw in his palm, lifting your head, angling it so your lips part and your neck stretches upwards. His thumb runs along the line of your bottom lip and you are having a hard time keeping your cool and not jumping his bones right in this moment.

“I’m a little saddened you don’t see what I see in you. You’re breathtaking, Y/N. You can capture any man’s attention and I feel honored that you are giving me your time.”

His thumb gently tugs on your bottom lip, playing with it softly and it’s driving you crazy, having him touch you while his eyes are burning into yours, this man is truly something else.

“I want to be the man who pleases you in every possible way. I want to be the one to give you everything you need. Please, say yes and I’ll make sure you will never worry about a thing as long as you let me have you.”

You want to scream yes, you want to fall to your knees and tell him to take you right then and there, but words don’t feel right for the moment. So you turn your head a little just as you grab his wrist with a hand so he can’t move it. Your lips brush against his fingertips until you stop at his middle finger. You make sure to look straight into his eyes as you slide his finger into your warm and wet mouth, lips wrapping around his digit until your teeth can bite onto the thick silver ring at the base. Harry’s lips part as you press your tongue against his finger before pulling your head back, bringing his ring with you, sliding it off him. His finger slips out of your mouth and you tip your head back, opening your lips to reveal his ring that’s caught between your teeth. This is your clear answer to his offer.

Harry draws in a shaky breath before he shuts his mouth, jaw clenching as he stares down at you still. You take the ring out of your mouth and slowly put it back on his finger. His gaze falls to his fingers for a moment before he moves away fast.

At first you get scared you took it too far and he is going to just leave you, but then you see him march to the door, he calls out to someone outside before shutting the door closed, locking the two of you away from everyone else on the other side. He walks back to the table and you gasp when he simply pushes everything off of it, every glass, plate and cutlery flies to the ground, breaking into a hundred pieces, but you don’t have too much time to process it, because Harry yanks you up from your seat and slams his lips hard against yours, one hand on the back of your head while the other one takes a strong grip of your waist, pulling your against him. You moan into his lips, kissing him back with the same amount of vehemence, the feeling of his perfect lips on your completely numbing your senses out.

You faintly feel him moving you, his hands grabbing the back of your thighs before he lifts you up and sits you on top of the now cleared out table. You part your knees wide so he can stand between them, his growing bulge meeting with your pulsing core, the friction driving you crazy immediately.

“Oh fuck!” you moan when he buckles his hips just the perfect angle so you feel just how much he desires you. His lips work their way down your throat, kissing every inch he can reach, while his hands push up your skirt, exposing your legs for his greedy fingers.

“You surely know how to drive a man crazy, Y/N,” he growls when his lips return to you, kissing you in a demanding manner. You have one hand planted behind you for support while your other one travels down his body until it reaches his dress pants. Thank God he is not wearing a belt, because you easily flick the button open with just one hand.

“Yeah? You are doing the same to me, Harry,” you breathe out, giving his pants a tug and he is quick to help you out, pushing them down his legs before his hands come to work on your underwear. He hooks his fingers unto your lacy thong, pulling it down with a swift movement, you’re surprised the fabric didn’t rip. It easily glides down your legs, falling to the marble floor as Harry gets on his knees, his face at the same level as your burning core.

“Seems like I’m having my dessert first tonight,” he hums, lips nibbling on the inside of your thighs as he moves closer to your center, fingers digging into your heated skin.

“Harry, please!” you whine when he is so close, but still hasn’t touched you where you need him the most.

“Please what, Love? Tell me what you want.”

“I want you!”

“You already have me. Where do you want me? Tell me!”

“I want your mouth on my pussy,” you pant, completely losing control over yourself. He doesn’t need more, he presses an open mouthed kiss to your clit, swirling his tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

You’ve always thought you are not into it when a man eats you out. Turns out you are, but only if it’s Harry whose head is pushed between your legs. The man knows what he is doing and you know he can easily make you cum just with his lips and tongue. But right now you are dying to feel him inside you so there’s not time for more foreplay.

Grabbing onto his hair you pull him up and he is panting a little when he stands back up, his green eyes piercing down on you.

“Fuck me, now,” you tell him, getting blunt with your desires, but it seems like this is exactly what Harry likes. He smirks, leaning down he kisses you hard and you can taste yourself on his lips and tongue, it’s intoxicating. Your hands move down between your bodies and find their way into his boxers, wrapping around his erected length. He is huge, certainly the biggest you’ve ever dealt with and your inside already shakes and he is not inside you yet.

“Are you on birth control?” he asks, lips pressed against yours as he pushes his boxers down, completely freeing himself. You stroke his cock, feeling up his length in your palm, making him whimper under your touch.

“Yes. And I promise I’m clean.”

“Me too. Are you fine with going raw?”

“Please!” you beg him, every fiber in your body screaming for him.

“Be a good girl and hold onto me,” he tells you, moving your arms around his neck. He grabs the base of his cock and lines himself up with you, kissing your lips one last time before he pushes inside you gradually, but quite hard.

“Oh fuck! Harry!” you gasp at the feeling of him stretching you out, filling you up entirely. He fits inside you so perfectly, like the pieces of a puzzle finally clicking.

“So wet and warm, all that for me, baby?” he coos, staying still for a little.

“Just for you,” you whisper back, pressing your lips against his when he finally starts moving.

He starts off slow, but quickly picks up his pace, thrusting his whole length into you every time he pushes forward. You bring your legs up around his waist, locking him in your hold both with your legs and arms, just wanting to be as close to him as possible.

He fucks you so good, you completely forget about the fact that you are in some boujie restaurant and there are people outside. Your bare ass is on top of a dining table, but it doesn’t matter as long as you feel Harry’s hard cock inside you.

“Feeling good, baby?” he asks between his pants.

“Yes, oh God!” you moan, fingers digging into his luscious curls at the base of his neck.

“Are you happy you went out with me instead of Nick?”

“Don’t fucking talk about Nick when you’re balls deep inside me,” you growl just when he hits your G-spot, your eyes rolling back at the sensation. Harry chuckles before his lips attack the soft skin on your neck, kissing and nibbling it while he keeps up his steady pace.

You’re nearing the end, your whole body feels like on fire and your ass has gone completely numb on the hard table, but you don’t give a single fuck. You just want to feel him cum inside you while you cum with him.

“Harry, I’m close,” you whine, your orgasm clearly close to burst inside you.

“Cum for me, baby. Cum on my cock,” he urges you, a hand moving down between your bodies and when you feel his fingers circling on your clit, a scream erupts from you without shame.

It doesn’t take long for you to reach your high. A few more thrusts and the pleasure washes over you in waves, making you chant his name as if it was a magical spell. Seeing you orgasm throws Harry over the edge, his thrusts become uncoordinated and he whimpers uncontrollably, fingers digging into your waist until he comes to a halt, both of you panting heavily. His head falls to your shoulder as he is trying to catch his breath. Several minutes pass by before he pulls out of you, a whimper escaping your lips at the sudden empty feeling. You lean back onto your arms, chest still heaving while Harry pulls his pants back up before he walks over to the pile of debris that’s left from your table setting. He saves a napkin from the remainings and gently cleans you up with it before throwing it into the bin in the corner of the room. He then helps you off the table and gives you support while you put your underwear back on.

“M’sorry, I got a little carried away,” he chuckles softly, cupping your face in his hands, but you just smile up at him cheekily.

“Don’t be, I enjoyed every minute of it.” You steal a quick kiss before parting from him.

“Does this mean our deal is on?” he asks, eyes filled with hope as he waits for your answer.

“It definitely is,” you smirk at him before pulling him down for another kiss. You’ll never get enough of his perfect lips, whether they are pressed against your lips or somewhere lower on your body…

“Giving me the number of a Domino’s? You’re a cruel girl, Y/N.”

Nick takes the seat next to you with a huff, clearly pissed that his plan didn’t work.

“You lost the bet, Nick,” you simply tell him, not even looking up from your notes.

“What? He said no, so if you went out with me he would have been incorrect!”

“But I didn’t. So he was correct,” you retort, paying him one short glance. “Besides, I also had plans already that evening.”

It’s been one week since your dinner with Harry at SkyHigh (you later found out that was the name of the place and he also happens to own it, no wonder he had no problem with basically destroying the dining set and fucking you on the table), and you’ve already spent four nights at his luxurious penthouse, fulfilling the deal you two have agreed on. Harry made sure to show you around his home in the most pleasing way, if you might say. In a matter of time no surface will be left untouched by the two of you.

“Plans? So then why did you offer to go out with me if I get it right?” You sigh rolling your eyes, this guy is really getting on your nerves today.

“I had a date, Nick. With an actual man who can take no as an answer, but he doesn’t have to because he knows how to treat a woman. Now stop fucking bothering me, because I’m not interested in you.”

Just as you finish your little speech, your phone’s screen lights up with a text from Harry. Your anger towards Nick washes out of you in a second as you reach for the device to read his message.

Harry: Have an amazing day. Can’t wait to see you tonight.

You quickly learned that Harry is not big on using emojis when texting, but you learned to read his lines correctly. You spent Friday and Saturday night at his place, but eventually had to go home so you can get ready for school on Monday, it seems like that one night apart was just as hard on him as it was on you.

Harry is a very affectionate person, he likes to touch and to be touched, keep a hand on you at all times when you’re over. He offered you your own room for your staying, but he made it clear you are more than welcome in his bed and you’d be stupid not to sleep with him. He likes to cuddle and usually wakes up all wrapped up around you, it’s surely a sight to see such a powerful and handsome man cling onto you like a koala bear. When he is still sleeping, you like to run your fingers through his hair, gently massage his scalp. He often hums in his sleep and he looks so much younger and more carefree when he is that vulnerable to you, even if he doesn’t even know about it.

Y/N: What do you want to see me in?

You’ve stepped up your game in dirty texting since meeting Harry. He is busy throughout the day so calling him is not too convenient, you’re left with texting so he can reply whenever he has the time. It seems like he is in a boring meeting or having a breather, because he replies right away this time.

Harry: Preferably nothing, but I’m happy with whatever.

Your professor has started the lecture in the meanwhile, so you try to keep your giggle down as you read his text. He has a brilliant but also dirty mind and you can’t get enough of him.

Y/N: You’re making me misbehave at my lecture, stop with the shameless flirting!

Harry: Be a good girl.

You have to push down a moan reading his last words. This man knows his power over you and he surely likes to play with it. Leaving his text read you put the phone aside and try to focus.

You miserably fail.

The day can’t come to its end fast enough. You’re the first one to leave the room when your last lecture ends and you jolt home to pack your overnight bag. Harry has tried to convince you to let him send a car to you every time you set your feet outside, but you told him it’s useless and you like wandering on your own. Though he wasn’t entirely satisfied with your answer, he respected your decision.

When you leave your apartment you decide to swing by the grocery store so you can make something for Harry. His personal chef always makes the best dishes for the two of you, but you figure Suzan would let you take care of dessert if you asked her. So you get everything you need for a killer tiramisu before you head over to his place. He texted you earlier that he would get home around eight, meaning that you have plenty of time to do your magic in the kitchen with Suzan. At first you found it surprising how easily Harry trusted you to come and go in his house as you please, but then you realized the place has such a high security, you couldn’t do harm even if you wanted.

“Hello Suzan!” you call out happily when you arrive and the elderly woman is already working on dinner. “How are you?”

She smiles at you widely, her wrinkles swallowing her eyes almost entirely. You haven’t spent that much time around here, but you always made sure to treat the staff right. Most importantly because Harry treats them like family as well, he told you how Suzan has already retired, she works for him so she can save up some more money for her four grandchildren. Elliott, his driver has three daughters and Harry is paying for their tuition at the best school in the city which Elliott wouldn’t be able to afford on his own, no matter how much he worked. There are three cleaning ladies who work in rotation, Nadine, Juliet and Iris, all of them are working mothers, Iris is raising two boys on her own. Harry makes sure they can take a day off anytime they are needed at home and he pays them extra after each of their children and you can guess how generous that extra amount is. It’s clear that all his employees are highly appreciated here and he takes good care of them for the work they are doing. It’s such a rare thing to see especially when it comes to extremely wealthy people. But Harry is different and you find out new things to praise about him every day.

“I’m doing splendid. How was your day, Darling?” Suzan coos as you join her in the modern kitchen.

“Tiring,” you huff, setting your grocery bag on top of the counter. “I was wondering if I could take care of dessert tonight, would that be okay?”

“Oh, of course! What are you planning to make?”

“My aunt has a killer tiramisu recipe, thought I would give it a go myself,” you smile at her in excitement.

“Let me know if you need any help, alright?”

Time flies by fast as you work in the kitchen with Suzan. She tells you all about her secret for the perfect garlic sauce while you share stories with her how you used to bake with your aunt when you were younger. She is such a delight, makes you feel like home at a place you’ve been coming to for just a week.

“You have a nice evening, Darling. I’ll see you around,” she smiles once dinner is finished and set on the heating serving plates so it doesn’t cool before Harry arrives. You’re almost done with dessert as well and Harry could be home any moment.

“Thank you, Suzan, see you soon!” you call out before she leaves.

Once you are all alone you put on some music, dancing through the kitchen as you clean up after yourself, singing along to the songs without a care. Your music taste is not essentially the same as Harry’s, but he is always open to your suggestions, never missing out on a chance to listen to something you like so much.

Now The Weeknd is singing through the speakers as you twirl around the marble floor of the kitchen, putting away the cleaned dishes. You don��t even notice Harry’s arrival, you’re way too lost in the song.

“I don’t know why I run away, I’ll make you cry when I run away…” you sing with the singer, putting the finished tiramisu into the fridge as Harry walks in, a playful smirk tugging on his lips as he watches you.

He has been loving having you around, you surely bring life to his home that often feels too big and empty for him. Seeing you fool around in his kitchen brings him a warm feeling in his chest and he can’t push his smile down when you bust some weird yet interesting dance moves.

“Take me back ‘cause I wanna stay, save your tears for another…” You sing into a spoon using it as your microphone when Harry sneaks up behind you, making you jump when he curls his arms around your waist from behind. “Oh shit!” you gasp turning around in his hold. “You scared me!”

“M’sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your worldwide tour,” he smirks smugly and you roll your eyes at him, but steal a quick kiss regardless. “What are you doing in my kitchen?”

“I was just cleaning up. I made dessert tonight, I know I’m not Suzan, but I think you’ll like it,” you smile at him proudly.

“I’m sure I will, I’m starving.”

“Great. Then go and change while I set the table for us,” you shoo him out of the kitchen, but not before he steals another quick kiss.

When the table is all set Harry returns wearing a pair of sweats and a plain white shirt. You absolutely love him in his expensive, perfectly tailored suits, but there’s something in seeing him so loose and comfy. The two of you sit at his dining table on each side of the corner so it feels intimate even with eight other empty seats at the table. He always asks about your day first, listens to whatever insignificant little thing has happened, seemingly very interested in anything you have to say.

“Nick called me out today for giving him a fake number,” you admit with a chuckle.

“Still bitter about the failed date?” he smirks at you over his plate.

“Very much. But I told him I had a date with someone else.”

“Really? Was he jealous?”

“I guess. Couldn’t feel nice when I told him I was with a man who can treat me right.” Putting your fork down you lean onto the table with a satisfied grin. Harry reaches up and caresses your cheek gently before he pinches your chin between his thumb and index finger, pulling you into a slow but definitely heated kiss.

“Love that for you,” he chuckles softly before you both return to the food. “Are you staying over tomorrow as well?”

“I can’t,” you sigh. “I have this extra credit thing tomorrow until like eight, by the time I get home, pack my stuff and get here it would be way after ten and I have an early morning the next day. I’m sorry.”

“You know, you can always just… leave some of your stuff here. You can have one of the dressers or just simply use the closet in one of the guest bedrooms.”

You’d be lying if you said you haven’t thought about it, but you were waiting for him to bring it up himself, not too keen on inviting yourself into his home more than he would want.

“You sure about that?” you ask just to be certain he wants it. He clearly has boundaries when it comes to maintaining any kind of relationship, the last thing you want is to push something on him that he is not entirely comfortable with.

“Of course. Would be easier and it’s quite logical,” he nods and you look for any sign of doubt, but you find none.

“Okay,” you shortly say. “I’ll bring some stuff over next time.”

He tells you about his day briefly after that and you give him the same amount of attention he always pays you even when you have absolutely no idea what he is talking about. It’s hot when he talks about business, gives him a lot of power.

Then you bring out dessert and watch him take his first bite in excitement, curious if he likes it.

“Mm, are these cherries?” he hums, taking a better look at it.

“Yeah. It gives the whole thing a nice sour taste, it’s a little unusual but I love it. What do you think?”

“It’s easily the best I’ve ever had.”

“Oh, don’t be such an ass kisser,” you laugh. “You eat at the best restaurants all over the world and dare to say my tiramisu is the best you’ve had?”

“It is,” he nods with a cheeky smile, his hand reaching out to pull you to his lap. You happily obey, throwing a leg over him so you sit on his lap facing him. He brings the fork to your mouth and feeds you some that you proudly take. It does taste amazing, but you doubt it’s the best he has ever had.

“I’m not lying. It really is the best.”

“You’re just saying it to get into my pants, huh?”

“Oh baby, I don’t think I have to lie to do that,” he chuckles lowly, his eyes darkening a little as he pecks your lips softly. “But I do think it’s the best because you made it just for me. Gives it something extra.”

“You are such a flirt,” you grin at him, shaking your head. He chuckles, dipping his finger into the dessert, bringing it to his face as he wipes the cream to your jawline before he leans closer and licks it off your skin.

“Mm, I am,” he hums, kissing down your neck, his hands wandering down your body until they can slide into your shorts, his fingers playing with the elastic of your underwear.

“You’re not gonna finish your dessert?” you breathe out, already getting lost in his touch, not caring much about the tiramisu anymore.

“Oh I’m planning to. But I was thinking I could eat it off of the chef herself,” he grins at you, his green eyes filled with lust and that boyish excitement you always see in them when he is trying to seduce you. Not that he has to try, he has you wrapped around his fingers just by his existence.

“Oh, I guess now is the perfect time to tell you I was lying, Suzan made it, but I don’t think she’d be a fan of your idea,” you tease him, your grin widening as his eyes meet yours.

“You are… such a pain in the—“

“Where?” you cock an eyebrow at him, fingers dancing down the length of his neck, across his chest until they reach the waistband of his pants. “Tell me, where do I pain you, Harry?”

The tiramisu quickly gets forgotten as Harry growls against your lips, pushing his chair back as he carries you into his bedroom to show you where exactly he feels that so-called pain.

“Alright, come clean. Who have you been fooling around with? You’ve completely fallen off the face of Earth these past weeks!”

Your best friend, Cece throws the question at you the moment you arrive at the bar. You laugh at her accusation even though it’s completely true.

“Who says it has anything to do with fooling around with someone?” you ask as you wave at one of the waiters. The young man quickly makes his way over to you. “Hi, a tequila on the rocks, please.”

“What kind?”

“The best you have,” you simply tell him, your friend eyeing you in shock. The guy walks away and you turn to face Cece. “What?”

“Since when are you drinking fancy tequila? I didn’t even know you like drinking tequila on the rocks.”

You didn’t either, but it’s Harry’s favorite and he often makes you a drink as well whenever he is feeling like loosening up a little at the end of a long day. You’ve brought some of your stuff over to his so you don’t have to return home every other day now, you’ve already spent an entire week at his not long ago, only dropping by your apartment to water your plans and air the place out a little in the middle of the day. You quite enjoy going to his place straight from school and spend your evenings with him and not just in his bed, but in general. You’ve been doing a lot more things together recently, he has taken out to his favorite restaurant besides the ones he owns and you’ve been watching a lot of movies together, showing your top five to each other on cozy evenings when you didn’t feel like jumping at each other the moment Harry arrived back from work.

“I mean, I know your grandma left a good amount for you, but I thought you were saving up,” she comments.

“I am, but… I have other incomes these days,” you tell her quietly, feeling a bit guilty for talking about it.

“Okay, spill the beans. Did you become a stripper without telling me? I thought we agreed we would hit the stage together!”

You laugh at her reaction shaking your head.

“No, I’m not a stripper. I… I’m not sure if it’s the right term to use, but I guess I have… a sugar daddy now? This feels weird to say because he is not some creepy old dude.”

“What the fuck?” she gasps, slamming her hand to the table. The waiter guy arrives with your drink and gives Cece a weirded-out look, but she couldn’t care less. “How did that happen? And who’s the guy?”

You take a sip from your drink and pull your phone out, showing her a photo of Harry you recently took of him sneakily. He doesn’t like to be photographed even though he is probably the most photogenic man to ever walk the planet, so you had to get a little tricky, snapping a picture of him when he was on the phone one evening, looking so fucking good in his dress pants and white shirt, the first few buttons undone to reveal his chest tattoos he hides so well under his expensive clothes.

“Wait, I know this dude, isn’t he like that young millionaire? What’s his name… Henry?”

“Harry. Harry Styles,” you correct her.

“Yes! Bitch, where the fuck did you meet him?”

“One of my professors asked him to present at our lecture. It’s a long story, but he ended up asking me out after the lecture and he kind of gave me an offer.”

“What kind?” Cece asks with narrowed eyes as she takes a sip from her cocktail.

“Well, we cleared the air out that we are both obviously attracted to each other, so he offered to financially support me if I’m willing to spend time with him,” you tell her, implying that you’re not talking about just playing board games with him, but it seems like the message wasn’t that clear to Cece.

“Like how? Going to places with him? Cleaning his place naked?”

“Cece, we are having a sexual relationship,” you sigh. “It’s basically an exclusive relationship where we use each other for our… physical needs. I spend most of my nights at his, don’t see it as some kind of sex slavery, it’s all consensual and actually pretty nice. We spend time together, he is treating me great.”

“So… basically you are dating him?” she points out and you pull your brows together.

“No, I said—“

“I heard what you said, but it entirely fit into what we call dating.”

“Yeah, but it’s not that.”

“Does he take you out?”

“Yes,” you nod.

“You spend the nights over at his place?”

“I do.” “And you said you’re exclusive, right?”

“We are, yes.”

“So the only odd thing is that he is paying you for your time, but that’s not that weird seeing that the guy could buy out the whole city if he wanted. This pretty much sounds like you two are dating.”

“But there are no emotions involved,” you tell her quickly, trying to prove your point. Cece gives you a who-are-you-trying-to-fool look and you stare back at her in confusion.

“You can’t do no emotions, Y/N. I’ve known you my whole life and there’s absolutely no chance you won’t fall for the guy if you haven’t already started falling. You are basically living in a relationship and it’s just a matter of time before you catch feelings.”

“I-I don’t—“

“You think you don’t have feelings for him, but you’re just living in denial,” she bluntly tells you.

You take a moment to think about what she said. The two of you have been really living like a real couple, spending time with each other as often as possible, being exclusive and acting like you really are dating, but that’s not what you agreed on. Harry made it clear he has no time to maintain a normal relationship and you’ve been honestly fine with it until now. Because you do care about him, that’s why you always make sure dinner is ready even on Suzan’s days off whenever he gets home, or why you make his morning coffee just the way he likes it, or why you text him checking in on him whenever you know he is having a rough day. These little things went over your head the whole time, but now you realize you are doing them because you care about him.

“Look, it’s not a bad thing,” Cece starts, grabbing your attention once again. “Just make sure you don’t fall entirely before finding out if he feels the same way. There’s a chance he is going through the same thing.”

Could he be? Is there a possibility that he has changed his mind about the nature of your little agreement? He surely acts like he cares about you too, he does all those seemingly insignificant things for you as well. He always sets the water a little cooler after his shower so it’s the perfect temperature when you get under the water, he offers you to choose a movie to watch even when it’s his turn and he doesn’t whine when you actually take the chance and put on another silly teenage drama to watch. He calls you in the mornings when you spend the night back at yours, telling you he just wanted to hear your voice. The way he keeps a hand on your thigh in the car or whenever you are out for dinner, it always flutters your heart, but is there a chance he is doing all these things because he has feelings for you. Your little arrangement has been going for over a month now.

Harry is a physical person in general, it could be just his nature, how he is with everyone else. He is a caring and polite man, all these tiny things could be just his decent manners, generally looking out for the person he is sharing his bed with. You can’t make yourself believe his intentions with you have changed.

“Shit,” you mumble under your breath before chugging down your whole drink at once, waving at the waiter to bring you another one.

Cece successfully gets under your skin, made you realize things you might have not even thought about if she didn’t point them out. You hate her for that, but it was also needed. The thoughts cleared out before it was too late, hopefully.

You order drink after drink and Cece has never been the type to say no to some partying. She drinks with you, only difference is that she takes it way better than you. When it’s nearing midnight, you are completely drunk, wildly dancing to the music the no name band is playing in the corner of the bar. Cece decides it’s better if you head home, but you’re quite persistent.

“I want to stay! Come and dance with me!” you beg her, but she can tell you’re close to the phase where you just pass out and she won’t be able to take you home on her own. So she takes your phone and searches for the contact she knows will help her out.

“Hey baby, having fun?” the deep voice answers the call and it makes Cece blush for a moment.

“Hi, this is, um—This is Cece, Y/N’s friend.”

“Oh. Is everything alright?” he questions, immediately becoming alerted.

“Well, she had a little too much to drink, I’m afraid. I could use some help with her before she passes out entirely.”

“Text me the address, I’ll be there in ten.”

Cece does as she was asked and then goes to finally beg you away from the dancefloor. Not too happily, but you let her walk you back to the booth the two of you shared through the night.

“Be a good girl and drink this, please,” she tells you, shoving a big glass of water into your hands, and you just grimace.

“Good girl? That’s what Harry calls me.”

“Oh Jesus, I would have been fine without this detail,” Cece chokes out, but she is pleased to see you drinking some of the water finally.

“He is so fucking great, C. Like, the whole package!” you start raving with a heavy sigh. “He is beautiful and nice and so fucking funny! And the things he does to me in bed…”

“Maybe keep those to yourself, alright?” She chuckles shaking her head.

Right at that moment, Harry barges through the door, looking around with a hard stare until he spots you sitting in the booth, still mumbling to Cece.

“Hey,” he breathes out stepping to the table. Cece’s eyes widen as he sees the man himself, wearing a pair of light flares and a simple black shirt, the first few buttons undone, revealing his thin chain with the cross pendant. Cece now gets why you are so into the man, not that she had any doubts before. “Cece, right?” he glances at her.

“Oh, um, yeah. Nice to meet you,” she stutters offering a hand that Harry shakes firmly. The man has a great hold for sure. “Sorry I called you, but I wasn’t sure I can make it back to her place with her like this.”

“Harry! You’re here!” you gasp upon realizing that the man standing at the table is him.

“Yes, baby, I am. Had a little too much fun?” he asks with a small smile playing on his lips.

“Are you mad?” you pout at him, afraid he might see you as this immature little girl who can’t stay within her boundaries when it comes to alcohol.

“I’m not, but let’s get you home, alright?” He gently caresses the side of your face and Cece watches the small interaction with parted lips. “Did you have a tab?”

“Uh, yeah. I’ll just—“

“Don’t worry about it, I got this,” he tells her, already making his way to the bar to pay your drinks.

“Isn’t he the fucking best?” you mumble to Cece, feeling out of breath from just the effort of keeping yourself in a sitting position. You really shouldn’t have drunk this much…

“He is!” Cece gasps. “I’m so jealous of you now.”

“It’s a shame he might not be that into me though,” you scoff with a frown.

“I highly doubt that.”

You don’t have a chance to react, because Harry returns and he helps you out of the booth before turning to Cece.

“Do you need a ride home?”

“I’ll be fine, I’ll just call an Uber,” she smiles at him nicely, grabbing her purse from the seat as she follows the two of you out.

“Send Y/N a text when you get home so I know you arrived safely.”

“Sure,” she giggles, feeling lightheaded that he is concerned about her. “Take good care of her, Harry,” Cece tells him as he helps you into his car. This time there’s no driver, so he makes you sit at the front, buckling you up like you’re a kid.

“I will. Thank you for calling and I wish next time we meet will be under different circumstances,” he chuckles softly before getting into the car.

The drive back to Harry’s place pulls you into a shallow slumber, enjoying the warmth of the car and the comfortable seats. Harry wakes you up just so he can help you out of the car once you arrive, but seeing how sleepy you are, he decides it’s easier to just carry you up to his bedroom.

“Harry?” you mumble under your breath when he lays you to his bed.

“Yes? Do you feel sick?”

“No,” you shake your head softly. “Sleep with me?”

“Of course,” he smiles, kissing your forehead gently. You faintly hear him shuffling around the room, probably undressing before he finally slips under the covers, his strong arm curling around your middle as he cuddles you from behind.

“M’sorry you had to pick me up,” you sigh, already sobering up slowly.

“S’alright. Get some sleep,” he tells you truthfully as he kisses your shoulder.

“You are so good to me,” you whisper, more to yourself rather than to him, but he definitely catches your words.

“Of course. You deserve the best, Love.”

“You are the best,” you breathe out before you finally fall asleep.

The morning comes with a killer headache. Harry was considerate enough to draw the curtains in, but even the lack of natural light can’t ease the pounding in your head. As you slowly blink your eyes open, you spot a big glass of water and two Advils on the nightstand with a note next to them.

“Had to go in, will be back shortly. Have a nice recovery. Xx –H”

Growling you snatch the pills from the nightstand and swallow them quickly, washing them down with the water. Then you take some time to yourself to contemplate what happened last night, staring up at the ceiling. Cece’s words still occupy your mind entirely about your feelings for Harry. Upon realizing them, you managed to get so drunk that Harry had to come to get you. He didn’t fuss about it, didn’t say a word, just took you home and put you to bed. Last night was the first time the two of you shared his bed without anything sexual happening and you’re not sure how to feel about it, you wish it happened differently, but there’s nothing to do about it now.

It’s pretty late by the time you get yourself out of bed, but Harry is still nowhere to be seen. You wonder if he is upset that he had to pick you up from a bar in the middle of the night and he is now avoiding you. The thought is eating you alive so badly that you decide it’s best if you talk to him right away and apologize for your behavior last night.

You get two coffees from his favorite place and head to his office, feeling anxious about facing him and also because it’s going to be your first time seeing him at his workplace. It’s not that he told you not to go there, but he never invited you either so you’re not sure how he feels about you showing up.

“Good afternoon, how can I help you?” the nice woman at the reception greets you upon arriving.

“Hi, I’m here to see Har—erm, Mr. Styles?” you shyly tell her.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but um… Can you tell him Y/N is here?”

“A moment, please,” she politely excuses herself before getting on the phone. You look around in the fancy looking hall of the building and you can only imagine what the rest looks like if the hall is like a page from an expensive interior design magazine.

“Miss?” the woman catches your attention. “Mr. Styles is waiting for you in his office. Thirty-fifth floor, Daisy at the front desk will help you out up there,” she instructs and you thank her before heading to the elevators.

It’s a long way up and people get in and out of the elevator as you make your way up to the top. You feel so out of place, everyone is dressed in fancy looking suits and dresses while you’re wearing just your usual jeans and a knitted sweater, your bag thrown across your body, the two coffees in your hands as you nervously chew on your bottom lip.

Arriving at the top, you are immediately greeted by Daisy, as the woman downstairs told you.

“Good afternoon, Miss Y/L/N, let me show you the way to Mr. Styles’ office,” she offers kindly and you follow her down the hallway that’s filled with pictures of Harry with several influential people. Some of them you recognize, singers and actors, but some are completely strange to you, though you can imagine them being big names in the business.

Daisy leads you to a double door and she knocks on it firmly before you hear Harry’s voice calling out. Daisy opens the door for you and you step into the spacious and rather luxurious office. Harry is standing behind his long desk, his eyes snapping up at you as you walk in, Daisy closing the door behind you.

“Hey, what brings you here?” he asks with a soft smile, abandoning the papers on his desk as he walks around it, kissing your cheek shortly when he reaches you.

“I, um… brought you coffee,” you awkwardly tell him, handing him his cup.

“Is that all?” he asks with a soft chuckle.

“No,” you huff. “I just… I didn’t know when you’d be back and I really wanted to apologize.”

“For what?” he furrows his eyebrows, leaning against the edge of his desk behind him.

“Last night. I totally lost control, I know I shouldn’t have drunk that much and I’m sorry you had to come and get me. It was very immature and childish of me.”

“Don’t be silly, it happens to everyone. And I’m glad Cece called me. I would rather go and get you anytime of the day than have you find your way home on your own.”

“But it’s still not your responsibility to take care of me when I randomly get drunk. Not that it happens that often.”

“Okay, but I like taking care of you,” he replies. “Don’t worry about it, alright? It’s all good. You said it yourself, it doesn’t happen all the time so I’m fine with stepping in once in a while.”

You sigh in relief, happy that he doesn’t hold a grudge for coming to your rescue last night. You were worried he would see you differently because of it, but it seems like he really is cool with it.

“Did it really get you that worried?” he asks with a soft expression, his fingers dancing across your jawline before he tips your head up so he can look into your eyes.

“Kinda,” you admit with a shaky chuckle. “I was just afraid it would make me look like a helpless child. I know you’re older than me, but I’m not like this and I don’t want you to get the wrong idea of me.”

“It was just one tiny thing among everything else I’ve seen from you during our time together. It won’t change my opinion about you that easily. It just tells me that you still like to let loose sometimes with your friends which is completely fine. You definitely should, you’re only in your early twenties. I don’t want to hold you back from experiencing things I’ve already been through.”

“So you’re telling me you’ve drank too much before and someone had to pick you up?” you ask him raising your eyebrows.

“Well, it hasn’t happened recently, but I’ve been there, yeah,” he admits chuckling.

“I can’t imagine you drunk.”

“Haven’t been in more than five years, if I’m being honest. The hangover in the morning kills the fun in it now. If I got drunk now, I would need three days to recover.”

“You’re talking like you’re sixty or something,” you chuckle, your hands finding their way to his hips as he cups your face in his palms.

“I’m halfway there already,” he smirks at you playfully, but you just roll your eyes at him.

“You’re still a hottie.”

“Glad you think that,” he chuckles before pressing his lips against yours. He takes his time kissing you, pulling on your bottom lip, playing with your tongue and you feel like a giddy little teenager. You get so lost in his kisses that you don’t even notice the knock on the door.

Harry pulls back, turning his attention towards the door that opens without his approval. When you glance over your shoulder you see a tall, gorgeous woman with fiery red hair walk in, wearing a tight dress that’s business casual but also very sexy at the same time.

“Oh, I didn’t know you had a guest,” the woman stops at the door.

“It’s alright, Diana.” Harry’s hands fall from your face and you turn to face the woman fully. She is… perfect. In every way. Her makeup, her hair, her figure, she is everything you ever wanted to be and suddenly, you feel like a little mouse compared to her. “Y/N, this is my right hand, Diana,” Harry introduces her and she steps forward with a charming smile, holding a hand out for you. “Diana, this is… a good friend of mine, Y/N.”

You try not to flinch at the title Harry gave you as you shake Diana’s hand.

A good friend? Does he fuck all his good friends?

It’s not that you agreed on a title when it comes to others, but this is not what you were expecting for sure. Would have it been that bad calling you his girlfriend? You are exclusive after all, people don’t have to know it’s just an agreement.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. Sorry for barging in, Daisy was on the phone so I didn’t know you weren’t alone, H.”

H? She calls him H? You don’t like Diana. Not at all.

“No worries,” Harry waves in dismissal.

“I just wanted to tell you I just got off the phone with Mr. Harlow, he is willing to close the deal next week.”

“That’s fantastic,” Harry beams.

“Congrats, Harry. Another successful deal closed,” she smiles at him and you feel the sudden urge to wipe it off her face along with her stupid, perfect lipstick.

“Thank you, but it wouldn’t have happened without you.”

“I’ll start the paperwork,” Diana nods. “It was nice to meet you, Y/N,” she smiles in your way before walking out.

“She is… your partner?” you ask, trying your best to push down the jealousy that’s about to flood you entirely.

“Yeah, have been working with her for years, she is very good at negotiating,” Harry explains, his focus on the papers on his desk. You feel like this is your cue to leave.

“Cool. I’ll just… get going then.”

He glances up, leaving the papers once again, stepping back to you.

“I’ll be home soon, alright? Will try to finish soon. Choose a movie we can watch when I arrive.”

“Sounds good,” you smile faintly. He kisses you softly, running his fingers down the side of your neck before letting go of you.

All while you’re at Harry’s place on your own, you keep thinking about Harry. To be exact, Harry and Diana and what they might be doing in his office. They spend so much time together through the week, and Diana is literally the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. There’s no way she and Harry have nothing going on. But even if they weren’t hooking up, why would Harry choose you over her?

The more you think about it, the worse it gets. Your thoughts get clouded by jealousy and you have no idea how to stop it. You keep reminding yourself you don’t have the right to feel this way, but you just can’t help it.

When Harry arrives late noon, you already feel out of control. He barely makes it into the living room, you throw yourself at him.

“Hey, missed me this much?” he chuckles, but wraps his arms around you anyway, walking you to the couch.

“I always miss you,” you truthfully admit, kissing the corner of his mouth. You want to feel him, you want to be the one to please him so you can convince yourself you are the only one who can make him feel that way.

You push him down to the couch, straddling his lap before your lips attack his, kissing him hard and passionately. Your fingers work fast on his shirt, pushing it down his toned arms as you grind against him, the friction of his growing erection underneath you already driving you crazy.

“I want to make you feel good,” you moan against his lips, hands wandering down his chest and abs until you reach his pants, unbuttoning it without wasting a moment.

“I’m all yours, baby,” he breathes out, sinking into the soft cushions. Before you could reach into his pants and free his throbbing erection, you pull back just enough to look into his eyes.

“You are?” you ask quietly, his green eyes burning into your gaze.

“Yes,” he nods, a hint of seriousness obvious in his look. You believe him and it just riles you up even more. You need to have him. Now.

Kissing him once again, you move down until you are kneeling between his legs, hands pulling down his pants along with his boxers. His hard cock springs free, so glorious and welcoming, all ready just for you. You wrap your hand around it, giving it a few pumps before leaning closer and kissing the tip softly. Harry whimpers under your touch, his head falling back in his pleasure. Sticking your tongue out you give his whole length a lick, spitting on it at the end to wet his skin and get him ready for you.

“Shit,” he moans, his hand moving to your hair as you wrap your lips around him, pushing down on him slowly, enjoying how he completely falls apart under your touch.

Seeing him in this state is better than any drug. Such a powerful and unreachable man, completely vulnerable just for you, it’s a dream come true.

He is pushing on your head but not hard enough to control your movement, it’s just a nice pressure to let you know what he wants. You start bobbing your head, taking him as deep as you can without gagging, working your hand on the rest you can’t reach with your lips.

“Oh fuck, Love, you are such a good girl,” he pants, his hips buckling up to meet your head’s movements. He is so deep inside your mouth, you suck on him hard, your hand that’s been on his thigh moves to hos balls, gently massaging them to add to the sensation.

“I want you to cum in my mouth,” you tell him when you come up for some air, panting your words heavily.

“You sure?” he asks. It’s not the first time you’re sucking him off, but he never finished in your mouth before. You nod confidently before you sink his length back into the warmth of your mouth.

Harry grips your hair harder, more and more whimpers and moans leaving his perfectly pink lips as he nears his end. You are desperate to please him, to see him come undone under your touch, to have an effect of any kind on him.

You press the head against the inside of your cheek, the change of contact catching him off guard and he growls your name when you sink down on him one more time before he finally orgasms, his cum spurting to the back of your throat.

“Oh fuck, baby!” he breathes out, completely lost in his high as you let go of him with a pop and sit back on your knees, pleased with the state you managed to pull him into.

He reaches out for you, bringing you to his lap while he pulls at least his boxers back up. You sit on his thighs as he nuzzles his nose against the crook of your neck, his touch is so delicate and soft, as if he wasn’t cursing and moaning your name just a few moments ago.

“What was that for?” he questions with a soft smirk on his lips.

“Do I need a reason to suck you off?”

“Absolutely not, I was just… surprised.”

“Did you like it?” you arch an eyebrow at him.

“I think it’s pretty obvious that I loved it.”

“Then that’s all that matters,” you smile sweetly at him, kissing his lips chastely.

You successfully forget about the existence of Diana for about a week. Everything is back to its normal, you spend at least five days a week at Harry’s place, basically already living there. He takes you out on Friday which ends up in some hot sex in his hallway, because according to him, your dress was way too hot for him to control himself any longer, but you’re not complaining.

You’ve been planning to go for some book shopping on Saturday, the urge to read something new has been killing you and Harry offers his company for your little trip, suggesting the two of you have lunch somewhere near the pier.

Saturday morning you are woken up by featherlike kisses on your bare shoulder, and a warm palm massaging your hipbone before moving closer to the between of your legs.

“Mmm, mornin’,” you hum into the pillow, smiling to yourself when you feel Harry pressed up against you from the back, his excitement very evidently poking your bum. His lips kiss their way up your neck and jawline and when you finally turn your head they meet your lips in a sweet morning kiss.

“Slept well?” he asks in his deep morning voice.

“Mhm,” you smirk, feeling his fingers teasing you between your legs. “What are you doing, Mr. Styles?”

“I had a dream about you,” he murmurs, his lips nibbling on the soft skin where your shoulder meets your neck. His fingers slide between your folds and it’s no surprise you are already wet for him.

“Yeah? What happened in that dream?”

“I fucked you from behind. Woke up with a painful hard-on,” he bluntly tells you, a smirk tugging on your lips. Moving a hand behind you, your palm meets his very obvious erection that’s been poking your ass. Wrapping your palm around him you give him a few pumps, earning some soft moans against your skin as you arch your back and angle him so when he thrusts forward, his cock slides right between your legs, but not inside you just yet.

“Do you have dirty dreams about me often?” you ask in a teasing voice as you start moving your hips, making his dick slide between your wet folds, the tip poking at your clit every time you push backwards.

“It’s been occurring more often lately,” he admits, his hand moving up on your body, slipping under the thin fabric of your top that you threw on last night before falling asleep, his palm covering your breast, giving it a nice squeeze that makes you moan shamelessly.

“What happens in those dreams usually?” you breathe out, the friction of his cock between your legs building up your own orgasm slowly.

“Not sure it’s very gentlemanlike to share them with you,” he chuckles boyishly, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your shoulder as he pinches your hardened nipple with his fingers.

“Showing your hard dick into my ass is not that gentlemanlike either, if you ask me,” you call him out grinning smugly and it earns you a harder thrust between your legs.

“You bring this out of me,” he growls into your ear, tugging on your earlobe gently as the urge to feel him fill you up grows inside you.

Just when you reach between your legs, ready to usher his length inside you, his phone starts vibrating on his nightstand and you growl in frustration when he reaches for it, stopping what you had going on entirely.

“M’sorry, baby. I have to take this.”

“Really? Now?” you whine as he pulls away from you, grabbing a pair of clean boxers from his dresser as he brings the phone to his ear.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he grins before answering the call, walking out of the room, but you still hear him greet the person on the other end of the line. “Hi Diana, what’s up?”

He left you in bed all riled up for Diana? Is he fucking serious?

Jealousy and rage washes over you in a blink of an eye as you push yourself up in the bed. You can’t believe he chose her over you on a Saturday morning, he could be balls deep inside you by now, but he is now probably locked up in his study, talking to Diana.

You march into the bathroom, feeling like a cold shower might help you, but as the water rains down on you, you still feel like you’re about to burst and it might be because you were getting close to your orgasm.

Driven from a sudden idea, you grab the removable showerhead and change the setting of the water stream on it before moving it between your legs. It’s nothing like Harry’s dick or even his touch, but it’s what’s left for you, because the man you want is too busy talking to another woman. You reach down and start playing with your clit, the stream pushing you towards your edge more and more and you’re desperate for a release.

When it finally comes, you let go with a gasp. The bitter taste in your mouth ruins it for you however and you keep thinking about how it wasn’t Harry who made you feel good. Raging thoughts flood your mind as you get out of the shower and get dressed.

You are sitting at the kitchen island, drinking on your morning coffee when Harry emerges from his study.

“Sorry about that, it was kind of an emergency.”

“No worries,” you dryly answer, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“When do you want to leave? Have you eaten? We could have brunch somewhere near the mall.”

“Oh, I forgot that I was invited for a birthday party tonight and I thought I would check in on my apartment, get ready there. I haven’t been home for a while.”

Harry grabs himself a bottled water as he joins you at the kitchen island, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows.

“We can drop by your place after shopping and then come back here.”

“Yeah, but I really want to clean up a bit there and you know, pretend like I still use that place.”

I also would love some space from you, because right now, I’m way too close to flipping over this whole Diana thing.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Can we postpone the shopping to next week maybe?”

“Works for me,” he simply shrugs, giving you one last look before dropping the whole thing.

You are out of Harry’s place before twelve and arriving back to your place, you can’t help but feel this sharp pain in your chest whenever you are thinking about him, which is basically every second.

You can’t lie to yourself anymore, everything you feel whenever it comes to Harry, it all points to one inevitable thing: you are hopelessly in love with the man. And to think that he might be into someone else is heartbreaking. You can’t stop thinking about how he might have feelings for Diana instead of you and it takes a toll on you, crushing you unmercifully.

You didn’t lie about the birthday party, you just didn’t plan on going, but this morning changed your mind and you decided you could use some time apart from Harry and the party gave you the perfect excuse. You weren’t essentially good friends with the people that were invited, but they seemed like a nice bunch so you thought it couldn’t hurt to give it a go.

The only thing that’s already pissing you off by the time you arrive at the bar is that Nick is there too, being friends with the birthday girl as well.

“Well, well, well! Haven’t seen you outside of the lecture hall in a long time,” he smirks at you once you are settled with your drink. He sits beside you, luckily keeping some distance but you’re ready to kick him in the balls if he tries to get closer.

“I’ve been busy.”

“With the man you went on a date with when you were supposed to meet me?”

“Okay, first of all, I was never supposed to meet you, Nick. Stop pretending like we ever had anything going on. And second, yes, I’ve been with that man.”

“Is he your boyfriend?” he questions and you almost snap at him saying yes, but then you realize that it wouldn’t be true. “So he is not? I guess then you still can go out with me finally.”

“Just stop already, okay? How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not interested?” you growl at him, turning away from him to join the conversation on your other side.

Later that evening a group photo is taken and uploaded to Instagram and it’s mere coincidence that Nick is still sitting next to you when it is taken. You don’t pay much attention to it, even share the picture in your story as well, but until you get a text from Harry.

Harry: Didn’t mention Nick would be there too.

You stare at it for a few moments, not sure how he knows Nick is there and then you realize. As unusual as it seems, Harry has an Instagram, he just never posts on it, only following his close friends… and you.

Opening the app you quickly scroll through who has seen your story and there he is, Harry’s name hidden somewhere at the bottom, but it’s clearly there.

Y/N: Didn’t think I have to report every time I see him somewhere.

Your reply feels just as passive aggressive as his was, or that’s what you think. His answer comes in seconds.

Harry: The guy has been trying to get into your pants since forever, would have been nice if you told me he was there too.

Y/N: A lot of things would be nice, Harry.

Harry: Are you trying to imply something?

Y/N: Idk, you’re a smart man, figure it out.

You mute the phone and place it to the table, ready to ignore it for the rest of the evening, but you don’t make it too long. About ten minutes later the screen lights up with a call from Harry. At first you want to ignore it, but then you climb out of your seat and walk outside so you can hear what he is saying.

“What?” you snap not too friendly.

“You didn’t fucking answer my texts!”

“Did it occur to you that it’s because I don’t want to talk to you right now?”

“What’s with the attitude all of a sudden?” he questions and you can tell he is getting angry but he is not the only one with a temper.

“I don’t know, Harry. You text me about Nick out of nowhere, demanding to know whenever he is around me as if he was some kind of criminal. What’s up with that?”

“I told you, the guy is always up in your ass, you’ve told me yourself, I just don’t like it that he is anywhere around you.”

“Out of the two of us it’s not you who gets the right to feel that way. As far as I know I didn’t leave you naked in bed right when we were about to have sex for another person. Think about that for a moment,” you throw it at him, feeling relieved you can finally speak your mind. The line gets silent for a moment and you wish you could see his face at the moment.

“I’m coming to get you,” he then states, it’s definitely not an offer.

“You are not.”

“I am. We are not having this conversation over the phone.”

And with that, the line dies. You could throw the phone against the wall in frustration, he could piss you off so badly, you hate how much effect he has on you.

The bar where you are is not too far from Harry’s place and you barely get yourself another drink and return to the table when he walks in. You don’t spot him at first, but other girls from your group do.

“Oh my God, it’s that hot businessman from Professor Robertson’s class!” One of the girls, Mindy gasps and your eyes snap over to Harry who is roaming the place, clearly looking for you. He is wearing a pair of light washed jeans and a simple, black long sleeve, his hair a little messy, but he still looks breathtaking. You hate him for that.

“Shit,” you mumble under your breath, right when he finally spots you and makes his way towards you.

“He is coming here, oh my God!” the girls gasp in excitement while you are trying to figure out a way to escape the situation, but you miserably fail.

“Y/N,” he calls out your name stopping at the table, his eyes flickering over to Nick who sits two people down from you. You spot the frown on his face, but he manages to control himself so others don’t notice his hate towards the guy.

“I’m not leaving with you,” you simply shake your head the rest of the group watching the scene unfold intently.

“Wait, he is the guy you’ve been seeing?” Nick speaks up upon realizing the situation. “You are fucking Harry Styles?”

“Nick, shut the fuck up,” you snap at him, completely over his shit at this point.

“Mind your own business,” Harry tells him, but just as expected, Nick doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.

“No, wait. You turned me down and then went out with him? He is like, what, thirty or something?”

“So what?” you give him a puzzled look.

“Shouldn’t you be with someone your age?”

“No, she shouldn’t,” Harry answers before you could even think of an answer. “Don’t put the blame on others for being a disgrace to men and bothering women when they are clearly not interested in you. Grow up and try to get some manners for yourself and maybe you won’t die a virgin, buddy.”

Everyone gasps at the way Harry put Nick to his place and you can’t hide your smirk either, no matter how angry you are at Harry. Nick just mumbles something under his breath totally defeated before he disappears in the direction of the bar as Harry turns back to you.

“Y/N, can we please talk?”

“I told you, I don’t want to talk right now.”

“But we fucking need to, so would you please at least come outside so we don’t have to do this in front of all these people?” he snaps, clearly running short on his patience and you’re not sure you want to wait for when it’s completely gone.

Sighing you grab your phone from the table and shimmy your way out of your seat once again, walking out of the bar with Harry following right behind you.

“You can’t just come here and order me around, Harry, not when I especially told you I don’t want to see you!”

There’s a little alleyway next to the bar and you snap at him the moment you are hidden from the prying eyes and ears.

“You can’t expect me to just sit around at home and wait for you to come back whenever it’s convenient for you.”

“But that’s exactly what you should have done! You don’t have the right to be all… possessive and act like a fucking cave man just because Nick was next to me on a picture! Not when you fucking leave me in bed for a call from Diana!”

“Y/N, it’s not what you think, okay? Let me explain it to you.”

“Okay, explain why you chose her over me and if we are at it, just let me know if you want this whole thing over because I definitely won’t be second after her. I did not sign up for that.”

“What?” he looks at you with widened eyes. “Why would I want to end it?”

“Because you clearly have a thing going on with Miss Perfect!”

“Diana and I are just friends. Have always been.”

“Oh yeah, and should I just believe it?”

“Well, you might want to, because she is married and very much planning to start a family with her husband.”

You instantly freeze. You were not expecting this information and it throws you off. It never occurred to you that Diana might have a spouse herself, you were way too hung up on the thought of her and Harry.

“I know this morning was very awkward and I wouldn’t have answered the call, but she’s been having trouble with getting pregnant, her and her husband, Peter have been trying for years now and she’s just started treatment to help her conceive. She called because her lab results came back and they weren’t as promising as she hoped them to be. We’ve been friends for a long time, I’ve been there with her through it all and I’m her closest support other than Peter. I’m sorry I made it seem like I chose her over you, I was just not sure if I should share it with you. After all, it’s not my place to talk about it, and to be honest, I didn’t think it would leave such a scar in you, baby.”

Now you just feel like the biggest asshole in the entire world. You had this whole situation mistaken and let your insecurities get into your head.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t think…” “You couldn’t have known. I’m sorry too, could have handled the situation way better.” Harry takes a few steps closer now that he is sure you won’t throw a punch at him and reaching up he runs his fingers down the side of your face. “And I’m sorry about this Nick thing, but I just… completely lost my mind when I saw him next to you on the picture.”

“You should know the best out of everyone that he has no fucking chance at me.”

“I know, but still, I’m a very jealous man, especially when it comes to people I love.”

Your lips part and eyes widen as his words set in. Did he really just say that he loves you or is he just playing some kind of cruel game with you?

“Y/N, this was not my plan, but I couldn’t help it. You swept me off my feet with your whole being and I fell in love with you. I tried to tell myself it’s just a momentary thing, but it’s not. I think about you when you’re not with me and every time I wake up and I see you next to me I know it’ll be a good day because it started with you. I fucking love you and I’m done pretending I’m not. I want you, the whole… relationship thing with you, I want to be the man who makes you happy. Please tell me you feel the same,” he begs and for a moment you think he’ll get on his knees in front of you, but he stays stood, hands cupping your face as you stare back at him, completely in awe at his words. You wrap your hands around his wrists as you smile at him.

“If my jealousy filled scene wasn’t enough proof for you, I do feel the same about you, Harry.”

“You do?” he asks, excitement filling his beautiful green eyes that appear way darker under the poor light that’s coming from the street.

“I would be stupid not to,” you admit with a chuckle. “I’ve been in love with you for a while now. Took me some time to realize, but I’m quite sure about it now.”

“Oh my Love, you have no idea how happy you just made me,” he chuckles in relief before pressing his lips against yours, kissing you with all his feelings. He kisses you over and over again, pushing you backwards until your back meets the brick wall. He grabs the back of your thighs and makes you wrap your legs around his waist as he keeps you up easily, his lips never leaving yours.

“Come home with me, please. I want to make love to you,” he breathes against your lips and your heart flutters at his words.

“Take me home then,” you giggle, pressing your forehead against his.

For a few minutes the two of you stay like that, enjoying the closeness and the intimacy of the moment and you wonder what could be going on in his head.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I just… have to thank Trevor for his invitation,” he tells you, but you just give him a puzzled look. “Professor Robertson. If he didn’t invite me to his lecture I would have never met you. I owe him one,” he explains with a chuckle, making you laugh as well.

“So, does this mean you’ll finally introduce me as your girlfriend when we meet someone?”

“I assume you caught on that when you met Diana,” he breathes out. “I actually wanted to call you my girlfriend, but didn’t know how it would sit with you.”

“So you called me your good friend?” you ask with a chuckle.

“Wasn’t the brightest solution, right?”

“Not really. It made me wonder if you fuck all your good friends.”

“Just the ones I’m in love with,” he smirks at you cheekily, stealing a quick kiss.

“Oh, are there more?” you ask raising your eyebrows at him, pushing his hair out of his forehead gently.

“Just you. My only good girl,” he answers before kissing you again.

SEQUEL: MY BEST GIRL

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #sugardaddy!harry #CEO!harry #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff

6K notes · View notes

erodasfishtacos · 3 years

Text

Curious Gazes

prompt: [CEO!Harry] four times harry has been spotted by employees being very unlike his demeanor at work.

word count: 4.3 k

warnings: harry is an asshole to everyone but is wife and baby.

**** <-- click for visuals throughout the story. ( because i love showing off how dumb rich harry is - i mean he’s a billionaire ffs)

notes: thanks so much for the love on the first part. I will be writing quite a bit for this trope. the next addition will be all smut. love you, enjoy.

PART ONE

----

RESERVATION RUN-IN

Harry has over a hundred-thousand full-time employees. He has nearly ten-thousand at his London office at all times. The skyscraper was beautiful with clear glass, a reflective grey tone, and the structure screamed modern. It has eighty-three floors.

So with that being said, Harry does not know even one third of the people who work in the building nor does he want to. He couldn’t pick them out of a line-up if he tried.

However, having so many employees in the city means his staff members are bound to catch sight of their boss pretty often outside of the office.

Sarah, Lucielle, Jack, and Anya - all from the customer service department of Styles Media and Marketing Inc. - are all out to dinner. They decided to go all out and dish out a hefty amount to eat at Il Nascondiglio Segreto. It was a reservation they had made nearly a month ago.

As they’re enjoying their appetizer, Lucielle nearly chokes on her oyster, “Holy shit. It’s Harry,” She whispers, nodding her head in the direction she was staring with bulging eyes.

They all can’t help but turn subtly, a perfect vantage point from where they’re sat right across the way from the group of employees. Their boss was dressed in a bit more casual - not by much - attire than he’d worn to the office earlier that Friday afternoon.

He had an open blazer with a white, nearly see-through button up. Their eyes nearly jumping out of their skulls when they spot his butterfly tattoo sitting on right below his sternum. Jack’s hawk eyes catch that he has a name in cursive on his left pec.

Plus his normal tailored suit trousers were replaced with tight skinny jeans that hugged his crotched - making it unmistakable that he was well….endowed. Hair was no longer as styled and curled. Laying more carelessly on his shoulders. ****

But what was the most absurd thing they saw him wearing was a smile. His lips were curled up in a large, white grin that was big enough to cause little wrinkles around his eyes.

His hand intertwined with his wife’s until they arrived at their table, pulling out her chair for her, landing a soft kiss on her cheek before sitting down in his across from her.

He automatically puts an open palm halfway across the table and his date places her’s right on top of it. Her large engagement ring and wedding band sparkling in the low lighting in the restaurant. They were holding hands over the table.

The group had never actually seen the women they deemed Cruella Deville. They had envisioned his wife with bleach blonde hair, fake tits, and fish lips complimented with botox that made it so her forehead didn’t move.

But they were met with a beautiful, natural one instead. She had gorgeous curled locks trailing down her back, light neutral makeup with normal sized lips, small creases where they should be.

Her body was natural as well, breasts pushed up in a bra but obviously not manufactured by the way they sat, a bit of a pouch around her midsection - a telltale sign from her recent pregnancy, and a radiant smile to match her husband’s.

They looked so happy and in love.

She was dressed short, polka-dotted black dress with a pair of simple black shoes. She complimented with with a bright red lip which stood out against the dark fabric. ***

It’s not that they didn’t look like a match - she was absolutely stunning. It just wasn’t who they imagined for the boss they despised ninety percent of the time.

The group can’t keep their eyes off the couple - subtly, of course - for their whole time at the restaurant.

Harry was laughing loudly - different sound than when he laughed without a humor at bumbling, nervous employees.

It was light and higher pitched - but still gravely low; smooth like honey as his wife matches his laughs.

At one point, after their meal arrives - Harry offers her a spoonful of his food, playfully complaining that she took too big of a bite - but then immediately offering her more right after.

When she excused herself to the bathroom, Lucille catches Harry’s sneaky hand reaching out to give her backside a quick grope which earns him a warning glance that has him snickering.

Anya who was in the restroom nearly runs into her, Y/N apologizes instantly, “I’m sorry! Wasn’t watching where I was going! Are you alright?”

Anya nods, a bit at a loss of words, talking to Harry Styles' wife, “I’m okay, thank you.”

“I swear I have two left feet,” Y/N jokes, complimenting her dress before disappearing into a stalls. A completely lovely girl.

It’s pathetic but the group lingers around to watch their boss’s full dinner date. It was creepy but they were just so stunned at the man that was sitting by them.

The couples behavior had turned more flirty by this point, Y/N’s eyelashes fluttering at little bit more at her husband, her giggles flowing more often with licks to her lips.

By the clenched fist on the table, Harry seems to be falling prey to the teasing.

But when his wife whispers something - that must have been filthy - and leans forward so her cleavage is displayed more, Harry’s pulling out his wallet, pulling an absurd amount of bills out and throwing them carelessly on the table.

Y/N’s eyes are twinkling in victory as her husband stands and helps her out of her chair - ever the gentlemen.

It doesn’t seem very gentlemen like though when his hand comes to the very lowest point on the small of her back - pushing her into him. He leans down to murmur something into her ear before landing a damp, way too intimate for public kiss to her jaw and then throat.

In turn, she looks up at him with a mischievous tilt of her lip and a challenging raised brow. You could cut their sexual tension with a knife.

Y/N lifts up on her toes to kiss him before grabbing his hand and guiding him out of the establishment quickly - his eyes glued to her bum the whole time.

Jack breaks the bated silence, with a bewildered chortle, “What the fuck was that?”

Sarah sips her wine, “Maybe he has a twin? Like a good twin? And he’s the evil one.”

They all laugh and finish up their desserts.

---

MOTHER’S DAY SHOPPING

Kasey and Tom - from Human Resources - are out for the day. It was a week before Mother’s Day and they were both scrambling for a gift at the shops.

Harrod’s was nearly empty as they had came in a few minutes after the store opened. Kasey had gotten distracted from her mission and was trying on shoes.

There was a 40% off sale and she wasn’t passing that up.

Tom had wondered off to the electronics department very soon after the first five shoeboxes arrived next to her chair.

“Pink!” Kasey hears a high-pitched baby voice squeal with utter delight. She looks up to see a curly haired toddler pointing at a pair of pink baby shoes.

The little girl had the cutest denim dress on with white stripes ***, white tights on, and white Mary Janes. When Kasey looked closer she realized the Gucci emblem was on the dress - holy shit, she didn’t even know Gucci made baby clothes.

“Daddy, please?” The toddler asks in a sweet, small voice looking to the approaching man who scoops her up in the crook of his elbow.

“Ivy, y’can’t run away from daddy. Do you understand me?”

Kasey’s eyes widen as she recognizes that deep, raspy voice. It was her boss, Harry Styles, and with his little mini who looked like a cherub angel.

“No run, daddy,” Ivy grins up at him, looking for approval.

The slightly stern look dissipates from his face into a softer, relaxed smile at his daughter’s words. He kept her close against his chest.

“Daddy, please?” She piques up again, pointing at the small shoes on the wall.

“Y’want those shoes?” Harry asks, nodding towards the pink sneakers.

Ivy nods before pointing at the other shoes next to it, “All, please?”

Despite her father not having any manners in the slightest, his daughter seemed to have excellent etiquette.

Harry chuckles, smoothing a stray curl down from her forehead, “Y’want a pair of all these shoes?”

Ivy nods with wide doe eyes and one of her dimples popping in her left cheek.

“Y’mother’s going to kill me,” Kasey hears Harry mutter before waving a sales associate over.

“Good to see you, Mr. Styles - I’m Tracey. What can I help you with?”

Of course they knew him by name. He was by the looks of it one of their most appreciated customers, figuring he rarely wears the same thing twice.

“Can I please get a pair of all these shoes in a toddler’s size three? And can you please ring them up for me? Thank you,” Harry asks, his voice taking on the executive and firm tone with the associate who nods and turns on her heel.

“Daddy? Kissy?” The girl asks her father, her little palm patting his cheek and she’s puckering her pink lips.

“Yes baby,” Harry obliges, giving her a peck before blowing a raspberry on her cheek. He tugs down her dress that’s ridden up in true parent fashion.

As they’re waiting, Harry continues to talk to his daughter, “Y’know pet, we came here to shop for mumma for mother’s day. Y’always manage to get something out of it, hmm?”

“Mummy?” Ivy squawks, repeating her father’s word.

“Yes, mummy. I think she’s really going to like the necklace we picked out,” Harry taps at her nose, his eyes just read love and amazement for his little girl.

Kasey was dumbfounded.

This man had literally stormed into their offices yesterday, frustration seeping into his loud tone as he asked the room of employees if it was a lady's brunch club or a place of employment when he hadn’t gotten a report on his desk at a certain time.

They’d all stuttered and apologized but Harry had already slammed the door of his way out - the doorframe shaking. A nasty email being sent to their inboxes mere minutes later.

“Mr. Styles? We are out of two of the pairs,” The saleswoman appears and tells him, tablet now in hand.

Harry’s voice is calm but he looks her dead in the eye, “Do you not know how to ship them to a house? I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

She begins to apologize, pulling up a page of her tablet, “Your total comes to £6,309.45 for the shoes.”

Kasey’s eyes nearly pop from her head at the total but Harry merely blinks and states, “Charge it to my Amex on file.”

“Would you like me to add on the items you picked up downstairs? That would bring your total to £ 213,088.79. The necklace *** will be shipped within the next two weeks and will need to be signed for at your doorstep by an authorized person of your choosing, they’ll need to provide identification to certify their identity.”

“I need the necklace by next Sunday- it’s my daughter’s Mother’s Day gift to her mum - hence the pink diamonds,” Harry states to the woman like she’s stupid.

Did that woman just say that amount? And did Harry not even bat an eyelash at it.

Kasey’s brain couldn’t really comprehend it.

“Expedited shipping on this item would be…” Tracey looks down at her tablet and taps a few buttons, “It will be an extra £3,219 for expedited shipping as it’s coming from Swittzerland.”

Harry is distracted for a moment as Ivy is wriggling until Harry puts her down. Kasey didn’t see that he had a plush doll tucked in between his jeans and belt on his back.

“Baby doll,” Ivy pokes at her father’s thigh, too short to reach her toy.

Harry tugs it out and hands it to her, “Stay right here, Vee.”

Ivy unceremoniously plops on the ground next to her father’s leather boot while he confirms the purchases and signs off on them.

It was cute - the plush baby doll she was playing with was ratty, worn, and very visibly loved. It seems as if it’s been her favorite toy for a while.

After finishing up with Tracey, Kasey sees him slip her a few bills for her trouble and lugs Ivy back up onto his hip.

“Shake, daddy?” Ivy lisps hopefully, green eyes sparkling up at her father’s.

Harry lets out a chuckle, “No, baby. It’s only ten in the morning, y’can’t have a milkshake. Let go home, maybe mumma will make us some blueberry pancakes if we give her lots of kisses?”

“Mummy,” Ivy agrees happily, her plush held tightly against her chest.

“She’s going to love your gift, darlin’, even though y’the best gift we’ve ever got,” Harry murmurs lovingly, pressed a warm kiss to his daughter’s cheek.

Tom has wandered back to the shoe department, eyes unfortunately meeting his boss’ right away - widen with surprise.

Harry’s eyes narrow when he finds Tom staring, “Can I help y’mate?”

“Uh-no! Sorry, just, erm, I work for you?” Tom stutters stupidly at his annoyed employer who currently has his toddler trying to pulls his sunglasses off the top of his head.

“Then I’d recommend, if you’d like it to stay that way, you mind your own damn business,” Harry bites out with a warning tone, unnecessarily rude.

Ivy doesn’t seem bothered, delighted when she tugs the shades off his head and attempts to put them on. She begins huffing as she struggles and Harry gently takes them and slides them on for her.

Tom nods, still baffled, and scurries over to Kasey.

They both glance back when their boss isn’t looking. He hears him murmur softly, “Let’s go see mummy.”

“Pancakes?” Ivy chirps, looking at her dad for confirmation.

“Anythin’ for you, my little love,” Harry agrees, starting to walks to the elevator to the entrance of the store.

Tom and Kasey look at each other with unexplainable expressions as they watch their asshole of a boss clearly wrapped around a toddler’s finger.

—-

THE PARK

“Hi! Is anyone sitting here?” Savannah hears from beside her on the park bench.

She looks up to see a beautiful, young woman looking to be around her age looking at her expectantly. She has a backpack on her shoulders and a curly-haired toddler on her hip.

“Nope! You’re good!” Savannah replies kindly, moving over to make room on the bench for her to sit.

“Awesome, thank you. I’m Y/N and this is Ivy. Say ‘hi’,” Y/N prompts her daughter with a nudge.

Ivy puts on a beaming smile, white little blocky teeth on display, “Hi.”

“I’m Savannah and the little brunette boy in the green shirt is mine - his name’s Flynn.”

“Tell her how old you are, baby,” Y/N smiles, always trying to get her daughter to socialize as much as possible.

“Two!” Ivy giggles before impatiently squirming, “Mummy, play.”

Y/N laughs, “Just as impatient as your father. Go on, stay where mumma can see you, please.”

Ivy nods before speeding off towards the little jungle-gym to automatically start playing with the little group of kids.

“I wish I had their energy,” Y/N sighs, tugging a water bottle out of her backpack.

Savannah was obsessed with everything gucci - even though she couldn’t afford anything - so when she spots the flashy bag, she can’t help but ask, “Is that a custom Gucci monogram multipack?”***

Y/N takes a sip before answering, “Yeah, my husband gave it to me as a gift on ‘national stay at home mum day’ - which I don’t even think is a real thing. He just knows I’ll chew him out if he buys me things like this without reason.”

They both laugh, Savannah can’t help but glance over the woman a little bit closer. She had a ratty, vintage tee on, plain black leggings, and a pair of black Nikes on - nothing that screamed over the top.

But then she spots the engagement ring *** on her finger. Savannah thought it looked so extravagant it almost looked fake. But the way the faucets reflect so magnificently in the sunshine makes her sure it’s real.

“What was that?” Savannah snaps back, realizing she hadn’t heard what Y/N was saying - too busy deciding how much money she had which wasn’t right when the girl was being so friendly.

“Oh, just - do you know any mum groups around here? I was in a group but all they liked to do was gossip and bitch. And I think Ivy heard the word ‘cunt’ one too many times from them.”

Savannah barks out a laugh, Y/N turns out to be extremely funny and friendly. She has a bit of a foul mouth and a quick wit but is a good listener.

“And so I said to the dude -“ Y/N cuts off when her phone rings, digging it out and answering, “Hi H, yeah. The one with the big purple slide, okay.”

When she hangs up, she tells her new friend, “My husband is stopping by really quick. He has a business dinner later and won’t see Ivy before her bedtime. Or me before my bedtime,” Y/N laughs.

“That’s so nice of him!” Savannah says, knowing her husband enjoyed when everyone was asleep by the time he came home. Would never go out of his way like Y/N’s husband would.

Y/N says with a smile in her eyes, “Yeah, he’s really good to us.”

They continue to chat until they hear a loud engine revving into the car park, Y/N rolls her eyes and mutters, “Of course, he brings the loudest car today.”

A vintage car swings into a spot and Savannah nearly gasps at who exits the car and begins to stride towards them. No one other than her boss.

The man who had her doing her job by the book and when one hair fell out of place he knew right away.

The man who she avoided at all cost possibly - taking the stairs so she doesn’t have to be in the elevator with his intimidating presence.

It took her a minute to connect the dots. Y/N was married to Harry? Harry was Ivy’s dad? It through her through a loop - Y/N was just - so nice.

But it does explain all the gucci and the massive diamond ring. She did happen to work for a fucking billionare. Y/N didn’t come off as a billionaire or a billionaire’s wife.

‘Holy shit, this is wild,’ Savannah thought.

Harry makes his way over to the bench, Y/N standing up to hug him. Harry kisses her softly with a large palm coming to slip under the back of her shirt to rub at her bare back.

Uh - this man was being loving and affectionate? Proving all Savannah's preconceived notions about him wrong. Mostly that he was a robot.

“Hi darlin’, have a good day?” Harry asks his wife, still holding onto her and tugging her into his side - looking to Ivy who was obliviously - playing on the swing.

“Mmm, don’t want you to go tonight,” Yn/Ngroans dramatically, squeaking when Harry playfully pinches her side.

“Tell me and I won’t go,” He murmurs with surprising sincerity against his wife’s cheek, smiling when Ivy lets out a loud, carefree giggle with her new friends.

“Oh! I’m being rude. This is Savannah, Savannah this is my husband Harry,” Y/N introduces the two, unknowing of their connection.

Savannah swallows harshly and gives him a timid wave, “Hello.”

Harry shows no recognition that he knows her but gives her a curt nod and rasps out a “hello.”

Y/N rolls his eyes at her husband, patting his toned stomach, “He’s always a little crabby after work,” She jokes as he smirks at her - he’s rarely ever crabby with his wife and they both know it.

After work? How about from the time he stepped foot through the lobby doors everyday? He only had one mode at work - crabby.

“It’s ok-“

“Daddy!” A squeal interrupts them, a blur of brunette curls crashing into her father’s legs - full force with excitement.

Harry is bending down and tucking her into his arms for a hug, “Hi baby, y’bein’ so good for mumma?”

His tone had shifted into a low, relaxed drawl that Savannah had never heard. His words are kind and caring towards his daughter.

“Good for mumma,” Ivy parrots her father, dimples popping as she pushes at Harry’s face when he attacks her with kisses.

“You taste so good I could eat yah!” Harry growls playfully, Ivy giggling delightedly at her fathers antics until her cheeks are flushed pink with laughter.

“Swings, daddy,” Ivy motions with green doe eyes. Grass and mud stains the outfit her mother had dressed her in - cute striped overalls with a white tee underneath *** and little sneakers ****.

“Oh dove, I wish I could. I have to go back to work,” Harry frowns, his thumb coming to caress her sweaty cheekbone.

Her brows furrowed and her full pink lips turned down - Savannah has to contain a laugh by how much she looks like her father with the displeased grimace on her face.

“No, no, Daddy,” Ivy argues adamantly, her eyes brimming with sad tears.

“Vee, c’mon, my love. I’ll be home later,” Harry soothes, starting to rock her from side to side to calm her.

But Ivy is in her terrible twos and doesn’t like the word ‘no.’

Y/N comes up to her husband’s side, tucking a hand into his back pocket to rest.

“Ivy Elizabeth, we need to let your father go. Come to mummy now, please,” Her mother asks in a soft but firm tone.

“No!” Ivy absolutely shrieks with a awfully high pitch, “No mummy, daddy swings!”

The couple shares a look before Y/N is gathering her backpack on her shoulder, looking back to Savannah, “Hey! Text me, it’s about nap time for this one.”

Savannah agrees and gives them both a wave off as Harry totes his tantruming toddler to a sleek, teal SUV. It takes her a moment to scoff internally - off course it’s a Bentley ***.

And because Savannah can’t help but be nosey she googles the price of the car and quickly locks her screen when she sees the base price is £ 210,000.

Harry is planting little pecks on his daughter’s face and murmuring to her until her tears have dried up and she’s laughing at her dad once again.

After Harry straps her into the car seat and shuts the door, he gently pushes his wife back against it. His body is crowding hers, arm over her shoulder against the car.

The talk for a moment before Harry’s ducking down to pull a few kisses from her lips before she’s giggling and pushing him off.

Savannah couldn’t wait to tell the old women at in her customer relations department tomorrow.

—

THE GAME

Cassie didn’t mind Harry actually. She made his coffee nearly every morning and she secretly knew he was the one who left those hefty tips.

She’d fumbled over his orders a few times when she’d started and apologized profusely but Harry had just looked up from his phone and said, “S’fine.”

Yeah, that’s not much but compared to some of the horror stories she hears, but she was grateful for another reason.

—-

One day he had found her crying in a empty corridor that he used to walk to his car at the end of his day.

“Y’alright?” Her boss asks gruffly, pausing to look down at her - no clear emotion on his face.

Cassie nods sheepishly, “M’sorry, I’m just really stressed out.”

Harry’s eyes flash a tad darker, “Is Carole giving you trouble?”

Carole was her manager.

“N-no. I got declined for my school financial aid. If I don’t come up with the money I’ll have to drop out. I-I have a son and I do-don’t have the money to go without help.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, rustling into the inner pocket of his suit and fishing out something - a checkbook.

He clicks the pen and moves his hand quickly across the pad before ripping it out and handing it to her, “Good luck and use the extra on your family. Don’t go spreading it around that I did this.”

Cassie goes to thank him or refuse it but when she looks back up from the check he’s already striding away down the hallway away from her.

She lets out a loud sob as she sees a check written for £150,000 right in front of her.

—

Cassie still works at the Starbucks part-time while attending college with the help of her secretly kind boss.

The extra money she’s stowed away in an education fund for her son after he graduates.

Anyways, she was at Man U football game that she got invited to with her boyfriend - Jacob. His dad won tickets for box seats from his work in a raffle.

Cassie soon realized that their box was right by the Styles Media and Marketing one. The way they were placed, she could see right into their area.

It was just Harry and a woman in there.

They were obviously a couple and this was the Cruella Deville. Cassie didn’t refer to her as that as she had a bit of a different perspective of the man.

His wife was sipping on a water bottle and cheering loudly with the rest of the fans. Harry watched her with amusement at her excited behavior, at one point pulling his photo out and snapping a picture of her.

When the exciting bit is over, she seats herself on his lap and wriggles until her back is against his chest - comfortable and cozy.

His large palm comes to cup at her stomach, Cassie now seeing that she is clearly pregnant as he cradles the noticeable bump protectively.

For most of the game, his hand never leaves her belly - rubbing circles with his thumb. His head came to rest on her shoulder to watch the game.

They seem so happy together - giggling and talking animatedly throughout. His wife constantly tilting her head back with her lips puckered requesting kisses that Harry happily supplies each time.

At one point, Cassie witnesses Y/N eat two huge corndogs in a row while her husband watches her with humor in his eye. Then goes on to order her a massive spool of candy floss that he feeds her throughout the game.

It was a late game and it was now in overtime. The clock reads nearly eleven at night. Harry’s wife has dozed off against his shoulder and when he notices he gently rouses her.

As she blinks her eyes open, Harry shucks his jacket of his shoulder and helped her slip it on. They must decide to call it a night because he’s helping her up, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, and guiding her out of the box.

Cassie never tells anyone that she saw him that night or what he did to help her family.

The End.

Hope you bubbbies enjoyed. Send me requests for this verse. Smut is up next for this trope.

2K notes · View notes

finelinevogue · 3 years

Note

Can you do something where Y/N is sick and Harry has to take care of her please?

i actually had written something similar to this before so i present you a lengthy blurb;

You were pretty sure if you got invited in to hell it would feel something like this.

Hot. Sticky. But chilled.

You had come down with a concerningly high temperature. Along with the added luxuries of a deafening headache, cold sweats and an upset tummy. Your body was burning all over, as if it had just been freshly cooked in the oven but you felt colder than ice. It was a confusing juxtaposition, but there it was.

You'd called Harry, since he was in the studio recording his new music and asked him to come home early. You didn't even get to the reasoning of why he should come home before he hung up, telling you he was already vacating the premises. You hated to be that needy girlfriend who had to call about nearly everything, but Harry loved it more than anything. He loved the fact that you needed him. It gave him purpose, apparently .

You couldn't work out whether you regretted asking him to come home, or whether it was a blessing. It was a very fine line.

It was a blessing because, he looked after you like a mother would her child and made sure he stood by your side any time you found yourself lurched over a toilet. He made you chicken soup from scratch and even tested it to make sure it wasn't too hot, or salty - despite being a vegetarian himself. He even made you honey and lemon tea, which he had to run to the store for the honey. When you say run, you mean run. He didn't want to leave you alone at all, so he put on his running shoes and sprinted to the shop and back. However, it was a slight regret because of how fussy he was over you. He loved it to bits - nursing to your every need.

You truly believed you didn't deserve Harry. He was just too kind and pure for his own good. You were unarguably lucky. Laying on what felt like your death bed, didn't feel so lucky though.

It was now 10 pm and you could hear Harry turning on the alarm for downstairs, the loud beeping noise preventing you from sleep. That's all you'd done all day. Sleep. You thought it'd be more magical than it was. It was just uncomfortable though, because of how cold and hot you were.

Your much better looking other half trudged through the bedroom door within a minute of the alarm going off. He was only wearing checkered pyjama bottoms and a white t-shirt and yet he made it look like Gucci Runway 2021.

The jingling of keys signalled Charlie was also present. Charlie was your 2 year old Golden Retriever. He was beautiful. When you and Harry has moved in together 2 years ago you'd managed to persuade him to get a dog. Within a few weeks of moving in you had a 5 month old puppy running around your house. He was your best friend, no doubt about it. He was also ridiculously photogenic.

"Hey Chaz!" You cooed as Charlie walked over to your side of the bed, where you were snuggling down under the sheets. You reached out your hand to give him some loving and attention. You could tell by the small smile and sparkling eyes that he was one happy boy.

"Alright, buddy. Let's leave mum alone." Harry came behind Charlie to manoeuvre him into his bed, which was in the corner of the room. It was more like a big cushion. He started to whine after being forced to leave you - having not seeing you all day. Harry was strict in keeping him downstairs so not to disturb you whilst you were sleeping.

"H it's alright, let him on the bed. He can curl up on my feet." You sympathised with Charlie, as you always did, hating to hear or see him upset. Harry was like the 'bad-cop' when it came to parenting Charlie, because you were too sweet to say no to him.

"You're one spoilt boy, aren’t you?" Harry messed around with Charlie, before telling him he could get up on the bed to see you. Charlie leapt on the bed and wandered over to give you all the kisses he could, before Harry came to calm him down - as you really didn't have the strength.

"I missed you too, Chaz." You quietly laughed, not wanting to set your headache off even more.

"You gonna let me kiss mum now?" Harry rhetorically asked, but as he came over to you Charlie laid down on you so your face was buried underneath his body. You could feel him panting with his adorable tongue out above you, as he hid you from Harry.

"Someone's jealous."

"Feeling like a bloody third wheel over here." Harry tutted and you laughed until you got hot with the movement.

"Harry? Can you move him please?" You whined as you tried to shuffle around.

"Okay Chaz. Let's let mum get some sleep, alright?" Charlie is slowly removed from you and ends up curled on top of your feet, keeping them warm for you.

Harry slipped into the covers and shuffled his way over to you, putting the back of his hand over your forehead and hissing quietly at the simple touch.

"Baby you're so hot." Harry complained.

"I know." You teased with a wink at him, taking his worry out of context and turning it into a flirting compliment.

"Oh piss off!" He chuckled and wrapped an arm around your waist to bring you closer. "What am I going to do with you, baby?" Harry then planted only a few delicate kisses to your lips - not wanting to overwork you and your tired body.

••••

You woke up with drowsy eyes to find you're in bed alone.

Your throat was incredibly dry and your whole body was sticky from sweat. Your pyjamas were damp and your face looked like it'd just been drowned in a rainstorm. It was disgusting. Still, you brought the duvet up to cover yourself more, as you let out a dramatic shiver. Why was it so cold?

Mixed into the background noise you could hear the cheering of crowds and it really confused you, until you looked at the wall and noticed the football was playing on re-run on the TV. Manchester United Vs Manchester City. You hated that you knew that just from their football uniforms, but that's what you get for living with a football-crazed boyfriend.

You noticed Harry emerge from the bathroom, a washing up bowl in his arms. He came and sat down in bed, the bucket of water to his side. "What are you doing?" You quietly asked, peering up at him through tired eyes.

"Oi, you're meant to be sleep y’minx." Harry told you off.

"I can't. I'm too uncomfortable. I'm hot, but i'm cold. I also find it hard to sleep without you next to me." You huffed out in annoyance.

"My poorly baby." He leant down to kiss your forehead, "c’mere, baby." He urged.

He helped you move, seeing as your body was really weak, so you could lay down against Harry’s body. He was sat up against the headboard as you nestled down between his legs, your back to his front. It was a lot more comfortable than before - probably because Harry was closer to you. Charlie noticed the disturbance and waited for you to stop moving around, before maintaining the job of guarding your feet.

Once he was happy in his position he fell asleep again, making you jealous of his ability to do that. Especially now.

"Why's the football on?" You asked, motioning towards the TV.

"Had to keep myself awake somehow." He explained, but it only made you more confused.

"Why?"

"So I can take care of you, y’muppet." His words actually melted your heart - more than chocolate could melt on your forehead right now.

After you'd settled, Harry reached into the bucket and drained out a cloth. He made sure all the excess water was cleared before moving it away from the bucket. You hummed in appreciation when he placed it against your forehead, rotating it to the back of your neck also in order to relax and cool you. It made you realise just how hot you were.

"I think i'm dying, Harry." You groaned as the nausea came over you again. Harry kept a firm hold of the cloth on your forehead, dabbing gently and careful to not let any water drip down into your eyes.

"No you're not, baby." Harry gave you a light-hearted laugh.

"Well, living shouldn't feel as shitty as this H." You grumbled, not appreciating his lack of understanding.

“Then just let me take you to the chuffing hospital!" He exclaimed, making Charlie stir slightly.

Harry had been demanding you go to the hospital all day and all evening, but you were too stubborn to go. That, and you were terrified of hospitals - more terrified of needles and blood than anything else. However, you were starting to reach the point where you were giving in to his request, though. It was becoming unbearable to sleep and harder to breathe. You were worried for yourself.

"I don't like it." You pouted like a child, as Harry wrung the cloth through the fresh water again.

"I don't care whether you like it or not, Y/N, I really think we should go. More like need." Harry insisted and you could tell he wasn’t giving up without a fight. You didn’t want that either.

You hated how he was right.

It was only going to get worse from here, and you didn't really want to be alive when that was going you happen, so going to the hospital to get checked over and drugged up seemed like the best option to go for. The more sensible option.

"Fine." You finally accepted, Harry slinking his arms tight around your waist after discarding the cloth in to the bucket. He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck and planted an abundance of kisses there, your skin burning just to the touch.

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." He repeated in-between kisses.

•••••

It took 20 minutes to get in to the car. 20 minutes.

All because Charlie was reluctant to letting you get up and go. So Harry had to dress you into a more appropriate attire, with a dog sat on your lower body. It was then half an hour later that you were in the hospital.

The hospital was quiet at this time of night and for that you were grateful. It was obviously a night where little numbers of people were doing silly things to get themselves hurt. There was the odd patient for a minor cut injury and there were a couple of people in for burns. There was even a woman in because she accidentally superglued her hand to a bottle of superglue - ironic, but painful.

You sat patiently on Harrys lap, waiting for someone to escort you to a cubicle. You were freezing cold, to the point where your teeth were chattering - your outside body was giving off the opposite temperature. You tried to get as close to Harry's warmth as possible, pushing your body against his.

"You're alright baby." Harry shushed you, as you let out a small tremble.

"If I do die—"

"Which you won't." Harry chuckled.

"I know, but if I did I want you to know that I love you." You told him. Even though he's heard you say it a million times before, it still made his heart flutter as you spoke each word.

"I love you, baby." He kissed the side of your head. "But you're going to be just fine, so no more talking about you dying okay?"

"Why? It's only a natural thing." You pointed out.

"Sure, but I don't want to think of a world without my girl living in it. So zip it before I make you."

You never thought of dying as a world without Harry before now and it wasn't the time to start thinking about it either. It was a horrible thought and you understood why Harry didn't want you speak about it. That world would be so dark and empty and you hated thinking about it.

Harry was called to the front desk to fill in some forms for you, since your hands were too cold and shaky to do it for yourself. He accidentally wrote 'Styles' as your second name, before realising his mistake and scribbling it out.

“Shit.” Harry went red in the face and chuckled over his silly mistake. His hand was shaky and you smiled at how he got so flustered over something so simple. You rested your hand on top of his, bringing his attention to you.

“One day.” You told him and he leaned to give you a kiss on the lips. You couldn’t help but feel like his lips were a future promise to make sure he wouldn’t have to scribble out his second name the next time it was written next to yours.

The doctor saw you shortly afterwards and you thanked your lucky stars that there was no injections or removal of any blood involved, Harry sticking with you the whole time. Turns out you were suffering from a moderate fever, but the doctor said with good rest it should pass. The doctor had given Harry permission to make a big fuss over you - explaining how he was going to love it and you were going to hate it - and to make sure to come back with even the slightest worsen of the fever. You got given a prescription list of various medications that you'd need to take over the next week or so. After collecting the drugs, you were back in the car on the way home.

"Told you you weren't going to die." Harry smiled, happy to have you still by his side, whilst holding your hand over the gear console.

"Unfortunate for you, I guess."

"Will you shut you, y’bloody nuisance. You know I can't do life without you, Y/N." He spoke softly, squeezing your hand tighter to assure you that he's going nowhere.

"Same here." You smile at him and he smirks back at you with his dimple-loving smile.

"You’ll always be it for me, baby." Harry speaks, before you drift back off to sleep.

Happily.

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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years

Text

“it’s not that important”

Summary: Y/N is in Harry’s band and one night they have a drunken hook up. One thing leads to another and they find themselves engaging in a friend’s with benefits type of situation. spoiler: it is important

AKA: A friends with benefits to lovers story :) with some angst in there

This is for @stylesharrys fallinharry10k celebration so my trope is friends with benefits! prompt is “you have no goddamn idea what you do to me. when i’m around you, i have no control of my emotions or my thoughts” and the tenth picture ^ i kinda just used it in the beginning to descripe what he was wearing - i got really carried away with this story but the prompt is in there !! lol, not proofread tho but would love your feedback !!!! :) love y’all very much

oh boy i’ve had this done for agesss but i hadn’t written the smut until today so now we’re here i dont even remember what happens - i vaguely remember not loving the end but I hope yall enjoy

Word Count: 15.4k (longest fic to date) | Warnings: smut, angst, fluff, alcohol consumption? i dont remember but i dont think theres anything too heavy in here.

“Hey Harold!” You smile as you easily hop over the side of the couch and settle beside your bandmate.

Harry groans, yet can’t keep the small smile off of his face when he sees it’s you. “How many times have I told you to never call me that?”

Your eyes narrow at his faux glare. “And how many times have I told you, I simply do not care?”

You reach a hand out and tousle his already disheveled, unstyled brown hair. Despite his lack of styling, his hair still looked perfect. His chestnut hair fell into a middle part when he did nothing to it and you found it endearing. It made him look far younger than he truly was, like a boy you might have pursued when you were in your early days at college. The waves slightly framed his prominent cheekbones and chiseled jaw that was sporting a tiny amount of stubble.

He moves his arm from around the back of the couch to pat at his hair, trying to put it back in its nondescript position you had just messed with. After he’s satisfied, he uses the same hand to push up his glasses on the bridge of his nose. They’re chestnut brown Gucci frames that match the natural highlights in his hair. You can safely assume that’s why he bought them. The lenses are clear, but you know they don’t hold any prescription. He looks incredulously at you from behind them still.

“Nice glasses,” you mention offhandedly as you reach out to the coffee table to grab the drink you had left there earlier.

Before Harry had arrived, you had been taking up residence on the couch, in the spot he had actually taken up. You had ventured to the restroom for a moment and gotten held up in a conversation when asked your preference for the Beatles. Having to defend your staunch stance for the Beatles and against the Rolling Stones, you had gotten swept up into an argument with Adam. He believed that because the Rolling Stones toured for longer warranted them the title of best rock band. While you countered that despite their long touring and production of music, the Stones had a rotation of members. The Beatles maintained the four of them and held such a large impact even though they were barely together for a decade. They were one of a kind, or at least the first of their kind, you’d allow. You weren’t really in the mood for intellectual conversation tonight, so upon seeing Harry taking up your seat, you had told Adam you’d continue the discussion at a later date and returned to your spot.

“Thanks,” Harry mumbles as his gaze flits around the room. He wasn’t sure if you were actually complimenting him, but he would take it as one either way.

The rest of your friends are all up and about, drinking, talking, dancing. It was the usual house party scene: a relatively intimate gathering, music you all actually liked, some friends of friends feeling slightly out of place. There was no pressure in this type of gathering but still Harry wasn’t necessarily in the party mood tonight. Usually, Harry was the one instigating these types of get-togethers with his friends and bandmates. He liked to be the life of the party, but as the tour loomed closer and closer, he felt some tinge of longing for quiet and solitude. He knew he wouldn’t have much quiet while on the road, which mostly didn’t scare him. He loved the stage and the high he received from performing and the gratification he felt from all the people in the room being there to see him. But there was also that other part of him that liked the quiet, the privacy. As the lack of alone time nudged itself around the corner, he had been hoping to enjoy solitude, or at the very least peace before he was on the road. Some sort of blissful state before technical chaos ensued. When Charlotte, the host of tonight’s soiree, had texted their group chat about tonight, Harry had politely declined. Then came the slew of private texts from Charlotte giving him all the reasons he should come tonight. He tried to say no again, but had shown up after the continued begging from her.

His appearance mirrored his expression, choosing a not perfectly fitted white t-shirt and random trousers rather than picking something he really loved, like usual. You could tell something was up and as his friend you were wondering what was wrong with him.

“Don’t sound so excited, Harry, someone might mistake you for somebody who’s happy to be here.” You stick your tongue into the side of your cheek, gauging his reaction.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re not very funny?” He quips, green eyes flashing to meet yours.

Your banter is probably how the pair of you communicated the best, never really falling into the whole serious side of friendship. You never shared those late night talks about the future or your fears. It was a fun friendship, so you didn’t fancy yourself one of his closest confidants. When it came to music, you and Harry were a bit more serious which formed a sort of paradox because the music you would share with each other gave a far greater insight into your souls than you probably realized. As a member of his band, you would discuss his music and what was going on with that sort of business part. But the sharing and discussion of other music that you did was part of your friendship, even if you didn’t see it like that. Because of the countless albums you had recommended to each other and the specific songs you had made note of, Harry and you knew each other much better than you thought you did. Music connects to something deep inside yourself and you have to like it enough and know the other person well enough to believe that they will also enjoy it to recommend it. As much tongue and cheek that you partook in with Harry, deep down, unbeknownst to either of you, you were that friend he shared his hopes and fears with, through the way he knew best, music.

“No, most people find me hilarious...”

You take a sip of your drink, trying to cover up the sting that his remark actually left. Most of the time you were great at keeping up with anyone’s banter, especially Harry’s, but tonight you weren’t feeling it. His tone had sounded so harsh it almost sounded like he meant it. His features soften when he sees the way your face falls, despite your sarcastic tone.

“‘M sorry. I’m just not in the best mood tonight. Didn’t want to come, but Charlotte…” He shifts to face you, arm retracting slightly around the couch, landing his hand at the edge of your shoulder. His fingers fiddle with themselves absentmindedly, he turns his rings around his fingers and they ever so slightly brush against your shoulder. You don’t mind, you know its his nervous tick that he did whenever he didn’t have something to clink them against.

“Yeah, same here, actually.” Your tuck an out of place hair behind your ear, returning your gaze to Harry, who’s tilting his head at you curiously. “But might as well make the most of it, though. After all, this is our last week before tour starts.” You raise your glass and tilt it towards him before taking a sip.

You really didn’t have a plan, you were just trying to make him feel a little better. It was seldom you saw him so solemn at this type of gathering. He usually was the one bouncing from group to group, entertaining everyone with his dazzling charm and quick wit. Sometimes he would bring a date and spend the night with them in the corner, but that was usually at bigger parties than this. At these types of gatherings you often found yourself talking with Charlotte for most of the night. You were both new additions in the band and you had clicked immediately. You would travel in a pair between different groups and talk with everyone. Sometimes you would tell a humorous anecdote about your life and everyone would laugh wholeheartedly. Your ability to retell a story and make it hilarious every time seemed to be your secret talent. You could make any experience into a ten-minute retelling and it always sounds like the funniest moment of your life. It ranged from your embarrassing audition for Grease as a tween to your supermarket run in with an old acquaintance or B-list celebrity the day before. It didn’t matter what it was, it just always had the entire circle of people laughing and wiping their eyes with joy. You’d laugh a little with themselves, but usually you just had a triumphant smile on your lips for the rest of the night.

He nods, sipping his own drink for the first time since you had settled down beside him. “Well, I’m all ears.”

“What?”

“Give me your suggestions on how to make the most of tonight.”

“Drinking, mostly, was my plan,” you laugh nervously as Harry continues to stare at you intently.

“Mostly?”

“I mean, what do you want me to say? I didn’t think to pack my bouncy castle, my bad.”

He bites back a laugh but lets some air escape his defined nose, before staring with a deadpan face at you.

You like to tease him. You simply liked him. Harry was different from other men you knew. You were pretty sure most people could say that though. Harry was just different. It seemed like no one could not have some sort of affection for him. With the playful friendship the pair of you had, you always skirted the edge of flirtation. But you also didn’t particularly ever want to cross any lines with him. He was the employer of you, technically. He had brought you into his backing band and you wouldn’t do anything to harm that position. As well, at the end of the day you knew Harry. His tendencies and the choices he made.

When you were around him at parties like this, you had to try really hard to keep him at an arm’s length. Because on one hand, you would drink and suddenly the boundaries you put up didn’t seem that important, instead his lips started to look rather inviting, but on the other, you knew that he was extremely emotionally closed off to any relationship that was more than either friendship or a one night stand.

Harry doesn’t give you a response, just swings back his drink. The pair of you sit and drink in silence. Before you know it, Harry and you are five drinks in, finally talking after the second. The pair of you decide to move to the balcony outside and continue your conversation there after the third. After the fourth, you're getting really handsy and by the end of the fifth, Harry’s arm is wrapped tightly around your waist and you're laughing breathlessly into his neck. It looks like he’s just shielding you from the cold night air, but both of you seemed to be enjoying each other’s embrace for other reasons.

Finally catching your breath, you lean back and pant softly as you meet eyes with Harry. His pupils have blown out from the alcohol and dark light. The emerald green barely surrounds the black and you swear there’s flecks of gold or maybe brown in them. Your brows scrunch at the revelation and Harry asks what you’re thinking. You don’t respond, too entranced and drunk to even hear him.

“Oi,” he bops your nose, “What is goin’ on in there, little lady?”

Your hand reaches up and widens Harry’s eye manually. His inebriated state has no qualms about you doing such an odd thing. “Why’s your green not actually green?”

“What?” He asks before moving your hand away from his face, it instead falls to his chest. The pair of you shift until your caged between his body and the balcony’s ledge. You pout as you stare up at him. His skin looks soft and taught over every inch of his face and neck. The urge to kiss him keeps nagging at the back of your mind. The idea keeps creeping up closer and closer and the drunker you are the less likely you are to suppress it.

“Do you want to fuck me?” You blurt out.

“Sure.” Harry isn’t taken aback. He had been thinking about asking for a while, so he was glad you had asked first, made it easier for him.

“Okay, let’s go.”

He takes you back to your place, the pair of you catching a cab the short distance between yours and Charlotte’s flats. No one blinks an eye at the pair of you leaving together. Everyone watched the pair of you sulk all night about being there and only enjoying the other’s company, so they weren’t keen on either of you staying. Charlotte was simply glad the pair of you had stayed for as long as you did.

The two of you walk casually until you’re inside your bedroom. Once inside, Harry throws you on the bed and fucks you. Hard. He’s got you spread out in more ways than you had ever thought possible. He’s got you saying things you had never even dreamed of saying. And he’s got you cumming and screaming more than you could have ever wanted. He enjoys himself as well. He loves the way you feel around him and the way your eyes look up at him while he fucks you straight into the bed. He loves the way you sound whispering dirty things and screaming his name. He loves the feel of your soft skin all over your body as he pushes deep inside you. He loves the way you’re able to rip a guttural moan from him every time he cums. And he cums three times that night. While it wasn’t quiet, he did find that blissful state he had been in desperate need of.

After the third round, Harry feels spent. He brings himself into a sitting position, legs hanging off the edge of your bed. You’re lying in your bed, completely overstimulated, cumming at least twice as many times as Harry. He scratches at the top of his head, his bicep bulging as he folds his arms around himself.

“That was fucking good, Y/N. Just what I needed.”

You can only hum in response.

Then he takes your blanket and lays it over you. After that he begins to stand up, getting ready to grab his things and go.

“You don’t have to go…” your voice raises when you realize what he’s doing.

“Yeah, I do. This was just a one time thing, yeah? I enjoyed it, but you know...”

“Erm, I guess?” You rolled to fully look at him, he was pulling his t-shirt back on now, his marked chest disappearing beneath the white fabric. “Do you really not stay over at your one night stands?”

He thinks about it as he begins with his shoes and his glasses at the same time. “Yes? Usually I don’t know the person and I don’t particularly want to sign an autograph when I leave in the morning. Best to leave immediately afterwards.”

“That was exactly why I wanted you to stay...Shit! No chance you’ll give me an autograph now? Could sign my tit, right next to your hickies.”

He laughs, automatically in a better mood after the catharsis of having sex. It was also a relief for him that you didn’t seem to be weird about the hook up. “Shut up!”

“You’re a twat, Harold.” He groans instinctively at the annoying nickname, not caring about the ‘twat’ part. “But be my guest, you can freeze your arse off while waiting for your cab outside at this hour.”

“Rude..” He mutters, standing in your doorway now. “You wouldn’t actually make your employer stand out in the cold at this time of night. I haven’t even got a jumper. Could get a cold and ruin my voice. ”

“You’re the one who says it’s best to leave immediately. Get on it, mister.”

Your hand makes a shooing movement, but he doesn’t budge. You sigh as he makes a puppy dog face - eyes wide and a puckered pout with his flushed cheeks and lips - playing into your actual kindness, that he knows is somewhere. Your sweetness that you were keeping hidden from Harry right now. Nothing was serious between you so it made sense that you were trying not to let your innate ability to care show as he’s about to walk out on you.

“Ugh, fine. Stop looking at me like that. Just grab one of my coats from the bottom right, they’re all oversized so one should fit.” He doesn’t relent on the face. “And you can stay inside until your cab comes.” You sigh and throw one of your pillows at him. He catches it easily and throws it back, much softer than your throw. “Also never pull the employer card on me again when I’m naked in the bed you just fucked me in,” you call as he looks through your closet.

Returning with a patchwork coat you had thrifted tight over his shoulders, he looks at you seriously, “Yeah sorry about that part. Definitely wasn’t trying to exert my power over you, it sounded better in my head. Meant more like you could ruin my voice and both of our jobs.”

You nod and chuckle slightly, finding how inarticulate Harry could be as an endearing trait. His explanation didn’t actually make it sound better. “The jacket fits.” You say, choosing to move forward from Harry’s weirdness, knowing he didn’t mean any harm from his initial statement.

“Yeah, thanks. I think my cab is here,” He glances at his phone, “So I’ll go...See you?”

“I’m sure.” You smile, “We do in fact work together and will soon be touring the world. Would be a bit weird if I didn’t see you.”

“Right.” He nods and adds a peace sign before he walks out of your sight. You know he’s gone when you hear the door click shut. What an interesting night.

Love on Tour had just started and Harry couldn’t lie. He couldn’t keep his mind off of you. You were both his most recent partner and the best he had had in a while. He found himself rubbing over the spots on his neck and clavicle that you had given particular attention to during the night you had shared together. When he went to bed it was your body he pictured to get himself off. So, after the first show he’s beelining to you at the beginning of the after party. He’s got an adrenaline high and he needs a release. You’re the solution. He’s whispering in your ear, asking if you’d like to meet him in his dressing room. Your eyes study his face when he pulls back and they widen slightly when the realization of what he’s implying dawns on you. Then you’re nodding and excusing yourself from a random conversation five minutes later.

Inside Harry’s dressing room, you find Harry already unbuttoning his shirt. He grabs your face and shoves his lips onto yours once you lock the door. As he kisses you he tries to make one thing very clear, “This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Got it.” You begin to finish Harry’s job of taking off his shirt.

He pulls back to look you in the eye, “Are you okay with that?”

“Jesus fuck, yes, Harry, just shut up and fuck me senseless again!”

He listens to you and begins to kiss down your jaw and neck. His open-mouth kisses leave a searing trail across your skin. He settles on a spot at the base of your neck and begins to suck and nip at it with vigor. You set to work on finishing his job of unbuttoning his shirt. Then you pull off your own shirt, reaching behind you to untie the bows at the back. The new skin exposed grabs Harry’s attention and he moves down to suck over the cleavage of your tits. He’s happy to be back with his ‘bosom friends’. You smack his head when he says it and he chuckles darkly, only sucking harder on them causing you to moan louder than you would like.

Once you’re both in only your underwear, you find your back pressed up against the mirror behind the dressing room counter. Harry’s body is nestled between your spread legs as he kisses down your skin. His fingers dance along the line of your thong as he looks up from beneath his lashes for position, you only push his head closer to your heat in response. He laughs mischievously before tugging them down off your hips.

“Missed this pretty little cunt...All I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout,” He mutters as he begins to latch onto your dripping core.

Your brows shoot up at the thought that Harry’s mind has been stuck on you for the past week. You definitely had thought about your drunken hook up a bit, but hadn’t thought it had left a lasting impression on Harry, you assumed he had that lovely of a night with every person he chose to spend intimate time with. These thoughts are forgotten when Harry’s warm tongue is lapping at your swollen bud. You’re already panting for Harry and now you’re heaving with moans and whimpers leaving your mouth with every lick and nip of his expert mouth.

“Fuck Harry, feels so good,” you whine as his tongue travels down your folds and swirls and dips into your hole.

He moans at your words and the way your legs squeeze at his head. His hands move to spread you open wide to maintain his control and he smirks at the way your body rolls due to the friction of his voice against your pussy.

“Be a good girl f’me,” he growls still pressed against your wet heat.

Your body rolls again as you get closer and closer to your first release. Your bite your lip trying to contain all of the sounds that are trying to escape your mouth. Harry notices the new silence and glances up seeing how you’re trying to behave. As much as he likes you obeying his words, he also wanted to hear how he was pleasuring you.

“Tell me how you feel, princess,” he demands.

“So-so good,” you hiccup as his fingers caress over your folds now as he looks you in the eyes, his lips wet with your slick. He kisses you hard, his tongue diving into your mouth and you kiss back passionately, loving your taste on his tongue.

He pulls back and your hands trail down his chest, swirling around his familiar tattoos and hair that grace his lower torso as you move. He grins, enjoying the feeling of you on him and how he was affecting you.

Soon enough, his cock is finding its way back to your glistening folds, wet with your own liquids as well as his saliva. His mouth waters at the sight. He only pushes into you a few times like this. Then he catches sight of himself in the mirror in front of him and can’t resist. He pulls out and flips you over, your squeal leaving your mouth before you can stop yourself. His dick finds your entrance once again, not wanting to be without the wonderful warmth for any longer than he must.

“Ahhh,” Harry groans when he slips back inside.

Your head throws back on your neck, the feeling of him as well as the sight of him gripping your hair in one hand and your fleshy hip in the other. His rings dig into the skin as he’s able to slam more forcefully in this position. You gasp and whine at his motions. The sounds coming from between your legs are turning you on even more and they seem to make Harry happy too. He picks up the pace and drops the grasp of your hair for a second. Your head falls down as you try to keep yourself up on your elbows.

Gripping both of your hips, Harry growls, “Look at me while I fuck you. C’mon now.”

You moan in response and tear your eyes open to see your reflections in the mirror. One hand goes up to hold onto the mirror to give yourself more traction, causing your back to arch even more. The new position has Harry’s cock slamming into you deeper.

“Fuck!” Harry practically yells and can’t keep himself from landing a harsh slap on your ass. You jump forward at the sting but his other hand keeps the pace steady. He keeps burying himself into you all the way to his base, his balls slapping at your now slick spread thighs. He rubs over the red handprint he had just left on your ass. You whimper and bite your lip, truly enjoying the sensation.

Still staring into the mirror as Harry commanded, your eyes water slightly and Harry makes eye contact with you through the mirror. You smile widely and he grins back. “This feels so fucking good. Your pussy takes me so well. Fuck…” Harry babbles, still pistoning into you. You had noticed how vocal he was the first time you had fucked, but thought it had just been the alcohol. Apparently not. But you didn’t mind, you much preferred it to partners who barely spoke or didn’t even moan. Like how were you supposed to know what was going on in their minds? With Harry, you knew he was having a good time.

A few more heavy thrusts and you felt yourself nearing the edge. Your panting was getting faster, exceeding the speed of Harry’s thrusts and he could also feel you were close. Your cunt began squeezing him tighter so he hooked a hand under your knee and brought it onto the table. He hunched over you slightly and snaked his hand to your clit. “C’mon darling, I know you're close. Can feel that little cunt putting a choke hold on my cock.” He rubs at your clit with the vigor of strumming a quick paced song on the guitar. It’s enough to overtake your senses and the laugh that had bubbled from his words turns into your orgasm moan. You try to muffle it into the arm that is holding you against the mirror to avoid a full on scream because it feels that good. You felt like you were having your first ever orgasm, it felt that new to you.

A few more thrusts and you’ve come down from it, but Harry still hasn’t finished. It’s your turn to be the partner coaxing the other to get off. “Faster, Har. Want you to cum too.” He grunts, picking back up the pace. He had slowed to let you ride out your stay. “That’s it...want you to cum in me. Your cock feels so fucking good.” You whine, meaning every word. He smiles again at you and closes his eyes, focusing on chasing his high. You watch as his smile widens to that open mouth grin, “Fuck,” he almost whispers. And there it is. There’s a twitch in his hips that mirrors his expression and then he’s pulling out and cumming on your back. His voice is now even lower and raspier than before as he babbles how good that was and how tight your pussy was. It was sweet nothings, but extremely explicit and you sighed heavily, feeling a small orgasm wash over you again. His final thrusts and voice pushing you off the cliff again easily.

The two of you take a minute to bring your breathing back to normal and Harry goes to clean your back off.

“So..how do you feel about maybe doing this regularly?” Harry asks sheepishly as he begins to pull his pants back on.

“Like a friends with benefits kind of thing? Or bandmates with benefits, rather.” You laugh breathlessly at your not really funny joke, but you’re now truly exhausted. From the show and the fuck, you felt thouroughly worked out.

“I guess that’s what it is, yeah.”

“Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

“You’re honestly so chill, Y/N. It’s fuckin’ hot.”

You laugh and flip your hair dramatically. You’re only in your bra and panties right now and Harry licks his lips, finding your playfulness to be a turn on. “What can I say?” You laugh.

“But like I said before...it’s just sex.” He’s buttoning up his shirt and looking at your reflection through the mirror now. He watches you slip the pants you had been wearing back on.

“Oh, Harold, I know.” On cue, he groans and turns around to face you after fixing his mused hair in the mirror. Interrupting yourself, you turn your back to Harry, “Can you tie this, sorry it’s hard for me to get the -” Harry walks to you without any hesitation and begins tying the silk ribbons on the back of your shirt. “Thanks. Anyway,” you turn to face him when he’s finished and you place both of your palms on his chest. “Trust me, I know you’ve got your issues and I’m not looking to be the girl that tries to change you. I know what this is. I only ask that you let me know when you sleep with other people, because once you do, you won’t need me.” Harry nods and you pat your hands against him. You both smile and go your separate ways when you leave the dressing room.

Harry and you fucked almost every night on tour. Sometimes it was right after, on the counter in his dressing rooms. Sometimes it was later in the evening in his hotel room or yours. He stopped leaving immediately after your hook ups. He never kicked you out of his room so he decided it was fine for him to stay in yours. Especially because you weren’t a stranger who would be weird with him in the morning. He also didn’t like trekking through the hotel halls late at night.

The first few times you stayed in the same bed, the two of you stayed on opposite sides of the bed, not touching after you were finished engaging in your sexual endeavours. Rigid bodies against the edges of the mattress. Then one particularly long night, filled with multiple rounds, Harry was so exhausted from his performance on stage and off that he collapsed on top of you. He fell asleep there and you didn’t particularly mind. It felt nice to be slightly compressed and held. He shifted in his sleep and when he woke up he wasn’t upset to find you nestled into his side with his arms wrapped around you. After that, cuddling sort of became part of the routine. After you were done having sex, Harry or you would get up to clean up and bring back waters. Then you would settle in his arms. Sometimes in a spooning position and sometimes you cradled softly into his chest. You didn’t talk about it, it just happened.

One night it was your head directly on top of his butterfly tattoo, one leg thrown over his lower torso and your arm snuggly wrapped around his middle. He liked to pet your hair when you laid against his chest in that way. His fingers would fiddle with the strands and you liked it because he usually took off his rings before he would do it and his hands felt so soft and delicate against you. Harry liked the way he felt when he would hold you afterwards. It was calming to fall asleep against your soft skin and feel your fingertips trace lyrics to songs he wasn’t sure the name of against his own.

No one knew about how your friendship with Harry worked. To the rest of the world, you seemed to be someone who had become another close friend in the band. You were similar to Mitch in many respects. Except for when Harry winked at you during a show, it wasn’t a friendly wink, it was a ‘this song makes me horny and I can’t wait to relieve the pressure by fucking you later’ kind of wink. You knew this because Harry had gone over and whispered it in your ear during a quick break, when you had only looked at him weirdly after he did it.

Before the show tonight, you pulled Harry aside, “So what are we thinking tonight? I feel like I might want to ride you...Haven’t been on top in a while.” In the darkness of the backstage, you crane your neck to take Harry’s earlobe between your teeth. He groans softly and grips your hips to guide them against his for a second. “Sounds fuckin’ fantastic, love.” You twitch back, releasing him immediately at the word. You always told him not to call you that and he tried to reason with you, that it was just something he called people. But you disliked it a lot, adding it to the growing list of rules the pair of you had for the do’s and don'ts of being friends with benefits with each other.

“Harold,” you groan and he steps back at that pet name. While he hated this, you refused to let him put it on the list because it didn’t cross any lines with your physical arrangement. Not that there was any physical list to put it on, it was more of a theoretical list that the two of you would speak of occasionally.

“Sorry.” He says eventually, “Didn’t mean it.” You both laugh.

You think about how other relationships were sometimes desperate to hear their partner express their love for them and you believe you’re grateful for the simplicity of your arrangement. The term relationship regarding what you and Harry were doing was also in the ‘don’t’ category on the list. If either of you were being honest, there should be no need for a list and you should be questioning yourselves why you felt the need to set boundaries if one part of it was physical and the other part was your friendship and job. If it truly was just physical why were boundaries constantly needing to be set and followed? But right now honesty was not in the cards.

After the show Harry gets delayed with press or fans or something that you don’t really care about. You barely read the text that he sends, only caring about the ‘sorry got held up’ and the ‘be there in thirty’.

You let yourself into his room and wait on the bed, flipping through your phone, completely unbothered by the rest of the world. When you hear a knock on the door, you don’t think twice about getting up and opening the door. You only realize your terrible mistake when it’s Mitch and not Harry standing at what you’re also just realizing isn’t your door, but instead Harry’s.

“Shit!” you say under your breath as Mitch looks at you confused.

The room is dark behind you because Harry would have just entered and gotten down to business. He might turn on a side lamp, but you hadn’t felt the need to have light on while you waited. Forgetting all of that, you had just gone to the door and opened it.

Mitch tucks some of his hair behind his ear as he stares at you. “Is Harry here?”

“Er..No?” It comes out as a question. You rub the back of your ankle with your foot, feeling nervous.

“Is he actually not here or?” Mitch trails off, narrowing his eyes at you.

“No, no he’s really not here. I’m waiting for him, too.” You rush your words, but try to remain calm.

“You have a key to his room. And you’re waiting in the dark.” He says. They’re not questions and you’re not sure just how guilty you look.

“Yeah!” You try to come up with a non suspicious response, hoping there’s a way to still salvage your’s and Harry’s secret, “He gave me his key because he wanted to talk about something and I kept it dark because my eyes always hurt after shows. Kind of like a migraine.” You scratch at your head and smile, trying to convince Mitch. He seems to believe you as he nods slowly and opens his eyes more.

There’s a little bit of an awkward silence and Mitch shifts his weight between his feet, looking at you still. Just as you're about to invite Mitch to come wait inside with you, Harry steps out of the elevator and begins to walk down the hall. His key card is already in hand and your eyes widen. Harry’s expression mirrors yours when he realizes Mitch is standing outside of his door and that you are standing with him. “Mitch!” Harry says, placing his hand on Mitch’s shoulder and sliding his key card into his back pocket with the other. Mitch turns to Harry without seeing him put away the other key card and you look at the pair of them.

“I was just telling Mitch how you gave me your key card so we could talk about...that thing.” You interject, flicking the lights on in Harry’s room as casually as possible. Harry shoots you a look about how you couldn’t come up with an actual reason for being there. You shrug your shoulders helplessly.

Mitch looks between the two of you and feels some weird tension and he’s not sure if it's always there and he’s just noticing or if something is going on right now.

“Yeah, well, I came to stop by to talk about the riff in Canyon Moon. Something is wonky with it.”

“Oh! Sure,” Harry nods to Mitch and then glances at you, “Y/N, we can talk about that other thing later. It’s not that important anyway.” His tone is so casual and nonchalant. You stare at him, thinking he can’t be serious. You had been almost sure he would send Mitch away, but instead you were being kicked to the curb. When he doesn’t say sike or anything of the sort, you nod. “Okay,” then you mumble a ‘good luck’ with figuring out the problem with the song. Mitch walks in the door, but Harry’s eyes stay fixed on your figure retreating down the hallway. He watches you disappear and is only pulled from his thoughts when Mitch calls his name from the couch in the room.

After reaching your floor, you key into your room and get ready for bed. Just as you’re about to drift off to sleep, completely alone for once in a long time, there’s another knock. This time you check the peephole, a habit you realized you were going to have to get better at. It’s Harry. You open the door and walk away immediately once he’s entered the room.

“Why are you here?”

“Thought we could still...” He follows you into the room, trying to make out your face in the darkness.

“I’m not in the mood anymore.” Your tone gives away your annoyance. You couldn’t hide that you were mad at Harry for sending you away. It made you feel weird. The way he did it so easily made you feel like you were extremely disposable and unwanted.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs as he lays down beside you. You turn to face him when he places a hand on the small of your back. You’re face to face and your noses are almost brushing. It’s not really possible to see each other’s features, but after months of hooking up you knew each other’s faces pretty well. You could reach out and pinpoint all of Harry’s freckles and moles on his face and neck right now and be correct. He could likely do the same. The theory is proven correct when he reaches out and his hand dances down your cheek. “Just thought it would be less suspicious if I didn’t get rid of him. Couldn’t make him wait either…”

“I know,” your voice is small and soft, just above a whisper, “I forgive you.” You scoot closer to him and Harry instinctively wraps his arm around you, bringing you tightly into him. You sigh into his neck and he shivers at your warm breath on his slightly clammy skin. When you lick your lips, they brush lightly against his skin. He laughs at the feeling, so you decide to press an intentional kiss to the hollow in his neck. In response, he presses a kiss to your hairline, his lips slightly chapped after the concert.

The kisses are tender, filled with that thing neither of you dare attribute to anything the two of you did in the dark. The word you told him time and time again to not call you. So is just about every touch and word that has been exchanged in this room since Harry entered it. You fall asleep wrapped up in his arms, a soft smile resting on both of your faces. Neither of you seem to mind that you didn’t actually have sex tonight or anything even close to it.

When you wake up you feel especially well rested. You shift around and realize your bed is empty besides you. It depended on the day, but it was always a toss up between Harry being there when you woke up or not. However, lately, you had found it was usually the former. You would linger longer and so would Harry in each other’s rooms, lounging in each other’s embrace under the soft glow of the morning light peaking through whatever windows the room had. Today you were cold at his absence. Then you look up and realize you aren’t completely alone. Harry is standing at the end of your bed, staring down at his phone, smiling.

“Hey.”

You wait for his reply, but he doesn’t look up from his phone. “Hey, Harold,” you repeat. His head snaps up, a grimace on his face at the name. He slips his phone in his pocket and ruffles his hair. “Hey.” He finally responds. “I’m gonna head out.”

“Okay.”

Neither of you seem to find it necessary to talk about what happened last night. Harry definitely seemed a little off to you this morning, but you try to shake it from your thoughts. There was no reason to be upset with him being quiet. He didn’t owe you anything, you hadn’t even slept together last night, so if anything it was weird he stayed as long as he did.

It was the second night at the Forum in Los Angeles. This means no travelling necessary. No day off either, tomorrow you’d have a day off before the third and final show at the venue though.

Harry and you were talking normally at the venue, mostly about the setlist - him and Mitch had changed something for whatever reason last night, which was fine. Your banter was to a minimum, but you were trying to convince yourself that nothing was off. Even though it felt like something was different, you couldn’t place your finger on what it was, so you thought it was best to ignore it.

When Harry is about to go out on stage, you don’t pull him aside and when he introduces the members of the band to the audience, he doesn’t say anything fun or silly about you. He doesn’t wink or come up to you at any point in the performance. It’s so unusual the rest of your bandmates are giving you funny looks. Charlotte looks at you from across your keyboard in a way that she’s asking if you’re okay. You shake your head at everyone trying to signal that you’re fine.

Mitch goes over to Harry and whispers in his ear to check in with him, Harry looks at him with a bright smile on his face and says “of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Mitch looks between the pair of you, thinking back to last night and how weird the pair of you were being then. Maybe it dawns on him then what might be going on between the two of you, but if he did, he wouldn’t mention it for a long time.

You falter a bit on your back up vocals tonight. You’re trying to give it your all, like always, but for some reason your voice isn’t sounding the way you want it. About halfway through the show, when your voice comes out the exact opposite of how you would like, Harry finally gives you a second glance. His face practically emotionless, save for the single arched brow. He’s concerned, but not concerned enough where he would go over to you. He just doesn’t understand why you keep missing the right note tonight. You make a shake of your hand to say I don’t know either. He just shrugs and turns back around to continue the show, his lively smile returning while he turns his head.

After the show, Charlotte, Sarah, and you are all checking in, going over what had happened during the show in general. They’re both worried about your voice and you’re simply trying to tell them that it was just an off night. Nothing was wrong. As long as you told everyone else that, then it might turn out to be true.

“It’s fine, maybe I didn’t get enough sleep last night,” you fib, having gotten more sleep last night than most other nights on this tour. They both nod, seeming to take that as a reasonable answer.

Then Charlotte gets quieter as she whispers to the three of you, “Did you guys notice anything weird with Harry? He was super lively, but he barely interacted with you, Y/N, which is so unlike him...”

Sarah nods while you look skeptically on. Sarah adds, “He kept looking up to the boxes, too. More than usual at least. I don’t know though…” She trails off and you cross your arms over your chest, not really enjoying the conversation topic. “I mean, what do you think, Y/N?” Sarah adds.

Your eyes dance between the two women, your fellow bandmates, your friends. You sometimes wished you could share with them what you were doing with Harry. The secret was fun, but it’s also nice to be able to share with your girlfriends about the guy you’re seeing, even if it is a casual thing. The friendly gossip of it all is something fun to share, but sadly that was another thing you couldn’t do. You sigh, “You never really know what’s going on in his mind, y’know. He’s just Harry.” Your response is half-assed at best. You figure they’ll both give you shit for the non-answer you just supplied, but instead someone else speaks for them.

“I am in fact, just Harry.” He says and you swivel around to find yourself almost chest to chest with him. Charlotte laughs while Sarah simply smiles. Your eyes are huge as you stare up at him and you hope your blush doesn’t come out too strongly after being caught talking about Harry by himself. “Enlighten me on when I was being ‘just Harry’ though?” You bite your lip and take a step back from him, forming more of a line with the other women. He shrugs when no one offers a response, laughing lightly.

“Oh and Y/N, I can’t talk about that thing again tonight, I’ve got-”

“A date?” Charlotte asks, trying to understand why Harry was acting a little different tonight still. The part that Sarah had mentioned about him looking up into the boxes had given her the idea that he might have plans with someone after the show. Harry scratches his head, his hair slightly wet with sweat right after the show. He’s taken off his coat so he’s just in the almost completely unbuttoned, sweat soaked shirt he had been wearing underneath. It sticks tight to his skin and you can make out all the muscle lines that hide beneath the fabric that you usually get to caress. Your eyes flit from his body back to his face when he speaks again.

“Erm, I wasn’t going to phrase it like that...but yes, I suppose, it’s a date.” He says finally, he avoids your eye contact and you look at him very confused, trying to hide the hurt. He shoves his hands in his pockets trying to look and sound as casual as possible and ignore the strain he sees on your face. Is that what had held him up yesterday? Making plans with someone else? And he hadn’t told you until now? The past twenty four hours stung a little bit more now that you knew why Harry was being so distant. It simply felt icky finding out this way and it didn’t even seem like he was going to tell you it was a date.

“Okay,” you say simply and walk away. You hear Charlotte asking him details about his date, but you try actively not to hear any of it. Sarah watches you walk away and sees the way you wrap your arms around yourself to comfort you. She feels a twinge of sadness as she watches the scene unfold, seeing something she hadn’t realized was there before.

Harry doesn’t text or call you that night. You hang out with everyone else for a little while in Charlotte’s room before heading to bed, saying you think you need an early night tonight. Before you’re able to walk out of the door, Mitch stops you. “I heard Harry blew off whatever conversation the two of you have been trying to have again. Just wanted to tell you I’m sorry.” You try to smile but it comes out as more of a grimace. There is no conversation Harry is blowing off, it’s simply you. “It’s fine. Like he said yesterday, it’s not important.” Mitch nods, but still looks at you with concern. What he had seen last night, then on stage today, and what Sarah had told him about your interaction after the show it all strung together in his mind. It didn’t seem unimportant at all. But he didn’t know how he could tell you that. He felt like he should talk to Harry about the way you looked when you left Charlotte’s room tonight, but he didn’t know how to bring it up to him either.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you're in the elevator, and it’s slowly rising to your floor of the hotel. You’re only one level up, but it feels like an eternity in there. You already weren’t a fan of elevators, but this ride felt impossibly worse. The walls are all made up of mirrors and you see yourself in the reflection, but you don’t exactly recognize the girl in there. Your eyes are tired from the show, dark circles already formed. Your hands are aching, clenching and unclenching on their own accord. Your body is slumped against the back wall, likely leaving a slight imprint from the smoke residue and dust on your clothes. Worst of all are the tears running down your face, smudging at your makeup, the black mascara you had applied dripping down in sinister raindrops against your skin. The sad girl stares back at you as you sniffle slightly, confused at what you’re seeing. “Why are you crying?” you ask yourself, your voice creaking and then breaking at the end as you struggle to get out the word ‘crying’ before a sob wracks through you. You roll your eyes when your reflection offers no explanation for itself. You laugh at your own patheticness and try to shake the feelings you’re experiencing.

Inside your room now, you flop on the bed and stare straight up at the ceiling. Your arms spread to your sides and your legs lay limply below you. You think about every night before last, every night since the tour started. Every night where you weren’t alone, where you were with Harry. Your mind flits to last night, how Harry’s lips had ghosted over your skin after his apology. How you had told him you forgave him and it had felt so peaceful, so simple. It was all so easy. Thinking about him and the things the two of you did together brought a smile to your face, unbeknownst to you. When you realize it’s there, your face drops immediately, deciding not to think about Harry.

But trying to not think about Harry makes you only think about him more and what you think about him now most definitely doesn’t bring a smile to your face. You’re thinking about him out on his date with some person you chose to learn nothing about. Maybe out of fear of what is happening right now. By knowing nothing about the person, you can’t compare yourself to them. Can’t see what’s different about them that would make Harry go out on a date with them. But it doesn’t matter who they are or what they look like because at the end of it all you know one thing for certain. They’re not you. You correct yourself, you know two things actually, because you also know that Harry chose to be with them instead of you tonight.

You fall asleep with tear stained cheeks that night and absolutely nothing positive on your mind. You want to sleep but know it only brings whatever is bound to happen tomorrow, which doesn’t seem very promising.

It’s noon when you wake up and you wake to a knocking on your door. You grumble and throw a sweatshirt over your body to hide the underwear you slept in. Not remembering your new habit, you swing the door open without any hesitation to find Harry. He looks wide awake and happy, the way he almost always looks, a fresh beautiful flower of a man. You look at him groggily, “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

“Because I was asleep?” You tilt your head and look at him incredulously. “What about this,” you gesture to your appearance, “looks like I just went for a 3 mile jog for fun and I love the morning?”

“Can I come in?” He ignores everything you just said and enters the room when you leave the door to get back in bed. You often did that with him, you don’t know why, but when he asked to come in the room it was just simpler to let him in then say anything. He knew what you meant.

He sits at the edge of the bed as you reclaim your spot in the middle of it, tucked slightly under the covers, but still sitting up. “How was your date?” You try to sound nonchalant and it seems to work. Harry doesn’t notice your tense figure, but you notice how he tenses up when you ask.

“Good…Her name was-” You don’t let him finish, you already know the answer to this next question and you don’t need her name in order to ask it, “Did you fuck her?”

He’s silent, green eyes staring straight at you. You meet his gaze, your eyes almost burning holes into him. His eyes are begging you to not make him answer the question, he doesn’t want this to end, even if he also didn’t want the commitment he had felt himself exhibiting the other night.

When he had come to your room the other night after Mitch had almost caught you, he knew he shouldn’t have stayed. He didn’t want you to feel bad so he had come to apologize, but when the pair of you didn’t have sex, he should have left. But he didn’t, he stayed and it wasn’t for you, it was for himself. It was for him to hold you in his arms because he liked to. But when he woke up the next morning he knew he needed to leave. Solely cuddling wasn’t part of your arrangement together. It’s probably on the list of don'ts that the pair of you had. So after he realized the line he had willingly crossed with you, he quickly sent a text to Jeff who had tried to set him up with a model they were acquaintances with the night before - the reason he had gotten held up. Harry had initially declined, not very interested in seeing anyone else but you. But looking back on that choice in the light of day seemed to solidify what this relationship was - a relationship - and Harry didn’t like that. The commitment wasn’t part of the plan, so he told Jeff to set that date up for after the second show at the Forum and give the woman a ticket. That’s why he was smiling at his phone the morning after only cuddling with you, that’s why he didn’t joke around with you during the show, and that’s why he wasn’t in your bed last night.

You watch him expectantly, silently waiting for his answer, your veins cold as ice. He finally starts his answer and he wants to make it clear that it wasn’t as good with the other woman, but he’s not sure how to work that part in. He’s not sure how to explain to you it meant nothing if your arrangement also apparently meant nothing. You barely even let him get in a sentence. “Yes, but it was just a one time-”

“Alright.”

“What?” He doesn’t understand what you mean when you nod your head and cut him off.

“I told you at the beginning, Harry. Tell me when you sleep with someone else because when you do this is over. It doesn’t matter if she’s the love of your life or a one night stand. I will not be a backup plan, so if you’re able to find other people to sleep with, you don’t need to be sleeping with me.”

He sits in silence for a moment, his jaw dropped open slightly. He’s unable to keep it shut as his mind races about what to say. “Are you mad with me?”

“No, I’m fine. This was just sex. Charlotte will be happy that I’ll be going out with her more.”

Harry’s brow furrows as you shift away from him on the bed, grabbing your phone and beginning to flick through it. You feel numb and you’d like to not think about why.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks because he does care about you, worry is written all over his face. He just can’t commit, not now.

“What would I be mad about, Harry?” You look up and your eyes widen at him, silently asking him to truthfully say why you should be so upset about this revelation. You always knew it would eventually come to an end, you just hadn’t expected so soon. You hadn’t known the last time would be the last time and it broke your heart even if you knew it shouldn’t.

He shifts to reach his hand out to touch your exposed knee. You move away from him and he sighs, looking exasperated. “I- I don’t know. It just seems like we should talk about this.”

“You didn’t even think it was necessary to tell me you were going on a date last night, so I think it’s best if we just left it at ‘it’s fine, see you around’.”

He spreads his hands out across the sheets, examining his rings and painted nails thoroughly. You’re right, he doesn’t really want to talk about this. Well, more so, he’s conflicted. He would like to talk enough that you want to continue your arrangement but he doesn’t want to talk about feelings or emotions. Even if he has those feelings and emotions, they’re just not part of the things he’d like to talk about. “But-” You set your phone down at his first word, “Were you even going to tell me you fucked someone else today if Charlotte hadn’t asked you if it was a date last night? Would you just have come to my room tonight and acted like nothing had changed?”

“I would have told you.”

“Sure.”

“I swear I would’ve. I would never break a promise to you.”

“But you would make a decision that affects the both of us without telling me until afterwards?” Your voice breaks a little and you beg yourself not to cry right now.

“I thought you said this was just sex?”

You laugh humorlessly, in disbelief, “Of course it’s not, Harry! And it hasn’t been for a long time and that’s why you got scared and went and fucked someone else.” He looks at you blankly, unsure what to say, knowing you’re right. You continue, “But I also told you at the beginning of this, that I wasn’t going to try to change you. So this is me not trying to change you.” You sigh when he still says nothing, his expression completely unreadable, even to you. “Why couldn’t you have left it at ‘it’s fine’?” You say finally, barely above a whisper.

He blinks a few times after your final question. He flexes his hand one more time and then stands up from the bed. He adjusts his clothes and stares at you. You feel helpless, but you’re still trying to look pulled together, even after your outburst. You stare back. A thousand words floating through your heads, all the things you want to say and likely never will.

“I know, I’m…” he pauses, trying to get himself to say it, but he can’t. He can’t admit that he’s completely ruined whatever messed up paradise you had created together. “I’ll see you later.”

The apology or lack there of hangs in the air as he walks silently out your door. You don’t move, you barely even blink, still staring at the spot he had just occupied. Your breath finally escapes you, a large sigh. Then some nervous laughter. It was over...just like that. But things like this, left like this are never really over.

It’s awkward for a good amount of the rest of the tour. You hang out with your bandmates more and Harry rarely ever comes out with them after the shows. He either hangs out with Mitch on his own or is going out with random people he knows on the road. You and him speak, but it’s never a lot or about anything relatively meaningful. It’s not the fun back and forth of before or the fiery heat of sneaking around. You try to be normal with him, act like his casual friend and bandmate.

He does his best to do the same, but it’s difficult for him. He doesn’t know how to talk to you anymore. He misses being with you, but can’t bring himself to fix it. He doesn’t do much to right his wrongs with you. He also doesn’t even know what he would want if he did apologize. It scared him to think about the step that came after ‘sorry’ so he saved himself the trouble and never did that part either. One night he texts you: “I’m trying, it’s just hard.” and that’s it. You don’t give him a response, he doesn’t need one. You know he’s trying and he knows you know.

Near the end of the tour, he comes out with the rest of you for drinks one night. Only Mitch is between the two of you in the booth, so you feel closer to Harry than you’ve felt in a long time. The group of you are chatting and having a good time. You somehow get onto a story from when you were still in college. You explain how you had narrowly avoided getting Chlamydia right before your Christmas break junior year. You act out the conversations you imagined would have happened at all your Christmas events if you had indeed gotten it. Your impressions of your mother, father, and sister have everyone laughing the most. Harry is shaking with laughter from your story and you smile at him in appreciation when he says, “That is the funniest story I’ve heard in a long fucking time.”

The rest of the night goes really well, for the most part. No one bickers or is short with each other. Everyone is laughing and drinks are flowing. Eventually Mitch gets up to go to the bathroom and you feel Harry slide back into the booth closer to you after letting Mitch out. Your hand had taken up residence next to your thigh, resting on the vinyl of the booth. You sense something next to it now and notice Harry’s hand is resting close beside it. He shifts his hand closer when he sees that you’re looking down at it. He’s almost touching you and you look up to his eyes, wondering if he’ll close the distance. He makes an imperceptible shake of his head, but you know what he means. As you’re about to shift your hand so that your pinky connects with his, Mitch returns and your head shoots up to his figure. You instantly remove your hand from the vinyl and shift closer to Charlotte. Harry gets up, but doesn’t sit back down once Mitch is settled. He instead walks off to get another drink, risking one last look at the table where he makes eye contact with you, but he doesn’t come back. Mitch informs everyone that Harry went back to the hotel because “he was tired” after Harry doesn’t return and Mitch gets a text. You roll your eyes, sure that you saw him slip out of the side door with a woman he found at the bar after he had gotten his drink. If that’s what ‘tired’ looked like on Harry, it was fine.

You start to speak to Harry on a more regular basis after that night out. It’s not funny or lighthearted. It’s just ‘I saw this song the other day, thought you might like to listen’. It went back and forth, it wasn’t everyday but it was something. The last text between the two of you before you began sharing songs again was his ‘I’m trying it’s just hard’ text that he had sent randomly one night. Then after one of you would listen, you would see each other at sound check and mention the song and what you thought about it. It can be noted that it was Harry who sent the first song.

For Harryween, Adam couldn’t be there. He has some family emergency the day of and doesn’t come with the rest of you to Madison Square Garden or the hotel you were staying at. Thankfully, Charlotte also plays keys and you can play bass. The band had to shift around some things on stage and make minimal changes to the setlist since you weren’t rehearsed on the covers Harry was doing. You spent the whole day running through the chords of those songs with Mitch, trying to memorize them so you didn’t mess it up during the show.

It was weird because for Harryween the setlist was switched up a little from the regular set for Love On Tour. Harry was playing the entire new album as well as half of the first album, Medicine, some of his other unreleased stuff, and about six covers, including old One Direction songs. It was going to be a long show and a challenge for you.

Before the show, Harry pulls you aside, to a dark corner backstage, and your mind flits back to the last time you had been in this type of position. The last time he had called you ‘love’, the last time you bit his earlobe - which always drove him crazy, the last time he ground his hips against yours, those and more and you had no idea that it was the last. By then you had already had sex with Harry for the last time, kissed his lips for the last time. It made your heart race to be so close to him and so alone once again. But it’s nowhere near the same as it once was. You shake the memories from your mind and look up expectantly at him.

“Have you got this?” He asks seriously, tone concerned. Of course it’s a music question, nothing more. Like it always was now.

“Yeah, of course.” His stare is unwavering and you try not to falter from it.

“I can get someone else to cover tomorrow, it was just such a short notice today. You know bass really well too, it made sense.”

“I’ve got this. Seriously, don’t worry, Harold.” You pat his chest lightly and for once Harry smiles at the sound of your nickname for him. You had stopped using it after the end of your arrangement. It never felt right to use when you were talking about music, and that was about the only time you had been talking. In this moment though, it felt right. His warm, large hands held your upper arms as you stared up into his big eyes. You missed staring into them, the shimmering emerald of his irises were constantly intriguing. You instinctively reach up to move back a curl that has fallen onto his forehead. He doesn’t shy away from your touch and continues to smile down at you.

“Y’haven’t called me that in forever.” He grins, his lips a shiny pink from the lip balm he had on.

“No, I suppose I haven’t. But where was the groan? The whole point is to annoy you.” You smile coyly. He tips his head back and laughs, releasing your arms from his grasp as he laughs wholeheartedly.

Then he does a soft groan, a playful sound, “How was that?”

“Eh. I’ll give you a four out of ten. Not enough emotion behind it.” You slide from the area the two of you have been occupying and make your way onto the stage to start dealing with the bass you would be playing. You hear Harry call out to you, “I think I deserve at least a five, maybe even a six!” You turn back for a second to look at him with an unimpressed expression and shake your head no. He laughs again and you hear him even when you walk out onto the stage. You smile to yourself as you pick up the bass.

When he introduces the band, he waits to talk about you last. “And sadly this evening Mr. Adam Prentergest, our usual fabulous bassist, was unable to attend our fancy dress party! However! Our lovely Y/N L/N is also a superb bassist and was kind enough to step into his place. - Anything to add?” He saunters across the stage to you and you laugh kindly, feeling at ease in this part of the stage even though you were usually on the opposite side and further back from the crowd. You nod at Harry and he leans his portable mic towards your lips. You wet them quickly and eye Harry before turning out to the crowd. “Just please go easy on me if the bass sounds a bit wonky. It wasn’t on the job description that I’d be playing songs I didn’t know, with a few hours notice, on not my main instrument.” You say this in a kind of list format, holding up your fingers as you tick off all the ways that this was out of your comfort zone. You scratch your head dramatically after you’re finished and the whole crowd laughs and cheers. The rest of your bandmates chuckle along and Harry nods and smiles at you.

“You’ll do great, love.” He leans into your ear and says without the microphone. Then he winks and turns to go back to the center of the stage. You press your lips together to contain your smile, both happy and concerned about the flip your stomach just did.

The show is going great. Harry is killing it with the crowd. Everything is electric. You’re entirely focussed on your bass playing, but Harry has been coming over every so often to do something fun or have you tell a joke.

“She’s truly the funniest person I know! And I know a fair amount of people I think.” Harry says as he walks over to you have you tell another joke. Mitch has been looking at you and Harry interacting all night and he’s sure that it isn’t your different position that has him coming over and talking to you so much tonight. Something has definitely changed once again. First the pair of you were always together and having fun, then it was silence and stolen glances that neither of you realized you were taking, now it was back to the beginning.

“That’s because you think puns are part of the top tier levels of comedy.” You say easily, “Here, I can guarantee Harry will love this and the rest of you will likely groan.” Then you stop and act as if you’re thinking for a little, everyone’s waiting expectantly. “Sorry, thinking...Well, I’ve got some skeleton puns I could do, they’re very humerus or y’know classic vampire ones..eh but those ones kind of suck. What do you think, Harry?” You look out at the crowd, face deadpan, as Harry laughs beside you. You roll your eyes playfully and push him back to the center of the stage. Leaning into your own mic now, you say, “I told you.” That’s when everyone laughs. Harry throws another look at you over his shoulder and laughs a little more, his smile wide and eyes bright.

A little over half way through the night, it’s time for ‘to be so lonely’. You already knew the bass chords for it before today and you were confident in yourself by now. It wasn’t as hard a song so you were happy for the little break. This song allowed you to not be looking down at the notes you had stuck to the floor in front of you. Harry’s voice comes in after Mitch’s intro and you watch the way his lips move against his mic. You laugh a little as you watch the crowd yell the first “arrogant son of a bitch” line. You used to not particularly like when people did that, but after it had ended with Harry you had started to enjoy it a bit more. Having those people yell the words you couldn’t, but truly felt about him sometimes, was cathartic. Tonight you weren’t angry with him, but you enjoyed the energy in the room when everyone said it. We’ve all got our own ‘arrogant son of a bitch’ that we want to scream at sometimes. Tonight yours wasn’t Harry for the first time in a long time. The song moves along and Harry takes the microphone off its stand, he walks towards your side of the stage. When the lyrics get to:

“I miss the shape of your lips, your wit, it’s just a trick, this is it so I’m sorry”

Harry isn’t looking at the crowd, he’s looking straight at you. You don’t understand the way he’s looking at you. Or maybe you don’t want to understand it. This song, its lyrics, explains Harry really well. You saw the relationship you had with him in the words. Maybe not precisely, but a part of it was in it. Harry had unknowingly foretold your lives with his words. You know he has trouble connecting and committing, you know his issues, and you accept them. But you knew what had happened between the two of you was far more serious than meaningless sex and you knew Harry couldn’t bring himself to be that serious. He ran off and that was fine, but the face that he couldn’t even apologize hurt you the most. But the song lays it all out for you, he’s not one to be able to apologize quickly. The fact that he looks at you and means the apology he sings in the song for you, it’s a big step, but it’s not enough. The banter, the technical apology, it was all a good start, but it’s just that - the beginning. If Harry wants to make things better with you, a lot more needs to be discussed. So when you sing backing vocals for the following chorus you mean the words for Harry completely.

“Don’t call me baby again, you got your reasons, I know that you’re trying to be friends. I know you mean it, but don’t call me baby again it’s hard for me to go home and be so lonely”

His eyes flick to you again and see your lips moving around the words as you play the bass. He sees the emotion in your face and understands what you’re saying. It’s hard for you to go to your room at night and be alone while he’s out with someone else. It’s hard for him to act like everything’s all fine and perfect, back to normal, because for you it isn’t really. He can’t call you ‘love’ and tell the world you’re funny and expect it to be enough. He can’t sing his sorry that was initially for someone else to you and expect you to accept it. And he knows it, too.

After the show everyone decides they’re exhausted and need to rest before tomorrow. You all planned to celebrate the whole day and you knew it was going to be a wicked Halloween. Knowing this, you’re surprised with the knock on your door after about an hour of being back at the hotel. You’ve given up the habit you had once hoped to cultivate and swing the door open haplessly. Truly having no idea who to expect, you are still surprised to find the man standing before you.

“Mitch.”

“We need to talk.” He stares down at you, his shoulders slumped from tiredness.

“Come in,” you usher him in when you hear the urgency of his voice. He saunters in before you and you close the door. You move to the small couch in the room and sit down. Your hands gesture for him to sit as well, but he shakes his head. He stays standing and brings a hand up to smooth his hair back on the right side. His eyes staying on the floor and flickering up to you every so often.

“What is going on with you and Harry?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh come on Y/N. You’re seemingly best friends with him for a good portion of tour, then you’re barely on speaking terms for the second half, now you’re joking around again. What is going on?”

You sit there in a stunned silence, “I don’t know what to say.” Your arms go to hug your body, feeling anxious about being confronted about this topic.

“Were you seeing each other?” His voice is soft, eyes taking in your body language and knowing it’s a difficult topic.

“I wouldn’t put it like that…”

He holds back the ‘I knew it’ statement because of how sullen you look, b..ut in his mind all of the pieces he had watched unfold came to fit in a perfect puzzle. He decides to sit beside you when you don’t say anything else.

“We were having sex,” it felt weird to say it out loud, no one but you and Harry had actually known, “But it ended. I don’t know what today was...but it felt different than how it’s been.”

“Why are you so sad if it was just sex?” He places a hand on your shoulder and your tear-filled eyes meet his. “Oh…” He knows why.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” You sob at his apology because he’s not the one who should be at your door apologizing. You sniffle and lean your head into his chest. He takes you into his arms and holds you as your cries become muffled sounds in his shirt.

You cry without words for a few minutes, Mitch coos some soothing words, his voice soft and kind. He was always a good shoulder to cry on for all of your bandmates, he was extremely strong and you made a mental note to thank him thoroughly when you actually were capable of forming coherent thoughts. “I’ve never told anyone before. It feels so weird even saying it out loud,” you say as you pull back from Mitch’s embrace. You're thankful his shirt is black, no tear stains can be made out.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks gently, gauging your reaction. You wipe at your eyes and nod.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to start from the beginning. “Do you remember the party Charlotte had a week before we left for tour?”

Mitch nods and his eyes widen at what you’re saying as he remembers the night. “It started back then?” He’s unable to contain his incredulous question. He had suspected something, but hadn’t thought it had been going on for that long. He was truly astounded. You nod, “Well sort of,” then you go on to recount the last couple of months. All the way up until the Forum shows. “That night, when I opened Harry’s door and it was you standing there...Harry and I didn’t have anything to discuss. It was just…” Mitch nods again. He hadn’t spoken much since you had gotten into the story, wanting to let you be in charge of what you were saying and believing he could probably ask questions at the end. “Then the next night he blew me off for his date with that model and I cried in the elevator because I knew what was going to happen next.”

“So that’s when it ended?” Mitch asks when you don’t speak for a rather extended period of time.

“Yeah, the next morning he came over and I asked if they had sex and he said yes so I told him it was over.”

“But I don’t get why he went out with that model. He had told me she wasn’t his type the night before…” Your eyes shot up and looked at Mitch. His eyes widened when he realized what he said.

“What?”

“When we were talking about Canyon Moon, he mentioned that Jeff had tried to set him up with some woman but he had declined. Said he wasn’t interested. I don’t get what changed between then and the next morning.” He figured it was best to put all the cards out on the table right now. You’d be going your separate ways for a while, now that the tour was over and he had seen how unhappy both you and Harry had been over the last part of the tour.

You shift your leg to have it folded beneath you as you continue to stare at Mitch. “He came over after you and him had your meeting,” you say quietly. Mitch hums, waiting for you to continue this time.

“He apologized for choosing you over me to talk to. Then we slept together, but we didn’t have sex...I think that’s what wigged him. It had felt too real, sleeping in the same bed with me without having sex beforehand made it feel like something more than just two people fulfilling needs.” Mitch nods and sighs heavily. He looks around the room and then back to you, taking in your full appearance. Again he feels terrible for you, how he had felt the second night at the Forum even though he hadn’t known the full story yet. “Now we’re here.”

“Tonight, it felt like he was trying,” Mitch finally said and you smiled sweetly, thinking back to Harry’s behavior. No matter how far from him you were, all those good feelings you associated with him never went away.

“Yeah, it’s been getting better. He texted me once saying he was trying. Then he came out with us one night and it almost seemed like that would be the night he’d apologize, but then he didn’t. Then we started sharing music with each other again. Then tonight… was tonight. It’s just confusing. He’s confusing.”

Mitch smiles sadly and brings you in for another hug and you’re actually so thankful he

showed up at your door. It was your first time telling anyone all of this, because Harry didn’t even know how you felt about some of these things. It felt amazing to be heard and to be told it was okay to be feeling like this.

Pulling back, Mitch says, “He’s definitely different. But his differences are what make him special and that’s why I think he clings to them even if they sometimes can hurt other people. The fact that he’s trying is a good sign. I hope he can find it in himself to make it right between you two because I had never seen either of you happier than when you were apparently together. Especially those few weeks leading up to Los Angeles. Sarah had kept asking me why Harry was so smiley back then. When I had asked him, he had just said “have you ever found something and realized you wanted to keep it with you forever?” I had no idea what he had meant, but I feel like he meant you now.”

Your awestruck at what Mitch has just told you. He was right about the first part about Harry trying to change, but the last bit, that’s what had left you speechless. You turn your body to face the rest of the room and put your chin against your hand as you think.

“Mitch...I have to go.”

He understands what you mean and you walk out of the door with him. He walks down the hall to his room and you walk quickly past the elevator and opt for the stairs. Before you know it you’re running up the stairs, taking two at a time even though you’re not the most athletically inclined. You can’t stand to wait for the elevator and your mind is racing.

You knock on the door that is Harry’s after reaching his floor. It swings open and reveals a confused and sleepy Harry. Thankfully he’s still fully dressed because that would have been a whole other problem you would have if he hadn’t been. You push past him and walk straight into his room without any invitation. He follows behind you, still unsure of why you’ve come here.

“Have you ever found something and realized you want to keep it forever?” You ask him, repeating the words Mitch had just told you.

“Pardon?”

“You told Mitch that about me before we ended things. If that’s how you felt, why didn’t you do what you said?”

Harry sighs as the words register in his mind. The memory of when he had smiled at Mitch so giddily and asked the vague question, his thoughts only of you as he asked it. The shit-eating grin he had plastered on his face after Mitch had looked at him confusedly flitted across his mind. As well as the way he had gone to his dressing room and had a quickie with you after that conversation.

“It’s not that simple…”

“It is, Harry! Why can’t you just be honest with me for once?”

“Okay, fine. You want me to be honest?” you nod at his harsh tone. The two of you standing only a few feet apart. “You have no goddamn idea what you do to me, when I’m around you, I have no control of my emotions or of my thoughts. I pushed you away because I didn’t like feeling out of control. I got out because what had started as a fun time had turned into me longing to be with you every waking hour. I found myself not caring what we did as long as I got to hold you and be around you, but that wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Plans can change, Harry.”

You step closer to him and he meets your eyes. He had left his music playing softly on his phone before he had opened the door so now as the two of you stared at each other, he must have been playing his Etta James playlist because her voice faded out of the song “I’d Rather Go Blind” and straight into “A Sunday Kind of Love”. Harry had shared her At Last album with you over the Christmas holiday of last year and you had decided to listen to her entire discography afterwards, so you knew the songs. The transition was a little too on the nose and you wondered if Spotify ever listened to your conversations.

His emerald eyes examine your face and take inventory of your features, measuring whether anything had changed since he had looked at you this close up. Your hand goes up to cup his cheek and he nuzzles into it, dropping his head closer to you ever so slightly and closing his eyes at the feeling of you.

“I am sorry,” he whispers earnestly as he reopens his eyes.

You can’t take your eyes off of him even if you tried. He looks so soft in the moment, so vulnerable in this light as the music swells in the corner of the room. Etta sings about how she needs a love that is going to last as the pair of you inch yourselves closer together.

“I forgive you, Harry,” you whisper back.

He nudges his head further down and your lips finally press together, slotting back together after months apart. Your lips are eager to press back against their favorite companion. You oblige them, but pull back for a second, just far enough to say, “I will always forgive you, so long as you tell me when you’re scared so we can work through it together.”

He nods, “I promise to never let you go again.” Before taking you back against his lips and gathering your body up in his arms. His lips missing yours just as much.

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misskathcake · 3 years

Text

Bunny's Love on Tour, Literally

Las Vegas, Nevada.

Harry Styles’ Love on Tour, Opening Night.

As Harry Styles’ stylist, it is Sophia’s job to make sure that every single outfit for every single show is being made to her client’s liking and under the scope of what their chosen fashion brand can make. Gucci has always had an amazing relationship with Harry so it wasn’t difficult to meet with Alessandro and the entire Gucci team when Harry and Sophia were conceptualizing each look for the tour with them.

Granted that all looks were to his liking and made possible by Gucci, it is then Sophia’s job that every single look for every single concert is ready a week before the tour is set to begin. This allows her time to fit and check the outfits on her client and make alterations that are needed without the added stress of the time ticking down to showtime.

In Sophia’s opinion, these are the easiest tasks she can have in her life. What’s actually difficult is being the spouse of said client, now that’s a whole lotta different kind of crazy.

As Harry Styles’ wife, she has to endure every stage of planning a successful and safe tour with her husband, feeling the joy and stress that comes with it. It is her job to make sure that Harry is taking care of himself and allotting time with his family and friends who won't be able to see him that much in the next coming months. At the same time, it’s also ingrained in her being to give a tremendous amount of affection to her husband, always there to support him in everything he wants to achieve. However, it’s also in her power to reprimand said husband when he’s being stubborn and a real pain in the arse for no good reason.

That latter one is her current job description at the moment.

Harry and her were having a lovely evening in the cozy confines of their Malibu home. Sharing a big bowl of pasta, Sophia compliments the fresh pasta sauce that Harry got for them when he went to the farmer’s market on the weekend. This prompted her husband to propose a plan of visiting a market in Vegas once they’ve arrived and settled, saying that they had a few free days before show day. That made Sophia remember to discuss the certain changes in her schedule, thinking that Harry would understand why she won’t be able to do that farmer’s market morning with him as she needs to finish a few more things here in LA for her other clients before she jets-off to tour with him around the US.

Basically, Harry did not like the idea of her flying after him, stating things about the dangers it can cause to her safety. To be honest, he really is being a drama queen because what ‘dangers’ is her husband talking about? Harry has always been on the top of his security game, which is what Sophia replies to his concerns.

But Harry remains stubbornly unphased by her reasoning, choosing to make her job as his stylist as his next point of argument as if they just didn’t spend the rest of their day finalizing every detail needed to be fixed on his clothes. Plus, he’s just going to be wearing a vest for the first night, how can he be able to fucking rip that in rehersal, or something?

“Bunny,” Sophia calls for him in a ‘trying to keep my fucking calm’ manner. “Glenne already agreed to accompany me when I fly to Nevada the two days after you do, I won’t be completely alone. Plus security would be there in the first place. You know that it’s also killing me that I can’t fly with you to see the final preparations for the venue, your final rehearsal, and even witness the first-hand initial reaction of your fans once they see this tours’ merchline. I just have a lot of shit to finish with my team here, you’re not the only celebrity I’m styling, baby.”

Harry’s eyebrows just seem to furrow deeper in annoyance, “Isn’t that the reason why you have a team here in LA that you’ve trained so well?”

“I do have a team here, and they are competent enough to shoulder and head my other clients while I’m away on tour with you. But that doesn’t mean we’ve already fixed and efficiently planned down to the details in the next months that I’m gone.”

“Well maybe you should have told me in advance that you need more extra time here before I finalized my departure to Vegas, now it’s all to shit.”

Harry storms off to their living room, leaving Sophia in their kitchen counter definitely not pleased at her husband’s unwarranted stubborn outburst.

She lets him cool-off a bit by himself, giving her time to really think about the cause of Harry’s adamant dislike of her plan. Sophia knows that it’s more than just fears about her safety, and the well-being of his clothes, nor the free time they can’t spend together anymore. She knows her bunny, and he’s not one to get unreasonably snappy and irritated for no reason.

It takes Sophia a whole block of the baked brownies that Harry also got from the farmer’s market (she’s not one to neglect her dessert regardless if she’s having a disagreement with her husband) before the answer came to her so clearly.

Sophia finds Harry sitting on the single swivel chair in their living room, his focus centered at the television playing a season three episode of Hannah Montana; their latest obsession this summer since they’re living in Malibu like that in the show.

She pops her bum on the long couch, trying to catch his attention without verbally calling him. That thought quickly goes down the drain when it receives not even a flinch from Harry, so Sophia thinks the latter is the only way.

“Didn’t we watch this one already?” She asks conversationally, wanting the tense atmosphere to fade. “Can you please change it to a new episode?”

Harry decides to ignore her, much to her chagrin. So she prods him further.

“The remote is on your lap, H. I would think you’d rather do it yourself than me coming near you.” She tries the route of sarcasm this time.

“Whatever.”

Instead of acknowledging her request, Harry forcefully slides the remote on the coffee table to her direction, still keen on keeping his stubborn act against her.

Sophia rolls her eyes at his action, “Bunny,” addressing him in a soft but stern way which indicates that she doesn’t want to fight with him anymore, but she’s also not going to let him continue his unreasonable act.

Harry sighs exasperatedly, “What? I’m minding my own peace here, away from you, and now you’re here ruining that.”

“I’m not ruining anything, if that’s what you think this is then I’m here ‘ruining’ your alone time cause I want to fix whatever problem we’re having here.”

“Good luck with that then, cause nothing’s going to be fixed unless you decide to follow our initial plan of flying out together with the team to Vegas.”

Sophia sighs this time, more out of tiredness than being really angry at her husband’s current difficult attitude.

She stands up from her seat on their couch, walking the short way to Harry’s seat and straddles his left thigh to position herself on his lap. Her arms wrapped around the back of his neck, face finding its way there too as she hugs him to her.

Sophia knows her husband in every surface and crevices, knows that even when they’re in argument, Harry will not and cannot ignore her blatant affection especially a cuddle. It brings a small smile of victory on her face when she feels Harry’s arms wrapping themselves around her body like a knee-jerk reaction.

“I know you’re not being unreasonably stubborn and mean right now because of all the things you’ve been saying earlier,” Sophia softly says, her warm breath hitting the skin of Harry’s neck.

“I get that you’re worried about my safety, love it even that you appreciate me that much.”

“It’s my job,” Harry replies just in the safe soft tone, “I’m your husband; it’s one of my main priorities in life, if not the most important one.”

“Yes bunny, I know that, can feel your love and attention all the time,” Sophia places a small peck on his jaw in acknowledgement and gratitude at his words. If she was to rate Harry’s job of being a husband, it would only be of stellar remarks without a doubt.

“But, as your wife, it’s also my job to worry about you especially when I know that you’re worried about something that you’re not telling me. Don’t think you can fool me that easily.”

Harry reacts instantly, a sharp in-take of breath moves his chest that Sophia feels from her position on top of him.

He remains quiet so Sophia takes it upon herself to start the flow of the conversation for Harry to slowly open-up to her.

“Bunny, you remember what I always tell you whenever you’re feeling worried about me or about us, the thing I say that always comforts the both of us?”

Harry looks at her solemnly, his eyes on her always feel like he’s directly looking at her soul regarding her so wholeheartedly, “That we’re always in this together; your safety is my safety, your comfort is my comfort, so whatever worries me or you, we’ll always fix it together cause our love is one.”

Sophia smiles softly, closing the small gap between them in a slow kiss, Harry rubbing the tip of his nose affectionately with hers.

“Yes bunny, our love is one.” Sophia repeats kindly, “And because of that, I know that your worries about our current situation runs deeper than you’ve told me earlier in your angry exchange.”

Harry’s face simultaneously contorts to that of a frown of concern, “Sorry, Sunflower. Didn’t mean to be angry with you, just got lost in my worries. Not meant to be unkind to you, my love.”

Sophia pecks his pink pouty lips again, trying to stop the smile threatening to break on her face. She finds it so endearing that Harry instantly apologizes whenever she straight-out tells him he was being angry with her for something; not settling well with him that he was being unkind to her in any way.

“I know bunny, I know, don’t worry alright? And thank you for your apology, baby.” Sophia assures him, her hands finding the growing curls at the back of his head to twirls it on her fingers in a soothing manner.

She doesn’t want to prompt Harry any further, knowing that he won’t open up more if she doesn’t let him take his time. As his wife, she already knows that her husband would soon tell her what’s really wrong after she’s reminded him about the foundation of their relationship. Harry just likes to take his time to gather the right words, after all a musician like himself loves to take his time to explore and respect words when creating amazing, earth-altering music.

When Sophia thinks he’s ready to divulge his deep worries, Harry tightens his hold around her body and situates his lips directly on her ear, kissing it softly and inhaling her comforting scent before speaking.

“This tour just means so much to me. Have been working for ages trying to perfect everything cause the fans deserve nothing but the best for being so kind and patient when everything was rescheduled. At the same time, it’s our first tour together where you’d be there as my stylist the whole time, and that makes me want everything to be much more perfect because my wife’s well-being is now in the equation. I guess the stress of wanting everything to be just immaculately perfectly, is messing with my head. You know that I trust you so much, Sunflower, rationally I know your safety would be ensured a hundred percent since the guys know I’d literally strangle them myself if something happens to you when I’m away. I also know that you’re a responsible woman, who knows when and how to protect herself and you’re not one to do stupid shit or get into stupid situations like your husband.”

Harry’s joking words provide a pause in their rather serious conversation, the two sharing a giggle and a kiss at how true yet unfortunate his words are.

“So, I don’t know, it’s like..it just scares me that you changing the plan by not flying with us makes me think that something’s going to go wrong cause we’re derailing some part of the intricately perfect plan. And I know that sounds stupid and highly irrational, but I can’t help but get scared baby that something abou the concert will just not go as planned, like you not being able to attend the first show because of a late flight or something here in LA stops you from going, which is the biggest and worst fucking nightmare I can think about that can go wrong.”

Bingo, Sophia thinks to herself. She had the biggest hunch that this was the kind of fear her husband was having, her intuition telling her that it’s mostly not about her, but the external instances that can concern her that Harry has zero control over.

“Thank you for telling me, bunny.” Sophia coles on his ear before getting a good look of his flushed face. “So proud of you for being so open about your worries with me, always down to communicate with your wife.”

Harry gives her a small wry grin, “Only for you; only going to push myself to be more vulnerable and communicate for you, Sunflower.”

“Me too, because I love you and that’s what we do when you love someone.”

Sophia presses a kiss to his cheek, small hands cradling his face so she’s sure that the next words that are about to come out from her mouth will truly be registered in Harry’s soul and entire being.

“Harry Styles, you really are a fucking stupid fool if you think I’d allow anything to come my way and prevent me from watching your opening night. Heck, I would strangle with my bare hands if that happens, ‘treating people with kindness’ be damned!”

A startling laugh erupts from Harry, his laugh so infectious that even Sophia begins to laugh hard with him, forgetting for a moment the depth of the words she wants to say next.

“Did you seriously just call me a ‘fucking stupid fool?’” Harry asks in disbelief, “Not only did you just curse at me, but you called me stupid, and you decide that’s not enough so you also referred to me as a fool! You are one harsh spouse, Sunflower.”

Sophia just smiles at him all cutely in return, “Married me for a reason, yeah?”

That just makes Harry laugh even more, nodding his head too in agreeance with an undeniable smile on his face, “That I did, married you for the right fucking reason.”

His wife kisses that big smile off his face so hotly, bottom lip nipped and sucked to her satisfaction, leaving Harry breathless and defenseless to her cunning ministrations.

An instinctual groan leaves from Harry’s chest when Sophia leaves his lips with a popping sound, “No groaning, bunny. Can’t distract me with your dimples and sexiness.”

Harry bites his bottom lip, eyes hazy green, already distracted from his wife’s kisses. To be honest he thinks that her kisses are already enough comfort to his irrational concert fears, a few more of those (and maybe he can return some too, not on her lips though) and he would completely forget why he was worried in the first place.

But Harry knows his wife, knows that it’s important for her to resolve things with reason and not solely rely on the reprieve that sexual acts can provide. So he lets her be, squeezes the dimples on her back to encourage her to continue.

Sophia returns her hold on his face, thumb slowly stroking his cheek, “Aside from those adjectives, I also wanted to say in all seriousness, that you should stop fearing something that won’t ever happen. I’m not going to miss your concert, bunny. I know that there’s a lot of factors that are out of our control, but for something that extreme to happen, a lot more than those external factors are going to be needed to be able to stop me from coming. Bunny, again, I’m not going to miss your concert, promise.”

And that was that. Harry’s fears are thrown out the window, the comfort of his wife’s words consistently work like the most powerful magic.

***

The two days away from Harry were certainly easier than what Sophia perceived it would be after dropping him in the private lounge at the airport for his private plane ride to Vegas.

Obviously, Harry didn’t allow her to just ‘drop’ him there, he certainly made that clear by guiding them straight to the couches at the private lounge, nodding his head at the greetings from his team and making her sit down on the seat and then for him to plop his bum on her lap. Totally preventing her from leaving, really.

Sophia spent the rest of the time with Harry on her lap waiting until his boarding time. She converses with his team, Jeff even reminding her about the nail salon trip that he booked for Glenne and her. Sophia tries her best to acknowledge and reply to the conversation from Harry’s team, but the man himself is really testing her abilities by doing everything to make sure that all of her attention is all on him.

His hands finding their way to massage her hair, not one to deny amazing head scratches like her husband.

His lips landing random kisses on her face, his affection something she just can’t deny (and return) from her husband.

His nose rubbing around her temple, neck, and jaw, their scents always comforting one another so she gets distracted and returns the sentiments breathing-in his scrumptious scent that she would surely miss.

And then there’s his words, whispering softly to her ear about sweet promises (or sexual, the man likes to be inclusive with his promises), and how much he’s going to miss her and for her to expect his constant text messages throughout the next 48 hours or so.

Sophia really just let him be, indulging him on his antics to get her attention just to appease his mind and soul.

By the time boarding was called, that’s when her husband decided it’s a good idea to start the waterworks. Not only did his hold on her tighten, but Harry’s tears also soaked the shoulder of her top. He’s really not one for farewell, especially when Sophia’s the one he’s forced to part with.

Usually, when one of them is crying, the other is mostly trying to keep their calm to not further escalate the situation. At that moment, Sophia tried her hardest not to shed any tears as she coos comforting words of love in Harry’s ear, constantly kissing the side of his face while telling him how much she adores him and he should be on his best behavior in Vegas even without her.

Harry only cries harder, surprising Sophia at the sudden sob that erupts from him. Her level of concern is slowly rising with this very extreme reaction coming from her husband, not really his usual response when they’re going to leave each other for only two days.

Before she can voice her concerns, Jeff interrupts their moment, saying his apologies for doing so but informs them that they really had to go board and everyone is just really waiting for him.

That seems to catch Harry’s attention, placing one last deep kiss on Sophia’s lips and another ‘I love you, I’ll miss you.’ was rushed out from him. Their last exchange happened so quickly that the next thing Sophia knows, Harry and Jeff have boarded the private plane and her husband leaves a quick message to her phone before they take-off.

🐰 Husband 🐰: Don’t worry about my sobbing from earlier, Sunflower. Your scent just made me really emotional, or I’m about to get my period or something, I really don’t know. But I’m alright, my love, don’t worry. I’ll message again when we land. I love you 💖

So that settled Sophia’s emotions, even making her laugh at his joke about getting his period, like who says that? Apparently a man-baby like Harry Styles.

After that airport situation, everything else was sailing smoothly.

Harry messaged her upon his arrival at the MSG hotel in Vegas, sending a picture of the view from his penthouse room. Sophia returns the sentiment by sending a view from one of their favorite cafes in LA, her late lunch of tuna pie with a side of baked potatoes and a mango smoothie visible on the picture surely made Harry wish he was there eating with her.

The same interaction between the two continued in their two days apart, both of them making sure not to message all-throughout the day as it defeats the purpose of Sophia staying in LA for a bit more to finish much needed planning and scheduling with her team. At the same time, his wife also understood not to bombard his phone with messages for it would hinder Harry from doing the final touches for his first night on tour.

Though as promised by her husband, Harry sends videos and pictures of the moments that Sophia was very sour about missing.

Harry sends a 360 degree picture of the entire arena after the stage was set up for his liking. Even proceeded to do a stage and backstage tour video with him as the presenter. Mitch’s protests of being held captive as his videographer were present at the audio, as well as Jeff’s and Anthony’s cheeky comments here and there about Harry’s very ‘obedient behavior’ while she’s away and she would surely be proud of her boy because he wasn’t acting-up like a baby for missing her. All of that plus the occasional tidbits that Harry shares about the venue that he knew she would like, made Sophia feeling pretty happy.

For Harry’s final full run-through of his concert, Sophia was blessed with a picture of her husband in nothing but a pair of fucking banana-printed boxers standing proudly at the center of the stage with his arms wide open. The ever-nudist that he is, sent Sophia various videos of his rehearsal, singing his heart out without a care in the world of his lack of clothing. The cheeky little thing even sent a video of him twerking in front of an undeniably uncomfortable Mitch, Sarah only laughing wildly at her boyfriend’s unfortunate situation while playing the drums. The entire thing made Sophia laugh at random moments of the day upon remembering the things Harry sent.

Upon her husband’s supposed plan for them, Harry did find a farmer’s market during his free time in Vegas. Sophia was bombarded with pictures of his visit there, seemingly stopping at every stall based on the amount of selfies he took (with his iconic peace sign) while holding or showcasing the most random thing. It’s either a video of him taste-testing various kinds of cheese, local homemade chocolate that he knew she would have loved, attaching random colorful clips on his curls, or a picture of his hand holding a matching, hot pink thong and boxers with the words, ‘Baby, wanna get hitched in Vegas?’ glitter-embossed in the crotch area. Obviously, Sophia was appalled by this scandalous purchase but Harry only replied to her messages of concern with the following words: ‘I think a proposal only asks for either a yes or a no as an answer, don’t you think so, Sunflower?’ Well she sure is thankful that they’re married already, really.

When the new merch for tour went live, Sophia was in the middle of a meeting with Alessandro Michelle and Miley Cyrus for the latter’s custom Gucci outfits for her upcoming music festival performances. The two smile knowingly upon seeing the creeping school-girl smile on Sophia’s face (the one they’ve associated with the two disgustingly in-love spouses whenever they’re with them) as she looks at the caller id of her ringing phone placed on top of the table.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Miley laughs, motioning to her phone, “Answer the call before Harry combusts out of his undying love for you or something.”

“Yeah, poor boy pining all the way from Vegas.” Alessandro jests further.

Sophia flips them off laughingly, not even bothering to excuse herself from the room and answers the non-stop ringing phone. The first thing she saw upon answering the FaceTime call is Harry’s smiling face, the mischievousness glinted in his green eyes should have alerted Sophia that her husband was probably up to no good.

The next thing she sees is a full body mirror shot of a nude Harry, literally down to nothing but his birthday suit! Sophia wasn’t expecting such an atrocity on a Friday afternoon so the obvious reaction (which she should not be blamed for) is to actually scream her lungs-off.

Both Alessandro and Miley look at her in alarm, while Sophia screeches at her phone.

“HARRY! WHAT THE FUCK, BUNNY?! I’M IN A MEETING!”

Harry curses and stumbles to get under the covers of his hotel bed as if his wife and the people she’s in a meeting with can actually see his naked glory all the way from Vegas.

“What did he do?” Miley asked amusedly, sitting down beside Sophia to look while Alessandro hovers over the two.

Sophia laughs, seeing the morbid look Harry is giving upon seeing the other two faces, now safely covered with the hotel sheets up to his chin. She puts the call on speaker cause might as well, everyone’s already invested in what just occurred.

“Bunny,” Sophia giggles, “Mind telling my guests what you did to cause my earlier shock?”

Harry groans, face-palming himself, “Shit, are you really going to make me do this? Sunflower, this is going to be embarrassing for me.”

“Well you should have thought about that before basking me with all your nakedness on a sunny, Friday afternoon.”

Miley and Alessandro bursted out in rambunctious laughter, Sophia smirks triumphantly as Harry’s groan got louder and began to flip his friends off.

“No FaceTime sex during work hours, Harry!” Miley jokes.

“Wasn’t going to have phone sex, jesus!” Harry defends himself, flipping Alessandro off again when the latter does a crude gesture with his hands, as if jerking-off.

“Bunny, just tell us what’s going on here before we get into more nasty assumptions.”

Harry chuckles, pointing his finger at them, “Yeah, that’s correct, you guys are nasty! Seems to have your heads under the gutter or something.”

“You’re the one who called your wife, apparently butt-ass naked, during a meeting” Miley points out, “So I don’t really know if we’re to blame here, cause you seem to be the one to have other, clearly, sexual intentions.”

“Again,” Harry laughs, “I wasn’t going to have mediocre sex with my wife during works hours, alright? She deserves better than that, like all night loving or something.”

Miley and Alessandro whooped and whistled at that, Sophia’s cheeks pinking because of the implication of his words.

“Okaaayyy… let’s get out to the topic of sex, hm? So what’s the purpose of your call again, baby?” Sophia prompts as Harry gives her a knowing look, knows that his wife is very private about their sex life, much more than he is really.

“My new Love on Tour merch just went live, so I was just going to stop-by and give you an exclusive try-on haul just for you, my lovely wife. But looks like I called during the wrong time?”

“That you did.” Sophia agrees, smiling fondly now that she knew the intention of his call.

“Awww,” Miley coos, “That’s so sweet! Like something out of every ladies’ dreams!”

“I hope my customized Gucci suits for you have also received the same honor of an ‘exclusive try-on haul’” Alessandro smirks jokingly.

Harry snorts, “She’s my stylist, Lallo. Obviously, try-on hauls of your suits are normal occasions in our relationship. You should be honored with the amount of loving I get after she sees me in them, if you know what I mean.” Harry wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

That was the point Sophia takes in the reins, and kindly asks her husband to call again later when her meeting was over. Sadly, Harry had a dinner meeting during her free time so instead of an ‘exclusive try-on haul’ video call, Sophia’s phone was flooded with pictures of Harry adorned in his new merch line.

Sophia fonds over the pictures, not immune to her husband’s good looks especially in his most natural and disheveled look with his lovely curly locks poking out of his ‘Harry is my friend’ hat. That, is definitely Sophia’s favorite from all the things he just released, the tote bag being the second.

What really warmed her heart is the last item Harry sent her.

A picture of his pouting face, wearing the similar hat she adores. What catches her eyes and makes her stop, is the words embroidered on it: ‘Harry is my hubby bunny’

So yeah, she thinks their time apart could have been worse. Now she’s just ready to adore and support her husband at this new milestone he’s about to approach.

***

Sophia arrives in the MGM Grand Garden Arena in Vegas at exactly one hour before showtime.

Wearing her custom black Gucci lace corset top, tight leather trousers and shiny black pointy pumps, Sophia gets escorted out of her ride and into the backstage entrance with the security team Harry hired for her. And as she walks in the twists and turns of the backstage, she hears and feels the excited fans just on the other side of where she is.

She knows her husband is in near proximity when she hears his laugh above everyone else's. Sophia assumes they’re all in the common area, shaking her head already knowing that Harry’s still probably in just his boxers at only an hour before the first night of his tour.

And her assumptions were verified as she reached the common area. Harry’s entire band are scattered around the couches already in their custom Gucci outfits for the show unlike her husband, who’s currently sitting on the middle of the floor in just his boxers. Not just any boxers though, it’s the exact hot pink one that he bought in the farmers market.

“SUNFLOWER! YOU MADE IT!”

Harry stands up, stretching his arms wide-open for a hug. His smile is so radiantly big that Sophia decides to say her comment about his current attire later and lets herself melt in his hug. Both of them exhale a sigh of relief, finding instant comfort in being wrapped in each other’s arms once again.

“I missed you, baby.” Harry whispers, giving a loving kiss on her temple.

Sophia puckers her lips for a kiss, Harry bends down a bit to do so, and the two instantly smile at the first contact.

“I missed you too, my bunny.” Sophia says after separating their lips, arms still wrapped around each other in the middle of the room. “But I can’t believe what you’re wearing right now. The audacity, H. In front of your bandmates, really?”

Harry feigns a gasp of shock, letting go of their hug and gestures to his crotch.

“This? Is a piece of art, Sunflower. If someone had proposed to me while wearing this, I would have said yes without any hesitation.”

Sophia, along with everyone else present in the room, laugh at his earnest ridiculousness.

“He says it’s he’s new lucky pants for every show.” Mitch informs Sophia, standing up to greet her. Everyone follows suit to greet her now that she has reacquainted with Harry already.

“Now you can’t be serious?” Sophia says, incredulously eyeing her husband who’s now back to sitting on the floor.

Sophia’s in tight leather trousers, so she ignores the pout Harry gives her when he pats the space on the floor in between his parted legs for her to sit on. Instead, she sits down beside Sarah and Mitch on the couch.

“Well I don’t think you’d wear the matching thong I got you so I might as well make use of that while this one is in the laundry.”

Sophia laughs with the others, but she’s not a hundred percent doubtful about his comment because her husband might be a jokester, but he’s also ridiculous and bold and does what he wants as long as it hurts no one.

She lets Harry lean his back on the couch where she’s seated while still sitting on the floor, hands finding hers to interlock with one another resting on his shoulder.

“Bunny, I have to get you dressed-up and ready in five minutes time, alright? Why didn’t you follow your bandmates’ responsible steps and also got ready earlier? I’m sure Jeff or Glenne could have helped you since she arrived earlier than me.”

Harry shakes his head, “Didn’t wanna. Wanted my wife to get me ready for opening night, Sunflower.”

The boys, Mitch, Niji, and Pauli all say resounding ‘boos’ at Harry’s apparent sappiness and sweet talking. While the girls, Sarah, Erin, and NyOh, giggle and coo. Sophia just brings her other hand not held by her husband to his curly locks and gives it a little scratch, acknowledging his words.

Sophia begins to catch-up with Harry’s friends, getting more tid-bits of the happening in Vegas that she has missed, Mitch not failing to mention the torment her husband had given him upon her absence and constant attention. To her surprise, it was Harry who signals her that his five minutes is up by giving the back of her hand a soft kiss.

She says her wishes for a smashing show for the others as Harry slowly leads her to his dressing room. The moment the door is closed, Harry quickly leads her to the couch in his dressing room and arranges them so that she’s comfortably straddling his lap as he tightly wraps his arms around her before they start kissing hotly.

Kissing, suckling, bitting, is the passionate routine that their lips followed for the next following minutes, the two spouses seemingly forgetting about the ticking-time until the concert. Thankfully, Sophia wakes-up from her rose-tinted haze when Harry squeezes both cheeks of her arse.

Sophia reaches behind her and wraps her hands on his wrists, “Off-limits until after showtime.”

Her teasing earns a frustrated groan from Harry, whining when Sophia leaves one last deep kiss to his red-bitten lips and goes straight to the vanity to fix her appearance. She looks back at her husband, raising an eyebrow in question at his relaxed state.

“Better get your butt off from that couch cause I don’t think Vegas will sing itself.”

“Should have told me that before you snogged my soul out of my body.”

Sophia laughs at Harry who’s now walking to his ensuite bathroom to freshen-up.

“Excuse you, you’re the one who man-handled me on your lap in the first place. I had good intentions when we went here, you’re the one who has an ulterior motive to snog wildy.”

“I fucking missed my wife, can you blame me?”

“Nope, cause I did too, miss my husband that is. But, I’d like to set some boundaries, bunny.”

Sophia props herself up on the vanity table, Harry making his way to stand between her parted legs. He bends down to rub his nose against hers in pure, instinctual affection.

“So far that boundaries,” Sophia begins, “Because I’m your stylist now for tour, I think it’s best that when it comes to work time, you shouldn’t distract me with your words and affection as your wife. I mean, everything’s mostly going to be the same, I just want more professionalism when I’m going to get you glammed and ready for your show.”

“And professionalism entails…” Harry trails-off in a question.

“Like just, more putting on clothes than unbotting them. More straightening outfits you're wearing than feeling each other up.”

Harry laughs heartily at that, “Sunflower, I’m afraid that you’re the only one here who actually feels me up. You’re the stylist who dresses me, not the other way around.”

“Excuse you!” Sophia giggles at the accusation, “You’re the one who had their hands on my arse earlier.”

“That’s only a slip from my immaculate conduct because I was missing you. Otherwise, I have outstanding marks.”

Sophia pushes Harry’s smirking face to the side jokingly, “I’d only believe that once you show me. More moving, less talking, bunny.”

Before Harry follows her instructions like the dutiful husband that he is, he cradles Sophia’s face on his hands tenderly.

“Joking aside,” he says, “I agree with these boundaries for work. I just want everything to be perfect this tour, might that be for you, me, the team, or the fans. Whatever would help that happen, I’m all in for.”

“Okay, that’s good to hear.” Sophia smiles, turning her face to kiss his thumb.

“Just promise me no full deprivation of kisses and cuddles.”

Sophia smirks at his pleading face, as if she can deny him that.

“I promise, my bunny. You can still get some of my kissies and huggies.”

“I better.”

***

In no time, Sophia has got Harry dressed in his pink trousers and sparkling pink-fringe vest. She remembers Harry’s earnest insitince for this specific look for his opening night, not opting for nothing less than extravagant and flashy.

“Haven’t performed in a long time,” Harry says as Sophia and her assistant fix any tangled fringe on his vest, “I think this outfit would do good for my depleting narcissist fuel.”

Sophia snorts, pinching his arm earning a squawk from her husband, “You already have enough of that, mister popstar-rockstar hybrid.”

“Sunflower, narcissists 101 would tell you that it’s never going to be enough.”

“Whatever, H.” Sophia dismisses with a good natured eye-roll, “Too bad this is the only one of this kind for tour.”

“Speaking about that, do you think we can change some of the looks to more of these kinds?”

That sets-off another round of conversation between the two, Sophia shutting his idea quickly because it’s just irrational and undoable when they already have everything set outfit-wise. Harry couldn't defend his argument any further as Jeff notifies them that he has to get his mics and ear-ins in just a few minutes' time.

Hand-in-hand, the spouses make their way quietly around the backstage. Upon reaching their destination, Sophia watches her husband get his mic pack and ear-ins fitted, smiling at the camera that Anthony has pointed at them. She won’t be surprised by how many pictures of her this tour alone will garner until the end.

After Harry’s gotten prepared, he comes back to sling an arm around Sophia’s shoulders to pull her close to his side. Sophia wraps her arms around his body in return, squishing her face on the side of his bare chest giving it a small kiss.

“I love you,” she mouths to him, knowing he can’t hear her because of his in-ears and the screaming of the fans.

Harry smiles, dimples popping, “I love you too, Sunflower. Very happy that you’re here.” he says before giving her a sweet kiss on her nose, cheeks, lips, and forehead.

Sophia can’t agree with her husband any better; she’s fucking happy being right here beside him too.

***

Together with Glenne, Jeff, and their security, Sophia made their way to the barricaded area at the opening of the backstage where they will be standing at all-night for Harry’s concert. At first, Harry didn’t like the idea of her not staying at the private box at the top of the arena but Sophia had relented everytime he worried about her comfortability saying that she’d rather be standing all-night long to watch Harry in a much nearer area rather than being on the private box which is so far away from him that he looks just like a tiny spec from up there.

The audience was wild, Harry hadn't even arrived at the stage yet and Sophia already saw dozens of camera flashing, fan signs raised up in the air, and dozens upon dozens of varied voices singing Harry’s songs as if their voices won’t be horsed later while singing it back to the man himself. Sophia can’t help but feel a sense of gratitude and appreciation for the genuine undying support Harry’s fans have. It truly means the world to her that they are able to see the talent and kindness in him which is all she truly wants as it makes Harry so happy, and nothing can compare to seeing the love of your life shine so bright with happiness.

It’s a testament to the fans’ modesty and self-restraint that they didn’t climb over the barriers when Harry finally came out of the stage for Golden. If Sophia was in the same boat and didn’t happen to be married to the rockstar, surely she would have hauled herself upwards to party with Harry on-stage, security and her dignity be damned.

But thankfully that wasn’t the case, and nothing of that kind of chaos ensued as Harry pranced around the stage giddily, singing his heart out together with his fans as if they hadn't sung this song a million times already before tonight. Harry for one, usually plays the album in their home, singing along to it with Sophia whilst they're in the kitchen cooking, working-out at their home gym, or when they just want some white noise while they cuddle on the couch and relax. Sophia’s sure the fans have done the same, have probably obsessed over the songs more than them if the way they’re shouting the lyrics back at Harry more enthusiastically than the singer himself can be any indication.

In Sophia’s unbiased opinion, nobody should be left just standing, or god forbid sitting down in any of Harry’s concerts. Everybody should be fucking dancing their assess-off without a care in the world! So Sophia does that, dances herself to every song her husband is singing like it’s the first time she’s hearing it all over again. Glenne and her even drag Jeff in their little dance party, twirling and swinging each other around with their shoulders shimmying constantly as if they’re wearing Harry’s sparkling red fringed vest too.

Harry’s spiel about the circular stage and how sometimes you either get his face or his ass, releases a howling laughter from Sophia and starts chanting ‘Ass, ass, baby give me your ass!’ getting Glenne and Jeff to chant along earning the attention of some fans, and obviously gets Harry’s too when they start screaming in glee at Sophia’s reaction. Harry turns towards his wife and friends, pointing specifically at Sophia while smirking her way.

“Only the best for my wife, so you get the ass,” he turns his backside to her, “ALL OF THE ASS, BABY!” and actually shimmies his arse side-to-side before slapping one cheek for emphasis.

Sophia starts screaming in exhilaration at her husband’s response, the fans eating-up the first interaction they’ve witnessed of the married couple whilst in Harry’s concert prompting Sophia to twerk her ass back in his direction resulting in a louder uproar from the entire arena.

When Harry moves position on the stage, much closer to Sophia and their friends now, he sees a fan holding out a crochet sunflower towards his direction.

“Oh my god, it’s a sunflower! Is that for me?”

The fan nods enthusiastically and Harry comes closer to her to accept it, even smiling for a picture when she raises her film camera towards his direction. When he comes back to her position beside Erin and NyOh, guitar strapped to his chest he holds the crochet sunflower under his nose like his smelling it’s sweet floral scent.

“That’s quite wonderful, you guys really know me well that I love sunflowers,” he says thoughtfully, earning laughter from his audience at his other implication, “and being a lover of sunflowers, I thought it was only fitting that I married one, yeah?”

He shows off his wedding band on his left hand to the audience, his fans screaming in recognition at the only remaining ring on said hand after years of full-ringed fingers.

“Anyway, I got myself my very own sunflower now, she’s actually here, Hiii my Sunflower!” Harry waves widely at a smiling-so-big-my-face-might-burst Sophia who waves back at him just as enthusiastically.

“I love her very much, as you guys would have probably known by now if you follow my social media and see that beautiful face of hers on every picture that I seem to post, can’t really blame me really with how beautiful she is, isn’t she gorgeous? The world deserves to see her beauty, really!”

Even if it’s so dark in the arena, and the lights are mostly on the stage pointed at her husband, Sophia still feels that everyone can see the raging blush on her cheeks. She can’t say that Harry doesn’t usually say sweet things like that in every opportunity he can get, but it’s the first time he’s done it in-front of thousands of people in a sold-out arena. It’s pretty much a new experience for Sophia, which by now she thinks she has to get used to starting now.

When the audience lessens their gleeful agreement to Harry’s opinion, he continues his bit, “So I’m very fond of giving flowers to my Sunflower whenever I can, again, if my rare social media posts can be any indication. Now I have a magical flower in my hand and I have yet to give her one today as a congratulation for not only it being her official first day at work as my tour stylist, but for being able to handle my weird narcissistic ass and love me unconditionally despite everything that comes to being married to me.”

Sophia definitely didn’t see that change of route with his bit, and felt herself close to tears at Harry’s raw words of honesty. Both Jeff and Glenne pulled her close to their sides in a tight embrace, anchoring her amidst the loud screams and coos of everyone else.

“I’ve always advocated for treating everyone with…”

“KINDNESS!” Sophia hears Jeff and Glenne scream in unison with the others, too speechless to follow along.

“Kindness, that’s correct!” Harry claps his hands in elation, “Definitely going to inform you lots’ teachers to give an A plus for good conduct! But anyway, I was going to ask if you guys can kindly pass this beautiful crochet sunflower to my Sunflower all the way to the back? My heart is forever going to be filled with love if we get to show her some kindness tonight.”

Sophia doesn’t understand how that’s possible, how her husband can make that possible. Because the next thing she knows, everyone seems to quiet down as Harry passes the sunflower back to the audience, and everyone’s rapt attention is placed on the precious cargo moving from one fan’s gentle hands to the other, nearer, and nearer her direction.

The winning scream that everyone lets out once the crochet sunflower is in Sophia’s grasp is deafening. She’s typically not a narcissist, but she would like to share her input on the increase in volume of those screams compared to the last hour of Harry singing.

Sophia’s sure the smile she gives Harry no matter the literal distance between them right now, is already enough to show her gratitude and adoration towards him and his grand display of affection. But as a bonus (cause as he said, it’s never enough), Sophia copies his earlier actions of pretending to waft the scent of the flower, earning an audible giggle from Harry resounding across the arena as she mouths an ‘I love you.’ just like she did earlier before sharing her husband to the rest of the world.

The show continues after that; Sophia swaying along the heartfelt melody of Cherry, arms slinged with Jeff and Glenne as they move side-to-side as Harry sings about coming home in Canyon Moon, and of course, losing her shit while dancing like an animal gone wild to Kiwi was a definite requirement if one wants to have the full Harry Styles’ concert experience.

Like a blink of an eye, Harry was bowing and blowing kisses to the audience, making his rounds to give his thanks to everyone who had come and supported his opening night. Sophia clapped her hands and cheered wildly throughout the remaining moments of the concert, excitement and adoration coursing through her veins ready to congratulate and dot over her husband.

Just as expected, Sophia thinks Harry does phenomenal for his opening night of his sophomore tour.

***

Later on the night, when Harry had completed all the duties that comes with being the star of a concert, had said his gratitude towards his team, bandmates, friends, and whoever he passed by while leaving that supported him that night, Harry was free to be completely immersed in his favorite role in the world: being a husband.

All the appreciation he had given to everyone that made tonight possible, did not compare to the recognition he had given his wife. Between the time they’re finally alone in their penthouse room in the hotel, and up to the point where their naked bodies are cuddled together on the bed with matching sated exhales and happy knowing smiles, Harry’s sure being Sophia’s husband definitely tops any concert he will do for the rest of his life.

It’s not even a surprise to him how he easily gravitated towards his phone to look at the pictures taken tonight by Anthony, who has kindly sent it to him immediately upon his request. Fingers swiping pass his pictures and finding the perfect one of his wife, instantly enamored by one particular photo.

Harry opens his Instagram account, ignoring the thousands upon thousands of notifications he got from tonight’s concert media content he presumes, and blindly finds the picture of his wife he had chosen and lets his fingers type-away whatever sappy thing his mind has to say this time like every other time he posts about her.

At two am in the morning, Harry Styles posts the first ever picture in relation to his tour. A picture of his wife clutching the crochet sunflower, Harry on stage in the background in his red glimmering vest is almost not even the focus of the picture as Sophia is smiling so big her eyes are squinted at the ends like she just can’t contain her joy taking all of the picture’s attention.

Below it, he had captioned: My Love on Tour, literally 🌻 💘

#harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles #harry edward styles #tpwk #harries #love on tour #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine

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gucciwins · 4 years

Text

Weeping Willow

Harry sends his wife for a girl’s night, and their five-month-old baby falls sick.

Word count: 5,093

A/N: i am no expert on babies (unless it’s my almost two-year-old niece) but i have it on good authority this does bring down fevers. This was written for @tbslenthusiast dadathon. i hope you love it. xx

___

It's a Saturday night, and Harry tries his best to convince his wife to go out with her friends for a nice dinner while he cares for baby Willow.

Their five-month-old infant. The sweetest little girl to grace the earth in Harry's opinion.

He's never felt a love like this, a never-ending love for his child. He swears he has never been more in love with his wife, his twin flame, for giving him the greatest gift he will ever receive.

She's standing there cradling Willow in her arms as she begins to drift off to sleep. Humming a song she hasn't shared with Harry. Something special between mother and daughter. As much as Harry hates to admit it but their daughter is a momma's girl at heart.

Willow feels that extra protection from her mother; he gives her all the cuddles and kisses, but there is no more special bond than when Y/N holds her close to her heart, and Willow settles down in seconds. When she is breastfeeding, Y/N tells her the stories of her childhood and when Harry and she were first dating.

It's the irregular sleep schedule that Y/N has never once complained about.

Harry wakes up at the oddest of times when he stretches his arms out to reach for Y/N to pull her close to his chest only to find her missing. More time than not, he'll find her at their windowsill, Willow getting her night time meal as Y/N gazes at the moon softly singing Lolo a lullaby that was once sung to Y/N. The moonlight bouncing off her skin made her look eternal as if she weren't real, and Harry just imagined up this life.

But she is real, and she is all his, and their daughter is theirs.

As a kid, this was the life he dreamed of, never knowing if it would come true or not. He will never stop being grateful for all he has in life, full of love.

Harry is brought out of his thoughts when Y/N addresses him.

"I don't know, H. She's a little warm." Y/N stands there, the back of her hand gently placed on her baby's forehead before moving it to Willow's cheek. She smiles down at her sleeping baby.

Harry sighs, extending his arms for her to hand him their small baby. She shakes her head, taking two steps back.

Harry chuckles because he knew this would happen, but he forgot how stubborn she could be.

She's wearing Harry's lilac robe, her hair curled, and makeup is done. He made her do a red lipstick because he missed it. It's one that Gemma gave her that's smudge and transfer free. Meaning he can kiss her with it all night long without his lips turning red.

"Willow is fine. Maybe she passed some gas."

She rips her gaze from Willow and shoots him a glare. He puts his hands up in defense.

"If she starts feeling sick, you know the crying won't stop. She likes it when I soothe her."

"She's my daughter too. I can take care of her and soothe her just as good."

She kisses Willow's head, slowly continuing to grow brown curls just like Harry's. "I know you can, but there's this motherly instinct telling me not to go."

"My husband instinct is saying that my wife should go out to dinner with her friends for a nice dinner and some wine." Harry rebuttals.

"I don't drink." She mutters into her baby's head as she adjusts her to lay on her chest as she sways side to side.

"Well, then go crazy with the strawberry lemonade."

She sighs. Harry knows she's close to giving in.

Her clothes set out in bed, ready for her to throw on. Harry chose her outfit, and he's proud of it. Camel-tone flared fitted trousers, a black fitted v-neck, and a double-breasted twill blazer to tie the look. Her black Gucci 'sucker' boots waiting for her at the door to be slipped on then head out the door.

"If I go, you have to promise to text me every hour."

"Half hour if you really need it." He counters.

She shakes her head, no. "If you do that, I'll be home by the second text."

He nods, happy she agreed to go. She needs this no matter how much she had been fighting it.

"Alright, Lolo, I'm going to leave you with your Daddy for a few hours. I hope you don't miss me too much. I'll make up for leaving you with cuddles for the whole night, munchkin."

Harry's eyes well up, always in awe at the relationship between his wife and their daughter. Their beautiful five-month-old daughter who Harry, thinks is growing too fast. She's still on the small side, but the doctor assured them she was doing good.

Y/N placed her in the crib that Harry put together with Gemma's help, who wanted to be involved with as much as Harry would let her.

She stirs a little, but Y/N pats her chest softly, calming her down.

"I'm going to go get dressed. Turn on the baby monitor, please?" She points in the direction of it.

"On it, love."

She walks out and gets dressed quickly, knowing there's a reservation, and she doesn't like arriving late. Harry meets her downstairs baby monitor in hand as she stands boots safely on her feet.

Harry shamelessly checks her out. He almost begs her to stay after seeing how good she looks, but he knows she needs this.

"Text me when you get there." He wraps her in a hug, not wanting to let go just yet.

"Of course."

She pulls back, looking up at him before leaning in to peck his lips three times; she walks out the door, bag in hand, when Harry tugs her wrist, turning her around connecting his lips with hers. It's a short passionate kiss, Harry's tongue fighting for dominance. She lets out a small moan. Y/N, let's Harry be the one to pull back, not at all wanting to break the kiss.

Harry smirks as he sees the dazed look in her eyes. "Just so you know what you have waiting at home for you."

"You menace." Harry leans on the door as she walks out. "I love you, H."

"And I love you."

Harry watched as she drove away before going back in and heading straight to the nursery, where his darling Willow is still sleeping.

"Just you and me, Lolo," Harry whispers as he sits in the rocking chair and lays back to rest his eyes. It's like they say when the baby sleeps, he does as well.

____

Harry wakes up when he hears a small sneeze. He peeks at Willow, but she still has her eyes closed. He picks up his phone to check how long he slept and is shocked. It was only twenty minutes; he felt like it had been much longer now, feeling a bit more energized.

He sees a text Darling and opens it,

I've arrived safely.

I miss you both so much already. xx

Harry can't help but smile. He misses her already. He might always be playing music in the house that fills the silence, but Harry only does it because she sings along to each song no matter how bad she can butcher the lyrics to an unknown song.

She fills the home with warmth and love.

I love you! Lolo is still sleeping. Have a lovely night. xx

Harry sat in the rocking chair, just gazing at his daughter. Her cheeks were a little red, but he thought she might be a bit warm. He unwraps the blanket, just watching her stretch out her small fists.

Willow slowly blinks her eyes open, a small smile on her face when she sees her father looking down at her.

"You up, Lolo? No more sleep, I'm guessing."

She continues to stare at Harry before turning her head to the door. Harry knows she's waiting for someone to come in. After a few moments of no movements, Willow looks at Harry, giving her a small smile.

"Waiting for your Mum, I know. She'll be back later; for now, it's you and me."

Harry reaches in to pick her up, gently shushing her, not wanting her to start crying. He walks down the stairs slowly, the fear of tripping down the stairs more present than ever with his baby in his arms.

Harry sits her on the couch, a pillow propped up on the back to help support her back, and grabs her stuffed bunny that was left on the coffee table. It's her favorite toy to play with at all times.

Willow sets it in her lap, not at all looking at it, eyes on Harry. He sees her eyes begin to well up, and he knows the tears are coming. He scoops her up gently, letting the bunny fall to the floor so Harry could soothe his baby.

"My Willo baby, no tears. You know it breaks my heart." He begins shushing gently. Gemma swears by it watching Alice do the Ss in New Amsterdam. Y/N does it too, her grandma teaching her that when she helped watch over younger cousins.

This settles her for a second, resting her head in the crook of Harry's neck as he rubs a hand gently down her back. "Good baby, Momma would be proud of us." He knows he made a mistake once she lets out a loud wail.

He can only assume the word Momma did it for her.

His phone alarm begins to ring, meaning it's the hour update, and if he doesn't check-in, she'll call, and if he doesn't answer, she'll worry even more and drive herself more. He does not need that happening.

Harry will not let her call; he'll send a sleeping photo of Willow to Y/N to keep her calm because he can do this. He can tend to his child alone. She's half of his DNA; why wouldn't he be able to.

His Mum always told him babies cry for three reasons: dirty diaper, sleepy, and hunger. He assumes she's hungry. Has to be, her diaper doesn't feel full, and she also doesn't smell.

As Harry goes to the kitchen, he stops at the fridge. He sees all the magnets that Y/N loves collecting when visiting a new country, state, or city. Her favorite being the Trevi Fountain. Tells her every time she sees it, she can see Harry down on his knee, tears in his eyes and heart wide open for her. Safe to say it became his favorite as well. Right under it is a yellow sticky note "Just in case xx Dr. Harp" The phone number of Willow's pediatrician.

Y/N really is the best, but he knows that he has everything under control, or at least he keeps telling himself that as Willow continues her crying, no amount of words calms her. He'd also call his Mum before the pediatrician, who would only end up calling Y/N.

"Mummy left your milk in the fridge; now, all we have to do is warm it up."

Willow's cries go quiet for a second at what Harry can only think was at word milk. He can do this.

They don't bottle feed her as often, both preferring her to breastfeed directly from Y/N. Harry encouraged her to pump milk because Y/N has complained over too many milk stained shirts. It has helped her tremendously. A few times, when Y/N was too tired to get up, he offered to warm the milk to feed Willow. Y/N knew how important it was for Harry, so she allowed him and began pumping more for Harry to help provide her during the day.

He gets a bowl and fills it with hot water, then places the bottle in. He knows it should be a few minutes, he begins singing to Willow. He sings her the song he wrote for his sister, which holds meaning to Y/N now, finding a connection that makes them feel at peace when hearing the song. As Harry gently sings 'Sweet Creature,' he sees her settle, nose runny from the tears, he grabs one of her clothes that Y/N keeps in the kitchen. Truth be told, she has them spread all over the house to have one on hand when necessary. He wipes the snot then drapes it over his open shoulder. He checks the temperature, able to hear Y/N scold him in his head for wanting to skip the step.

"Lolo, going to go sit down, and then you can begin eating." She blinks up at him, her green eyes unfocused, refusing to settle on one place of his face.

He sits and adjusts Willow to cradle her in his arms. He does a final temperature check on his wrist and is happy with the outcome. He slowly brings it up to her lips to startle her, and she latches on after a few seconds.

Harry leans back on the chair, releasing a long sigh. He feels victorious, even just for a moment.

The phone on the couch seat next to him displays a text:

I love you both. xx

He's in the clear.

Harry sings Willow the first song that pops into his head, well he mainly hums as she has her eyes closed and a fist clenched on her blanket and the other tucked in. He pulls the bottle away once he sees no more movement. He wipes the outside of her mouth very carefully to not disturb her.

"Willow, Angel, I need to burp you. You shouldn't even feel it." Harry likes warning her; he knows she understands.

He's done relatively quickly, settling her back in his arms to let her sleep. Harry would love to turn the television on, but he settles for staring at the angel in his arms.

Harry frowns when he sees Willow's eyes flutter open. She sleeps longer after eating.

"Lolo, it's barely been ten minutes. That's not enough for a growing baby. You need to grow up to be strong, just like Momma."

Willow lets out a small cough. It startles Harry, not having heard the sound before. He gently picks her up and begins patting her back, soothing her as she calms down.

Harry thinks back to the phone number stuck on the fridge but shakes the thought away because one cough is not enough to make a call, especially this late at night.

He is now slowly walking in front of the couch, trying to get her to fall back to sleep. It's not working.

It starts off in small whimpers before turning into loud wails.

This is not good.

Harry tries his best to place his baby's cries, but it does not sound familiar. He isn't calling Y/N; worrying her is not part of tonight's plans, but there is someone in mind who will always answer him. Without thinking twice, he goes to favorites and picks the second person.

"Hello love, how are you?"

He's greeted by a calming voice, but it does nothing to soothe the pounding in his heart. "Hi, Mum." Harry isn't even sure she heard with Willow's loud cries.

"Is something wrong? Why is little Willow crying? Where's Y/N?" Anne is quick to jump in.

"Today was her first girl's night out that I was insistent she go out to even though she didn't want to, but she should be back in the next hour or so." He addressed that question before jumping into the most important one. "Willow coughed then settled down before bursting into this cry. I've never heard it before. It's not her hungry one because she ate half an hour ago, and her diaper is clean." He lets out a sob he didn't know he was holding back.

"Oh, dear, right. First off, is she hot? warmer than usual."

Harry pulls her back, face scrunched up, nose full of snot. He places the back of his hand on his forehead, and it's burning. "Yes, she's warm. But couldn't it be from the crying?"

Anne sighs, worried for her son, but this is parenthood having to see your child get sick and old help them through it. The first time is always the worst, but each time after that still breaks your heart. "No love, check her temperature and call the pediatrician. Tell her the symptoms, and you can go from there. Right, hang up, call Y/N, and the pediatrician in that order."

Harry agrees to get her off the phone and to make the call right away. Anne knows Harry well enough that he will skip one important thing she told him to do, so she takes it upon herself to get it done.

He heads upstairs, sitting the still crying Willow in the crib as he searches for the thermometer he knows Y/N keeps next to the wipes for emergencies. He is quick to take off her shirt as gently as one can be and sticks it under her armpit as he waits for it to ring as he dials Dr. Harp.

There is an answer on the third ring, just as the thermometer beeps.

"Dr. Harp, hello, it's Harry Styles, father of Willow Styles." He says in a rush.

"Yes, Mr. Styles, what can I do for you." The doctor's voice is kind, and it calms Harry knowing there's a professional helping him.

"Well, my daughter slept about ten minutes before waking up after eating, and that isn't normal for her. She had a bit of a cough and has not stopped crying for the past twenty minutes now. She's burning up Doc. The thermometer says 103F. Shit, I meant 39C. My wife's family got us a fancy thermometer that gives us both numbers." He feels the need to explain a hand on the back of Willow's head, trying to calm her down as well as himself.

"Well, it seems it could be a common cold. There is not a lot to do, except keep your baby drinking milk. Mrs. Styles is still breastfeeding, correct?"

"Yes."

"Okay, it's important to keep her hydrated and check with her through the night. To bring down the temperature, a lukewarm bath would help as well as a humidifier because, from the sounds of it, she is a bit congested."

Harry nods along to everything she is saying, repeating it back. "Thank you so much, Dr. Harp."

"It's no problem; if the fever doesn't break or gets higher than 40C, then I suggest you head straight to the hospital." Dr. Harp says her goodbyes as he picks up Willow and heads to their bedroom, taking her into their bathroom.

He looks around, not sure what to do first that he misses the sound of the door opening and closing as well as footsteps up the stairs. It might have also been Willow's crying.

Willow lock's eyes with Y/N over Harry's shoulder, stopping for a second, causing Harry to gasp before she starts up louder than before for not being in her mother's arms.

"Willow, darling," Y/N smiles at her daughter, cheeks red and nose snotty but still her beautiful baby.

Harry feels like he can breathe properly now that she's home with him. His missing half home, finally feeling complete. He does feel awful for not calling her right away, but he swore she was having a good time.

Harry hands over Willow to Y/N's waiting arms watching as she cradles her close, pressing repeated kisses to her daughter's brown hair. Willow instantly clenches a fist onto her necklace, not that Y/N minds, but Harry feels guilty for depriving his daughter of her mother. It was his fault she was out tonight.

"How'd you get here so quick?" Are the first words Harry thinks to say.

Harry thought she'd be mad at him for not calling, but all he sees are her kind and gentle eyes he fell in love with.

"Anne called me to update me, but I was already ten minutes from home. I had dinner but got it to go having that nagging feeling you needed me. Anne called it mother's intuition, but" She breathes in Willow's smell, Harry finding it endearing how she always says she smells amazing like peaches. "I swear I could feel how distressed you were. I thought you were having a bad time, so I got you ice cream and brought home a meal we could share."

He leans against the sink, a small grin forming on his face. "I did always tell you we were soulmates."

Y/N steps further into the bathroom, heading to the tub to get the water-filled. She sits on the toilet, letting it fill before dipping her hand in from time to time. It feels a bit less than halfway before she closes the tap.

"Doctor's orders were getting the temperature down, right?" Y/N asks Harry, and he nods. "Well, in the lukewarm bath, she goes." Y/N fakes as if she is going to place Willow in before hugging her to her chest once more. "I'm only playing." She boops Lolo's nose.

"Your momma thinks she's so funny, Lolo." Harry rolls his eyes at her, not at all, hiding the love behind them.

"Get in the bath with her, H." Y/N has successfully undressed Willow, giving her kisses all over, causing Willow to let out a small giggle.

Harry near tears now. "That's the first time she laughed this entire night."

"Honey, listen. She hasn't gotten sick before. It's okay, we're learning." She reaches a hand up to cup his cheek, and he leans into it eagerly. "We are learning together." He nods as she pulls her hand away. "Now, do I need to undress my other baby as well?"

He smiles. "You're welcome to, but I got this." He slips off the black shirt and grey sweats, leaving on his briefs.

The water is perfect. Not that he expected any different because she does everything with extra care and love for Willow. He's glad to have her as his life partner and mother of his child and future children.

He slips in, sitting down, letting Y/N gently place Willow on his bent knees. He cups her head, gently sinking himself lower. She hands him a cloth, and he looks at her, eyes wide.

"Wet it, rinse it a bit, then just sponge it around her."

He nods but doesn't move to receive it. Y/N moves forward, dips it in the water, and squeezes it leaving a bit of water. She gently gets Lolo's back patting before moving down.

"Thank you." He says and accepts the cloth.

Y/N makes her way to the bedroom. "You're leaving?" He questions, causing Willow to look at her as well.

She laughs at her two loves, both wanting her close. "Going to turn on the humidifier. It's going to be good for her and her congestion. Then will get you both a new change of clothes before coming back. Is that okay with you both?"

Harry looks down at Willow that still has her eyes on her Momma. "What do you think, Lolo? Think we should let Momma take care of us." He hums as if hearing her response. "She said not to take too long."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Harry settles in, Willow moving her hand in the water, intrigued by the ripples allowing Harry to rinse her. He feels good, feels great, and can honestly help her and no longer cry about it.

Y/N knows he needs this but hopes she isn't feeling too awful about leaving Willow when she got sick for the first time.

For all, he knows she could be crying in their bedroom or, even worse, the nursery where he can't hear her.

But that's what Harry is here to remind her what a fantastic team they are and how she saved the day like always. He's proud of her just as he knows she's proud of him.

____

It's twenty minutes when Y/N walks back in. Now dressed in grey sweats and an old white shirt that Willow loves to cling on. She approaches, and Harry raises Willow so that she can wrap her in the yellow towel.

"My munchkin smells so good." She kisses her cheek. She turns to look at Harry with a smile on her face making him smile back. "Shower, I'm going to dress her, and then I'll bring your clothes in."

"Okay, love."

Harry drains the water before turning on the showerhead, letting the warm water wash away the stress in his body. He doesn't take too long, wanting to cuddle his two girls all night long.

Walking out, dressing in the warm clothes that she must have thrown in the dryer for him knowing how he likes to be warm after a long night. He smiles, slipping the shirt over his head, slipping on the black sweats with no need for briefs. Turning off the bathroom light, closing the door, he sees Willow lying on Y/N's chest.

"How is she doing?" Harry paddles over, hovering over Y/N to kiss her forehead, doing the same to Willow.

"Better, the temperature is at 98."

Harry smiles, glad she's under three digits again. She looks sweet dressed in a bodysuit with small bumble bees all over. Y/N wrapped the knitted mint green blanket that Y/N's mother made for Willow around her shoulder to keep her warm but not enough to overheat.

"That's great. Our baby is so strong." Harry gets in bed and sits against the headboard, making Y/N shift over to rest her head on his shoulder, arms wrapped around Willow for support.

____

It's an hour of silence basking in hearing their baby's breathing. Not as smooth due to the congestion but better than before. Harry places a kiss on Y/N's forehead when he feels the first tear, then many more follow. A sob breaking out, but breathing even to not disturb their sleeping baby on her chest.

"Love, lovie, hey. Don't cry. She's doing better already." He wraps the arm tighter, hoping he can transfer all his love for her through the hug.

"I'm just overwhelmed." She chokes out.

Harry sits up to face her, reaches his hands out to wipe her rapidly falling tears.

"Please don't be mad with yourself; if there is anyone to be mad at, it's me." He pleads for her to understand. "I told you to leave us be."

"Not mad at you, honey." She whimpers. "I-I-I'm upset I wasn't here to help you. But you handled it so well. Very proud of you."

Harry sits there, tears falling out of his eyes now because she was proud. He did nothing. He knows he did nothing; he called his Mum and the doctor. He never got her to stop crying.

"I didn't do anything."

"Honey, you did." Her voice firm, one hand reaching up to gently raise his head to look at her. "You called Anne because you knew she would help and then called Dr. Harp for help."

"But she never stopped crying, not until you held her."

She shakes her head. "She was feeling bad, she cried at discomfort and unusual feelings. Might have also sensed your panic," She teases. He lets out a small chuckle.

"We're a team. Together and apart, H."

Harry lays down on his side, pulling Y/N down with him. He does it slowly to not move Willow; Harry lays his head on her shoulder, looking down at their baby. He lets himself relax, knowing she's going to be okay.

"I love you." He whispers. No response causing him to look up at a grinning Y/N. "Say it back."

She giggles. "Thought you were talking to Lolo."

"That was for you, wife."

"My bad," She pecks his nose. "I love you, H."

"Missed." He mutters, puckering his lips in her directions.

"Dork." She closes the small distance and hums at the sweet taste that is Harry and mint toothpaste. He deepens it for a few seconds before pulling back. His eyes closed. He kisses her from her cheeks to her collarbones, no spot left untouched. He steals one more kiss before settling down.

"Sleep tight, my darling, Willow," Harry whispers, throwing his arm over Willow's small body and Y/N's stomach for extra protection.

He peeks one eye open to see Y/N smiling down at Willow, no sign of sleep in her features. "I take it you won't be going out anytime soon again."

"You got that right." She jokes. "No, it was nice. I forgot how good it is to chat about anything other than what size diapers she's going to need next."

"That's not all we talk about. We also talk about the size of your boobs."

She snorts at his comment, and he happily joins in.

"We haven't had a date night, well we have but indoors with a baby always in arms."

Harry smirks. "What do you have in mind, love?"

She blushes, "We go away for the weekend, leave Willow with Anne or Mitch since he keeps saying we keep his goddaughter away from him."

"You'd be okay with that?" Harry checks, making sure she really wants this.

She nods. "I'll miss her like crazy, my heart is beating faster just at the thought, but I miss you." There's a gleam in her eye, one when she gets lost in a memory. "It's quickies and late-night conversations. As much as I love our daughter, I miss my best friend."

Harry grins, glad she's sharing this. "Any other time, I'd make a joke, but honestly, I miss you just as much."

"Then, coordinate with Jeff on a weekend you're free and look for a place we can go to. Driving or flying whatever you find best."

"Oh, baby, I'm going to make you fall in love with me all over again."

"I'm counting on it, Harry."

Harry helps Y/N drift off to sleep with his ideas of where they can go and all the naughty things they will get up to.

Harry knows nothing in life will be better than being in the arms of his two favorite girls.

___

Thank you for reading. Please reblog it means a lot to me.

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nagitoandkokichioneshots · 3 years

Text

Presents the DRV3 cast would get their SO

Mod Mikan: Consider this a little ‘apology present’ for the lack of updates from me. Enjoy ;)

Warning: Subtle NSFW mention for Miu’s part (It’s Miu, what did you expect?)

Boys

Shuichi: The Ultimate Detective is a pure boi. He’s a bit nervous getting you gifts, but still wants to show you just how much he loves you as much as he says it. I believe he would at first, get you cliché presents, such as flower bouquets and chocolates. Overtime, when he gains more confidence, he would gift you books or novels you had your eye on, your favorite movie DVD’s, or if he was lucky, a necklace for you

Rantaro: Prepared to be S P O I L E D rotten! This dude would literally get your enough flowers to start your own florist shop! He would also be very cliché with his gifts, but add his own twist to keep them from getting lame. Would get you a gift basket with your favorite candies, your favorite stuffed animals with little T-shirts/placks that say “I love you”, jewelry, makeup, nail polish, heck, maybe even surprise you with a vacation for the two of you!

Ryoma: Wouldn’t gift you anything ‘uncool’ or ‘lame’ so he wouldn’t go with clichés. He wouldn’t go overboard with his gifts, but rather, get you little trinket that reminded you if him. Would probably get you a tennis racket keychain, a tennis charm bangle, or a necklace with an “R” on it

Kaito: Would literally get you A N Y T H I N G with a galaxy print on it. Galaxy printed mugs, socks, phone cases, nail polish, jewelry, you name it! He would also get you charm bracelets and necklaces with star/moon/planet charms or even buy you your own galaxy star projector night light

K1-BO: Would first refrain from getting your gifts. It’s not like he doesn’t want to, he loves you so much! It’s just that he’s still learning the basics of a romantic relationship. I feel like he would search up the best presents to gift your significant other when the relationship starts to get more serious. So expect a lot of cliché gifts like flowers, chocolates, teddy bears, necklaces, etc. Would most likely also be a fan of buying decorative picture frames and putting pictures of you guys on them ;)

Kokichi: SIMP MODE ACTIVATED! Damn, you thought Rantaro was gonna spoil you?! Kokichi is a whole other level! In the beginning of the relationship, he wouldn’t really spoil you, just get you little trinkets or stuff that reminded him of you--like keychains or small stuffed animals. Heck! Maybe even get you small gag gifts/pranking stuff. But with time, his simping skills start to show. You’re his co-ruler, the supreme leader’s lover--it’s only natural that you’re treated like royalty. Would probably have DICE to steal--I MEAN--buy you expensive jewelry, purses/wallets, perfumes, airpods, candy gift baskets, even a matching cape/hat for you! (If you are a girl, he’d get you a tiara)

Korekiyo: Would quite literally go to the ends of the earth to gift you the most beautiful pieces of humanity. Most definitely you gift you rare fossils and beautiful artistic remnants of ancient tribes/societies. Would also spoil you with gems, ancient jewelry pieces, foreign alcoholic drinks, and hand crafted vases holding different types of flowers

Gonta: Umm......I’m gonna skip over the first few times he got you presents (long story short: He wanted you to have your own ‘bug friends’). He held off on giving you gifts after those....incidents. When your relationship starts to get deeper and Gonta finally gains more confidence (and romantic knowledge), he would start to gift you bumble bee plushies, bracelets and earrings with dragonfly charms, pinned butterflies in frames (even though they are creepy as hell), and flowers he found when he was searching for bugs

Girls

Kaede: This precious soul will get you A N Y T H I N G music related! She always wants to share her passion with you and get you anything that would remind you of how much she loves you! Would get you earrings, bracelets and necklaces with music notes on them, glass piano figurines, and decorative piano themed wine glasses. She would also love to play you a piece dedicated to you as a little ‘gift experience’ instead. If you loved it that much, she would record herself playing it and ask Miu to burn it into a chip and place it inside a music box she was going to gift you ;)

Tenko: Ah, another hopeless romantic! Tenko wouldn’t really spoil you like Rantaro and Kokichi, but would definitely gift you a lot of stuff that would remind you of her! Be prepared to be gifted with Aikido charm bracelets, stuffed animals with Aikido uniforms, and your own punching bags/practice dummies. Wouldn’t get you candies since she wants you to be in top form when you train with her

Angie: Do I.....Do I even need to say it?! Angie would handcraft and make you anything you want from scratch! Whether it would be a sculpture of you two together, a painting of you guys sitting on a park bench, a charm bracelet/necklace with your name on it, or even a figurine of one of her visions of Atua, she wouldn’t buy A N Y T H I N G for you. Not only does it take away the thought of the gift, but it’s really a ‘pride’ thing as well. Angie wants to show off her artistic skills and believe that her work is good enough for you. She would also make you decorative vases, plates, and cups

Kirumi: I can honestly see her gifting you aroma therapy candles, weighted blankets, and different tea boxes. She gives off very calming and soothing vibes, so no doubt she would want you to feel relaxed and serene whenever she can. Would also get you adult coloring books, decorative pencil holders, flowers/small botanic plants, and bath stuff. A lot of therapeutic gifts

Himiko: Don’t expect to be spoiled so much. She’s usually too tired and sleepy to give you gifts. If she as in a relatively good mood and more energetic that day, she would get you little magic themed presents--cause magic is real. Would get you a deck of cards, your own magic set kit, or even a Harry Potter wand (maybe even a chocolate wand set ;)). Though, when she knows the relationship is serious and deep, she would certainly get you a matching hat

Maki: Don’t hold your breath. Maki isn’t really big on gift giving, even if the relationship gets deep and serious. Of course she loves you, but she sees no point in getting you a gift and spoiling you with material objects. She thinks it would lose meaning if she kept doing it. Really, she would only get you presents on special occasions, like your birthday or anniversaries. Would most likely keep it subtle and humble, like a pendant necklace or a box of your favorite sweets

Miu: The woman would spoil dump a BUNCH of inventions that she thinks will make your life easier. Like Angie, she doesn’t really buy anything since she thinks she can make something even better than what a crappy store sells. Her gifts are....well....kinda nonsensical and you really don’t know how they work or what they do. Some of them even have no purpose other than...to vibrate ;). Most of them are just shaped like....you know what. It’s Miu, guys! But you know she means no harm and she’s really trying her best when it comes to getting you presents. Just say you love it, it’ll make her so happy

Tsumugi: Let’s be honest: The woman would make you a whole entire new wardrobe! She doesn’t love to wear cosplay, rather make cosplay for other people to wear. LOVES to make you clothing that your favorite fictional characters wear, while also just designing clothing that you expressed interest in! Been eyeing that new Gucci dress for a while now, but it’s too expensive? Tsumugi is already sewing it all together! Just give her a few days. She would also love to make plushies wearing cute mini outfits for you

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mindofharry · 3 years

Text

In which you and harry go on a talk show and talk about your kids, marriage and the industry.

fluff and talk of hollywood - bad and good. i hope you love this as much as i do!!! feedback is welcome as always <3

James Corden was more than another talk show host to you and harry. He was a friend, a really close friend at that. Harry had known him a long time, since he was a teenager, in the early days of one direction. And he’s always been so good to harry and how you. You met James and his wife, Julia, a couple years back - 5 to be exact. You and harry had been dating only a couple months, and you were very new to the industry. You had your own fan base, and had gotten recognised before - but nothing like harry. Harry and you met at an event, and then went to an after party together and the rest was history. So with you and harry being together, you met with his friends. James and Julia were honestly the nicest and funniest people ever - you were fangirling a bit (a lot) because you remember watching Gavin and Stacey on repeat for years, James was surprised when you mentioned it.

So with you and harry being close friends with james and know you can trust him with just about anything, you knew the best person for this interview would be him. People - reporters, are begging to just have a little insight to what you and harry go through, how you met, your babies and marriage. Anything they can get their hands on. And you both, especially harry, feel ready to talk about that. So why not make this causal? Have a friend over, ask some questions and then that’s it. You’ve got the interview done and you both don’t feel any pressure.

James’ assistant asked you guys to come up with a list of things you feel completely comfortable with talking about and a list that you absolutely will not talk about at all. So for example, harry would talk about his experience in the band, but he will not talk for his other bandmates - he doesn’t want to be asked unnecessary questions that the media would just feed in to. The same with you, you want to talk about your journey, but you want to keep somethings about your journey private, and you both know james will understand that.

“You nervous?” You asked your husband, harry. He was sitting down on the sofa in your shared room - you were both waiting to be called out, you were better under pressure harry not so much.

He shook his head and you sighed, sitting down beside him placing your hand in his hair. It always calms him down. You immediately knew he was nervous, he couldn’t hide it from you. You’ve been married three years and together five, neither of you could lie to each other even if you tried. Usually harrys buzzing to go on talk shows, loving talking to people and just having fun conversations. But he’s such a private person, and so many secrets will be shared. It’s normal to be nervous about it.

“Do you want to cancel?”

Harry immediately smiled at the question. You cared so much. You were too good for him, always caring for him even if you’re not in the best place. He remembers you both caught a bad cold, but instead of resting, you made sure harry was healthy and comfortable. Or when paps were around - you made sure you were the only one on those cameras. Harry was so grateful for you. You’re the best wife, the best friend and the most amazing mother. Harry got very lucky.

“No” harry paused pecking your lips. “i’m okay, baby. just nervous y’know?” he said and you nodded placing your hand on his cheek, caressing it softly.

“Whenever you want to cut it short, we will. James knows that” you say and harry nodded before pecking your lips again. Your phone pinged, you placed your hand in your pocket pulling it to see two text messages from your mom - she’s looking after the kids tonight. You have two boys, Mika and Aiden. When you found out you were having twins all you felt was excitement. Harry was even more protective over you seen as there was two babies inside of you. The pregnancy wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either. The first trimester you were in bed for most of it, second trimester wasn’t too bad, you were just tired and moody. The third trimester was an emotional one, and it was super busy. But once the twins came - everything fell into place and you both just fell in love. Now they’re both two, Mika is the oldest, but Aidan is the biggest. You could already tell they’d be heartbreakers.

The text was a picture of the two boys in front of the tv watching their favourite show miraculous lady bug - you’re not going to lie, it’s a bit of guilty pleasure for you. Cat noir and miraculous lady bug have more drama than the kardashians.

“Look at our babies” you pout showing harry a picture of your boys. Harry took your phone and zoomed in. “They’re wearing their matching gucci pjs” Harry giggled and you rolled your eyes playfully. “And they look very cute” he added and you nodded taking your phone back. A knock on the made you both stand up, harry walked towards the door of the dressing room and opened it to see one of the show producers.

The producer - Paul - walked you both through what james is doing and if we have any queries or want a break just signal him and he’ll cut it short.

“Anything at all you want, we’ll get it” Paul said as you both walked hand in hand behind him. “We want to make you both as comfortable as possible, ok?” He said stopping outside the studio door. “Yeah, thank you” you say squeezing harrys hand and kissing his shoulder. Paul and other people around the studio were around you, Harrys best friend and Manager Jeff is there and your manager Alice is there too. They both sent a comforting smile your way, you responded with a thumbs up.

Paul turned your way and you grinned.

“5, 4, 3, 2,” paul counted down and then opened the door to the studio at one. You and harry walked out hand in hand, james corden waiting on the main stage.

“Guys! Thanks for coming” James said pulling you into a hug first, kissing your cheek. You smiled as he did the same to harry. You both sat down on the purple sofa, harry placing his hand on your knee. This feels good, you thought. You feel relaxed - there’s tea and biscuits. It just feels like talking to an old friend, which really it essentially is.

“Thanks for having us” harry said rubbing his thumb against your knee, you placed your hand on it.

“Now, we all know how private you both are - especially harry. So how do you feel about coming on and sharing a lot of stuff, that y’know has been private for so long?”

You looked over at harry, it seemed like he was still calculating his answer. You answered for the both of you. “Um - it’s been a weird feeling leading up to it. Y’know i feel excitement and nervousness. But i’m glad we’re doing it together, with you. It makes it a lot easier” you say and james nodded, pointing to harry. “And how do you feel?” he asked and harry sighed placing a hand on his own knee.

“I feel nervous. Yeah. But i know i’ll feel better after i share some stuff” Harry said, giving a brief answer. Harry styles could avoid any question ever - james knew he wouldn’t be getting much out of him.

“Ok, now how are the boys?” James asked grinning, and you almost squealed. Sure, the media have seen the boys and fans know that you guys have kids, but they don’t know names or anything like that - you’re not even sure the media know they’re twins. Your pregnancy was really well hidden too, so it was a shock when people saw you and harry out with two 6 month old babies.

“They’re at home, watching they’re favourite show” you say and harry nodded “in the gucci pjs i got them too!” harry added making you and james both laugh. “They’re really good. Super healthy, Mika knows all sort of words now - we have to be super careful around him. And aiden can escape any cot” you say and james laughs again.

“That’s amazing”

Harry nodded and rubbed your knee. “Mika learned the f word” Harry said gesturing over to you and james eyes widened. “No way!” he gasped and you covered your face.

“I said it infront of him once! once!” you say and harry shook his head.

“And now he says it 4 times a day”

You tutted at him and squeezed his hand before going back to james. He looked between the two of you and just smiled before asking more questions. He just couldn’t believe how much love you two can give. You’re perfect for each other. Both so caring, loving and kind. He knew your boys would grow up to be the best kind of people because you two.

“So how did you two meet?” James asked sitting back in his chair.

“Well first we met at a one direction concert” You say and harry bit his lip to stop him smiling. “i wasn’t into singing or acting yet, and my nephew was obsessed with one direction at the time. My dad knew some people back stage so they got us VIP tickets” you say and james shook his head.

“That’s insane!” he said and you nodded.

“Harry and i actually talked for a bit before the next people came in. I wasn’t the biggest fan of them, so i wasn’t too star struck” you giggled and harry pinched your arm.

“you were totally star struck” he pouted and you laughed again.

“I thought you were liam for a full 5 minutes, harry” you say and harry sighed his hands falling into his lap. “women” he mumbled and you laughed placing a hand on his. “i’m kidding. i did mention that i loved your man bun” you say and harry nodded remembering.

“We met again three years later at an after party, when Y/N was new to the industry. We recognised each other and got talking - the rest was history” harry vaguely, making you smile.

“Now....” james said pausing a bit, making harry tense up. you rubbed his arm comforting him.

“How has being famous changed you both?” james asked looking at you first.

“um, that’s a hard one. I mean i haven’t been in the industry very long, but i can tell you i’m very cautious” you say and james nodded “i have to triple check everything, i get my assistant Alice, who’s amazing to check things for me. I constantly have to watch what i’m doing and saying” you say and pause slightly. “in my first year of being quote on quote famous, i was anxious, rude, exhausted and that whole year really changed who i was and the people i surrounded myself with” you say and james smiled at your honesty looking over at harry.

“Of course, it’s changed me. But i always felt like i was made for this life. And although i have to being really cautious about things i absolutely love this life” harry said.

“it’s definitely had it’s bad and good moments” he added and james nodded in understanding.

“As harry said, it’s had its bad moments and good moments. But we’re both really grateful that we’re here. We’re able to support our children with anything they may want and need. We’re glad that bad happened, because if it didn’t we wouldn’t be in this position”

“I get it” James said “completely. Are you able to talk about some of the bad with us?” He asked with a hopeful voice.

you laughed to yourself and looked over at harry, give him ‘the look’. As in, do you want to talk about this or not. Harry nodded and squeezed your hand.

“I mean, you get your fair share of hate” Harry said leaning foward. “I was in a boyband, people just liked to make fun of us to make them seem different, and it doesn’t bother me anymore - i’m older and learned more. But it killed me when i got the first few hate comments” harry said and you were trying to keep the tears in as you listen to harry reminisce.

“And that was hard?” james asked and harry nodded.

“I remember just sitting there and reading all of the comments. I punished myself for it” he said and you placed both hands on his. “and i know they were just jealous trolls - but it hurt, sometimes still does” harry said and james nodded.

“Every celeb goes through it - it’s sadly part of the job, and it shouldn’t be” you say shrugging.

James looked to you as if to say - i know you didn’t answer the question.

You sighed and harry kissed your temple.

“The first year into our marriage harry and i decided we wanted kids” you say, tears filling up in your eyes. “And we got pregnant pretty quickly” you paused tears falling down.

“And we lost them, pretty quickly too”

James eyes widened and shook his head. “i’m so sorry” he said and you nodded. “We were both dealing with so much from the media that we lost the baby. I was taking on way too much, and harry was going through private stuff of his own. It wasn’t our fault, i know. But i just think about if i had just calmed down and listened - would we have three children instead of two?”

“We were blessed with two little angels, and we never took them for granted, we still don’t and never will” Harry said taking over and giving the signal to paul to cut the interview short.

Paul gave the signal to james so he began wrapping it up.

“Now, before we love you and leave you, is there anything you’d like to say?”

You smiled and leaned into to harry.

“Don’t take anything for granted and choose love” you say and harry looked down at you and nodded.

“That’s all we have time for today! See you tomorrow”

You guys go the signal that the cameras were off and a bunch of people started moving around. You stood up and brought James into a hug and kissed his cheek. He pulled back “I’m sorry if i went too far with my last question” he apologised and you shook your head. “No! No! definitely not. I feel so much lighter and better after sharing it” you say with a smile.

He brought harry into a hug and they said their thanks and whatnot. Paul then guided you and harry back to the dressing room so you guys can wind down a bit before heading home.

“God, i feel so much better at that” You say twirling around. Harry placed his hands on your hips pulling you into him, pecking your lips twice. “i’m proud of us” he said and you nodded putting your arms around his neck.

“We did good. And you feel good, right?” you asked and he nodded quickly.

“Now, let’s get home to our babies”

You both sit down for about 5 minutes, going through your phones just to check up on things. Then you packed up and your managers talked you through some press things - not to listen to any comments etc. Everyone will have their opinions, you learned that very early on in your career.

“I can’t wait get home” you yawned fastening up your seatbelt. Harry nodded placing a hand on your thigh. “Takeout?” he asked and you nodded.

“Definitely”

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

Text

you’re someone i just want around: III

“You can have me tonight or never

I thought you understood

Baby, some people are meant to be loved and others just naked

So take what I’m willing to give, love it or hate it.”

—Wrong, Zayn and Kehlani

A/N: alright SO!!!! the original part 3 ended up being at the cusp of 50k words (because i have no self control) and that is a LOT to read in one go so it’s getting split into parts 3 and 4! which means!! double update laidese and germs!!!! part 4 will be posted this SUNDAY, AUGUST 16th at 5PM PST/8PM EST :D we hope you enjoy this chapter, feedback is greatly appreciated, and please please PLEASE!!! if you like it, reblog it!!! and if you want, go nuts in the tags!! every single one is read!!! it keeps content creators motivated 💌leyla @sunflowervolvimp3 took the liberty of making an incredible playlist to go along with our story, so feel free to check it out and see if you can find any clues as to what’s in store for the characters 👀without further delay, here she is...buckle up 👁👁this is gonna be quite the ride

ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist : ysijwa playlist

word count: 24.2k

content/warnings: cheeky banter over texts, The Crew dragging Niall to shit, more banter over a glass of cheap wine, vampire!harry showing up to “interior design” sessions looking like a runway model, some fwb smut, degradation kink, very mild mentions of blood, and some ugly tapestries that somehow lead to sexting

///

Y/N definitely puts Harry’s number to good use. Very good use.

In fact, during the span of the next month or so, Harry reckons that she pulls up his contact on her phone so often that she probably has him listed on speed dial. The assumption is dramatic and probably incorrect, on behalf of his arrogance, but with how much time they start spending together, it’s hardly a stretch.

It all begins exactly a week after their first time meeting.

Harry still hates clubs.

He hates them more than he did last week. He hates them more than he did yesterday, more than he did this morning, and even more than he did a minute ago. He fucking despises them.

And yet, as Harry stands here before the mirror in his enormous double-sink bathroom, fiddling with his damp hair as his flouncy dress shirt hangs unbuttoned from his broad shoulders, he’s absolutely positive he has never hated clubs more than right now.

Niall got to pick the venue this time. He’d texted his choice in the groupchat (which is respectfully named Dinner Plans) about four hours ago, making sure to get the word out decently early so that everyone could start making their preparations, all in order for the crew to be on the move by nine P.M.

It’s now nine thirty-seven, and everyone is fully set to leave at the agreed upon hour. Everyone except Harry.

This, however, is not uncommon. He’s always the one that takes the longest to get ready, no matter how soon he starts. No one can remember an instance where Harry has ever been ready on time— which says a lot, considering most of the gang has years of memories from which they can pull. Mitch especially. With almost a century of friendship behind them, not once has the older vampire ever seen Harry stick to a deadline. His flare for being fashionably late is less a flare, and moreso an irritating burn. It always throws off their game a bit, but at this point, everyone has gotten used to the seemingly young vampire’s theatrics.

So on this Friday night, there isn’t much more to do other than mold to his habits; Harry answers to no one except himself and it’s been that way for decades now, for a reason he’d rather not reminisce. He doesn’t owe anything to anyone, especially since he’s the one that always takes charge of getting them where they need to go, as well as getting them inside said destination. Complaining about their leader wouldn’t do the gang any good for a number of reasons, especially because Harry rarely ever listens. It is what it is— he’s just the way he is, and they’ve all learned to live with and respect that.

The funny thing? Harry does it on purpose, though his friends aren’t aware of it. He drags out the process of getting prepared simply so he can put off having to step inside one of those circus acts people refer to as clubs. He goes as slow as possible and does as much as possible, spreading seconds into minutes, and maybe— if he’s insistent enough and feeling particularly pesky— an hour. His record is an hour and twenty-eight minutes, which he wears with pride, much to his group’s unamusement.

Harry knows no one will ever say anything about his annoying tendencies, unless they’re willing to volunteer themselves to take the reins for the night. Vampires are alert and productive, but only when they want to be— which is usually only when it benefits them— and only if they can muster up the patience for it. And frankly, none of the creatures he associates with have the patience required to deal with security, driving, and other obstacles the way Harry does. He’s indispensable, and therefore, everyone puts up with his shit. Quid pro quo has never been more effective.

So here Harry stands, now thirty-eight minutes past the original time sorted for departure, carefully combing volumizing mousse into his slightly wet curls and spinning each ringlet around his index finger to give them the definition and bounce he’s so well-known for. Here he is, finishing up his post-shower routine as all of his friends mill around downstairs in his living room, waiting for him to come down so they can pack into his car and head out for the weekly hunt at whatever establishment has been deemed fit for the night. And here he is, taking his sweet time so he can be the signature pain in the ass that everyone hates to love.

Once Harry has thoroughly coated all of his hair with the fluffy white cream, he pulls out his hair-dryer from the cabinet below his sink, snapping its accompanying diffuser into place and flipping his head upside down. He carefully scrunches his curls to his roots with the attachment, moving in thoughtful circles as he hums to the rhythm of a song he can’t be bothered to remember the name of. Staring down at his polished jet black heeled boots, he absentmindedly taps against the porcelain ground to the beat of the music, sighing wistfully as warm air circulates its way across his scalp.

Harry turns his shoes to the side, admiring the detailing along the back of the heel. Across the curved surface is the word SUCKER, bedazzled onto the article with multicolored jewels, glitzing beautifully under the fluorescent lighting of his bathroom. The shoes had been a gift from a friend with connections in high places; more specifically, connections to the man who sits on the throne of the Gucci brand. Harry hadn’t questioned the present when he’d received it— only an idiot would bat a cautious eye at such a luxury. He’d fallen in love with them the second they landed in his palms, decked out in a gorgeous satin box and wrapped with sparkly black tissue paper. The only words that had dared leave his lips were, “Fuck, I think I just got hard.”

The shoes had fit like a charm, and he had wanted to save them for a special occasion. But given that he has hundreds of years worth of special occasions lined up for his future, he’d shrugged off his pickiness and yanked them out the back of his closet for tonight. What better way to show them off than at an overhyped disco hall?

Harry flips his head right-side up once again, ruffling his fingers through his soft, shiny curls to check for any wet patches or stringiness. He rolls up the wire to his styling tool and puts it back in its designated spot, grabbing his favorite paddle brush and attentively filtering it through his hair until he gets the tousled waves that he’s grown so fond of sporting. He musses them until he’s satisfied with his appearance, nodding at himself casually in the mirror as he proceeds to wrap up the last few necessities he has left.

Harry buttons his blouse, admiring it in the fogged mirror. It’s a flowy sheer black piece with holographic threads sewn through its expanse, the fabric continuously shimmering with every shift of his muscles from underneath. He leaves the last three holes empty to better show off the dark butterfly inking on his lean chest and the swallows suspended in flight along his collarbones. He doesn’t really have to leave the shirt open, given that the material is see-through to the point where it leaves very little to the imagination, obvious in how all the tattoos along his arms are clearly visible. But he does it either way— he likes it when people stare. He’s got the assets, he might as well flaunt them.

Harry loosely tucks the hem of the shirt along the brim of his high-waisted beige slacks, which he’d ironed with precision to an ideal fold. He opts out of a belt tonight, wanting to display the array of elegant buttons that line the front of his pleated trousers. The pants hang slightly flared around his ankles, and if someone’s interests were intent enough, they might catch a glimpse of his favorite socks underneath the cusps, the words FUCK IT printed across the dark cotton fabric. He always makes sure to have an aspect in his outfit that could make for neat conversation.

The vampire pulls out one of his drawers, ghosting his fingers over his collection of jewelry before picking out a pearl necklace and his father’s gold-plated cross necklace, as well as a colorful array of rings. He makes sure to retrieve the most significant two, as always— his lionhead amethyst daylight ring and his mother’s opal. He never goes anywhere without them.

After he’s slipped on those accessories, bending and stretching his fingers for good measure and feeling everything settle into place, he picks out the gold cross earring that matches his necklace. It used to be part of a pair that belonged to his sister. As he watches the gold twinkle in the artificial light, he briefly wonders what happened to its twin, but pushes the thought away before it leads him down a path of pessimistic speculations.

Harry loops the dangly piece through his earlobe, sighing through his nose as his gaze jets around his entire look, searching for any possible faults he could tend to that would prolong the inevitable— another night of drunken morons and thick synthetic smoke.

Harry decides to fold the cuffs of his shirt up to his elbows, knowing that it makes his veiny forearms look appealing. He rummages through his selection of colognes before deciding to go with his trusty Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille, spritzing a bit along specific pressure points on his neck where a pulse would otherwise be present, following along with the insides of his wrists. The scent of cloves, sugar-frosted vanilla, and cedar wood envelope him in a warm ambiance. After that task is complete, he fusses with his necklaces for a minute or so, settling the cross between his pectorals and resting the rosey pearls across his clavicle, fingering at their smooth surface in thought. Much to his defeat, everything seems to be in order, down to his freshly lacquered black nails. It’s not his fault he’s nearly flawless. His long— and unfortunate— extension on life had given him a plethora of years to work himself into a state of physical perfection. There’s only so much one can do to their appearance before it becomes superiorly stagnant.

Harry tunes his heightened hearing for a second, listening in to the conversation his friends are entertaining on the first level of his condo. Niall’s voice is the first one that comes through, unsurprisingly. He’s always the loudest and has zero filter, present in how he’s freely ranting about Harry’s exaggerated mannerisms as he paces back and forth across the floor, footsteps heavy. No one seems to be paying him any mind— As usual, Harry thinks to himself, snorting softly— because everyone appears to be caught up in their own personal lives, too lost in gossip and exchanging opinions to give the Irish vampire any thought.

None of his gang seem bothered by his lack of rush, but Harry knows he can’t keep them waiting forever. Fridays are the day they’d all collectively agreed to hunt together and it had been as so for almost twenty years. Being the leader, Harry can’t let his childish distaste for nightlife get in the way of what’s best for the group. He needs to hunker down on his selfish inclinations and be a responsible friend, or else a human might not be the only person Niall sinks his fangs into tonight.

With one final lingering stare at his reflection, Harry goes to retrieve his phone from its face-down position on the dark marble counter, simultaneously reaching for the light switch to begin powering down his apartment for the next couple of hours until he returns. Hopefully with a pretty girl hanging off his arm and less of a burn in the back of his throat. Although Harry may be cynical, he’s also practical; if he’s going to have to spend eternity on this planet, he may as well try to conserve enough energy to make it bearable. After decades of adjusting to electricity, the last thing Harry wants is to return to candlelit rooms and going to bed in time with the sun.

The sudden chime that shrieks from his device causes him to jump a tad, brows furrowing in mild confusion for a few reasons. First, because it’s such an odd coincidence that right as he went to grasp it, his smartphone had gone off; it’s almost spooky. Second, because anyone who would normally dare message him at this hour is currently sequestered downstairs on the cushions of his sectional sofa, waiting for him to emerge from his room. Who else could possibly need to contact him this late, especially at the beginning of the weekend?

Harry flips his red iPhone curiously (yes, he’d bought it in red for the purpose of irony), peering down at the unknown number shining back up at him from the screen.

The text is simple enough: Hey, accompanied by three disco ball emojis.

After a few seconds of blank blinking and adamantly searching through his mind for a clue as to who this could be, the answer smacks him square between the eyes. The memories come to him in quick flashes.

A bald bouncer with a stupid name. A two-story room with seven foot tall speakers and a bar nuzzled in the corner. A group of loud, tipsy girls in stilettos and glittery dresses. One girl, sitting amidst the ruckus looking alone and indifferent while everyone around her gave into inebriated chaos. Mitch urging him to go talk to her. The overwhelming smell of honey and lavender. Gentle caresses placed across the tattoos painting his arms. Pretty lips the color of fresh blood, drained glasses of liquor, and witty banter exchanged between suggestive glances and cheeky grins. Shouldering through a crowded dance floor with the young woman in tow. Settling her into the passenger’s seat of his Cadillac and feeling heat explode across his cold cheeks when she’d yanked him down by his collar, kissing him like his lips were her only source of air.

A quaint apartment complex, flickering lights in a corridor, and a worn couch. A warm mouth, smudged lipstick, teary eyes, and the gentle, shaky echo of, “I want to make you feel good.” High-waisted silk pants discarded on the floor, a cream lace blouse, and pastel pink lingerie. Thighs squeezing his head as her sweet taste spilled across his tongue. The mortal’s bare back pressed to his chest as he worked his hips roughly into her, mumbling dirty promises against her ear. Sugary whimpers and needy pleads. The warm, tangy flavor of her blood filling his mouth and sedating the burning in his throat. Childish giggles shared in a tiny flat, her warm fingers sewing between his icy own and tugging him into her room. A sleepless night full of steady breaths and only one heartbeat. A stupid tapestry and an ugly popcorn ceiling. A late morning strewn with sarcastic jokes mumbled over the rim of a coffee mug. Pulling his favorite t-shirt over his head and inhaling the sweet smell that had been glued to every thread.

Making a drastic decision and typing his information into her phone.

Harry doesn’t mean to speak aloud, but the name slips down his tongue as easily as he’d drawn moans from hers. “Y/N.”

It’s not like he didn’t remember her, because he did. And it’s not like he hadn’t thought of her since, because he had. But it’d been in passing and barely relevant— faint recollections in the form of fleeting seconds.

He’d thought of her a couple days ago, when he’d been wandering around the mall with his friends. They’d passed by a candle shop where, among all the mixed scents, there had been the unmistakable aroma of lavender and honey somewhere inside, smelling vaguely like her. She’d unwillingly made her way to the forefront of his mind when he’d gone to do laundry, picking out his baby blue Marc Jacobs t-shirt from his hamper and feeling his eyes dilate and fangs protrude— a result of animalistic instinct. As it turns out, she had left a bloodstain along the inside of the yellow collar of his tee. It was dried and crusted over by the time he found it, but the effect it had on him remained the same as the night he’d drawn it fresh from one of her arteries. He’d chucked the garment into the wash carelessly with hardly any hesitation.

The girl had even elbowed into his brain during an important self-care session. He’d been sitting in his glorified bathtub— which, in shallow honesty, is just a jacuzzi— with his cock twitching in his palm while his head hung over the edge, an orgasm teetering along the trench of his stomach as he’d repeatedly thumbed over his tip. When he’d finally coaxed himself into a climax, moans running freely across the empty halls of his home, the image he saw in those short moments of pure bliss was of her. It was Y/N, sitting in front of him with her hands clasped between her bare thighs obediently, his prick running along the length of her warm tongue as her eyes pleaded for him to cum.

But, as he’d stated before, the picture had only lasted a handful of seconds. As soon as his high had died down, it had disintegrated to ash, and he’d been left with a slightly startled mental imprint in its wake, which had faded away within minutes. He hadn’t thought of her since.

That is, until now. Until the surface of his jade eyes are reflecting the message his phone had just received at nearly ten P.M., her identity obvious in her choice of emojis.

A disco ball. The exact same character he’d assigned himself beside his name in her contact list. It was an inside joke; a result of the hatred they both shared for clubs, juxtaposed by the fact that they had met in one. It was a cute determining factor in their minimal acquaintanceship, and he’s always a sucker for a good paradox.

Harry continues to stare down at the text message, trying to conjure up some type of answer. She couldn’t have caught him at a better time, quite literally. She could be his saving grace tonight, if he plays his cards right. Maybe if he swoons her enough, she’ll invite him over again, and he can avoid another night full of shit-faced idiots and blinding strobe lights.

After careful consideration, he swipes open into their new text conversation and taps back a reply he deems appropriate, satisfied with how it shows his personality— the same one the mortal girl had been so taken with upon their first encounter.

Well, this is awkward. I don’t remember giving my number to a disco ball.

The vampire waits idly for a response, watching as the message delivers and is immediately marked by a read receipt. He doesn’t know why, but he likes that she has them on.

A swift pause follows— in which he has no doubt she’s probably attempting to come up with some type of witty remark to his— and then the three grey bouncing bubbles pop up, signifying that she’s typing back. His device bloops with her response, vibrating in his large palms.

Funny as ever, I see. It’s Y/N, from the club last Friday.

Harry’s slightly disappointed by her humor-lacking answer, but he’ll keep the interaction going for curiosity’s sake. Some people are fun in person and just not that bright virtually. Can’t always have it all.

Oh, hey, Y/N! So are you translating on behalf of the disco ball that wanted to talk to me or…?

He can practically see her eye rolling up at the grungy ceiling of her room and that notion makes his lips twitch.

Ha. Ha. Hilarious! But no, I’M the one who wants to talk to you, actually.

Harry can feel her sarcastic tone through this specific message and that gives him hope. Maybe she does have social networking skills.

Oh. Well, give the disco ball my best regards then, will you? Don’t want it to think I’m being rude and casting it aside.

The creature can’t see it, but now Y/N’s lips are the ones jolting as she sits on her bed in nothing but a towel, damp hair beading water down her naked shoulders and back.

How caring of you! I’ll pass on the message.

A full grin begins to edge across Harry’s cheeks as she returns his banter just as easily as she would face to face, dimples threatening to indent into place. That’s more like it.

His fingers poise over the keyboard, mind flicking through the different scenarios he could steer this conversation towards. He has to be perceptive and respectful, but also keep her entertained. He figures asking about her intentions is the best route to take, but he’ll do it subtly. Being too direct could come off pushy.

So...what gives me the honor of basking in your presence tonight, hm?

He adds a thinking face emoji to the end of the text as an afterthought. He rarely uses emoticons, but now is as good a time as any to start, especially because he has to seem like someone who belongs to her generation, rather than a Victorian era immortal.

Well, you said if I wanted more interior design advice to shoot you a text so...here I am, seeking your expertise.

Harry allows himself to break into a wide simper at the shrouded compliment. It goes right to his ego, just as he likes it. She’s smart.

My expertise, huh? I take it that my taste in wallpaper left you pretty satisfied last time, then?

A similar grin buckles Y/N’s face at his playful smugness and she bites into the side of her index finger to try and suppress it. After a moment of thought, she releases her digit from between her teeth and taps back.

Very satisfied, yeah. Your help was greatly appreciated.

Harry scoffs coyly, leaning his shoulder against the lightly fogged black marble wall of his bathroom, his friends and plans for the night all but forgotten. He’s having too much fun flirting to pay anything else much mind.

My pleasure, love. I’d be more than happy to give it again, anytime you need it. Just make sure to fill out the customer service survey my boss emailed you. I’m shooting for a raise and could really use the brownie points.

“Cute.” Y/N murmurs to herself in amusement, her chest fluttering as a result of the pet name, alongside how well they’re getting on. It’s almost like no time has passed at all. Almost as if they’re friends.

She’d been nervous to reach out, fearing that he’d see it and ignore her— or worse, leave her on read. Needless to say, this is going way better than she could’ve hoped

Already filled that out. Gave you five stars and everything. Would’ve given you six if it was allowed.

Harry shifts his weight against the surface he’s using for support, chuckling softly as he gnaws along the inside of his cheek. He feels like a teenager with all of this borderline childish back-and-forth. He’s not mad about it, though. It’s pretty enjoyable.

Thank you so much for your input! It’s taken into deep consideration. VERY deep consideration, if I recall correctly.

Warmth pours into Y/N’s cheeks at his innuendo, and she somewhat hates that he can get her all flustered without actually being present. He’s really good at this. A true lucky strike, to put it in his own words.

I’m glad my standards are held so highly, especially since I’m trying to book another advising appointment with you.

Is that so?

Very much so. How about tonight, if you’re free? I’ve got a dire situation with some wood paneling that I just can’t handle alone.

The vampire’s irises flare crimson red in triumph. It looks like he won't have to put himself through another mortifying ordeal tonight, after all.

I’m on a tight schedule, Y/N. These expertise are highly sought after, yanno?

Y/N snorts at his pompous joke. “Moron.”

Another text comes in from Harry before she can even think of a response.

However, I think I might be able to squeeze you in for a help session today. Say in about 10 to 15 minutes?

With newly brightened eyes, Y/N gives the message five repasses to make sure she’d interpreted it correctly. She can’t believe he’d agreed, especially at an hour when most people already have weekend plans cemented for the night. And by the length of time he’d given her to prepare, she’s extremely thankful she’d decided to shower prior to attempting a booty-call.

Sounds perfect. Do you need me to send you my address or do you remember, by some miracle?

Don’t worry about it, pet. I have a pretty good memory of that night. You made it hard to forget.

Another layer of heat crawls up her neck and into her ears. She knows this is a casual thing, at best, but for some reason, the idea that he had deemed her unforgettable makes her entire body feel like it’s glowing. She tries to brush it off, chalking up his compliment to how they’d seen each other barely a week ago so of course he remembered. It was fairly fresh in both their minds.

But Y/N is from an area where she was just another face in the crowd— another timid girl in an ocean of a hundred small-town carbon copies— and she’d certainly never referred to herself as anything particularly special. To have Harry, who is such a refined and attractive person, who most likely has dozens of hook-ups under his belt, call her that? Of all people? It just hits differently.

She shakes herself out of her head, remembering that a very interesting boy is waiting for a response on the other end of her phone.

Alright, then. See you in 10 to 15 minutes, Mr…?

Y/N comes to the realization that she doesn’t even know his last name. She doesn’t know the last name of the guy she’d let into her house and between her legs. God, if her parents could see her now...They’d blow California into a crater.

The name’s Styles. Harry Styles.

She immediately recognizes the reference, chewing at her bottom lip to keep a tab on a girly giggle. It’s probably not healthy how easily he reduces her into such a dopey puddle.

Alright, then, Mr. Harry Styles. See you soon?

Very soon. Can’t wait to show you the wood samples I just found.

With a sly smirk dimpling his cheeks, Harry pushes off the elegant stone wall of his luxury bathroom, locking his device and absentmindedly tapping it along his palm as he does a quick mind-sweep of the interaction he’d just had. He’s going to get his needs taken care of—both intimate and carnal— by a girl with whom he meshes with so well, no less. This night has taken an unexpected turn for the better, and he’s never been more thankful for making such a rash decision the morning after a one night stand.

The shrill boom of an Irish accent breaks Harry out of his flirty stupor, the sound bounding up the stairs of his flat and echoing off the tiles in his bathroom. “Harry, did you fucking desicate up there, you prick?!”

The vampire’s head snaps to the side towards where the sudden intrusion is originating, clearing his throat softly before answering, mostly to anchor himself back into the present. He’d been too busy floating in a daydream bubble to give his friends any proper attention. “I’m on my way down!”

Harry flicks off the light switch to his master bathroom, heading into his dimly lit bedroom and scooping up his wallet from its usual spot on top of the dresser. He tucks it into the wide front pocket of his slacks along with his cell phone, rounding the king-sized mattress at the center of his space, footsteps muffled by the thick maroon carpeting across the ground. He stops under the doorframe, giving his room one last calculating glance to make sure he isn’t leaving anything important behind. Once the creature is sure he’s set, he reaches over and slides the switch meter all the way down until the hanging lamps on the ceiling fade to black.

Harry clambers down the glass and metal staircase, passing the collection of original paintings organized across the expanse of the largest wall in his home. His friends spot him from the huge couch once he’s halfway down the steps, and of course Niall is the first to make his presence audible.

“Fucking finally.” The blue-eyed vampire groans in exasperation, shooting up from his seat beside Xander, arms falling across his lean chest. “I thought you’d died. Really died.”

Harry dismounts the last stair carefully, heeled boots making a soft clicking sound against the polished light-wash wood of his floorboards. He pushes a few rogue curls out of his eyes, the corners of his mouth jilting upwards teasingly as he regards the fellow immortal. “If I have to keep staring at that shitty paisley button-up you’re wearing, I just might.”

Niall’s irritated expression shatters into one of sheer hurt, hands fumbling with the silk fabric of his shirt, lips melting into a pained pout as he contemplates it sadly. His tone comes out whiney and defensive. “Hey! I really like this one!”

Harry side-steps the boy, giving him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Your fashion sense makes me question my friendship with you.”

Niall’s face pinches with anger, thick brows furrowing as he roughly swats the brunette’s wrist away. “And your dickhead attitude makes me question mine.”

Harry’s jade eyes dance with evil glee as he returns his palm to where it had been resting before to give a curt squeeze, his rings playfully digging into the muscle beneath Niall’s top. “And yet here you are, sitting on my couch, waiting to get into my car. Funny how that works, innit? We benefit from one another. Mutualism at its finest.”

The Irish man shrugs himself free of his friend’s hold once again, glaring at him with darkening eyes, but there’s no true malice behind it. “More like parasitism.”

“So are you two gonna kiss now or what?” Mitch’s soft, mocking voice butts in as he drifts up beside Niall, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark denim straight jeans and his long hair tied back into a low ponytail. He’s wearing a light-wash Rolling Stones t-shirt he’d gotten at a concert he and Harry had attended back in the eighties, along with a pair of scuffed up sneakers. Pretty casual for a club— too casual, in Harry’s opinion. “The sexual tension is killing the audience.”

The green-eyed boy cranes his sight back onto Niall, raising his eyebrows in question and puckering his lips. “What d’you say, Ni? Wanna kiss this little disagreement better? I’m down.”

The pale young man makes a gagging noise, stepping away. “Don’t know where your mouth’s been. But if your bed fellows have anything to say about it, it’s nowhere good. I’m going to respectfully decline.”

“There was absolutely nothing respectful in that response.” Adam chimes in, chuckling as he bumps Niall’s shoulder with his own, hands clasped casually behind his back. “You need to work on your people skills.”

“My people skills are fine.” Niall quips back sarcastically. “Harry just isn’t a person, he’s a demon.”

“Technically, we all are.” The curly-haired vampire points out, walking over to his matte leather couch and retrieving a pin-striped, grey-black fitted blazer from its backrest. He tosses the jacket over his shoulders, shrugging it on and fixing the material over his torso, the curves of the piece accentuating the strong muscles of his back and the dip of his slender waist. “I just don’t care to hide it, really. Especially not when it comes to Niall’s taste in clothes. Which is rubbish, by the way. If that wasn’t clear before.”

“It was.” Niall deadpans, gaze half-lidded and petty.

Harry fixes the sleeves of his coat around his forearms, smoothing out any wrinkles and buttoning the cuffs. He momentarily ducks into the kitchen, his enhanced eyesight spotting the small digital time-stamp of the oven even from across the room. He has less than thirteen minutes before he has to be at Y/N’s flat. He should’ve suggested a longer time span.

Harry turns back around to fully face his crew, situating his collar into place by folding it along the back of his neck, appraising their expectant appearances. They’re all waiting for him. He’s the one driving, after all.

The immortal clears his throat, hands dropping to pat at his blazer pocket, making sure that his keys are in his possession. He sighs lightly through his nose, a knowing grin trying to force its way onto his lips but he keeps it at bay, wanting to maintain a straight expression to garner less backlash for the news he’s about to break.

“I’m not going.”

The pause that fills the atmosphere and the blank faces his friends dote are almost comical. Harry bats his eyelashes at them without a single twitch or jerk of his features. He wants them to understand he’s being serious.

After at least ten heartbeats— a guess, considering no one in the room has one to provide an accurate measurement— a raging exclamation explodes from behind the other three vampires in front of him.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

Harry watches in mild amusement as Xander stomps up from behind the group, shouldering between Mitch and Adam and sticking him with a glower dark enough to instill fear in any living being. But Harry is hardly living, and he’s definitely not scared of a vampire who’s practically a newborn. Xander’s the youngest of them in terms of the immortality scale— he’d transitioned back in nineteen ninety-six when he was thirty, which gives the illusion that he’s older when in reality, he isn’t— so Harry’s strength easily outmatches his. Xander is basically the puppy of the circle, and he’s certainly yappy and annoying enough to support that title. His lack of age and wisdom is also probably why he’s the most explosive.

Harry kinks an eyebrow up at the taller, tanned man, looping only one button through its designated hole in the middle of his jacket. That will allow him to show off what lies beneath it while also making sure the article won’t be a pest in the windy California night. “I’m not kidding. Something else came up that...peaked my interest.”

Xander’s fists momentarily clench by his sides and he then folds his arms across his lightly heaving chest, trying to hide his anger away along the insides of his elbows. He spits his words through gritted teeth, attempting to keep his cadence level. “What could have possibly come up so late that you only let use know after we waited for you for over an hour?”

Harry can’t stop himself from smirking this time around, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards with condescension. The statement that he produces is all too familiar to Xander, given that it mirrors the reply he had used on Harry exactly a week ago, when the leader of the group had asked him what his intentions were once they’d gotten inside their club for the night. “I have a date.”

Xander’s entire face flushes a faint shade of cherry red. His forearms tighten across his body, tone more strained than before as he actively wills himself to remain calm. “A date?”

The shorter vampire smiles at him with fake innocence, working his every nerve like it’s his job. Harry doesn’t know why, but pissing Xander off is always such a delectable pastime. “Yup. With a girl I met last week, actually.”

“You don’t go on dates.” Niall pipes up, looking around at the other men in the room in confusion, almost as if his comment should be obvious. “You rarely even spend the night. Said so yourself.”

Harry shrugs one shoulder indifferently, checking his reflection in the closest section of the glass wall that overlooks the city skyline, the lights of the cars and buildings below twinkling otherworldly. “I guess it’s less a date and more a booty-call, to be honest. I only agreed ‘cause it’s easier than having to drag my ass to that horrid club you chose to spend hours trying to find someone. This meal’s already prim, proper, and served. And I know for a fact I’ll enjoy it, so there’s no real harm.”

He turns back to Xander, the man’s peeved reaction tickling him more than he thought it would. “What was that you said last time, Xanny?”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Oh, yeah! I'm just grabbing a to-go box for my already prepped meal.”

Harry’s friend’s cheeks dye a deeper shade of crimson, dark veins webbing across the iridescent whites of his eyes for a flickering second. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

Harry counters the angry expression with a bright smile, his dialect dripping with arrogance. “Girls dig it. And you seemed to dig it, too, if I recall correctly. Remember? You might not. Post-orgasm amnesia and all that.”

Xander takes a measured inhale, releasing it slowly and allowing his anger to ebb away gradually, ignoring Harry’s blast from the past. His next question is physically directed towards their ex-chauffeur, but is truly aimed at the gang as a whole. “Who’s going to take us, then?”

The curly-haired vampire shrugs his shoulders once again, uninterested in the topic that is quickly growing old. “You could take Niall’s car. Problem solved.”

The whole clique lives in the same condo complex, mostly due to convenience. It’s already tricky for vampires to find others of their kind, so it’s a miracle that they’d all managed to end up together in the first place. And it’s an even bigger miracle that they got along well enough to form a tight-knit coven, which is the closest thing any of them now have to family. Living in close proximity is the ideal way of maintaining that rare bond, plus it allows them to help each other in staying safe and keeping their urges in line.

Since they all live in the same building, Niall’s car is in the garage right beside Harry’s, so transportation shouldn’t be an issue. They just always take his vehicle because he’s the only one that actually enjoys driving.

“Are you mental? Like actually, genuinely insane?” Xander sputters in appalled shock. “Niall drives like a lunatic!”

“Oi, piss off! Maybe you should learn to drive then, huh? Instead of having all those guys you shag take you everywhere.”

Xander ignores Niall’s insult, putting his palms up in disgust, backing away. “I refuse to get in a car with him behind the wheel. Dying once was good enough for me.”

“Did I miss the memo?” Niall snaps, glimpsing around at all the monsters standing around him, attitude tight with annoyance. “Y’know, the one where you all just decided to shit on me tonight?”

Harry bursts into an airy cackle, listing his head to the side as he gives Niall a humorous once-over, his dangly cross earring dabbing across the crisp cut of his coat’s shoulder blade. “You don’t necessarily make it hard, love.”

Niall’s jaw clenches as he narrows his icy blue eyes. “Xander’s right— you are an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, he’s also right about you driving like you’re on tranquilizers.” Adam sighs, running a palm up his face, using his index finger and thumb to massage either of his temples, despite the fact that they lack a pulse. “I guess I could drive? I hate it, but Mitch hates it more, so I’m our best bet. Better than Road Runner over here.”

“Yeah, just keep talking about me like I’m not present. That’s fine. I’m spitting venom in all your drinks tonight.”

“Well,” Harry boasts abruptly, interrupting the game of verbal ping-pong happening in front of him, taking a quick peek at his phone for the time. As much as he loves causing some good-natured chaos between his friends, he has less than ten minutes to make it to Y/N’s apartment on time and traffic’s a bitch at this hour. “I have nothing to do with this anymore, so I’m just gonna take my leave. You lot have fun figuring this out.”

He swivels around on his heel, striding away with his usual haughty air straightening his back, heading towards the corridor that leads to the front entrance of the apartment. The softly lit hallway swallows his silhouette and for the first time since he’d left the secluded confines of his bathroom, he allows a giddy smile of excitement to tweak his lips. Just for a second and not a moment longer. If his friends had seen it, they would’ve taken the piss.

Niall’s accent cuts through the air, prickling at his ears as the glossy, cold doorknob comes into contact with his even colder fingers. “I can’t believe you’d abandon us just to get laid!”

“Lock the door on your way out!”

///

When a sharp knock echoes across Y/N’s flat, she nearly screams.

Her nerves have been on edge since the last text she’d received; only after reading that final cheeky message had the reality of the situation hit.

This isn’t her. This isn’t her at all.

Inviting a total stranger into her home and into her bed was something she’d never experienced before last week. One night stands were very few and very far for her— she could count all the ones she’d had on a single hand, and even then they had been with people she had known to some extent— and it was due to the fact that this type of situation is slathered in mystery and unsureness. Giving herself up in such an intimate manner to someone she wasn’t acquainted to in some shape or form…It comes with a certain amount of risk, both physically and emotionally, which is why she hardly ever engaged in such activities before Harry.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with having that type of exhilarating fun in your life— she praises the women who can go around so confidently and express their sexuality however they please— but she herself had been raised under a roof that was moderate and conservative, and that environment had molded her into the person she had grown up to be. Those traditional concepts ran through the core of her being, and no matter how hard she tried to shake them, they refused to break loose. They weighed on her shoulders, constantly making her second-guess her motives and desires, most of which go against the status quo that had been implemented into her brain from a young age. This— whatever this is— is a huge step for her; it’s the first attempt she’s made to take over her own life and go against the grain she’d been accustomed to her whole existence.

From the second Y/N had arrived here in Los Angeles and set a foot off the plane, she had been alone. Everyone who cared for her was miles and miles away and she was starting a new chapter on a completely blank page, with no one to guide her hand as she wrote. For the two months she’d spent settling in and trying to meld into her new environment, she had gone at it with a sense of emptiness hollowing the pit of her stomach. No one was there to comfort her during the rough patches, and no one cared enough yet to assure her that things would turn out alright. No one had bothered to tell her she was safe and that nothing would hurt her. No one made themselves available the way people did back home.

That is, until she met Harry seven days ago.

Their encounter had been purely for sexual gratification, but during that short time they shared, she vividly remembered him telling her that she could trust him. It was a preposterous statement to make— asking someone to trust you when you didn’t even know their last name— but the gaze in his emerald eyes had seemed so genuine and encouraging, and his voice had been so gentle and soothing, and his touch had been so delicate and consoling...That strange young man— with the pretty curls, intriguing tattoos, and dazzling smile— had somehow managed to untie the knot of unease that had been sitting in her belly for the last couple of weeks. She’s stumped on how he’d managed to wriggle it free; the only thing she can effectively say took a part in it was his eyes. There was just such a glass-like quality to them that reminded her of a mirror. It was like they were reflecting all her emotions back at her, using their familiarity to compel her into a state of mental peace. She’d appreciated it more than she’d let on.

Something tells Y/N that this is the reason she had contacted him. She wanted to feel that safety net he had provided her with once again. She didn’t need an emotional connection from Harry, she just needed a bit of mental relief. She wanted something to take her mind off all her troubles. Something to distract her, even if it was only for a few hours. And with the way Harry had handled her last time, she knows he’s more than capable of helping her reach those goals.

Y/N doesn’t think anyone has ever made her feel how Harry had that semi-drunken Friday night. She’d been with a few other people before, and had even been in a long-term relationship with someone she had once thought would end up being her husband, but none of those men came close to this peculiar stranger.

In the town she was from, it was typical for people to marry their high school sweethearts. It was a small region where everyone either knew one another or knew of one another, so it wasn’t difficult to find someone that could fit into the role that needed to be filled. The person she had found was a boy by the name of Bradley, who she had begun to date their freshman year of high school.

They’d met through mutual friends and he’d invited her to their first ever homecoming dance, where she had felt like everything was falling into place almost like in a movie. He was cute, with hazel eyes, sun-bleached hair, and freckles that jolted every time he laughed. He was polite, funny, and treated her with enough respect and dignity to keep her hooked for a while. Things had gone pretty well the four years they were together in high school; their relationship wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t exciting either. It was just...secure. He was there, and he was willing to give her his attention, and that’s all that really mattered to her at the time. She thought that was all she needed.

Then graduation came and went, and so did Bradley. He left for college, set on the intention that they would make long distance work somehow. To keep a long story short, it hadn’t worked out how they expected. As the months passed, she noticed he started to separate himself from her more and more. The video chats are what disappeared first; what used to be a daily FaceTime call turned into a weekly one and then, if she was lucky, a monthly one. Phone calls followed the same fate. Texting became a chore rather than something to look forward to and she could feel him slipping, which left her feeling helpless because he was in another state, far away and too out of reach to appropriately solve anything. Energized conversations slowly faltered into five-word messages, which eventually teetered into barely any communication at all.

When Y/N heard the news that he’d cheated on her, it didn’t even come from him. It came from his roommate. Things ended swiftly after that, which was the saddest thing of all. Almost five years of her life, completely gone to waste. Handling the pain was a whole other misery she’d had to shoulder, alongside the embarrassment and humiliation, which stemmed from the fact that she was aware her peers had heard about the whole ordeal. With the help of her family and friends, she’d eventually gotten over the heartbreak. The weird thing is, she doesn’t think she loved him. She loved the idea of him— loved that he represented everything she had been raised to seek in a relationship. They’d grown up together, their families knew one another, they shared the same friends, they had common hobbies. It was like a match made in heaven, though after it broke off, she quickly came to the realization that it hadn’t been made in heaven at all. Made in a test tube was a more fitting analogy.

Y/N’s love life after that painfully slow cliche disaster consisted of random boys around town she recognized from school and work. The hook-ups were fleeting and hardly satisfying, but at least they were something. She soon found out that she could do better on her own, but whenever she craved someone else’s touch, she was grateful to have anyone she could get. She’d mainly stuck to the same guys for the sake of consistency; it was easier having people she already knew how to please and vice versa, though she’ll admit it was mostly a one way street. Men can be so clueless sometimes that it’d be funny if it wasn’t so irritating.

Then Y/N had skipped town and closed off sexually for a while. She had stayed shut down until Harry had walked into her life with that stupid sly smirk and his unorthodox— yet surprisingly attractive—fashion sense, sipping straight tequila like a fucking psycho from the cup in his jeweled fingers. He’d waltzed right onto the stool beside her at the bar, right out of the club with her hand in his, and then right past the doorframe of her apartment, kindly gifting her the best sex of her entire life. He’d worked her every desire with a certain skill and awareness she had never experienced (not from any of her past lovers, and definitely not from Bradley’s vanilla tendencies), dismantling her body as if he’d known her for decades, leaving her sore and aching in a way she didn’t know was humanly possible.

And now here Y/N is, pacing back and forth from her small living room to her even smaller kitchen, chewing along the knuckle of her forefinger as she tries to tie down the jitters running amuck in her belly.

She repeatedly smooths down the dress she’s wearing, claiming that it’s to get rid of the wrinkles, but in truth, it’s to wipe the dampness from her palms. The outfit had been a birthday present from her cousin the year before and she’s rarely worn it since the move, which is a direct result of her lack of socializing. She only ever really leaves her home for groceries and to attend work, neither of which call for a pretty sundress and strappy tan sandals. Despite having gone out to the club a few times, the dress doesn’t fit that scene either. LA gets a bit chilly at night and she has yet to grow accustomed to the city’s weather. Wearing this after-hours would surely end with her acquiring a mild case of hypothermia.

The garment is a light blue baby doll design, littered with tiny daffodil prints of varying shapes and colors. It stops about three-fourths down her thigh, fluttering outwards in layered flares, its bandeau-style top held in place by thin straps of the same fabric. She figured she’d deck herself out nicely; from the one interaction she’d had with Harry, she can tell he’s a person of refined taste. It was evident in his expensive clothing and his wide variety of precious rings. She doesn’t know why, but there’s a toiling in the pit of her tummy urging to impress him.

Y/N’s hair has been freshly washed and blow-dried, her legs thoroughly shaved into silk, and she’d applied a light layer of makeup, done in anticipation that anything heavier would likely end up smeared across her face— a result of sweat and Harry’s dominant persona. Simply reflecting on his commanding sensual presence makes her self-pedicured toes curl in her sandals.

Y/N hadn’t been sure on how to prepare for his arrival. She wasn’t versed in advanced hook-up culture— her raunchiest experience was in the backseat of someone's 2004 Toyota Corolla. She doesn’t want to get this wrong. Going overboard would make him feel smothered and awkward, but underselling would give him the impression that she doesn’t have any respect for him, save for what lies between his legs. Those are the last two things she wants him to gather from this.

She’d settled for pulling out a bottle of red wine that had been a house-warming present from the landlord. Not too shabby, but not too loud. And who doesn’t enjoy a cup of half-decent wine on a Friday evening, right?

Y/N had just finished arranging two glasses— which she’d found at the thrift shop down the street for a steal— onto the counter of her kitchen when that swift rapping sound had broken through the tense air of her home, echoing from the front door and causing a yelp to lodge in her throat.

Ice shoots through her veins. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She takes a handful of penetrating breaths, concentrating on how the cool air feels expanding her lungs. The technique aids in calming some of her nerves, grounding her just enough that she can will herself to move without her knees giving out. Y/N tentatively makes her way down the corridor that leads to her front door, heart hammering against her ribs. She shouldn’t be this riled up— he’s literally already been inside her. There’s pretty much nothing she can hide from him at this point.

On the other side of the door, Harry is blissfully ignorant to the panic attack threatening to overcome Y/N.

The vampire leans his shoulder against the frame of the somewhat raggedy door, arms crossed over his thick chest as his gaze bounces judgmentally around all the patches of peeling paint. He chews at a piece of gum— which he’d popped into his mouth on the drive over to make sure he tastes as delectable as always— in slow, lazy motions, jaw flexing as he unconsciously pops an array of tiny bubbles with his teeth, waiting for Y/N to emerge.

Harry glances up at the flickering light bulb in the hallway of the complex, nose scrunching in distaste at the annoying flashing. She really needs to get a better place, he thinks, reaching up and dragging the pad of his middle finger along the curve of his bottom lip, absentmindedly wiping off a bit of extra chapstick that had colored outside the lines when he’d applied it. He always tries to keep his mouth soft, especially when he knows he’s going to be using it. Plus, the vanilla bean flavor pairs well with mint.

The sound of a seal cracking open yanks his attention, the door before him slowly swinging inwards. Cool air pours from inside, bathing him in a scent that his frenzied instincts had been subconsciously craving the last couple of days. Harry cranes his neck over his shoulder, spitting his gum out and not bothering to watch where it lands. He turns back just as Y/N’s familiar figure comes into view.

The first thing he notices is the dress.

Fuck, the dress.

It’s nothing too fancy, just a casual sundress, but it fits her like it was made specifically for the purpose of testing his restraint. He rakes his gaze up and down her body shamelessly, much like he had on the night they met.

The light blue background and rainbow miniature floral print compliments her skin tone nicely, making it stand out below the dingy light hanging above their heads. The piece lands about halfway down her thigh, fanning around her legs slightly in frilly folds, tempting him with that bit of innocent exposure. An image of him ripping the dress up her thighs races across the forefront of his mind and he can feel his fangs momentarily break through his gums.

As Harry draws his sight upwards, the minimal throbbing between his legs only amplifies. The dress cinches just below her bust, accentuating her chest, and he comes to the painful realization that she’s not wearing a bra underneath; she doesn’t need it due to the bralette-like top. One simple tug of his index finger would leave her completely bare and that conclusion causes a sweltering itch to erupt along the back of his throat.

Harry’s irises finally come to rest on her face, finding that the rest of the human girl’s look appears just as it had last week. Minimal makeup, no accessories, and the smell of chamomile shampoo strung through her hair, though it’s easily smothered by her natural scent of flowers and sugar. He also finds that while he had been blatantly undressing her with his eyes, she had delighted herself in doing the same. Watching her gawk at him hungrily caresses his ego immensely, evident in how the edges of his mouth kink.

Y/N doesn’t mean to ogle, she really doesn’t. But from the instant he’d come into view, standing there propped against her threshold with his ankles crossed and his lean arms folded over his strong chest, she couldn’t control it. He just looks so fucking good— better than last time, which she didn’t think was plausible— and she gets the feeling that he knows he looks borderline godly.

Harry’s clad in what appears to be a sheer mesh flouncy button-up with holographic threads speckled through the material, shimmering under the dim atmosphere of the hallway. The last three holes of the shirt are left open, exposing his tanned pectorals and thoroughly inked chest. Last time they had been together, she’d been too distracted by the aching between her thighs to properly notice the swallow tattoos along his collarbones and the giant butterfly at the crest of his stomach. But now, she stares at them freely as they expand and contract with his easy breaths, her mouth beginning to water.

The blouse is covered by a dark pinstriped blazer, the crisp shoulder blades of the jacket complimenting his broad frame as the curves dip along his waist alluringly. The loose top is tucked in along the brim of yet another pair of high-waisted trousers, though they are creme-colored instead of copper. The ironed pants give way to a pair of glossy black heeled boots, which are bedazzled along the back of the two-inch elevation, the jewels twinkling in the shape of a word that she can’t make out at this angle.

Harry’s collection of luxurious rings and necklaces adorn their usual spots and she gets the impression that he never leaves home without them. His gold cross earring sways back and forth lightly, her warped reflection cast across its surface and staring back at her numbly.

Harry breaks through the haze his physique had cast on her brain.

“Nice to see you again, Disco Ball.”

A shiver slithers down her spine at the deep baritone of his voice, English accent slathered across every syllable and dripping with suggestive teasing. She’d forgotten how sultry he sounds, even when he’s not actively striving for it.

Y/N’s attention jets up from where it had been pasted to his body, the expression across his handsome features one of snarky self-assurance, which tells her she’d been caught. Indents cave into his cheeks, twitching with glee as he bats his lashes slowly, eyes going half-lidded in amusement. He looks so sinful with those shiny ringlets curling around his small ears, framing his sharp jaw and kissing the nape of his neck, alongside those raspberry red lips and the emerald hue sparkling around his pupils. She can’t tear herself away.

After an elongated second of silence on her part, Harry raises one of his sculpted brows expectantly, letting her know he’s waiting for a response. Heat overflows Y/N’s cheeks and buzzes across the shells of her ears.

“H-Hi. Uh— Nice to see you. Too. Nice to see you, too.”

An odd sense of déjà vu flags in the back of her skull and she’s reminded that this is exactly how they’d met the first time around— with her making an utter fool of herself, much to his entertainment.

The crescent above his top lip curves upwards as a result of his grin widening. He taps the tip of his elegant shoe patiently against the cement ground, arms shifting against his chest and she can see the way his biceps strain the fabric of his coat. He’s just so fit.

Harry’s tone comes out playful and lighthearted. He doesn’t need to be invited in again since she’s already explicitly allowed him in before, but he asks anyways, out of courtesy. “Can I come in? Or are you planning on taking me dancing or summat?”

The laugh that escapes Y/N is dense with a nervous edge, but it’s better than a stuttering jumble of incoherent words. She moves out of the way, flushing her back to the wall of the tiny entrance corridor and leaving just enough room for him to squeeze by. “Yes, come on in! Sorry.”

“You’re alright, darling.” The tall vampire steps forward into the mortal’s home, turning sideways as he does so, chest pressing against her own. He glances down at her lips for a flash of a moment, then back to her eyes. “Thank you.”

Y/N’s grip on her doorknob tightens. She looks up at him through her lashes, bottom lip barely trembling. “No problem. Thanks for coming over on such short notice.”

Harry runs his tongue across his teeth, pressing it to the inside of cheek as he absorbs the mildly erotic image of Y/N decked out in a frilly dress, glancing up at him shyly as her chest heaves slightly against his own. “Well, I couldn’t leave you to handle that pesky wood paneling all on your own, now could I?”

A smile ghosts over her delicate lips as she shuts the door and locks it, not breaking eye contact. “How generous of you. My hero.”

Far from it, love.

Y/N slips out from where Harry had wedged her to the wall, beckoning him after her with a gentle turn of her head. The creature tucks his hands into his front pockets, following her down the narrow stretch. They drift past her room (he makes sure not to look in and spare himself the horror of seeing that dumb tapestry) and past her bathroom, into the expanse of her living area. It’s just as small and cozy as he remembers it and he can’t stop himself from scoffing lightly as his sight drifts over the couch. Good memories.

“Would you like some wine?” Y/N’s question carries softly from inside her kitchen. She’s already gripping the glass bottle in her hand, attempting to pull out the cork, and she hadn’t thought of needing a wine-opener until now. Fuck.

Harry makes his way to join her, passing underneath the archway and taking the spot across from the girl. He leans his lower back on the counter, hands remaining perched casually in his slacks. “I’d love some.”

“Great.” She huffs, twisting stubbornly at the spongy cap with all the might she can muster, the rough surface scratching her palm. “Let me just— just get this open.”

Harry’s head lists sideways as he wards off a chuckle. “Want some help?”

Y/N releases an irritated grunt, shoulders slumping a tad as she fails to get the top loose. She holds out the bottle towards her visitor, titling it from side to side in surrender. “Be my guest.”

The immortal pulls his hands out from his pockets, taking the container from her grasp and the human notices how they dwarf the bottle. It shouldn’t be hot, but it is.

Harry wraps his ring-clad digits around the cork, giving it one easy twist and Y/N’s jaw nearly falls off as she hears a pop tinge the air. Harry offers her the wine and cap in return, licking his lips to avoid laughing in her face. Supernatural strength always delivers.

“How…?” Y/N’s owlish eyes flicker back and forth between Harry’s cocky expression and the object in his hands. “How did you even...?”

The brunette gives her a nonchalant shrug. “Guess you loosened it up for me, Thor.”

She gingerly takes the beverage and its accompaniment from his outstretched palms, blinking at him in mild shock. Her slight unease is swiftly phased out, however; a result of his cute banter. It was probably just a lucky coincidence. “I guess so.”

Y/N pours out two glasses of the dark red liquid, handing one to Harry, feeling her heart skip a beat when he wraps his hold around the stout flute and their fingers brush. He stays like that for a heartbeat, with his icy digits sifted between hers, the amber specks in his irises glittering like diamonds. Then, the moment is over and he pulls away slowly, guiding his drink up to his plush lips. She hates how he can leave her so breathless without a single hitch.

The girl watches as Harry takes a leisurely sip of the alcohol, his gaze dancing around her kitchen curiously as she finishes recapping the bottle and scooting it into the corner of the counter.

A thought dawns on her as soon as she focuses back onto the boy before her. Harry looks weird. He looks so weird standing in her small, dingy kitchen with its worn wooden cabinets and fake marble tabletop. He looks so out of place, dressed head to toe in designer brands and fancy fabrics, hands and neck decorated with posh jewelry, and the unmistakable smell of an expensive cologne wafting from his masculine throat. And he most certainly is out of place when it comes to who he’s associating with. He’s out of Y/N’s league, not only physically, but in his behaviors, as well. It’s so obvious it almost hurts.

Yet here Harry is, looking polished and stylish, while she’s sporting a mere sundress that was probably bought off the clearance rack at Kohl’s. It just doesn’t mix, and she finds herself wondering why he’d chosen her in the first place. When she had voiced similar concerns the day they’d slept together, he had told her it was because she was timid and he wanted to see if he could break through that. But Y/N isn’t stupid. There has to be some other reason. Why else would a rich bachelor pay attention to a small-town runaway in a measly floral—

“I like your dress.”

Y/N glances up at Harry from where her mind had fallen, startled by the sudden interference in her dark thoughts. She’d been tracing across the slope of his structured jaw, mesmerized by how it would grow taut every time he swallowed down a gulp of his beverage.

She had ambled so deep in her head, she barely manages to mutter a passable answer. “Oh, thank you! I’ve had it for a bit, but I barely wear it.”

The edges of the vampire’s mouth quirk around the rim of his glass, creases wrinkling along the corners of his bright eyes. “It suits you nicely. A beautiful dress on a beautiful girl.”

Y/N’s belly somersaults, a sheepish giggle running along the undercurrent of her next mumble, so low it’s hardly audible. “Thank you. Again. Thought I’d bring it out for a special occasion.”

Harry’s eyebrows jump upwards at her comment. He draws his wine glass from between his lips, resting it against his hard stomach and gifting the human a cheeky once-over. “So I’m a special occasion, now, am I?”

Y/N looks down at the straps of her sandals, fighting off a grin. She shrugs one shoulder offhandedly, bringing her cup to her mouth and taking a long drag of the sweet liquor, feeling it wash across her tongue and leave a warm glow in her tummy. “Maybe.”

Harry hums teasingly in his throat, tapping his pinky pensively along the bottom of his glass, opal ring clinking against the crystalline surface. The color of his drink makes the black polish on his nails stand out almost artistically. “I’ll take any compliment I can get, especially from those pretty lips.”

Another wave of heat flushes across the apples of Y/N’s cheeks. “You really know how to flatter a girl, don’t you?”

The monster tips back another swig of wine, savoring the notes of wild cherry and pomegranate in its palate. Not bad, especially for what he can tell is a ten dollar bottle.

He cocks his head to the side, irises glitzing knowingly amidst his long lashes. “I think we’re both aware that I most certainly know how to flatter a girl.”

Y/N’s stare snaps up to lock with his, the faintest whimper stringing her vocal chords. If it wasn’t for Harry’s heightened hearing, he would have never known it’d happened. But he does, and he can feel the throb between his thighs spike as a result. The sounds she makes are just as wonderful as he remembers.

The sexual tension suspending in the room is practically palpable. After a bundle of her heartbeats— which is gradually rising in intensity— echo in his ears, he decides to speak up again.

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

The statement can be taken into so many different contexts and that’s why Harry chose it. She could interpret it as innocent admiration on behalf of a smitten lover, or as another layer of sensual praise. It’s versatile, successful either way.

Y/N blinks at him exactly three times in surprise. “You have?”

She’d been thinking about him, too. Non-stop. And now that she knows it’s mutual, she doesn’t feel so nervous anymore. It reassures her that they’re on the same page of this messy novel written about their undefined association. Or that they are at least within the same chapter.

Harry bobs his head in confirmation, indulging another sip of wine, letting it filter through his taste buds slowly. His glass is almost empty. “Mmhm. Walked past this candle store at the mall the other day and they had one burning that smelled just like you.”

His confession is sweet and it makes the tips of her fingers tingle. Y/N copies his action, taking another gulp of her beverage, attitude airy and inquisitive. “Is that so? And what do I smell like?”

Harry’s response is immediate and confident, almost as if he’s spent time thinking on the subject prior to today. “Honey and lavender.”

Y/N nods her head in wonder, laughing gently. “That’s oddly specific.”

Harry feels like he’s been smacked between the eyes with an iron rod. That was an idiot move. Absolutely moronic.

He just now comes to terms with how intimate the comment he’d made had been. It suggests that he’s pondered on this topic, which gives the impression that he could be more interested in her than he actually is. He doesn’t need this loose connection turning into some type of cliche romantic comedy; he doesn’t have the space, patience, or emotional stability for it. And certainly not with someone he’s only fucked once.

The vampire clears his throat, figuring that he can clean up this metaphorical spill by throwing a bit of crudeness at it. “Then yesterday I had a donut, yeah? One of those cream-filled ones. And when I took a bite of it, all the cream just came oozing out and I was like, ‘hm, this reminds me of someone…’”

The slightly endeared expression on Y/N’s face crumbles to dust, voice shrill and indignant at his lewd analogy. “You fucking perv!”

Harry sputters into a round of boyish cackling, nearly wheezing when her foot reaches over and strikes him on the shin. He clasps over his stomach with his free hand, head falling back in glee as her features pinch in embarrassed disgust. He manages to speak between bursts of giggles, water gathering along his tear ducts due to how hard he’s laughing. “I’m just being honest!”

“No, you’re being a gross little fourteen year old asshole!” Y/N exclaims incredulously, but she can’t keep herself from joining in on his boasts of amusement.

His laughter is contagious. It’s loud and unapologetic in a manner she rarely sees in anyone and he just looks really fucking cute with his dimples jolting and smile lines creasing. It’s hard to stay mad at him, though it’s not like she’d truly been upset in the first place.

Harry reigns himself in, inhaling deep breaths and wiping at his tears with the back of his large hand as a joyful groan rumbles in his chest. A few more giggles sneak out when he sees Y/N’s flat expression, but he manages to stifle the rest. His tone is jesting, poking fun. “If it makes you feel any better, I was respectful enough to wipe the donut down with a napkin, as well.”

“Fuck off.”

Harry grins down snidely at the last inch or so of alcohol left in his glass, bringing it to his mouth and downing it all in one go. He places the cup down carefully on the counter behind him, his arms finding their way across his stomach, fingertips momentarily tapping at his elbows. He appraises a playfully grouchy Y/N, pursing his lips to hide a smirk.

He watches as she takes another small taste from her drink, her pulse lulled by its contents. She’s not drunk by any means— not even buzzed— but it had helped calm the tittering in her throat that Harry had been able to detect earlier. She’s relaxed now, all anxiousness washed away by the small serving of liquor and his inappropriate (and extremely funny, if he does say so himself) jokes.

The creature thinks it’s proper time he gets what he came for.

“I really am glad you reached out, though.” Harry starts, an easygoing smile nudging across his alcohol-swollen mouth. “Truly.”

Y/N snorts sarcastically, attempting to hide how his comment had made her pulse sharpen. He’d heard it anyways. “Oh, are you? Truly?”

Harry pushes himself off the edge of the counter, slowly sauntering over to Y/N, who instinctively draws back further against the tabletop behind her. She ogles at him from below heavy lashes, glass still perched between her tinted lips, excited anticipation written all over her body language. He can practically feel the heat radiating off her, rising a few notches the closer he gets.

“Yeah.” Harry’s arms unfold, one stretching over her shoulder to prop his palm against the cupboard behind her head, the other fiddling with the seam of his blazer. He slides his forefinger and thumb along the single buttoned hole, giving it a rough tug and allowing his jacket to spring open. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun interior designing with anyone. Not for a while.”

Y/N glimpses down at where his coat had parted, drinking up the sight of his lean torso behind the see-through material of his shirt. Now that he’s nearly pressed against her, his scent is stronger than before, burying her under smoky notes of vanilla and seasoned firewood. A familiar heat pools between her clasped thighs.

When she pipes up, it’s shaky and whispered, covered in a dreamy undercurrent. “Yeah, me either. It felt...nice.”

Harry’s irises flash crimson for a millisecond, but she’s too occupied gawking at his tight stomach to notice. His dialect takes on a low, seductive twang, the breath of his words fanning across her face. All she can smell is wine, mint, and...vanilla chapstick?

“It felt really nice.”

Y/N’s view drags up to land on his lips. They look as soft and appetizing as last time, tempting her to just drop her flute onto the floor and replace it with his mouth. “Extremely nice.”

An outside force suddenly tips her glass upwards and she realizes it’s Harry’s fingers. He nudges her cup until the liquid inside funnels towards her mouth, his intentions set on helping her finish it off. She drains the wine obediently, staring up at him dazed and moony, feeling a few drops escape along the sides of her mouth and tickle down her chin. The jade-eyed boy then gently pries the glass from her fingertips, reaching over and placing it inside her sink to be handled later.

Y/N’s hands fall flat against his thick chest, feeling it rise and fall steadily below her grasp as he takes a step forward, their bodies completely flushing together. His palm trails up the exposed sliver of her thigh, diving a couple of inches below her dress and giving the outer area a hard squeeze. He doesn’t go any further; he won’t until she explicitly asks for it. He’s a prick about a lot of things, but never consent.

Harry leans down, running the tip of his cold nose along her clenched jaw, his warm tongue peeking out to collect the streams of wine that had dripped out. The contrast in sensations makes her knees buckle and what he murmurs hotly against her skin doesn’t help in calming those motions at all.

“Wouldn’t mind making you feel that nice again.”

Y/N’s mind stalls, overwhelmed by his touch and smell. She can feel him sponging tender kisses at the corner of her mouth, and she can feel the palm of his hand massaging at her thigh needily. She can feel his breaths quickening in pace the longer he’s around her, and she can feel the foundation of a moan building in his lungs in the form of small vibrations, which run across her palms and twitch her fingers. She can feel everything; she’s never been more hyper-aware of her surroundings than now. And all because of this one mysterious young man.

When Y/N finally speaks, Harry feels relief flood his system, though it is swiftly replaced by intense desire.

“I wouldn’t mind it, either.”

That’s full permission if he’s ever heard it.

Harry’s other hand drops from its spot against the cupboard behind her, joining its partner on her opposite thigh. He coasts his palms fully below her flowy dress onto her hips, a lascivious simper crawling across his cheeks at the lack of extra fabric beneath her clothes. “No panties tonight?”

The human swallows heavily, shaking her head as she leans it back against the wooden cabinets, giving him access to her throat. At the sight, the vampire’s fangs protrude, cutting into the inside of his lower lip as venom fills his mouth. He wills himself to maintain control. It’s difficult, considering his sharp eyes can make out the chiseling of her arteries pumping blood just beneath her delicate skin, but he forces composure into his behavior nonetheless. With all of the lights on and Y/N completely sober, he knows he won’t get away with another mid-fuck stunt like the one he pulled last time they were in this position.

Instead, he distracts himself with what he can draw from her at this very moment— another unbelievable orgasm.

“Such a filthy little fucking thing.” Harry growls, smearing his lips down the center of her jugular, nipping love bites into her flesh but making sure not to split it open. “S’that how bad you wanted it when you texted me? So bad that you didn’t even bother to wear anything underneath?”

Y/N whines softly when he passes over a particularly tender spot along her neck, shuttering against his chest. “Y-Yes.”

A low chuckle rolls from Harry’s wandering tongue as he hones in on the area that had coaxed such a delicious reaction. “Fuck, that was such a pretty noise. Are you sensitive here, baby?”

Y/N nods with fervor, running her touch up his pectorals and over his strong shoulders, diving under his coat and fisting at the mesh that strains across his muscular back. Her eyes roll closed, her next confession coming out in the form of a feathery sigh, legs parting wider for him to comfortably fit in between. “I just...I just need you.”

Harry eagerly accepts the invitation, sifting between her thighs and hiking them up onto his hips. The fact that he can suspend her so effortlessly, almost as if she weighs nothing, makes the pit of her tummy boil. “You need me now, d’you? How much, doll? Want you to tell me how much you missed my cock.”

The young woman winces ever so slightly at the crude word and it amuses him to no end. “So fucking much, Harry.”

He can confidently say his name has never sounded sweeter than when it trickles from Y/N’s tongue.

When he speaks, it’s packed with all the pent up turmoil radiating deep in his abdomen. “Did you think about me the way I thought about you?”

Y/N’s reply falls breathily from her mouth without any hesitation. “Y-Yeah. Couldn’t get you out of my head.”

A cocky hum tinges the air on his behalf. “And why’s that?”

“Because…” The girl struggles to swallow, finding it difficult to match how easily brazen he can be. She pushes through. “Because you fucked me better than anyone else ever has.”

The compliment is one Harry gets often, but for some inexplicable reason, it hits so much deeper coming from Y/N. “Mm. Poor baby just needed to get properly rawed, didn’t you?”

“Had no idea how badly I wanted it until you came along.”

A dark chuckle rolls from the creature’s lips at her bluntness. He repeatedly passes his textured tongue over the pressure point on her throat, flames igniting in his chest when she releases another watery, desperate mewl. “God, look at you. Practically already dripping. Like it when I play with you like that?”

“Fuck, y-yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

And so Harry keeps going, and he doesn’t stop. Not at her neck, and not anywhere else. Not until she begs him to hours later, when he’s whittled three orgasms out of her trembling body, each one more intense than the last.

The first one takes place right there on top of the kitchen counter. He boosts her up onto the table, bunching her pretty sundress around her quivering thighs— as he’d fantasized prior— while she fumbles with his trousers. He tends to her every breathy whimper as she eases him out of his briefs, marking his teeth all over her throat with the assurance that his blood will fade the bruises by morning. He tears his jacket down his broad shoulders, panting into her mouth as she undoes all the buttons that line his elegant iridescent shirt, moaning softly when she breaks their kiss to paint her hot lips down the expanse of his heaving chest and tight stomach. Y/N ducks down as far as her angle will allow, wanting to taste as much of his skin as she can. She wants to memorize its salty smoothness for as long as she lives.

Harry watches her with bliss-drunken fondness twitching his mouth, head falling back to hang between his shoulders as a low, “Such a good girl.” rumbles from his throat. His ring-clad fingers tangle into her locks and scratch at her scalp lightly, strained exhales encouraging her to keep going as she delights herself with tainting love bites all over him. He yanks the girl back up by her roots, grabbing her hips and roughly scooting her forward towards him, clammy foreheads pressing together as he fixes to fill her up for the first time in what feels like eternity.

The monster’s voice is as dominant and thick as she likes it. “Eyes up here. Want to see you come undone while I fuck you.”

The way he spreads Y/N open makes her choke out a scream like nothing else she’s ever heard. Harry simply clamps one of his palms over her mouth, continuing to ram into her at a harsh stride, gasping against her ear with every thrust as she rakes her nails across his back. “Gotta keep that pretty mouth quiet. Thin walls.”

The human feels like her heart is going to break through her ribs and what she doesn’t know is that with every passing beat, Harry feels it tenfold. And it’s driving him fucking insane— she drives him fucking insane. Especially when she looks at him with that glossy, begging gaze, biting into the mound of his hand as he slams his hips inside her so hard, the glasses in her cupboard shake. “Like it when I give it to you rough? Yeah, I thought so. Just like that? Harder? Say please…Christ, you’re a fucking angel.”

Y/N is dirty. So fucking filthy, and Harry loves every second of it. Loves that anything he throws out, she returns with as much enthusiasm, if not more. Loves that she can take his cock as hard as he’s willing to give it, which says a lot, considering his stamina and strength usually surpasses most humans. He’d met very few mortals who can match his sexual prowess and she happens to be one of them. She not only takes it, but pleads for more. She doesn’t just seek her own pleasure, but insists on delivering his own. And though they’re polars opposites at their core— she’s timid, physically standard, and boringly normal, whereas he’s confident, attractive, and unusually superior in every sense of the phrase— they fit together better than he’d ever care to admit. They’re perfectly compatible, down to their personalities and their intimate needs.

As Harry stands there— fingertips leaving welts across her waist as he grunts brokenly against her throat, stretching her out like she was meant to take him this deep, her moans sounding like classical melodies to his ears— he thinks that maybe...maybe he’ll keep her around. A friends with benefits situation would be the most ideal. And to quote his own clever motto from before, it would be mutualism at its finest.

The alliance would be nothing emotional; simply for the sake of providing each other with requited relief, as well as providing Harry with a convenient feeding arrangement. Neither of them would have to submit themselves to going to those terrible clubs, they both already know what the other enjoys, and the banter they share is pretty fulfilling. Plus, her blood is one of the sweetest he’s ever had. Whatever magic lies in her veins tides over his cravings in a fashion he’s never quite experienced. They both get what they want and don’t have to deal with the disasters of real commitment; neither are in a place in their lives where they can shoulder such a big responsibility. Harry is emotionally unavailable, as he has been for the past two centuries and as he intends to be for the next dozen. Y/N has just started anew in a place where she has so little to give and so much to lose, dating is the last thing on her mind. A casual no-strings-attached arrangement would be a perfect gift, bow and all.

And with the way they make each other cum multiple times that night— once on the counter, and twice on that trusty old couch— there’s not a single doubt in Harry’s mind that this is most definitely mutualism at its peak.

///

During the span of the next few weeks, Harry learns a lot about Y/N. It’s surprising how informational someone’s sex habits can be.

The second week after they had met— and the first since their second very heated, very satisfying encounter— she shoots him a text on Wednesday, of all days.

Harry isn’t doing anything particularly interesting when he receives her message. He had gone to see Mitch play at the bar that had recently booked him as a semi-permanent gig, sitting in the booth furthest in the back from all of the ruckus, fingers tapping along the waxed table to his best friend’s skilled jazzy guitar chords. Mitch always teases Harry about how he doesn’t have a job, which the vampire always waves off. Working for money is stupid and unnecessary; any materialistic wants and needs that plague him, he can get with the help of compulsion. Therefore, what’s the use in condemning himself the horrors of customer service or a constricting office cubicle?

His best friend is halfway through his set when Harry’s device vibrates against the sticky surface before him, tittering fingers coming to an abrupt stop. He flips over his iPhone, eyes flickering over the screen, a coy grin spreading its way across his blushed lips. Y/N’s contact beams up at him in return. He’d set her profile as just her name alongside three disco ball emojis, for the sake of their little inside joke.

I’m getting off work a bit earlier than I thought today and was wondering if you wanted to help me with my ceiling fan.

Harry bites into his bottom lip to muffle a chuckle, shaking his head lightly as he stares down at the comical request.

That’s odd. Last time I was there, you didn’t HAVE a ceiling fan.

Y/N sits on her lunch break in the backroom of the cafe where she’s employed, a veggie wrap halfway suspended towards her mouth when Harry’s text bloops in, pointing out her embarrassing mistake. She blinks at his correction blankly, eyes closing in faint humiliation as her true intentions are now painfully clear.

After a second of recollection, she types back some damage control, though it hardly has an impact. Harry’s already chortling to himself just thinking about how contorted her face must look at the moment.

I’m aware, thank you. I meant I wanted help picking one out. I’ve got a few tabs saved as potentials.

He decides to be a little shit about this whole thing, continuing to mock her.

You could just send me the links right now and I can tell you which one I like. You know that, right?

Y/N knows that. She also knows, by the tone and texture of his response, he’d only mentioned that alternative to be annoying. He knows she’s not talking about ceiling fans, and he just wants her to chase after him. Unfortunately enough for Y/N’s pride, she’s more than willing to.

I just think your opinion would be much more valuable and effective in person, since you’d be able to help me search for other ones at the same time. We’d cover more ground. Two heads are better than one!

We do make quite the team, don’t we?

I personally think so. A dynamic duo for the books, honestly.

A soft round of applause cuts through the air around the vampire, signaling the end of Mitch’s performance. Harry glances up to see his best friend mounting his guitar back into its case, smiling bashfully at the crowd and nodding his head in thanks to all their praise. Harry coins his luck; things couldn’t have wrapped up at a better time.

Alright, Watson. What time will you be home?

Y/N stops mid-chew through a bite of her meal, cheeks puffed as the corners of her mouth twitch at his nerdy reference.

I’m off at 6:45. Should be home by 7.

I’ll see you there, then.

See you there. Also, why do YOU get to be Sherlock? Seems a bit sexist.

Harry rolls his eyes at her quip, smirking to himself as he types out his final response.

Well, first and foremost, I’m literally English. Secondly, last time I checked, I’m always the one in control. And frankly, you seem to like it that way. See you at seven, darling.

And at seven on the dot, Harry’s outside her apartment. His friends would be amazed at his punctuality. He only shows it when it’s worth the trouble.

The creature walks up the steps to the mortal’s complex with his Ray-Ban sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, keychain tucked into the back pocket of his black skinny jeans, and his tan Chelsea boots clicking against the cement ground. A light wind whips his Keith Harrington Safe Sex t-shirt against the broad muscles of his back, drawing a soothed sigh from his lungs. He loves the California weather.

He gives her door three swift knocks with his ring-clad knuckles, stepping back from the entrance and clasping his large hands behind his back as he waits.

When Y/N answers, Harry tilts his chin down a smidge, looking at her over the brim of his chic black glasses with his signature dazzling smile dimpling his cheeks. He lists his head slightly in a formal greeting. “Detective.”

The girl’s irises flit up to the ceiling as amusement twitches her lips. She plays along. “Nice to see you again. Detective.”

She moves off to the side, beckoning him to come in and he gladly takes the offer, striding into the flat and down the narrow corridor he’s grown quite familiar with. Y/N follows him back into her living room, gaze quickly drinking up his appearance. He’s casual today— less jewelry, more comfortable clothes— and he works the normal fit as effortlessly as he works his fancy brands. Especially with those tight dark jeans. They hug his thighs in a fashion that should be illegal.

Harry twists around on his heel to face her, reaching up to remove his sunglasses and tucking them along the collar of his tee. A handful of curls fall across his forehead, framing his face and sculpting his jaw, as usual. A sweep across Y/N’s physique tells him everything he needs to know.

She’s still in her work clothes, clad in a navy blue polo shirt and a pair of dark skinnies similar to his. Her hair is down, though the strands have a dent that suggests she’d been wearing a ponytail. Her mascara is smudged a tad under her seemingly tired eyes, but her attitude is as bright and lively as always. She appears messy, but he likes it. It’s a type of unconventional beauty that’s natural and genuine, which he can appreciate.

He contemplates her with a certain slyness that makes her shift in her socked feet.

“I got a message earlier. Sounded kinda frantic.” He drifts closer to the human, a sultry tension growing taut between them. He glances upward for an instant, as if recalling a thought. “Something about ceiling fans…?”

Y/N chews into her cheek to keep from giggling, allowing him to press his chest to hers. He slowly begins to back her up towards the shabby couch, which has seen this interaction happen one too many times. “Yeah, I’m thinking of getting one. Figured it’d help. It just gets really hot in here sometimes, y’know?”

“Mmm…” Harry thrums in agreement, deep in the back of his throat. His hands crawl onto her hips and grasps them somewhat roughly, index fingers hooking into the belt loops of her jeans as he leans down to brush his soft lips over her own. She’ll never grow tired of the electricity that passes through them every time their mouths touch. It kindles her needs unlike anything else. “It does get pretty hot in here sometimes. Especially if you’re working up a sweat.”

He pushes her further towards the sofa, movements gradual as she drifts backwards, careful not to trip her. She glimpses down at where their lips are flirting, breath hiccuping when he licks his lightly in anticipation, his tongue just barely grazing her Cupid’s bow. “Absolutely. A fan would definitely help relieve some of that stress.”

“Yeah.” Harry nudges the tip of her nose with his own, feeling her grab at his biceps for security as he continues inching her backwards blindly. “It can work wonders for when you’re all pent up, too. Especially when you’re really tight, which I know for a fact you are.”

The backs of the girl’s knees hit the edge of the couch and she topples into its cushions. She sits up onto her elbows, sheer need inking into her irises as he patiently begins to undo his belt. His long, nimble fingers work with ease and he seems to be in no particular rush, which pricks at her nerves because she feels completely the opposite. She’d been thinking about him since Friday night— or rather, Saturday morning, when he had actually stayed for breakfast that time around.

Y/N had sat on top of her small dining table while he took the seat before her shirtless, leaning forward with his arms crossed nonchalantly over her lap as she fed him bites of lemon blueberry pancakes. The pads of his calloused fingers had drawn random shapes across the warm skin of her thighs, attempting to cheekily slip beneath her pajamas shorts and he’d giggle boyishly around mouthfuls of food every time she would swat his hand away. He looked so fucking pretty that morning, with his curls tangled in tuffs and the vague imprint of her teeth scattered across his grinning mouth, angry red scratches decorating his bare shoulders. That wholesome yet dirty image had left her head spinning for days.

The sound of Harry’s zipper ripping open blinks Y/N back into the present and she nearly gawks as he grabs onto the hem of his graphic t-shirt and yanks it over his head, arms crossing as he does so. He tosses it onto her playfully, laughing as she smacks it away from her face and gives him a deadpan look. Harry leans forward, propping his palms on either sides of her head and bracketing her in, the unmissable scent of his delicious cologne invading her senses as his dark tattoos ripple over the lean tendons of his stomach and arms. His strangely cold forehead flushes against hers and he nips at her top lip, tugging it between his teeth and releasing. His voice comes out as deep and hypnotizing as ever.

“Get undressed for me. Want your thighs wrapped around my head.”

Harry comes to find that for such a reserved girl, Y/N has a pretty intriguing sexual mindset. She’s open to a lot of stuff he’d never expect from a rural-town escapee. Her kinks surprise him, but pleasantly so, considering they cross over with a lot of his own. She’s into choking, which he adores. There’s nothing hotter than feeling her pulse slam against the palm of his hand as his array of rings mark into the delicate skin of her throat. She likes being restrained, which translates into Harry pinning her wrists above her head while he slams between her drenched thighs. It’s difficult to achieve that on the sofa, so they end up rolling across the rug on the floor, her legs tangled around his hips like a vine as he pants into her mouth, damp hair flopping over his forehead and tickling her eyelashes. Ideally, he would have used his belt to tie her hands to a headboard. If they were at his place, he would’ve just reached for the metal cuffs he has hanging casually off the railing of his bed, which he keeps there for easy access. But they’re in her living room, so he makes do with what he can.

The vampire doesn’t stay over that night, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he promised Niall he’d help him out with a car issue. Apparently the motor is making a weird noise and Harry isn’t shocked one bit. Niall barely has the brain cells to be alive, much less to handle the upkeep that comes with owning a vintage vehicle. He thanks Y/N for a good time as he slips into his tight jeans and recovers his sunglasses from the floor, pulling his tee over the already fading hickies littering his collarbones, fitting his accessory into his sweaty curls.

Harry leans down to where she lays limply, splayed over the couch where he had placed her after picking her up off the ground (only after he’d made her cum twice). He plants a nonchalant farewell kiss to her parted lips, thumbing over her bruised nipples jestingly and grinning into her mouth when she whimpers. “I’ll see you later, Watson. Let me know which fan you decide to buy.”

Two days later, Harry’s phone chimes again, this time with the unique ringtone he’d assigned just for her.

He’s relaxing in his bathtub, submerged up to his chest in hot water mixed with Epsom salts and jasmine bubble bath, his locks sudsy with shampoo. He’s in the middle of shaving his face, dragging the straight razor (his time in the nineteen thirties made him picky towards any other tool, especially those simpleton plastic ones) down his jaw carefully, making sure not to nick the little moles under the corner of his mouth. When his device goes off, he halts all his motions, glancing over from the hand mirror he’s holding before his face. He’d changed her contact name to Watson as homage to their funny little dynamic, but he’d kept the disco balls in their place. He respects the roots of their acquaintanceship.

Fan came in. Wanna come check it out?

He had a nagging suspicion he’d hear from her today. It’s another Friday night, after all. He’s just happy she’d texted earlier than last time so he can flake on his friends without forcing them to wait for an hour.

Wow, you chose two day shipping? You must be itching to see me.

Don’t let it go to your head. The only thing I’m itching for is your professional opinion.

Right. Well, me and my professional opinion are washing up at the moment so give me thirty minutes and I’ll be there, yeah?

Sounds good to me, Sherlock.

Harry decides on an outfit that falls at the center of his dressing spectrum— something comfortable but not lazy. Something semi-formal. He doesn’t really have to impress her anymore (not that he had to try that hard in the first place) but he wants to look good, either way. There’s nothing wrong with showing off what he has, both physically and wardrobe-wise. He chooses a horizontal-striped fitted tee made of thick cotton, the lines alternating between brown, beige, and a light caramel. He tucks the shirt into a pair of mid-rise corduroy flared pants that are a dark mustard shade, shrugging on an olive green jacket with red and white stitch detailing along the edges, large images of cacti embroidered along its expanse. His pearls, cross necklace, and he opts out of his earring this time. Rings, vanilla chapstick, mint gum. Keys, wallet, starch white Vans.

Before he knows it, he’s being roughly pulled into her home from his spot just outside her threshold, his cherry-lacquer nails carding into the silky hair along the nape of Y/N’s neck as his teeth skim over the hollow of her throat. The human grapples to push his coat off his wide shoulders, backing further down the small hallway of her flat and kicking the door shut. She holds his head firmly to the sensitive spot in her neck that he’d toyed with a week prior, and he can’t resist the way his eyes blink crimson— a hunting impulse, stemming from the sound of her blood rushing through her carotid artery. He hadn’t fed last time— vampires only need to feed once a week to avoid desiccation— so he surely intends to tonight.

Harry’s hands fit perfectly around the dip of her spine, pulling her body tight to his as he paints sloppy kisses over her jugular. He gets his teasing words out in between desperate gasps and breathy chuckles. “And here I thought this was genuinely going to be about the fan.”

“Shut up.”

Y/N makes a sharp turn, tugging him into her room instead of the living room and it dawns on him that this is the first time they’re going to fuck in her actual bed. All those instances of sleeping together and not once had they done anything on the piece of furniture that was intended for that sole purpose. It’s ironically hilarious and he voices that opinion as they stumble onto her mattress.

“You know,” Harry murmurs into her mouth as she shoves him flat onto the rumpled sheets (she hadn’t made her bed this morning and that’s endearing, for some reason), straddling his lap as she hurriedly pulls his t-shirt out from along the waistband of his trousers. “Out of all the times we’ve done this— which is quite a few— we’ve never done anything on your bed other than sleep.”

That’s a lie. He’s never actually slept in her bed. After staring at the ceiling blankly two weeks ago for about eight hours, he had been smart enough to grab his phone from his pants the second time around. He spent that stretch of time playing Mario Kart and watching Unsolved Mysteries on Netflix with the volume down just out of human earshot, so as to not disturb her slumber.

Y/N ducks in order to drag her wet, pillowy lips down the butterfly inking on his tummy and over the spines of the two ferns on his pelvis, licking across his happy trail. He jerks in response, a soft grunt gurgling in his lungs as she uses her index finger to trace the outline of his hardening cock through the velvet fabric of his slacks. Her voice is distant, giggle breathless. “Yeah, you’re right. How counterintuitive.”

Harry swiftly pops the button of his trousers, helping her coax them down his legs, releasing a stuttery moan when she immediately bends down and mouths at his prick over his briefs. The soiled stain forming around the tip of his cock would be embarrassing if he didn’t know she found it hot.

His tone is tight but humorous as she continues licking at him eagerly through his underwear, nails digging into his inner thighs. “Am I your first?”

Confusion flickers in her eyes for a moment before she realizes the joke. He’s referring to if he’s the first person she’s slept with on her new bed in her new home. “Yes, you are, actually.”

Harry’s juts his bottom lip out into an overly-sweet exaggerated pout, talking in a honeyed drawl. “Aw, I get to christen your bed with you? We’re practically married now. When’s the baby due?”

“God, you’re a moron.” Y/N bursts into a fit of laughter as she mounts back onto his lap, pinching at his torso in fake spite and feeling her insides flutter at the airy giggles that escape him. She gnaws on her bottom lip thoughtfully for a second, watching with hunger as he finishes removing his shirt and momentarily sits up to chuck it onto the ground over her shoulder.

Harry falls back onto the mattress, folding his taut arms behind his neck, biceps flexing with the movements as his strong chest and toned stomach look as appealing as ever. She runs her palms over his tanned skin, feeling the sturdy muscle shift beneath her touch. Shit.

The immortal slinks his head to the side, eyes going half-lidded in suggestive mischief as he sees the way she’s objectifying him. He doesn’t mind; he actually lives for it. “Are you just gonna keep staring or are you gonna fuck me?”

His lewd comment washes warmth across Y/N’s ears and spurs her into action. In less than a minute, she’s fully unclothed, bouncing on his cock with a type of need that boils the pit of Harry’s belly. His fingers are digging bruises into her waist, slamming her down onto his prick with enough force to make the old bed creak wildly. She may be on top, but he’s still the one pulling the strings.

Y/N collapses forward, anchoring herself onto her forearms on either sides of his head, burying her face in his auburn ringlets. She bites onto her tongue, trying to keep a tab on the atrociously loud sounds threatening to spill from her mouth. They come out as broken whines instead, which Harry drinks up like a glass of aged bourbon. She fists at his roots, jolting with every thrust he gives upwards, her knees digging into his love handles to keep balanced. At this point, she’s barely riding him at all. He’s just ramming himself into her from below as he guides her hips and she doesn’t have an issue with that at all. She likes when he leads.

His growl comes out low and raspy, riding on a moan, his warm, choppy exhales pebbling her bare nipples. “How’s that, darling? How’s that cock feel?”

Y/N nods her head frantically, not trusting her tongue to form an appropriate response.

“Tell me.” He grits out through bared teeth, back arching a bit as he feels the knot of white hot pleasure in his stomach twist and turn.

“I— I can’t. I’m—”

One of Harry’s hands coasts down the small of her back and onto her ass, giving it a harsh squeeze. She yelps at the new sensation, pain and bliss intermingling. “Yeah, you fucking can. You will. Use your words. Tell me how much you like it.”

A violent shutter runs through Y/N’s limbs and she instinctively pushes back against his palm. Harry’s eyebrows kink in question as he feels her draw her face back from his hair. One look at her eyes tells the entire narrative: She wants him to spank her.

Harry slowly lifts his hand from her skin, brows raising a bit higher for confirmation. Y/N smears his lips against his forehead and left cheekbone, bobbing her head desperately, whispering a tiny, “Yes, please.” that sends smoky tendrils of hot air cascading down his straining neck.

When the vampire’s hand comes down, it’s fast and hard, his cold rings biting into her flesh and leaving welts, the sound echoing off the glossy walls and tall bookshelf in her room. The cry that betrays her could probably be heard down on the main floor of her complex.

The shattered noise makes Harry sanity slip and he’s lucky she’s too lost in her own bliss to see the way his eyes glow dangerously red. “Fuck, you’re such a slut for it.”

Harry suddenly boosts himself forward, toppling Y/N backwards until she’s the one wedged against the bed. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, nestling her face into the crook of his sweaty collarbones, cracked cries pooling into the junction of his clavicle as he hikes her roughly up his thighs. He sinks further between her legs until he bottoms out with a loud garbled groan, pushing so deep she can feel him in the trench of her belly.

“Oh my God, Harry— I— fuck, just—just— oh!”

His pace rises in intensity, strokes messy and unforgivable as he fucks her into the bed, the cracking of the frame warning him that it might give away. “Oh, so you liked that, did you? Like it when I call you a slut and stretch you out like one?”

Harry feels Y/N’s teeth rip into his shoulder in order to evade a scream; a strong shiver pin-balls down his spine as a result. Her voice is absolutely wrecked as she talks over her muffled mouth. “Loved it. Loved it so much. Want—Want more. Please, please, please.”

Harry holds her down firmly to the sheets, pounding into her with a form of unrestrained force he’s never exhibited. She just drives him to the brink like no one else has in nearly twenty decades. “Can you feel me in your tummy, pet? Can you feel how I fill you up?”

“Yes, yes— it’s so good, Harry. You’re incredible.”

“Such a proper little whore.” He has to actively hold back from digging into her throat with his fangs, his eyes screwing shut in concentration as his orgasm begins to burn through his veins. “Begging me to fuck you like one, over and over. You’ve never had it this good, have you?”

“N-No. You’re the only one who makes me feel like this.”

“Hands off.”

“W-What?”

“Hands off.”

Y/N obeys, throwing her arms above her head and letting them hang off the edge of the bed as he’d instructed. It’s not like he wants her to stop scratching down his back, but he knows that if she continues, he’s going to black out. He’s already teetering, obvious in the black webs he can feel materializing over the whites of his eyes.

“Ask for permission.”

The mortal unclamps her teeth from his bruised shoulder and swallows heavily, her words sputtering out from how hard she’s jerking against the bed. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please—can I—can I cum?”

“‘May I cum.’” The boy corrects, half because he wants to be a cocky ass, and half because it’s automatic. He was raised during an era where intellectual accuracy was of utmost value in society. It’s hard to leave those lessons behind.

Y/N hiccups another mewl, hands curling into loose fists above her head as he continues to fuck her deliberately into the duvet. She repeats his phrase shakily. “May I cum? Please?”

Harry’s lashes flutter open and as soon as he sees her, all doe-eyed, covered in his love marks, with her bottom lip trembling...It’s like a switch flips. When he speaks, it’s soft and encouraging; a drastic contrast from his mood a few seconds ago. “Yeah...Yeah, baby, go ahead. Cum for me.”

That night, as Harry lays there awake staring at that awful popcorn roof with the taste of her blood fresh on his tongue and her steady heartbeat throbbing in his heightened ears, he catches himself smiling in the dark. It doesn't have to do with emotions or feelings or any of that complicated bullshit. It just has to do with the fact that he found some consistency in his life, as unattached and materialistic as it may be. They don’t have a complex bond or a deeper meaning. They simply just coexist. They provide some common stability to each others’ lives and it helps keep an important balance. Stability is so rare to find, especially for an immortal who is condemned to witness the world constantly evolve around them while they remain frozen in time. Society will change, people change, appearances change, alliances change, and though it can be exhilarating, at times, Harry never truly has a say in it. He’s always just strung along for the ride.

This is different. It’s static, and that’s all he really needs it to be. Sex can be so emotionally messy if lines aren’t drawn and boundaries aren’t set. But with Y/N, it’s like they have a silent understanding— an unspoken agreement signed by both parties. It’s a notion that could have spared Harry his life in the past, and it’s an ideal that— even in death— took him centuries to learn:

Some people are meant to be loved, while others are just meant to be naked.

///

The third week is when things escalate for the better.

Specifically, Tuesday night. That’s when the sexting starts.

It’s a pretty calm evening and Harry finds himself with nothing to do. Mitch is out with Sarah, who had come into town two days ago due to the band she’s touring with being on a three week break. She’d said she wasn’t staying for long— maybe a week, because she has plans to visit some other bloodsucker friends in Canada. Even though Mitch tries to hide it, Harry can tell he’s bummed about Sarah’s short visit. The older vampire is good at hiding his emotions, but Harry’s known him for so long that he could read Mitch’s mood even if he was blindfolded and gagged.

The jade-eyed boy had been honest with his best friend, asking him what the point was in continuing to see someone whose depth of interest in the relationship wasn’t as developed as his own. Mitch had simply shrugged one shoulder and told Harry that he wouldn’t understand. He mentioned something about how eventually, the freshblood high would wear off and Sarah would find herself wanting to settle down somewhere with someone she could trust for the rest of eternity. Mitch explained that he cared for her enough to wait until then.

His best mate had been wrong. Harry does understand. He understands the concept of chasing after someone who, in the end, didn’t want anything to do with him. He understands it a little too well, sadly. He figures that’s the same fate Mitch is bound to suffer, just on a less extreme level.

But then again, Harry’s perception of love is majorly skewed, so who is he to judge?

With Mitch tied up with Sarah (probably literally, though Harry doesn’t dwell on that; it’s none of his business), his options dwindle to the rest of the crew. Niall and Xander had invited him to a concert they were attending, but Harry politely declined the offer. The musicians were some wannabe indie band and Harry would rather swallow a nicotine addict’s blood than listen to a couple of morons sing in cursive. Adam had suggested he tag along with him, Ny-Oh, and Charlotte to a new art exhibit that had opened up in the next town over. It was a thirty minute drive, so it wasn’t that bad, but Harry declined that invitation, as well. He loves art, if the giant collection on his wall has anything to say about it, but he doesn’t get on well with Ny or Charlotte. They say he’s “too much of an arrogant dickhead” to be around for an extended period of time. They’re right, of course, but it still hurts. Plus, Ny has a mullet and Harry knows he wouldn’t be able to withhold from making a Billy Ray joke. It’s best he stay away, lest she end up with an achy-breaky heart.

So that leaves him here, all alone at eight P.M. on a Tuesday, plopped on his couch in nothing but a pair of maroon plaid boxers as Hamilton plays on the ninety inch flatscreen mounted on his glass wall. He had left the curtains open, not really caring that he’s practically naked. The sun’s already set and it’s almost pitch black outside; plus, he lives on the twenty-fourth floor of the condominium complex. The only living being risking an eyeful is a peepy pigeon. Even then, Harry’s more than happy to put on a show. He’s confident enough in himself that nudity is practically second nature. His friends can attest to that.

Harry lays across his leather sofa with a large checkered throw cushion snuggled into his side, one of his hands slung across the backrest of the couch as the other remains submerged wrist-deep in a bag of Veggie Straws. His socked feet are propped up on his round marble coffee table, ankles crossed and posture anything but eloquent. The apartment is silent, except for the musical streaming through the speakers of his television set and the gentle pattering of rain just outside his glorified window pane, accompanied by the faint flickering of the city lights below. The atmosphere of the room is relaxed and cozy and it lulls his soul in a manner he can’t put into words.

Harry has always liked the rain. Ever since he was a child, he would sit by the small round window of the attic room he shared with his older sister, watching it fall from the sky in sheets of glittering sapphires, soaking into the dry ground and turning it into a slush of dirt he would later sneak out to play in. When he got older, he would prop his shoulder against the doorframe at the back of his father’s blacksmith shop and gaze at it, mesmerized by how it would trickle down the streets of the public market, washing away all the grime that came with a bustling city’s reputation. Sometimes he would stand in it, feeling its cool touch run down his arms and soak into the back of his sot-covered work shirt. He enjoyed how it would cleanse the sticky sweat from his face and neck, its gentle nature leaving him feeling like he could float through air. Then his father would call him back into the store and playfully scold him for allowing himself to get drenched, warning that his mother would kill him if he caught a cold.

Harry’s changed a lot since then, he knows that, but it comforts him that his love for rain is the one aspect of his personality that two hundred years of Hell had failed to take from him.

The melodies swimming out of his TV reign him back in from memory lane.

Harry’s not really one to enjoy musicals, but back when Hamilton had first hit Broadway, he’d used his persuasive supernatural abilities to sneak into one of the first showings. He’d been curious as to what all the hype was about, and the play did not disappoint. The songs were catchy, the acting was good, and the characters were brought to life through raw emotion and comedy. He respected that. And the plot of the story itself resonated with him deeply, as well. A protagonist that rose from nothing, fell in love with the wrong woman, and made terrible life choices that seemed correct at the time, which would all eventually lead to his death. It hit a bit too close to home.

If he had a dollar for every time he’s seen it since it had come out on Disney+, he could probably pay rent himself instead of compelling others to do it for him.

The play is halfway through one of its most famous ballads when the monster’s phone dings with a familiar tune. A smirk is already etching itself across his face before he even unlocks his device.

I need interior design advice.

I’m still a little sore from our last help session. How’d you bounce back so quick?

Funny, but I need ACTUAL interior design advice this time.

Harry’s brows furrow in mild confusion and slight disappointment. He draws his hand from the junk food container, dusting off the crumbs. Oh.

Genuinely?

Yup!

He guesses he’ll give it a go. He does have pretty exquisite taste; the modern gothic aesthetic of his condo proves that. It’s not like he has anything better to do.

Alright, shoot.

Y/N releases the breath she’d been holding in. Thank God he’s agreed to help. As much as she’s ashamed to admit it, Harry’s really the only person in LA that she deems relatively close to a friend. She hasn’t managed to mesh well with her coworkers much, despite the fact that she’s been trying extremely hard. She just doesn’t wanna force herself into unfulfilling fake friendships for the sake of having people to flaunt. It’s not right and she knows she’d grow to resent it.

So instead, she’d reached out to the one California resident who doesn’t make her skin crawl.

Whew, okay, thanks in advance! So I went out yesterday and got a new bedspread and I wanted some help choosing a new accessory to go with it, which is going on my wall.

Harry’s ears perk up and his back straightens at her statement. Could she finally, by the grace of fucking God, be getting rid of that shitty tapestry?

Well, let me see it, then. Don’t keep a man waiting, I’m dying to play Property Brothers over here.

A picture comes through of the two new accessories Y/N is referring to and the way Harry’s face drops instantly is almost comical.

Which tapestry fits better? I’m thinking the Van Gogh style painting of a lighthouse. The blue goes well with the dark turquoise of the comforter. But then again, the forest canopy has those pretty exotic flowers that compliment the coral stitching. I can’t decide.

The vampire’s face pinches in disgusted horror as he blinks down numbly at the image on his screen. He’s going to be sick. Those Veggie Straws are about to make a hideous comeback.

…two new tapestries? Did the other one rip or…?

What? No!! I just saw these down at the thrift store and thought they were cute. Why? Are they really that bad??

They’re not just bad, they’re worse. He’s going to ask her to blindfold him next time he visits.

They’re…kinda immature, dove. I just thought you’d go for something cooler this time, like a vintage painting or a couple vinyls to mount on the wall.

Immature?

Oops. He should have picked his words more carefully. Now he’s gone and offended her and she’ll probably bite down the next time he puts his—

Another message interrupts his spiraling negative conclusions.

I know you didn’t just call ME immature when you compared me to a cream-filled donut, Harry.

The playful tone in the text delivers a wave of relief that is almost as pleasurable as what lies between Y/N’s legs.

Can I speak freely for a second? Full disclosure, no consequences?

That preface makes me think you’re about to chew me out.

I’ll be gentle, I promise. I know it’s not our usual dynamic, but I’ll give it a go.

Y/N ignores the bristling across her cheeks.

Alright, go head.

I just think tapestries are kinda stupid. They scream “confused teenager trying to find myself.” But that’s just my opinion. I’m only telling you so you know that I’m probably not the best bloke to go to with tapestry inquiries.

Harry watches as a read receipt stares up at him for a few seconds. Just when he thinks he might have truly upset her this time, her message bubble pops up.

So...the one I’ve had hanging in my room the last three times you’ve been over…

I had to actively restrain the urge to strangle myself with it.

Y/N breaks out into laughter. The image of waking up to Harry laying facedown on her bedroom floor, balls naked and mummified within a sunrise tapestry...It’s sending her.

Well, you know what? That’s not fair! You can’t judge my house when I haven’t even had the chance to judge yours.

Harry nods once to himself in surrender, reaching up to finger-comb a few rebellious curls out of his eyes. She makes a valid play.

Fair enough. You’ll have to come over and give me your opinion sometime.

I’d be honored to. Now, would you be so kind as to put your own personal bias aside this once and help me choose which one to put up. I promise I’ll spare you any more tapestry-related problems in the future. I’ll remove it from my customer contract.

Harry sighs defeatedly. He can’t believe he’s giving up his integrity for sex.

Fine. Send me a picture of both of them up on the wall. It’ll give some perspective.

Y/N giddily obliges, deciding to send a video instead. That way, she can get all of the angles in one go rather than having to send multiple pictures.

Harry waits patiently, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth as he taps his foot against the coffee table to the tune of Wait for It, which is playing in the film that has now become the backdrop of his night. When Y/N’s next message comes through, he’s mildly surprised to find it’s a video. He clicks play, watching intently as she circles the two pinned tapestries slowly, making sure to get a proper view from all sides. By the time the thirty second clip is coming to an end, Harry’s leaning more towards the tropical canopy painting. It’s not as loud and she was right about the flowers matching the stitching on the duvet.

He’s about to tap back “the forest one” when something flashes across the screen that makes him choke on his snack, launching him into a coughing fit.

It’s within the last three seconds of the video and if he had cut it off in order to text back, he would have missed it. But he hadn’t, and now it’s burned into the back of his eyelids, causing a buzzing sensation to string right to the area between his thighs.

The last few frames of the video, Y/N had lowered her phone from the position she’d been suspending it, probably thinking she had already stopped filming. She hadn’t. And because of that, Harry gets a full frontal view of her body, covered in nothing except a pair of lace panties and a mid-thigh oversized Avengers t-shirt. The entire screen fills with bare, silky skin and raunchy lace and he can feel his fangs poke into his tongue.

Harry’s not a pre-teen; he’s not going to drool over seeing a pair of legs. What really gets to him is the fact that it appears Y/N still has a few hickies across the inner area of her thighs, which have failed to fade as quickly as the others. They should be gone, given that anytime Harry feeds (like he had the last time they’d slept together), he always gives her a bit of his blood to heal. Meaning, normal bruises like that should be gone. Maybe he just hadn’t given her a high enough dosage, or maybe he’d marked her more than he remembers, but either way, the stains are there.

The vampire ogles at the paused image with a dry throat and wide eyes. Just seeing her like that, dressed in comfy yet effortlessly sensual attire with no bottoms on whatsoever, freely flaunting his love bites around her apartment, probably looking at them in her mirror, thinking about how his teeth had felt grazing her skin…

It’s enough to pop a stiffy into his briefs.

Harry glimpses over the top of his phone, swallowing thickly at the large bulge beginning to tent his boxers. His socked toes curl as he feels a longing throb begin to swell at the pit of his clenching stomach. Great. This is just fucking perfect.

He attempts to tap back a reply, but his hands have started quivering slightly, clumsy thumbs ruining his message to the point where he has to retype it three times.

The forest one. I agree with what you said about the stitching.

Okay, thank you so much! Your input is highly appreciated, as always.

The immortal finds himself gnawing at the inside of his cheek, weighing on whether he should mention the little softcore porn moment she’d unknowingly shot, or if he should just let it slide and go take care of the issue that is literally weighing on him— he can feel it getting heavy against his thigh.

His fingers seem to take on a mind of their own, printing out a quick sentence and hitting the send button before he can rethink his motives.

Did you watch your video before you sent it?

Uh no...It looked pretty okay to me while I took it. Why, do you need a different one? Was the lighting too dark?

The fact that she sent it by accident only adds to the appeal. She’s such a good girl. So fucking innocent and sweet, she could practically give him a toothache.

Do me a quick favor and rewatch it all the way to the end. I think you’ll be surprised with what you find.

Y/N leans back against her bookshelf wall, chewing on her bottom lip as a sly grin ticks the corners. She doesn’t have to rewatch the video. She’s fully aware of what she had done, which had been completely on purpose. She’s only playing dumb to see his reaction, getting off on how flustered he seems to have become. Yes, her intentions for contacting him had originally been purely for his opinion on decor. But when she saw the chance, she decided to jump headfirst and take it. What are friends with benefits for if not for times like these, when you’re too lazy to come over but need a bit of relief?

The human allows a full thirty seconds to pass, simulating that she’s watching the video, and then thoughtfully taps out her response.

Oh, whoops. Sorry for the indecent exposure.

Harry shifts in exasperation against his sofa, the radiating in his abdomen crawling up to his chest and down to his knees. He needs to take care of himself now.

It’s fine, babe. You just might wanna be more careful, cause this time around you got lucky that it was me and it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Could go south if it were someone else.

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly at his scolding, but continues to play the clueless act, curious to see where it’ll take her.

You’re absolutely right, I’m so sorry.

Harry clears his throat, flinching as he feels a soft twitch run up the length of his cock. He exhales tightly, trying to steer the conversation into a lighter mood. He doesn’t want her to feel bad; it’s not like he’s angry about this. He’s hot and bothered and needy, but not mad.

I just think it’s funny you exposed the fact that you go around your house without pants.

Oh, fuck off! No one ever wears pants around their own house, especially if they’re alone. It’s one of the laws of physics. No human resistance, no pants.

Harry glances down at his body symbolically, where he’s clad in only his underwear, as well.

Touché.

Exactly.

A pause befalls the conversation as both parties fish for something new to say. The situation’s become less lively and more intense now and neither are sure how to navigate without crossing a line. In a surge of courage, Y/N decides to just directly communicate her intentions, praying that he doesn’t take it the wrong way.

I have an idea, just hear me out. For the sake of evening the playing field, I think that since you saw me pantsless, it’s only fair that I see you the same way. It balances out, right?

Harry’s jaw drops in an open-mouthed simper, impressed by her blatant suggestion, but also by how smoothly she had delivered it. He mumbles his next words to himself, voice amused and somewhat awed at how she had managed to spin this to her benefit. “You clever little minx. Bet it wasn’t even an accident.”

You did it on purpose, didn’t you?

Y/N purses her lips, shrugging her brows cheekily.

Maybe.

The vampire scoffs, taken aback not only at the ploy she’d pulled off, but at how unapologetic she is about the whole thing. It’s hot.

Alright, l’ll bite. Tick for tack.

The photo that comes through makes Y/N choke on her spit. It’s not anything too revealing, but it packs a lot. Literally.

It’s a pretty casual picture, and she gets the feeling he took it as so just to be a tease. In the frame, all she sees is a snapshot of Harry’s lap, thighs straining against the flimsy material of a pair of crimson tartan boxers, the large tigerhead tattoo he totes somehow prominent in the low lightning. Of course it stands out, though. That’s to be expected; his thighs are thick in the most satisfying fashion and they’re one of his most defining features. She can also see the bottom half of his lean tummy, the cutoff being the crest of his belly button. His fern inkings are peeking out of from below the waistband of the Calvin Kleins, dark and matte on his lightly bronzed skin, and she spots the nonchalant position of his crossed ankles in the background.

As appetizing as every little detail is, the centerpiece of the portrait is the obvious bulge pressing into the fabric of his briefs. The outline is so prominent, the picture borderlines on graphic. His cock looks pretty as ever, even when it’s covered; the thin underwear leaves very little to the imagination.

Y/N has to bite down on her tongue to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

Wow, okay, well...Your picture was much more explicit than my video. That’s not fair at all. Throws off the equilibrium we were trying to establish.

Harry chuckles aloud, shaking his head in amazement at how well she can bend the game to her will. Three weeks ago, when he’d first laid eyes on that shy girl at the club, he would have never expected her to be so bold. Now, she has him wrapped around her pinky like a string.

You’re absolutely right. My apologies. Maybe you should send one similar so we can even out the stakes.

You read my mind.

Y/N’s next picture causes a hiss to stream through the cracks of Harry’s teeth, eyes glinting red.

It’s a picture taken on top of her bed, the angle set from above. She’s laying on her side, her torso twisted so that her backside is in the shot, her huge tee pulled tight against her waist so it creates an enticing cinching effect. Her thighs are clasped together, the collar of her shirt pulled away just enough that he can see where the valley of her chest begins to curve, and the cheeky lace panties are working utter wonders for her ass. He can’t stop staring. He physically can’t pull himself away, his eyes bouncing across every pixel, attempting to commit the picture to memory to keep it locked in the back of his brain forever.

Y/N awaits anxiously for his reaction, biting into the pad of her thumb as the seconds list by, wondering if he had enjoyed the nude or if he was just sitting there judging all her flaws. It’s been so long since she’s sent a risky photo like that, she can’t help but stress. Sharing your body with someone digitally is almost as intimate as real sex and it comes with similar worries and insecurities. Was the angle good? Are her stretch marks unattractive? Are the dimples along her backside gross? Is he second-guessing their arrangement? Is he wishing they hadn’t met?

She practically drops her phone when it vibrates.

God, you look stunning. Like a proper fucking dream.

All of her concerns immediately disintegrate, replaced by an odd sense of pride. She’s happy that he enjoyed it, and she’s thankful for the caliber of his response. Most men don’t care to comment that nicely, if they comment at all, and Harry’s enthusiasm only excites her further. She wants to keep going.

You look pretty fucking good yourself. Wish I could just kneel between your thighs, take you into my mouth, and make you feel good for hours.

Harry struggles to get saliva down his parched throat, her words bouncing around the inside of his skull, sending a current of bliss directly to where he needs it.

Hours? You want me down your throat for hours?

For hours, Harry. I’d literally just sit between your legs and let you fuck my face again. Let you use me to make yourself cum.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Harry’s broken whine echoes off the tall walls of his home, one of his big hands finding a path to his curls and tugging in desperation. He needs to keep composure.

Harry’s next snapshot comes through and Y/N has to screw her eyes shut for a second to brace the bolt of electricity that zips down to her core.

The boy’s thighs have parted wider, his feet now down from the table, knees hanging off the edge of the sofa. His free hand has delved below his briefs, pulling them up just enough to show a tad of the neatly trimmed area beneath. His fingers are cupped over his cock, hiding it from plain view, but the imprint of his knuckles on the fabric suggest he’s gripping it tightly. The longer she looks, the more she notices— specifically, a dark damp patch spreading at the middle of his boxers and she knows damn well what it is. The fact that she’d got him riled up enough that he’s leaking through like that...She can hardly breathe right.

Shit, you look so good. How do you always look that fucking good? I just want to feel you stretch me out while you moan into my mouth.

Harry slowly starts pumping his palm up and down his cock as he rereads her words, catching his lower lip between his teeth, his naked and flushed chest stuttering. He doesn’t want to be the douche that tells her to send another picture, but he really needs her to. He wants to see what she’s doing, how she’s fairing. Wants to know if he has her as fucked as she has him right now.

It’s almost like they share a telepathic link because not even five seconds later, another beautifully filthy photo is decorating his screen.

This time around, Y/N has decided to fully lay on her back, spreading her legs open and drawing her knees up slightly so that her thighs are not only flexing, but displaying all the love bites he’d left only a few days prior. They’re all different shades of purple and brown, scattered over the satin suppleness of her skin, painting a canvas of the heated night they’d shared. It’s art at its most prestigious, if he’s ever seen it. And she has her hand ducked below her panties, the outline of her fingers situated right over her clit.

Harry’s own hand instinctively tightens around his length, pulling a weak groan from his parted lips. He throws his head back against the backrest of the couch, bucking into his palm and teasing his forefinger over his bubbling tip. He spreads the precum all over the sensitive head, whimpering when the draft from the air conditioning caresses it and sends a quiver toppling over his shoulders.

Fuck, she’s driving him mental. There’s only one way to take care of this effectively, despite their distance.

I’m going to call you.

Y/N gulps heavily, licking over her chapped lips and feeling her pulse jump at the realization that she’ll be getting to hear his throaty voice coax her through an orgasm. Not only that, but she’ll get to hear him cum, too. She’ll get to hear every shattered gasp and needy mewl, almost as if he were pouring all those sounds of pleasure right into her ears in person.

The mortal’s heart hiccups when his contact pops up on the Caller ID, phone vibrating insistently. After a deep breath taken to ground herself, she slides her shaky thumb over the glass, slowly bringing the device up to her ear. Her voice is soft and timid as ever, a tremble running through its undertone. “H-Hello?”

Harry’s words come through the crackling speaker as dark and smoky as whiskey, pouring into her mind and intoxicating her as easily as the real liquor would.

“Flip onto your stomach and take off the lace. Now.”

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